The character I played—part Lucy, part Marilyn—was my steel-plated armor. As a teenager, I created her: the dumb blonde with a sweet but sassy edge. I used her to get into clubs, portrayed her on TV and in movies, and let her out to play with the paparazzi. People loved her. Or they loved to hate her, which was just as marketable. I leaned into that character, my ticket to financial freedom and a safe place to hide. I made sure I never had a quiet moment to figure out who I was without her. I was afraid of that moment because I didn’t know what I’d find.
