The Telenovela Star | La Estrella de Telenovela
"When a famous actress falls for her makeup artist, the real drama happens off-screen"
The Telenovela Star
La Estrella de Telenovela
Catalina Vega was the biggest telenovela star in the Americas, and I was the new makeup artist trying not to stare.
"You're trembling," she observed while I applied her eyeliner.
"I'm fine."
"Liar." She smiled. "But at least you're not asking for autographs like the last one."
Working on Amor Prohibido was supposed to be a stepping stone—three months on set, build my portfolio, move on. Instead, I found myself arriving early, staying late, inventing reasons to be near her.
"You do my makeup better than anyone," Catalina said after three weeks. "Stay on for the full season."
"I have other commitments."
"Cancel them." Her eyes met mine in the mirror. "I want you."
The problem with being close to a star is everyone sees you.
"People are talking," the producer warned. "About you and Catalina."
"We're professionals."
"Keep it that way." He didn't look convinced.
Neither was I.
"Come to my trailer," she said after a brutal shoot. "I need you to fix my makeup."
"It's perfect."
"Then fix something else." Her voice dropped. "Something only you can reach."
Her trailer was bigger than my apartment. She locked the door behind us.
"This is a bad idea," I said.
"Every good telenovela has bad ideas." She pulled me toward her. "And this is definitely a good telenovela."
We were careful at first. Stolen moments in the trailer. Quiet dinners at restaurants where she wouldn't be recognized. Weekends at her beach house, where the only audience was the waves.
"I've never had this before," she admitted one night.
"Had what?"
"Something real. Everything in my life is performance." She traced my face. "But with you, I don't have to act."
The paparazzi found us eventually. Photos surfaced—us holding hands, me leaving her house at dawn.
"We can deny it," her publicist said. "Say she's just helping the staff."
Catalina looked at me. "And what do you want to say?"
"The truth."
"That's career suicide."
"That's my choice to make."
She came out in an interview that went viral. Millions of views. Half support, half hatred.
"I'm in love," she said to the camera. "With someone who sees me, not my character. Someone who knows I'm imperfect and loves me anyway."
"And who is this person?"
"Her name is Rosa. She does my makeup." Catalina smiled—the real smile, not the TV one. "And she's the most beautiful person I've ever known."
The backlash was brutal. So was the support. Sponsors dropped; new ones appeared. The telenovela ratings soared; the network renewed for three more seasons.
"Was it worth it?" I asked after the storm settled.
"You're asking if being happy is worth losing some jobs?" She pulled me close. "Mi amor, I've played a hundred love stories. This is the first one that's real."
I still do her makeup. Every morning, I watch the star emerge and know that I'll be the one taking it off tonight.
"You're still trembling," she teases sometimes.
"You still make me nervous."
"Good." She kisses me before going on set. "The day I stop making you nervous is the day we have a problem."
The telenovela star—some love stories are too real for scripts.
And the best performances happen off camera.