The Wannabe
On the day after her eighteenth birthday, Charlene Alexander left home and headed for California, intent on becoming an actress. The petite platinum blonde had talent, but, more importantly, she had beauty and a charismatic personality. In a relatively short time, she landed her first acting job. The role was a small one, amounting to only two lines and a mere seventy-eight seconds of airtime, yet it was one of the most popular shows in the country. That part soon led to others, and Charlene was hopeful that she would soon be able to quit her waitress job and support herself by her acting roles alone.
Eventually, three years after arriving in Hollywood, Charlene met a struggling young director named Dominick Antonelli. Dominick was a genius, every bit as talented as Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese. All he needed was the opportunity to prove it to the studios. His big break presented itself on the night of the Golden Globe Awards. At the conclusion of the ceremony, European leading man Anton Garreau held a party at his Brentwood mansion. Not only had Anton won the best actor statue for his role as French Revolutionary figure Georges-Jacques Danton, but he was also heavily favored to win the coveted Oscar. At that party, Garreau, who had a bit too much to drink, foolishly made several sexual advances toward the young director.
While Dominick had nothing against gay men, he himself was strictly heterosexual. Unlike less secure males, he did not view Anton's attentions as offensive or in any way damaging to his own sense of masculinity. He did, however, take full advantage of the unfortunate incident. While many actors and actresses today openly profess their sexual orientation, there are still those who fear that such an admission will destroy their careers. Anton was one of the latter. For years, he had carefully maintained the public façade of a great French lover to cover up his homosexuality.
On the day after his Golden Globe party, an extremely nervous and embarrassed Anton Garreau met with the unscrupulous Dominick Antonelli at the novice director's request. During their brief meeting, Dominick agreed to remain silent about the events of the previous evening. Anton, in turn, agreed to use his considerable influence with Epic Studios to further the director's career. It was this little blackmail scheme, this quid pro quo, that resulted in Dominick being given the chance to direct Birth of an Alien.
The casting department at Epic had already filled the supporting roles, but Antonelli insisted on choosing the leading lady himself. In six weeks, he saw more than forty actresses, most of whom he auditioned on the famed casting couch. Not one of them, however, was right for the role of Zeonda, an exotic young alien who flees her dying planet and lands on Earth where she hopes to give birth to the child she is carrying.
"Who's next?" the director asked his assistant, who was little more than a gopher with a title.
"Can't you just pick one of the actresses you've already tested? I mean, come on, you're not casting the role of Scarlett in Gone with the Wind."
"One more crack like that, and you're off this picture!" Dominick threatened. "This may be a low-budget movie made by an untried director and underpaid cast and crew, but each and every one of us is going to do his best to make it a success. I don't care if only two people buy tickets to see this film. Those two people are going to walk away satisfied. Got it? Now send in the next girl."
Dominick took one look at Charlene and knew he had found his star. After an impressive audition, she was hired to play Zeonda. Her on-screen magnetism and moving performance made Birth of an Alien a huge success, and the movie, in turn, made Charlene a star. It also brought about a significant change in her personal life: two weeks after the movie premiered, she became Mrs. Dominick Antonelli.
* * *
During the next ten years, Charlene starred in seven more films directed by her husband, the last of which earned her an Oscar. After her triumph at the Academy Awards ceremony, the thirty-six-year-old movie star decided to retire.
When she returned to L.A. after a three-week visit to her family in New Jersey, she was surprised to see Dominick rather than their chauffeur waiting for her at the airport.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I've got a new script," he answered, "and I couldn't wait to show it to you."
"Look, Dom, we've already been through this. I don't want to do any more films."
"You haven't even read it yet."
"No, and I don't intend to. I've been working nonstop for more than ten years. And for what?"
"For what? How about twenty million dollars a picture? How about an Academy Award for Best Actress? You're one of the top performers in Hollywood, or hadn't you noticed?"
"I know, and I figure from the top there's only one way to go, and that's down. Sure, I can keep working, and maybe I'll make another movie as good as the last one. I might even win another Oscar, but eventually, the good roles will stop coming, and I'll have to settle for supporting roles and cameo appearances."
"So, you're just going to give up your career because you're afraid of ...."
"I'm not afraid of anything. I worked hard for my money, and now I want to enjoy the lifestyle it affords me."
"What about me? Don't you think you owe me something for making you a star?"
Charlene laughed.
"How dare you take credit for my success? When I first met you, you were too busy trying to launch your own career to worry about anyone else's. You weren't exactly Steven Spielberg, you know."
"And I'm still not. Isn't that what you mean? Go ahead and say it, Charlene."
"Don't start this, Dom. You know I think you're a talented director. It's just that you're obsessed with proving it to the world. For every good movie you've made, there are seven or eight that aren't worth the film they're printed on. You don't wait for a great script to come your way. You go out and grab every piece of garbage you can get your hands on, thinking your directorial talent alone can make them a hit."
"Just how many great scripts do you think are written in Hollywood in a year?"
"Who said you had to turn out movies as if you were working on an assembly line?"
"I'm not like you. I have no desire to sit on my ass and rest on my laurels. I have a career I love, and I want to keep working."
The argument ended in a stalemate when Dominick dropped his wife off at their home and returned to the studio.
* * *
In the months that followed, the Antonellis saw little of each other. Charlene filled her days with the simple pleasures she had denied herself for so long: she slept late in the morning, swam in her pool, had lunch with friends, read novels and went shopping. She also spent several hours a week doing volunteer work for various charities.
One day while the actress was helping out at a shelter for battered women, one of the counselors took her aside for a private conversation.
"There's a woman who came in a few days ago that I'd like you to meet," the therapist said.
"Why do you want me to meet her?" Charlene asked. "I normally sit with the children while their mothers undergo counseling or job training. I don't usually have any contact with the women themselves."
"It's nothing major, I assure you. It's just that the other counselors and I think she bears a striking resemblance to you. Frankly, we'd like to observe you two standing side by side to see exactly how much alike you are. Oh, there she is now. Moira, come over here a minute, please."
Charlene stared at the young woman. She spotted several differences between herself and Moira O'Hara, but they were all minor. For instance, Moira was several years younger than Charlene, and her hair was longer and of a different color. She was also several pounds thinner, and her nose was slightly longer; but essentially, they looked the same. Moira could easily have passed for Charlene's younger sister or perhaps even her daughter.
"The resemblance is uncanny!" the counselor said when the two women stood side by side.
"Except for the shiner I have." Moira laughed uneasily and hung her head in shame.
"Did your husband give you that black eye?" Charlene asked.
"Who else?"
An uncomfortable silence followed. The actress had no idea what to say, for she had no experience with domestic violence. Her own husband, Dominick, never raised a hand to her.
The counselor sensed the tension and explained, "Moira's husband likes to drink, and when he does, he beats her."
"You mean he's done this to you before?" Charlene asked Moira with disbelief.
"We're going to help her find a job and a place of her own," the counselor explained.
The battered woman shook her head.
"I've been meaning to talk to you about that. I'm sorry, but I've changed my mind."
"No, Moira. We've discussed this during therapy. You can't go back to him."
"But Lloyd promised me that he won't do it again. I believe him this time. He was actually crying when he told me he loved me."
Charlene was astounded.
"If I were you, I'd give him something to really cry about. Why, if any man dared to blackened my eye, I'd ...."
The counselor quickly interrupted.
"Violence is not the answer, Miss Alexander. What Lloyd needs is professional counseling."
"Counseling, my ass! What he needs is a taste of his own medicine."
"I don't think you quite understand."
"You're right. I don't understand why any woman would want to live with a man who beats her."
Moira broke down in tears.
"Because I'm afraid if I don't go back to him, he'll kill me," she explained.
"We can help you," the counselor promised. "We'll give you a new identity and relocate you to a safe place where he can't find you."
"Is that the best you can offer her?" Charlene asked.
"Please, Miss Alexander, let me handle this. It really isn't any of your affair."
"I'm making it my affair. Look, honey," she said, turning to Moira. "If you're afraid of this guy, then come home with me."
"I can't. Besides, he'll find me. I just know it."
"My house has as much security as Fort Knox. He won't be able to touch you there; and if he tries, we'll make him sorry. You have my word on that. Now go get your things."
The counselor started to object.
"Can you guarantee that if she does it your way she'll be safe, that her husband won't wind up putting her in the hospital—or worse, in the morgue?"
Tears came to the counselor's eyes.
"There have been some unfortunate women whose husbands, despite everything we've tried ...."
Charlene felt compassion for the woman who was trying her best to help the girl.
"You and I both know that there's just so much the law can do to protect women like Moira. Do you want her to become another statistic? I came to this shelter to help, and I think taking her home with me is a hell of a lot more helpful than reading Dr. Seuss to a group of preschoolers."
* * *
Charlene waited for Moira to get settled in before announcing, "I want to do something important with my life."
"You already have!" Moira exclaimed. "You're talented, rich, successful ...."
"I'm thinking of starting my own shelter, and I want you to help me."
Once the decision to open a home for battered women was made, the former actress worked tirelessly, devoting as much time to the project as her husband did to his career. Now she was the one who came home at all hours of the night, but Dominick did not object. The two were still not on the best of terms, mainly because the director had not forgiven his wife for refusing to star in his latest film.
Despite her initial lack of interest, Moira became a great help to Charlene. At first, the two women worked closely together, and the actress developed a strong, almost maternal feeling for the younger woman. But then the timid, unassuming Moira began to come out of her cocoon, and her mentor did not care for the butterfly that emerged.
One day, after returning from a meeting with the shelter's architect, the actress was surprised to see that Moira had dyed her red hair the same shade of blond as Charlene's.
"Do you like it?" the young woman asked. "I admire your color so much that I thought I'd give it a try."
"It looks nice," Charlene replied half-heartedly. "People are sure to think you're my sister now."
The following week Moira had her long hair cut short and styled in a chic bob.
When asked what she thought, the older woman cautiously replied, "I thought you looked quite attractive with your own hairstyle."
"Oh! You don't like it!"
Moira appeared to be on the verge of tears.
"Of course, I do," Charlene lied. "I'm only concerned that you might be losing your own identity."
"That's not true. I'm trying to find my identity. Up until now, I never thought about who I was or what I wanted out of life. Is it so terrible that in some small way, I might want to be like the woman who rescued me from a terrible marriage?"
How could Charlene argue with that? Still, she would have felt more comfortable if Moira did not look quite so much like her twin.
* * *
One night as she got into bed beside her husband, the Oscar-winning actress asked, "Do you think I made a mistake bringing Moira here?"
"You might have asked me before you invited her to move in with us," he replied moodily. "Why?"
"Don't you think it's a little creepy the way she's beginning to look more like me every day?"
"Not at all. She grew up in a trailer park in Arkansas. She had no self-esteem, so she married a low-life who believed that beating a woman made him more of a man. Her life was hell. Then she meets you: a beautiful, classy woman, self-assured and successful. It's only natural for her to want to be like you."
"But she's carrying it to such an extreme. Did you know she gained ten pounds so that now we're the same weight? She smokes the same cigarettes I do, eats the same food, watches the same movies and listens to the same music. The other day I overheard her trying to speak with my New Jersey accent."
"You're beginning to sound like Bette Davis in All About Eve."
"It's hard to deny that the situation is the same. But what I can't fathom is what possible motive Moira may have for wanting to pull an Eve Harrington."
"What motive, indeed?" Dominick snidely remarked. "Eve tried to take Margo Channing's career away from her. You voluntarily gave yours up. Or did that fact slip your mind?"
"If I ever forget, I'm sure you'll remind me."
Charlene knew there was little use in talking to her husband when he was in such a foul mood. He was still too angry with her to try to understand her growing uneasiness over Moira's obsession.
* * *
"Let's go out to lunch," Charlene suggested to Moira. "There's a friend I'd like you to meet."
"Who?" Moira asked suspiciously.
"My former agent. He's looking for some clerical help at his office, and I think that the job would be perfect for you."
"I'm not ready to go out on my own just yet. I'm still afraid of running into Lloyd."
"But he hasn't tried to contact you in all these months. You've got to go back out into the world. You can't remain in hiding forever."
"If you want me to earn my keep, I'll clean the house, cook your meals—anything you want."
"That's not the point. You have to have a life, to make new friends."
"No!" Moira cried and ran upstairs to her room.
The scene upset Charlene who had become increasingly uncomfortable around her houseguest. Over the following weeks, she tried several times to get the young woman out of her home, yet each time she failed.
* * *
Charlene was late. She grabbed her keys and rushed out the door, just as her husband was pulling into the driveway.
"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked.
"I'm meeting with a lawyer about setting up the women's shelter."
"I thought you'd have forgotten all about that by now," Dominick said.
"This isn't a whim. It's something I'm committed to doing."
Without any further discussion, she waved goodbye, got in her Jaguar and drove away. She drove nearly five miles before realizing that she had left the contracts on the desk in her den. Disgusted with her own absentmindedness, she called the lawyer on her cell phone to reschedule the appointment and then turned around and headed home. When she entered the house, Charlene heard loud voices coming from the kitchen. She tiptoed through the foyer and stood in the hall, listening to Moira and Dominick arguing.
"We've got to act soon," the director insisted. "She's starting to ask too many questions."
"I told you; she doesn't suspect a thing. With her ego, she thinks I'm nothing more than a Charlene Alexander wannabe. If we move too soon, it could be a disaster."
"It's not too soon. You've got her down pat. I'm her husband, and I can barely tell you two apart. How will anyone else?"
"I'm scared, Nicky! I don't want to end up in jail."
"Look, honey, we'll go to a public place, such as a shopping mall. We'll spend a few hours there, and then go to a crowded, inexpensive restaurant. That way you'll be seen by a lot of people, but it's unlikely any of them would have ever met my wife in person. Finally, you'll drop me off at the airport. We'll do a romantic farewell scene in front of plenty of witnesses, and then I'm off to New York. No one is ever going to suspect me of killing her when I'm three thousand miles away."
"But what about me?"
"That's the beauty of it. No one knows you exist."
"What about those fools at the women's shelter?"
"Don't worry about them. They haven't seen you since your makeover. Besides, they fell for that abusive husband story, didn't they? They're never going to suspect you of murdering Charlene. If anything, they'll probably think it was the imaginary Lloyd. This plan can't fail. You just drop me off at the airport, come back, kill her, be seen alive around town and then get your ass out of here fast. Go back to Arkansas and change your appearance as much as possible."
"I've already got that part taken care of," Moira said, with growing confidence. "I'm going wear a long wig until my hair starts to grow back. Then I'm going to color it black with red streaks."
"Sounds like you plan on going Gothic," Dominick laughed.
"Anything would be better than looking like this!"
Moira's laughter was cut off by the sound of the two kissing.
Charlene quietly made her way out of the house and back to her car. She let the Jaguar noiselessly roll down the driveway and out into the street; then she started the engine and drove off. She did not return home that night until long after her husband had gone to bed.
The following morning, she packed a bag and left a note on the kitchen table.
I'm off to Paris to do some shopping, she wrote. I'll be back at the end of the week.
* * *
Dominick and Moira were ready to move forward with their plan but had to wait for Charlene to come back from Europe to carry out the murder.
"It must be nice to just get up and go to Paris on a whim," Moira said with envy.
The director, who was sitting next to her on the couch, replied, "That's so typical of her. She just does what she wants when she wants to and doesn't give a damn about anyone else."
Moira laughed and snuggled closer to him. "You're just mad because she won't work in any of your films anymore."
"You're damned right I am. I haven't had a hit movie since she decided to retire. And then, to make matters worse, she gets a stupid idea to throw away her money on a shelter for battered women."
"Don't forget," Moira laughed, "the abusive husband scenario was your idea."
"It worked, didn't it? How else would you have gotten her to befriend you the way she did?"
Neither Dominick nor his mistress heard the old Ford turn into the driveway, nor did they hear Charlene quietly let herself into the house.
"I can't wait until it's all over," Moira said with a sigh.
"And you were the one who wanted to wait a while longer," Dominick teased her.
The actress took the gun out of her handbag and attached the silencer.
"I know, but I'm tired of being cooped up in this damned house. I haven't had any fun in months!"
Charlene took aim and waited.
"After the will is probated and the insurance money paid out, you can go anywhere you please."
"Then I'll be off to Paris."
Moira took her head off Dominick's shoulder and stretched, raising her hands triumphantly above her head. That was the moment Charlene fired, and Moira fell to the floor. Dominick leaped up from the couch, swung around and stared at his wife with horror.
"Have you lost your mind?" he cried.
Terror swept over him when he saw Charlene point the gun in his direction.
"You'll never get away with this."
"Of course, I will. When the police find the bodies, they'll naturally assume someone murdered you and me."
"Right! And how are you going to explain it when they see you're still alive?"
Charlene smiled, reached up and pulled off the kerchief that had been hiding the red hair.
"No one is going suspect Moira O'Hara of killing the woman who saved her from an abusive marriage."
"Are you going to just walk away from millions of dollars and assume Moira's identity? How are you going to support yourself? Do you plan on going back to waitressing?"
"You always did underestimate me. It might interest you to know that I recently had my will changed. In the event of my death, the battered young woman I befriended will inherit everything."
"And you don't think the police will put two and two together?"
"No. You see, I didn't change my primary beneficiary, which was you. I simply added a codicil that specified should we both die, my money would go to Moira."
"Which still makes her—you—the prime suspect."
"But I have an alibi. For the past month and a half, Moira O'Hara has been living and working in San Francisco, and her employer will swear that she was there at the time of the murders."
"Her employer?"
"Anton Garreau. I contacted him when I learned about your little plan to eliminate me. He's always hated you since you blackmailed him to get your first directing job, so he'll be more than happy to help me should the need arise. I didn't go shopping in Paris. Instead, I spent quite a lot of time in San Francisco this past week. Anton and I—disguised as Moira—were seen publicly in front of many witnesses. In fact, he's waiting for me right now on a private plane not far from here. Once I take care of matters, we'll fly right back to San Francisco.
"Oh, yes, and I forgot to mention the fact that I contacted the police twice this week and told them that I'd received death threats from Lloyd O'Hara. So, who do you think the police are likely to blame when Dominick and Charlene show up dead?"
"You know, I've got to hand it to you," her husband said grudgingly. "You seem to have thought of everything."
"I can't take all the credit. I was only an actress in this little murder drama; you were the director." Just before she pulled the trigger, Charlene added a final taunt. "You should actually be quite proud of yourself, Dominick. This has been one of your best endeavors."
Ever since he saw Pirates of the Caribbean, Salem has been a Johnny Depp wannabe.
