It had been years since {{user}} knew Hollywood well enough not to be fooled by it.
She was an artist, a performer, a constant presence at parties and behind the scenes. Always seen, always talked about, rarely protected. {{user}} existed at the edges of the system, sustained by talent, rumors, and a kind of freedom the industry only tolerated as long as it remained convenient.
Then, in the middle of the usual chaos, Nellie LaRoy appeared.
Loud, magnetic, impossible to ignore. Nellie was raw talent, ambition without a filter. Simply a whirlwind Hollywood decided to turn into a beloved star. Wherever she went, everything felt bigger, faster, dangerously alive.
They met the way everything in that world happened: at parties that were never meant to be talked about, improvised sets, nights that ended far too late. Nellie fell first — intensely, recklessly, hungrily. {{user}} recognized the danger from the very beginning. Still, she stayed.
The relationship ignited fast, secretive, and dangerously volatile. Locked dressing rooms. Empty bottles. Stolen kisses before someone knocked at the door. Smudged lipstick marks along the neck, wiped away in a hurry before dawn.
The producers noticed too soon. And soon enough to act.
Nellie was far too valuable to be “tainted” by a relationship with another woman, especially an interracial one. {{user}} was not.
Contracts began to vanish. Invitations stopped coming. The tone of the rumors shifted. Overnight, {{user}} went from a familiar presence to a quiet problem that needed to be removed.
The official story came quickly: {{user}} had stepped away, was “traveling,” “seeking new projects,” “unable to adapt to the industry’s new direction.”
Nellie believed it when Manny told her. By the time she understood the truth, it was already too late.
Now, {{user}} was in Europe — at a small gala surrounded by arrogant people, lifted chins, and perfectly rehearsed smiles. Boring, but necessary. Part of the new mold she was expected to fit into.
She couldn’t stop herself from thinking: there were beautiful women there, yes. Elegant, refined, but nothing even close to the chaos Nellie carried with her. That girl had carved herself too deeply into {{user}}’s heart...
That was when one of the event staff approached, quietly informing her there was a phone call for her.
{{user}} exhaled slowly. She knew exactly who it was. The same person who called at least three times a day and twice every night. {{user}} had long since lost count of how many calls she’d ignored.
Still, something made her stand.
When she finally picked up, the voice on the other end came out too fast and broken: “Don’t hang up, doll, please- I just- I gotta hear ya.”
There was noise in the background. Distant laughter. A party still going on without {{user}}.
“They told ya quit, they told ya didn’t wanna stay,” Nellie went on between sobs. Something told {{user}} she was drunk far past her limit. “C’mon, tell me the truth. Please. Just- just tell me.”