Jackie Braun - Exclusive! - Hollywood Life or Royal Wife? / Marriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby! / Sex, Lies and a Security Tape

‘Well, this is hardly the moment to make earth-shattering discoveries,’ Anne replied tartly, sending her a significant look. ‘You’re on show, honey; that’s what they’re paying several million bucks for.’

‘I thought that was for playing Xanthia in the movie,’ Victoria said crossly, hair curtaining her face as she dropped her chin on her chest.

‘Now, grow up, Vic. You know perfectly well that was just the beginning. I really don’t understand what you’re complaining about. Anybody else would be delighted to have reached stardom in such a short time.’

‘I loathe it.’

‘And I give up,’ Anne exclaimed, rolling her eyes, wishing Ed Banes, the director, had chosen someone else for the role. For, although the girl was a natural, she had been nothing but trouble from the word go. Anne had warned Ed and the others that it wasn’t going to be a smooth ride. But had they listened? No. And as usual she was left to clean up. She liked Victoria a lot—thought she was a sweet, sensitive kid and a great actress. But that wasn’t enough. If she wasn’t disposed to do the PR, and put up with the media, it was just no damn good.

Glancing sideways at her charge, Anne decided to let Victoria be until they got to the Carlton Hotel in Cannes. She leaned back against the leather seat and flipped through the Festival programme.

There was a dinner tonight. She supposed that would be another piece of work. A top fashion house was delivering Victoria’s dress this afternoon. God only knew what she would do if there was a mistake in the fitting. Anne checked the guest list. Several other stars would be present. That would make Victoria less conspicuous. A couple of heads of state would be there, a sprinkling of royalty, and some famous rock stars to help dilute things. She glanced at the table seating. Victoria was placed to the right of HRH Prince Rodolfo of Malvarina, the ruler of the tiny principality, an island not far off the coast of Italy.

Anne twiddled her pen a minute and thought about what the bankers had said regarding a change of residence for Victoria. Malvarina wasn’t a bad option—one of the more attractive tax havens, easy to access, and with great banking laws. She wondered whether to mention it, then took a look a Victoria’s closed face, grimaced and decided not to. Right now, all Victoria seemed to want was to return to this place—Hetherington, the small English village where she and her widowed mother had lived. It was all very cute, but not Anne’s style. Malvarina, on the other hand, was smooth and sophisticated. Some of the world’s richest and glitziest had moved there, seeking anonymity.

Hmmm. Anonymity. That might be just be the selling point, she reflected. After all, everyone in Malvarina was rich and famous. Another star would just blend in. Anne made a note on her Palm Pilot to mention the subject to Victoria at a suitable moment, then glanced at her watch. Time to make sure Victoria would brave the arrival at the Carlton and the inevitable pack of reporters awaiting them without a scene.

IN HER HUGE SUITE over looking the Croisette and the Mediterranean, Victoria sank down on the king-size bed and let out a sigh. She didn’t want it to be this way, wished that everything could be as she’d imagined it would be when she’d been discovered and offered the role—before she’d rushed into all of this, so excited and thinking of nothing but the opportunity to act. She’d always wanted to be an actress and now, at only twenty, she’d been offered the break of a lifetime. So why was it so hard to do the other thing? Most people wanted to be famous, to be in the limelight, to be a star, seek fame and fortune. But to her the publicity and pressure were insurmountable obstacles that she found increasingly hard to deal with.

Time to take one of her pills, she realised, getting up and moving towards the bathroom. As she did so she remembered just how she’d discovered Dr Richard Browne, the man who kept her sane.

It had happened one night at a huge Hollywood dinner, when she’d slipped into the bathroom and leaned against the basin, closing her eyes and feeling desperate. The girl washing her hands at the next basin had looked across at her curiously.

‘You okay?’ she’d asked.

‘Fine,’ Victoria had answered, mustering a smile.

‘You sure?’ The girl had grimaced. ‘I guess you’re finding it hard to deal with all the crap. I used to be like that too. I ended up at a shrink. And thank God I did. It saved my life, man.’ She dried her hands on a towel and dropped it in the basket next to the sink.

‘Did he help you? The shrink, I mean?’

‘Sure he helped me,’ the girl had answered, laughing sympathetically. ‘It was like I’d turned a corner. He gave me some medication that really did the trick.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ Victoria had replied, her voice filled with longing. What she wouldn’t have done for some assistance.

‘Hey, if you want I can give you his number. He’s really cool. Have a pen?’

‘Yes. Here.’ Victoria had rummaged in her evening purse and produced a pen and an old paper napkin, which she’d handed to her bathroom companion. Moments later she’d slipped the napkin back in her bag, determined to give the doctor a ring on the morrow.

‘You’ll like him. He’s very experienced in treating people in the movie business who are suffering from stress. He’ll have you feeling great in no time.’

And the girl had proved to be right. Dr Richard Browne had immediately understood her problem and had written out a prescription for a substantial supply of small capsules. He’d said they’d make her feel better very quickly, and she was to call his office when she needed more. They had, and she did—even though it was expensive. Not that money was in any way an impediment any longer. It seemed to flow in from every quarter

Now, for a long moment, Victoria hesitated, one of the capsules placed on her palm. Deep inside, she knew she shouldn’t be relying on drugs. She had never enquired of the doctor what they contained. But if lots of actors took them they couldn’t be harmful, she figured, eyeing the medication for a moment. Then, knowing she had to go back out there and face the crowd, a wave of panic overwhelmed her and she popped it in her mouth before she could change her mind.

Minutes later, it felt as though a black cloud had lifted. Suddenly she was relaxed and able to cope. But she’d have to take another one before she could face the dinner tonight.

Did Anne know that she helped herself with meds? Victoria wondered. She didn’t think so. She’d been very careful not to let on. Anne disapproved of anything that might tarnish Victoria’s reputation. So Victoria kept quiet about it, figuring that as long as no one found out it was okay. What mattered was that with the help of the meds she was able to produce the result they wanted. Surely that was what mattered?

She moved to the window and looked down at the people wandering up and down the promenade: the star-gazers, the groupies, the wannabe actors and actresses, trying to attract the attention of the press and the movers and shakers of the film industry. For a moment she felt a rush of shame. What wouldn’t those people out there give to be in her place? She had it all, yet she hated it. Not the actual making of the movie, she reflected—that she’d really enjoyed, even though the schedule had been relentlessly demanding. It had been wonderful, the film set her natural habitat. And when at last she’d seen the final rushes she’d been enchanted. It was the hype she couldn’t handle.

A knock on the door made her turn sharply. It was all about to begin again. An afternoon programme of activities: interviews, the hairdresser, the make-up artist, a photo shoot. She swallowed. She had to face it.