Sculptured cheekbones, sultry lips and piercing eyes don't lie. When Mandy Reese looks in the mirror, stardom looks back and it's skin deep. With a bat of the eyelids, a flip of the hair and a sway of the hips, camera shutters will shudder and bulbs will pop. But the glossy covers of Vogue and Cosmo are only the first act. She has a bigger focus movie cameras that will project her face onto thirty-foot screens until she's the desire of every man and the envy of every woman. She'll have the most celebrated stage, adorned with red carpets and the sequined shimmer of tailored evening gowns Armani, Versace, Chanel couture can anyone resist? Certainly no leading man or director. In only a matter of months, her name is firmly entrenched at the top of the coveted Hollywood A-list. <p>But where's the nurse's daughter who worked in a crisis center? Where's the girl raised with Midwestern sweat-off-the-brow integrity? As the lights brighten, something vital begins to vanish. Does it matter? When she's dragged through sleaze, sex and tabloid exploitation, her name never tarnishes. In a town that devours scandal, she only shines brighter. But is she the same person? Who's staring back at her in the mirror? Why are there pills in her purse? What happens when our desire for power becomes greater than our need for self-preservation? In an age that worships the spotlight, it's time to take a hard look at what matters most.