Hollywood Star Read online

  For Thrilling Action they gave it an overall score of 9/10

  For Plot they gave it an overall score of 7/10

  73% said that the plot was sometimes hard to follow

  For actors’ performances they gave it an overall score of 7/10

  48% would go and see it for Imogene Grant, regardless

  9 4% enjoyed her performance

  89% enjoyed Jeremy Fort in the role of Professor Darkly

  72% were disappointed by Harry McLean, but we have to take into consideration his recent fall in popularity

  68% came purely for Sean Rivers in case it was his last film. This alone should ensure a healthy box-office turnover

  78% of the test audiences thought that the young actress Ruby Parker made an impressive debut

  As an Art Dubrovnik film they scored it 6/10

  54% stated they preferred Mr Dubrovnik’s less commercial work. But when asked again to score the film purely on entertainment and enjoyment factor the score went up to 8/10

  These scores were compiled from results taken from fifty screenings shown nationwide and represent the views of approximately 5000 people over a wide demographic.

  As the credits rolled I leapt out of my seat and applauded wildly. It took me a minute or two to realise I was the only one doing it.

  “Sorry,” I said, feeling myself blush. “It’s not cool to applaud yourself, is it?”

  Imogene laughed and stood up to Join me. “Sometimes it is,” she said, starting to clap. Gradually, everyone else in the room joined in and we all gave ourselves a standing ovation. Maybe it was a bit like “blowing your own trumpet” as my granny would say, but I thought that considering I had just seen myself for the first time in a proper film I could be let off.

  I sat down again as the adults talked. I couldn’t quite believe what I had seen. It was me, but not me. At first, while I was watching, all I could think of was what had happened on the day when that particular scene had been shot, or spotting that I had been wearing costume number four. (I had worn the same school uniform for most of the filming, except that there were thirty-two different versions, each one in a worse state of repair than the last depending on where I was in the story.) Or I found myself thinking that my face looked a bit funny from that camera angle, especially when it was blown up a gazillion times, so you could see all the pores on my nose.

  But then I finally saw the shot of my character Polly Harris as she dangled off what now really looked like a real precipice with a fatal drop below. I saw Polly leap into midair and disappear into the black void to her certain death. From that minute on I wasn’t watching me any more. I was watching the film. And perhaps I am biased, but I thought it was pretty good.

  The lights went up and as we sat back down in our seats Lisa handed out sheets of A4 paper. As I read it took a while for me to understand what it was because I had no idea that reports like this even existed.

  “Well, Art,” the big man in the blue suit who got to sit in the front row said, “I think that has a chance of being a box-office winner, I really do. Despite everything.”

  “Thanks, Jim,” Art said.

  “It’s a little long,” the man called Jim said, and I held my breath, certain that Art would lose his temper at such an offensive comment. Art was a perfectionist; he never got anything wrong.

  But all Art did was nod, adding mildly, “I think I can safely trim about ten minutes off and also improve the audience’s understanding of the plot.”

  “And that’s why we pay you what we do, Art. And it seems that the audience will love it,” Jim said, gesturing at the piece of paper in his hand, “if they ever go and see it.”

  “But why wouldn’t they?” I asked, conscious a second or two later that as a thirteen-year-old and the least important person here, I probably shouldn’t be saying anything. The man in the pale blue suit called Jim twisted in his seat to look at me.

  “Miss Parker,” he said, offering me a plump hand. “Pleased to meet you, I don’t think you and I have been formally introduced. I’m Jim Honeycutt, head of Wide Open Universe.”

  “Oh,” I replied, awestruck. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise. I shouldn’t have said anything…”

  “On the contrary, Miss Parker,” Mr Honeycutt said. “It’s a question that needs to be addressed even if I think that by now most of us know the answer…”

  “I don’t,” I said before I could stop myself.

  “Quite.” Jim Honeycutt looked very serious. “The critics hate it. Or should I say, they want to hate it. Nobody wanted Art to do anything different. They feel he has betrayed his art-house roots to make money…”

  “That’s not true,” Art said crossly. “All I wanted to do was make a quality entertainment picture, to show all those other bozos out there how to do it…”

  “I know, Art, I know,” Jim soothed him with a wave of his giant hands. “And a lot of people are angry about Harry Mclean. And, most significantly some people, namely one Mr Pat Rivers, is blaming this film for pushing his cash pot of a son into what he alleges is a nervous breakdown and ruining his career.”

  “Well, that’s just rubbish,” I said. “Sean is incredibly happy at the moment, not nervous or broken down at all.”

  “Might have to quote you on that, Ruby,” Lisa said, making a note on her clipboard.

  “But you can’t,” I replied. “I promised Sean I wouldn’t talk about him to anyone. He wants to be out of the spotlight.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” Jim said as if he hadn’t completely understood me. “We might need that young man and he did sign a contract with publicity obligations. And although the nation loves Imogene, she’s been at the top for a long time now. It could be the critics are Just waiting for a chance to knock her down.”

  “But that’s horrid,” I said in a small voice. “And it’s not true; it’s a good film and Imogene is the best thing in it.”

  “That might be so, Miss Parker,” Jim said. “But this business is like a fish pond full of sharks. If you want to survive in it, you’ve got to be a shark too.”

  Lisa Wells stood up and walked to the front of the small theatre. “There’s no need to panic,” she told everyone. “We all know that films can be a huge success without critical or press approval. Just look at last year’s biggest grossing movie, Giant Dinosaurs in Manhattan. No one liked it; everybody went to see it.”

  “And that was a dreadful film,” Art said under his breath.

  “What we need to do,” Michael said, “is get to our audience directly. Everyone needs to do as much TV and radio as possible. Jeremy, it’s late notice but I’ve got you on the Carl Vine show tonight. OK?”

  Jeremy nodded. “OK. And I can take Ruby on with me.”

  I looked from Mike to Jeremy and back again. “Pardon?”

  “It’s a talk show, Ruby,” Imogene explained, seeing my confusion. “It’s taped ‘as live’ and is getting very high ratings at the moment. Carl will interview you, make some Jokes at your expense, perhaps try to embarrass you a little. All you have to do is charm the studio audience and the people at home, and they will want to go and see our film. It’s simple.”

  “Urn, what, me?” I said. “I’ve never done that kind of TV before. I won’t be any good at it. I mean, I’m thirteen. I’m permanently embarrassed. Any more and I might drop dead of fatal mortification.”

  Everybody laughed and I felt my cheeks grow hot. I hadn’t been joking.

  “That’s a good line,” Jim said. “Use it.” He lumbered out of his chair. “Well, I gotta go. Make this happen, people.”

  “I’m going on national TV in America?” I questioned weakly. “But I’m only supposed to be on holiday!”

  “It’ll be fine,” Jeremy said. “He won’t pick on you, you’re just a kid. I’ll be doing most of the talking.”

  “Don’t worry, Ruby.” Lisa walked with us as we headed out to the car. “How many girls your age get to make a TV appearance on vacation – that’s something to
put on your postcards home. I’ll send a stylist and make-up artist over to Jeremy’s house before you go. They do make-up at the show, but I want us to have control over how you look. Young, fresh and pretty,

  OK? And remember the Queen,” Lisa added.

  “The Queen?”

  “The posher your voice, the more they will love you,” Lisa replied in such a terrible English accent that I actually laughed.

  “Look, it’s a breeze,” she said. “This is your chance to get to twenty million viewers.”

  And after that I didn’t take in another word.

  Chapter Five

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror. True to her word Lisa had sent over not one, not two, but three stylists to the house. One for clothes, one for hair and one for make-up. Cary, Simone and Julian.

  They went through everything I brought with me and all the things that I got for Christmas.

  “Sorry, honey, but none of that stuff will really do,” Cary told me. “It’s lovely, but for a TV show you need a little less stretch cotton and a little more pizzazz! But don’t worry, we’ve got a rack full of stuff here that’s going to look great.”

  I looked at the pile of cellophane-covered outfits that had been laid out on my bed. A lot of it looked extremely pink. And although I like pink a lot, because after all I am a girl, I rarely if ever choose to be dressed head to foot in it – at least, not since I was about seven. I had a terrible feeling that I was about to be propelled in front of twenty million strangers looking nearly as bad as I had in the lemon-yellow bridesmaid’s dress I was almost forced to wear to an award ceremony while we were filming The Lost Treasure of King Arthur.

  “It’s Just that, well, if I could wear my own clothes I’d feel more like myself and more relaxed and less likely to wet myself.”

  All three stylists roared with laughter. “You’re a funny kid,” Julian said. “You should use that line.”

  I sighed. For some reason everyone thought I was joking when I certainly was not. And then I had an idea. I pulled out my suitcase from under my bed and took out the top that Dad had given me for Christmas. I had packed it away, neatly folded with the tags still on, because I wanted to wear it the next time I saw him. Knowing my track record for spilling stuff that never quite washes out I decided it would be safer not to wear it at all until then.

  “What about this?” I said, holding it up against me. “I was saving it, but I really love it and—”

  “Oh my God, no, not that tat!” Cary said, plucking the top from my hand and flinging it across the room where it landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

  “Trust us, darling,” Simone said. “We’re here to make you look better than you’d ever thought possible.”

  An hour or so later I stood looking at myself in the mirror. It could have been worse I supposed. I didn’t look dreadful. I Just didn’t look like me. And clearly David didn’t think so either because he started growling at me again. I looked at David and then at my reflection. “I know what you mean,” I said.

  They had dressed me in baby-pink three-quarter length trousers with a deep pink sequinned belt. And an immaculate white T-shirt with the word ENGLAND inscribed across it in diamante. Then they had brought out a string of pearls and some pearl stud earrings for me to wear.

  “Very English, very sophisticated, very Princess DI,” Julian told me as he fastened the necklace.

  “Yes, but not very teenage girl,” I said bleakly and unheard.

  “You can keep them if you like,” Simone said. “They are fake – we know you’ve got a track record!”

  “Ha ha!” I fake laughed. It seemed nobody except me wanted to forget the time I accidentally stole thousands of pounds worth of diamonds.

  They straightened my hair so that it fell in one long smooth curtain over my shoulders and put a deep pink Alice band on me. They called it an Alice band; I thought of it more as a headband that six-year-olds wear. Simone handed me a deep pink handbag with a diamante clasp on it and Cary laid out a pair of low-heeled deep pink pumps for me to slip on. And then Julian did my make-up.

  He said he was going to keep it natural, but it seemed like it took an awful lot of make-up to look like I wasn’t wearing any. He slicked on what felt like a whole pot of foundation, followed by powder and then a light pink blusher. I had to try and not blink while he poked my eye out with a mascara wand, or twitch while he carefully applied lip liner, before sloshing on a gallon or so of lip gloss.

  “There,” he’d said, admiring his work. “As fresh as an English daisy.”

  Interesting, I thought, because I didn’t feel fresh as a daisy. I felt quite a lot as if I had recently been dipped in concrete and left out in the sun to set solid.

  Julian positioned me in front of a full length mirror and then stepped aside. “Tah-dah!”

  Cary and Simone applauded.

  I stared at myself, or at least I tried to, because I, always ever so slightly off-centre and scruffy me, wasn’t there. This immaculately turned out girl in fake pearl earrings was not me. Her skin looked flawless, her hair as shiny as a pane of glass and her outfit pristine and perfectly preppy.

  “We’ll be coming with you to the show so we can make sure you stay as lovely all night, so don’t you worry,” Cary told me, repositioning a strand of hair that wasn’t to his liking.

  I smiled carefully at the three of them, slightly nervous that my new face would crack and fall off. “Thank you,” I said. “The transformation is very…transforming.”

  “That’s our Job, darling,” Julian said. “Sow’s ear into a silk purse. That’s why we’re the best.”

  I was trying to work out if I should be insulted when I heard Jeremy calling me.

  “Ruby?” His voice rose from below. “Your mother’s back from the salon. Come down and see her – you can exchange make overs!”

  I knew my mum would never be able to believe how I looked and I was excited to show her. I would have run down the stairs, except it was hard to with a little dog yapping at my heels, threatening to trip me up at any moment. I didn’t properly see my mother until I was standing right in front of her. When I did finally focus on her it was a bit of a shock.

  “Oh, Ruby, you look wonderful!” she said, in a voice that was not quite her own. “Quite the young lady.”

  “Mother, what have you done to yourself?” I yelled in reply. For a split second David stopped yapping at me. Then, catching sight of my mother, started growling again, this time at her.

  First it was her hair. Mum has nice light brown hair, quite thick and wavy that she wears shoulder length, and every now and then has highlights put in it. But now it was properly blonde, a bright shiny gold like the wrappers on chocolate coins. And instead of hanging down like hair is supposed to, because of the laws of gravity and all of that, it swirled outwards and up in big, overblown, hairsprayed curls that made her look about a foot taller.

  Then there was her face. The smile lines around her eyes had gone and so had the “you’re in big trouble now” line between her brows. Her face looked as smooth as an egg, and as tight and immobile. That was except for her lips. Her normal Mum lips, the lips that kissed me goodnight every night for the last thirteen years, had ballooned out in what I can only describe as fish lips; lips that made her voice sound not quite like her own any more. The effect was made worse still by the bright red lipstick, a colour that clashed horribly with her extremely orange fake tan.

  “I thought you were having your nails done!” I exclaimed. “Not…not all this…stuff! You don’t look like you any more!”

  I watched my mum’s face fall, or at least I’m pretty sure it would have if it could have moved, and I immediately regretted what I’d said. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her – but it was the shock. It was the shock of not seeing her, but this strange cartoon woman.

  Before I could apologise, Mum spoke. “Well, Ruby, it might surprise you to learn that what you think isn’t really important,” she said, making my mouth drop open. �
�For once I am doing something just for me, something to make me feel good about myself.”

  “Good?” I heard my voice rise. “You look anything but good. You look dreadful, Mum.”

  “Well, I think you look wonderful,” Jeremy said, putting his arm round my mum’s shoulders and shooting me a look of pure disapproval. “Apologise to your mother, Ruby. You’ve been rude and hurtful.”

  “I’ve been honest!” I protested automatically. “Look – even David hates it and animals don’t lie!”

  Julian gasped and Simone shook her head.

  “It’s OK, Jeremy,” Mum said coolly. “My daughter is entitled to her opinion.”

  “But she is not entitled to shout at you and embarrass you in this way, in front of all these people,” Jeremy said firmly. “If she has an opinion, she should learn to express it in a more productive way and not like a playground bully.” He fixed his dark eyes on me. “Apologise, Ruby,” he said again.

  “You’re not my father!” I told him, hardly believing what I was saying out loud.

  “No,” Jeremy said quietly, “but I am your host and this is my house and you will abide by my rules while you are in it. Apologise to your mother.”

  I looked at my mum. Somehow I had managed to upset her and Jeremy all at once when I had intended to hurt neither one. I just didn’t understand what had happened to her in the salon. It was as if she had had a personality transplant along with her other treatments.

  I dropped my head, finding it awkward to back down to Jeremy, but knowing that I had to.

  “Sorry, Mum,” I said. “And sorry, Jeremy. I didn’t mean to be so rude. You look great, Mum, just really different. It was a surprise.”

  “Well then,” my mum said with a stiff smile that was a little bit more like her old self, “you’d better come here and give me a hug then.”

  She had been about to put her arms around me when Julian stepped in between us.

  “Sorry, Mrs Parker,” he said. “I can’t have any tears or mascara staining these clothes until after the show.”