Chapter Text
“Hel, just kill me now!”
Madeline sauntered inside the house without a care in the world about who’s inside. The way she walked in, it was like she owned the place. Discarding her bright pink coat and bright pink shoes, it was evident that she came from a work meeting instead of a shoot, with none other than her agent, Viola, who’s been pestering her for a whole week now—eager to discuss all the plans regarding her sombering career and the upcoming Academy Award nominations.
“Hello to you too, Madeline,” Helen replied, unfazed by her best friend’s sudden entrance to her home. This is not new to her—in fact, it's a daily occurrence that somehow doesn’t surprise her anymore.
“Just kill me now! So that I won’t have to kill all my people!”
“What’s up, Mad?” Helen asked, pouring Madeline a glass of wine, because she knows the blonde really needs a drink right now with the state she’s in.
“I have been in a meeting for three days now. Three, Hel, discussing how my career is ‘declining’ as they kindly put it. I might kill someone if I ever hear those words uttered again before my name.”
“Mad, calm down!”
“Oh, Hel, I am calm. Believe me, you don’t want to see me not calm.”
“I’ve seen you not calm. I can handle it, but my kids are upstairs finishing their homework right now, so just—”
“Oh, the kids are here with you? I thought it was Ernest’s week?”
“Apparently, he has a work thing he suddenly needs to attend for the week. So that’s that.”
“What a prick! Seriously, Hel, if not for those kids upstairs, I would help you end him, and I will even hide the body.”
“I know you would, but let’s not talk about killing my children's father right now, and let’s just focus on your dying career.”
Madeline glared at her, but continued on talking.
“They want me to work twice—no, thrice—as hard for my Oscars campaign this year. And on top of that, Viola booked me to all the press junkets there are. Apparently, I have to do interviews with puppies now.”
“Oh, puppies!” Helen said, squealing.
“Not the point, Hel! Quit being distracted, and help me think of something here.”
“Think of what exactly, Mad? You have publicists for this kind of thing. Bother them, not me.”
“But you know me, you know what’s best for me. Because I’m your best friend and you love me. So share your thoughts on how I can make my life easier and, at the same time, save my career and put me out there.”
Suddenly, little tiny feet came barging from the stairs to the kitchen. Zoey and Cooper, homework in hand, came down right in time for dinner.
“Hey, Auntie Maddie,” the eight-year-old, Cooper, greeted her nonchalantly while handing his homework to his mom to check.
“Auntie Maddie!” the ten-year-old girl, Zoey, squealed, going right in to hug her.
“Hey, guys! Are you ready for dinner?”
“What are you doing here? Mom didn’t say you’d be coming tonight,” asked Zoey, with an apparently new British accent, pulling out the plates to set on the kitchen aisle.
“Okay. One, ouch. And two, what’s with Miss Doolittle over here?” Madeline replied.
“She’s trying on accents. It’s British today, I guess.”
“Our theater club is auditioning students for the next play, and one of the requirements for casting the lead is that you have to be British. I know I am not, but who cares? I can be one. Right, Mom?”
“Oh… that’s no—” Madeline said, but was cut off by Helen.
“Yes, sweetheart. You can be everything you want.”
Madeline is trying so hard to hide her laugh and amusement over the mother-daughter exchange that’s happening. If she happens to have a movie opposite a child, she would immediately suggest Zoey—the kid could easily pass as her daughter.
“Anyways, aren’t you guys not used to your Auntie Maddie’s antics by now?”
“We are.” Both Zoey and Cooper said in unison.
“Okay, now. Let’s just eat. What did you cook anyway, Hel? Is it edible?”
“Of course it’s edible, it’s for my kids!”
“You know, when we were younger, your mother didn’t know a thing about cooking. She burned an egg once, you know?”
“Really, Mom?”
“Shut up, Mad… but yeah, I did. Once.”
They all shared a laugh with that and started on eating their dinner, which actually surprised Madeline—it tasted good.
Motherhood really changed her best friend.
Later that night, the two best friends settled in for some much-needed (more) wine.
“Okay, the kids are asleep,” Helen said, going down the stairs straight into the living room, where Madeline is staring at the lit fireplace, wine in hand. She’s absentmindedly pouring one glass for Helen at the same time.
“Earth to Madeline,” Helen continued, catching her best friend's attention.
“Wha—sorry, I’m just thinking.”
“Mad, just do it, just do what they sa—”
“No, not that right now. Just thinking about how our lives are so totally different now.”
“Different good or…?”
“Different good. I mean, when we were young, these were just dreams, you know? It might not be what we planned, but somehow, some of it we have. My declining career and your separation excluded, we have the life we just dreamt of back then in our tiny little dorm room. You’re a successful author, with beautiful kids, and somehow, ‘dying’ career aside, I’ve made a name for myself out there.”
“And will continue doing so, Mad.”
Madeline offered a kind smile to the optimism her best friend has—and for the faith she has in her.
“I hope so.”
“I know so. You still have a lot of movies to make. Hell, I haven’t even had you star in one of my books,” Helen said, suddenly an idea popping into her mind. She grabbed a pen and paper on the side table and began writing.
101 Ways to Save Madeline Ashton’s Dying Career
“What the fuck, Hel?” Madeline asked, laughing at how nerdy her best friend still is. Like some things never really change.
“You asked me for ideas earlier. I was distracted, so let’s brainstorm now.”
“Okay.”
“So, basically, we want you out there, right? Making headlines, booking roles, and finally securing that Academy Award—which, by the way, you are long due.”
“I know, right?”
Helen continued thinking of ways to help her best friend, playing the pen on her lips, glasses sliding down. Madeline averted her eyes, not wanting to see that.
“What if you go out on a date with one of your co-stars in the movie? That seems to be a good PR stunt.”
“Really, Hel? Who hasn’t suggested that? I’ve been branded as a playgirl, serial dater, Madeline Ashton. How would that be any different?” Madeline asked.
Helen continued giving sprouting ideas, but none actually rang in Madeline’s ear.
“I want to be on the cover of People Magazine, Hel! I don’t want to be on the magazine’s tiny little boxes on the side. I want a headline that will shock people, that will make me the talk of the town.”
“Okay, how about… air out your humble beginnings? That can touch people’s hearts, right?”
“Hel, my private life has been in the spotlight for decades now. Nothing’s new! I have my entire biography on Wikipedia, for God’s sake.”
“Okay, I give up. I don’t know anymore. Call Viola, call your publicist, hell, call Lisle—my publicist.”
Helen laughed at the thought. She’s willing now to pull out even her team to help Madeline’s.
Suddenly, she noticed the serious face of her best friend.
“Hel, I’m scared. I don’t want this to be over yet. I hate that I have to think about this—it’s not even happening yet. Why do I have to work ahead and twice as hard as those men in the industry? That fucking Chance is not thinking about this. He’s not thinking about how to ensure he’ll secure that Academy Award win. He’s not thinking about the PR stunt he has to pull and the amount of press he needs to do. He’s not thinking about any of this. Why should I?”
At this point, Madeline is visibly stressed, and the lone tear that slipped through her eyes and rolled down her cheeks is clear evidence.
Helen pulled her into her side and wrapped her arms around her best friend.
“I hate that you have to deal with this, Mad. You’re a very talented actress—”
“Say that to them!”
“Somehow, I know they know that. The people know that. But we’re women. And I hate that just because of that, we’re here brainstorming ideas just to keep your career afloat.”
Helen knew, from the very first time she saw Madeline perform in their high school theater, that she would be a star. That one day, she’d be best friends with a star. Of all the people that doubted Madeline, Helen wasn’t—and hasn’t been—one of them.
The fact that she’s facing this challenge now breaks her too.
Because she knows Madeline belongs in the spotlight.
She deserves the spotlight.
And if there’s a way—
any way—
She would do whatever she can to help her Maddie.
Both tipsy now, the wine they have been drinking is almost empty. Along the way, they forgo the glasses and just proceed to share the bottle itself. With the wine in their system, both were giggling now, exchanging past stories.
“Remember that time when people thought we were dating in high school because of how inseparable we were? God—”
“Yeah, I remember. It was my idea that we go along with it,” Madeline replied.
“Apparently, you became a gay icon in our high school. You managed to help some of our classmates come out.”
Both laughed at the memory. High school really was something.
“I am very happy to serve. And then you dated that Bobby, so my icon status got revoked.”
“You dated him too!”
“Eh, he was boring. I still can’t understand what you saw in him.”
“I’m so happy I escaped those men in high school.”
“No, you didn’t. You married one, right?”
Helen threw a small pillow at her.
“Shut up! I don’t want my kids hearing how you loathe their father.”
“Oh, please.”
The paper from earlier, now scribbled with Helen’s handwriting, caught Madeline’s attention.
“What are we going to do with my career though?” Madeline said with a whine.
She was now propped up against her best friend, hands curling around Helen.
“I don’t know, Mad… What if you date a woman? That would certainly put you out there, just like high school,” Helen suggested, chuckling at the thought.
Madeline? Dating a woman?
Madeline—the serial dater, playgirl, who stole some of her boyfriends in high school—dating a girl?
Funny.
For a moment, Madeline considered the idea.
It stirred something in her.
One that’s been lingering all her life.
“…What?” Helen said, laughing a little when Madeline didn’t immediately brush it off. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m joking.”
Madeline didn’t answer.
Instead, she shifted slightly where she was leaning against Helen, her fingers absentmindedly tightening on the fabric of Helen’s shirt.
“I mean, think about it,” Madeline said, amused. “Madeline Ashton, serial dater of men, suddenly shows up on the arm of a woman? That’s—”
“A headline,” Helen finished quietly.
Helen blinked.
“Well, yes,” Madeline admitted. “A very loud one.”
Madeline hummed, her gaze dropping to the scribbled paper. Her thumb traced the edge of it. “People would talk,” she murmured.
“Oh, they would definitely talk,” Helen said, now fully entertained. “You’d break the internet. Zoey would think you’re the coolest person alive.”
“I already am.”
“Debatable.”
Madeline let out a soft huff of laughter—but her mind was clearly somewhere else.
“Interviews…” she continued, almost to herself. “Press tours. Headlines. ‘Madeline Ashton shocks Hollywood.’”
“‘Finally settles down,’” Helen added jokingly.
Madeline snorted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Helen nudged her lightly. “Relax, Mad. It was a joke.”
Madeline went quiet again, a little too quiet.
Helen’s smile faltered, just slightly. “…You’re actually thinking about it,” she said.
Madeline tilted her head, considering. “It’s not the worst idea you’ve had.”
“That is not comforting.”
“I’m serious.”
Helen shifted, turning to face her more fully now. “Madeline.”
“What?”
“You can’t just—” Helen gestured vaguely. “You can’t just do something like that because of publicity.”
Madeline finally looked at her.
“And why not?”
Helen opened her mouth—
Paused.
Closed it again.
Because the truth was… she didn’t have a good answer.
“Because it’s—” she tried again. “It’s complicated.”
Madeline smiled faintly. “Everything is complicated, Hel.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Madeline shrugged, but her voice softened. “It would work.”
Helen studied her face. The way her eyes weren’t joking anymore. The way she looked…dangerously serious.
“You’d have to commit,” Helen said slowly. “You can’t half-do something like that. People will notice.”
Madeline let out a quiet breath. “I don’t half-do anything.”
There was a beat. The fire crackled softly in the background. Helen looked away first.
“It was just a joke,” she repeated, quieter this time.
Madeline leaned her head back against the couch.
“Yeah,” she said.
A pause.
“…A good one, though.”
Helen huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” Madeline murmured, eyes slipping half-closed, “you keep me around.”
“Barely.”
Madeline smiled. Silence settled between them again—but this time, it felt different, heavier, not uncomfortable, just… something.
After a moment, Madeline shifted again, this time fully leaning into Helen, resting her head against her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. Helen’s hand hovered for a brief second—like she was deciding something—before it settled lightly against Madeline’s arm.
The bottle of wine sat forgotten on the floor. The paper fluttered slightly from the air of the nearby vent. Madeline’s eyes flickered open just long enough to glance at it again.
“What if you date a woman?”
The words echoed faintly in her mind, not as a joke anymore, not entirely. Her gaze drifted, just for a second toward Helen, then she closed her eyes.
“Terrible idea,” she murmured.
Helen smiled faintly. “The worst.”