They're Not Your Friends

It was better than she'd imagined. There was applause, some whistling, even a couple of standing ovations. Lottie's heart hammered at her ribs. She closed her eyes and inhaled, opened and exhaled. She pushed out an enormous fluorescent smile. "Hello, my name is Lottie Love, and I'm . . . well, it's so hard to say this." Lottie's eyes flitted around the room, checking for familiar faces. She spotted a soap actor and quickly averted her gaze so he wouldn't sense her recognition. She swilled some Red Bull. This wasn't what she had in mind when she dreamed about the spotlight, but, hell, at least she was onstage. "I'm . . . I'm . . . I'm an alcoholic." The group cheered. "All right, Lottie!" "Way to go!" When she had rehearsed in front of the mirror, Lottie hadn't imagined the applause. She had planned to stop there. But now, she couldn't help herself. "When I was lit-rully barely a teenager, I'd sneak into the liquor cabinet when my parents weren't around. It was fun? All my friends did it. But the difference was, I couldn't stop. I started drinking before school. Then I'd fill up my Boyz II Men thermos with Absolut and orange juice. The teachers thought I couldn't be more of a typical L.A. kidloud and always performing. No one knew I was always drunk. It got to a point where I didn't even know how to function sober?" Words spilled out of her. She spoke about smashing her dad's plumbing truck into the neighbor's kitchen, passing out during the SATs, vomiting on the valedictorian's mortarboard during high school graduation. Afterward, a throng crowded her. "What you did was courageous. I hate to sound, well, cliche, but it's the first step. And the first step is the hardest." "Let's get a soy latte sometime." "Did you ever think about selling your life story?" Catherine, her sponsor, wrapped her arms around her. "You did great, Lot. I'm so proud of you." "Thanks." From the corner of her eye, Lottie watched them file out. Then Lottie saw him. He stared right at her and smiled. I understand what you're going through. I'm there for you, the look said. Lottie's eyes stalked him. It was ironic. She'd seen his movies, and now he was her captive audience. How to break free of Catherine? But then he was vacuumed up into the crowd. She couldn't wait for the next meeting. Maybe there was one tomorrow. The Hollywood branch of Alcoholics Anonymous was the hottest ticket in town. Chris Mercer was the hottest celebrity. And soon he would be Lottie's latest conquest. Charlotte Love was born and raised in Tarzana, just another strip-mall town buried in the hills off the 101 freeway in the San Fernando Valley. It was a peripheral place, and Lottie and her family were peripheral people. They could almost see the beacons of light swirling in the lavender sky when a movie debuted at Mann's. They could nearly hear the fans' applause as celebrities strutted along the red carpet. But though Hollywood was only a few miles down the road, they were as removed from it as Aunt Bertha in Buffalo. When searchlights scanned the heavens in Tarzana, they led to another going-out-of-business sale at Ali Baba's Imported Rugs. Charlotte, or Charlie, as her parents called her (an only child, she's convinced they wanted a boy), vowed that one day she'd be part of it. She wanted to be the one vogueing along the velvet rope. She took acting lessons. She auditioned for shampoo commercials and modeled for Loehmann's. In high school she was voted most likely to win an Emmy. But her mother begged her to choose otherwise. "Don't be an actress, Charlie. Look what it did to your father. Hollywood will eat you alive. Get an education." Her mother recited this, over and over, year afterZutell, Irene is the author of 'They're Not Your Friends', published 2005 under ISBN 9781400097586 and ISBN 1400097584.