She was perfect for the "part" of the young, desperately confused young actress-to-be.

Although several young women answered my post, none had the quality of wildness and abandon that Lauren had -- that seemed to make her a "natural" for the idea my editor and I had for promoting my new book 'Now You See Her' on You Tube. That is the video blogging (vlogging) site that allows people to achieve two minutes of fame by uploading their own videos. People can also see rock stars perform there, too and professional lectures by writers and artists such as John Irving. The quality ranges from professional to silly.

The story of 'Now You See Her' is that of a teenager who fakes her own abduction from a private boarding school for the arts in order to get some measure of attention -- real love and attention -- not simply the kind directed at her for her talent and her looks.

Lauren was terrific at recording her first two videos.

They were professional, well-lighted and very obviously felt. She said she identified deeply with the young actress, Hope Shay. Though she made it clear that this was a fictional character, she seemed so real that some people who saw the videos wondered what was going on.

That was a month ago.

A week after the last one appeared, Lauren said she'd start uploading two a week. Although she told me all about some of them and how professional they were, how eerie, how provocative, I never saw one.

I paid Lauren to come out and help my son record a DVD of his monologues for college auditions. She came, but had to rush off before she was finished. I paid her for the product she promised to come back and finish.

Suddenly, she was very, very busy. She was starring in shows -- but suddenly had to "back out" when she had trouble with the director. She was directing student shows that didn't get off the ground.

She'd received honors credit for her "vlogs" about Hope on You Tube; and others in her acting classes were assigned to watch them. But she never did any more.

Her first emails said that the wireless in her house wouldn't let her upload the videos.

The next few said that a friend who was a You Tube genius was going to take the videos to a specially wired computer site called "Do It" and upload them.

"Soon we'll have a fantastic cache of great material," she wrote in an e-mail. Next thing, she was "uploading videos as I speak."

Then, one of the other shows she was in suddenly got canceled.

She didn't have only ONE role in that show. She had three.

The friend never uploaded the videos. Lauren said she would. By then, I just wanted those discs that had been made. She promised to bring them to me (I'd paid for them and for her work) but she never showed up

I knew she was busy and gave her the benefit of the doubt.

When she stopped answering my e-mails, I got suspicious.

I called her. She never answered or returned my calls.

A single final e-mail promised a long explanation. It never came.

Maybe what happened to Lauren -- and I have no idea what happened -- proves the point the book makes: Young women such as she, hungry for attention, promise more than they can deliver and lie to cover up broken promises. Maybe they are, in a way, broken.

Maybe Lauren did record amazing videos shot outdoors and through the rails of a bed -- like the ones she described. I don't think she ever did. I think that this, like her many shows, and roles that she just "didn't have time" to do, was another illusion.

I'm advertising for another local young actor now to play Hope on You Tube.

Perhaps it was Lauren's quality of crazy confidence that attracted me. Perhaps it was that she seemed to know everyone in the arts who I knew. Perhaps it was a quality of vulnerability under all the capability.

I apologize to the people who started "watching Hope." Soon (I think!) there'll be another person acting out that role, if I can find one in time. It's a good gig for a young student actor.

But next time, I'm going to talk to someone who knows "Hope" before I go ahead with her.

What happened with Lauren/Hope was eerie. It almost proved that my story was ... well, true.

Jackie