(anon was off)🎤🎤 Mrs. Carnegie! Rumor has it your marriage with the Gilbert Malcom Carnegie is all show. As a singer of your own band, I'm sure you'd agree show is good, but is this really what you want?
The most god-awful rigid smile is pinned to Lina Carnegie's face.
One thing's for certain: when she finds Gil Carnegie alone for one minute, she's going to make him wish he'd never imposed the headache of his own birth and subsequent life on the world, and especially her. She understands this question on some level - where had that rumour come from? Gil. Obviously Gil Carnegie and his accursed chorus of hacks who liked to invest in movies and think themselves directors. All those men got together and talked about her, she knew it because they used to do it in front of her. It had been compliments to begin with, talking about her hips, her smile, her feet. Gil'd loved that. As time had gone on and he had realized that she had a temper, hated sex with him, and outsmarted him on every front that tune had changed, hadn't it? Lina the Nag. Lina the Bitch. She preferred this.
Her eyes narrow, but if this is supposed to throw her off balance then everyone's got another damn thing coming his way. She giggles girlishly, like she's never thought of a single thing beyond booze and boys. There's something truly dark and other about her when she is alone. When she's in the spotlight with Gil's meaty arm around her waist she is completely American, completely a liar, completely shining.
"Oh, now! My husband is such a smart man. He'd never have married a woman who hates his guts." And with that, she pokes his stomach. Hard. "My band's performing tonight at the premiere after-party - I'll keep the 'show' onstage." Laughing all the while, fluttering her eyelashes, imitating all those girls she'd studied in finishing school. It's ugly work, but she'll crawl on hot coals if it means she can get the last word. The latter half of the question hangs like a noose: is this really what you want?
Her eyes are lacquered with mascara and guilt. Not the guilt of remorse - she is unrepentant. The guilt of being truly wicked, even if not another soul is aware. They flick to the other woman, thronged by cameras and reporters. The star of whatever shit-eyed film Gil has recently funded. She's slight and shy with eyes like mirrors, in need of someone with a little bit of bite to keep these vultures away. For one awful moment, she stares back at that reporter, lost to a sea of camera lightning. It was hardly about that...? No. They'd been careful. It was Gil, and nothing else.
"Get off me." She snarls to Gil as low as she can, who does that same idiot fake-laugh he does when he's about to scold her for not being so wise as he. He knows what he's done, and he's too stupid to understand she'd delivered a devastatingly clever answer only moments ago. The joke is that you're an idiot who married a woman who despises you, it takes everything in her not to say. He took her compliment as sincere, her giggling as real because it's what he expects of her. He's tall, a mountain of sound and noveau riche wealth. You don't think I'm good enough for you because I'm not from some fucking made up nation in God-knows-where! He'd hollered once, throwing his glass against the wall. She'd stared at this man, with all the years and mass and even money he'd had on her, and she'd bared her teeth, even while her voice shook. She wanted so badly to cry, to beg to go home to her family. But she is a woman, learning to be a weapon. She steels herself to plunge the knife. No, Gil. I don't think you're good enough for me because I'm better than you.
Her arm snakes around her Starlet's waist, natural with familiarity and the permission afforded by publicity. The Starlet laughs in surprise, and the two women pose. Gil walks past, shaking his head. Lina watches him once he's gone, the pulse in her friend's neck visible to the eye - poor thing's heart is pounding. "I'll look after you, draga mea," Lina purrs, accent out in full, just loud enough for Gil to hear. He can buy the movie, but not the star. He can buy her, and put her on show, but she's a girl - turned - monster. She's the bitterest pill. She's getting to be proud of it.
