Kirsten knew that the moment she stepped out onto the sidewalk in an evening dress, she would be labeled a slut. There were always paparazzi in front of this hotel. There was no way she could even make it to a taxi without at least 20 pictures being taken.
Kirsten lay naked in bed and looked at the clock. God, it was already 10:30am! Soon housekeeping would be knocking on the door. And where the hell was Richard? Then she vaguely remembered that he had left late last night to go home to his wife. At least he had booked the room in a fake name, and no one had seen her come in last nght.
For the hundredth time Kirsten wondered how stupid she could be to have an affair with a married man. And how stupid was Richard’s wife? How many late night “production meeting” did she believe he really had?
Of course, if Kirsten was a different type of actress, none of this would have mattered. If she played the sexy tramp in movies, her off-screen affairs would have actually boosted her career.
But Kirsten’s persona was the “Good Girl”. In comedies she was the High School sweetheart. In horror films she was the virgin who stayed alive while the killer butchered the sluts. Of course, the biggest money makes were when she played magical princesses. Kirsten’s slim features, small stature and sweet looks meant that she constantly played characters 10 or 15 years younger than her real age of 28.
Kirsten got out of bed, put on her bra and panties, and considered her options. There was nothing in the room to wear except her floor length, black evening dress and high heals. She could call the studio then decided against it. They had been looking for a reason to break her contract and bring in a younger less expensive actress. Kirsten was pretty sure there was a “morals clause” busied somewhere in her contract.
There was no way Kirsten was going to break her contract. She loved the money, and there was no way she was going back to being poor.
Out of habit, Kirsten picked up the remote and clicked on the T.V. The channel that came on was the internal one showing all of the day’s events at the hotel. Kirsten sat on the bed and vaguely watched while she tried to think of a way out of her situation. Then as she read through the events, she had a Epiphany. She searched thought the closet and drawers of the hotel room until she found what she was looking for. The hotel sewing kit was small and the scissors were tiny, but they would work.
“If they want me to be a princess, then I’ll be a goddamned princess!” Kirsten said to herself.
Later than evening Kirsten was alone in her apartment, feeling tired, but satisfied. She has made it through another day with her “good girl” image intact. She sipped a glass of white wine and turned on the local news. She had to sit through 15 minutes of stories about fires and car wrecks until the program got to the “feel good” portion of the news.
The anchor woman read the story,
“Today children at the Excelsior Hotel got a thrill when Kirsten O’Reilly showed up at the annual fundraising event for underprivileged youth. Kirsten was dressed as her famous character ‘The Tattered Princess’ complete with the magic cape and ripped beggar girl dress. Lovers of that movie will remember that the barefoot beggar girl in the ripped dress turns into a princess when she finds a magic cape.”
Kirsten gulped down more wine as the news program continued. It showed Kirsten smiling to the kids and shaking hands while the fund raisers thanked her profusely for coming. The tattered dress was a $5,000 Versache gown she had cut to ribbons with the hotel scissors. The “magic cape” was the comforter from the hotel bed.
Kirsten shook her head when she realized how close her career had come to ending today. She vowed she would never have another affair. But the fundraiser had been hosted by a very handsome man named John Reynolds. He had invited Kirsten to go swimming at his place in The Hamptons that weekend. John had also mentioned that his wife would be out of town for a few weeks. When no one else was looking he slipped Kirsten his cell phone number.
Kirsten reached for more wine and on the table saw the piece of paper with John’s cell phone number on it. “I would have to be crazy to call him,” she said out loud.
Kirsten drank some more wine and then spoke to herself again. “Of course, the weather is going to be very hot this weekend, and The Hamptons are beautiful.” Then she sighed, and reached over for the slip of paper.