One: Welcome to the World of Entertainment

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They all laughed at me when I told them I wanted to become an actress. Even my parents and especially my brothers.

               "Look at those hips, Emmie. Actresses never have hips wider than their waist line. And you can't do a darn thing about it," My mother drawled in her southern accent, after I told her and my father I would be leaving home that next summer.

                "Not just the hips, May, but her body shape in general," My oh-so-supportive father mocked, "All muscle and no hustle, if you ask me. Too many days out at the football field with the boys, she's shaped like a scrawny man. And her eyes droop, just like  Jea-"

                "If you say one more thing about Auntie Jean, I swear I'll ride a thumb the whole way to Bridgeport, Dad," I snapped. Threatening to hitchhike to the big city always seemed to shut them both up. I knew how to push my parents' buttons as well as they knew how to push mine. I didn't care if my dad judged me, but my Aunt was a whole different story. My dad knew that bringing up Jean was my big, red, flashing button that had the word "danger" blasted across it in bold, capital, underlined, and any other fancy type of writing they have now-a-days. He, apparently, liked to live on the edge.

                My father, Randall, ragged on his sister until the day she was on her deathbed. She just laughed about it. My Auntie Jean was as tough as a rhino. I know that's not a saying you hear every day, but she was way past the 'Tough as Nails' stage in her life. No one needs the gritty details right off the bat, so when her life story needs to be brought up, it will be. But until then, one thing you need to know is that I loved my Auntie more than I loved my own mother.

Here's a quick information session on the woman who never laughed at my dreams:

                Jeannette Vouge was the sexiest cowgirl in all of Riverview in her prime. Lust was the first thing that you thought of when you saw all the boys chasing her. (And there always was a different boy who tried to shove their arm behind Auntie's back in pictures. Most of the pictures I've seen of her high school years had a poor kid being slapped silly by Auntie after they tried to cop a feel of her butt.) Despite the constant cloud cover of boys in the neighborhood, her heart was set on one hat, and that hat belonged to my Uncle Kevin. Jean and Kevin were the most unlikely couple, but sometimes it  just seemed to work that way. 'It' being love, in that scenario, of course. Auntie Jean had strong opinions about love, but those stories will come later. Their whole romantic history (obviously not EVERYTHING, I'm just saying the need-to-know stuff) can come later when I finish unpacking my boxes and I find the pictures of them. Needless to say (but I'm going to say it anyways), you'll hear a lot about my past during the time you spend here, my life won't make much sense if I keep it all locked up.

                Anyway, it was Auntie's idea for me to keep a journal, but nothing is as much fun as pictures, and hello! we are in the 21st century here. So I'll sit here and journal behind a computer screen, and share it with everyone. There's no better way to become famous than to hawk your life out to someone who can spill the beans; I might as well get started with this rodeo.

                As you might have already figured out, my name is Emmie Vouge. I grew up in the little one-horse town of Riverview, which is a great place if you want to smell like cow manure for your whole life. I moved to Bridgeport under the influence of becoming an actress and 'making it big,' I guess you could say. I was 18 for three days when I jumped on a plane to the city, and I bought a piece-of-crap house on a piece-of-crap lot the first evening I arrived there. I suppose I could have gotten more with the money I had if I actually wanted to look, but Auntie Jean was an investor, and she said fixer-uppers make as good as a home as any mansion to one girl with a future, so I took her advice (as usual).

So there stood my new, tiny little yellow house. I didn't want an apartment, I lived close enough to the action of the city already. Even though I wanted to be famous, I knew even then that I wouldn't want to be around masses of people constantly. Maybe small towns did that to people, maybe not. I'll never know. After all, I'm only just one girl.

That's me. All fancied out in a fancy dress, sprawled out across a fancy bed, in a fancy room, with fancy walls… in my piece-of-crap house. You'll get another picture of me later, I just need to find one where my hips don't look "too big." (P.S. My hips aren't even that big, I'm just giving my mother the satisfaction of maybe being right for once… It's making up for the blow of not loving her as much as I love Jean)

My third day in Bridgeport, I stumble across this ugly building with a cool looking fountain out front, which is the only reason why I stopped. You would have never guessed that THIS is the kind of place where movies that bring in millions of dollars are filmed, which I would find out later.

                "Emmie…. Vouge?" A male voice sounded behind me as I admired the fountain.

                I spun around to face him. He was mildly handsome, but in an old and rugged way, with a strong jaw and piercing hazel eyes that felt like they knew everything about me as he gazed at me. He had to be at least Aunt Jean and Uncle Kevin's age, maybe even a little older.

                "Yes, sir, that's me," I answered stupidly, wishing I had his accent rather than my own Riverview twang.

                "Your aunt sent me a letter a few months back. You look older than the picture she sent…" He fished around in his pockets and came out with a folded up picture of Auntie Jean and I, sitting in reclined lawn chairs, posing identically. I had that same picture in my wallet, we had taken it about 13 months back, before we knew how sick Auntie really was.

                "That's us," I smiled down at the worn out picture, "Why did she write to you?" My gazed slipped back up to his hazel eyes after he folded the picture once more and stuffed it back in his pocket.

                "Well, I've owed your aunt a big favor for quite some time now, and when she found out that I was a director, she sent me the letter with your picture and information. She told me to be keeping my eyes peeled around town for you around this time of year, since she had a feeling you'd be here. Are you interested in a job? I can't give you much to start out with, but it's easy to get promotions if you have the right connections…" He trailed off, studying my face for a moment.

                "You… owed my aunt a favor. So you're giving me a job? I don't see how that helps her out at all. I mean, she's dead now, so there isn't much that anyone can do, but why do you think giving me a job is going to help her? I say you ran out of chances when she took her last breath…" I rambled on in a confused tone. I wasn't trying to be snobby, and I never looked a job opportunity in the mouth in any case, I was just trying to figure everything out. I had just moved to Bridgeport for God's sake. 

                The man smiled, "You're just like her, you know. We're all going to miss her, and your uncle too. My last and only favor to your aunt was for me to take care of you, starting with getting you a job in the acting career. It's not much, like I promised, but you'll get there. What do you say?"

                I considered for about one millionth of a second, "I say I've got a new house and a new job. Thank you Mister…." I held out my hand for him to shake while I waited for a name to put to his face.

                "Grayson. Harry Grayson. Not as cool as James Bond, I must confess, but at least it's not as bad as Emmie," Harry winked at me and shook my hand lightly, "With a name like that you might as well have had the phrase 'Born to be Famous' tattooed on your butt at birth or something."

                I laughed, realizing that this was the type of man that someone would kill for to be their boss. And I got him as mine, all because my aunt knew him from her hay days (No pun intended…. Ok, maybe a little intention was there...) in Riverview.  This old man with laugh lines and various other wrinkles on his face just gave me a job without so much as a resume with my name on it. Soon, I would be out on the town, handing flyers to random people and making coffee and donut runs for the rich and famous whom I would no doubt encounter. If my Auntie Jean ever did anything overly astounding and wonderful for me besides basically raise me, it was getting me a job working for Grayson. Harry Grayson.                               

 

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