We were too busy eating self-serve frozen yogurt last night to bother with the premiere of Twilight. Luckily fictional freelancer Betsey Morgenstern was on the West Coast to report back. For a change, she wasn't the most wasted one there.
Total Eclipse of the Heart
by Betsey Morgenstern
The eyes of every teenage girl in the universe are turned to the Nokia Theater in Los Angeles for the world premiere of The Twilight Saga: Eclipse. Through a combination of persistence and my connections in the underground vampire community, I was able to score myself a pass to cover the red carpet where I found a whole different sort of monster. Let us go into the mysterious mist together.
As I was walking to the press line, it was nice to be greeted by a familiar face.
I met Taylor backstage at the MTV Movie Awards in 2008 when I was doing press for a whole different website run by a bunch of shrill gays. Somehow it came up that Taylor was a virgin and I asked how old he was and he said, "Six...I mean, Eighteen! Yeah, eighteen," so I thought it would be fun to take him into the bathroom and deflower him. Three minutes later, I was Taylor Lautner's first lay. It's sweet that he remembers my name.
"How's it been? I haven't seen you since that night. You know," he said caressing my arm. "That night."
"I know Taylor, because I went home and Googled you and found out that you were only 16! I could go to jail."
"Well, it's not like you haven't been to jail before, Betsey. Anyway, I told my mom and she was cool with it, so don't worry about pressing any charges. I'm just glad it was with someone as great as you."
"Aw, that's really sweet."
"Taylor, Taylor, get over here," we hear a man with a British accent yell.
"Oh shit, Bets, I gotta run."
"What the hell is wrong with her?" Taylor asked Bobby.
"I don't bloody know. We were in the limo and she said she wanted to take a little something for a headache. I thought it was a bleeding Tylenol or something, but it seems to be much stronger."
"Hellooooooo to the people," Kristen sort of slurred as her head slumped up and down.
"Jesus, Lautner, help me hold her up."
"God, what did she take? It's like fucking Weekend at Bernie's over here. Have you told her people?"
"'Have you told her people?' No. I don't want to get her in too much trouble."
"What are we going to do, Robert?"
"I guess we'll have to carry her."
"Hahaha," I heard coming from further up the red carpet. "That Stewart bitch is fucked up!"
"Oh my god, Bryce, it's so good to see you. I have a couple of questions."
"Go for it."
"I heard that you got got this role by auditioning and not because you have a famous father."
"Hahahahahahaha," she screeched again. "Now you're really making me laugh. I don't audition. I'm Bryce Dallas Howard for a reason!"
Then someone bumps into me. It's Robert Pattinson, and now he's alone with blotto Kristen.
"Sorry love, this bitch is heavy and Taylor left me alone to care for her—that selfish twat."
"Yooouuu're a pretty lady. Can I touch your hair? Kitten biscuit perfume. That's what you smell like."
I'm starting to feel a little bad for Robert, but then he takes his arm away from Kristen and balances her so that she is barely tottering in an upright position.
"You're on your own, Kristen. I have fans to attend to."
"Shellack. Fan Belt. Bea Arthur's waffles."
I'm not hanging around for this mess either. I'm outta here.
"Fuck you!" she yells at her handlers while she's approaching. There's no way I'm going to talk to her now, but let's see what she says.
"I told you that I want to be a ballerina, and if you won't get me a role in Swan Lake, then I'm wearing the costume to the premiere. I don't care if I wind up on the worst dress list. I want to wear a tutu!"
"Tell me I'm hotter than Brandon," he says to her.
"Come on, Pete. I don't want to play this game right now."
"Jennie, this is my big night. Please? Pleeeeeeaaase?!"
"Ugh, alright. Yes, you're hotter than Brandon?"
"What about Colin the coke dealer? Tell me I'm sexier than him."
"Yes, Pete, so much sexier."
"And what about Dylan? Tell me my dick is bigger than Dylan's."
"Yes, Pete. It is. It's huge. You're so much bigger than Dylan. You're the sexiest, biggest-dicked guy in all of 90210."
"God, I wanna fuck you so bad right now..."
"I'm only showing off this money maker once tonight, so you better take a picture while you can!"
"Hey. Hey, you!" I hear as someone is sloppily tapping on my shoulder.
Oh, Christ. It's Kristen Stewart. Whatever she is on, I want one, because she is seriously fucked up.
"I losssssst a sleeve."
"I think it came like that."
"Berry-flavored camera bags."
"Bella gellato croutons."
"You aren't making any sense."
"Sleeve. Unicorn. Fresca. Pattinson!"
Shit, I need to get out of here.
"You're the only one with an Oscar nomination. Remember that, Anna. You are an Oscar nominee. You will have a career. Your dress is pretty even though it looks like it was made out of coffee filters. The stylist told you it's amazing. You are a star, and you were nominated for an Oscar. This will all be over soon."
Holy shit, it's Brittany!
"Britanny, say that thing about dolphins and gay sharks!"
"Hey, Bets. Who is that you are shouting at?" my friend A-Rod asked. I can't tell you how many times I had to get him some party favors when we were hanging out at Avenue during the off season.
"That's Britanny. She's some high school girl from Ohio. She's a cheerleader," I tell him.
"Does that mean she's too young for me?"
"You see anything else for me around here?"
"You mean blonde actresses?"
"Duh, of course."
"Take your pick, Alex. God, you are so predictable."
"Mister Pattinson. Excuse me, Mister Pattinson!" some security is shouting over the deafening screech of 14-year-old girls within feet of the man they imagine touching them softly and telling them they're beautiful.
"What do you want?"
"Have you seen Miss Stewart?"
"Miss Stewart. Kristen. She's, um, gone missing."
"Oh Christ. You just can't give that girl any kind of pill. You go look for her over there behind the crowd and I'll see if she's on the red carpet. We can't let anyone take her picture while she's bloody passed out."
"Dad, stop it. There are cameras around. Daaaaaaaad."
Oh my god, what happened to Jaden and Willow Smith. They look like some sort of little biker kid extras from a Mad Max remake.
"Hey guys, where did you ever get those costumes?" I ask.
"Oh, this?" asks Jaden, the latest Karate Kid. "Yeah, I'm not a huge fan, but we had to run here from Brooklyn Beckham's birthday party. The theme was 'discarded Michael Jackson costumes.'"
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "Did you really have to play along?"
"Have you ever seen Posh Spice when you don't dress with the theme to one of her parties? It's brutal. It's worse than Wild Wild West. Oh, don't tell my dad I said that. OK? Promise? I don't want to get locked up at the Scientology Center again like I did after I made that Seven Pounds joke."
She looks like she's blowing a kiss, but this high-pitched whine is coming out of her body.
"What's wrong?" I ask her.
"I'm stuck," she mumbles.
"Yes. I did so many red carpets that my face froze like this. I can't move."
"Well, at least your tits look good."
"Get help. Help. Help. Heeeeeeeeeelllp."
I run off to find AnnaLynne's boyfriend Kellan Lutz, one of the stars of the movie more famous for his abs than his acting abilities. Maybe he can oil his girlfriend and get her moving again or something. I finally find him talking to some studio head of some sort.
"I told you if you blew me I'd make you a star. Wasn't I right? Huh? Wasn't I? Damn right I was. And it was good wasn't it? You loved it? Didn't you, Kellan? Didn't you? Damn right you did."
Maybe I should just stay out of it.
"Hey you? Fish!" the studio head yelled at me. "What did you hear? What did you hear?"
OK. If I know one thing, it's when to leave a party.
"Miss Stewart. Miss Stewart. You need to come with me, Miss Stewart."
"Criss cross applesauce. Johnny Appleseed. Have you seen my sleeve? Sleeeeve! Do you have my sleeve? Are you trying to take my sleeve? I feel happy. It's Christmas! My arm is cold."
"Alright, Miss Stewart, that's enough. Come with me."
I'm so happy that Kristen is finally going to get some help. I've been wasted in public so many times that I always appreciate someone who will lend a little assistance. Just as I'm about to make my way into the theater, four people get in my path.
"What did you hear?"
"Yes, you girl!"
"Who the fuck are you? A bunch of extras from a Quentin Tarantino movie?"
"Who are you?"
"I'm Betsey Morgenstern. Is this about the wasted Kristen Stewart thing?"
"What are you talking about? We don't work for her. We work for that studio boss who you were spying on a minute ago?"
"You mean the one who made Kellan Lutz blow him? Oh, shit..."
"She heard!" shouted the woman. "Get her."
Next thing I know, I feel a sharp blow to the head and everything goes to black.
When I wake up, I'm in the woods. There are trees everywhere and rocks and snow and there's a full moon and the four heavies are standing over me.
"No, please don't kill me," I start to snivel. "I've seen The Sopranos. I don't want to die like this. I don't want to be shot in the woods. I don't want to crawl around in the leaves and get shot in the head. I didn't hear anything. I swear. Kellan Lutz hasn't blown anyone. I promise. I swear."
"Chill out, girl," the woman says. "This is just the afterparty."
For a moment, I'm relieved. I sit tentatively on a rock and put my head in between my legs.
But then the woman starts to speak again, "But it's going to be your last." They all walk toward me menacingly in formation, punching their palms and cracking their knuckles.
Just as I'm bracing for the first blow to the head I hear a tiny little voice scream, "Quick, stop them!"
There's a stampede of skinny little girls in designer dresses and they come rushing toward me and start to combat the heavies. The woman goes down with a swift kick to the head. One of the guys gets kicked in the nuts, and a third takes a very heavy handbag to the skull. There is only one left standing, and he circles around a little girl in a champagne miniskirt.
"I can take you, I've been doing my own stunts for years." She rushes at him, her shoulder in his gut and he walks backward and then falls on the ground with her on top of her. She starts wailing on his face with both fists, blood flying everywhere. "Don't. You. Ever. Terrorize. A. Girl. Again!" she shouts, each word punctuated by another blow.
"Yes. And no need to thank me. This is just another day of hard work for Dakota Fanning and her band of girl detectives. Maybe you should join us?"
"Sorry, Dakota, but I think I'm better at parties than solving mysteries."
"No problem. Just remember. Tonight, Dakota Fanning saved your life."