Page 78 of Cuts like a Knife
She shakes her head. “Nope. People have this idea that if you’ve ever been a celebrity, you must be rich, but it’s just not true. I was a child star. I haven’t worked more than fifteen years. The movies paid, sure, but not like they do now, and not perpetually. Plus, I had expenses. School.”
“So you’re not—”
“I don’t mean to complain,” she interrupts. “I have enough. I’ve been incredibly privileged. Working as a kid made it possible for me to go to college and come out debt-free. That’s something most people in this country can even dream of. But I’m not rich. People just think I am. Annoying Petar Timber clearly thinks I am.”
“I admit, I figured you were.”
“Nope. I’m just like you. I’m here to work. Because I have this book coming out. A memoir. So the show seemed like good opportunity. My publisher definitely thought so. And it’s only a week. Here. In this beautiful place.” She gestures to the beach vista with one arm. “But I’m not going to lie. Here we are just two days in, and I regret it. What a mess.”
I nod. I’m not sure what else to do. This could be something, I guess. I could spin it into something?
Spoiled child star thinks she’s too good for the likes of Hot Slice
Something like that. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I feel a little dumb for picking the absolute worst member of the cast to profile at all. Like trust me to somehow manage to gain access to the only person here who isn’t really an actual celebrity.
No matter what I do, I always seem to f— it all up. I sigh, heavily, as we walk along.
“What?” Maylee looks at me curiously. “You’re exhausted by the whole thing too?”
I nod. “I guess. I don’t really know why I’m here. But I can’t lose this job.
“Why?” She looks genuinely curious256.
“It’s … this is the only thing — the only real thing — on my resume.”
“What? Writing?”
“Yeah, I guess. Journalism. Not that this is real journalism.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t.”
“This show is such a joke,” I say, and she nods her assent. I make a mental note to quote her as calling the show a joke.
One of the first things I learned at Flash is that everything people think they know about the media is from watching TV and movies is wrong. There’s no such thing as on the record or off the record, for example. Those are meaningless words. If someone is talking to you, you can quote them. You can quote anything they say.
Worse, you can attribute things you’ve said to them if they’ve indicated assent or agreement. So I was the one to say “this show is such a joke” but Mylee agreed. So if I wanted to, I could write up a piece that read, “Maylee Wise calls Hot Slice a joke as we walk along the pristine Bahamian beach,” and that would be perfectly kosher.
She could sue I suppose. Anyone can sue anything for anything. It’s mostly not worth it. Especially because she would lose. I should know.
I only feel a tiny bit icky as I keep taking careful mental notes of our conversation. There are already a few good sound bites here. The only question is, do I really want to use them?
To sell a story about Maylee to Lars, I’d really have to lean into making her look bad. Spoiled. Ungrateful. Superior. And if I write about her trashing the show, it might even get her into trouble with the producers. I’m really not sure.
“The thing is,” she’s saying, as she ponders what I said about my resume, “I think if you want to be a writer, who can really stop you? I wrote a whole book, but I wasn’t a writer before. You can be almost anything, right? You just have to start.”
I snort. “That’s a pretty privileged view of things, I think. I mean, you’re a somebody. Obviously people will want to read your memoir. They already know who you are. You’re always in those articles. Where are they now? We — I mean publications like mine — wouldn’t publish those if people weren’t interested.”
“Right, and it’s true, I’m using that — who I used to be — and that’s privilege for sure, but the memoir is just a jumping off place for me. I want to write fiction. I have written fiction. I’ve got a good manuscript ready to go, but nobody wanted it. Not at first. That’s why I made this deal. To do the memoir first. To do this show. It’s all just … stepping stones. I’m trying to get where I really want to go, which means doing a few things I’m not really that keen on along the way. That’s how I justify it in my mind anyway.”
Ungrateful, entitled Maylee Wise admits to using “trashy reality show” to launch new career
I feel a sudden pang of guilt.
“Hey, so this is sort of the opposite of my job,” I say, “but you might want to be careful about slagging-off the show in public. I don’t know what your contract says, but I’m pretty sure the producers wouldn’t like it.”
“Oh yeah, they’d hate it. Shane Hampton’s head would explode if I was in some paper talking about how crappy this production is. My contract explicitly says I’m not allowed to say anything negative about the show, actually. Or I won’t get paid.”
“Um. So…?”
