THIS : THIS IS THE SOFTENING, PITIFUL GAZE OF A GIRL WHO KNOWS. green eyes, peering back as she sees herself in the cocaine haze ā¦ hands cup teddyās face gently, one pulling away to gently stroke back some of her platinum locks. charlotte sighs, and swallows the feeling of crying, because this isnāt her spotlight, she knows it well, but this is an old reflection. and thatās even worse.
ā hey. hey. itās good youāre talking to me. ā Ā soft, gentle, under her breath. this is the most gentle sheās been in a while, and it feels good, maybe a bit self-gratuitous, but she thinks : if not her, then who? another hand pushes back teddyās hair, and she can smell the booze and the bile and the salt of her tears. oh, man. popstar to popstar, how funny is it. they all follow the same patterns. itās the hollywood way. the path has been carved by starlets and crooners, who are all buried in the hollywood forever cemetery, and charlotte hopes sheāll never end up there, and if she does, she prefers the la brea tarpits. and she hopes some hugh hefner type never tries to get buried next to her.
the green room is beautiful, and it smells of palo santo and vanilla. the fridge is fully stocked, the minibar is complimentary, and itās obvious that teddy has had her share. the empty glasses and the shattered ones on the carpet tell too much of a story, and it hurts to watch. thereās the roar of a crowd outside, and she can hear the frantic shouts of crew members getting her set together, and she simply sighs, and breathes through it. she can be late. sheās the star. and sheās not scared, not for herself, anyways. ā youāll get through this. i want to help you. tell me how. ā
