It was already December, and there was something in the air, something bright and honeyed, rare for Los Angeles. Rose Lamarr Olivier, newly fifteen, felt it even as she woke in Ethan's bed—the tender ache along her jaw from smiling, the bone-deep ease of being in the same room with him. That morning, she rose before he did. She wandered barefoot through the borrowed house, the one the agency put her in for the season, wrapped in Ethan's oversize Lakers sweatshirt. The air in the kitchen was chilly, saturated with the scent of fresh basil—Ethan's current obsession is working on reading russian literature where they were reading Tolstoy, Pushkin, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Anton Chekov, Gogol.
There is a potential role here that you could do Vladimir Nabokov Lolita, as he said I am of a similar age, and that you could write the screenplay and star in the film.
Rose quickly disagreed that it wouldn't be worth it to portray the character and it would be banned all around the world and too disturbing. But Rose will need to start doing more demanding roles if she is ever going to win an Oscar.
If I am going to do a role from a russian author, I would do Anna Karenina. Rose and Ethan have been learning Russian together and have both quickly picked up the language remarkably quickly. She will probably have russian roles in the future.
She'd been spending every day she could with him and—maybe more importantly—had not grown tired of it. His confidence was colossal in the way that only young men's could be, but he never made her feel small. Instead, his presence seemed to buoy her, sharpen her. They played at being a classic couple: dinner on Melrose, gallery hopping in Culver City, hiking the Observatory loop just before sunset. Sometimes, she let herself imagine what it would be like if it were always this way, if she and Ethan lived together full-time, if she let her career slip down in priority just a hair. But she wasn't ready to say any of that out loud. Not to herself, and certainly not to him.
She'd barely left Los Angeles since July. Every project, every callback, every table read—the industry seemed to be conspiring to keep her contained in the city. It was a minor miracle, given how few women her age made it past a single pilot season without a detour to Vancouver or Atlanta. She has been doing remarkably good and have done multiple notable roles She should have felt restless, but the steady glow of Ethan's attention made every week feel new. Sometimes, on their lazy afternoons in the bungalow, he'd sprawl on the floor sorting through his clippings—sports columns, scouting reports, even old press about her—while Rose read scripts at the kitchen table, circling dialogue she wanted to ask her mother about. They barely spoke during these hours, and they didn't have to. The comfort was in the quiet.
Christmas loomed. Rose's agent, Richard, had already begun lobbying for her to fly to Manhattan for a holiday press event, but she'd promised herself a week in L.A. with Ethan. She'd never missed a Christmas with her family before, but this year, she felt an almost physical urge to graft herself to Ethan's orbit, to choose him above everyone and everything, even the legacy she wore like a second skin. So, she told Richard she'd think about it, knowing she'd string him along and probably cave at the last minute. For now, she allowed the fantasy to reign.
Each evening, when the city cooled, they would walk the neighborhood. More than once, they were mistaken for a married couple by neighbors and strangers alike. Rose loved how Ethan handled these moments: never correcting them, just grinning and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a small kindness, one she never had to ask for, and she loved him for it. Sometimes, she wondered if her mother ever felt this way about her father, or if that kind of simple, unambiguous happiness was the privilege of people born after the old world collapsed.
Still, Rose kept one foot in her work. She caught herself, sometimes, composing her interviews in her head—how she'd phrase the story of this Christmas, how she'd make it sound casual and unremarkable, just another year in the city. She'd been trained for this: to treat every extraordinary moment as ordinary, to never let the world see how much she cared.
The last few roles had been in Los Angeles.
1994 Rose Lemarr Oliver
Leon the professional - Box office -46,000,000 - Salary - 120,000
Lion KING - Nala - Bo - 968,000,000 - 500,000
Heavenly Creatures - BO- 5,400,000 - 600,000
Forrest Gump - Bo - 678,000,000 - 1,000,000
Casper - Bo - 290,000,000- 1,500,000
Apollo 13 - 355,000,000 - 350,000
Toy story - 401,000,000 - 2,000,000
Pochantas - 346,000,000 - 2,000,000
Clueless - 88,000,000 - 2,500,000
Koppaberg Sales
Profits 10,000,000
Book Sales 1994
Total profits from books and screenplays is 70,000,000