Lucky Stars by Jane Heller

you rip peoples’ reputations to shreds?
    “Nope. A mirror isn’t on my shopping list today,” he said. “But you’re extremely enterprising. Has anyone ever told you that?”
    “No, but someone once said I had the subtlety of a sledgehammer.” I let the words hang there, just to see if there would be a glimmer of recognition. There wasn’t.
    “Whoever said that must not have understood the demands of your job.”
    “He didn’t.”
    “Well, then to hell with him.”
    “My sentiments exactly.”
    At that moment, the redhead returned and indicated that she hadn’t found anything she wanted to purchase but was ravenously hungry. “How about the sushi place down the street?” she suggested to Jack.
    “They’re doing construction,” he said. “I think they’re closed.”
    “Speaking of construction,” I said, insinuating myself into their conversation but focusing my gaze exclusively on him. “You know how that obnoxious person told me I had the subtlety of a sledgehammer?”
    Jack nodded absentmindedly.
    “He also told me that I should think about going into the construction business. He said—well, why don’t I give you his direct quote—‘Stacey Reiser uses her precious few moments of screen time to pound us over the head with her lines. She has the subtlety of a sledgeh am mer and should consider applying for a job in construction.’ I’ll bet you’d never say anything as insensitive as that, would you?”
    “What on earth is she talking about?” mused the redhead.
    It took a few beats, but the remark finally registered with Jack Rawlins. I could see it on his face, which dropped the ha-ha-ha expression he’d worn during our banter and went serious. Yeah, he remembered me now. And he was ashamed. Or, if not ashamed, then a tiny bit chastened. It’s one thing to trash people from behind the safety of a camera; it’s an other to have one of the trash- ees confront you face-to-face.
    “Jack, I’m starving,” whined the redhead, as she tugged on his sleeve. “Can’t we go ?”
    He continued to look at me, trying, I think, to formulate a response—perhaps even an apology—but in the end he said nothing and slunk out of the store.
    Way to go, Stacey, I complimented myself, loving that I had thrown the jerk’s malicious review right back at him without ever violating Cameron’s edict. I’d never so much as mentioned Jack’s stupid television show or even that I was aware that he hosted one.
    Feeling in control of my life for the first time in months, I actually whis tled as I walked into the stock room to grab my sandwich out of the refrigerator.
    “Stacey, I noticed that Jack Rawlins didn’t buy anything the whole time he was in here,” said Cameron, who was chomping on a baby spinach leaf. “Tell me you didn’t embarrass yourself with him, not after I just explained my policy toward our celebrity customers.”
    I was dying to tell her that the piece of spinach between her teeth was a bigger turnoff to her celebrity customers than asking them for an autograph, but I decided against it. “I didn’t embarrass myself with Jack Rawlins,” I said instead. “As a matter of fact, Cameron, I gave Mr. Rawlins the treatment he richly deserved.”

 
     
     
     
    e leven
     
     
    T h e night before the Fin’s commercial was scheduled to be shot, I called my mother and asked, for the third time that week, if she wanted me to drive her to the studio.
    “I know how nervous you are about the freeways here,” I said.
    “That’s sweet of you, dear,” she said, “but, as I’ve already told you, the age ncy is sending a car and driver to pick me up.”
    “Right,” I said. “But why don’t I come along for moral support? This is the first time you’ll be acting in a commercial and, let me tell you from experience, your stomach will be tied up in knots. I remember the first time I shot—”
    “Both my agent and my manager will be there, remember?” She cut me off, the way I used