America 1982-Chapter 434 - 64: Determined to Win

Laura Layton woke up and glanced at the opulent hanging clock; it was already 9:20 in the morning. She didn’t rush out of bed, though, and lay lazily on the comfortable hotel bed for another ten minutes before reluctantly getting up, pouring herself a glass of water, and walking over to the window to open the electric curtains, sipping water while enjoying the superb view of Beverly Hills.

It wasn’t until that moment that she confirmed she had indeed become a minor celebrity. Although she was only a reality TV star, and her status was somewhat less than that of a movie or television star, she was at least no longer a nobody.

The reason for her success was her role as a white, wealthy heiress who fell on hard times, in the controversial reality show "Counterfeit Heiress."

Now that the show was a hit, every Friday during prime time, countless American viewers sat in front of their televisions, waiting to see where her fate would take her. As one of the two female leads, her popularity had naturally soared.

The most tangible reaction was that those few guest appearances in TV series, which she had previously secured by sleeping with producers, were now being reconsidered for her to become a regular character, offering her a contract that, while not very lucrative, was at least stable.

And Susan, at the Beverly Hills hotel, known in the industry as "the house of stars," had arranged a room for her to stay in long-term.

Before the program became a big hit, she had no experience of staying in this hotel alone, except when accompanying those producers to bed.

It seemed that after the program hit it big and she became famous, she gained many friends. The producers who used to contact her only for sex now called her their friend, and even Susan showed more smiles to her than to other artists under her management. When she occasionally had too much to drink, Susan wouldn’t scold her or douse her in cold water to sober her up.

In short, the world suddenly seemed filled with goodwill.

She called for room service to deliver breakfast to her room, but before she could finish eating, the assistant arranged by Susan swiped the key card and walked in:

"Laura, we have an appointment at 10:30 with ’Fashion’ magazine’s California edition photographer for a cover shoot. The stylist and the branded clothing are waiting for you in the hallway."

Laura spat out the tasteless yet non-fattening bran cake she just put in her mouth and looked at her male assistant with shock, "You’re telling me we have a photo shoot scheduled for 10:30 and you’re only notifying me now? You expect me to appear in front of the camera looking like this?"

Although she felt she was on the brink of stardom, she had yet to adopt the attitude of a star. She hurried to the bathroom, making herself vomit up the food she had just eaten by pressing on her tonsils. Then, clutching her stomach, she came out of the washroom and incredulously asked her Hungarian male assistant who was interested in men:

"Hold on, a cover shoot for ’Fashion’ magazine’s California edition? Are you kidding me?"

The assistant rushed over to the dining table, poured a glass of water for Laura, and handed it to her while briefing her on the situation, "They selected you last minute, just after midnight. I only found out about it twenty minutes ago. The cover girl they originally booked, the Brazilian supermodel Betty Bronski, got too wasted last night and told a joke about the magazine’s owner at a high-profile party. Susan was also there at the party last night—I don’t know if she used her Jewish connections or simply paved the way with money, but the magazine’s editor-in-chief remembered you and, with Susan’s assurance that she would take care of your branded clothing and styling, they agreed to send a photographer over today to take a series of test shots."

"What was the joke?" Laura took a big gulp of water, trying to trick her stomach into forgetting the hunger.

The assistant shrugged, "You wouldn’t be interested, a joke that deeply offended the magazine owner. It’s also a reminder for you Laura, to never overindulge in drinking or drugs when you attend those parties."

"Of course, I’m not interested. I just want to remember it’s not a funny joke, and to never touch it," Laura Layton said firmly after downing the entire glass of water.

She wouldn’t waste the hard-earned chance to become famous, nor would she ruin her dream of becoming a star.

The assistant caught Laura’s curious look, hesitated for a moment, and finally spoke, "Alright, Betty, while drunk, grabbed a microphone at the party and said the boss felt she was too dark while they were in bed together, so he stuffed a firefly into his golf club, thinking to help light the way. Betty called it the most poetic screw up she’d ever heard in her twenty-four years of life and the dumbest one too, because in the middle of the night they accomplished nothing and had to call a doctor to remove the firefly from the club."

"Wow, that joke just ruined all my wonderful fantasies about fireflies," after hearing the story, Laura was stunned for a good while before speaking with an open mouth and wide eyes:

"That girl... can pretty much kiss her career goodbye now, right?"

The assistant took out some vitamins, poured a few, and passed them to Laura, "I think so, because her firefly joke has spread overnight from Los Angeles to New York, Paris, and London. The brands she endorses are considering how much money they should claim from her."

"So I’m going to find a stylist and clothing for the shoot with absolutely no prior appointment..." Laura didn’t have time to care why the model who just told the truth seemed to be punished like a criminal, this was Hollywood, there was no time to worry about others. What mattered most was whether she could benefit from someone else’s misfortune. After swallowing the vitamins her assistant handed her, she quickly asked about what she should be more concerned with.