Sweetheart Starlet: A Sweet Lesbian Romance Page 6

“Welcome,” he said, reaching over and opening the door. I looked inside and saw Corinne grinning back at me. She waved excitedly.

  “Tab!” she said. “Get in here!”

  I climbed into the SUV and looked around. The interior was leather, colored a light cream, and there was a black tinted glass partition between the backseat and the front. Once I was in, the driver closed the door behind me and I could feel him opening up the front door to further his duties. I smelled something vaguely floral, like gardenias, and then looked over to Corinne and smiled.

  “Hi,” I said.

  Corinne tossed her arms around me and gave me a joyous hug. The car began to move just as Corinne pulled back from me.

  “I’m so excited to hang out with you,” said Corinne, straightening herself back up in her seat. She was dressed in casual elegance, black slacks, black heels, a frilly white sleeveless blouse, her blonde hair done up. She even had lipstick on. I have to admit that at that moment I actually felt a little underdressed. I was only in nicer versions of my regular clothes. What was I thinking going out with Corinne Holmstrom like that?

  “Did I not dress up enough?” I asked, looking down at myself and then back over to her.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “You look great.”

  “I feel like a frumpy comedian around you,” I said. “Scratch that, I am a frumpy comedian.”

  “Tab,” said Corinne, like she was teasingly scolding me.

  “Fine,” I said, tossing my hands up. “I’ll drop it.”

  “I still can’t believe I did This Saturday,” mused Corinne, melting back into the soft cushion of the leather seats. “I feel like I’m still high from the whole thing. Who do you guys have on this week?”

  “Justin Trumbull,” I said, preoccupied with trying to figure out how to get my seatbelt on.

  “Oh, I love Justin,” said Corinne. “He’s a sweet guy. I sat next him once at an awards show.” Corinne suddenly looked lost in thought. “But which one? I really don’t remember which award it was.”

  “The life of a Hollywood starlet,” I joked.

  “Stop,” she said with a slight giggle. “Well, whatever it was, after that he and I became friends but I only get to see him occasionally.”

  “Well, he’s been on the show a handful of times now,” I said. “You know, him and Adam always do some sketch together. They’re working on something for this week’s show as well.”

  “Oh, that’s awesome,” said Corinne. “Yeah, I love when they collaborate. I’m sure you can tell, I’m a big fan of your show.”

  “My show?” I said. “I don’t know if it’s my show.”

  “Are you kidding?” she said. “Tab, you’re head writer. You have a hand in most sketches that air, am I right?”

  “Well, right,” I said. “But George has got the final say. I could write a sketch I think is golden, we could rehearse it during the week, we could build the set, hell, we could even have the cast getting into makeup for the sketch, and George could step in at the very last minute before we’re set to air it and just cut it. I mean, literally… coming back from commercial, we’re ready to go, and George just says, ‘skip it.’”

  “I can imagine that would be harrowing,” said Corinne with empathy.

  “At least I’m not one of the performers,” I said. “I’m on the sidelines getting jerked around. They’re the ones who have to be ready at a moment’s notice to change gears. But enough about my job,” I said. “Are you working on anything?”

  “Well,” she said, looking off to the window. “I recently did a reading for this role but it’s really a foregone conclusion that I’ll get the part. The reading is just a formality. You know the superhero series ‘Agent Force?’”

  “Uh, you mean the comic book powerhouse turned billion dollar movie franchise?” I said mockingly. “No, never heard of it.” Corinne snickered at me.

  “Yeah, right,” she said, continuing her laugh. “Well, I’m going to be in that. The newest installment. I’m playing the Cloudburst character. Do you know her?”

  “Are you kidding, Corinne?” I said with mounting excitement. “Cloudburst was totally my favorite character in the comic books growing up. I’ve been waiting for them to put Cloudburst in the movies!”

  “Well, I’m Cloudburst,” said Corinne sheepishly, turning her palms up.

  “Damn it,” I said, lightly smacking her on the shoulder. “I always wanted to be Cloudburst. Why didn’t they call me?”

  “You’ll just have to live her out vicariously through me,” she said with a teasing sigh.

  “I think you’ve got the chest for Cloudburst,” I said, looking down to her chest and pointing. “I mean, the comics always make the female superheroes incredibly… let’s just say voluptuous.”

  “These seem to be my winning ticket in Hollywood,” said Corinne, also looking down to her chest. “But my eyes are up here, Tab,” she said, pointing to her eyes.

  “Oh, right,” I nervously laughed. “I’m sorry Cloudburst. Don’t wrap me in a tornado.”

  Corinne’s kind eyes darted over to me and she gave me a warm smile. I immediately felt more at ease. Not that I was feeling overwhelmingly nervous or anything, perhaps just a slight bit anxious about heading out on a date with somebody so famous, but something about her was instantly able to calm me. Sometimes you think that it’s all a crapshoot with Hollywood celebrities. Like, they just corral a bunch of talented actors into a room, all of them perfect and beautiful, and they just randomly pick a handful and make them famous. But Corinne showed that there was a bit more method to Hollywood’s madness. If someone’s not only beautiful and talented, but can also make you feel welcomed and soothed, that’s a person you want up on your screen.

  “So what are we doing?” I asked lightly. “You never told me where we’re going.”

  “Have you heard of the Tarragon Cafe?” she asked.

  “Up on Central Park West?” I said. “Yeah, though I’ve never been.”

  “I thought we’d head up there and have a light meal,” said Corrine.

  “Fancy,” I said. “I never thought they’d let a girl like me in.” Corinne just shook her head and laughed.

  “Tab, who do you think you are?” she said incredulously. “Or rather, who do you think you aren’t?”

  “What do you mean?” I said unwittingly.

  “You make these comments like… well, like you don’t belong in our scene,” she said.

  “Our scene?” I said, furrowing my brow.

  “You think you’re still that nobody comedian upstart from Chicago?” Corinne asked. “Don’t you realize how entrenched you are now in the film and television world?”

  “Well…” I said, looking off with uncertainty.

  “Didn’t you work on that script for Steve Harrington?” she said evenly. “Possible Outcomes?”

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted.

  “Steve Harrington is, like, one of the most famous This Saturday alums!” she exclaimed, like I was the crazy one or something.

  “I know,” I said, brushing it off. “But that’s just… Steve. Nobody knows me.”

  “People know you, Tab,” she said matter-of-factly. Then she chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re still so humble and oblivious to this.”

  “I mean, people in the comedy world, sure,” I countered. “But my face,” I said. “Nobody really knows my face.”

  “You’re nuts!” she said. “How many famous actors have you worked with on the show?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Um, a hundred or so I guess.”

  “And you don’t think, after doing all that, that the name Tabitha Bloom doesn’t get around?” said Corinne. I was beginning to see what she was talking about. And now that she was pointing this out directly to me, I felt kind of weird about not seeing it sooner. Was I… also a famous person? No, that’s insanity. I just sit in a room with a bunch of nitwits and come up with funny things. Yeah, writers can be known in certain circles, but I was
n’t somebody really noteworthy or anything. I wasn’t in any Hollywood magazines.

  “I really don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I don’t feel like people know me.”

  “You are so cute,” said Corinne, shaking her head. She couldn’t believe what I was saying. “Do you realize that if you wanted to be known, if you wanted your face to be known,” she said. “It would take you almost no effort at all?”

  “I guess I never thought about that,” I mused.

  “Didn’t you act on stage in Chicago?” she said. “You were at Improv City, right? You were probably on stage a lot.”

  “Of course,” I said. “But that’s improv and sketch and stuff like that. Not TV, not movies. I gave that stuff up when I really dove into writing.”

  “Listen,” said Corinne, giving me a serious look, an almost motherly look despite her being about seven years younger than me. “You’re funny and you’re pretty,” she said. I opened my mouth to protest but she stopped me. “No. I said listen. You’re holding yourself back in this business. You could be really huge, Tab. You could be, like, the preeminent funny female lead.”

  “Me?” I said. I just didn’t believe her. It was craziness.

  “Think about it,” she said seriously. The car came to a stop and Corinne looked out the window. “I think we’re here.”

  “All right,” I said, feeling like I was in a bit of a daze. Nobody had ever had a conversation like that with me before, telling me that I had what it took to be super successful. It was jarring. But I wanted to take Corinne’s advice and give it some real thought. I mean, what if she was right? I didn’t give up improv and sketch because I didn’t like it. I just thought that I was needed more on the writing side. But… funny female lead? Tabitha Bloom? I guess it had a nice ring to it.

  “Ready?” said Corinne with a wide smile as the driver opened up my door.

  *

  The Tarragon Cafe was pretty expensive looking inside, yet fairly subdued in decor, and the kind of place that you really had to be somebody or have some coin to get into. There had been a bit of an increased hubbub of voices as Corinne and I entered, definitely because Corinne was recognized and not me, and we immediately were ushered to a table that had already been prepared for us. The staff completely fawned over Corinne, but in a restrained way. They were accustomed to celebrities, surely, but Corinne was in a higher stratosphere.

  “This place looks great,” I said, gazing into the menu. “Glad I came hungry.”

  “It’s generally pretty quiet in here,” said Corinne. “I mean, I get noticed but I don’t have people coming up to me for autographs.”

  “I bet that gets old after a while, huh?” I asked.

  “Well,” mused Corinne, her eyes darting upward as she considered my question. “I love that people appreciate what I do and that they’re fans of my work…”

  “…But?” I said, trying to lead her along.

  “But…” she continued. “Sometimes some people can go a little… overboard.”

  “Like what?” I said, setting my menu down and going for a drink of water.

  “Okay, well, this one guy came up to me once,” said Corinne. “Little weird, you know? But whatever. Most people are weird, myself included.”

  “I think I’ve got you beat,” I grinned.

  “But this guy… he had a print out of some paparazzi photo of me in a bikini on the beach,” she said. “He basically wanted me to sign a blown up picture of my ass.” I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Yeah, I could see how that would be a little off-putting,” I said.

  “It’s hard, Tab!” she said. “A lot of people don’t understand. And then there’s that contigant of people who are like… ‘you’ve opted to be in the public eye so you don’t deserve your privacy.’”

  “I get that,” I said. “I mean, I can’t really empathize because nobody in the public recognizes me but I know people who have the same woes.”

  “You’ll know one day,” she said with knowing smile.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Stop.”

  “Okay,” said Corinne with a bit of a tease. Our waiter suddenly strode up to our table and looked down to the two of us with respect in his face.

  “Good evening, Ms. Holmstrom,” he said like only a waiter could. “And guest,” he said, looking over to me. “My name is Chet and I will be your waiter.”

  “This is Tabitha Bloom,” said Corinne, motioning to me with an open palm. “She’s head writer of This Saturday.” As she said this, the waiter’s eyes lit up.

  “Splendid,” he said. “One of my favorite programs. The Tarragon Cafe is happy to serve you both tonight.”

  “Chet,” I said. “Let me ask you something.” Corinne gave me a look like she was confused but excited.

  “Yes Ms. Bloom?”

  “I’ve got a hankering for a pastrami sandwich,” I said. “Mustard. A pickle on the side.” His face was surprised, unsure how to react, until Corinne began to giggle.

  “Forget her, Chet,” said Corinne. “She hasn’t taken her medication yet.” Chet was still looking like he’d stumbled upon a crime scene until Corinne’s sweet face eased him and he began to softly laugh himself into relaxation.

  “We’re just playing,” I said. “I’m sorry, Chet. I can’t help myself. It’s a nervous tick.”

  “Well ma’am,” he said thoughtfully. “We actually do have a prime rib roast on sourdough with au jus. That is quite close to your pastrami sandwich.”

  “Damn Chet,” I said. “Sold.” I folded my menu and handed it to him.

  “Salmon caesar salad,” said Corinne with a smile, offering her menu back to Chet, who then fed both menus under his arm.

  “That sounds good too,” I mused.

  “Would you like to change?” Chet asked respectfully.

  “No,” I said. “I hate ordering the same thing as another person at my table. The meat sando is fine.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said. “One salmon caesar, one… meat sando,” Chet repeated with a sly smile.

  “You’re cute,” I said.

  “Drinks?” he asked.

  “Water is fine with me,” said Corinne.

  “Same,” I said, holding up my glass.

  “Thank you very much, ladies,” said Chet, bowing his head. And with that, he scurried off.

  “Waiters at restaurants like this always strike me as weird,” I said. “I mean, do they act all squirrelly in their everyday life as well? Are they hyper accommodating to everyone they come in contact with?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Corinne, stifling a laugh. “I would imagine they’re suppressing so much aggression, they probably have a short fuse when outside the restaurant.”

  “I think that’s a good idea for a sketch,” I said. I quickly yanked a little black notebook from my blazer pocket along with a small pen and began scratching down a few words.

  “Ooh!” beamed Corinne. “The comedy writer at work.”

  “I’m always at work,” I said. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Hey,” I said, changing the subject as a thought popped into my head. With my eyes still focused on my notebook, I began writing something else down. “I know we’ve agreed to be a little, um, discreet,” I said, looking up to Corinne on the word ‘discreet.’”

  “Right,” she said.

  “So, with that being said…” I said, continuing to write. In my notebook I wrote “Is this a date? Please circle yes or no” and then handed it all over to Corinne with eyes full of anticipation.

  Corinne took my pen and notebook from me and looked down into it, her face lighting up as soon as she read the words I’d written.

  “Too funny,” she said. “What is this, middle school?” Her eyes had a rollicking fire in them. This whole thing seemed to make her very excited.

  “It’s exactly middle school,” I said. “So, just circle one.”

  Looking at the notebook, Corinne made a very thoughtful face, like she was heavily deliberating my written question.
She stuck the end of my pen in her mouth, feigning being lost in thought, releasing a soft sigh.

  “Hmm,” she mused.

  “Award-worthy performance,” I said.

  “I’d like to thank the Academy,” she grinned.

  “Still haven’t been able to use that memorized speech yet, huh?” I teased.

  “Hey!” Corinne exclaimed, dropping the notebook down to the table. I could tell she was tickled though, her smile shown through her mock-seriousness.

  “Just circle,” I said, pointing.

  “Fine,” she huffed. Corinne quickly made a circle in my notebook and then handed it back to me.

  “Ah!” I said, looking down into the pages. “So it’s a yes!” I smiled happily. “I’m glad we got that squared away.” I folded my notebook closed and put it back into my blazer.

  “It’s a yes,” Corinne repeated.

  “I just wanted to be sure,” I said. “You know, so I don’t totally embarrass myself like I would if we were just out on a casual—“ I said, noticing someone creep up beside us, my words stopping as soon as I felt their presence. I looked at Corinne first who had a bit of a pained look on her face and then I looked to this new person. It was a middle aged man, eager looking, hopeful.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’m very sorry to interrupt.”

  “Hello,” said Corinne, looking up to the man, forcing herself into a graceful smile.

  “I just had to get an autograph…” said the man. “For my wife.”

  “I got this,” I said, reaching out and taking the napkin the man had out. “To whom should I make it out?” Corinne was beginning to titter at me.

  “Well, I—“ I said the man, now a bit flustered.

  “Deborah?” I asked. “Millicent?”

  “Tab,” said Corinne, shaking her head at me, really trying to restrain her smile.

  “I’m sorry,” said the man. “I meant… a signature from Corinne.”

  “I can do that one,” I said, beginning to write. “To Corinne,” I wrote as I spoke.

  “Ignore her,” said Corinne. She reached across the table and took the napkin from me. “What’s your wife’s name?” asked Corinne with an irrepressible smile, offering her kindness up to the intruder.