Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Read online

  “Did you get the sketches?” I asked. “They’re just drafts, we’re working them out and have a meeting later to tighten things up.”

  “I did,” said Corinne. “Funny. I can already feel my heart racing. Live TV. Wow!”

  “We’re still working on that cornerstone sketch, you know?” I said. “The one that people are going to talk about, millions of views on the internet. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Me?” asked Corinne with genuine surprise. “You want me to pitch an idea?”

  “Sure,” I said. “We always ask the guest if they want to do anything. You’re the star, after all. If there’s a recurring sketch you want to be a part of, we can make that happen. If you have a funny idea you’ve been holding on to, we can try to work with it. Hit me with it, C,” I said, trying to imitate a hip hop intonation. “Gimme the cheddar, Holmie.”

  “Holmie?” repeated Corinne, her blue eyes wide, her smile growing. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You get it?” I said. “Your last name…”

  “I get it,” she said, nodding with an irrepressible smile. “You’re hilarious, Tab.”

  “People say that,” I said. “But I just feel like I’m in a coma or something and this is the imaginary world I’ve built up for myself.”

  “Sometimes I feel like that, too,” said Corinne. “You may not know this about me, but I was always kind of a geek growing up. I was a theater geek in high school but as soon as I sprouted these tits,” she said, her eyes getting big, her hands spreading out in front of her breasts. “Well, it all sort of became easier.”

  “That would have been nice,” I said. “I grew a hunchback and got half-chewed caramels lobbed in my hair. Funny how things work out.”

  “Stop,” said Corinne, laughing louder.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling like a deer in headlights. But I couldn’t stop. As I inspired laughter from Corinne, taking in her winning smile, her lucid eyes, her fair face, I couldn’t help but yearn for more of the positive reaction.

  “So I do have an idea,” admitted Corinne, looking down with slight embarrassment. “Do you want to hear it?”

  “Of course,” I said. “By all means. We could use the help.”

  “All right,” said Corinne, smiling to herself and looking off as she considered her idea. “And look, if it’s not funny or you don’t want to do it, just tell me,” she said. “It won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “You got it,” I said.

  “So I’ve always wanted to sing on This Saturday,” she said. “Like, break into a funny song in a sketch.”

  “You sing?” I said in surprise.

  “Yeah,” said Corinne, her face growing in excitement. “I love to sing. So my idea is that I’m a waitress at a diner. You know how sometimes at diners they have weird names for specific foods?”

  “Burn one with wax and flop two!” I called out, making a dumb face. Corinne giggled back into the couch and clapped.

  “Exactly!” she said. “That’s totally it!”

  “So you want to sing that?” I asked.

  “Well, okay,” she continued. “So when I give the orders to the cook, I break into song with a couple of other waitresses,” said Corinne, going over the sketch in her head like she’d been thinking of it for a while. “But everybody else thinks it’s super crazy. The diners are freaked out by it. The cook, the manager. People think I’m nuts!”

  “Yeah,” I said, getting excited, seeing her vision. “I could get on board with this.”

  “Really?” she said. Corinne was full of wonder, brilliance emanating from her eyes.

  “Yeah,” I repeated. “We could start out with legitimate diner speak, but it would just devolve into insanity. Poke two in the boob, yank on a bumpkin, and slobber a Satanist!” This really set Corinne off. She was cracking up and it made me furiously happy.

  “Right!” she cried. “Oh God, that sounds like so much fun.”

  “We’ll do it,” I affirmed. “Well, we’ll write it and rehearse it. George has the final say. Stuff gets cut on Saturday all the time. I’ll let him know it’s your sketch, though.”

  “Wow,” said Corinne. I could tell that she was pleased. “I mean, that would just be so awesome.”

  “The singing adds another level of complexity to it,” I said. “But yeah, totally doable. Funny idea and it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Thanks Tab,” Corinne said in earnest. Our eyes caught on one another for a moment, gazing in silence, both of us with silly grins on our faces. The moment began to feel awkward to me, like it was a little too exciting, like there was something strange and alluring in the air. I broke from our shared stare and shook my head once.

  “Um,” I murmured, knowing I had to say something to move the conversation along but unsure what exactly that should be after our charged little moment. “Are you, um, single?” I asked, suddenly regretting it. Why would I ask something like that? I mean, I know why I’d ask something like that and you know why I’d ask something like that, but it really didn’t make sense in regards to our conversation about the show. “The reason I ask—“

  “I am,” said Corinne matter-of-factly with a reassuring smile.

  “I mean, I ask because we’re working on the opening monologue for you,” I went on, trying to justify myself with a lie. I had to think fast. “It’ll be, like, the guys in the cast heard you were single and all come up to you with bouquets of flowers to try to win your affection but you turn them all down.” That wasn’t what we had planned for the monologue but it was actually a really good idea. It’s amazing when creativity just comes to you spur of the moment.

  “I like it,” said Corinne.

  “So you’re single?” I asked again, even though she’d already answered. Just to be sure, you know. “I don’t really keep up on the tabloids.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And I try to stay out of the tabloids.”

  “That’s good,” I said. “I can just see them now… ‘Holmstrom Goes Home With This Saturday Cast Member!’” I motioned in the air with my hand like I was calling out a headline.

  “Right,” said Corinne through a laugh. “Couldn’t have that.”

  “You wouldn’t like the guys around here anyway,” I said, waving nonchalantly. “They’re all damaged comedians with mommy issues.”

  “Is that so?” she giggled. “What about you?”

  “Me?” I was surprised that she had turned it on me.

  “Yeah, you,” said Corinne. “Are you a damaged comedian with… daddy issues?”

  “No,” I said. “I probably also have mommy issues like the rest.”

  “You’re cute, Tab,” said Corinne. There was an odd fire burning in her eyes as we looked at each other. I’d seen that kind of fire before. It was desire. I wanted to test my pulse but I was sure that would look undeniably weird. I had promised myself for every New Year’s Resolution over the past who knows how many years that I would make an effort to be less weird.

  “I—“ I said, stammering. “I mean, me? No, I mean… thanks?”

  “I just like… funny women,” admitted Corinne with a sheepish smile. “It’s my weakness.”

  “I, um… if I heard you correctly—“

  “You did,” said Corinne curtly.

  “Okay,” I said, feeling quite nervous now. I took my notebook from my lap, rolling it up, and half waved it across the coffee table at Corinne. “Good. Productive. I think we’re going to have a great show.”

  “I think so, too,” purred Corinne. She was beginning to drip with flirtation. I think that she was so used to getting what she wanted that being assertive had become second nature to her.

  “Nice,” I said, standing up now. Corinne watched me with a smile permanently etched on her face. “I’ll let you know about the sketch. And I’ll let production know you’re ready for a walk through. Cool?”

  “Cool, Tab,” she said.

  “Thanks Corinne,” I said, feeling in a hurry to get out of there. I don’t know w
hy. Just excitement. Nerves. “Gotta get moving!”

  “Goodbye,” I heard Corinne say as I anxiously rushed toward the door and let myself out.

  *

  “I don’t know, Tab,” said Bernie, biting into a mess of a roast beef sandwich as he sat in a chair in front of my desk. He was focused more on devouring his meal than he was on me. I leaned back in my chair, feet up on my desk, flipping a pen around in my fingers.

  “I’m telling you,” I said. “I think she was coming on to me.”

  “You see everything through this over-sexualized mind of yours,” said Bernie. “You’re like the female equivalent of a dude. You’re just looking for a field to plow.”

  “Women can be sexual too,” I protested. “Skip you, Bernie. I can get my freak on if I want.”

  “I’m not saying you can’t,” said Bernie. “What I’m saying is, like men who think that every woman is into them, you’re projecting your sexual thoughts onto Corinne and interpreting them like she wants to get into bed with you.”

  “Who are you, my therapist?”

  “I don’t think I could handle that job,” said Bernie, taking a monster bite. He looked up to me and chewed theatrically.

  “It’s just that… she laid it out there for me, Bernie,” I said. “She told me she liked funny women.”

  “Great,” said Bernie indolently. “I mean, who doesn’t? Apart from Wayne who, I think, is threatened by funny women.”

  “But…” I said. “But, but…”

  “I think you need to look at this realistically,” said Bernie, putting his sandwich down on a paper plate and lightly tossing it onto my desk. “Corinne Holmstrom is, like, one of the hottest celebrities right now. She’s absolutely gorgeous and sexy and everybody in America is creaming themselves over her,” he said, audibly slurping from a soda can. “Myself included.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But she—“

  “She has been known to date men,” said Bernie. “So, that gives me a shot, I guess.” He gave a little look like he was so certain of himself. “I mean, right? Didn’t she date Eduardo Gutierrez?”

  “Well, I, uh… “ I scoffed, searching for the right comeback. “I think she did, but I don’t think it was for very long. And who wouldn’t date Eduardo Gutierrez? He’s like the prettiest man there is.”

  “Tab, you wouldn’t date Gutierrez because you find penises repulsive,” said Bernie.

  “But I like his long hair,” I acquiesced.

  “You know I’m on your team,” said Bernie. “I’m your cheerleader. But I think you’re absolutely nuts to believe that Hollywood’s hottest starlet, the woman who makes bank on the fact that she’s beautiful and enticing to men, the woman that all other women want to be, you’re crazy to believe that in one encounter with her you’ve surmised that she’s a lesbian and wants to fuck you. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “I was so convinced,” I sighed. I reached over my desk and picked at Bernie’s sandwich, pulling a piece of meat off of it and quickly sneaking it into my mouth.

  “Maybe it’s true,” said Bernie. “But most likely it’s not.”

  “Hmm,” I mused, dropping back into my own thoughts. I tried recall my conversation with Corinne. Maybe I was just projecting. I couldn’t help but find her beautiful. She was amazingly hot. I thought back to that scene in her movie Dangerous Motives when she steps out of the shower and she’s totally naked, but you don’t really get to see anything too specifically full frontal. However you could see just a hint of her bush in the mirror. That was a really great scene.

  “Are you thinking of that scene in Dangerous Motives?” asked Bernie knowingly.

  “What scene?” I said innocently.

  Bernie rolled his eyes at me, dramatically tossing his head back.

  “What?” I said, trying to play dumb. “What scene?”

  “The one where she files all that paperwork,” said Bernie. “That hot one where she does her taxes.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen that movie,” I said.

  “We saw it together, Tab,” he said. “The shower scene? The one you told me you were putting in your spank bank?”

  “Oh,” I said. “That scene. No, I wasn’t thinking of that scene. I was thinking that I accidentally left a red shirt in with my whites when I dropped them off at the laundromat this morning.”

  “Stop picking at my sandwich,” said Bernie, yanking the plate off my desk as he saw me reach for it again.

  “Fine,” I said. “So will you write the sketch or what?”

  “Yes, I’ll write the sketch,” he said, taking another bite. He continued, talking with food in his mouth. “I’ll do it tonight and email it around when I’m done.”

  “Get Gene to work on the song lyrics,” I said. “He just has a way with lyrics.”

  “And I don’t?” said Bernie. “You remember I often wrote the songs back in Chicago.”

  “Gene,” I reiterated with a smirk.

  “Yeah,” said Bernie, standing up now, paper plate in one hand, grabbing his soda with the other. He turned to leave my office. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Tab,” he said as he walked toward the door. “We’ve got to live with Corinne for a full week.”

  “Back to your hovel, troll!” I commanded, throwing a stress relief ball at him and hitting him on the arm.

  Bernie looked back to me, grinned with his mouth full of food, and then leapt out of my office, pulling the door closed behind him with a loud slam.

  Could Bernie actually be right? I knew what I heard Corinne say and I knew how she said it. But still, Bernie made a good point. Corinne was the type of young Hollywood starlet that everybody loved. She exuded confidence and grace and beauty and maybe I was just misinterpreting what she said. I’m sure that happened all the time with her. You wanted to think that a woman like her would pick you out the lineup of weirdos and slobs and loafers and say, “It is you that I choose to come to bed and lick my pussy, peasant. Don’t forget to rub my asshole while you’re down there!” Okay, so maybe that’s not what everyone thought.

  I decided that it would be best just to drop it for now and instead focus on work. That had always helped me in the past. It was best for the show for me to forget any kind of perceived sexually charged moment with our special guest, even if it was only in my own head, and instead write funny words for her to say. That’s where I shined.

  *

  I sat slumped down in one of the audience seats in our studio, a folder with the various sketches we had planned for the week’s show in my lap, a headset over my ears as I watched the rehearsal performance on the stage in front of me. Off to the side of the stage stood George, always overseeing, and Clyde, one of our producers and directors. The stage crew was audibly building out set pieces one stage over as we rehearsed. The entire atmosphere was busy and frenetic. On stage was Corinne, working with a handful of This Saturday cast members, running through one of the scenes we had slated. Whenever something popped into my head, I scribbled a note down in my script.

  It really filled me with joy watching Corinne up there on stage. She was dressed down, just as she’d been when I met with her in the dressing room. It was something you rarely saw. You either saw her in a movie, at an awards show in a gown, or possibly dressed in tight and stretchy yoga clothing coming or going from the gym in some paparazzi photo. But here she was wearing relaxed jeans with ripped knees and a t-shirt, her blonde hair knitted back in one thick braid. Even in this casual state she was gorgeous. She was just one of those effortlessly beautiful people.

  We had written Corinne’s singing waitress sketch, as well as the rest of the sketches for Saturday’s show, and everything was coming together as it always did. Some people, as showtime approached, became more nervous, more anxious. I was the opposite. I got all worked up in the beginning when we had a clean slate, pulling my hair out as though we’d never fill our time slot with enough material, but by Wednesday or Thursday I relaxed into the inevitability of it all. You’d be surpri
sed at how nervous some of the cast members got. You see them on TV and they look cool and composed, but they don’t reach that relaxed inevitably state until the cameras are rolling. Up until that point, some of them are freak shows.

  But Corinne looked fine. She looked excited. I knew she’d done live theater before. So this was all just an exciting performance for her. A dream coming true. You could see it in her face. Her eyes showed promise, her skin glowed. She laughed along with the cast as they joked and prodded, goofing around whenever someone flubbed a line.

  “Let’s take five,” I heard Clyde say in my headset. The cast eased down and casually stepped off stage. I looked over to Clyde across the stage as he beckoned Corinne over to him and I listened in on his notes. “Great,” he said to her as she listened intently. “That line, ‘Let’s see what she’s packing!’” said Clyde, looking down at Corinne over his glasses. “That’s the punchline and the beat we’re trying to hit. So make it big. Stick out your chest and gyrate.”

  I saw Corinne smile, nod, and speak, but I could only vaguely hear her voice through my headset. I couldn’t really hear her words.

  “Exactly,” said Clyde. “Check with Tab.”

  Corinne thanked Clyde and then turned away, her eyes catching on me and she began her walk over. As she approached, I sat up in my seat and tried to straighten my shoulders. My folder spilled out of my lap, however, and my scripts came tumbling out.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, now leaning down in my seat to pick up the haphazard mess of paper.

  “Oh Tab!” said Corinne as she approached. “Let me help you.” She bent down in front of me and began collecting the errant pieces of paper that I couldn’t reach from my seat.

  “Thanks,” I said sullenly, like I was whining. “Sorry about this mess.”

  As Corinne finished scooping up my papers, she looked up to me and our eyes locked in a silent gaze. Her eyes sparkled a shiny blue and her pink lips turned up in a smile. There was some unspoken connection between us that I just couldn’t pinpoint. Feeling a sense of unease, I looked away from her eyes and down into her cleavage, peeking out of her v-neck t-shirt, which I also immediately looked away from. It was like I had no place else to hide.