"Perfect! Cut! Print!" the director, Rodney
Hanson, shouted, clapping his hands together. "You were great, Stace! Let's
call it a day!"
Anastasia Bailey
slid off the bench she was posing on, and smoothed the wrinkles out of her
floral sundress. "Great," she said in a tired voice, whipping off her straw hat
with the pink ribbon tied around the brim.
"So…I'll see you
tomorrow." Rod patted her shoulder. "You were sensational."
"Thanks," Stacey
smiled, but she looked sleepy. "I can't wait to get home."
Stacey trudged
slowly off to the changing room in the studio, where she changed into designer
jeans and a spaghetti-strap top. Then she got into her silver Honda in the
parking lot and sped for home.
Stacey slammed on
the brakes as the amber light flashed to red. Around her, New York City was
bustling with nightlife. People rushed around from restaurants to the theater
or museum. Glamorous superstars moved slowly in their fancy limousines. The
skyscrapers provided an exciting backdrop for the busy city.
Stacey leaned
back, fluffing her curly blond hair. It hadn't been too long since that
faithful Friday evening ten years ago, when she was still a nobody…
Stacey was dining
with her father at the Hard Rock Café when she headed to the washroom for a quick
stop. While she was rinsing her hands at the sink, the woman next to her seemed
to pause, staring at something.
"May I help you?"
Stacey had asked, taking in the woman with her golden perm, bright blue eyes,
and loads of glittering jewelry. She was surrounded in a cloud of perfume.
The woman gasped
dramatically, putting a hand to her mouth. "Oh, my gosh! I can't believe it!
You're perfect!" Stacey was confused. But after the woman introduced herself,
everything was clear.
She was Tamara
Gilford, a talent agent for the modeling agency, Catwalk. She had been scouting
around New York City unsuccessfully for two weeks until she discovered Stacey,
whom Tamara declared "just right".
Ever since then,
Stacey's life was one long road of success. She became a supermodel, traveling
all over the world to Europe and Australia. At twenty-four, Stacey ventured
into the drama business under the wing of Eliza Jameson, a veteran
seventy-two-year-old actress. One year later, Stacey's career really took off
and she got engaged to Carl Bailey, her co-star in her third movie, Underwater
Spies. But unfortunately, the marriage didn't work out.
Now, three years
after Underwater Spies, Stacey was acting in a hit comedy sitcom as a college
student. She was currently single, but still searching for a boyfriend.
The light turned
green and the driver behind Stacey horned impatiently, jolting her out of her
thoughts. Stacey stepped on the accelerator, and the car started moving again.
Back in the apartment,
her answering machine had "4" flashing. She hit a button and the messages
started to play. The first was from her mom. "Hi Sweetheart. I haven't heard
from you in a long time. Please call me as soon as you are free. I love you."
The second and
third were from various directors or film producers, requesting her to reply as
soon as possible. They wanted her to act in their upcoming movies. Stacey
grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil, jotting down their names and contact
numbers.
The last message
was from someone whose voice she couldn't recognize.
"Stacey? Um…this
is…Kristy. Kristy DuMoulin." There was a long pause. Stacey sat forward with a
start, her headache momentarily forgotten.
"Well…I wanted to
ask you…uh…if you're free to come to…Dawn's wedding. The date hasn't been
confirmed…yet…but it will be a great time to…catch up…you know, sort of
like…the old times. Please, uh, call me back at this number." This was followed
by a phone number that Stacey immediately scribbled down.
"So…that's it.
See you…I hope." There was a click as Kristy hung up.
It only took a
split second for Stacey to pick up the receiver and start dialing.
