Wishes Washed Away

Learning new things isn't a specialty of mine. Never has. Never will be. Fame is one of those things. Learning how to approach an interview with some obsessive-compulsive woman whose fetish is Edward Norton isn't exactly the best place to be. Her thick make-up coats her face, her collagen-pumped lips form a smile as wide as a whale. Her mascara coated eyelashes bat at me, but her eyes say "Back off my Edward. He's mine." Her perfectly bleached blonde hair is awfully dyed, some of the brown from her roots showing through. I try to ignore her obvious fake-ness. By the way, it isn't working.

"Please welcome Miss Magnolia Cartwright and Mr. Edward Norton, the stars in the upcoming film, 'Sink.'" The applause erupts from the fake audience, which is staring at me, waiting for me to crumble under their obvious glares. "Now, what can you tell us about the movie?" the woman asks, smiling into the camera, her green eyes sizing me up: My pale skin, cheek bones, brown hair, blue eyes, thin lips. I give her my best smile. It says: Let's be civil.

"My character, Dawn Riddler, is an insomniac who goes to therapy every Tuesday to talk about something. Anything. But even after going there for three years, she's still unable to speak of anything at all." This woman pretends to hang onto every word I say. Surprisingly, she's good at this. Edward's holding my hand for some reason. We're pretending to be a couple so this woman will leave him alone. We decided this before we came in here. I whined, but I gave in. He promised me a nice dinner. "She meets Edward's character, Robert Tribble, who's a stand-in for her usual psychiatrist."

Edward takes over.

"I become very interested in Maggie's character," the perfect time to squeeze my hand, "Unfortunately, I can't say much else. Our producer will be mad." He smiles, squeezing my hand again. We act couple-like, though I've just turned twenty, and he's thirty-eight. We're the flip-flopped version of Demi and Ashton. Well, the tabloids claim so.

The interview gets boring as everyone's so focused on Edward, who hardly comes out of his lovely home in Baltimore and hates having his life being publicized by the creepy paparazi. I sit there, watching these hideously masked woman practically flop at Edward's feet, enjoying every precious minute with him. If there were a trashcan nearby, I'd be hacking up the light lunch Edward and I had at some diner. Thousands of snapshots were taken as we casually dined in.

"I'm so glad this is over. Those women were vicious."

"Yeah, vicious towards me. They were drooling over you."

"Maggie, the last interview we went to, the host wouldn't stop hitting on you." He's still holding my hand out in the public. More snapshots for US magazine. Star. People. Teen Vogue. "I'm glad we made this mutual agreement. No more women hitting on me. No more men hitting on you. It's a win-win situation."

"You know, I had a crush on you when I watched 'Fight Club.' Honestly, I found you more attractive than Brad Pitt."

"Well, thank you. I liked the indie film you did with Christian Bale. It was cute."

"Oh, I had a crush on him when I saw 'Batman Begins.' Oh my God, I feel like an idiot."

"Well, he's married, Maggie."

"I could've guessed that when he was talking about his wife and kids."

"Hey now. Let's not be overly sarcastic in front of the cameras. Smile."

Flash.

"If this conversation is being recorded and put on Youtube, I will murder you for making me blurt out my secrets."

Flash.

"Oh, Maggie. Everyone has a crush on some Hollywood starlet at one point in his or her life. It's okay."

Everyone is not Magnolia Charlotte Cartwright. She's being watched under the watchful eye of some photographer, who's capturing every moment she's outside. Magnolia's used to it. After all, she was a model before she became an actress. Give me envy.

Flash.

"Maggie, this is when we make a quick getaway to my wonderful home in Baltimore."

Give me annoyance.

Flash.