SCENE A. CHURCH EXT: Amber hurries out of the limousine and rushes toward the church. A SHOT is heard. Amber falls to the ground, shot in the brain by a SNIPER’S BULLET.

I read it over once more and then I called Penny’s office and told Marissa to put me through.

“Whaddaya want?” Penny barked. “I’m in the middle of the Cuban Missile crisis.”

“Hang up,” I told her. “We’ve been nuked.”

INT. BEVERLY HILLS MANSION

EVENING

Moira and the network had decided to make an example out of me. Not only were they not giving me a raise, they weren’t renewing my contract.

“Too bad, dear,” Moira said dismissively when I finally appeared on set. “Nothing personal.” Even worse, until the contract expired, I was to lie motionless in a hospital bed, my face visible in every scene so there would be no possibility of a body double.

That evening, after fifteen takes of getting shot in the head, I ripped off my bloodied wedding dress and fled, black streaks of mascara running down my face to Daddy and Anna’s, hoping for sympathy. In the vast living room beneath the wall-eyed gaze of an original Picasso, I threw myself, sobbing, onto the burgundy velvet divan and poured out the details.

My father listened, his face reddening with every word. He paced right under the giant Swarvoski chandelier, a place I avoided in case of an earthquake.

I couldn’t wait to hear him blow up at the injustice of my treatment. But to my shock, turned his anger toward me. “What were you thinking? No one is going to hire you again!”

“What? But Penny said—”

“I don’t give two shits what Penny said. Of course they’re punishing you. I’d have done the same thing. Otherwise, they’d have every actor on the show making demands. You acted like a spoiled brat.”

That did it. I buried my head in the pillows and wailed. Anna ran to the powder room and returned with some Kleenex and a spray bottle of spot remover.

“Sidney.” Anna approached my father and took his arm. “Jackie’s a good girl. It’s this agent’s fault. She should sign with CAA.”

I blew my nose. “A person’s got a right to ask for more money,” I muttered. “If I were a man, they would’ve given it to me.”

“If you were a man, they would’ve shot you in the balls instead of the head,” my father retorted.

The doorbell rang.

“That’s the limo,” Anna said to my father. “Concetta!”

Concetta darted out from the kitchen and walked quickly across the living room. Anna handed off the stain remover and gestured to the pillows under my head.