Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  Trinity froze. “You did what?” She looked my outfit up and down.

  “What? I’m recovering from a low point. I didn’t need the hassle.”

  “You could’ve called me! Although”—she spun me around—“it is a great outfit.” I was wearing silver hot pants and an aqua turtleneck sweater. It was more outlandish than what I’d usually wear, but I liked it.

  “Isn’t it?” I said, locking my front door and walking off down the hall.

  *

  “It’s good to see you out again,” said Liam, giving me a hug as we joined him and Camilla at a table. He and Trinity were leaving in a couple of days to start shooting the second Highwater film New Dawn, so it seemed as good of an excuse as any to go out. Not that we needed one, but it was nice to get everyone together before they left. It did feel a little like there was something missing without Jack there. Even though it’d been months since we’d broken up, he still crept into my thoughts sometimes. It didn’t help that almost every news article that mentioned me still mentioned him. Was that what I’d be known as for the rest of my life? Jack Cuoco’s ex and a former child star? I had to prove to everyone I was more than that.

  “Thanks,” I said. Did everyone have to keep reminding me that I’d been hiding in my apartment for weeks?

  “Does anyone want food?” Camilla said. “I’m starving.”

  “You’re always hungry,” said Trinity.

  “True,” she said as Trinity and I sat down. “So? Who wants food?”

  I’d had stir fry for lunch and didn’t want much else, but I knew if I said that, everyone around the table would make a face at me. So instead, I ordered some sweet potato fries. It was something. I’d barely eaten for weeks; I couldn’t just stuff my face all of a sudden. Food just wasn’t on my list of priorities. But if I didn’t eat something it meant that I was still giving that woman headspace. It would also mean that I’d be headed down the path back to rehab, and I wasn’t sure which of those two things was worse.

  “How are your fries?” Camilla asked.

  “Yummy,” I said, although I hadn’t really noticed. I was supposed to try to enjoy eating to remind myself that it could be pleasurable, but I mostly wanted to get it over with.

  “The menu said they have paprika salt on them,” said Trinity. “Mind if I try one?”

  “Help yourself,” I said, pushing the bamboo bowl in her direction.

  Trinity grabbed one and put it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, a pensive expression on her face. “Not bad. Needs more paprika if you ask me.”

  “When did you become Martha Stewart?” asked Liam.

  Trinity’s cheeks flushed. “I like experimenting in the kitchen when I have time.”

  “She’s a really great cook,” I said.

  “Speaking of which, do you want me to make you anything else before I leave?”

  “I’ll be fine, stop worrying about me,” I said.

  “Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Camilla. “Moxie will too.”

  23

  Jack

  You make me lose my cool

  It’s like you find my undo

  Button and I can’t stop

  What you make me do.

  — “Undo,” Jack Cuoco

  Every so often, you have to take jobs you’re not sure on. For me, DJing at a fashion show was one of those things. I wasn’t into fashion. I just had to pretend to be because I worked in the music industry. Part of maintaining that facade included DJing at fashion shows. Thankfully someone else chose my outfit for me so I didn’t need to worry about it not matching or looking unfashionable. I had on a rainbow-colored T-shirt and leather pants. Worked for me.

  The show was set outside in Times Square with a bunch of models that all looked the same. Except one. I was pretty sure Astin was in the backstage tent, talking to one of the other faceless models. He was wearing an ugly rainbow-colored cape that made him almost impossible to miss. It was the perfect sign to make him easy to avoid. What was I supposed to say to him? It would be a level of awkwardness I wasn’t sure I could handle.

  “Hey Jack,” said a voice. I turned around to see Mya, an old acquaintance of mine. We’d kept each other warm on the streets a few times when I’d first moved to New York.

  “Mya!” I said, hugging her. “How are you?”

  “Moving up in the world,” she said with a shrug.

  I laughed. “So it seems.”

  I lost my guard for just a minute. Astin walked over, his eyes on Mya. He hadn’t noticed me yet. “Hey Mya, have you—” He froze. He’d noticed me. Shit. “Jack. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “DJing,” I said with a shrug.

  “I totally forgot, you two were in that Calvin Klein campaign together with Tate! Super hot. I’ll leave you to catch up. We need to go for drinks sometime, Jack.”

  “Yeah,” I squeaked, hoping Mya wouldn’t leave. But she did. Damn. “So you’re modeling here,” I said to Astin. Points for wit go to me.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  We both stood with our heads bowed and hands stuffed into our pockets.

  “Listen—” I started as Astin said, “Look—”

  We laughed.

  “You go,” I said.

  “I just wanted you to know that nothing’s going on with Tate and me. I told her I didn’t want anything to do with her after what she’d done.”

  “Technically we weren’t together when you had sex,” I said. “She just used you to get back at me.”

  “Which is better than her cheating,” said Astin sarcastically.

  “Right. Sorry. You must feel shit.”

  “It didn’t help my confidence much.”

  I shrugged. “Take it as a compliment. She would’ve only picked someone super hot and low-maintenance to get back at me.”

  Astin’s cheeks flushed red. Hot and humble. Talk about a rarity.

  “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I don’t hold a grudge against you,” I said. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

  “Thanks,” said Astin. We stood several feet apart, avoiding eye contact. What were you even supposed to say to the guy that had slept with your ex? Was there a protocol? I rocked on my heels, staring at the floor.

  “Nice outfit,” I said with a smirk.

  Astin lifted up the edges of the cape. “What’s wrong with my superhero outfit?”

  “Is that what it’s supposed to be?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I don’t know. Maybe?” he said with a chuckle.

  “Well, you’re not paid to think,” I said.

  “No, just to look pretty.” He rolled his eyes. “So, how’s things?”

  “You know,” I said, shrugging. “Ceiling crashed in. Living in a hotel. Same old.”

  “Wait. Your ceiling crashed in?”

  “Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms. “Long story. But anyway, my landlord kicked me out. Said that was the last straw. Replacing doors and windows was one thing, but the ceiling? That was a step too far, apparently.”

  “What made it fall in?”

  “The pipe was blocked.”

  I was too embarrassed to tell him it was stuffed with money. I mean, who wants to admit that they got hit on the head with feces-encrusted money? I suppressed a shudder at the thought.

  “Sounds gross,” he said.

  “It was.” Oh, it was.

  “How long have you been living in a hotel for?” asked Astin.

  “A few weeks. I haven’t had much chance to apartment hunt; I’ve been too busy working,” I said.

  “That’s good, right? At least when things settle down you’ll have more money for a deposit,” he said.

  “I suppose. It’s always nicer to have a home base to come back to, though, isn’t it? Plus hotels aren’t cheap when you’re staying in them every night,” I said. While I had money, that didn’t mean I liked to spend it. I knew what it was like to have nothing, and I never intended to go back to that place ever again. The way people
like Tate or Trinity could spend money like sand through an hourglass made me feel sick.

  “Maybe you should stop calling room service so much, then,” he said with a laugh.

  “I have to entertain my guests somehow,” I replied, smirking.

  He stared at the floor for a minute, then looked back up at me. “How desperate are you for someplace to crash?”

  “Why?”

  “My roommate is moving out and I can’t cover the rent on my own. But I like things quiet. No waking up to random people in the house.”

  Hmm. I didn’t know Astin all that well, but he seemed like a nice guy. It wasn’t like I could judge anyone for who they’d slept with, not with my track record. I wasn’t picky. I’d slept with them all: single, partnered, married, divorced, widowed…it wasn’t about what their relationship status was, it was about how they made me feel in that moment.

  “So no parties and no booty calls?” I said.

  He stuffed his hands into pockets. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  No parties. No booty calls. No life? No. They were just a part of my life. I’d survived living in hotels and not having parties. I could survive not having them if it meant I’d have a place to call home again, couldn’t I?

  And if I changed my mind, it wasn’t like I had to stay there forever. I could just stay there until something else came up. It’d still be nicer than a hotel.

  “I could do that,” I decided.

  *

  Astin’s apartment was bigger than I’d expected. No wonder he couldn’t afford the rent on his own.

  Apparently the modeling agency had connected the two guys and they’d been living together, but the other guy was moving out of town, so he didn’t want to keep paying for a place he wouldn’t use. He’d taken all his furniture with him, which meant that what was still left of mine I could take out of storage and bring into Astin’s place. Anything we had duplicates of I’d just sell. I wasn’t bothered about my stuff; I’d almost sold it when I’d been kicked out of my old place, but something had told me not to. I was glad I hadn’t now.

  “What do you think?” Astin asked.

  I walked over to the window. It was floor-to-ceiling, covering almost an entire wall and looking out over the city. “That’s one hell of a view.”

  “Isn’t it?” he said. “I love waking up to that in the mornings.”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty epic.” I turned away and studied the open-plan living area. The kitchen was just past the floor-to-ceiling walls, then the living area was around the corner from that, in an L shape. A spiral staircase at the edge of the kitchen went upstairs to the bedrooms and bathroom. That could be interesting when alcohol was involved.

  “Want to see your room?” he said.

  “Sure.”

  I followed him upstairs. He pointed out his room but didn’t show me inside. He seemed like a private guy, so I respected that. If he wanted to keep parts of his life to himself, so long as there was nothing sinister going on, I was cool with that.

  “Bathroom is right here,” he said, opening the door. It wasn’t huge, but it was just the right size for everything we needed. “And this is your room.” He opened the last door on the right. It was bigger than what I was used to. Not gigantic, but plenty big enough for a queen-sized bed if I decided I wanted one. Not that it mattered if I couldn’t have guests over. Was there any wiggle room in that agreement?

  No. He was doing me a huge favor. I had to respect his rules.

  Since the old tenant had moved out, there was no furniture in there. With its white walls and wooden floor, it was the perfect blank slate for me to imagine my stuff in there.

  “You don’t find places in New York like this very often,” I said.

  “Why do you think I didn’t want to give it up?” he said.

  “I can see why,” I said. “I didn’t think modeling paid so well. Maybe I should rethink my career choice.”

  “Did you really enjoy modeling that much?”

  “Nope.”

  We both laughed.

  “I’ll leave the modeling to the experts,” I said.

  “Not sure I’d call myself an expert, just a guy who got lucky.”

  And with looks like his, it wasn’t surprising. He was an Adonis, and I was jealous as hell. Life would’ve been so much easier as a hot white guy. But alas, I was neither of those things.

  “Besides, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to stick it out,” added Astin.

  I whipped my head around. “What?”

  He shrugged. “It was never what I wanted to do in the first place. I just kind of fell into it.”

  “What do you want to do?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

  “Stunt work.”

  “Now that’s cool. I wish I knew someone I could hook you up with to help you out,” I said.

  “Thanks. I know it isn’t easy to get into. In the meantime I’ll keep modeling to pay the bills and keep looking after myself and trying to find the right connections,” he said. I admired his attitude. It was healthy. Much healthier than mine.

  “So you don’t totally hate modeling, then?” I asked.

  “Not yet. But it makes me feel kind of like I live under a lens, you know? Everyone watching, everyone recognizing…”

  “Tell me about it,” I said. If anyone could relate to feeling like they lived in a fishbowl, it was me. After I’d gotten together with Tate, the blogs and trashy magazines had dissected every aspect of not just our relationship, but of our lives. It hadn’t seemed to bother Tate, but I’d hated it. Everything had had an undertone of disapproval or racism or both, and I’d hoped that breaking up with Tate would finish that. It didn’t. If anything, they got worse. They might’ve accused Tate of cheating, but they seemed to think I’d driven her to cheat. Because that’s how cheating works.

  24

  Jack

  I need to move on

  But whenever I think I’m done

  You’re back in my mind

  Every fucking time.

  — “Go Away,” Jack Cuoco

  “This is some pad you’ve found for yourself,” said Larry, standing in the doorway and nodding approvingly.

  “It’s even better if you actually come in instead of standing in the doorway,” I said. It was move-in day and I was both excited and apprehensive. Larry had agreed to help me move since Astin was working and Len was too fragile to move furniture. I think he wanted to make sure the place was respectable, but it wasn’t like he could stop me from moving since I’d already put down the deposit. There was no way he wouldn’t approve anyway. Not with how nice the apartment was and how well-behaved Astin was.

  Larry stepped inside and went over to the window, which covered one of the walls and looked out over the city. “That’s some view.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of that,” I said.

  “What’s your new roomie like?”

  “Pretty quiet,” I said. “Keeps his distance.”

  Larry eyed me up and down. “I don’t blame him.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Larry grinned. “Right. Let’s move this stuff of yours in before he changes his mind.”

  *

  A few hours later, Larry fell back onto the sofa and smiled. “That didn’t take as long as I thought.”

  “How long did you think it’d take?” I asked, sitting beside him. It was Astin’s, since mine had been covered in things I didn’t want to think about. It was more comfortable than it looked, which was even better.

  “Most of the day. But I guess a lot of your stuff got damaged with the leak.”

  “Yeah. Luckily I can use Astin’s kitchen stuff,” I said.

  “Where is he? I thought he would’ve been back by now,” said Larry.

  “Working. Why are you so desperate to meet him?”

  “I want to see if he’ll be a good influence on you or not,” said Larry.

  I stifled a laugh. A charming Southern boy? Oh yeah. He’d be a good influen
ce on me all right.

  *

  After having dinner—my treat, since Larry had helped me move in—Larry went home to his family and I went back to the apartment. That was now my home. It was still sinking in. I missed my old place and wanted it back, but I’d grown used to living in hotels and not having anywhere to call home. It was definitely somewhere I could get used to if Astin was happy for me to stick around.

  I got back and ran my fingers along the wall. The white paint was scratchy under my fingers. Much like my old place, the living and kitchen area was open plan. For me, that made it feel more homey because you could cook, entertain, and drink at the same time. Drink nonalcoholic beverages, I mean.

  “Sorry I wasn’t here to help you move,” said Astin, coming down the stairs.

  I jumped. I hadn’t realized he was home when I got back.

  Astin chuckled. “Didn’t peg you as the jumpy type.”

  “Not usually, I was just in my own head. My manager helped me move my stuff in. It didn’t take as long as we’d thought. I don’t have that much,” I said.

  “Cool,” said Astin.

  We hovered awkwardly in the kitchen. I wasn’t sure what to make of Astin. He was so different compared to most people. And, you know, he’d slept with my ex. But that was old news. I wasn’t going to hold that against him. I mean, I totally would’ve had sex with him given the chance too.

  But that was probably weird. What I needed was a way to befriend the guy. What was the point in being roomies with someone you didn’t get along with? Maybe I could see if he wanted to tag along to a gig. Who’d say no to a free ticket to something?

  “What are you up to tomorrow night? I’ve got a gig in San Francisco. Getting a helicopter there tomorrow morning. Wanna come?”