Star Struck

~ 1 ~

Modesty and simplicity were rarely used to describe Hailey Barnes. Why should they? Life wasn’t always easy for her. She worked hard to get to this point in her career. She was blessed with natural good looks thanks to the genes of both of her African-American parents. Many assumed she inherited her height from her father, but to the contrary. Her mother was tall and most of the men and women on her mother’s side were five ten or taller.

Hailey glared at the picture left in her dressing room chair. Shock registered immediately when she opened up the brown envelope and saw her eyes cut out. The words “I hate you,” were written in red. She threw the picture and envelope in the trash. As a former model, she was used to receiving hate mail. Many would be surprised at the amount of people who sent her hate mail simply for the color of her skin. She learned early on how to protect herself from the pain. Her mom taught her while growing up in a Suburban town right outside of Dallas to not allow others opinions to dictate how she felt about herself. Her survival tactics kicked into high gear and she decided to simply ignore the picture; although her instincts told her this one was different than the others.

She blinked a few times as if it would erase the memory of the picture. She looked at her reflection in the mirror one last time before leaving her dressing room.

“We’re on in one-two-three, you’re on,” John Woods, the executive producer, stated in Hailey’s ear piece. The Hailey Barnes show was the number three talk show in her market. She was vying for the number two spot because O had number one on lock.

Hailey flashed her Colgate smile and with a walk reminiscent of her time as a model on the runway in Paris, she walked out on the stage to an audience that gave her a standing ovation fit for a queen. She enjoyed the accolades and soaked in the energy. She fed on the energy and as she walked to take her seat, her long auburn tresses bounced and glistened on the screen.

“Today’s Freedom Friday and as you know, it’s,” Hailey stopped speaking and looked at the audience.

The audience yelled, “Fan mail time.”

“Let’s see what you the viewers have to say this week. I want to remind everyone that neither I nor my producers know what’s in your letters. I read them live on the air and ad-lib my responses.”

She picked out a few letters, read them, looked into the camera as she responded. The in studio audience laughed or “ahhed” at some of the responses. She repeated this process for the first ten minutes of the show. Hailey held the last letter in her hand and viewers had to look close but the gleam in her eye disappeared for a split second.

“We have some bills to pay and we’ll be right back,” she said, as she dropped the letter back in the bag as if it was hot coal. She ignored her studio audience and ran off the stage.

John rushed behind her. “Hailey, have you lost your mind? What’s gotten into you?”

She snatched the letter out of the bag and threw it on the counter near John. “Look at this. This is the third letter from this creep. I need someone to find out who it is and now.”

John picked up the letter and read it. “I need for you to get your behind back on stage. We’ll deal with this after the taping.”

“But John,” she said, batting her long black eyelashes.

John was one of the few people who could handle Hailey; especially when she was in diva-mode. John ignored her rant and pushed her back towards the stage. Her make-up artist met them at the entry way and blotted out the sweat that had formed on her forehead. An intern handed her a bottle of water. She took a quick sip, passed it back to the intern and walked back on stage right before the end of the last commercial aired.

Hailey inhaled and exhaled a few times and as John spoke in her earpiece, she mentally prepared for the next segment of her show. “Now I’m taking it to the audience. Talk to Hailey. What’s on your mind?” she asked as different audience members took turns on the microphone. On Freedom Fridays Hailey was known to pick audience members to come on stage to be her special guests. She called it her way of giving back to her viewers.

“My boyfriend says he loves me but he’s always talking about his ex-girlfriend. Should I believe him?” asked a slender brown-skinned woman wearing braids that hung to her shoulders.

Hailey moved in her seat and looked her directly in the eyes. “He has some unresolved issues with his ex. I wouldn’t get emotionally involved with him.”

“Too late,” the audience member responded.

“Let Hailey talk to you for a minute. You don’t mind do you audience,” Hailey said.

They responded, “No.”