Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 14

  We went on like that, playful sex becoming passionate, becoming intense, becoming playful again. It was probably one of the best nights of my entire life.

  *

  Things were going great in LA. The script work for Adam’s movie was barely a job. It was just fun. And though Corinne was quite busy filming her movie, we still got to spend plenty of time together. Although a lot of that time was sneaking around and trying to keep it secretive. At first I was a little perturbed about having to keep our budding relationship clandestine. I mean, I’d been up front with everybody in my life about being a lesbian for longer than my memory really served me. So why should I have to pretend like I wasn’t sleeping with Corinne? I wanted to hold her hand, I wanted to kiss in her public. I wanted to leap up on the table at a nice restaurant and scream out to all the patrons, “I’m sleeping with a movie star! Jealous?!”

  But instead we had to stay low-key. Luckily, though, since our “friendship” had already been established in the public’s eyes, as well as the “fact” that we were just friends, we could be seen out at cafes together, seen chatting around the studio. It wasn’t the Hollywood insiders that cared about what we were doing, it was the media and the public, always looking for some sort of juicy story to gobble up.

  I became accustomed to it, though, after a while. And I understood. Corinne was sweet about it. It just became part of the game of our relationship. She would be seen out at a restaurant, having dinner with Cam Ryan, but she would spend her nights with me next to her in bed. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make to make it all work with Corinne.

  The two of us sat across a small table from one another, lounging outside at a bistro-style cafe, sipping lattes, waiting for our brunch to arrive. It was another beautifully sunny LA day, a Saturday, both of us in oversized dark sunglasses and dressed down for the occasion. It was idyllic. While a couple of people whispered around us as they recognized Corinne, no one really bugged us.

  “So you’re just about finished, right?” said Corinne, setting her coffee cup down onto a saucer.

  “Yeah,” I mused absently. “I think they’ve got it figured out from here. My work is done.”

  “So what’s next for you?” she smiled happily over at me, her pink lips full and inviting. She wore just the slightest hint of lipstick. “Heading back to New York? Maybe thinking about what we talked about a few months ago?”

  “What did we talk about a few months ago?” I asked with confusion.

  “Something of your own,” she said matter-of-factly. “Like, maybe your own show. Funny female lead.”

  “That’s a great title for it,” I said. “Funny Female Lead staring Tabitha Bloom.” Corinne tittered.

  “Right?” she said. “I think you should do it, Tab.”

  “I don’t think it’s as easy as I should just do it.”

  “You know a lot of people…” said Corinne. “A lot of powerful people.”

  “Like who?” I said incredulously.

  “George Madison,” said Corinne.

  “George?” I scoffed. “Well, I mean, sure… he produces a lot of shows.”

  “He basically runs comedy television in New York,” said Corinne, her lips flat, speaking to me like she was trying to gracefully lead me through a door I wasn’t willing to walk through.

  “Huh,” I considered, thinking about George. Would he give me a show of my own? Would he be willing to lose me as head writer for This Saturday just so I could selfishly go off and do my own thing?

  “Look, Tab,” said Corinne. “You’re funny. You’re pretty. You can act. Why wouldn’t this work for you?”

  “Why wouldn’t it work?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “Uh, because I’m clumsy. Because I have difficulty following through and seeing stuff to completion. I actually kind of like having a layer of responsible people above me in case whatever I’m doing bombs.”

  “Tab,” she said, skeptical, her sunglasses darting away from me for a moment.

  “What?” I said. “I’m just being honest.”

  “You’re just making excuses,” she said. “I just want you to think about it. You can’t stay at This Saturday forever. Everybody moves on from there eventually.”

  “I figured I could, you know, just settle down with you and be a housewife,” I said, grinning madly at her.

  “Think again,” said Corinne with a saucy laugh. “I like people who are just as driven to be successful as I am. And I see that in you.”

  “It’s so much effort,” I mock-whined, stomping my feet on the pavement underneath.

  Corinne looked at me authoritatively and pushed her sunglasses up her forehead, holding them there to allow me to see into her eyes. She gave me the stare of my life.

  “This is possible for you,” she said. “Don’t squander your opportunity.”

  I sat there silently for a few moments more, pondering Corrine’s assertions. She made some really good arguments. It wasn’t so far fetched that I could have my own show. Whenever I did appear on camera on This Saturday, the audience loved me. I was responsible for a ton of the writing on the show. I was a leader. And despite all the things I’d told myself about myself over the last couple of years, I actually was becoming somewhat of a celebrity. It just didn’t feel real, though. Do you know what I mean? Like, imposter syndrome to the max. I found it all hard to really believe just yet, really accept deep inside of me.

  “If you had a show, Tab,” brainstormed Corinne. “What would it be about?”

  “Oh man,” I said. “It would be a circus.”

  “So you’ve thought about it?” she said, cracking a smile. “Wait, you literally mean a circus?”

  “No,” I said. “But, actually, that would be hilarious.”

  “So what would your show be like?”

  “I guess,” I said, thinking deeply on it. I would lying if I told you I hadn’t thought about having my own show before. It just wasn’t a thought I liked to admit out loud. “Well, it would just sort of be a heightened, more comedic version of my life.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’d be the head writer of a comedy show,” I said, grinning as I thought about it. “Goofy cast of characters, a lot of over the top actors, all loving their own stink, it would make me look sane by comparison.”

  “I like it,” said Corinne. “I think it’s a good idea. Write what you know.”

  “Maybe I’ll start working on something,” I said, beginning to like the idea now that it was out in the open. “Maybe that’s what I’ll do from now until This Saturday starts back up.”

  “That’s great, Tab.” Corinne gave me an adoring smile and reached across the table, placing her hand atop mine. She was such a sweetheart, such a great person. If you ever had the thought that big celebrities were assholes, you just had to meet Corinne and she would totally melt your heart. This chick was going places. Well, okay, she was already in some pretty high places but she was going even higher.

  “Hey,” I said. “My friend Sarah is trying to get me to do one last set tonight at the Comedy Stand. You know, before I’m kicked out of my LA digs and have to go back to New York. Would you want to come watch me? It would be really short.”

  “I—“ said Corinne, making a bit of a face. I didn’t know why, but I could tell she was a bit hung up about the request.

  “What?”

  “I would love to,” she said, weakly smiling.

  “C’mon,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I worry that I’m going to get a little teased if I’m there with you,” she said. “You know, because of the whole CMZ thing. Comedians are a brutal bunch. I usually just stay with the actors.”

  “You may get teased,” I said. “That’s a real possibility. But I’ll protect you as best as I can.”

  “Okay,” she said, “I’ll come.”

  It was then that our brunch was delivered, our waiter delicately placing our plates down in front of us. I couldn’t believe what Corinne was doing to me… doing for me. All
I could think about was material for my new show. And building up the courage to talk to George about it. Corinne was right, just like usual. I knew the people who could make this happen. I even started casting it in my head. LA had given me so much in such a short amount of time. And Corinne, she was like my guardian angel or something. I don’t think I’d ever felt this way about somebody before. I’d been “in love” before, the kind of love where you think you feel it, and you say you feel it, but it was different with Corinne. I can’t really put it to words. When you really feel it, you know.

  *

  “All right,” I said, standing up from the small table and taking one more sip of my beer. “I’m up next. Sarah, be nice to Corinne. And if anybody comes up trying to get an autograph or something, feel free to smack them.”

  “Aye aye,” said Sarah, saluting me. Corinne just laughed. She fondled the glass of wine in front of her of which she’d only had a sip or two.

  “I doubt anybody’s going to bug me here,” said Corinne, looking around. “I think they’re all pretty focused on the show.”

  “Hey Tab,” said Sarah. “You don’t mind if I flirt with your girl while you’re away, do you?” Sarah grinned and then looked over to Corinne. “Listen, C, I’m way funnier than Tab and I have no sexual boundaries because I had a very poor childhood.” Corinne looked as though she’d been spooked, her eyes darting to me looking for an answer.

  “Ignore her,” I said. “Sarah’s nice to look at, fine to listen to when she’s on stage, but insufferable in real life. Just pretend you’re at some sort of press junket, smile, answer her questions vaguely, and be patient.”

  “Noted,” said Corinne.

  “Hey!” said Sarah, putting her hands on her hips. “Don’t spoil this for me, Tab.”

  “They callin’ me,” I intoned jokingly, giving the girls both an excited grin, as I turned from the table and jogged up toward the stage.

  Saturdays at the Comedy Stand were a lot more animated and busy than almost any other night. The crowd was still an amalgam of actual audience members and comedians, but other actors and Hollywood types were also smattered throughout. It was like this open secret, the Comedy Stand, the kind of place you could go and see someone really famous, such as Corinne, in attendance or see some sort of insanely historic comedian come up and do a quick five minutes, just because they happened to be there that night. It was just one of those awesome rooms, low ceiling, kind of scummy, cheap drinks, formerly smokey before everybody stopped smoking, the kind of club that comedians loved to play.

  The funny thing about it was that if you were a famous comedian you could just come in, do a quick set on a whim, and nobody cared. But only if you had a certain cache. And I found out, by going to the Stand and asking for a set that Saturday night, that I indeed had that cache. It was thrilling.

  “Put your hands together,” said the evening’s host, Paul Osbourne, a pretty well-known comedian who’d been on a number of sitcoms. “For my good friend Tab Bloom!” Paul began clapping as he turned from the microphone and made his way toward me, waiting in the wings.

  “Did you bring Corinne Holmstrom tonight?” Paul asked me as we met, the din of applause surrounding us.

  “Maybe,” I said with a grin and a shrug.

  “You’re crazy, Tab,” he said. “Get up there.” Paul grinned and then thumbed me in the direction of the stage.

  Feeling that excited nervousness move through me, I scurried out on stage and grabbed at the mic. The applause continued as I smiled out to the audience, thanking them profusely.

  “Thank you,” I said again as the commotion died down. “I just want to thank the Comedy Stand for letting me come out here and for making my time in LA a super fun and awesome experience!” The crowd applauded once again. I could see Corinne smiling happily up at me, her eyes completely focused on me, almost as though she were in awe. There was real love in her gaze.

  “So, I’m a New Yorker,” I said. A couple of people booed. “Yeah, I know, we’ve got a bit of a rivalry going on. But don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love LA. I’ve had such a good time out here,” I said to some light applause.

  “But I do have to criticize you about something, so don’t take this the wrong way,” I said. “Why are you all so damn happy? Is it the sun? Is it because everybody’s rich? It can’t be the traffic. I mean, I’ve never played so much sudoku while driving a car in my life.”

  “See, New Yorkers, we’re always rushing around, grunting and groaning, giving you the stink eye,” I continued. “And for good reason. You’re in our way!” The crowd laughed.

  “Out here, everybody’s so positive,” I said, beginning to affect a kind of relaxed hippie vibe. “Yeah, man, I mean, I’ll be there. Of course I’ll be there. Brunch? Totally! Your art opening? You know it!” I smiled, shaking my head. “But let’s just say, you’re all a little… optimistic about what you can get accomplished in a single day.” Again, the audience laughed and applauded.

  “Wait, so you’ve got to meet up with a taco truck at 8:00 in Venice and you think you’re going to make it out to West Hollywood for my show by 8:30?” I said sarcastically. “Okay,” I said skeptically. “See you there!”

  “Even though I absolutely love your city,” I said, smiling, thinking of how wonderful LA had been to me. I looked out at Corinne’s beautifully fair face. “Even though this place is magical, I admit that I’m ready to get back to New York.”

  It was true. I loved New York. I belonged there. The magic of LA couldn’t go on forever, I knew that. And I desperately hoped, as I considered returning home, that Corinne would be there with me. There’s nothing quite like New York in autumn. Of course, the winter was a shit show. But autumn in New York was the perfect time for romance. And I wanted to spend it with Corinne. I wanted to figure this whole thing out that we were doing, find some sort of answer where we could make it work without causing the stupid celebrity media to eat her alive or inspire casting directors to look the other way when considering her for a role. I knew it was possible. I knew we could make this work.

  “New York is like… LA’s older brother,” I said. “We start all the treads and you just try to imitate them, but still, for some weird reason, Mom loves you better.” A round of laughter. “‘But I was here first!’ New York cries out.”

  I paused, looking out, feeling really fulfilled. I think Corinne was right. I think I could handle my own show.

  “‘Yeah,’ says LA. ‘But do you see how tan I am?’”

  The crowd once more laughed, clapped, applauded, as I replaced the microphone on the stand and put my hand up in a final wave.

  “I’m Tab Bloom,” I said into the mic. “You can find me writing the best jokes on TV. Goodnight!”

  Even though I was only given five minutes to peddle my wares, it was such an enjoyable five. It reminded me of my Chicago days, of a time in my life that was a lot less structured and a lot more risky. Getting up on a stage in front of just a handful of people, you never knew if you were going to succeed or bomb. Sure, we had bombs on This Saturday, and they hurt, but that was a joint effort. We were all responsible. If a joke fell flat, it might have been the cast member’s delivery. But when you’re running your own ship, when you’re the only one up there, you just never know how it’s going to go. And that feeling, albeit scary, is really invigorating.

  *

  I sat cross-legged on Corinne’s couch with my laptop first in my lap, then I put it on the coffee table, and then I moved it back into my lap. I was playing with the built-in camera, trying to find an angle that didn’t make me look so disheveled. It was morning, I had only recently woken up, and I had a video call meeting scheduled. I really hated video calls, especially in the morning, because you had to appear presentable in them. It was stressing me out. And I had just had a sweaty roll in the sheets with Corinne, a little morning romp, so I wasn’t prepared for the anxiety that having a camera trained on my face this early would bring.

  But the call h
ad to happen. The call was with George.

  As I continued fussing with my laptop, Corinne slowly traipsed into the living room, hair damp from a shower, wearing a white towel hung around her waist. She always did that and it was just so damn sexy to me. She’d shower and then wander around the house topless, only covered from her waist down. I looked over to her as she walked past the couch and she gave me an adoring smile.

  “Are you ready?” she asked softly.

  “If you keep walking around like that,” I said, motioning toward her state of undress. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep myself on track.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking down at her chest. “Should I put a top on?”

  “I—“ I said, interrupting myself. “No, please don’t. I mean, that’s just perfect.” I starred at her, feeling lust in my loins and love in my heart.

  “Okay,” she said, slipping across the tile hallway once more. “I’m going to make an espresso. Would you like one?”

  “Please,” I said. I watched Corinne as she moved, her back gorgeously slender and lissome, her shoulders perfectly straight, just amazing posture. The towel around her waist gave the slightest view of the top of her butt crack, giving me the sudden daydream of running over to her and yanking the towel down off her legs so that I could bury my face into her ass.

  No Tab, stop thinking about that. You have business at hand.

  Finally getting my laptop positioned so that I appeared somewhat put together, I brought up the video chat app and looked for George’s contact in my address book. I had tried to figure out what I could possibly say to him, tried to prepare for what kind of questions he might ask me, but he was such a weirdly even yet unpredictable man. I figured that it would be my best bet to just try to match his demeanor. I could just lay out what I was generally thinking, get his input, and run with whatever he wanted. I was willing to compromise.