Chapter Text
‘American Sweetheart: Angie Manuel.
Angie Manuel—now 19. No longer the little girl who danced on our TVs. But, she still has our hearts. In 1989, she was our little Rebecca Jones on A House Of Our Own…’
‘Nineteen-year-old Angie Manuel.
Former child star, Angie Manuel, has officially turned 19 this week—everyone is eager to know if she has any plans for her birthday. “Possibly,” Angie smugly responded to one of our reporters. Will she take the weekend to let her hair down and party?’
2003.
Beverly Hills—
“I don’t know Megan.” Angie rested back on her bed, holding her flip phone to her ear. She flipped through the magazines, growing anxious with every article about her birthday. She furrowed her brow as she read the conflicting opinions about whether or not she should celebrate with a party.
“C’mon, Angel.” Megan begged on the other side of the call. Megan had co-starred with Angie on A House Of Our Own. She has been Angie’s closest friend for as long as Angie could remember. Angie tossed the magazine onto the pile scattered all over her bed. “You never go out.” Angie could practically hear Megan roll her eyes through the phone.
“I might have plans with my mom.” Angie pulled in her bottom lip. It was a lie. Angie didn’t have any plans for the night except to stay in bed.
“Your mom who is in Rome?” Megan said dryly. Shit. Angie closed her eyes and scrunched her lips together. “You’re an actress…shouldn’t you be good at lying?” Angie let the awkward silence consume her. “It’s your birthday, Angie.” Megan was right—it was her birthday. But Angie could already imagine the headlines if she went. AMERICA’S SWEETHEART TO PARTY GIRL? HAS ANGIE MANUEL GONE WILD? Okay, so maybe it wouldn’t be that, but she never went to these things. If it wasn’t an award show or the Oscars, she wouldn’t go. Even then, she attended no after party.
“I already have everything arranged for it, Ange.” Megan pleaded.
“What?” Angie frowned.
“Just for once… go wild, girl.” Megan’s words immediately reminded Angie of the fake headlines she made up in her head. “Your birthday isn’t every day.” Angie’s lips flattened. Part of her—the growing adult side—did want to go. She wanted to be able to dance and not be so serious. The other half—the hesitant professional side—didn’t want to engage at all. She didn’t want to ruin her career over one night. Then another thought crossed her mind—Megan had been in the same boat as her. Working as a kid—having expectations pushed onto her at a young age. The only difference was Megan’s father was a famous director. Yet, Megan enjoyed her free time—her fun.
“Okay.” The words barely escaped Angie’s throat. Megan squealed loudly. Angie turned her phone away from her ear, hoping Megan’s squealing didn’t cause permanent hearing damage. Megan calmed down—a bit. She chuckled in between trying to catch her breath.
“Megan?” Angie pressed her phone to her ear again.
“I’ll be by your house around 8.” Megan blurted out. Angie flattened her lips as the line went dead. She snapped her phone shut and sat alone in her empty room. Her heart pounded against her chest as she questioned what she agreed to.
Angie checked her clock, 7:30. She rushed into her en suite bathroom—or attempted to. Her heels made rushing nearly impossible. She scanned her counter, which was covered with makeup, trying to find her lip gloss. She panicked, rummaging through the scattered makeup until she found the lip gloss she wanted. Her silver sparkly mini dress hugged her body, the fabric shimmering against her tanned skin. Her straight brown hair poured over her shoulder, falling to the bottom of her ribs. After applying her lip gloss, she observed herself in the mirror. She wondered if the dress made her look like those girls the headlines warned about. She turned herself to the left, studying her reflection. Then she turned to the right and studied herself again. She let out a breath and leaned against the counter. She walked back into her room. Music she had earlier tuned out now muffled softly through her stereo. She stepped out onto the balcony connected to her room. The orange sky battled out with the falling night. The streets behind her gated house had cars waiting for the red light to turn green. She didn’t know what to expect from the night. She could only imagine how many cameras would be flashing as they approached. Car horns blaring below snapped her out of her thoughts. The light had turned green, but the first car was still idle.
She went back into her room and looked at the clock. 8:05. Angie rolled her eyes. Typical for Megan to be late for something she planned. Her room felt empty—an uncomfortable emptiness. The walls were pink, but completely bare. She had some of her awards on a bookshelf next to her closet door. Magazines were stacked on her nightstand and scattered on her bed. Her phone on her light pink bedding started vibrating. Angie’s chest tightened as she reached for her phone. Flipping it open, she heard Megan yell, “Get out here, bitch!”
Angie grabbed one of her many small designer bags. She quickly shoved her lip gloss, wallet, and phone into it. She rushed down her spiral staircase as quickly as her heels allowed. Opening the door, a small black car waited for her. The chauffeur stepped out to open the back door. Angie could already feel her toes regretting the heels as she made her way to the car. Cameras started flashing as she passed her property line. This wasn’t uncommon—especially for a night like this, but she forced her anxiety down as the cameras snapped rapidly.
“Holy shit,” Megan laughed as they pulled away from the house. Angie took a deep breath and forced herself to chuckle. “Why don’t I get this attention?” Megan leaned closer to Angie. They both sat in the back. Angie turned to Megan. She wasn’t surprised by how beautiful she looked. She knew how to dress for these things. Wearing a strapless black top with a matching mini skirt. Her long, slender legs folded naturally against the seat. She was so skinny that it almost made Angie sick. “We’ve basically been in the same movies.” Megan flipped her mid-length brown hair and looked at her compact mirror.
“Don’t worry, the one weekend you decide to actually stay in, the tabloids will be freaking out too.” Angie giggled. Megan gave her a crooked smile. Suddenly, Megan turned sharply to face Angie.
“Oh. My. God. I didn’t even tell you who’s all going.” Megan’s dark eyes widened. Angie furrowed her brow. She was scared to find out. “Lisa Moore!” Megan smiled. Lisa was a very well-known model. She was the definition of a goddess. She had smooth dark skin and an impossibly thin frame that the media adored, featuring her on almost every fashion magazine since she started modeling in 1999. “She has never gone to one of my parties.” Megan beamed.
“However, she’d only go if Matt and Jenny went.” Matt Roberts was Megan’s ex. Jenny Price—well, Angie never met Jenny. The media was crazy about Jenny. She definitely fed into the media’s narrative—that’s at least what Angie thought. Angie had seen her everywhere—billboards, magazine covers, interviews. A flash snapped Angie back into the present. White dots flooded her vision as she tried to see where the flash came from.
”This will look so good on my page.” Megan smiled. Angie’s brows knitted together.
“You’re not posting that on Myspace.” Angie said firmly.
“This is a momentous occasion, Ange.”
”No!”
”You’re no fun.”
Megan leaned back in her seat. “I hope you’re prepared for this night.” Angie’s mouth became dry as they approached the club. The music was so loud it could be heard from inside the car parked outside. She took one encouraging breath in and stepped outside. The flashing was instant, engulfing both Angie and Megan.