Chapter 1

Chapter One

Tallula

I recently unsubscribed from life as I knew it. In the made-for-TV series, this episode would be called, The One When She Returns to Her Hometown .

If I had a tail, would it be between my legs? Yes.

Did I try to play the Hollywood game and follow the rules? Also, yes.

I even paid for the upgrades. That place chewed me up and spit me out, leaving me to all but crawl back to Hogwash Holler, Louisiana.

Never heard of it? No one has.

It's where you can still purchase a black and white television—Cherry's Vintage and Resale boasts a variety to choose from. Residents tune in to WHOG AM radio and listen in on the police scanner broadcasts. If you want a good cup of coffee, good luck. Though my sister is working on fixing that.

My life did not turn out quite how I expected. It's much worse .

But as they say, The show must go on!

I angle the Lexus's rearview mirror down, apply fresh lipstick, and with a little smile, I say, "And action!"

Moink, my frug —a French bulldog pug mix—lets out her oinky little bark.

Walking in high heels is no problem. I've had plenty of practice. Driving over two thousand miles cross country in them is another matter, so I slide them back on and get out of the car, secretly hoping for a parade and confetti bombs to celebrate my big return.

Neither happens. Womp womp.

No surprise. I didn't exactly announce my arrival—nor my departure. Hogwash is the kind of place I wanted to forget about. I'm only here because of a revenge plot that went a little too far. With a sigh, I say to my dog, "What are we going to do?"

Wearing her heart-shaped sunglasses, she looks at me and then moinks .

Taking a quick perusal of Main Street from behind my Versace sunglasses, Hogwash Holler hasn't gotten better with age. Though, a lot can happen in ten years. Slinging my Louis Vuitton handbag over my shoulder, I strut down the sidewalk. Back in Hollywood, I'm used to getting surreptitious glances from the public, wondering if I'm a big name, but so far, there aren't any heads to turn.

Almost seems like a ghost town.

If I'm brutally honest, despite being told that I'm a Marilyn Monroe lookalike, I didn't quite make it in Tinseltown. But that's a disappointing story I won't think about.

The hair salon, with its neon sign, is my top priority. I start to enter, but the door only opens halfway.

"Hang on there, darlin.' You caught me mid-dressing," says a female voice with the same Louisiana accent that I trained myself never to use.

I stifle a gasp, wondering why someone would get dressed by the front door of their place of business. Stepping back slightly, I rethink my first stop.

However, the fact remains that I look like a rag mop stuck in a microwave and desperately need a blowout and facial. With an annoyed sigh, I turn my back and wait.

Second thoughts turn into an unease swimming in my stomach. I vowed never to return, with one exception. If the Chamber of Commerce wanted to give me an award, I'd accept in person—I left a lot of things behind, but not my manners.

Having been on numerous Hollywood sets, the best I can say about Hogwash Holler is that it is a wannabe Hallmark town. With its main thoroughfare lined with shops and restaurants, it longs to be quaint, cozy, and cute. But it's frozen in time and not moving forward. It would be a 1980s movie director's dream to film an underdog story about saving a small town. Set dressers would include window boxes overflowing with flowers, bistro tables for outdoor dining, and those little seasonal flags streaming from the lantern posts.

However, scavengers and neglect made it the opposite of whatever you imagine a swoony small town to look like.

A whoosh of cool, perfumed air comes from behind me. The same female voice with the thick Louisiana accent says, "Good morning, and thank you for your patience."

I turn to see a stout woman with a poof of strikingly brassy hair and wearing a shirt that says Team Pumpkin Spice.

"Sorry to have interrupted you while getting dressed," I say.

Gripping my forearm, she braces herself and laughs loudly. "Darlin,' I wasn't getting dressed. I was decorating the window for autumn." She squints and focuses on my arms. "What do we have here all dressed up?"

"This is Moink." My dog wears a little dress in a muted orange with white polka dots on top and mini autumn leaves on the skirt. Her collar coordinates with the theme. Like me with driving in heels, she took off her little booties in the car.

"She matches my window dressings. I think I'd like one of these little pipsqueaks." She scratches Moink's chin.

I glance toward the big bay window dotted with miniature velvet pumpkins and others coated in glitter. Sprays of dried corn, and at least a dozen gnomes, each with a signature accessory, are positioned helter-skelter. One even has hair-cutting scissors and mischievously attempts to snip the end of the long, oversized hat of one of its fellow gnomes. There are also several wooden cutouts of ghosts, mummies, and bats. A scarecrow holds a sign that says Hay there! In the center is a massive bowl of candy corn in the shape of a maple leaf. It's like she bought the entirety of a craft store all at once.

"Let me guess, autumn is your favorite holiday."

"It's the gateway to the entire holiday season, straight through Saint Patrick's Day. Then we take a little break until the Fourth of July." She rubs her hands together. "I'm just getting warmed up." Her eyes get as big as the assortment of the gourds whimsically arranged in a basket.

It's not my style, but I appreciate the enthusiasm and suddenly crave a PSL.

She gasps. "Wait, a minute. I recognize you."

Wearing a smile, my hand splays on my chest, and I anticipate what television show she's going to mention. "You're too kind."

The little space between her eyebrows bunches slightly. "You're a Swan."

"I didn't get the role in Sect of the Steel Swan. But did you see it? I think I avoided disaster on that one. Plus, I heard the actors on set were total divas. In my opinion, they lacked chemistry and that came across on screen."

The furrow on her brow deepens. "Darlin,' the last time I saw you was when you were about this tall." She flattens her hand and measures about shoulder high.

Not wanting to be associated with anyone but the character I've built, with a little bounce and a giggle, I kick up one of my heels. "Hollywood magic."

Her palms fly to her cheeks as if she just now made the association. I'd prefer Hollywood Llula rather than small town Tallula. Yes, I'm a Swan, but I'm also an aspiring Hollywood actress. "Heavens to Thelma."

"Betsy, I told you, I'm doing a permanent," a raspy female voice calls from behind a stylist's station.

"You have got to see who just walked into our shop. I'm half shook and half star-struck."

"Oh, you don't have to make a fuss." Unfortunately, I haven't yet made it onto the silver screen, but I've been on several popular television shows and made for TV movies.

A tall woman with black hair and a streak of white in the front peers around the stylist station. "This better be good, Betsy." Her gaze travels from the newly decorated front window filled with fall décor and my cream-colored Lexus parked outside before landing on me. "I'm getting high-maintenance vibes. Outsiders. We need business, but not that bad."

Betsy huffs and arrays her hands like she's presenting a game show prize—I've been a hostess for several and have the motion down. "It's Jennifer Buellton-Klinger from Klingler and His Digital Army."

Thelma gasps and goes from being wary of outsiders to a warm fan. "We never missed an episode. It was a sad day when you and Scott broke up. I knew right then that was the nail in the show's coffin. A true shame, if you ask me."

The mention of my costar, who I thought was my actual spouse until recently when I discovered his deceitful nature, triggers the prickling sensation that recently devolved into vengeful anger—the road trip and numerous remote sessions with my therapist were instrumental in managing it. Sort of.

If only I'd seen the writing on the wall. By now, he certainly has.

"We're two of your biggest fans," Betsy says with giddy, childlike excitement. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you on television. You made quite a striking transformation. Tallula Swan is Llula Lilly and she's in our shop. Wonders never cease."

My internal heart "like" icon flashes red, and warmth floods me. "You are too kind. I can sign something too if you'd like." I belatedly realize she hadn't requested a selfie.

"How about we take a group photo, then we'll get it printed out and you can sign it? We'll hang it right here." Betsy motions to a blank space on the wall.

"Certainly," I say, soaking in the attention, which is more than I can say I got from my ex which is the whole reason I'm here.

After a bit of fuss with the digital camera, Betsy sets the timer. Moink makes her piggy snorts and poses like a pro for the shot. I give her a bit of a biscuit, and she settles onto the chair in the waiting area.

"Bless me, I got so caught up, I forgot to ask what brought you into the Hogwash Hairwash & Style?"

"I'm looking for a blowout and a facial if you do those." I bite my lip, worried they won't have the lymphatic drainage treatment with snail mucin and papaya enzymes that works wonders on my derma-type.

With a tender look in her eyes, Betsy squeezes my hand and says, "We'll get you fixed up something good."

A thumbs down replaces the little red heart because The Hogwash Hairwash isn't exactly on par with the salons and spas I'm used to and I have second thoughts. What if she turns my blonde curls into a hair helmet? "You know what? My sister is probably waiting for me. I should?—"

"This won't take but a few more minutes. We took up enough of your time. I can work fast when I want to," Betsy says, bustling around.

That's what I'm afraid of.

However, when I settle back at the sink, instead of chatting my ear off, Betsy gives me what might very well be the best scalp massage of my life, complete with relaxing oils that almost, but not quite, make me forget about what Peter did...and how I reacted.

I remain at the sink a little longer than normal, but Betsy works wonders with her fingers, relaxing me.

After a second rinse, she asks, "I don't mean to pry, but what brought you back to Hogwash? Visiting family?"

No slight to hairstylists, but I can hear Thelma and her client gossiping about Mrs. Halfpenny and how she turned up to the church potluck with a pot of pork and beans...and jelly beans mixed in.

I know better than to share too much about my personal life because it'll echo off these walls for the whole town to hear.

The truth is the stuff of an after-school special, a cautionary tale. Shortly after our wedding, the county informed Peter that our marriage license paperwork hadn't been properly filed. He never bothered to tell me and went along with our "sham relationship" to better his career and to "tide him over" until he got paid—I've been living off a trust left to me by my grandfather. Meanwhile, he was spending all "our" money. Then, when he got the big role he was hoping for, he ditched me and rapidly moved on with a new relationship.

I answer. "I'm here visiting my sister."

"Her kids are adorable and so well-behaved. Is there someone special in your life? Are you next in line for marriage? Are you next in line to become a mother?" Betsy asks, sweetly innocent. She must keep her gossip local. This proves that Hogwash truly is sheltered because depending on who you ask in Hollywood, I'm either a legend or a villain.

I snort. "No, I plan to be single for a long, long time."

"I bet there are some hunks out there in Hollywood. But we have some fine fellows here, too." She winks.

I highly doubt that. Handsome and Hogwash are not synonymous. My sister had to travel halfway around the world to a symposium on international law to find her husband—he's in the military and was stationed in Germany at the time.

Nope. So much nope. "I'll never date a guy that's ever stepped foot in this town. "

Betsy chuckles as if those are famous last words. From her chair by the mirror where he admires himself, Moink makes a noise that sounds a lot like she agrees. Traitor.