One
Morgan
Sheets of rain combined with wall-to-wall traffic made traveling the Los Angeles freeway system worse than usual. It didn’t matter—I was so excited nothing could burst my bubble of excitement.
“I can hardly wrap my mind around the fact that we’re on our way to the Golden flipping Globes! How nuts is it that you’ve gone from soap opera actress to best actress nominee in just a few years?”
The question came from my roommate and fellow limo passenger, Allie, who had been my best friend since kindergarten.
I smiled at her as I finished carefully taking a sip of the water bottle full of cherry Kool-Aid I’d brought from our apartment. I was being extra cautious because if it spilled down my dress or stained the skin around my mouth, I’d be mortified. That didn’t stop me from drinking it, though. You could dress me up, put me into a limo, and send me off to one of the biggest award shows on the planet, but it wouldn’t change that I was a girl who bought Kool-Aid flavor packs from Amazon in bulk.
“It feels like a dream,” I admitted. “I have no doubt that we’ll be coming here to celebrate you in the next few years, too.”
She laughed nervously, shrugging me off. “The movie might suck—”
I understood that she was anxious and afraid to be overly optimistic, but it was my job as her BFF to make sure she celebrated her achievements. Allie’s script was nothing short of amazing. Not only that, but Mason Cleary was also directing it. There was no doubt in my mind that it would be a huge success.
“You’re an insane person,” I teased. “Don’t downplay all that you’ve already achieved.”
Allie’s green eyes sparkled as she pushed her golden blond hair back over her shoulder. In addition to being wildly talented, she was also incredibly beautiful.
“You’re right,” she said “We’re already succeeding almost beyond our wildest dreams Sometimes I find it hard to believe this is all happening. You’re going to win a Golden Globe, Morgan. That’s huge.”
“Eek, don’t count my chickens before they hatch,” I cautioned. “We both know I’m up against some unbelievable talent. This is my first nomination. Plus, we both know there are tons of people who like to talk smack, like my having started out on a soap opera somehow makes me less than.”
I frowned as I said it, annoyance clear in my voice. I hated how people had weird attitudes about actors that started out in soap operas. There was a certain stigma to it; an expectation that the only step up you could take was to a sitcom, and even that was iffy.
That hadn’t been my experience. I’d gone from winning best actress at the Daytime Emmys to snagging a small part in a movie directed by Ben Affleck. That role was expanded when he realized I could act. Now I had a few starring roles under my belt—and one of them was why I was in a limo about to pull up outside the Beverly Hilton Hotel to walk the press line.
Allie shifted in her seat as she tapped away on her cell phone. “Gloria and Dane just got there and are about to work the line, so they’ll meet us at the table.”
“Ten-four,” I said, nodding with a smile. Dane Garrison was my relatively new agent, something I was still trying to wrap my mind around since he was a very big deal in Hollywood. Even with a Best Actress nomination, it would’ve taken me several more years to get someone of his stature to consider representing me. I’d hit the lottery because the director of my Golden Globe-nominated film had lobbied hard for him to take me on. Gloria had the ability to do that because she was his mother.
Gloria Garrison was Hollywood royalty. In the eighties, her popularity had risen to a level equivalent to that of Elizabeth Taylor in her heyday. Everything she’d touched turned to gold, and people were desperate to know everything about her. After a stellar career in front of the camera, she segued to directing nine years ago. Despite her star power, she had to work her tail off to make it happen. Hollywood was funny like that—the number of female motion picture directors was pathetically low. In the seventy-four years since the inception of the Golden Globes, only one woman had ever won the Best Director award. I was hoping by the end of the night, Gloria would follow in Barbra Streisand’s shoes and walk away with the trophy.
I loved her as a person, adored her as a director, and was thankful she twisted her son’s arm to get him to take me on. I’d been uncomfortable at first, but once Dane told me that in no uncertain terms could his mother have gotten him to agree to work with me if he didn’t think I was worth investing his time in, I’d been overjoyed.