80's Movie - Anonymous One-Shot Contest

Title: Trixie

Movie Inspiration:Tootsie

Characters: Edward and Bella

Rating: M

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and song lyrics are the sole property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended. Story based on Twilight, written by Stephenie Meyer, and on Tootsie, directed by Sidney Pollack, written by Larry Gelbart, Murray Shisgal, Barry Levinson and Elaine May

Summary: Former teen star Edward Masen needed a new image and a steady paycheck fast. Now struggling, he had something important to prove to his peers. Maureen Edwards helped him play the role of a lifetime. Entry in the 80's Movie Anonymous Contest, based on Tootsie.

"Angie, decaf for two, please," Esme Evenson said smoothly into the intercom. She rose from behind her Bauhaus desk and strode to the windows overlooking West 47th Street. Dressed in black, shoulder pads firmly in place, her golden-caramel hair restrained in a perfectly lacquered twist at her neck, she was every inch the Broadway power player. The generous pockets at the hips of her Yamamoto shift were generally unused. Except for now. At this moment, she had my balls in them.

I needed a gig.

I pushed my damn unruly hair out of my eyes and crossed my legs. This was like waiting for the fucking Privy Council to hand down my sentence. No more drowning in a sugary fermentation of kiddie comedies, special guest appearances and Battle of the Network Stars. We could pay to rent the Lark, a real off-Broadway space, and with Emmett's play in production, finally I'd be free of that fucking cat and its nine seasons of my 'childhood'.

I looked up at Esme again and held my breath.

"Edward, you've been called back."

Yes!

"Oh, how wonderful, Esme," I replied calmly and sipped my coffee. "When would they like to see me?"

Oh please, please, please... finally something worthy of my talent, my point of view, my fucking bank account...

"Edward," she finished casing the room like Navratilova at Center Court, and leaned back against her desk, her Julliette manicure extended like talons. "Mike Newton is quite possibly the last director in New York you've not insulted, taken a swing at or refused to sleep with. You need this show. You can play Konstantin in Seagull sound asleep. Don't fuck this up. Don't screw yourself, and for Chrissakes, don't screw me."

"Esme, certainly in the past I've had some... creative differences with -"

"Edward, you have a reputation." She sat in her Eames chair, giving me that damn maternal bullshit look of hers.

Great. My favorite subject.

"I would like to think I have a reputation for a work ethic, for taking my craft seriously, for being uncompromising in my expectations-"

"People think you're a self-reverential asshole, sweetie."

"Oh."

"Edward, Michael Newton has the same reputation. Woo him. Win him. Do... other things if you have to. This guy, if... when... he loves you and loves your work, will cast you over and over again. The big city is a small town, Edward. When it gets out that you can work with Newton, everyone will forget even Lee Strasberg said you inhabit your characters too much for your emotional well-being, and I can get you in to see some of the big guys again."

Circle in the Square... American Place… no TV... never again…

"But I'm not gay, Esme, not really. Doing other things with Newton is not going to work if I have to follow through."

"Please, I know that... I have a Rolodex stuffed with the names of sad little actresses you've seduced and forgotten before you've finished your morning coffee."

Oh goodie, another of my favorite subjects.

"You got called back. Dig deep. Play gay or play hard to get. Look, just send out… a vibe. Invite Newton to a wine tasting. Join him at cooking class." She flicked her elegant silver lighter at the end of her Virginia Slim. "Just get the damn part."

Agent's offices, and usually the sidewalks and halls surrounding them, were the meeting places of the unemployed actor. That afternoon was no different. As I exited Esme's building, tucking my sides for the call-back into my jacket pocket, an overflowing basket smashed into my chest.

Disembodied baskets normally didn't float around Manhattan.

"Alice, can I take that for you?"

"Oh, Edward! Hi! Oh my God, can you? This thing weighs a ton. I've got to drop it off uptown after I see Esme. I think she's got something for me so I really hope I'm not late on the delivery, because I could use a good tip, and did I tell you I think it might be Elaine Stritch's building, so I wore this sweater because you said cherry red makes my cheeks glow? I know she's a raving lesbian and older than my Nanny Brandon. If she could just get me a minute with the people who are casting the revival of Dolly I just know I could really show 'em something different an…"

I pried the basket from her hands and set it beside us on the sidewalk.

"Alice… Allie… baby… you're spiraling…" I said softly, clutching her hands as we traded breath. "Breathe, honey…" Suddenly her foot made a huge 'thwap' on the concrete, and fire shot from her eyes.

"Beat it, you junkie fucko!" she screamed over her shoulder. Not only had working for The Silver Palate turned Alice into a walking, talking map of who-lived-where in Manhattan, she had the killer instinct of a Ninja when it came to protecting the elegant nosh her employers sold to the well-heeled in need of an instant party or thank-you gift.

"Alice, I'll make the delivery for you. Go up, see Esme. She's in a good mood – just got a new manicure and is drinking decaf."

"Oh? Hey, that's a good sign. Carlisle must be sleeping with her again." She straightened the black polka-dot scarf around her neck, cartoon-like cherry earrings dangling at her ears. "I saw Emmett this morning at an open call for a dog-food commercial. He's finished the final draft!"

This was good news. Beyond good – great.

"When?"

"Last night, after Carson went off. Some story Tom Selleck told about Burt Reynolds inspired him. Anyway, Em's done, and he was smiling and says we can read it tonight. You're buying dinner."

One of my paltry residual checks from Trixie had arrived in the mail. I spent most of my formative years petting mangy orange cats and grinning inanely at the drunken reject from the studio system who played my Agatha Christie-esque grandmother for eight successful seasons. I had nothing to show for it but a well-known face and a $350 residual check. My father had negotiated a great contract for me but gave himself the entirety of my salary. He and my mother now lived in the custom of a Latin-American generalissimo in Costa Rica. I had one year's worth of residuals, was emancipated at seventeen, and had moved to New York to become a real actor.

"The address is on the card. Oh, thanks, Edward… you're a mensch!" She bustled into the building, tossing a carefree wave over her shoulder "Tonight, Bubbe!"

The address was on West 68th… hmmm… Central Park West. I straightened my best corduroy blazer and set off uptown.

Someday, I'd live up here in a decent, three-bedroom, pre-war with trees lining the streets, not junkies. No garbage, no hookers, no punks panhandling their cover to CBGB. Waved in by the doorman, I waited by a freshly polished brass grate until the elevator opened. I stepped inside, hindered by the huge basket.

"Oooof!" came a muffled cry from beyond my field of vision.

"Oh! Sorry! I'm –"

"It's okay… just… oof! Um… you're smacking me in the head with your baguette."

"Sorry, this thing is huge. I'm um…" I lifted my chin, hoping to establish eye-contact with the voice. Uta Hagen felt eyes were an actor's best tool, and I used mine often.

"Mama, look at the size of his loaf!"

"This is me… excuse… oh, Amy, no… pick up Miss Trixie…"

Trixie!

Fucking pussycat!

I looked up; we were on the sixth floor. This was me, too.

"Oh baby, c'mon! Excuse us…"

God, that voice sounded like butter. Or butt-ah as Alice would say. Baby, c'mon... oh yeah, with pleasure if you keep talking... I opened the grate and stepped out, catching the door and balancing the gigantic basket on my knee.

"It's me, too," I said as they passed. "I'm looking for 6A?"

"Christ, Amy, it's just a dead leaf, honey… Oh, I'm 6A. Is that for me?"

"What the card says, ma'am."

I'd learned the 'ma'am' thing from Emmett. In front of me a door opened, and the voices entered an apartment before the door slammed, then quickly re-opened.

"I'm sorry, that was my daughter. I've trained her to close the… oh, what is this?"

The gift card detached from the cellophane covering. I heard scrabbling hands, soon followed by an annoyed sigh. "Oh, Jasper… what the hell am I supposed to do with sausage links and tins of smoked oysters? And stuffed figs? Oh, God… subtlety? Ever? Jesus…"

I cleared my throat, hoping she'd release me from this burden.

"Oh… thank you."

I felt the weight transfer from me to her, and the basket floated, still obscuring the recipient, into the apartment. The door closed with another definite slam.

Great. Twenty blocks and no tip.

The door opened again, this time revealing a very small girl. She held, to my horror, Trixie the fucking Cat: stuffed, ragged, recognizable.

"Mama said this is yours, Eddie!" Her tiny hand extended up towards me with a $10 bill clutched in her fist. I reached for the cash, but she yanked it back, giggling. "Unh-huh! Say it first!"

Jesus, the fucking horror…

"Hey, Trix! Bet that'll bake Grandma's apples!" I muttered, self-respect crumbling like the dead leaf the toddler had held just minutes before.

"Here! Bye, Eddie!"

I had just enough time to catch the ten before it floated to the floor. Once again, the door slammed right in my face.

Emmett, as usual, was at home. Three p.m. in Emmett World meant a mixing bowl full of Sugar Smacks and an afternoon with Scooby-Doo.

We nodded to each other as I moved across the loft to my room, tossing my now-rumpled jacket in the corner. The sides could wait.

I needed a catnap.

.~00~.

Alice let the carbon copies drift to the coffee table and wiped her eyes with a creased paper napkin. I looked over the typed pages in my hand and grinned at Emmett. He was hiding behind the hand-written rough draft of his latest version of Escape from First Beach.

"Em, this is excellent. All we need is $10,000, and then we can rent the Lark. Esme said they'd give us the space."

Before Emmett could answer, the buzzer from the security door on the street snarled at us. I pushed the button to let the delivery guy from The Golden Dragon up to our loft. As I opened the door, Emmett bolted from the room.

"You make order?" the diminutive man shrieked at me.

"Yes, yes we did. Uhm..." Damn that bag was huge - Emmett must have ordered enough for his midnight snack.

"Where the big one? Big Grizzly Adam?"

"I... ah..." Fucking Emmett! "I'm afraid we don't know anyone named Adam..."

"Big boy! Like Shoney! You tell big boy Sister looking for his ass. That be fourteen dollar. Plus tipping."

I handed him a twenty and waved him away, too hungry, excited and full of hope to battle Yan Min over five dollars.

"Dinner's here. Yan's gone, Em." I called out, dodging to the side as Emmett bounded from his room.

"Fuck, about time. I'm starving..." he grumbled.

"Emmett, did Ah hear that guy sayin' his sistah is lookin' for you?" Alice drawled. "Y'know, 'Around the World in 52 Broads' is goin' to git y'all in trouble one of these days."

Emmett gasped and blinked heavily, gathering his boxes of Sweet and Sour Pork and General Tso's Chicken to his substantial chest like they were his own precious children.

"Al, honestly, I'm hurt. Offended. Wounded. Each lady is memorable to me in some way."

"Memorable like 'afterglow includes a shot of Penicillin' memorable?" she giggled.

"Never mind me. I hear you have an audition, Minnie Mouse."

"Why yes, in fact, I do!"

"Oh, wonderful!" I exclaimed over a bite of Cashew Chicken. "What? Where?"

"It's TV," she said, avoiding my eyes.

"Oh, Alice... well, no worries... we have to work," I winced.

Television... the opiate of the masses... and I had been one of the pushers...

"Series work? Hill Street Blues? PBS?"

"Um, not exactly. Emmett, do you think you're finished, or will there be many re-writes before we get it on its feet?"

"Alice..." She always, always had every detail and shared them - freely. "What are you reading for?"

"Just a little thing."

"In?"

"It's a soap." Alice mumbled, digging at her Moo Goo Gai Pan.

"Excuse me?"

No. Not Alice. Not Juilliard-trained, summer at RADA Alice.

"A soap! Edward... I'm sorry... it's work you know. And it's Nanny Brandon's favorite afternoon story..."

"Oh... Alice."

I felt ashamed at my lack of support and began again.

"Show me your pages, Allie. I know you brought them. Let's see what they want."

"It's eight weeks. They have to re-cast a second-story character on Southwest General. Jessica Stanley, the one with the fake tits, played her for a week last year. I hope they are willing to look beyond cup size, because there's no way I fill that bitch's bra."

"Jessica Stanley couldn't screw in a lightbulb if she had Trevor Nunn directing her. And her tits are definitely second rate. Edward and I have both been there, done that and made it back to tell the tale."

"Maybe, Em, but she's doing Stella in Streetcar at the Guthrie. Those tits were a great investment. I wish I could get Nanny to sell some shares. Then I could have surgery."

"Don't be ridiculous." I muttered as I read over her sides. Suddenly my Cashew Chicken felt like a cashew brick in my gut. "Shit, this scene is one of those voiceovers... you'll be filmed sitting at a desk, writing a letter, and you're heard reading the letter aloud. God, who is responsible for this cr... Sorry, Alice. Let's give it a shot."

She ran through the sides, hitting the right notes, but it was completely unconnected.

"You're sticking with a Southern accent, right? Okay, Allie, think of the most heartbreaking thing you ever went through."

"It was when you dumped me, Edward, just like every boy dumps me."

"There's pain in every relationship, work from that."

"I know there was no spark, no electricity between us, Edward," Alice continued, and she really looked like she was going there. "But you... you know... you could have just dealt me the pain straight up rather than as such a shock to my poor system two months later."

"Good, keep it soft, low and... again."

Alice ran the monologue one more time, crying real tears but... it still wasn't working.

"Okay, Allie, I hear how it hurts you, but you've got to connect it to your objective so I feel it. Listen to me read. 'My darling Magnus...' "

I delivered a platter of melted cheese on moldy cornbread, in my lightest register, and found Alice watching with a gaping mouth and Emmett's eyes full of tears. I knew the lines must be painful to listen to, but was I that bad?

"Dude, what is your problem."

"That was amazing, Edward. I really want to take you in my arms and make it all better. "

"Fuck you, McCarty!"

"I'm not kidding, Ed. That was really good."

"Really good," Alice nodded. "Too bad you can't read for this."

I scrubbed at my head and sighed heavily. That was acompliment I wasn't ready to take. "That's enough for tonight. I have my own preparations to do."

On her way out the door, Alice looked up at me with those big blue eyes. "You will go to the audition with me to help me with the sense memory of my pain, right, Edward?"

"Of course, honey. We all know pain's one thing I can promise a girl."

We all headed to our beds that night, secure as any aspiring actress or unknown playwright or refugee from sitcom hell could be. We had hope.

Three days later hope had stepped in catshit and tracked it all over our living room rug.

Alice didn't get part on Southwest General.

"They wouldn't even let me read. Said I wasn't the right physical type. It's my tits, Edward, I need tits." Alice cried for 18 blocks going downtown, snotting my shirt down to my skin.

Esme had called me that morning, setting up a two o'clock meeting. Bad news. Earlier and she'd be buying me lunch to celebrate. Later and she'd be taking me to a party to show me off as her newest success story.

I sat in her office and looked out the window. Esme lectured, encouraged and finally lost her shit. I was too old for cute, too tall for boys, too pretty for villains, too temperamental for real theatah.

Bad sign, mimicking Carlisle's Eurotrash accent.

I was not going to make it to The Lark to negotiate an extension on the rental contract. Without extra money coming in this quarter, I could only hope the space would be available in the future.

"Don't talk to me about sacrifices. Working with Newton was your last chance. Just endorse your damn Trixie residual checks. Unless you are going to finally do something to prove everyone wrong, no one will hire you."

"Esme..."

"Don't you fucking 'Esme' me, Edward! Don't you think I know all about artistry and hope and chances? Don't you know I live with the Best Actor in his year at LAMDA, who had real potential to be his generation's fucking Gielgud? Carlisle's holier-than-thou attitude and slippery zipper killed his chances! His claim to artistic greatness is working on the same soundstage as Olivier for three hours on Dracula in '79, but he demands his bloody gin and Bitter Lemon, gives all those bit players and the housewives who read Soap Opera Digest 'his very best'."

Esme flinched as her words echoed. She pointed an unlit Virginia Slim at me and almost snarled. "Figure out what the fuck you're going to do to fix this. I love you, love your work, but I need fifteen percent of something, or I have to drop you."

As each block passed on my walk downtown I felt angrier and angrier. I had done the call-back with Newton just like Esme said, even if I'd never follow through, but I wasn't cast. Alice couldn't even get heard for little more than extra work on a damn soap. Would we all end up like Carlisle? A talented... no, a gifted actor... turned into Dr. Medford Brewster because of 'breaks'. Luck?

"Hey, Trix... y'know when things are bad, and I think I've become the unluckiest kid in Meyer Grove, I just turn my frown upside down and make my own luck!"

Damn cat.

I stopped, right in the middle of Houston Street.

That was it. I'd make my own luck. And Allie's. And Emmett's. Escape From First Beach wouldgo on, and I'd carry us all there on my shoulders for once.

I stalked into the loft, ripped the cereal spoon from Emmett's mouth and stared at him. "Em, it's showtime. And I'm the leading lady."

Thirty minutes later, Emmett was convinced I'd blown the rest of my Trixie money on angel dust and a Puerto Rican hooker.

"You're telling me you are going to show up at the network, lie about being Esme's client, lie about having an appointment, and LIE about being a woman?" Emmett picked up his cereal again. "You're fucking insane, dude."

"C'mon, Em, you cried when I read it here - totally unrehearsed and looking like this. I can do this, you know I can."

Emmett set down his Lucky Charms.

"I'm gonna need some time, dude. This could take days."

"I have two. We just need the basic image. If I get the part, we can do more."

"Well, my friend, let's hit Duane Reedy. Better bring your emergency AmEx - we're gonna need wax." He picked up one of my hands, pushed back my cuff and furrowed his brows. "We're gonna need a lot of wax."

.~00~.

"I borrowed a selection of dark blonde wigs to enhance your skin tone. So do you want to try the Jane Pauley, the Princess Diana or the Linda Evans first?"

"I don't know, I'm... what do you think?"

"Here, Glamour, Newsweek, People. Take a look and see which one appeals to you. I've got to mix up some more bleach. You realize you're going to hell for this."

"I don't believe in hell, Em. I believe in unemployment."

Thank God Emmett was a true theatre-dweeb. Even if his physical presence said everything else, Em had spent his after-school hours and all of his summers hanging around dark, dusty theatres, learning construction - both of forty-foot scaffolds and forty-inch bustiers - mastering stage combat and stage makeup, not to mention developing a set of intercostals that would make Kristin Linklaeter cry with admiration.

He could do Henry V one week and State Fair the next and dance with a precision no one would expect. If he wanted to, he could go out to California on the next plane, grow a moustache and demand to be cast as Tom Selleck's little brother. But, just like Alice and me, he loved those dark, dirty theatres and the sensation of doing it every night for the first time, all the way through; every night just a little different, and every night the audience loving you or hating you.

Emmett came back in, his cereal bowl now full of Jolen Creme Bleach. I barely blinked back tears.

"Em... thanks, man."

"Uh, Ed... you're not doing the hormone shots, too, are you, 'cause that shit will shrink your balls."

I smiled mistily, pointing to a folded back People magazine.

"So, you're going for the Shy Di look? Good choice, all the more reason for you to be reserved with others on the set. Take a look at the way she stands. She's always trying to look shorter. Use that.

"Tip your head back please and hold the towel tight. I'm going to bleach just a touch more of your hairline. I'll style the wig so any hint of your sideburns is covered, but shave as high and close as you can tomorrow morning. Next is your manicure. We don't need to wax more than your wrists and knuckles for the audition.

"Oh, I can get Felix over to take a head shot and print it up right away. He'll rush a job for a dime bag."

.~00~.

I'd gotten the part. I'd walked in, given my name to the receptionist, and it all went like clockwork.

"This is Maureen Edwards, she has no resume, but Esme Evenson represents her."

"Esme Evenson is your agent? Impressive. Have you ever worked in television?"

"I did a lot of theatre in Dallas and Minneapolis."

The only time I'd gotten flustered was when I dropped all my pages. I'd knelt to pick them up when the softest voice in the world said, "Here, let me help you."

"Ah jus' need to get these pages in order."

"Don't worry, they'll never know the difference."

I had been keeping my head down, trying desperately not to totter over or smear my lipstick as I broke into a nervous sweat. I'd looked up, and the world stopped. Every sappy song I'd ever heard, every poem I'd read, music, art... shit, there was no comparison. Cinnamon and cream, a bowl of luscious berries looking down at me with a smile that made me want to beat my chest like a caveman and snuggle into her tits.

Yeah, she was a stone fox.

"Hi, I'm Bella Swan, hospital slut. Good luck with the audition."

I'd stood dumbfounded, staring as she walked off with the director. He'd put his hand in her back pocket and squeezed.

Maybe she had blessed my reading, because here I was, newly employed, strolling at a ladylike pace up West 57th. As I was crossing Broadway, a Con Ed guy popped up out of a manhole and hollered, "Nice stems, sweedhaht!"

Huh, this really was my day. It was going to get even better.

"We'll messenger the contracts to Esme's office this afternoon. We need you here on Monday."

I found just what I was looking for, Esme Evenson in full power broker glory.

"Excuse me, can you help me, please? Where is The Russian Tea Room."

"Uh, right here. This is the door..."

"Oh y'all are so kind, thank you, ma'am. You see, I'm from out of town, and things are just so confusin' 'round here."

Esme didn't bother to answer, having used up her meager stock of civility on this strange woman accosting her. I nutted up, slowly counting to twenty to give her a chance to see and be seen by the restaurant staff and patrons, and followed her right up into her favorite banquette.

"Hello again, y'all were so kind out there. I wonder if you'd buy me lunch."

"You can't sit down here. Who are you? Waiter, show this woman to another..."

"Esme, it's me, Edward. Edward Masen."

"Wha-! Who?"

"Edward Masen, your favorite client." She dropped her cigarette case with a clatter onto the silverware at her place. "But y'all can call me Maureen Edwards while we're out togethah like this."

"Oh Edward, I begged you to get therapy while you could still afford it. What have you done?"

"I've done just what you told me to do, Esme. I thought about everything you said. I made some changes, and I got a job. Maureen Edwards is the newest cast member of Southwest General. You'll be getting my contract by messenger this afternoon."

"I need vodka."

"Oh look, isn't that Dustin Hoffman coming over?"

Esme's customary banquette was in a choice position. Anyone entering or exiting The Russian Tea Room had to acknowledge her or purposefully ignore her. This was my next test.

"Now Esme, dahlin', don't be shy about introducin' me. How do you do? My name is Maureen Edwards. Ah jus' loved y'all in Li'l Big Man."

Giving his thanks with a nod to me, Hoffman turned to Esme once more. Into Esme's ear, I exclaimed girlishly, "Is he tryin' to seduce us, Miz Evenson?"

Just at that moment our waiter approached, and Hoffman made his escape, shaking his head.

Esme was livid. "He'll never take my calls again, Edward. What the hell?"

"He bought it! Dustin Hoffman thought I was a woman named Maureen!"

"May I take your order, ladies?"

"I'll have a double Stoli on the rocks and the blintzes with caviar."

"And for you, miss?"

"Oh honey, aren't y'all jus' so precious an' prompt. Grapefruit juice an' a plain omelet, please. Ah'm startin' the Scarsdale diet."

As the waiter made a note, I turned to Esme and cooed, "Don't you always encourage your girls to order jus' an omelet atbizness meetin's? See now, Ah was listening... it's because y'all say no gal looks good chewin' on her food lahke a big ol' wad o'cow's cud."

"Waiter? Kill the blintzes. Bring me the steak and eggs and the fried potatoes. Leave the bottle of Stoli and bring me an ashtray." Esme turned to me and glared. "Alright, Edw- I mean Miss Edwards, tell me about your part on Southwest General."

.~00~.

The three days before my debut on the soap were indeed hell. Emmett had become a cross between Mama Rose Hovick in Gypsy and Mammy in Gone With the Wind.

"Edward, put on your bra and waist cincher and try on each of these blouses. Okay, just turn around while I fasten up the hooks of your merry widow, Miz Scahlett."

"I'm tired being treated like a Barbie Doll."

"Dude, I want to see how low the necklines dip, so I know how far we need to apply the wax."

"What do you mean, how far?"

"It'll hurt less if I can avoid waxing down to your nipples."

I slapped my hands across my falsies protectively.

Oh fuck me, this was not going to be fun.
"Just don't squeal right in my ear this time, like you did when I waxed the nape of your neck. Save your voice for Maureen's first day, baby."

"I love it when you act butch."

"Yeah well, normally I'd award myself a trophy for getting that sound out of a woman so early in the evening. I'd definitely ask her out again."

It took three days for the change to be complete; three days of the worst pain I'd ever experienced. I was as pink and hairless as a naked mole-rat on every commonly exposed surface of my body between my eyebrows and my toenails. When I awoke on the morning I was to report to the set of Southwest General, reality hit. Pantyhose. Every damn day. Who the fuck invented pantyhose? Control-tops...

In full make-up and costume, I presented myself to Emmett, now curled up on the rump-sprung couch while the first hour of the Today Show droned.

"Feel me up."

"You have got to be kidding me."

I held my stance, leaning into him, hands pressing his shoulders onto the back of the couch.

"Okay." His hands landed on my falsie-filled padded bra, squeezing gently, the ball of his palms hefting and his thumbs circling. "Okay! Not bad, but we can do better. With your shoulders so wide, I'll get you a bigger cup size for balance. Break a leg, baby."

.~00~.

I arrived at the network front desk, having successfully navigated public transport in a full, pleated skirt and low heels. I nervously gave my name to the very nice lady security guard behind the front desk. I walked down the corridor knowing I was simultaneously honoring and scandalizing my professional forebears with my well-intentioned lies.

An intern showed me around the sets, kindly familiarizing Maureen with a part of the acting world I, as Edward, already knew too well. She pointed out the location of all the ladies restrooms and then took me to my dressing room. I knew I had to share it with another actress, Rosalie Hale. When I walked in, I knew I'd met my match.

She was fucking stunning... like someone you'd see on rollerskates, blowing bubbles and giggling... tall, blonde girlish perfection... and she had her hand down the front of the nice lady security guard's pants.

That nice lady glared at me as she left; America's Junior Miss offered me a handshake. I declined, because I knew where her hand had just been, but went to chuck her arm all the same.

No... can't chuck her arm... too masculine...

I placed my hanging bag of clothes on a chair and my purse on the counter and took a deep breath. It was my cue.

"Hello. Ah'm Maureen Edwards. Y'all must be Ros'lie Hale."

"Hiya, Maureen. It's good to meet you. Wow, with both of us being so tall, it might get crowded in here. I'm generally easy going as far as sharing space. So just settle in where you like. Have you met everybody? No? Anybody? Excellent, virgin ears. Now I can tell you everything, Rose's version!"

Rosalie proceeded to give me a breakdown of the people who inhabited my new world. She laughed at Jacob Black, "He's a pretty fool, believes his own publicity, huge fan base," sneered at Jasper Whitlock, "waste of space and highest paid director in soa... I mean daytime drama," and expressed grudging respect for Bella Swan, "sweet girl, too sweet for me, I like 'em tarty. She's Jasper's great and good friend this season. She's smart; he lasts longer with dumb ones. Me, I'm the best thing that ever happened to this show, an actress with looks and talent who won't leave to get pregnant and won't sleep with her leading man. So, Mo - can I call you Mo? Tell me all about you."

"This is mah first time on national television. I've done a good bit of regional theatre work and some local commercials... May I ask y'all a question? Jus' how strict is the morals clause in this ol' contract?"

"Didi and Marcus and the network take it very seriously. Do not sleep around with the cast or crew, do not fraternize off set unless it's official publicity for the show, no drugs or alcohol or illegal activities of any sort. Do whatever you want, but don't get caught. They'll kill off your character immediately."

"I don' think I'll have a problem with that, Ros'lie. Ah'm really very shy. I've learned in this business to keep mahself t' mahself. I really want this job, so I'll do my best to mind mah manners."

Rose grinned cheerfully and brought out a couple of cans of Diet Pepsi from a small refrigerator. Just then I heard a man's voice in the corridor.

"I say, do we have a new cast member? I must give her my very best." The faux British accent was unmistakable. I ducked behind the clothes rack, horrified at the thought of running into Esme's husband so soon. I saw him squirt Binaca into his mouth frantically.

Rose looked up from under the curling iron she had twisted into her bangs and beamed at me. "Good luck, honey. Carlisle Cullen will give you his very best whether it's scripted or not. We call him 'the tongue'."

I couldn't find the words, as Maureen or as Edward, to express my horror at that thought. On down past our room, the conversation between Carlisle and the man I now knew to be the director, Jasper Whitlock, continued clearly. The man certainly could project.

"Good point, Jasper. Now do you think that needs to be motivated from my own desire for Nurse Charles or something more elemental? You see, when I worked with Olivier... such a dear man, so generous, we all spent some time discussing using the voice to color a simple emotion..."

"Just hit your mark, Carlisle, and be outraged. We've got you on the prompter."

.~00~.

The first few days were pretty uneventful, once I got past the concept of having to wiggle pantyhose and a dance belt down to my knees every time I had to take a piss. While holding up a skirt and half-slip. I thought of just sitting on the can and risking backsplash, but I couldn't quite go there.

All of my work had so far taken place with the second unit crew, filming reverses to feed into the already recorded scenes with various cast members as they stood mournfully by Emily Kimberley's sick bed. I almost fell asleep the second day, but I caught myself before I lapsed into full-on snoring.

The third night I came home, took off my shoes, street clothes and wig and flopped on the couch with Emmett. He proceeded to raze me about the 5 o'clock shadow casting its hairy net on far too many parts of my body. I was too tired to protest.

"I'm in love, Emmett."

"You're hormonal, Edward."

"I just can't get Bella out of my mind. It's fucking torture. I lie there on the set and think about her for hours at a time."

"Dude, this wasn't part of the plan. But daydreaming about getting laid is always a good thing."

"Bite me, Em," I moaned into the throw pillow. "She's so killer, not like those freaky little space cadets I usually go for."

Friday found us in the same place, the corpses of that evening's dinner scattered across the coffee table. I filled Emmett in on the latest about Jake Black. His run in the Last of the Mohicans musical had been extended. So Maureen's reunion with Magnus was once more postponed. All in all, I was grateful. I had little appetite for the love scenes I knew were coming.

"Whitlock scared the crap out of me this morning. Walked up to me and said, 'Trixie, I have good news and bad news. Good news, you still have a job. Bad news, Jacob Black won't be returning for another month.' By the time I realized he wasn't calling me Trixie because of my unfortunate career choice at the age of nine, I'd lost my chance to ask just how much longer they are going to use me. No lovey-dovies in the script yet, so that's a relief."

"It's not like you've never given a guy tongue before."

"Never on camera, Emmett. Besides, I don't follow through."

"What will you be doing instead filming more of the love story with Jake?"

"They're keeping Emily unconscious with nurses. So the delectable Anthea Charles will be sitting by Emily's bed, in a nurse's uniform, holding her hand and reading her diary. I do voice-overs, interspersed with Bella reading aloud. To help stimulate Emily's memory or some shit; I know what's going to be stimulated. Christ, this storyline is ridiculous.

"Listen Em, I need advice. What color bedjacket do you think will look best with my eyes?"

"Yo, man... I mean... we are in a very weird area here, even for us. Besides, aren't your eyes shut on camera?"

"I know, I feel kind of bogus saying this, but... I want to look pretty when I'm around Bella."

"You are doing this for the money? Not just so you can wear the little outfits?"

.~00~.

My second week, Bella invited me to her apartment to run lines.
This was our first date. Knowing nothing appropriate to bring, I went to The Silver Palate and threw myself at Alice's mercy.

"This attentiveness is new, Edward. You losing your touch? So what do I pack for you?"

"Bread and wine, assorted cheeses, and lots of sweets, Allie. Chocolate sauce, lemon curd, poundcakes, truffles. And cookies. Be kind, honey. This is important."

"You trying to fatten her up for the kill?"

I went home to reconfigure myself afresh as Maureen. Emmett was no help with clothing choices, as he was on the phone the entire time I was getting ready.

I was headed out the door when Emmett snagged one of the bottles of wine from the basket.

"You don't need both, Edward. Two women can't polish off that much wine with an early call the next day. You don't want to be puffy on camera."

"Why do you need it?"

"I have a date with Irina or Tanya."

"Which one?"

"Doesn't matter, preferably both."

"You have no respect for women, Emmett."

"Tell yourself that next time I paint your toenails."

I took a cab to the address Bella had given me, a vague sense of deja vu floating around me as I entered the elevator.

As I stepped from the elevator and looked for the apartment number, I realized Unit 6A was my destination once more. Hello, buttah voice and bubelah.

My night at Bella's was perfect. Perfect in that I was faced with everything I had never had as a child. Bella was the mother, that little stinker with the stuffed cat was the daughter. I was the crazy neighbor lady. Sitcom heaven, reality hell.

Bella made kid-friendly food, pasta and bread. Amy went to bed at a decent hour. I had obviously walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone.

Bella and I talked for hours, working our way through several slices of poundcake and the whole bottle of wine.

Bella got very quiet and started to pick a cookie to bits. "Don't you find it hard to be a woman these days, Mo?"

Um, yeah, that would be correct.

"Wouldn't it be nice to meet someone and just know it was right from the very first, without having to go through all the bullshit? If he would say, 'Look, I find you very attractive. We're both sensitive, intelligent adults, and I would really like to make love with you.' "

I felt the blood flood my cheeks and my groin simultaneously. I choked, "Jus' heav'nly."

Our first date went very well.

.~00~.

"Oh, Maureen! There's someone I want you to meet." Bella squealed as I closed my dressing room door. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and something else I didn't recognize. She twirled behind her and thrust a man close to my size toward me with strength seemingly impossible for her petite frame. The man staggered, his eyes blinking heavily as they stared into mine.

I knew those eyes. I knew that flush, even knew a more floral version of that scent.

Her father.

"Well, hello there, Miss Edwards," he greeted, his smile sweet and shy. "What a pleasure."

"Oh… sorry, Maureen Edwards, this is my Dad… Charlie Swan." Bella clutched her father's hand. "Daddy's your biggest fan, Maureen."

"Well, now… Bells…"

"Oh... mah gracious, what an honor…" I offered my hand reflexively and, to my horror, as a man meeting a girl's father.

"That's quite a grip you've got there, Miss Edwards."

"Daddy!"

"Oh, Ah'm quite the racquetball afficionado, and it certainly has strengthened mah forearms!" The giggle that escaped me no doubt sounded like the maniacal cackle of the insane.

From the look on his face, Bella's father was utterly charmed.
Fuck! Fuck! I knew that look… I'd given women that look. But from Charlie Swan, there was no doubt it was real.

Bella insisted on a small luncheon for the three of us in her dressing room, and Maureen was invited over for dinner. Bella wouldn't take no for an answer. She was already marinating the steaks.

.~00~.

"Maureen!" Bella had the same glow in her eyes when she opened her door, only now it was absolutely incandescent. The sweet aroma of Bella and browning meat hit me as soon as I stepped into the foyer, followed closely by the very apparent, much heavier scent of Brut aftershave.

"Miss Edwards," Charlie Swan offered his hand like a true gentleman and thrust a cold can of Stroh's into mine like a helluva guy.

"Oh, Daddy, don't give Mo Vitamin S...she's not much of a drinker!"

"What? Sturdy gal like her... C'mon, Mo, I bet you could knock a few back, huh?"

Oh Jesus God and all of his Apostles...

"Well... I do like a glass o' suds on occasion!" I declared, riding the razor's edge of giddy and insane.

"There ya go, Bells. Tell ya what, Mo, if there's one thing I can't take in a gal is puttin' on refinements."

I noticed Bella moving, not to the kitchen but to the door. In her coat.

"Good night, Jasper's waiting on me at Sardi's." She turned and hugged me, then planted an adoring kiss on her father's cheek. "Don't wait up, Daddy. Rose has Amy tonight."

With that, Bella was gone, and I was on my first date with a man.

Okay, over thirty.

Okay, with a mustache.

Okay, who had a daughter I wanted to ball or marry or something.

Not only was Bella gorgeous, a talented, if still raw, actress, and an adoring mother, she could cook the hell out of a steak.

Once we finished dinner, Charlie and I settled back into the sofa.

"So, Charlie, you're the... Game Warden? What exactly is it y'all do up there in the Adirondacks? Can't imagine there'd be anything wilder than a Lilly Pulitzer dress up there."

"Who?"

"Nothing... you were sayin'... about your job as Game Warden? You don't, say... carry a firearm or nothin', now do you?" I needed to stop with the booze. I sounded like Ellie Mae Clampett.

"Oh sure. Biggest problem we have these days is rabid animals. Raccoons mostly, sometimes bear. Lucky I'm a crack shot."

"Bottoms up," he winked and cracked a fresh can open for me.

"So, Charlie..." I was completely lost for a topic. The come-on vibe was heavier on him than the Brut 33, he was leaning in for the kill, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my neck from under my wig.

Salvation!

"Up for some music?" I sprang from the sofa and across the room quicker than a gazelle in a lion preserve.

Surprisingly, Charlie knew show tunes better than I did, matching me verse for verse on the entire score of Mame, Cabaret, and Fiddler on the Roof. Emmett would have been impressed. After two more Stroh's and an encore of "If I Were a Rich Man", Charlie scooted me across the bench and broke out the Rodgers and Hammerstein.

"Some enchanted evening..." he began in a rather impressive baritone. I smiled and nodded as I was serenaded by the father of the woman I loved.

"Excuse me, Charlie." When I stood, I swayed on my sensible heels, right into Charlie's shoulder.

"Hey, now... careful, little lady," he chuckled. His arms went around me. "Why don't we put on some music and dance?"

"Ah cain't dance."

"Oh Mo, you really shouldn't have said that. You've just never had the right partner. It's all in the leading."

His arms were still around me, and he was coming closer... in for the kill.

I'm so sorry, Bella...

I turned my head slightly, shifted my diaphragm, and produced a burp that would have made Emmett's heart skip a beat.

"Oh my gracious... Charlie, Ah do think I've overindulged!"

"Nonsense, Mo. You're just my kinda gal!"

"Honestly, I... I need some air, and oh my stars, is it nine already? I have an early call and..." I looked over my shoulder, gauging my escape route. "It's been a divine evenin', and Ah just think you're 'bout the most entertainin' gentleman..."

I reached blindly for my purse and trenchcoat, still in retreat. "Would you care to give my warmest regards toBella and l'il Amy?"

The doorknob!

Safety!

"Good night, Charlie...farewell! Partin' is such sweet sorrow!"

I was never going to drink domestic beer again. By the time I got back to the loft I already felt like the floorboard of a taxi. While fumbling with my key I heard singing. It was "Some Enchanted Evening" again, but the voice was a tenor, not Charlie's baritone. Over my shoulder I saw the ash blond head of Carlisle Cullen, clutching a bunch of carnations and a box of candy.

Nope, not happening. I went back to opening the door. Damn bulky key, damn tiny lock. Damn Carlisle following me up the stairs.

Finally, the door to the loft swung open.

Sanctuary!

"You'll have to excuse me, Carlisle. Mah roommate is home, and we're not plannin' to receive visitors tonight."

Immediately, my oasis evaporated.

Inside the loft was Emmett with a naked blonde astride him on the sofa. I pulled the door shut.

"Carlisle, you really must be goin' now."

From behind door, a God-awful commotion ensued, complete with a furious girl squeaking, "You dinkweed, you never told me you had a girl for a roommate! Who is she?"

The door flung open again and before us was a rather mussed blonde wearing one of Emmett's Yogi the Bear bedsheets.

Not the most comfortable of moments in any stretch of the imagination... even this unholy mess.

"Oh, my... I had no idea Emmett was... entertainin'" I stammered, backing away from the door, right into Carlisle and his carnations.

"Wait, I just saw your picture! Aren't you - you are! Maureen Edwards! Oh my God! I love you on Southwest General. Your diary makes me cry. And... and you're Carlisle Cullen! I've been in love with you all my life. My mother adores Dr. Brewster, she thinks you're the sexiest man on TV."

"Oh my dear, how kind of you. Please give your mother my very best." Carlisle moved toward the fawning girl, his eyebrow lifting with the prospect of fresh Blonde and willing Mom.

Oh Christ, he never stops.

I stepped between them.

"Now, Carlisle, Ah think you've forgotten Esme is mah agent. She's told me for years how much y'all like to court the new girl, every new girl. Thank you very much for the nice big box o' chocolates. Now you run on home, you bad, bad boy, and take Esme those pretty flowers."

Emmett was still naked, sitting on the sofa systematically biting each chocolate in half. When he found one he didn't like, he put the bitten pieces back in the frilled paper. I turned to him, exasperated.

"Hey, I don't like the ones with nuts. So, anyway, that's Katie Garvin in my room getting dressed."

"Who?"

Emmett grinned at me, his teeth clotted with caramel and chocolate fragments. "The Ghost of Christmas Past. Remember? She lives in New York now."

"You slut."

Katie blew out the door on a cloud of Gloria Vanderbilt eau de toilette and clutching an autographed headshot for her mom, Sasha. Emmett watched her a bit wistfully, then brightened, "Hey, Maureen - got something for you." He sauntered off to his room.

"Jesus, Em, put some pants on. Last thing I need tonight is your nutsack blowing in the breeze."

"Dude, you are IT. You're everywhere... Cosmo,Newsweek, Soap Opera Digest. Whoa, and People!"

"What was Esme thinking, authorizing this? 'How to Win the Heart of a Confirmed Bachelor? Maureen Edwards SharesHer Secrets.' I thought these were publicity stills for the show! I never did an interview."

"Looks like Maureen is the new 80's Lady," Emmett chucked me on the shoulder and shut his door, leaving me with the magazines but taking the damn Whitman's sampler with him.

Bitch.

.~00~.

Maureen's six a.m. call came way too soon, especially when my call to become Maureen was at four. The pounding in my head echoed the clomp of my Easy Streets as I staggered down the hall to my dressing room. As I rounded the corner, oh fresh hell... there was Bella.

"Oh, morning, Mo," she said quietly, blinking down at her shoes.

"Bella..." I caught myself and cleared my throat...Maureen! Not Edward! Maureen! "Bella, honey, I am so very sorry about last evenin'. I... I just..."

"Hey," her delicate hand fell on my arm, and immediately I had to think of the time I saw my on-screen grandmother in her underwear on the Trixie set. "Mo... I'm sorry. I didn't realize, and then I just set you up... I hope we haven't changed." She looked down, blinking again. "You know I love you, right?"

"Well... I..." I stammered. Right words, wrong circumstance. "Your Daddy is just wonderful I-"

"Mo, it's okay. I just didn't realize you were a lesbian."

She kissed my cheek and walked away, leaving me stunned and wafting her Love's Baby Soft behind her.

Before I could find my composure, Rose found me, still gaping.

"Hey, Didi and Marcus need you up in production, babe."

I stared at her stupidly, blinking not unlike Bella.

"You okay, Mo? You look like hell."

"Long night," I muttered, still in shock and too hung over to roust myself from it.

"Fuck, don't I know it. Beer bust at the Tongue N' Groove. Ughhh.. Anyway - it's the Volturis, better move it. Don't worry, babe. It's good news, has to be."

I nodded mutely and proceeded upstairs to the public face of Southwest General. Now in addition to the larger-than-life portraits of Bella, Carlisle, Rose and Jacob Black, a workman was screwing a new picture to the wall - of Maureen.

Fifteen minutes later I was hiding in the booth on the phone with Esme.

"What the fuck do you mean, six months? Esme, this is an eight week gig!"

"I'm sorry, Edward, they've picked up your option, darling."

Oh, now I'm darling. Of course, she's getting her fifteen percent again.

"Esme, you've got to get me out of this! I can't..." I thought of Bella's eyes looking up at me, telling me she loved me. But it wasn't me, it was Maureen. The biddy was taking over my life.

"Edward, barring any violation of the morals clause... and considering they've pretty much done everything on the show to violate that, the contract is tight. And I don't think the union would support falsifying an identity as a reason to break your contract."

I mumbled something about talking to her later and hung up.

"Miss Edwards, you're needed on set," Whitlock's very annoyed voice rang out on the tannoy.

Shit.

When you go up and lose your lines, you improvise. I just hoped I had the balls to go there in the long-line girdle Emmett had squished them into.

.~00~.

When I made it to the set I realized just why Whitlock himself had called for me.

"The network equipment melted down, and we lost the reel from today's broadcast." Rose explained, seeing my confusion at the pandemonium on the set. "We're going to have to run program 18-A live."

"Live? As in live broadcast?" I croaked.

"Yep. Better check with wardrobe on which bedjacket you had that day. Get ready, sugar, it's gonna be balls to the wall around here."

She had no idea.

.~00~.

Bella was reading from Emily's diary, hitting every single nuance of the overwrought writing and playing it with a sincerity I'd not seen from her before. Through my false eyelashes, I could see her looking at me, real tears streaming down her face as she held my limp hand, patting it occasionally for effect.

I clenched my teeth and took a cleansing breath. Finding my Maureen space... connecting... remembering the agony of Emily as she was forced to hide her love for Magnus because of her highly advanced brain tumor. Bella continued, reading Emily's words of true love triumphant in any circumstance, her certainty that if she and Magnus could just run away together, all would be well.

And suddenly, I was Emily. I was outraged. And I knew just what to do.

Gasping, I sat up and pushed the sheets from my chin. Bella looked at me with saucer-like eyes, and didn't blink once.

"Miss Kimberley!"

"I... cain't take this farce just one minute longer!" I flung the bedding from me with a great flourish and stood beside the bed, whipping my satin negligee around me. "My poor darlin' sister suffered so cruelly at the hands of this town. She was nothin' but love, had nothin' but a heart full of love for all, y'all and what did she get in return? Lies. Judgment. Scorn."

"Y... Y-your sister?" Bella toned, still wide-eyed and doing her best to hang on for the ride. Just beyond the lights and camera two, furious whispers and rustling pages were punctuated by the occasional 'FUCKING...' in none other but the dulcet tones of Jasper Whitlock.

"That's right, sister! I came back to Meyer Falls to avenge my sister's memory. And the only way I could make y'all accept me, the only way I could make you hear the power of her love for Magnus was to be Emily."

"Be? Emily?" Bella looked like she was close to swallowing her tongue.

"That's right, and now y'all know, it's time to tell the truth." I slid my wig off and tossed it aside. "'Cause I'm proud, just as proud as I can be of my sweet, dead sister... just as she was of me. Proud... of her brother..." I handed Bella my false eyelashes and looked right into camera one. "Edw...Edmund Kimberley. Twin brother of Emily and lover of Magnus Wolfe!"

I heard a definite 'cut to commercial... cut to test pattern... FUCKING CUT TO SOMETHING!' and turned to Bella, desperate to explain. Still holding my eyelashes, she strode to me, her eyes like steel and punched me square in the gut.

"Jesus, what's he wearing under that negligee?" I heard her mutter as she walked off set, shaking her limp hand.

Random comments assaulted me as the bright lights and pandemonium of the set sent me into another world:

"She's got a dick!"

"Well, I'll be damned."

"I knew there was a reason she didn't like me"

"Cut. Cut... FOR FUCK'S SAKE, CUT!"

.~00~.

After the initial threat of legal action died down, I was allowed back on set to collect my personals. Marcus and Didi actually sent me a Silver Palate gift basket. Apparently, the publicity from the show and ad revenue had made them a fortune. I was released from my contract immediately, we had our ten grand for Emmett's show, and my chest hair was growing back in nicely.

But I didn't have Bella. Without her, none of that, especially the chest hair, mattered.

I passed her dressing room, and the door was cracked, allowing me a glimpse of her drinking wine and talking on the phone. As if on cue, her head popped up, and we looked at each other. Well, she glared.

"Bye Daddy. I'll talk to you later."

I had to try. For Bella, I'd try anything. Even humiliation.

"Hello, I'm Edward Masen. You must be Bella Swan. I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself before. I've been away for personal reasons."

Bella looked up at me, blinking huge tears, stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist. I held her close, finally able to drink her in as myself. We stood that way for the whole conversation.

"I just met with the Volturis and the network suits. I think it's pretty obvious Didi and Marcus are going to write off my character. It's straight to the sanitarium for Miss...or Mr. Kimberley. He needs extensive recuperation following his unexpected recovery and breakdown."

"I'm going to miss Mo."

"Me, too. But she's still here, if you want her to be."

"Can I borrow that yellow dress?"

"Which dress? You mean my Halston? No, no, no, it would have to be cut down to fit you. You'd ruin the hemline."

"Why do you want to keep it? I thought men liked to see women wearing their clothes. Don't you think I'd look as pretty in it as you?"

"Only if I get to see you drop it by the foot of my bed."

She pulled back and punched me again.

God I love that woman. And Mo, too. Without her, I wouldn't be the man I am.