Chapter 7

“Are you okay, Cory? This is seriously shitty, you know?” They were sitting on Mattson’s couch, watching the sunset over the trees and the other houses of west Los Angeles.

Corinne sighed. “Yeah, I’ll live. It sucks, but I’ll find something else to do with my life if I never work in this again.”

Mattson let a sound like a low growl come out of his throat. “How could those goddamn idiots actually think that this is fair or right? Seriously? I wish I could shit on their cars or something.”

Corinne laughed. “I love it that you are this upset for me, Mattie, but please let it go. It’s not worth getting upset over. If there was a way to get back at them, and show them that they don’t matter, I would be all over it. But, I guess we just have to settle for letting them continue to be deluded by thinking their pathetic little games matter.”

“I wish I could be as relaxed as you are about this, Cory. This is worse than the 1950s where all those people got blackballed.”

“Worse in what way?” Corinne was curious as to how Mattson had come to that conclusion.

“It’s worse because you are the top actress of your generation, and probably the top actor of either gender. No one has the track record you do, and the trophy room in your mansion proves it. What is the final total? Five Golden Globes out of eight nominations, two Academy Awards out of three nominations, and something like fifty-seven other awards with nearly a hundred and thirty nominations from various other places like the People’s Choice Awards, Teen Choice Awards, MTV Movie Awards, and all the other places? There is not a single awards committee that hasn’t recognized that you are simply the best actress that has come along in a generation.

“And what happens? You are left with the choice to either get the shit beat out of you or get naked on screen, or fight back and end your career. And you are getting punished for fighting back.” He paused to reflect for a moment, but before she could speak up, he continued. “You know, your beating up that douchebag Brauer was almost like a metaphor for every person that ever was marginalized, rejected, pushed aside, held back, denied, or just treated badly. I would love to see you find a way to shove their self-serving bullshit and lies down their sanctimonious throats, or up their goddamn asses.”

Corinne settled back into Mattson’s arms, pondering what he said. A germ of an idea began to form in the back of her mind.

“Mattson,” she started, hesitantly. “What if there was a way?”

“Whatever it is, I would support you. You know that.”

“How far?”

“What? What do you mean how far?”

“How far would you go to support me? Think about it for a second before you answer.” The thought was coming together, and it sounded ... she wasn’t sure what it sounded like, but it seemed to be taking a life on its own. An obsession, she thought. This one didn’t seem to be all that healthy for her future, but at this point, she didn’t really care. Her career would never survive, but that was over, anyways. The instant she laid a hand on Conrad Brauer, it was all over but carting off the rubble to make room for someone else.