. bone dry

[eva bello]

The yellow sticky note plastered on my desk reads 'One Mr. Ezra Sinclair called in regards to his young daughter, Layla Sinclair. In need of new representation. Would like for you to contact her as soon as you're free and consider taking her on as a client.' I roll my eyes, snatching up the rough paper with the hand not holding my double vanilla cinnamon skinny latte, tossing it into my waste basket to the right of my desk. Of course Ezra would contact me to represent his daughter. I probably shouldn't have told him I was there if he needed me. I run my fingers through my hair, slipping my bag off of my shoulders and setting my drink on the coaster on my desk before I slide into my comfortable desk chair and sigh. I power up my desktop computer, pressing the intercom button on my office phone to reach my assistant beyond the doors. "Angela, please push back any conference calls I have for the next three hours. If anyone has an issue with it too damn bad and if it's life or death patch them in to Lois." Without waiting for her to comply, I release the button and pull up my web browser to type in the words 'Layla Sinclair' to conduct the proper research before I decide to call this troubled starlet. Sex tape, troubles on set, the works - she is your average day train-wreck wrapped in a pretty bow. Oh, Ezra what have you gotten yourself in to with the spawn of Bianca Hart? Content with my findings, I roll my chair over to the waste basket, pulling the discarded paper and reading the number given in the message. Getting up, I walk over to shut my office door securely, before returning back to my seat and pressing the numbers into the phone. I follow up with the speaker button, grabbing my latte, and leaning back in my chair as the phone rings in the silence. What a hell of a way to start the morning.


layla sinclair

[layla sinclair]

some like it hot had been on repeat for at least a day now. before that it was butterfield 8, and before that was funny face. i'd been holed up in my hotel suite for at least three days since my embarrassing debacle with stevie, trying to nurse my broken heart, or at least my wounded pride. i sat perched up in my plush stark white linen in a silk nightgown and wallowed. i had ordered in red velvet cupcakes from magnolia bakery, despite my strict diet, and had done nothing but pick at them for the past two days. I knew I was due on set for my newest project in two days and I couldn't think of anything I wanted less. I just wanted to stay in bed. daddy had tried calling once or twice but i was too embarrassed to take his calls, so i had feigned illness and promised a lunch date at an undisclosed time. now an unfamiliar number flashed on my screen as the phone jumped to life. i groaned, pulling the sheets up over my head to try and ignore it before finally giving in and answering reluctantly before it rang out. "hello, Layla speaking" i answered politely in a soft, meek voice, hoping it was just someone's assistant that i could dismiss soon enough and get back to my self pity.

[eva bello]

I lean over the desk to grab a pen and my notepad, easing further back in the chair to prop my leather Tom Ford pumps on the oak desk. Lips parted, i place the edge of the pen on the bare tip of my lower lip, sighing out of habit. The phone picks up, the white noise of inaudible music in the background. The pen at my mouth goes towards the paper, fingers itching to start writing down notes pertaining this possible new client. Her voice is soft and had my office not been so quiet you could hear a pin drop, I would have risen the volume on the phone. "Hello, Layla My name is Eva Bello of Rozen PR. I'm calling as a favor to your father in regard to your current management. He seems to believe you would do much better with new representation and after what I've found I can't say he isn't right." My words come easy and even - this is a speech I know all too well. You gain the client's confidence in you and then things are a piece of red velvet cake from then on. My cell phone vibrates against the desk and I take a moment to check the importance of it. It's a simple text message from my sister. Probably bothering me about Fashion Week. Fingers run through my hair, caressing the scalp, and slip from the tendrils. Angela appears at my double glass doors and points to a document in her hand. I nod and move from the desk, walking over to retrieve it from her. 'This is the new information for that old money client you requested yesterday.' She tells me and disappears to whatever task she hasn't done yet. I may not have to fire her quite yet. Fingering through the manila folder I make sure everything is there before setting it on the desk, content with my findings. "I'm not asking you to make a decision immediately, but I personally would like to meet you for a brief lunch to possibly go over the upside of coming to Rozen. " I never strong arm a new client in to making a decision. That's for my competitors, but she would do better talking with me than explaining to her father why she turned me down. 

[layla sinclair]

daddy and I had been arguing about my PR team for a few weeks now, so I honesty wasn't surprised to be getting this call. I say, arguing, it was more like he disagreed and I eventually did as he asked. I didn't mind them, Stacey was always doing her best to do what she could with me, but with a family like mine, tabloids were always going to run rampart with stories that weren't true. bianca was a walking tabloid magazine with her usual antics of questionable substances, sobriety issues, the inability to mother her children, not to mention the assaults and outbursts that my step father inspired in her. she was a mess, and every day the paparazzi were trying to link us together, to prove that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. i had some questionable behaviour in the past, dating lukas namely and everything that went with that, but no one seems capable of letting it go. they used to follow me to my visits with him, imply we were still together, despite him being locked away or worse, rumour that i was a patient or that i had had his child and it was looked away in there. they took every stumble in the street or every bad day i ever had and blew it up into a drug binge or alcoholism like my mother, they raved about how my father was ashamed of me. it was hard to read, but no one could stop the press from writing those horrible lies. and i couldn't bring myself to read them anymore. once upon a time, i might have laughed at how ridiculous they were, but not anymore. you just ignore them the best you can, sometimes they make you cry, sometimes they make you angry, sometimes they break your heart.

daddy didn't think so though. stacey had always said that 'any publicity is good publicity', a ideal that daddy doesn't share, and i don't think i do either. he accused her of sending the paparazzi to follow me, tipping them off to where i would be or what i was doing. he accused them of spreading rumours to keep my name alive and i doubted him. i never thought they would do that, but apparently daddy had finally put his foot down and this was the end result. he didn't usually interfere with my career, i asked him to let me make my own way, and apart from advice from him or his opinion every now, and he has respected that. who was i to argue though? he was only looking out for me. the woman on the phone was prompt and businesslike, she knew her pitch well because it came to her so fluidly, and because layla could hear the distractions on the other end of the phone asking for her attention. layla wasn't a hard sell though, she did as she was told, so she needn't have bothered. "bonjour miss bello." she replies, pausing the movie so that she wasn't distracted. "i'm sure it's all fine, i suppose i would love for you to represent me if daddy thinks it's the right thing to do." she thought back to the woman's comment about her and couldn't help but feel a little saddened that someone else was judging her from a goggle search and rumours then from meeting her in person and getting to know her. "i'm sure lunch would be lovely, but i don't think you need to convince me of anything." she tried to make her voice sound light and jovial but she was too tired and worn down so it came out sounding mirthless. "although please don't read too much into anything that is said about me.. you've obviously done your research but i'm not the kind of girl you think i am."

[eva bello]

I had been a troubled child once, too interested in the thrilling things than bunkering down and making something of myself. I can't imagine how I would have turned out if my father hadn't kicked me into gear all those years ago. I pride myself in constructing the perfect media image for people, organizing the best events, and making things so perfect it seemed like they were straight from the movie screen. The harder the project, the happier I was, and this young starlet was going to be a handful at least. As long as she didn't turn into Amanda Bynes or Lindsay Lohan I wouldn't have to strangle her, however. I idly walk around my office moving plants back in order and straightening magazines and books in the shelves that align the wall. There is a long pause in between my movements and her own response, but I remain patient. The dulcet French comes gently in my ear as I find my way back to my comfy office chair and take my seat once again. "While I'm relieved that you aren't going to make me sweat for your cooperation I wasn't suggesting we converse for that purpose only. " I pause a moment as a new email flashes on my computer screen. It's from my travel agent confirming my flights for London, Milan, and Paris. I'll have to call Paolina later and tell her to be packed and ready by Thursday evening. As I listen to Layla attempt to persuade me away from the tabloid allegations I give a short laugh, rolling my eyes. "Sweetheart, it doesn't matter who I think you are. My job is to change the way the public sees you.....for the better. Everything else isn't important. " I can already tell this is going to be a test of my patience. I already have two bothersome younger siblings and for some reason talking to this girl, the mirthless tone in her voice and the insistence that she's not what the picture paints, makes me believe I'm gaining a third one unwillingly. "Look, I'm in and out of the office because of Fashion Week, which I'm sure you're probably busy with someway or another, and I'll be on a flight to London by Thursday night. I can catch a flight to where you're at before I head out that way and we can converse about the next steps to take and you can get a better feel of me. I like the people I represent to know me well enough to trust me beyond that of a normal client relationship so that I can take the best progressive measures in the future without stepping on their toes. " Jotting down quick cursive scribbles in the notebook, I lean into my desk with my elbows and wait for her response.

[layla sinclair]

this woman was miles away from stacey her approach to things. even the way she spoke made it so obvious that she was head and shoulders above her previous PR girl, although she couldn't fault stacey really. after lukas, not too many people were eager to take her on as a client, even with her father's influence. i had been a mess, and she had done what she could to desperately try and salvage what little reputation i had left. it wasn't like that anymore though. my oscar and golden globe nominations had been a surprise to everyone, including me, and it was even more of a surprise to win at the golden globes. i had meant to prove myself, but even that didn't really do it. everyone had expected me to be a one hit wonder, using up what small amount of talent i had from my father on that one great movie, but i persevered. surprisingly so, i actually loved acting. i had no confidence on the red carpet or in a press conference, but as my character, i personified them completely and while people praised me for it, others were always quick to criticise that i wasn't worthy of the praise or accolades bestowed upon me, that i was merely riding my father's coattails. if i hadn't been drawn to independent films anyway, i would have from that pressure alone. i didn't want to be a part of a summer blockbuster or a franchise, i couldn't stand all the critical attention. i can here her moving about on the other end of the phone, snuffling something, moving, and i try not to blush at the idea that even over the phone i can't command her complete attention. someone with a celebrity like mine should demand someone's full attention, instead i felt like apologising for interrupting her as she rearranged her desk.

she laughs as i try to persuade her away from the online rumours and it's not harsh nor bitter, but it's not joyous either. she calls me sweetheart but it's not condescending, nor affectionate, i don't quite understand her already. but she was soon quick to be rid of me either way, she had me on her books, that was all she needed until she returned from her fashion week junket, one that she assumed i would be attending, that i wasn't. i fought with my mother every year about this and i had fought with lukas about it too. fashion week was not my favourite time of year. it had too many sour memories of too many hours starving myself for my mother's approval, too many days and memories lost to lukas and his addictions and too many sickening reminders of stunts that lukas had pulled all in the name of attention. "i won't be at fashion week, but i'm sure i will see you when you return." she replies quietly, eyes downcast, her fingers playing with the corners of her duvet as if eva was in the room with her and she was avoiding the attention her comment might cause. she didn't want to give an excuse. "usually, my old PR firm would just tell me where to be, what to wear and what to say, so i don't think i'll be any trouble for you, though." if this woman thought she had to wine and dine me to appease my father, she needn't have to. i wasn't about to start demanding star treatment.

[eva bello]

Like the perfectionist I am I looked into the management she currently had while I was looking into Layla in general. The reason I didn't say anything was simply because they were small fry and I didn't waste my breath arguing about them. There was concern in the manner of which Ezra's message relayed, seen on the lifeless yellow paper that sat crumbled on the corner of her desk. A father's daughter was their pride and joy and it was clear he had finally had enough of letting people get the best of her in his own business. It spoke wonders that he called me, requested me, and made a direct attempt at getting me involved. The entire Rozen PR building was filled with suitable public relations agents of all caliber and different slants. If it reached my office or Bradley's it as top priority and of a client or corporation big enough to catch my attention. Fashion shows, Press conferences, Signings, galas, album release parties - the things in that range that grandstanded all media sites and made paparazzi salivate at the mouth. I fished my slender fingers into my purse, pulling out my personal planner, and fingering through the pages even as she spoke. I was always like this. Assertive and professional, always multi-tasking, but never unaware of what was going on around me. I had picked up every noise in the background of the call, each quiver of her voice, and the hesitance that came with an overturn of thinking. I hardly missed a beat even if it seemed like I was all over the place or distant from my company. I will admit it puzzled me when she corrected my assumption of her participation in fashion week. With her ties to it I was almost certain she would be in attendance. I mean Justin Bieber was there flaunting his facial hair like any other pubescent boy, but some things weren't always other cups of tea. I made a mental note of that and paused on the correct date in my planner. "Well, that's unfortunate. I can't say my conscience will last until I'm done with fashion week." I muse, tapping my finger against my chi lightly as I try to develop an alternative in my head. When she states how things worked with her PR I can't help but scoff as if she's said something to offend me and, off-handedly, she has. "You're no good to anyone if you don't take control of your own public face." I sigh and it's an exasperated sound, but not entirely towards her. I can see why Ezra seemed so intent on me taking her, the reason why she was so quick to do whatever was suggested by him and myself. An overly complacent client is even more trouble than a bossy one. "Styling you isn't my job. I'll hire someone for that. My job is to make sure you don't become a film star drop out or dead in a ditch somewhere from a drug problem. With that being said," I pause as my phone vibrates, silently reading off the text message. "If I may be frank, Miss Sinclair, I don't do anything I don't want to do and I don't keep company I don't want. I can't successfully manage your career if I don't know you as an individual and I won't have less than perfection when it comes to my job. So my request is now a strong statement. I'd like you in my offices by Friday morning at the latest for a debrief of how I run things and for you to sign papers." And with that I was done letting her take the reigns because, obviously, she wasn't going to anytime soon. "And if you're afraid I'll devour you, bring a friend."

[layla sinclair]

if i was honest, i didn't need a manager or a stylist or a make up team or an agent, i usually faired well enough on my own, but if there was one thing i could handle it was PR. somehow, me, the girl who was self conscious and always willing to do what she was told and go with the flow, had ended up with one of the worst reputations in hollywood. for a long time i hadn't wanted to admit that perhaps i was more like a young marilyn monroe instead of the young elizabeth taylor i aspired to be like. elizabeth had been bold and strong and brave. she had fought for what she wanted, whether it be men or films or contracts, and she had always gotten what she wanted. marilyn on the other hand was constantly rundown by the industry that supposedly loved her. she was typecast, she was labelled trouble, she was constantly reminded of the mistakes she had made in the past. i desperately needed someone to take over my public image and paint me in a less critical light. in the past few years i had done nothing to fight the accusations thrown at me, just putting my head down and hoping they would soon be forgotten. i had shied away from social media and the online world in general, terrified of their opinions of me and the cruel things they said behind the safety of a keyboard. the idea of taking control of my own public image, as she suggested, seemed far too daunting a project to begin. i was a girl wallowing with a broken heart, the last thing i wanted was be critcised by a woman i hadn't even met yet.

i nod along in response to her, although she can't see me agreeing. i flinch as she mentions becoming a drop out or a drug addict. my stomach turns at the memories of all the things i done with lukas and how both of us still managed to even just be alive. i let out a strangled noise of agreement, but she's already got her professional face on and like all people that tend to have to deal with me, she's soon taking control and telling me exactly what i needed to do. i knew she was exasperated, but it was what i needed. i was never a leader, never would be. i was a follower and through out my life, especially with lukas, i had fallen into the habit of having to have to be told what to do. it was different on set, because as my character i reacted as them, i knew them inside and out and i knew what they would do, but i didn't like to bold or take steps that might seem too eager or rude. i didn't want to worry people about me or take up their time with my needs or problems so i tended to just keep to myself and do as i was told. my old PR team had loved that, i was merely a mouth piece and they had choreographed all of my public appearances for a long time. apparently that was going to change. i nod along still, murmuring a soft ok to everything she made a point of saying and when she politely demanded to have me in her office on friday my stomach turned at the idea of confronting this woman face to face but i polite answered "oui. of course, miss bello. i'll be there friday." i swallow nervously and she makes a sarcastic comment at the end and i'm not sure it's intended as condescending or merely a joke to lighten the mood. i try to muster a strong voice, full of indignation and reply "i don't need a friend, i'm sure i'll be fine on my own... ?" instead it comes out passive and my inflection changes at the end and it almost sounds like i'm asking her if i really will be fine on my own. "is that all?"