Chapter 1 : Part 5

Catch a Rising Star: A Novel
by Tracey Bateman

(Page 5 of 5)

Some of the rules are only posted "just in case." For instance number two: Men are not allowed in the apartment after midnight. Okay, honestly? I can't remember the last time either of my roommates had a date - unless you count Floyd Bartell, the guy Dancy's mom is dying to have as her son-in-law. It's really a curious thing, if you ask me. I mean, they're both attractive, smart, nice. All the attributes that should act as bait on a hook. But unfortunately, my two gal-pals aren't getting so much as a nibble. As a matter of fact, the only nibble I'm getting is from Brian Ryan, a total mistake. A guy I went on a blind date with and can't get rid of. I'm sure he's harmless. Well, almost sure.

Sooo, back to this evening. Everything has got to be perfect. Otherwise I'm going to have to hear about it from my mom. I hurry home to the two-bedroom apartment where Dancy and Laini graciously allowed me to crash when I lost my own place three years ago - after I was canned from Legacy of Life. That day still haunts me. The day I realized that after paying off most of the debts I incurred when I thought I had another three years on the show (per my contract - apparently they could terminate if story line necessitated - whatever!). I had two choices: Go home and live with Ma (kill me, please, for even thinking of that as an option) or beg my friends to take me in. After all, I don't take up a lot of room.

Not to be a snob or anything, but I had a condo in a high-rise with an elevator, doorman - swanky digs if I do say so myself. Now I live in more of a Sarah Jessica Parker, Sex and the City building. But it's nice too. I'd never complain. Only, well, the other one did have a doorman.

Regret - just a twinge, mind you - pinches me. And immediately I realize that the new Tabby who is giving it all over to God has no reason to feel regret. But then . . . I can't be too hard on myself. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.

It's not easy to take the high road though. It's quite a comedown going from a soap opera diva to a reading bunny. I love acting, and darn it, I just want to do something more meaningful with my talent than dressing up for the bookstore. I mean, I still audition from time to time and have an acting coach, who incidentally always smells like a brewery and has more love scenes for me to practice (with him as the male lead, of course) than really seems necessary. But there hasn't been a lot of time for auditions between working two jobs.

My whole life I've wanted to be an actress. NYU, extra acting classes, auditions. Finally, after tons of rejections and a few embarrassing Tampax commercials, I landed a recurring role on Legacy of Life. A character that the fans immediately took to - and begged to see more of. A role that turned into a five-year run.

I really was on the fast track to stardom until I had a sort of fling with the head writer's husband. In my defense, let me be clear: I had no idea he was anyone's husband, let alone Julie Foster's. She uses her maiden name. He didn't have on a wedding ring - believe me, I checked. The producer's house, where we had the now infamous Christmas party, was enormous. If I had married a man with a roving eye, I'd keep him on a short leash - wouldn't you? So as far as I'm concerned, it's partly Julie's fault that I ended up wasting my entire evening chatting with her husband.

I truly thought I had maybe found Mr. Right. I mean, we had a lot in common, talked for hours about family (mostly mine, come to think of it), goals, hobbies, and - long story short - Julie caught him just as he was about to move in for a kiss. Not that I blame her, given the circumstances, but she caused a big fat scene. I tried to explain, and Mr. Definitely-Not-Right even took up for me . . . which I think actually made things worse. But despite my insistence that I was innocent, no one sympathized with me because everyone assumed my shock and dismay were just good acting. After all, I was nominated for an Emmy once.

Julie had the last word when she concocted a story line whereby two months later my character was killed in a fiery inferno. And the powers that be let her get away with it. Can you believe that?

I tried to make amends, but she didn't believe my innocence. Within a week she had thrown her husband out of their condo and started dating the director of the sitcom three sets down from ours. So much for true love. Again, not that I blame her. But she could have taken all that woman-scorned fury and done something a little more constructive with it than kill off the most popular leading actress on the show. And not to brag, but I was. My portrayal of Felicia Fontaine got me that Emmy nomination in the last season I was on the show. I mean, come on. How could they just let that go? But they did. And now I wait tables and dress up like various animal characters to make ends meet. Well, I did anyway.

I swear, when is Prince Charming going to take me away from it all?

© Tracey Bateman, 2007

About the Author

Tracey Bateman is a slightly neurotic mother of four, wife of one, and owner of three dogs, two blue bloods and one mutt (the mutt is the only one who will come to her when called). Lifetime movies, chunky monkey ice cream, and frantic late night Instant message chats with friends, who are only slightly less neurotic, keep her moving forward when deadlines loom and insanity is nipping at the heels of her mind. When not franticly pressing toward deadlines, Lifetime movies, chunky monkey ice cream and frantic late night instant message chats with pals give her inspiration for the next project. Being president of American Christian Fiction Writers gives her the chance to give back to a community of writers who have helped shape her career and her writing style.