"So? What did they say," questioned Beryl. Hank crossed his arms and replied, "Half of them want to hire you. The other half wants to cease all contact with you." The two were back at Hank's apartment, the day after the party. For the first time since impulsively ripping her shirt off, Beryl was worried about the consequences. It hit her that she might've gone too far. However, the actress' worry didn't last long. That afternoon, Hank got a call from Eugene. The ecstatic agent appeared in Beryl's doorway once more, saying "You got the part. Eugene's on the phone, Beryl, you got the part." A grin lit up the girl's face. Her stunt had paid off.
Half an hour later, the couple was caught up in celebration. They were chatting about the actress' future. The conversation wandered. "I don't want to be as strict as my parents were," mused a slightly-drunk Beryl Grace. She tapped her fingers against her wineglass. "You'll be a hippie parent, eh Bee," slurred Hank from the couch behind her. The blond turned around to face the disheveled man and immediately had to steady herself against a chair. "I, um" started Beryl. "I mean, I would give my kids some discipline," she said, struggling to keep the thought in her head. "I don't... Um..." the actress giggled, distracted by the unfocused look on Hank's face. Beryl's lover motioned for her to sit next to him. Picking her way through piles of stuff on the floor, she gasped and declared "Oh! I wanted to say that I do believe in discipline." The young beauty plunked herself down next to Hank, sinking into the couch's soft quilting.
"The only valuable thing those bastards ever gave me," Beryl mumbled into her wineglass, "is my work ethic." Beside her, the man bobbed his head, as if in understanding. "I want my children to be workers hard," Hank said, blinking sleepily. The blond frowned questioningly and asked "What?"
Hank only nodded more. "They'll really know how to strive," he continued. "Like you, Gracie. You're a fine dame." Holding her glass aloft, Beryl snuggled up to the rambling man, who lifted his arm to accommodate her. "They're only twelve and two, my kids," said Hank, yawning. Sleep overtook the two drinkers soon after that.
The year was 1984. Beryl Grace would soon turn nineteen. She'd gotten to know people in her line of work, from producers to directors and fellow actors. There were a few actors in particular that she viewed as rivals, though the "rivals" often didn't know of it themselves. One of these actors was named Margaret Castellan. They often bumped into each other at red carpet events and auditions. When Margaret started starring in a TV show and became better known, reporters took an interest in what Beryl had to say about her.
"Margaret and I have been feuding for months now," the young actress had sighed. The reporter perked up at this and began taking notes. "She keeps trying to steal my look," Beryl continued, "and she definitely stole my last boyfriend. Do you know that he committed suicide after that?"
That wasn't exactly true, of course, but nobody could find Ricky to confirm it. The young blond wasn't afraid to add a few half-truths to her story. Hank approved of this; he even suggested a couple of things to make the story juicier. "People will know your name, Beryl Grace," her agent had assured her. Soon, the "feud" escalated. The two actresses had nothing good to say about each other, reported one tabloid. They were sabotaging each other's outfits, reported another. Privately, Margaret begged Beryl to stop. But she didn't stop; after all, it was just business. Just another publicity stunt. Margaret tried feeding the reporters information of her own. Her rival managed to twist every word.
It didn't stop until late that year, when an actor was killed in a car crash. Suddenly, all the tabloid space that had been devoted to Beryl's feud was dedicated to churning and re-churning out details about the crash. The young actress was frustrated that all her hard work could disappear at a moment's notice. There has to be some way to get back into the spotlight, she thought. One week later, on a cold October day, that way was delivered to her. Ironically enough, Ricky actually had committed suicide. Beryl only found out when one of her old friends drove his van to Hank's apartment. She was told that the van had been left to Beryl in Ricky's will.
The young actress was in shock. Ricky - sweet, well-meaning Ricky - was gone forever. She wanted to know where he'd been, what made him kill himself, and if he'd been with another girl when he died. Beryl's friend only knew so much. A tiny voice in the back of Beryl's mind was left wondering: could I have saved him if we'd been together? There was no way to know. Up late one night, crying, the actress decided she knew what Ricky would've wanted. Beryl Grace decided on her next stunt.
First, the blond put on makeup as if preparing for an event. Then she took most of the pillows and bedding out of Hank's apartment, grateful that her lover was with his family for the night. At two in the morning, Beryl haphazardly drove herself to a Paramount back lot, where she borrowed a helmet and stuntman's padding. Once everything was set up, she drove onto the freeway.
Beryl's eyes were blurred with tears. There weren't a lot of other cars on the freeway at that time of night. Up ahead, the actress saw a limo. She pushed her foot down on the gas pedal and went towards it, full speed. As Beryl closed in, two other cars pulled onto the road behind the limo. Perfect.
Pushing the van at its top speed, Beryl rushed ahead of the limo. Then, making a sharp right turn, she blocked its path. The limo slammed its brakes, but it was too late. An impact shook Beryl's van as metal crunched into metal. She heard more brakes screaming from outside and another impact jolted through the crash. The young actress pulled off her stunt vest gingerly – her arm hurt like hell – and tried to fix her helmet-hair through the pain. Muffled shouts reached her from outside. Is my mascara okay, Beryl fretted. After all, she had to look good when the press arrived.