Trinity
Chapter 2: 'A Cautionary Tale'
Cautionary tale (n): Disastrous life lesson, shared in the hope of saving others from similar fate. Rohan had been a student of the cautionary tale for as long as she could remember, since long before she left home to pursue her career. She was determined, even at a young age, to make sure she avoided the pitfalls of Hollywood and emerged a shining star, not a fallen one. She knew all of the rules, memorized them, and followed them. She was supposed to be safe.
Rule #1: Image is everything.
Though she wasn't sure she always agreed with the rules, she knew that she had to play by them in order to be successful. For that reason, she never left her house looking like a bag lady, and she never drank alcohol at industry parties. She was NOT going to be the sloppy, hobo-wannabe who 'sure cleans up nice' for premiers, or the sloppy, drunken party girl who 'could be so successful, if she could just learn to control herself in public.'
Her dark eyes skimmed her e-mails over the top of her morning coffee mug, her skin beginning to tingle beneath the warmth of the bright rays breaking through the floor-to-ceiling windows in her home office. 'Ro, just wondered if you wanted to make a statement about this whole wrestler story. Fans are blowin' up the message boards this morning. Can't get a hold of Gil. Just let me know. Stan.' With a curious arch of her eyebrow, Rohan clicked the link. Stan was her web designer and master. He never e-mailed her directly, always went to her agent.
"Could Rohan McKeehan be off the market again? George Clooney's one-time flame was spotted by paparazzi last night sharing a drink with a mysterious stranger. The man has been identified as controversial professional wrestler, Randy Orton. While the indie princess's reps would neither confirm, or deny, a relationship between the two, I'm thinking there must be a reason that this unconventional duo would want to hide in a dive in downtown LA, instead of flaunting at one of the clubs in Hollywood."
Shock rippled through her body as Rohan read the article two more times, her eyes focused on the photo attached to the article. That asshole from the bar was leaned toward her, his finger brushing against her bare thigh as she smiled back mirthfully. There were so many factual inaccuracies, she wasn't sure she could begin to count them all, but that wasn't the issue for her. She could care less if a gossip and rumor site reported incorrectly on her personal life. Hell, they'd been doing it for years. The only thing she could do was carry herself well, and trust that the people around her would take care of damage control with the press.
Except that, according to this article, her 'reps' could neither confirm, nor deny, the relationship. Why couldn't they? They knew, better than anyone, that Rohan wasn't one for hiding her personal life from the people around her. Her agent and her publicist always knew when she was seeing someone new - she always told them, expressly for moments like this one. She let them in so that they could protect her from situations just like this.
Rule #2: Trust no one.
She wasn't an overtly trusting person by nature, so following the second cautionary rule wasn't difficult for Rohan. Actually, trusting anyone was harder for her than not. Vultures circled the successful, wanting nothing more than to feast on the spoils of the wars that their clients were fighting for the world's attention. She only gave interviews to the people whose journalistic integrity she valued. Sometimes she was viewed as cold toward the media, but she didn't care. Ice Queen was a better title than anything else they could twist if she actually spoke.
If she was cautious around the press, she was twice as guarded about the people she hired. She had researched her team extensively before hiring them, gaining references from some of the best in the business before allowing them into her inner circle. And even after she had hired them, it took her years to truly trust them with her personal information.
Grabbing her phone from the desk at her side, she dialed Gil Rayburn's number and waited for him to answer. He didn't have to give an answer to anyone else, but he was going to answer her. Why wouldn't he deny something he knew wasn't true? While Rohan knew it wasn't a career-ending scandal, she was bothered by the fact that Gil wasn't speaking, and wasn't answering his cell phone. He hadn't been answering his phone for two weeks.
When his voice mail picked up, she sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair, turning away from the computer screen before she could throw up. "Gil, it's Rohan. Um, can you give me a call back ASAP. I've got some questions about this TMZ thing, and also about the Spielberg project. Thanks." Tossing the phone onto the desk, she stood and made her way to the window.
Rule #3: Fame is fleeting.
Even without confirmation from Gil, she was fairly certain she knew what he was going to tell her. She had studied the tales, remember? She knew that an agent only stopped calling when the offers had dried up. Sure, she had two films coming out in the next six months. Sure, she had one in post-production, and another set to start filming in a few weeks. She wasn't a boil on the ass of the industry or anything. But she also wasn't courting multiple, Oscar-worthy projects, either. And she wasn't turning big-budget films into blockbusters. Times had changed, and her ability was in question. The handwriting was on the wall, she feared.
Staring at the glistening water of the Pacific Ocean from her balcony, she held her mug tighter, willing the shaking in her thin fingers to subside. She would not break. She wouldn't let them defeat her. It was a slump, nothing more. Resurgence was more-than-possible. She could come back. One good project and she was back on top. There was no need to panic. No need to worry or fret. They hadn't forgotten her completely. They just needed to be reminded of what she brought to the table.
The ringing of the telephone caused Rohan to jump and she sprinted into the office and grabbed the phone. "Gil," she spoke a little more enthusiastically than she had intended. Her mental pep talk had encouraged her to the point of optimism. If she could convey that to Gil, everything would be fine. She would be fine. They would love her again. They had to. "Thanks for returning my call," she added.
"Yeah, I gotta make this quick, Sweetheart," Gil's gruff voice snapped over the line. "The Spielberg thing is out. He went with some new chick I've never heard of." He began to say something and then stopped short. "Hold on, Rohan. Gotta take this call. Gimme five."
The phone went dead and Rohan kicked the edge of the desk. Fuck. Some new chick. There were always new actresses ascending the ranks, trying to take her spot. Some of them were really talented. Some of them were more commercial than she was. But while she couldn't prove it, Rohan was pretty sure none of them had more heart than she did. Sure, some of them probably wanted it as bad as she did, but none of them wanted it more. They couldn't.
Sucking as much air as she could into her lungs, Rohan fought the tears building behind her eyes and moved through her office and into the hallway. She was a good person. At least, she thought she was. She didn't deserve to be cast aside like she had nothing more to say, nothing more to give. She didn't deserve to be overlooked, considered past her prime. She still had stories left to tell. They couldn't just ignore her and make her go away. She wouldn't let them.
Before she could scream in frustration, the line clicked back over. "Rohan, baby," Gil's voice broke in. "So here's the thing . . . That three-picture deal you signed with Universal is done. You know that. The one we were working on with Sony fell through. I tried to talk to my guy at Fox Searchlight, but they're not interested right now, in anything other than indie girls." There was a sigh and Gil mumbled something to someone off the phone. "I been talkin' to Kirby, and we're thinking," he started again, abruptly enough to make Rohan jump, "that you might be in need of a revamp."
Rohan licked her lips and nodded. It wasn't that she believed she needed to be revamped. In her mind, she was as relevant as she had ever been. But if this is what it took to get people back on her side, to get scripts onto her desk, she was willing. Nothing extreme, of course, but subtle changes. They were professionals. They were looking out for her best interests. All she had to do was follow their direction and she would be back on top, shopping for Oscar dresses once again. "So what do we do?"
He chuckled. A brief, cynical laugh of sarcasm. "We think that you need to do this one on your own, Kiddo," he said, his voice condescending. "Think about it, Ro, baby. You won your first Golden Globe with no representation. Those first films you did? Brilliant. And you had nobody to credit but yourself. You were the master of your own fate. You were the captain of your destiny. You are an independent," he spoke as a motivational speaker, his voice rising in excitement. "You are at your absolute best when you're doing things your own way."
Except that Rohan knew that voice. It wasn't motivational at all. It was 'I'm trying to make you think that I want the best for you so you don't sue my ass for breach of contract when I drop you in about two minutes.' "On my own," she dead-panned as her eyes fixated on a modest Saturn parked in front of her apartment. "You're dropping me."
The cynicism turned to apprehension. "Don't make it sound so ugly, Ro. This isn't a door closing for you. It's a bigger, brighter door opening."
"Whatever," she muttered, clicking the phone shut. Without thought, she heaved it across the room, watching it shatter against the wall. The pieces tumbled to the floor as dropped to her knees and held her forehead in her hands. That was it.
Seven years earlier, Gil had promised her that any role she wanted would be laid at her feet. All she had to do was name a director, and she would be the first name on the top of his wish list. She could do anything. Conquer anything. It hadn't been the promises that drew her in. She wasn't naive enough to believe that he could do everything he said he could. But it was the way that he spoke, like he believed in her dream, believed she could be anything that she set her mind to being. Like a father to his starry-eyed little girl, Gil had given her hope that she could have the one thing she'd always longed for - longevity as an actress.
And like a disillusioned child, she let the tears fall over her cheeks when she realized that her father-figure had turned his back on her. He had used her until she no longer benefited him, and then he dropped her on her ass, without so much as an 'are you going to be alright?' There had been a time when he had been her cheerleader when she wanted to give up. And now he had given up on her. And she had no idea how to prove him wrong.
Rule #4: Enjoy the ride. You never know when it will end.