Vegas Envy by J. J. Salem Page B

$100 million. There were other successful films – the woman-in-jeopardy scuba-themed thriller Night Dive, the 60s-era romantic comedy Ring-A-Ding-Ding, and the remake of the Doris Day spy spoof The Glass Bottom Boat.
    In the midst of the Hollywood triumphs and a $1 million Cody contract to license her name for a perfume line, the offer from Universal Music Group to record an album seemed like an embarrassment of riches. Could Envy even sing? She did not know. And the label executives never asked. But top-shelf producers lined up to work with her to craft an ear candy collection of frothy pop/dance nuggets. Her voice was thin and breathy, her range limited, but she sang with a genuine smile, the comfort of her heartbeat came through in the music, and with properly finessed studio processing and overdubbing, a definitive Envy sound emerged. It was revealed in her first single, ‘DJ, I Need You (Help Me Dance, Dance, Dance),’ a hook-laden club stomper that shot straight to number one.
    She stormed the Billboard charts with the three albums that followed, selling a combined 11.4 million copies, wowing the fans with sexy, innovative music videos, and dazzling awards show audiences with wild costumes and hot choreography. Her string of hits were often mega-mixed to keep sweaty club denizens steaming up the dance floors all night long.
    From her bus station discovery in Brazil to her Golden Globe nomination for Best Actress in a Comedy or Musical, it had been a stumble-free climb to the top of fashion and entertainment. But like every star eventually learns, the law of gravity is the same for all: what goes up . . . must come down.
    Envy’s slide was progressive and seemed to encompass all facets of her career. 1,001 Kisses, an ill-conceived sequel to 1,000 Kisses, underperformed. And then a big-budget sci-fi adventure, Jupiter 7, aggressively hyped as the next tent-pole summer film franchise, bombed at the box office.
    She jumped right into a contemporary romantic drama called Sunsets and Merlot, starring alongside her boyfriend at the time, the hot and rugged Australian actor Kyden Spragg who bitterly resented the fact that she was not only being paid more but also receiving above-the-title billing.
    Envy cringed whenever she thought of all the fights, break-ups, and make-ups that had disrupted production. Kyden’s script-rewrite demands ruined what could have been a wonderful picture about a divorced couple – torn apart after the loss of a child – finding each other again. The director publicly blasted them as ‘on-set professional nightmares,’ igniting a media war of gossip, speculation, and outright lies. Critics were ruthless in their hatred of the film, and it died a quick death at the box office.
    Envy’s music endeavors were suffering as well. Online piracy and single-track digital buying had contributed to an overall decline in CD sales, but her retail performance had experienced a stunning collapse. It started as she approached 40; it got worse once she hit 40. That’s when radio and youth marketing turned its back on her completely. Her style of pop was a young girl’s party. They wanted Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, Pink, Rihanna, Britney, and Katy Perry . . . not Envy.
    The label came at her with harsh new contract clauses limiting recording session costs and promotional expenses, even demanding that she personally absorb the glam-squad bills for television and other live appearances. When she refused, Universal quietly dropped her in what was explained as a ‘strategic reorganization of the artist roster in a challenging industry environment.’
    The bleeding did not stop there. Citing years of low sales, Cody fazed out the Envy fragrance line. Perfume was a highly competitive arena with new products from bigger and hotter names always jockeying for counter space. Envy was merely a star. But women like Jennifer Aniston, Sarah Jessica Parker, Beyonce, and Mariah Carey were icons. Game over.

    CHAPTER THREE Green