Rachel and her schizophrenic zeal of dress code. An outfit to go with every emotion. Every mood possible. Her clothes cautiously choreographed to match her mood of the day. Or maybe she just throws something on and her mood blends in with her arrangement for that day. Whatever. You just never knew what version of Rachel was coming to work. But as soon as she switched into her costume, she became that character and stayed that way. I guess thats what makes a good actress.
When I first got into the business and met Rachel, she told me that she had these aspirations as a little girl to be a great big movie star. But really, who hasnt? Im getting really sick of listening to everyones sorry ass story about how they dreamed of being some movie star or what-not. Like, hello? And Rachel? As if! Dont get me wrong, she can act, but she wlll never be anything more than the walking-talking blow-up doll for the porno industry. If only her parents could see her now. Its such a tragic story. The tragedy is, is that there are thousands of Rachels out there with the same goals and will end up with the same disappointments.
Everyone has an insatiable need to share their story with someone. Their sad, tragic life story. No one cares about your story because theyre too busy scrambling to try to find someone that willl listen to their own. I suppose thats why I used to go to counseling. At least theres people out there that get paid to listen to your stupid, sad story. And they comfort you with their professional compassion, give you a prescription, and shove you out the door.
Somewhere behind all this crap are the fading memories of my pathetic story. But I feel so removed from it, like it was a movie, but now the producers are editing out all the not so exciting scenes for time content. And with someone else playing the lead role. Someone that couldnt really depict you on screen and has larger hips and a crooked nose. I feel cheated, and everything seems like a blur. I dont even think I could really tell you about my timeline anymore. Does it really matter anyhow? Is my perception of the past what truly happened? Why cant I just make it all up and turn this movie into a happy story with a PG rating? Just as long as someone looks deeply into my eyes and yearns to know who I am, and then the past no longer belongs to you. Its just a figment of youre imagination and then only thing that ever mattered was trying to find someone who would listen and care.
The twisted thing about my past is the fact that I dont know which people were real or who was a part of my imagination. We call them extras in the movie biz. There arent any extras in porno movies. Either youre fucking or youre not in the script. All these insignificant people and their small on-screen roles that occupy my life story. My movie script. My xxx hardcore fuck fest known as my life. Hope none of them will be back for the sequel. But does it really even matter anymore if these people were just a part of my alternate reality? It wouldnt do any good to just sit around and think about it. It doesnt change anything. Im still stuck in this shit hole present. Still trapped by an impeding future. Everyone has their own reality, their own logic, common sense, and their own truth. So my reality is different, and I think its exciting to think that my past could have been just a sham. It softens the blow, so to speak.
"Lipstick," Rachel ordering me around again. She never asks, she just says a word and youre supposed to react. I hand her the lipstick, which is a bright shade of cherry red, giving her that more sluttier, dick-teased look of a hooker. I dont tell her this because I dont think thats the look shes going for.
"This place is fucking gross," Rachel talking again. "When are we going to get to a studio with some real dressing rooms, not this congregating in a smelly bathroom?" I try to ignore her but its hard not to agree. I remember when I was a little girl I dreamed of being a famous actress and had my own dressing room, wardrobe closet, and the twelve foot wide mirrors that show you in all your glory. With the star on the front of the door with your name in big red glittery letters, proclaiming to everyone the goddess behind the barrier. Oh God, maybe I cant stand everyone else?s dream to fame story because it reflects mine own.