A Fallen Starr

A FALLEN STARR (Word count 2,430)

The black limousine moved slowly down the back streets of London,
carrying the most precious of cargo. For, inside the car, shrouded by
the black tinted windows, was a nineteen-year-old superstar, dressed to
create a stir, in a designer pink mini-dress. She was the infamous
Crystal Starr, a singing and dancing legend, even at such tender
age.
She was sitting on the backseat with her manager, Leon, only
half-listening as he droned on about how important tonight was. It was,
he said, the most important night because she was making the transition
from child to woman. It was a different crowd; he had drilled into her
ever since they had left the hotel. They weren't teenyboppers; they
were a different generation.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she said, as she inspected her nails. "I know all
that Leon."
"Do you? Do you really?" He said. "I don't think you do, Crystal. I
don't think you know how important tonight really is."
She glanced out of the window, hoping he would get the hint and shut
up. She didn't care for performing in front of old codgers. It was an
appreciative issue. They wouldn't be able to appreciate a good thing
when they saw it. They were more likely to be interested in books and
dictionaries. Hell, they were only there to raise money. How sad was
that?
"You have to broaden your horizons, sweetheart," Leon continued.
"Venture into new things before the old things grow stale. Do you know
what I'm saying?"
"Loud and clear, mister," she said. She lent forward and tapped on the
dividing screen. "Hurry up for Gods sake. I've never seen anyone drive
so fucking slow."
The driver did speed the car up and soon they were in the middle of
London, eager faces stooping to look inside the limousine, as they came
to a standstill at some traffic lights.
"I don't know why they're looking in," Crystal said. "They can't see a
fucking thing."
"Less of the language, sugarplum," Leon warned. "Hope you don't slip
anything like that out at the conference tomorrow."
"As if I would," she said, smiling sweetly. "As if I would."

The limousine pulled up at the kerbside just outside the London Arena;
to a packed street full of young fans in parka coats, holding notebooks
in their gloved hands. The paparazzi were out in force, too, cameras
poised towards the limousine. The driver opened the door to let Crystal
out, her bodyguards standing behind him. She swung her legs out
elegantly, knees pressed together, careful not to show anything that
would be on the front page of the tabloids in the morning.
She stepped out onto the red carpet, cameras flashing in unison. She
walked in between her bodyguards, turning her perfect smile to the
besotted crowd. They, in turn, gave a murmur of approval and lurched
forward onto the gold railings. When she reached the entrance, she
flicked her long, golden hair and turned around to give the crowd a
final wave.
"Crystal, Crystal," they sang in earnest. "We love you, Crystal.
Crystal Starr you are a star."
"Thank you, thank you," she said. "Thank you so much. I love you, too,
dear fans. I love you all."
The bodyguards gently pulled her inside the building and, once she was
away from their glares, she muttered to herself, quietly, so no one
would hear.
"Thank you, my ass. What a crock."

She gave a first class performance. The audience went absolutely crazy
when she tottered onto the stage, a feather boa around her neck,
dressed in a fake fur coat. She took her position and then the music
and laser lights started. Shrugging her coat to the floor, she emerged
in the pink dress, wowing them with her taut, flawless skin.
Richard Pearson, the TV presenter, had described her as 'one of the
hottest young stars of this generation; a sexy, talented natural
performer who is going to be even bigger this time next year'. She
couldn't have agreed more. Hers was a special talent. If only daddy
knew it, too.
Daddy! Where was daddy? She searched the audience but it was hopeless.
She wouldn't be able to see him, even if he was sitting in the front
row. He was hardly likely to be here, anyhow. He would either be in the
bookies or at the pub. Her mother was no better. Shacked up with that
boy, who was young enough to be her son.
She wouldn't think about those things now. She had a crowd to please,
even though she was hardly capable of pleasing herself these days,
never mind other people.
That would come later.

She left the stage amidst roaring cheers and ear shattering whistles.
Raising her hand in what she hoped looked like a pleased
acknowledgement, she marched off the stage. Waiting on the sideline for
her, was Leon, grinning from ear to ear.
"What a fantastic performance, sweetheart," he said. "They sure were
impressed. You've done it, girl. Well done."
She shrugged and went to pass him. Instead, he grabbed her shoulders
and kissed her cheek. She had to force herself from grimacing.
"Well, aren't you going to say something, then? Aren't you pleased
with yourself?"
She stood on her tiptoes, looking towards the doors to the dressing
rooms, itching to get there. "I'm feeling good, yeah," she said, at
last. Then, half-hoping, she said, "Has my dad turned up?"
"What, old George? You are kidding, aren't you? The chance of George
being here is second to none."
"Oh, well," she said. "Guess I'll go and clean up."
"Go on, then. I'll be right here, waiting for you when you come
out."
"Sure thing."

In the privacy of her own dressing room, she rushed to her bag and,
with scrambling fingers, pulled out the small package hidden in the
secret compartment. In the plastic bag was a clean needle full of
heroin. Taking off her high heel shoes, she put the needle straight in
between her toes and waited for the feeling to come.
She lay sprawled on the floor, one arm on the dressing table and the
other flopped on her stomach. She felt herself rushing, becoming higher
and higher with every second. Any minute now, she would be in oblivion.
She would be able to forget her dear, dear daddy and her absconded
mother. Life would seem so easy, so uncomplicated. She wasn't really
who she was. That was someone else. She was just plain old Jenny
Peters, the girl who lived in a little bungalow by the sea with her
husband. They even had children. A girl and a boy. In her dream, the
little girl even looked like her, with the same dimple in her left
cheek.
The used needle dropped from her grasp onto the floor, where it rolled
into the centre of the room. She watched it, unconcerned. Nothing
mattered anymore. She didn't give a flying fuck.
I am as free as a bird, as high as a kite. Oh, daddy, why did you
never give a shit? Why am I here at all?
She thought back to her life as a little girl.
You're wonderful, Jenny, sweetie, He would say, slurring his words. I
say so, everyone says so. Just get on with it, will you? Do you really
need me there behind you every step of the way? When are you going to
grow up? I'm going out now. Don't wait up. And don't step out of the
front door, either. Can't have the neighbours seeing you here on your
own.
But daddy! Please&;#8230;don't go. Please, daddy&;#8230;
Her head rolled onto her chest, her heart like a fluttering bird
trying to fly. She tried to make the BAD THOUGHTS go away. There was
nothing worse than being high and having the BAD THOUGHTS sneaking in.
It wasn't supposed to happen that way. She was supposed to be feeling
happy.
She needed some more, that was what was wrong. Just another little fix
and everything would be perfect. She managed to roll towards her bag,
becoming eager and needy as she searched it.
Where is the damn thing? Where the FUCK IS IT!
She fished it out, at last. As she injected for the second time into
the sore place between her toes, she became calm once more.

A cleaning attendant found her and raised the alarm. The ambulance was
called and the Paramedics rushed to the dressing room, where they saw
the infamous Crystal Starr, lying in a pool of her own vomit. She
didn't even stir as they carried her onto a stretcher.
"Ain't it funny," a Paramedic said to the others. "Famous or not
famous, you still look the same vomiting in the gutter."
And they all had a giggle about that.

When she woke up, she found herself in hospital, wearing gruesome blue
striped pyjamas. At least they had the decency to put her in her own
room. It wouldn't have surprised her if they'd put her in a communal
ward; after all people were so damn thick, sometimes.

Leon visited her as soon as she came round. He dumped a bag of grapes
on her lap and told her, in a stern voice, that she needed to sort
herself out. He had managed to keep everything from the newspapers but
he couldn't do it every time. The cleaning attendant had got a big
payoff too.
Before he went, she enquired about her dad. Either he didn't hear her
or he purposely ignored her because he had gone from the room without
acknowledging the question.
With nothing much to do, she went back to sleep.

She awoke just before dinner and, before she had propped herself up,
she heard a tap on the door.
"Who is it?" She said, her voice croaky with the remnants of
sleep.
A face popped round the corner of the door. It was a young girl,
possibly around fourteen-year-old, smirking at her incessantly.
"Yes? Whaddyawant?" She said.
The young girl stepped in the room, showing herself. She held a
notepad.
"Please, Crystal. Could I have your autograph please?"
Crystal frowned. "No one's supposed to know I'm here. How did you know
I was here? How did you know?"
The young girl shrunk back slightly. "Y-your door was o-open yesterday
a-and I s-saw you."
Crystal flung her arms in the air. "Oh, great, that's just fucking
fantastic that is. And I suppose you know why I'm in here, do you? Had
an overdose, haven't I? What a laugh."
The young girl stepped forward, gingerly, holding out the notepad.
"Could I have your autograph, then, please?"
When Crystal didn't answer, the young girl carried on, "I'm your
greatest fan. I look up to you so much. In fact, one day I want to be
just like you. I can sing and I'm going to a famous singer when I'm old
enough."
Crystal turned her back to her.
"Please.." the young girl started.
Crystal didn't bother to turn round but said, "Look, you're pissing me
off now. Just get the fuck out of here. Before I call the
police."
With tears in her eyes, the young girl walked silently out of the
room, her head low.
Once she had gone, Crystal called the nurse.
"Look, this mad girl just came in demanding my autograph. I don't need
this shit. Do you know who I am? You're treating me like Joe Public. I
need to be moved. Somewhere more private than this. Go and get your
superior. I want to see them right now."

SIX MONTHS LATER

The news conference was held at approximately 2pm on Monday afternoon
and was shown on every TV channel in the country.
Arnie Splight, Crystal Starr's spokesperson, was sitting behind the
desk, looking sombre and morose. A team of PR people were sitting to
the side of him as he talked to the camera and the reporters. As he
spoke his voice cracked and withered with emotion.
"At 2am yesterday morning, Crystal Starr died. The experts tried their
best to save her but, unfortunately, it was too late. Our hearts go out
to her family and her closest friends. Our hearts also go out to her
fans, who, I know, must be feeling very upset right now. Her funeral
will be held next Tuesday and will be a private affair, with just her
family. There will, however, be a wake afterwards for her fans. Crystal
Starr, alias Jenny Peters, will be laid to rest. Thank you."
A reporter on the front row stood up and pointed his microphone
towards Arnie. "Arnie, Arnie," he said, to get his attention.
Arnie frowned and raised his hand. "No questions, please."
"But, please," the reported insisted. "Is it true Crystal died of a
drug overdose or alcoholic poisoning?"
"No comment," Arnie said.
"She was seen coming out of The Ivy Tree last week. Was she in there
for therapy?"
Arnie was becoming annoyed. He glared at the reporter. "I said no
comment. Thank you."
Watching the conference at home with her mother was Natasha Green. She
was lying on the rug in front of the TV, entranced with the news. Her
mother was standing behind her, ironing.
"It's such a shame," her mother said. " Only nineteen too. It makes
you wonder what they do to these teen stars, these days."
The conference finished and Natasha went to turn the channel over. "I
know&;#8230;it's awful."
"She never had the chance to be a proper child, did she?" Her mother
continued. "Told to wear this, act like that. What a life."
A Tom &; Jerry cartoon was on the other side and Natasha shuffled
herself on the rug to get comfortable. "Oh wow," she said. "Tom &;
Jerry. How fantastic."
There was silence for a few minutes until Natasha spoke up. "I met
her, you know."
"Who?" Her mother said.
"Crystal&;#8230;Crystal Starr."
"Oh," her mother looked surprised. "When?"
"About six months ago&;#8230;in the hospital, when I went for my
appendix. I didn't tell you because she was nasty to me and I was
ashamed."
"Nasty?"
"Yeah. Swore at me."
"Really?" Mother said, sounding shocked.
"I always wanted to be like her, you know. I wanted to be a famous
singer but I don't think I want to anymore."
Her mother stood the iron up. "Why not? That was your lifetime
ambition."
"Not if I end up like Crystal Starr. Not a chance."
She turned back to the TV, signalling the end of the discussion.
Her mother went back to the ironing.

THE END