NAME: Marina Lee
FACE CLAIM: Zoe Kravitz
AGE: 28
TITLE: The Desperado
OCCUPATION: Disco Queen
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
“Oh, honey. Did you write these questions? They’re quite terrible but keep on truckin’, baby. But, wholeheartedly? This. I’d be doing this. Wouldn’t change it for the world. I love what I goddamn do. I love my fans, my team ━ the support from everyone has been out of this fucking world. I get to have a career in music ━ how many people can truly say that? It may not always be glitz and glam ━ a lot of smoke and mirrors but it’s real. Raw. Indescribable. I’m lucky to be where I am.”
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
“I’ve been everywhere, baby. Italy, England, Poland, Greece, France. But the place that’s always stuck with me? Tokyo, Japan. Life-changing. Talk about a culture shock. I’m from a small town in Kentucky. You think we get to see this shit every day?”
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
“My talent. Excuse my forwardness but no one is doing what I’m doing for this industry. I’m single handedly shaping disco. Now, you can roll your eyes at me. Think I’m some egotistical tramp. But it’s true ━ the tabloids know it. My fans know it. Shit, even Billy Pepper knows it. It’s why he signed me ━ I had more than enough potential. Don’t like how I hold myself in high regards? Then don’t listen to my music, baby.”
You grew up in a middle-class, over-the-top Catholic household in Bumblefuck, Kentucky, where venom-induced syllables and harsh blows to the side of your skull was considered “positive reinforcement”. Tears often stained the flesh of your cheeks. You were never good enough. Never smart enough. Never… pretty enough. Everything you did was seemingly fucking wrong. How could you have expected anything different? You weren’t the daughter your parents had prayed for. You tried, but you never succeeded. You were too much of your own person, for fucks sake. Too loud. Too gritty. Spoke what was on your mind. Stood for what you believed in. Hell, it was unacceptable ━ especially in a town as modest as your own. So, every time your father’s hand came into contact with your cheek, a little piece of you died. Sadness turned into anger. Anger turned into defiance. Defiance turned into… inspiration. Your skirts got a little shorter. Your mouth got a little more… valiant. You reeked of bourbon, one-night stands, and feel-good music. Bruises may have lined your flesh and your father may have hoped that God would save you, but for the first time in a long time, you felt liberated. Happy.
(Note: A few years later) You started out in basements. It wasn’t much but you simply didn’t mind. As long as you were able to sing, you didn’t care where you were performing ━ How fucking liberating was that? But as the audiences grew larger and more interested in what you had to offer, you realized how goddamn talented you truly were and something inside of you altered. All of these people? Cheering for you? Praising your entire being and the sound of your voice? Fucking life-changing. Fuck your part-time waitressing job at some shitty, run-down diner. You wanted something more out of this life. Craved it. No, needed it. So, when a Fusetone representative mysteriously ended up at one of your gigs, in the middle of absolutely nowhere, you could feel yourself losing touch with reality. “You know,” they had said, “I’ve had my eye on you, Marina ━ Billy’s impressed.” Billy fucking Pepper? Impressed with you? Yeah, your body went numb. There was no way you were being signed by Fusetone ━ one of the biggest goddamn labels known to man.
But oh, you were so wrong, Rin. Because when they had flown you out to LA for a few recording sessions, they practically had dollar signs in their eyes. Billy Pepper knew what you were capable of. What you would be able to do for his label. For the music industry and everything in between. So you moved out to LA in a haste manner, barely crossing your t’s and dotting your i’s. You signed a deal without reading in between the lines and yes, it may have not been your brightest moment. But it was fucking uncanny how quickly you rose to stardom. The tabloids couldn’t get enough of you ━ Who is the Disco Queen sleeping with now? Sources say [The Gold Dust], Billy Pepper’s son/daughter! Marina Lee on drugs? Turn to page 21 to find out! Paparazzi had no goddamn boundaries ━ trailed you at home. Restaurants. Clubs. For a while, you felt like you couldn’t… breathe. Fame was beginning to eat away at you in the worst fucking way possible and the more you grew, the deeper your anxieties buried themselves within your bones. Maybe you shouldn’t have jumped into this so fast ━ so bare, so open. You were just a small town girl, afterall. Nothing could have prepared you for this and hell, you’re starting to realize that nothing will ever be enough for you. You’re on the verge of being a fucking disco legend but with the crowds you’re hanging out with and the drugs you’re consuming at 3 A.M. at some hole-in-the-wall club, you’re beginning to “burn the candle at both ends, all while trying to keep up with your dreams”.
