| Subject: Chapter 215 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, November 14, 07:28:58am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: Once again, there are some unpleasant thoughts here--some of which are indicative of the time in which this story is set--and some bad words, as well. Sorry. I'll rate it 16 and above.
Dreams in the Dark (215/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
The days of fear, of caution, moved by swiftly, every ally Nikita and Michael had watching over them all the more constantly. Although none of them were aware of when the attack would occur, none could deny their growing terror. Every second of reprieve only brought the inevitable that much closer.
It was this fact which plagued the endangered pair and all their friends, their certainty of the date's approach growing stronger, even without any real idea of when it might happen. But there were others, those whom Madeline had recruited, who were anything but disappointed over this fact. For them, October 31st couldn't come quickly enough.
Their target date lay on a Tuesday; it was only Saturday now--not at all close enough for so many who hated the pair. Still, like most of their enemies, there was no particular reason for this lingering vitriol in the nemesis who now pondered their fate. It just seemed far too easy to dislike them.
Abby was wandering around the studio now, her work done for the time being, the post-lunch touch-ups not yet needed. She would have been contented with this fact, if she were capable of such a stable emotion. But all such possibilities had faded from the girl ever-further from the day of her birth.
The make-up woman wasn't entirely aware of this fact, couldn't see that her general discontentment with life lay partly with herself. To her mind, the world was simply full of idiots who couldn't appreciate her glory--who worshiped instead the sort of insipid naiveté that the currently endangered pair so thoroughly embodied. It made her sick. Why anyone would be foolish enough to pretend to such ignorance was a question which had irritated her since birth.
She still had no answers to this conundrum, was utterly uncertain why anyone would bother. But perhaps it just seemed easier--the Pollyanna attitude a sort of sop to a mind too weak to handle life at its starkest. That was the only reason she could imagine for why people would pretend to help or love each other, for why anyone would care; she never had--for anyone except herself. But that was the way that life was supposed to work.
She rounded another building now, some idiot star's dressing room--yet another of those she had to make up every day; the job in itself sickened her. Why she had to use her talent to take some average-looking--in the best of cases, many of them were far less perfect than that--supposed actor from unrecognizably dull to stunningly becoming was beyond her; her sigh went deep. But she was getting paid. She supposed that would have to be answer enough on its own.
It wasn't, really, but that was why she was very glad for this new role she was playing--her need for novelty, for deception, quite strong. She had already long forgotten the fact that she herself had come to Hollywood hoping to make it on the screen, wanting so desperately to be someone else for awhile. That she had only come so far as being able to use her skills in making the other, luckier, newcomers look beautiful now seemed like the goal she had had from the start--no matter how much she hated both the work and every person who came under her brushes. She wasn't capable of enough self-reflection to see any further that this.
Her disgust never waned, but it did have some targets which distracted her more than others. Some actors she could forgive--as they were simply too meaningless to focus on for long. An O'Brien or a Karen had no hope of long-term success, were lucky if they were able to hang on in even the most meaningless of shorts--forgotten in every cinema a few seconds later, when the true stars arrived on screen; Karen hadn't even made it that far. And it wasn't like any of them were exactly natural beauties. Every one had multiple flaws; wrinkles, tiny scars, blemishes, birthmarks--all of them were the sort of defects she had to cover up on a daily basis, pretending all the while that there was some point to her work. But, for most, it was just a matter of trying to bring them up to some, vaguely-acceptable standard. Very few were what could even be called attractive.
This was true--as far as she could tell--not just of Premier but of every studio. But it shouldn't be a surprise. There was little in this world which had anything like beauty. The fact that most stars were God-awfully ugly was only to be expected.
This was her interpretation of much of life, was certainly her take on the gossip she had heard from every studio--those facial features which read well on camera not always as charming off of it. Some stars even demanded to be shot only from one angle, terrified that the other profile would show the world a completely different picture. Colbert was notorious among these. She had recently had an entire movie's sets and cameras arranged to ensure this sort of coverage, putting everyone on the production to huge lengths just to cover her vanity; Abby snorted. God help the person who simply tried to get on with things. Everything came down to the actors' egos here.
All of this was why she was so pleased with her part in Madeline's plans against the studio's star pair--was so in love with being able to take her revenge. Even if she wasn't entirely certain of what the woman planned, just knowing that she would help bring the actors down a peg or two was enough. *All* of them deserved that.
She was smiling broadly but left the details of her contentment untouched for the moment, her mind wandering elsewhere. All of her current thoughts were why she was happy with her role at the studio, as irritating as it could be. She had been fortunate in when she had arrived, in the fact that that idiot Belinda had been becoming so incapable of keeping her job--allowing Abby to climb up the ladder far faster than she would have thought. From assistant to Head Makeup Artist in just a few months was a stellar rise; her smile reigned. But that was the way Mr. Pavel had told her it would be.
She was quite pleased by these reminiscences, the man--surprisingly--having kept his word. He had found her at a party many months ago--back when, she failed to clearly remember, she had been trying desperately to make her way into a contract *somewhere*. He had come over to her, rolling toward her in that hideous chair of his, and had looked her up and down--with far more scrutiny than she had ever been comfortable. He had then reached up, his arms much longer than she had realized, and grabbed her face, turning it into the light--one way, then another. After a very long moment, he had murmured, "Yes, you'll do quite nicely," and had pulled her down to kiss her cheek. It was only because she had been told beforehand that he was a director that she had kept herself from slapping him. Being touched by some crippled freak hadn't exactly been her idea of a good time.
Still, she had learned to tolerate the touch of this gimp, seeing as he was helping her; her smile deepened. And she hadn't even realized how well he was looking out for her, at the time. After all, it hadn't exactly been the usual deal men made with girls; the smile deepened. But it had turned out well enough, in the end.
She remembered all of this warmly now, even if she failed to recall her own, original intent in attending such parties. But it wasn't a contract that Dominic had offered her--wasn't a sexual deal he had made--although she supposed that only figured, given that he was a crip. He had just taken her out to dinner--Abby trying not to cringe, not exactly led in on the arm of a powerful man, seeing as how that man had been pushing along his own wheelchair--had presented his plan. It had been her own make-up he had been looking at, his offer a job in such a department at whichever studio he himself worked. It hadn't exactly been the lure of the century, when she had first heard it, but she had come to be quite thankful. There were only so many times that you could hope to be presented with your God-given life's work.
This was how she saw her position, at times, was how she had come to be at this studio--was how she had been able to work her way up from her lowly start; she felt no sympathy for the displaced Belinda, already half-sick of having to lower her standards, Pavel more than enough in the way of cripples than she really wanted to be around. Even if she had no idea of the man's real motives in bringing her here--not foolish enough to believe that *anyone* ever did things out of the goodness of their hearts--she wouldn't question. It was just lucky that Premier hadn't been able to secure one of the Westmore brothers. If they had, all hopes of girls like her would have been long disposed of.
It was only the more fortunate studios who had managed to hire these famous men, however--Mr. Wolfe's domain not as highly ranked as he or Madeline would have liked; Abby's smile bloomed further. But she had no problem with this truth. This studio was providing her with previously-unimagined opportunities; her heart swelled. And she was enjoying all of them to the full.
It was the role she was now playing--or, rather, soon would play--which gave her the solace she sought, her contentment at being part of Madeline's plans quite endless. While she had no idea of the greater part of the woman's intentions, she did know what she herself needed to do. And her supposed resemblance to Premier's main, idiot, star would be just what the tutor needed to carry her plots through.
Abby didn't think into the details here--even what little she knew of them--was happy enough that the pair was going to be taught a lesson, her revulsion quite deep. She had hated the couple since she had first seen them--had loathed everyone like them since she was a child. They simply *shone*--the spotlight seeming to find them without effort, even when there wasn't a spotlight to be seen. Everyone watched them; everyone listened. They could fart, and the whole town would "ooo" in loving awe; Abby's disgust showed on her face. It wasn't fair that they--and all those people like them--got all the attention and love without any effort at all, their lives so blissful, never facing any problem bigger than a hangnail. There had to come some time when the ones who life hadn't blessed got some needed adoration too.
This was part of the reason why she was already well-enmeshed in the tutor's plots, had been an easy recruit--but the other part of her willingness came down to the pair's general attitude toward life, their Shirley Temple optimism quickly wearing thin. They were always smiling, were always "kind." They even seemed to have been disappointed over Belinda's firing--although God only knew why. But it was disgusting, the way they always pretended to care; her thoughts moved back. Of course, she supposed this was only to be expected; little Shirley too was said to be a bitch, underneath it all. It made too much sense. Everyone who pretended to such niceness was always playing a lie.
She had seen this fact her whole life--saw through all the bullshit such idiots tried to pull on the world. They were always smiling, always pretended to care--but that was never the truth. Once your back was turned, the knives came out; her snort was brief. But that was the way any decent person acted, anyway.
Abby had never entirely hidden the knife in her hand--not until she had met Dominic, at least. But he was reminding her of why deception was important--and she supposed he was right. It was only fair that the couple get a dose of their own in return.
She was savoring this thought, loved that she would be part of whatever fate awaited the pair--although she had absolutely no idea of just how deadly the plan was. All she knew was that it was about time that idiots who acted just like her "mother" got a little of their own; a grimace twisted over her face. How anyone could believe that a woman could actually *care* about her stepdaughter was beyond belief.
She wouldn't think over this now, refused to--any memory of the woman's smiles and attempts at good graces disgusting. It wasn't as though Abby had much given a damn about her own mother, didn't even much remember her--the woman having died, when the makeup artist was two--but to be presented, once she was 11, with someone who wanted to take her place had sickened her. It was clear that the woman had just married to get at the bank account Abby's father kept; that would certainly have been the girl's sole motive. There was only so much of that happy act anyone could stand.
There was a snort, as she pushed this thought away from her, happy enough to be taking out her revenge by proxy on the studio's star pair. It wasn't like her earlier plans with her stepmother had exactly worked out, her father--unfortunately--not believing her stories; there was a sigh. Oh well. She would be sure to be more successful this time.
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