Part I

Aubrey

Chapter One

“Bartleby & Pompey”

Feb. 21, 2017: Los Angeles, CA

“So, is 2017 the year that you finally get what you most covet? Do you agree with the critics that Solace Alone is your greatest role?”

Why does this overly-tanned Miss Universe reject always ask me the same fucking question? Does she not understand how dangerous skin cancer is? It kills nearly 8,000 people every year. Of course not; she is not even a real journalist—she probably does not even watch what passes for news on her network.

And, look, there is that ridiculous fluorescent-pink card again. Does she cross out the previous nomination year with a glitter pen and write the current one down? For fuck’s sake, is this really what eighteen years in this industry has devolved into—being asked questions from the same type of notecard an eight-year-old girl might study her vocabulary words?

“Cordelia?” hesitantly asked a mid-western accent, interrupting the irritated ruminations of Cordelia Wainwright.

“You know, Patti, I am just happy to be nominated again,” Cordelia politely answered.

“Well, you must be the happiest woman in Hollywood, this being your seventh nomination. Will this be lucky number seven?”

This bitch!

Attempting to remain calm, Cordelia answered, “I do not believe in luck or superstitions, Patti. I had enough of that bullshite…oh, dear… Cut! Right, we will do that again.

“I do not believe in luck or superstitions, Patti. The summer I turned twelve, my mother traveled across the UK with the RSC, playing Lady Macbeth—a role she was born to play. I whistled backstage at every dress rehearsal and performance, and never once was she crushed by a sandbag.

“That said, while Solace Alone is my seventh overall nomination, it is only my fifth for Best Actress. The other two were for Best Supporting Actress, one of which, as you mentioned, I won.”

“Yes, but that was seventeen years ago. Surely—” Patti started.

Nope, not this year, I am over this bullshite!

“Right, let me stop you there, Patti, before you alienate every film actress who has never been nominated for what they thought was the performance of their life. I was fortunate enough to win an Oscar for my very first film. I have made thirty-six since—five, which won Best Picture. My body of work speaks for itself. So, no, I am not sitting at home night after night lovingly stroking my goddamn Oscar like Gollum and calling it ‘my precious’ in the hopes of completing a set.

“Cut! Can I say ‘goddamn’ on American broadcast telly? UK censors are more liberal, you see. Just edit that part, if need be, Patti. Next question…”

Smile.

Frazzled by Cordelia’s profanity, Patti attempted to refocus the interview. “Yes, well… you have some heavy competition this year. You’re up against your BFF and former Best Actress winner Aubrey Taylor.”

“Yes.”

Just smile when she asks it…

Smirking, Patti asked, “Does it put any strain on your friendship, or is it just a good-old-fashioned ‘friendly’ rivalry?”

With a plastered smile on her face, Cordelia answered, “Aubrey is a very talented actress, so I am honored to be nominated alongside her again.”

“I guess you take some pride in her past win since you were the one who discovered her.”

Silence.

“Cordelia?”

“Oh, pardon me. I was not sure if that was a question or just supposition on your part.

“No, I do not take pride in the success of my much-talked-about great ‘discovery.’ Quite frankly, I find that question not only stupid but offensive, especially since I only ‘discovered’ Aubrey because Emma Jones got knocked up and had to drop out three months before shooting started on Nightingales.”

* * *

May 15, 2008: Los Angeles, CA

Cordelia stood off to the side, silently observing the cast and crew of her latest film, Chimera. They were drinking champagne and talking amongst themselves about their upcoming projects.

This being her twentieth film and the eleventh as a co-producer, she was used to having to attend these events. She’d smile and pretend to sip champagne, constantly checking her Van Cleef & Arpels watch every few minutes to see if thirty minutes had elapsed. Etiquette demanded that she spend half an hour with the people who tirelessly worked on a movie for which she would make gobs of money—or, so her mother said. But then, not a second after half-past whatever hour, her good-natured but shockingly stupid assistant, Keisha, would appear like a bit too overweight cherub from the heavens to inform everyone that Ms. Wainwright had a call. Then Cordelia would politely excuse herself from the festivities. Not that anyone probably noticed or cared, since no one dared to speak to her at these parties or on set, since it was a very spoken rule that no one should ever start an unsolicited conversation with her.

“Um, would you like a fresh glass of champagne, Ms. Wainwright?” asked a raspy female voice from the side.

Cordelia turned toward the voice and saw a dark-haired young woman, wearing a way too short red skirt, holding two glasses of champagne—one presumably for her.

What is this girl’s name? She played the sister of Jonathan… Audra? Aurora?

The girl’s fiery light-brown eyes twinkled when she realized Cordelia had no idea who was standing before her. “Um, it’s Aubrey. I was in three scenes with you and Jon,” she clarified as she pushed a glass of champagne toward Cordelia.

“Yes, right. I was impressed with how well you paced your lines in the courtroom scene.” Cordelia took the offered glass and nervously gulped down half of it.

“Really! That means a lot coming from you. Thank you so much!” Aubrey said way too enthusiastically.

Chill out, Aubrey; she’s gonna think you’re a stalker. Speak normal, not like Jennifer Jason Leigh.

“But, if I’m being completely candid, I sorta drew on your confession scene from The Honesty of the Law.”

Nope, that was so much fucking worse.

And then something happened that no one had heard once on the fifteen-week shoot of Chimera, Cordelia laughed. “Well, I hope your interpretation plays better with the critics. ‘Let’s be honest folks; Cordelia Wainwright hasn’t given an authentic performance since drowning herself in Hamlet.’”

Without thinking, Aubrey derisively said, “Who gives a fuck what the critics think, right?”

This elicited a louder laugh from Cordelia. Upon hearing it, a few party-goers wondered if she might be drunk.

“I expect the studios and the audience.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—” Aubrey embarrassedly began.

“Don’t be. It’s refreshing to hear the truth in this hellscape of a town. ‘Hell is empty and all the devils are here,’ you know.”

“ ‘But are they, Ariel?’ ”Aubrey asked.

Surprise washed over Cordelia’s face. “You know The Tempest, do you?”

“I did a lot of summer stock in high school.”

“Impressive…at least to me. My mother, on the other hand, would have told you that you skipped a few lines,” Cordelia said sardonically.

As Aubrey was about to say something she just knew Cordelia would find amusing, a rather nervous-sounding Texas drawl interrupted her.

“Oh, thank goodness I found you, Ms. Wainwright! You have an important call.”

Perturbed by the disturbance, Cordelia turned around and shot her plump assistant Keisha the ‘not fucking now’ look.

“It’s a really important call, ma’am,” hesitantly said the confused assistant.

Agitated by Keisha’s persistence, Cordelia turned back toward Aubrey. “Please excuse her, Aubrey. She was raised by a pack of East Texas wolves, who did not emphasize manners.”

Oblivious as always, Keisha corrected her boss. “We don’t have wolves in East Texas, Ma’am. We do have coyotes, though.”

Cordelia whipped back around so fast that the assistant awkwardly stumbled backward. “Goddammit, Keisha! I do not need a zoological tutorial, nor do I presently need that ‘really’ important phone call.”

Having regained her momentary loss of balance, Keisha stared at Cordelia as though she had no idea what to do or say next. She could see the muscles in Cordelia’s jaws tightening and her icy-blue eyes narrowing. She knew if she didn’t speak up instantly, there would be a repeat of the time when she accidentally coughed and didn’t cover her mouth. She’d been ‘sacked,’ Ms. Wainwright’s word, for three days before Cordelia called and said all was forgiven.

Yeah, right, all was certainly not forgiven! Keisha thought.

First, Cordelia routinely sacked her, but because her boss loathed having new people around, almost more than poor hygiene, she was always rehired within the week. Second, she had to wear a surgical mask for nearly a month afterward, which caused a rash to break out on the bridge of her nose, which caused Cordelia to glare suspiciously at her for another week after that.

“Brenda and Geoffrey are in your dressing room,” the words tumbled out almost as quickly as the assistant scurried away to avoid telling Cordelia why.

Oh, this isn’t good, Cordelia thought uneasily.

And, then, without so much as a wave back at the young woman she’d been bantering with, she set off for her dressing room, somewhat hearing Aubrey say behind her, “Um, well, it was nice talking to you, Ms. Wainwright.”