Stand

Chapter One

Addictions and Rumors

" . . . And now for our Entertainment Tonight Cover story.  Regan Dupree was arrested, along with three others, last night outside the posh ‘Club Diego’ in Hollywood.  This is the third time the child star turned pop diva has been arrested in the past year, first in March for public drunkenness, and then again in July for her alleged connection to a fatal shooting in Florida.  At this time, the reason behind her current arrest is unknown.  This incident takes place just weeks after the 22 year old singer finished her second, year long tour, performing for sold out crowds all across Europe and the United States  . . ."


" . . . And welcome to ‘This week in Television’.  There have been many speculations on the reasoning behind the cult television show ‘Stand’s’ rapidly falling ratings.  The once wildly popular show has lost most of its audience over the course of the last season, and many of the backers are left shaking their heads, and checking their pocketbooks.  With the filming of the show's fourth season less than two months away, many fans are wondering what the shows producers, directors, and writers, are planning to do about the sagging numbers . . ."

" . . . Actress Sarah James, star of the syndicated show ‘Stand’, has reportedly signed on for another season with the floundering series, despite rumors of her growing disillusion for the show, and her character, ‘Commander Nicole Taggart’.  Along with James, ‘Stand’s’ other six cast members also signed on for the newest season . . ."

" . . . We here at Merrick records have placed Regan Dupree on suspension for an undetermined amount of time.  As a result of this, she will no longer be touring as scheduled this summer, and all work on her new album has stopped.  We have not yet released her from her contract . . ."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You can't do this to me."  

Roger Stams looked closely at the owner of the voice that just shouted at him.  She was painfully thin, and ghostly white, making her black dyed hair stand out even more.  She wore large, mirrored sunglasses, hiding the bloodshot eyes, and dark circles marring her perfect alabaster face.  Roger sighed, and drummed his fingers on the top of his desk.  

"Regan, we feel that it would be in your best interest to take some time off, get yourself together."    

"I don't need any fucking time off.  I need to work."  Regan wrung her hands together, and concentrated on keeping her voice even.  

"This is not negotiable Regan.  If you want to keep your contract at all, you will take this time off, and do something to help yourself, like rehab, or maybe just a good nights sleep."

"Fuck you Roger, and fuck the contract." she said, her voice rising into a shout. " I don't need rehab!"  

Roger was quite used to the outbursts from upset stars.  He had been in the business for almost twenty years.  He didn't even flinch when she abruptly stood from the chair she was sitting in, and advanced towards him.  

Just as suddenly as she had started walking, she stopped, and in a voice so cold, even the unflappable Roger Stams chilled, she said. "You will be hearing from my lawyer." and stormed out of his office.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The glass doors shook from Regan’s forceful thrust, as she stepped out of the Merrick building, and onto the sidewalk.  Her footfalls made a sharp staccato sound on the pavement as she walked to the parking garage a block away.  Angrily, she reached into her handbag, and retrieved her cell phone. Pressing in the familiar number with sharp jabs of her long fingers, and cursing loudly when she got the answering service.  

Her steps quickened, as she reached her black Porsche 911, and she folded her almost six-foot frame inside.  Her guts were quaking, and for some reason she couldn't get her hands to stop shaking.  She pushed the large glasses from her face and looked at herself in the mirror.  She had stopped doing that awhile back, every time seeing someone other than herself in the refection.  Her ice blue eyes were framed in red, and there were large bags underneath them.  Her full lips were pale and cracked, and her cheekbones protruded lewdly from her face.  Her once waist length, white blonde hair was now jet black, cut to shoulder length, and looking like someone used a weed whacker on it.  She ran her shaking hands through her hair and sighed.  Every week her hair was a different color or style.  According to her stage manager, changing, colored hair was what the public wanted, and so she allowed it.  

She placed her keys in the ignition, but before she could start the car, a terrible pain ripped though her midsection, and she had to open the door to vomit on the pavement.  After she was finished, she shut the door quickly, and focused on taking slow, measured breaths.  She glanced over at the bag next to her, and knew that salvation lay in a little black vile filled with white powder inside.  She had vowed just two days earlier, to quit completely, to never again wake up, and not remember what had happened to her.  The pain was getting increasingly harder to deal with, and this suspension was the last straw.  She cursed her weakness, vowed that this would be the last time, and pulled it out of her bag. She then poured an unmeasured bit unto the back of her hand in a short, fat strip.  

She quickly sucked it through her nose, and winced at the familiar burning sensation.  Instantly she felt better, and she decided that she didn't need to think about anything anymore.  It was easier this way.  When she was high, she felt important, and full of purpose.  She desperately hated the drugs she needed, but being high was the only way she could cope with being small, and insignificant.  She had no idea that she sat inside the car for almost an entire hour, just staring at the brick wall in front of her.  When she had came down enough to drive without impairment, she didn't even notice the time, didn't even notice her life slipping away from her.  

Regan pulled out onto the busy street, and blended into the flow of traffic.  She was surprised at the position of the sun as it shone in her eyes, and she groped for her sunglasses in the passenger seat.  Finding them quickly, she placed them on her face, and started driving to her home, a multimillion dollar bungalow in the heights of Beverly
Hills.  The ringing of her cell phone startled her greatly, and she almost hit a passing car.

"What!"  She barked into the small piece of plastic.

"Regan . . . you called me earlier?"
Regan sighed in relief at the subdued tones of her lawyer.  

"Yeah, listen Mike . . . Those bastards at Merrick just put me on suspension, can they even do that?"

"Actually Regan, they can."  He replied, and the even tone in his voice further irritated the singer.

"Damn it!  If I would have known that, then I never would have signed with those fuckers!" She said, passing a car at a dangerously high speed.

"Regan, calm down."  The lawyer sated, but Regan’s anger was growing.

"No Mike, I will not calm down.  I have bills to pay.  I have to work."
She heard the lawyer sigh over the digital connection as she angrily cut off another car.

"Listen Regan, Stams called me last week about this, and I have been doing some research . . ." The lawyer said, trying in vain to break the news to his client gently.

"Last week?  You knew about this, and didn't even tell me?  What the fuck kind of lawyer are you?"  Regan yelled, feeling a pounding in her head from her rising blood pressure, and instantly regretted the loss of numbness that being high brought.   The last hit had worn off quickly, so it wouldn't hurt if she had another one.  

"A damn good one." Her lawyer replied.  "The reason that I didn't tell you is because we didn't know if the suspension was actually going to stick.  When it was apparent that it was going to happen, I took the liberty of talking with your agent.  We have come up with a way for you to keep working."

"Just tell me what I have to do."  Regan said, suddenly feeling very weak, as she glanced at the small vile lying on the seat.

"Your agent has set you up with an audition for the television show ‘Stand’."

"What?  I haven't acted in years!  I'm not going to do it."  Regan looked at the vile one last time, made her decision, and switched her phone to her other hand. She then pulled off the road and onto the shoulder.  Once the car was stopped, she reached over to the passenger seat, and grabbed the vile, along with a pack of cigarettes.  

"This is your only choice."  Her lawyer's soft voice came back at her through the small phone.  "This is the only thing that we can get that will not be in violation with your contract.  If you ever want to go back to recording again, and still work while on suspension, then you will do it."  

Regan frowned at her lawyer's words, as she placed a fat strip of cocaine on her hand.  It was certainly a blow to now be reduced to television work after her long-standing career in movies, and music.  She stared at the line of oblivion resting on the back of her hand.

"Whatever.  I've got to go."  She said, throwing the phone down on the seat, without even bothering to end the call.  One quick snort and all her problems went away.  Reveling in the feeling of numbness, she lit her cigarette, and started her car.  Pulling out onto the road, she turned her radio up to a defining level, and bobbed her head with the rhythm of Limp Biskit’s ‘My way’.  

She felt an odd sort of restlessness settle over her as she pulled up to the driveway of her home.  It was a strange and unpleasant feeling, like her body was rejecting her very own skin.

She stepped out of the car, and tumbled to the ground.  In a blinding flash of clarity, she realized that she had taken to much coke.  Her panicked mind tried to force her limbs to work, but nothing happened.

Regan Dupree, winner of three Grammy awards, and an Academy award . . .  

Regan Dupree, a woman who had starred as a child in many movies, and had her first hit single at fourteen . . .

Regan Dupree, one of the most popular, most recognized, most rich, and most beautiful people in the world . . .

Regan Dupree, drug addict, was found outside her garage, face down in a pool of her own blood and vomit by her gardener.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you have to do that in here, Mom?"

Sarah James looked over at her fourteen-year-old daughter, Sammie.

"Yes."  She said simply, and had to keep from laughing at the look that crossed her daughter's face.  

"Whatever."  The teenager replied, before sulking out of the den.  Her daughter never did like the smell of paint.  

Sarah looked at the canvas she was painting on.  She had been working on this piece for almost two months, and it seemed that there was still something missing.  She had thought that today she needed a change of pace, so leaving her art studio, she worked in the well-lit den.  She frowned and looked over the piece again, still feeling like something just wasn't right.   

The ringing of the telephone made the actress jump, and she smeared a small line of blue paint over the main object of her picture.  Cursing loudly, she tried to cover her mistake, as Sammie walked in, and thrust the phone in her face.  

Sarah just looked at her blonde-headed daughter.  Sammie just glared right back at her mother and said, "Its for you."  

Sighing, Sarah grabbed the cordless phone, and watched as her child sulked out of the room.  Sammie had been getting increasingly distant since her father had died three years ago.  Sarah had tried countless times to get through to the young girl, but as the years went on, Samantha had shied away, becoming less and less like the child she knew.   

Suddenly remembering that there was someone on the phone for her, she brought the cordless up to her ear, and said "Hello".

"Hey Sarah, what's up?"

The actress smiled at the cheerful voice of Stephanie Trammell, a fellow actress, and her best friend.  
"Not much," she replied.  " Just trying to do a little painting."  Sarah grabbed the cloth, and wiped at her earlier mistake as she was listening to her friends reply.

"Sounds fun."  The voice on the other end of the line replied, with a large dose of sarcasm.  Sarah smiled as Stephanie continued.  
"Anyway, did Andy tell you they were thinking about adding a new character?"

Sarah stopped wiping at the blue streak.  It was a rumor.  A dirty, nasty, hateful rumor that had been circulating around the set ever since the numbers started dropping.  She kept that in mind as she replied,   "We have all heard that rumor, several times, and it never happens."
She went back to wiping.

"Well, Jason called me this morning . . . he got his new scripts today, and guess what?  There is a new character."

Sarah stopped wiping again, but this time, the rag fell to the floor.
"That's not possible!  There was no indication that there was ever going to be a new character.  What the hell are those writers thinking?"
Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose with paint stained fingers.  Sure the show was having some problems, but that was the fault of the writers.  There was no need to bring some big name into the cast, and fuck up the balance herself and the rest of the crew had been trying so hard to maintain for the past three seasons of the show.

"Well, I don't know about the writers, but I have talked to David and Steve, and they are just as pissed off about this as we are.  I haven't received my script yet, but Jase is gonna fax me a copy of his.  It seems that he is the only one to have gotten his this early. "Want me to send you a copy too?"  Stephanie Said.

Sarah stalked into the small bathroom located directly off the den, and began to wash her hands forcefully.

"No, I am sure that mine will come soon enough" Sarah said, a hint of exhaustion in her voice.  Three years is a long time to try to hold a show together with no support from the production companies.  The show had been created by her late husband, Tony, who had died before the show even went into broadcast, and it was a constant battle to keep the writers and producers true to Tony's original vision.  This was her last shot at work in Hollywood.  She was getting older, and hadn't even as much landed a commercial in the ten years she was out of work before ‘Stand’ had came along.  ‘Stand’ was all she had left, and there was no way she was going to throw it away.  

"OK, but if you change your mind, you have my number."  Stephanie replied, startling Sarah out of her thoughts.

"All right, thanks for the warning." The older woman said, walking into the kitchen, and looking in her phone book for the numbers of Geri Patterson, and James Green, the show's owners, and producers.  It was quite a blow when she found out that Tony had left the show to the producers, and not to her.  She had to be extremely careful when complaining about the show's direction.  She knew that one wrong word could mean her job, and ‘Stand’ was the only thing keeping herself and her daughter off the streets.  

"No problem."  Stephanie had said, before they said their good-byes, and disconnected the call.  

Sarah punched in the number she had looked up, and in a saccharine sweet voice, that almost made her loose her lunch, she settled in for battle.
"Hello James, its Sarah.  Look, I heard a nasty little rumor today . . ."  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~