The Forgotten Barbie

Rhiju Chakraborty (he/they)

Holding the bottle an arm span away from her hair, she spritzed it twice on the right, twice on the left, and then carefully set the bottle on the wood-paneled dresser. Under the blinding neon lights of her vanity station, she applied a frosted retro matte lipstick, carefully making sure to stay within the lines of her lips. Looking at the reflection, she sucked in her mouth, making sure to spread the color through both the upper and lower lips. Lastly, she took her eyeliner and slowly drew the outline of her eyes, barely stopping herself from adding wings, a look she herself had popularized. 

This had been her daily routine. Evenly applying hairspray, painting her face with makeup, all while listening to loud music on the radio. But then why did the simple motion of fluffing her cheeks with powder feel so foreign?

Maybe it's because since the last time she'd done this, the reflection staring back at her had gained a few more wrinkles, had gotten softer along the jaws, and its eyes had started drooping, like candle wax melting over the edges. Maybe it's because of the fillers that had left her lips looking swollen rather than youthful. Maybe it's because the woman who was facing her looked nothing like the poster of her from a 90's magazine taped on the mirror, where she'd flashed a shiny white smile, and fit perfectly in a size zero Calvin Klein dress, with the words "America's Sweetheart", in big, loopy letters. Now it was hard to strike a resemblance between the girl in the magazine and the one she was looking at. 

But even with the self-doubt plaguing her, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement ripple across her insides. The excitement of being in front of the flash of a camera, under the bright shiny lights. It did the opposite of making her want to hide under a shell: it made her shine brighter. Because being in front of a camera was the natural habitat of every actor. 

But after decades of not being in front of an audience, she silently questioned herself: did she still have the pizzazz that had once been ingrained in her very DNA? To woo a crowd made up of Hollywood star power? Or would the bright lights finally be too much for her, after years of inexperience, and make her go back into hiding? These were the thoughts swirling through her head begging for attention, but for now, she ignored them, focusing herself on the task at hand. She sat down on the fold-up chair to put on her heels, and suddenly noticed a yellow papyrus envelope casually lying on her drawer, with her name in big red letters on the cover. Brimming with curiosity, she ripped open the sleeve, to find a handwritten note.

To my dearest Jilly, I know tonight’s going to be your night.

Drink lots of water, and I'll be cheering loudly for you from our telly screen.

Love,

Richard

Putting the note down, she chuckled out loud at the picture that had been taped at the back of the letter.  It was the two of them dancing in the middle of the night -after a lot of drinks- during a vacation in Hawaii, captioned with:

If you're worried about tonight, just remember how you can never top how foolish we were at this moment.

In the dark backstage lighting and cold air conditioning, she had never missed Richard more. Shifting uncomfortably in her seat, she felt like a defendant on trial, walking out any minute to find out whether or not they'd be spending the rest of their life behind bars. Because tonight, in a way, was a trial for her. A trial to see if she'd be able to stand the heat or go home empty-handed. Because the truth was Jilliane Anderson hadn't been famous for a while now. 

After two back-to-back movies that had turned her into a household name, she'd been the one to turn down the roles and win the awards. But with the success came the scrutiny. It's an age-old story by now. But every story has to start somewhere. The story of the young and perky actress who loses it all because of the press who invaded every inch of her life, causing her to go off the rails. But for her, she'd burned out too soon. And by the time she finally clawed back in, older and wiser, she'd grown too old, and found that she'd been placed in the geriatric pasture that every woman over forty was eventually put in.

She could hear the thunderous applause now, shaking the very walls of the theater. 

The sweat had already started to perspire on her forehead, and all she could do now was let it simmer, and not wipe it in case her makeup smudged. She had to remind herself that the applause wasn't for her, but it still pumped her with the adrenaline that those nights filled with vodka hadn't been able to. Tonight would be a test not just for the industry, but for herself. Hearing the host, a young comedian by the name of Jamila Kund, begin, she tuned out her thoughts and turned back to the show.

The reason why she was sitting alone backstage was that tonight she'd first be presenting an award for Best Picture, and then pop out right after and join the crowd to hear the results of the category she herself had been nominated in: Best Actress.

She knew it was a long shot, despite Richard fluffing her up with never-ending positivity. She'd already spoken to her agent, and they'd both prepared for the outcome they knew was a guarantee. A loss. But still, the what if's? wouldn't stop.

Even being nominated was a shock. Despite trying to break back into the industry, she'd only gotten roles of playing the protagonist's mother, or grandma, getting a ten-minute speaking part at the most. She'd almost given up completely. But then a young pop star had done a reenactment of one of her nineties dance scenes in a music video. Suddenly, she'd gone viral, and been brought back from the geriatric pasture she'd gotten used to grazing in. But she'd come back to a changed industry. Well, judging from the whiteness still in tonight’s audience, maybe not so changed, but there were tiny cracks in the balance of power, which had been enough for Jilliane to lock in a role in a movie about the story of a housecleaner who'd been locked in a home trying to hide from the home invaders trying to find her.

Suddenly she could hear the comedian talking again.

"We're going to take a quick break, but when we come back, we'll announce the winners for Best Picture".

That was her cue.

Suddenly the backroom she'd been stuffed away in exploded with noise, as the backstage crew opened the door and entered, making sure her mic had been fitted properly and that she was ready to go onstage.

Leading the way, they motioned her to follow them, as they navigated the dark, maze-like corridors until she was standing on the wings getting a glimpse of the faces she recognized from her phone.

Seeing the nervous look on her face, a tiny lady with a black turtleneck broke free from the hurried communication coming from her mic, and said in a Texan drawl, "Darlin’, you look great tonight. We're all rooting for you".

She didn't have time to process how good that made her feel, because right then, Jamila was calling out her name, and she was being pushed onstage by handsy stage crew members.

Jamila Kund was speaking again.

"And now we're going to announce the winner of this year's best picture."

As the light dimmed in the studio theater, the two stagehands guided her to a corner of the stage and shoved an envelope into Jill's hands.

While the robotic voice announced all the nominees and the projector behind her showed clips from each movie, she stood there, prepping for her moment.

The robotic voice finished and the outro music started playing.

The spotlight fell on Jilliane.

The audience gasped, the shock rippling through the crowd like waves, as heads forcefully turned towards her, trying to get a better look to confirm whether it was really the face of the once famous star they were seeing.

"Yes, Hollywood. I'm back. Get over it.”

The crowd broke out into loud laughter.

"You know, it's ironic that I'm reading out the winner for Best Picture, because if it was up to you guys, this would be the category I would most definitely not win".

It took the audience a moment to get the joke, but suddenly there was laughter and loud cheering for her candor. Especially from the women. 

"Well, this award’s not about me, because I'm not a white male producer in my seventies.” From the corner of her eye, she could see Steven Spielberg choking on his cup of water, breaking into laughter.

"And now, the moment you've been waiting for. This year’s winner of Best Picture is........", she paused for dramatic effect.

"THE GOLDEN SHADOW".

While the audience broke out into loud applause and a teary-eyed director and producer went on stage to accept the award, Jilliane was rushed back through the wings and led to her seat in the audience.

She tried to ignore the feeling that was making her shiver with nerves as she walked past familiar industry faces and got to her seat.

By then the speech had already been wrapped up and they were getting ready for another commercial break, after which the nomination for her category, Best Actress, would be announced.

No one was expecting her to win it, and neither was she, because what chance did a forgotten actress who had finally had a breakthrough after thirty years have against the newest shiny Hollywood Barbie, Janelle Diaz?

And the truth was that part of Jilliane wanted Diaz to win it. Because if she won, she would represent the growing group of women of color taking space in the industry.

A sudden hush swept through the auditorium again, as the loud chirping and chattering- that had largely left Jilliane alone- silenced as Jamila walked back onto the podium.

"Welcome back, folks. Now, for the next category, our nominees are…" The thunderous robotic voice took over once more, as Jilliane's contemporaries and their roles were introduced.

Susana Roberts, for “The Iron Factory”. Subdued applause.

Lea Yeoh, for “The Golden Age”. Subdued applause.

Stephanie Garcia, for “The Shadows We Can't See”. Subdued applause.

Jilliane Anderson, for “The Hunt”. Subdued applause.

And finally Janelle Diaz, for “A Vacation to Barbados”.

Jamilla was back in focus.

"And the Globie goes to...... Jilliane Anderson."

Everything went dark as she lost control of all bodily autonomy. No no no. This can't be real.

People were smiling at her from both sides, clapping towards her, encouraging her to go up on stage.

But for some reason, her legs weren't moving. And what was all that wet stuff all over her face? 

She couldn't be crying.... right?

Helen Dee Smith, an industry veteran seated beside her, gently whispered in her ear, "Darling, I think that's for you".

Now people were standing up, clapping in her direction.

This can't be real.

She tried standing, but her legs were shaking. The young actor beside her must have noticed because the young gentleman was taking her by the arm, and slowly walking her towards the stage, as the tears just wouldn't stop flowing down the sides of her cheeks.

She was sure that some of it was falling on the young man's suit, and made a mental note to apologize for it later. When she was not so preoccupied with accepting the award she'd been dreaming of winning for only her whole life.

Once they'd reached the top of the stage, he gently let go of her arm, but stayed there on the sidesteps, giving her a thumbs-up for moral support.

From the center stage, the audience looked a lot larger than it had ten minutes ago when she'd been pushed off to the side. The ocean of heads, and the swaths of people standing up just added to the tears.

She knew then that she could only do one thing. The thing that had always been natural to her: singing. Even now she could remember the memory of her third birthday, pouncing on the large present on the dining table, wrapped in shiny gold paper, and tearing it open to reveal a very large microphone. She could still remember the electric pulse that moved through her tiny three-year-old body as she sang -or more likely screamed- into the mic. That indescribable powerful feeling of singing was what had carried her into acting in the first place. The one constant in her life filled innumerable variables. 

So she sang the very first song she'd sung on her first Broadway show, while the crowd stayed silent, enraptured by her loud and clear singing voice.

I dreamed a dream in times gone by

When hope was high and life worth living

I dreamed that love would never die

I dreamed that God would be forgiving

Then I was young and unafraid

And dreams were made and used and wasted

There was no ransom to be paid

No song unsung, no wine untasted

With those last six words, she broke out into loud sniffling as people whooped and cheered her on.

She continued.

"I come from one of those forgotten towns lost in the sea of cities on a map, who showed up one day to this city with nothing but a promise to work hard to whoever would give me the chance to be on the big screen. And that's exactly what you did. This industry gave a twenty-year-old whom no one had ever heard of a chance to live the dream I'd never envisioned was possible. But then one day, just as quickly as you'd given me this glorious, glorious gift, you took it away from me in the blink of an eye. Reminding me that you'd never truly been there for me."

At this point she stopped and sniffed, watching the eyes of thousands watching her back.

"But then I get this call one day from this young director named Phil, who insists that I'd be perfect to play the part of a role for his next movie. Hearing this I scoff, because honestly, who would want this to be the star of their next movie?, she said, pointing to herself.

"But then Phil finds my address, and one day I come home to him having a cup of coffee with my husband, who he's now convinced that I should take the role", she said in between laughs and more sniffles.

"So thank you, Phil. Sweet kind Phil, who believed in me when no one else did. Thank you to my agent Marissa who stood by my side, even when the work dried up", she added with her voice breaking.

"And thank you to my Richard. My rock. My one and only. The one who's always been there for me. I love you more than you can imagine", her voice now fully muffled by the tears.

"Thank you, thank you".

With those final words, she watched as people slowly started standing up, giving her a standing ovation. She took in all the claps which seemed like they would never end.

And part of her didn't want it to end.

Because damn, it felt so good.