Hello my alien lovers,

Welcome to Perilous Love Stars Act II!

As Maple's life continues to unravel, we're getting closer to her romancing a secret, sexy alien superstar... but at what cost?

Enjoy this new chapter where we dig into Maple's backstory a little more and the aftermath of Marsha's revelations from last week's chapter! 💞

If you're new to the story, start with Chapter 1

If you missed the last chapter, Previously on Perilous Love Stars

Production shuts down on Betteraves & Betrayals season 73rd after reports of disturbing incidents on set by Peyter Panffer

The news of the production shutting down on the 73^rd season of Betteraves & Betrayals was announced yesterday early afternoon by Bōøbol executives via a statement, just a few hours after Marsha Marshweld's worrisome press conference where the actress declared that her lover, show’s producer Ermet Ersweld, had been kidnapped.

The shocking revelations follow reports of at least three disturbing incidents on set. An anonymous source close to production said an unsecured klieg light almost killed “a rando” yesterday. A video of one of the show’s promotional signs crashing into the top of star Salvatore Suarez’s car is going viral on social media, and a leaked police report about a “very pricey and unique” stolen accessory that many are speculating to be Saturno’s infamous $15,000 wig.

“While our team investigates recent claims made by some of our staff to the press,” Bōøbol wrote in a statement, “we have decided to shut down production on season 73^rd of Betteraves & Betrayals. The security and well-being of our staff is our constant priority. Until all claims have been thoroughly investigated and resolved, no new episodes of Betteraves & Betrayals will be filmed.” 

Many fans are asking online what that means for the future of their beloved show. The production shutting down follows multiple reports that the daily sci-fi soap hemmed by romance novelist turned showrunner Maple Defleuvier was already in danger of cancellation. Could this be the final nail in the coffin?

Bōøbol announced that they have 22 more episodes of the show ready to broadcast and that the remaining episodes will be released daily through their online platform until they “run out.” When pressed about the fate of the show in a follow-up email, Bōøbol wrote, “We believe in systems and processes. A decision on the future of Betteraves & Betrayals will be made when due process has been completed.”

Forever Soapy, article, May 2XX6

SCANDALOUS CREW - GROUP CHAT

Loretta:

Just left Marsha’s trailer….

She believed her estranged brother kidnapped Ermett for emotional blackmail….

She’s not well…. 

Cruz:

Has anybody seen Maple?

The PAs are saying weird things about the show shutting down.

Davenport:

the show is shutting down?????

Maple???? Where are you???

“Production shuts down on Betteraves & Betrayals season 73rd after reports of disturbing incidents on set by Peyter Panffer”

Have you seen this????

MAPLE??????

Cruz:

Maple is MIA. She left after the press conference.

Bōøbol sent a memo. They’re shutting down access to the studio starting tomorrow. 

I’m staying late to lock everything.

I sent the PAs home. They were all crying.

Maurice:

MALÉDICTION!

The sweet smell of buttered brioche, hot chocolate, and bitter, intense black coffee awoke Maple. She heard morning chatters from another room and the crackling of a radio.

Her neck was sore, which is what you got for sleeping on your parents’ couch. Maple’s mothers had long ago transformed her childhood bedroom into a sanctuary for Rosalie’s morning yoga practice and to fill her crystals during full moon nights.

Last night had been rough. Maple had been home alone—Brooklyn was pulling an all-nighter for a baking contest and Storm was MIA on a vague “business trip”—and after eating an entire pizza by herself and finishing a bottle of cider, Maple had fallen through a spiral that’d lead her to take some of Storm’s LSD which, instead of making her feel sexy and invincible like Storm always seemed to be, made her run to her mother’s house to cry. Thankfully for Maple, Cynthia and Rosalie had never moved away from Sobriquet Lake.

Everything else was going to shit. Ermett had been kidnapped, someone (allegedly) wanted to kill her, and Bōøbol had for the first time in the show’s history shut down production on Betteraves & Betrayals.

Somehow, Maple was convinced it was all her fault. She pushed a pillow on her face, grunting into it.

Her phone vibrated on the coffee table next to her. She peeked from under the pillow to see the caller. SCANDALOUS CREW flashed on the screen accompanied by a group picture of her with Cruz, Davenport, Loretta, and Maurice. A happy snapshot from a long time ago. Maple’s crew had been trying to reach her since Bōøbol executives announced the shutdown. She hadn’t picked up once.

“Turn that blasted thing off.”

The complaint coated as an order came from half of the parenting duo responsible for raising Maple. Cynthia Dufleuvier snatched her only daughter’s phone as the instrument started ringing again.

“It never stops, does it?” She glanced at her daughter who was still lying on the couch with sleepy eyes. 

Maple groaned and took the phone back from Cynthia’s hands when Rosalie, the second half of the parenting duo, made her entrance.

Rosalie carried a tray filled with all the delicious things Maple had smelled earlier, with the addition of fresh fruits, homemade jam, and fried eggs. There was enough food to feed a small army, which was perfect since Maple’s hunger felt like a small army had taken camp in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything since Marsha’s press conference twenty-four hours ago.

“I’m starving,” is all she said. If her moms knew she wasn’t properly feeding herself, she’d never hear the end of it. 

Rosalie placed the tray on the coffee table, shooting a warning glare at Cynthia who was eyeing Maple’s phone with disdain. “She needs her phone to work.”

“Why is she working at all?” Cynthia retorted, eyebrows raised. “The show is over. She’s not getting paid!”

“Actually,” Maple’s timid and sleepy voice cut in, “the show isn’t over. Yet.”

At least she didn’t think it was. Nobody had told her anything, but that wasn’t surprising since Bōbōl’s executives mostly communicated through and with Ermett. She rarely spoke to them, and when she did, it was always on video. She had never met them face to face. Without Ermett to liaise between them, she doubted she’d be the first to hear about any news concerning the show. At the end of the day, Maple was just an employee.  Without a show, she was unemployed.

Rosalie sat down next to her wife of thirty years, gently tapping her knee, a habit she developed long ago to help Cynthia regulate her fiery French temper. The two had met forty years prior, on a rainy November night in Paris. Rosalie had been a chain-smoker then and Cynthia an anarchist leader. The two women had embarked, unbeknownst to them, on a journey of transformation through gender-affirming healthcare, motherhood and now, with everyone else on Earth, aliens. The world was a vastly different place than it had been when they’d fallen in love and kissed for the first time in front of l’Église Saint Paul in Le Marai. But through the years, their love had never faltered.

Maple knew all these details because she’d asked. She loved love stories, and the best one of all was in front of her, sitting on the opposite side of the cozy living room she’d grown up in.

“Sweetheart, what is going on?” Rosalie’s voice was always gentle, an invitation to sharing. She motioned Maple to start eating. “We’re worried.”

Maple threw half of a toasted brioche in her mouth, chewing as much as she could before she said, “Don’t be.”

“How could we not?” Cynthia shook her head in disbelief. “You show up at our door at 3 in the morning, sobbing, shouting that the only thing that can save you now is ’an act of God.’ How are we supposed to feel about our daughter going through a nervous breakdown? Thrilled? On va pas sauter au plafond non plus!”

Maple swallowed with difficulty, wincing at the hazy memories from last night Anything after that third dose of LSD was a blur. “I’m fine.”

Her phone buzzed again and she turned it off completely before Cynthia could make another remark.

“Are you in trouble?” asked Rosalie while she tied her pale grey hair into a bun that would look messy on anyone else but her. On Maple’s mom, it looked just right.

“I’m not,” Maple lied.

There was no benefit to worrying her mothers. Yes, someone was (allegedly) trying to kill her as per Salvatore, but how much could she trust him? They hadn’t talked after yesterday’s revelations. Marsha’s press conference and its fallout had taken all of Maple’s time, including the call from Bōøbol letting her know her show was shutting down. She couldn’t call Salvatore now. She didn’t have his number and couldn’t ask Cruz or anyone else in her crew. That’d mean talking to them and facing questions she had no answers to. She wasn’t ready for that.

Maple had thought about going to the police about the potential killer that was after her, but with what evidence? She’d rather for Sobriquet Lake’s small and notoriously mediocre police force to focus on Ermett’s kidnapping. Maybe the saboteur and kidnapper were the same and by finding the producer they’d also arrest the person (allegedly) trying to get rid of Maple.

“If you’re not in trouble, why is there an SUV parked in front of our house since you arrived?” Cynthia said in that voice she used when she caught Maple in a lie, which was very rare these days because Maple seldom visited. 

Maple hadn’t been to a Shabbat dinner in months, and although she’d used work as an excuse to justify “how busy” she was, the truth was different. She didn’t want to face her moms and be forced to admit she was drowning. The show had been in trouble for years now, and with Betteraves & Betrayals employing hundreds of people, Maple felt the weight of each of their threatened livelihoods pressing down on her shoulders every single day.

She gulped her coffee, giving herself the strength to stand up and walk to the window. Her head was spinning. She could have used a few extra days of sleep.

Gently, she prepped two of her fingers between the window blinds to scan the street. The usual neighbours were walking their dogs, Mrs. Parviere was smoking a nasty cigar on her front porch while glaring at passersby, and a big, conspicuous black SUV with tinted windows was parked right in front of Rosalie and Cynthia’s house.

“It could be journalists,” Maple said.

She had less than 10k followers on her socials, and although she was a controversial figure for her association with alien inclusion advocacy, she’d never been bothered by the press compared to Salvatore or Marsha. But following recent events, an avid reporter might have been tailing her in the hope of snatching another juicy gossip.

“What do they want?” Rosalie asked with wide eyes directed at Cynthia who was raiding the breakfast tray.

“Why are you looking at me like this?” the French woman reacted between two bites of buttery brioche, very displeased. “J’ai faim aussi, hein!”

Maple had to wrestle the bowl of fruits from Cynthia’s hands on her way back to the couch. “Journalists in our business are like vultures. They want blood.”

They want to see me fail. Like actual vultures, they’d smelled the carcass of Maple’s career and were waiting for the right moment to dig in and finish her. She couldn’t tell that to her moms though. They were so proud of her that she couldn’t face their disappointment. Maple hadn’t kidnapped Ermett or sabotaged the show, but she still felt responsible for its demise—for surely, Bōøbol was counting the days till they made its cancellation official. That was all the heartbreak she could handle at the moment, and she’d have to face her moms’ another time.

Rosalie gave up and let Cynthia take the tray to her side of the table. “At least give her the letter.”

“Oh, yes!” Cynthia grabbed an envelope from the tray and handed it to Maple. 

It was open and from the wear on it, old. “What is that?”

“I was cleaning the attic last week and found it in some of Mamie’s old stuff.” Rosalie teared up every time she mentioned her mother, the woman who had helped raise Maple for the first ten years of her life. “It’s a letter you wrote to Daphne Dutrignon.”

It was with her grandmother that Maple had discovered the joys and thrills of daily soap operas. Christiane Rutenberg had been a lifelong fan of Betteraves & Betrayals, always mourning the fact that none of her children shared that passion. She had found a worthy watching companion in her granddaughter.

Maple remembered watching her first episode at just eight years old, mesmerized by Daphne Dutrignon’s performance as Adele Betterave, the fierce matriarch of the Betterave family. Maple had discovered the iconic character in an ambitious storyline that had Adele and her husband, Pietrich Betterave, dismantle a drug cartel on a cruise in the middle of a tropical storm. Adele and Pietrich were attending Pietrich’s gastroenterologist-turned-adoptive daughter’s wedding when, on their way to the reception,  the power couple was caught in a drug exchange gone wrong. The episode marked Maple for life when it concluded with a pregnant Adele being pushed off the boat as the storm raged on, with no less than five bullets in her body. The episode had been broadcast on a Friday and Maple still remembered the agonizing two days that’d followed wondering if Adele was going to survive. By Monday, she knew that Adele had not only survived the storm but also found a way to give birth to her daughter, Evelyn Betterave, amidst the chaos. Twenty years later, Maple was in charge of writing that same character’s storylines. (Marsha had been cast at ten years old to play five-years-old Evelyn Betterave. Her age on the show—twenty years—was a constant struggle for Davenport since Marsha’s ongoing cocaine addiction added years to her face.)

Maple had in hand a letter she’d written two decades ago, addressed to the studio’s fan mail department, which was now a pile of unopened letters somewhere in her own office. Daphne had announced leaving the show the day after the letter had been written, and brokenhearted, Maple had never sent it.

She held the letter to her chest, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of confusing emotions.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rosalie said. She sat next to her daughter and embraced her.  Both women allowed tears to spill. “I miss her too.”

Maple didn’t have the courage to correct her mom. Yes, she missed her grandmother, but she wasn’t crying about Mamie. Death was inevitable and final. The cancellation of her show wasn’t. Betteraves & Betrayals had always been more than just a job. Maple had dreamed of working on the show to make her Mamie proud. She’d spent nights fantasying about walking around the set, casually chatting with the performers who brought her favourite characters to life. She’d accomplished her biggest dream, and now it was slipping away.

But Betteraves & Betrayals had built Maple into who she was. She wouldn’t give up so easily.

“I know what I need to do,” she said, determined.

For the first time in a long while, she really did.