The Diva, Chapter 1: In The 90s I Was In A Famous TV Show

The first chapter of my 8th stuck story, The Diva! 

CHAPTER 1: IN THE 90S I WAS IN A FAMOUS TV SHOW

Regina Belaire stood at her window, looking out at the car waiting for her on the street.

“‘Your car’ will be there to pick you up at 5am. This is not ‘my’ car.”

It was a ride-share. Not even an infamous one. A knockoff startup.

“Non-union, no drivers,” she sighed.

Regina picked up her purse, a small duffle and her sunglasses, pausing with her hand on the doorknob, taking a moment to acknowledge the rumbling in her round, protruding tummy.

“This isn’t worth it, Reggie.”

The driver surprised her by opening the door for her, service she did not expect from such a shady vendor.

“Ms Belaire, I just wanted to say, Postal was one of my favorite shows growing up, you were my first crush.”

The more Regina heard men tell her that, the more she resented it. No one complimented her looks now, despite the fact that finally, at 45, she was happy, and healthy. At 20 she was alcoholic, anorexic and already heading towards her first divorce and the accompanying mental breakdown. Not a period of her life she enjoyed getting complimented about over and over.

But it was her most lucrative and successful time in her career. Nothing in her disastrous personal life phased her career, which was stratospheric for ten years.

Then she’d committed the three worst crimes an actress can commit: she turned 30, she had kids, she got fat. And she’d spent every year of the past fifteen years paying for it.

Regina’s refusal to lose weight for roles over the last fifteen years had gotten her labeled a Diva. A persona she’d enjoyed playing up with the press, but in reality she wasn’t refusing to lose weight, she couldn’t lose weight. No number of personal trainers or nutritionalists over the years could make the needle turn back from its steady climb upward.

Her tummy rumbled again. She put her hand over her belly, which even after starving herself for months in preparation for this role, still rolled out onto her lap. She’d starved herself for three months and was only marginally thinner than when producers warned her that her casting was contingent on her losing “at least” 100 pounds.

She’d lost 10.

Nearly.

In her duffle she’d brought shapewear and a corset. It wouldn’t make her nearly thin enough for them, but it would hopefully be enough to deflect from a standoff that might get her fired before production started.

It was a gamble.

She needed to work the sunk cost fallacy in her favor. Shoot some scenes, get some successful dailies under her belt, make it cheaper to keep her on than to fire her, recast and reshoot. She figured a week would be long enough, then she could start eating again and if she gained the ten pounds back by the end of production it would be too much trouble to do anything about it.

She lamented that the actors she worked with twenty-five years ago all got to enjoy big budget de-aging technology, allowing them to play younger into their 50s, 60s and 70s while she was considered too ancient to cast in her 40s.

Her driver pulled into a parking lot where she could spot one gear truck, a single generator and what looked like old airstream trailers?

She wasn’t sure she’d ever been in a show this low budget before.

A young dyke wearing headphones and a radio was jogging across the parking lot towards the car. The sight of the production assistant was the only comforting thing Regina had seen in this whole production. She never got along with male production assistants, most of which considered the job beneath them and their visions of grandeur.

But Regina enjoyed the camaraderie and intimacy of working with other women, and gay women especially, though she never analyzed this warm feeling very deeply even though her therapist had repeatedly questioned her heterosexuality after every failed marriage.

“R-Regina? Sorry-sorry, Ms Belaire, I’m Clementine, I’ll be showing you to your trailer this morning, was the ride okay?”

Regina was amused by this overenthusiastic blushing young woman, extending a gentle hand to help her out of the car.

Clementine did her best to plant her feet when she felt Regina pull on her arm with her substantial weight as she stood up. She had overhead the producers complaining about Regina’s weight but thought they’d been exaggerating until she’d seen her there in person.

“Where to?” Regina hoped it wasn’t those shitty old trailers she saw when they pulled in.

“Right this way,” Clementine lead her towards the shitty old trailers. She naturally slowed her usual brisk pace to match Regina’s waddle, she was working up the courage to talk.

“Ms Belaire, I’m a big fan, I just wanted to say that I loved your voice work on Hana’s Waltz.”

The compliment caught Regina off guard, no one ever complimented her voice work, which had paid the bills since studios stopped putting her in front of cameras anymore. And Hana’s Waltz was obscure. She liked this one.

What she didn’t like was her trailer. What she thought was an inner sigh must have been aloud since Clementine gave her an uncomfortable look while she held the door open, “you don’t like it?”

“It’s a lovely coffee cart maybe, but it’s not a production trailer.”

Regina stepped up, immediately meeting the sides of the narrow trailer door, “jesus will I even fit in here?”

Clementine’s heart jumped into her throat, “um -uh”

She extended a hand, as if she was going to push Regina through the door, but Regina shoved her rotund body through sideways.

Clementine stood, jaw agape, “oh wow.”

She turned her attention back to business, calling in after Regina, “are the sides in there pink or yellow?”

Regina picked up the script pages on the table, “pink.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back, there’s new yellow pages for today.”

Clementine closed the door and jogged off.

Regina tossed her duffle on the “bed” and put her purse down on the “table,” all of which she could reach from where she was standing by the door.

She was too fat for this trailer, and even at the nadir of her career, too famous for this no budget bullshit.

The sofa bed was past the bathroom, which she wasn’t sure she could squeeze past, the table and connected booth looked far too small for her to fit. But there was no where else to sit besides the toilet and the trailer gave her enough claustrophobia without exploring the bathroom.

Regina tried to slide into the booth, her thighs and butt too big to squeeze under and her belly too big to fit between the table and the wall. She propelled her substantial weight into the tight spot, hoping gravity would get her in.

KNOCK KNOCK

“Ms Belaire, I have your new pages.”

Still out of breath from her attempts to get into the booth, Regina made some half hearted attempts to get back out before giving up, “come in!”

Clementine could hear Regina panting as she stepped in, “are you okay?”

Regina was wedged to tightly in the booth to catch her breath so she just nodded and held out her hand for the script pages.

“Would you like a coffee or breakfast from craft services?”

“This says my first shot isn’t until 6pm.”

“Yeah, sorry, I heard the producers saying they were swapping the day around.”

“Glad somebody told me.”

“Sorry”

“You don’t have to apologize, you’re just the messenger.”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence. Clementine’s eyes drifted to Regina’s wedged belly and then swiftly looked away as she felt the blood rush to her head.

“Did you say you were going to craft services?”

“I-I did, yeah.”

“Great, I want it all.”

“What?”

“Bring craft services to me,” she patted her hands on the table that pinned her in the booth, “I’m going to eat until they need a can opener to get me out of this trailer, fuck 'em.”

“I-um, yes Ms Belaire, right away!” Clementine ran out of the trailer barely able to contain her smile.

Alone again, Regina made another unsuccessful attempt to remove herself from the booth.

“Shit.”