Welcome to Ballywood, the finale: "You better watch your back, bitch"
The final showdown between Hollywood and BGB
At least the catering for the Three Men and a Baby (2025) wrap party in Garbally Hall had been signed off before Syliva deRossa’s story hit the County Chronicle website. Otherwise we might never have seen an ice sculpture of Baby Aisling sitting pretty in a pram. Syliva worked on the article 24/7 for four days and got quotes from Emilia Coburn and five other actresses who’d had run-ins with AJ Brandin. Imagine how many more are in the woodwork.
The ice sculpture is cold comfort – literally – for Majella who watched her daughter’s first major movie role disappear down the drain as the story was picked up across the world. I toyed with the idea of not telling her it was me who passed the tape on to Sylvia but I knew the deception would eat me up and I read in Irish Country magazine that keeping in secrets is very bad for your skin. I want to avoid the lure of Botox for as long as possible because the idea of injecting toxins into myself gives me the willies. Besides, Mammy has never had a bit of work done and she was mistaken for Una Hatton’s niece there recently so maybe I have the good skin genes. Una Hatton is on the Valium after it, apparently.
Majella couldn’t blame me, really. And she didn’t. The latest from the studio is that they’re going to put the film out anyway but it will be direct to streaming. I feel bad for Don Shields too. This could have been his big break into acting. Maybe it’ll be a cult hit. It does have Eoin Mac Piaras in it and with rumours swirling that Sabrina Carpenter is after him, his star just seems to keep on rising. He locked himself in his trailer with three bags of Giant Buttons after seeing Jeremy and Aubrey leaving the publicity Portacabin hand in hand. I know John is an excellent personal trainer because he said the chocolate wouldn’t do Eoin any harm and sometimes it’s cathartic to eat your feelings. Apparently Eoin’s previous trainer had him eating nothing except twelve boiled eggs a day. Imagine the farts.
The mood at the wrap party is more jubilant than I would have expected for a film that’s just been tarnished by the actions of its pig director. I think it might genuinely be because AJ Brandin isn’t here ruining it for everyone. Pablo has taken at least sixty selfies of himself and Baby Aisling with the ice sculpture and was even caught measuring it in case he could bring it home and fit it in the fridge freezer. Chris Paine is deep in discussions with Dee Ruane over by the sausage roll station. He’s so taken with BGB that he wants to buy a property here. I hope he realises that there’s only one takeaway and the post office is only open three days a week. At least we have the ATM and the nearly new pedestrian crossing.
Tessie Daly is in my ear about the upcoming St Patrick’s Day parade when Mandy Blumenthal interrupts us.
“Pardon me, I need a word with Hollywood’s favourite whistleblower,” she says steering me away.
“I’ll promise I’ll ask him,” I call over my shoulder which seems to placate Tessie. She was hoping John might be our grand marshal since he’s become an internet celebrity.
“Whistleblower?” I whisper, when we reach a quiet corner. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy.”
“Cut the shit, Aisling.” I’m relieved to see she doesn’t look angry, although sometimes it’s hard to read Mandy since her face doesn’t really move. She hasn’t my restraint with the Botox. “I would have done the same myself,” she continues. “AJ Brandin has given me the creeps since I found out he’s MAGA. The bastard can rot for all I care.”
“I just hope the bad publicity hasn’t affected the business.”
She throws back the end of her champagne. “Affected the business? Aisling, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”
“Really?”
“Yes! Emilia Coburn and Ben Dixon have both signed on as clients and I’m having lunch with Reese Witherspoon on Wednesday. And do you know someone called Mad Tom?”
“I think he’s manning the car park outside.”
“Well Simon Shinckle just told me Dior are obsessed with his look. Do you think you could sign him? He doesn’t have any skeletons in the closet, does he?”
It would take me literally years to reel off Mad Tom’s criminal offences, which really did escalate when the Garda station closed a few years ago. But what Mandy doesn’t know won’t hurt her. “Not at all,” I say. “He’s a real pillar of the community.”
Across the room The Peigs are getting ready to take to the stage. Don looks somber, which is understandable. The song he wrote especially for the film soundtrack, How Do Babies Work?, is no longer getting its planned big release but Sadhbh told me he has an audition with Christopher Nolan next week so swings and roundabouts. Majella confided that she’ll actually be glad to see the back of them from the house. Apparently Sadhbh leaves wet towels everywhere and Pablo has been going out of his mind because Don keeps eating all his chorizo and not replacing it. It just goes to show, you really don’t know someone until you live with them. I tried to warn her about the towels but would she listen? No.
Once the band starts playing I drift over to the bar where Eoin Mac Piaras is nursing a pint. Aubrey’s rejection has really done a number on him.
“I suppose you’re looking forward to heading back to Hollywood?” I say, signalling to Mikey Maguire for a West Coast Cooler.
“Yes and no,” he sighs. “I never thought I’d get my heart broken in Ballygobbard. I really feel like I’m leaving a piece of myself here. And I’ll never get another trainer as good as John. He’s like Michaelangelo.”
A wave of pride washes over me. I try to be discrete but there’s no denying that John has done some impressive sculpting on Eoin’s body. I can only imagine the filthy songs Sabrina Carpenter is going to write about him.
Just then the double doors of the ballroom swing open and in walks AJ Brandin. There’s a gasp in the room as The Peigs’ music grinds to a halt.