If someone had been watching closely, they’d have noticed that five minutes ago, Tammi Raker – a heavyset white woman who looked maybe sixty – had ambled into the restrooms, her slow gait implying orthopaedic issues that would affect her for the rest of her life. They might also notice Rosario Perez – a glammed-up, stick-thin Latina in her mid-thirties – stride purposefully out of the restrooms sixty seconds from now, oversized shades on her head and a copy of Cosmopolitan in her hand as she headed in the direction of a shot of espresso.
If the observer was really, really good, they might notice that both women had similar dark blue handbags. Tammi’s didn’t look anywhere near as expensive as Rosario’s, which went to show what you could achieve with a quick polish and the removal of some tubing designed to warp the shape. All that and some self-adhesive designer tags, and that observer might, just might, realise that it was the same bag. What would really blow their minds is the realisation that it was also the same woman.
Tammi and Rosario were just two of Tatiana’s many alter egos. She could switch between them as necessary, by changing her make-up, clothing, gait, attitude, voice. She’d been doing this a while, and she was good at it. Very good at it. If someone had been chatting to Tammi a few minutes ago, Rosario could walk right by them now and they wouldn’t realise it was the same person. One of the Sisters had once called it the closest thing to seeing magic in real life.
Tatiana checked her outfit and make-up in the mirror one last time, because attention to detail was everything.
Despite what her first name might suggest, she was the child of Puerto Rican immigrants. Her mother had heard the name on a TV soap opera and loved it. Tatiana was light-skinned and throughout her childhood was told that she could “pass”. God, how she hated that phrase. She hated it now, and she hated it even more then. Still, it meant that with the judicious application of make-up she could traverse either side of that particular racial divide with ease. Add in clothing, padding and a particular understanding of posture, and it was remarkable just how different you could make yourself appear.
Tatiana had been different her whole life. She’d grown up in East LA, poor but happy, and she’d worked diligently in school because her fearsome maternal grandma made sure she did. The woman didn’t have much English, but every night she would sit and watch Tatiana do her homework. It had felt like a prison at the time but, looking back, she got it now. Everybody else had money, but the woman had decided that Tatiana was going to break through all barriers by sheer force of will.
There were no extra-curricular activities, other than those needed for a college application. Almost no friends. Definitely no boys. Distraction-free, Tatiana had aced her exams and ended up going to UCLA to study Economics on a full scholarship. Abuelita had passed suddenly, the day after Tatiana graduated from high school. It was as if her work had finally been done and she could go.
And so it was that Tatiana found herself in college, having had a very sheltered upbringing. The rebellion was nothing surprising – not that her parents approved. After her initial taste of freedom, she moved in with a classmate and got a part-time job in Tower Records to cover her rent. From there, she had boyfriends (bad ones) and friends (pretty good ones).
One of the terrible boyfriends happened to have a pretty cool roommate – Bert. He was studying at New York Film Academy’s Los Angeles campus and was making a short. Actually, he’d just got kicked out, and was spending the last of his tuition on one final stab at doing what he wanted to do, before crawling back to Oklahoma with his tail between his legs to work at his dad’s paper factory. Bert wanted Tatiana for a bit part in the short. She’d been flattered but turned it down. Several times. She wasn’t an actor. He kept asking – pleading, really – and eventually, she caved.
They’d been three hours into shooting when his leading lady had stormed off. With the equipment already hired and the locations begged and borrowed, the whole thing was sunk. Bert had actually cried as he’d pleaded with Tatiana to step up into the lead role and, mainly to stop him from doing that, she had agreed. She had a pretty good memory, and so was able to learn her lines while they moved between set-ups. In hindsight, it helped not to have time to think. She didn’t know what she was doing, but she’d had no time to realise it.
The short got into Sundance and some other festivals. It didn’t win any of the big prizes, but it got noticed. Bert was offered representation and was subsequently snapped up to shoot HBO dramas. Thing was, while it didn’t win prizes, much to her amazement Tatiana did.
She was pretty in what Hollywood considered an “unconventional way”, and the Hollywood Reporter described her performance as “loaded with quirky charm”. She’d expected to be one and done in the movie biz, but agents had come calling. There was “interest” – a lot of it. Nobody ever explained exactly what this interest was, but it was out there and it was very real. At least, real in the Hollywood sense. People wanted to have meetings. Lots of meetings.
So Tatiana got herself an agent and some headshots, and signed up for every acting class she could afford as, deep down, she feared she was a total fraud. All of that left little time for college. They’d allowed her to defer her scholarship for a year and had been understanding. Her parents had been a lot less so.
Tatiana had taken the meetings. There’d also been auditions, callbacks, table reads.
