My name is Avis. Not my titles, not my money, and certainly not my marital status. Just Avis.
I was never meant to be my husband’s little bird, never meant to be at anybody’s beck and call. The silver screen was where I belonged. This was Hollywood, the land where dreams are made of and nothing was impossible.
So when my little accident came along… what choice did I have? I locked my heart away in a box, bottled it all up and reduced myself to ‘Mrs. Amberg’ and ‘mama.’ To nothing but a wife and a mother.
My daughter Claire was my fall from grace.
Sam Spiegel’s New Year’s Eve Party.
10-foot tall champagne towers, men in sharp suits, Sinatra’s booming baritone on stage… A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Classic Hollywood glitz and glamor stirring up a media frenzy.
This was a recipe for absolute disaster. Hollywood’s rich and powerful all gathered in one room: ambitious producers, dazzling starlets, ass-kissing executives. An industry built solely on the blood and youth of used women. What could possibly go right? In the midst of it all, there was me — the reluctant mother. And then there was the ear-splitting screeching and uncontrollable squirming of my daughter.
By the time the clock struck 11, I was already too many glasses of wine gone off the deep end. The world spun with each step I took, the normally contrived laughter of my peers now sounding oddly genuine. With the pleasant buzz of alcohol soaring through my system, all my flaws became my best features: my too-red hair, too-sharp gaze, too-Jewish cadence, my too-annoying daughter…
Wait. Speaking of my daughter…
“Claire?” I turned around, suddenly unsure of where my one and only daughter was. She should be easy to spot. After all, how difficult would it be to find a 4-year-old girl with a mop of blonde curls traversing a crowd of adults? “Claire?!”
I will admit, I thought I never loved her.
Thought was the keyword. At least, I had convinced myself of that lie so much so that it gradually blurred into something akin to truth. But no matter, when my baby was nowhere in sight, my world screeched to a halt and I found myself at a loss, unable to function. Like my body had just… shut down.
“Hi, sweet one…” This beautiful voice sounded out, cutting through even the rowdiest of parties. Velvety. Rich like molten chocolate.
“I can’t find my mama…” Claire’s usually shrill little voice carried a sweet quality to it now. Had she been crying?
“Oh no… we can’t have that, now can we? Let’s see… where is mama…?”
When I finally pushed past this god-forsaken crowd, my eyes landed on your figure with my daughter settled on your hip. And I was able to breathe again.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Hollywood had no shortage of those. Vipers, all of them. But you…