Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  “Yeah, that sounds cool. I’d love to see you play live.”

  “You listen to my music?”

  He blushed. Cute. “Yeah. I find it motivating when I’m at the gym.”

  “Then you must’ve listened to my music a lot,” I said, admiring his arm muscles. They were practically the size of my waist.

  “A bit, yeah,” he said with a laugh. “If we’re going out tomorrow, I think I’ll head to bed and get some sleep. See you in the morning.”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  *

  I hadn’t been in many helicopters before. It turned out, Astin had never been in one. He seemed to love it, though. For a guy who wanted to be a stunt performer I couldn’t believe how sheltered his upbringing had been. He’d grown up in rural Texas and spent his time doing things like martial arts, gymnastics, and parkour to pass the time. Maybe if I’d taken my anger out in more productive ways, I wouldn’t have turned out an addict. Anyway.

  The flight to San Francisco was uneventful. A car then took us to a hotel where we could unpack our things and prepare for the gig. I was excited. It was a venue I hadn’t played at before and for a bigger crowd than usual. Which also meant more money.

  Astin and I left early so that we could get some food. He was pretty strict with what he ate—mostly protein, yawn—but he also ate a lot. I supposed it was how he maintained his size.

  Once we’d landed in San Francisco and checked into the hotel, a car took us to the venue. It wasn’t open yet, which gave us a chance to admire it.

  “They’re going to have trapeze artists and tightrope walkers,” I said as Astin and I watched them setting up.

  “That’s so cool,” said Astin. “Was that your idea?”

  “Nah, I just go where I’m told. Tomorrow night I’m in Chicago.”

  “Do you spend much time at home?”

  “Not really,” I said. “You’ll mostly have the apartment to yourself but have someone chipping in for the rent.”

  “If that works for you it works for me,” he said.

  I smiled. He had such a chill attitude about everything. I wished I could bottle it and use it whenever I got anxious.

  I excused myself to go to the bathroom, locked myself in, then took my hip flask from my pocket. I hadn’t had a drink since the day before and I was starting to get shaky. It was going to be a long night; I needed something to take the edge off before people started rolling in. And I also didn’t want to go through withdrawals like I had the day I’d filmed the video for “One Last Summer” ever again.

  Had it really been a year since I’d met Tate? She’d come into my life out of nowhere and disappeared just as quickly. Sometimes I missed her; sometimes I missed having someone beside me to keep me warm at night. Mostly I missed her, but I couldn’t admit that. That would mean admitting that I wanted her back, and she’d probably long moved on. I’d never get her back, and I had to accept that.

  I took one last swig from my hip flask, returned it to my pocket, then got ready to perform.

  *

  The gig went well. Everyone loved it, as I knew they would. Astin and I went to the afterparty, where I met a cute guy called Levi. He had chiseled cheekbones and wore a cropped top that showed off all his muscle. It looked like he hadn’t seen a carb in years, but I didn’t care. We spent most of the night flirting then went back to his place. It was clean—a little too clean, if you asked me—but welcoming. Not that I paid it that much attention; my eyes were mostly fixated on Levi’s abs of steel.

  I took his shirt off and threw it across the floor. Yep, they were just like I’d imagined. Oh, the things I would do to that chest.

  “You were really great tonight,” said Levi, wrapping his arms around me.

  “I know,” I said with a smirk.

  He laughed, revealing perfectly white teeth. They were almost dazzling. I took my gaze from his teeth and focused on his lips. Yep, definitely kissable. So that’s what I did. I leaned in and kissed him. His lips were soft and delicate, like he’d been exfoliating and moisturizing them for just this moment. I really needed to exfoliate mine. They were covered in dead skin. Tate had taught me how to—

  Oh my god, concentrate on the hot guy!

  I ran my hand over his short hair, feeling its coarseness under my fingers. It reminded me of mine when I could be bothered to style it properly. I’d really tried when I was with Tate, but without her around I mostly just let it grow out of laziness.

  “Are you all right? You seem distracted,” said Levi.

  “I’m fine. Got anything to drink?”

  “The magic words,” he said with a grin. He took my hand and led me over to the kitchen, where there was a stash of beer in the fridge. Not the kind I usually drank, but I’d take it. Anything to get Tate and stupid lip exfoliation out of my head. My stupid brain.

  “Why don’t we put some music on?” suggested Levi.

  “Won’t your roommates mind?”

  “They’re both out for the night,” he said with a smirk. “Won’t be back until morning.”

  “Perfect,” I said with a smile.

  Levi went over to the smart speaker and told it to play some playlist he’d created that had a stupid name. It started off with Armin Van Buuren at least, so I wasn’t complaining.

  “Good choice,” I said.

  “Thought you’d approve,” he said, clinking his beer bottle with mine. “To having a good time.”

  “To having a good time,” I agreed.

  *

  “Get them off me! Get them off me!” I screamed.

  “Jack? Jack, what’s going on?” said a voice I didn’t recognize.

  I reached out and swatted the source of the voice away.

  “Oh my god, get them off me!” I shouted even louder.

  “Jack, what the hell?”

  A pair of hands held either side of my face. I swatted them away, unable to focus on anything except the spiders that were crawling all over me. I needed to get rid of them!

  “Calm the fuck down, man, there’s nothing there!” said the person I still didn’t recognize.

  “Who are you?” I said. “Where’s your voice coming from?”

  I couldn’t see anything. I just kept hearing a voice. I tried not to open my mouth too far when I spoke for fear that the spiders would get in and I’d choke on one and die.

  “Seriously, man, what did you take last night?”

  “Nothing! I didn’t take nothing!”

  “But you’re tripping like this? Come on.”

  “I’m not tripping! There are spiders everywhere! Why can’t you see them!” I said.

  “What spiders? You need to wake up.”

  “Wake up? What are you talking about? I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe? Why is my chest so tight?” I breathed slow and shallow. My chest didn’t want to fill with air no matter how much I gasped for breath.

  “Just breathe slowly and deeply. Count as you inhale and exhale. It’ll help.”

  “I can’t! What if I do it too much and the spiders get in?”

  “Enough with the spiders already!”

  “I hate spiders.”

  *

  I woke up the next morning with the guy I’d slept with nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was in the shower. Or he’d gone to get a drink. I rolled over and saw a note on the bed. All it said was, “Let yourself out.” What did that mean? Had something happened during the night that I didn’t know about? Had I done something wrong?

  I got dressed and hoped to find his number somewhere, but there was no sign of his number or the guy. What was his name again? What had happened that had freaked him out so much? I hadn’t been that bad in bed, had I?

  No. I knew I wasn’t that bad in bed. I’d had plenty of compliments over the years.

  So what was him leaving before I was even awake all about?

  Oh god. I hadn’t had another night terror, had I?

  I checked my phone for the first time that morning to find a link fro
m Larry. I clicked it. The guy hadn’t left his phone number; he’d done worse. He’d recorded me having a fucking night terror.

  25

  Jack

  I can’t help it

  When things turn to shit

  It’s not my fault

  This bull is getting old.

  — “Bull,” Jack Cuoco

  Well that was just great, wasn’t it? Not only had I had another night terror, but it was all over the internet. I went back to my hotel room wanting to punch something.

  While showering and getting dressed, I contemplated what to do for breakfast. Should I order room service? It seemed safer than risking running into people. I couldn’t bring myself to message Larry back about what had happened. His message hadn’t had any text to it, which was more judgmental from him than anything he could’ve written.

  As I was studying the room service menu, Astin texted me asking if I wanted to go downstairs for breakfast. No. No, I didn’t. Not after what had happened. I wanted to make an effort with my new roomie, but going downstairs when there was an embarrassing video of me out there was too much.

  I declined his offer, then called room service. No one answered. I tried again a few minutes later, but there was still no answer.

  My stomach rumbled. If I waited much longer I’d start eating the furniture.

  I gave room service one last call but still couldn’t get through. Talk about shitty service.

  Taking it as a sign, I put on a hat and went downstairs. Astin had a table by the window. When he saw me, he lowered an eyebrow. “Why are you wearing a baseball cap?”

  “Haven’t you seen the video?” I asked as I sat down.

  “What video?”

  “It’s all over Twitter,” I said.

  “I don’t really use social media,” he said.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  I lowered my head. “It’s of me having a night terror.”

  “Shit. What asshole filmed that?”

  “Guy I slept with last night,” I said.

  The waiter came over to our table to take our drinks orders. I hadn’t even picked my menu up yet. When he saw my face, the waiter cringed, but he didn’t say anything. Was he judging me wearing a hat, how tired I looked, or the contents of the video? It was probably better if I didn’t know. I ordered my usual coffee and some orange juice, then started to study the menu. My eyes were so tired that the words were merging together. I really needed to start sleeping better.

  “The guy sounds like an asshole,” said Astin.

  “You know what’s worse? I don’t remember any of it.”

  “Do you mean sleeping with him or the night terrors?” said Astin, sipping his coffee.

  “The night terrors. It’s like people don’t remember sleepwalking.”

  “Damn,” said Astin. “Has anyone said anything to you yet?”

  “Not directly. I imagine my social media accounts will be going crazy, and my manager will have had a load of phone calls about it, though.”

  Our drinks arrived and I chugged my orange juice. The sugar hit me, waking me up a little. I still couldn’t quite read the menu to decide what I wanted, so I just ordered some toast. I was in a carb mood. Astin went for a protein feast of sausages, bacon, eggs, and mushrooms.

  “I mean, what are people going to say? Surely they’re not going to judge you for something you can’t help?”

  I laughed. “See, that’s the thing. People will judge you for just about anything they don’t understand.”

  *

  “We need to put something out about this video,” said Larry when I finally spoke to him. I’d avoided him all the way home, but when we’d gotten back to the apartment, he’d been waiting for me in the lobby. Dammit. He followed us into the elevator and upstairs. Would he ever understand the concept of not inviting himself in? Why couldn’t he be a vampire?

  “Like what?” I said, just wanting to sleep.

  “Just to say that you have night terrors and that’s what the video is. Perhaps link to something explaining what they are,” he said.

  The elevator got to our floor. Astin, Larry, and I got out and headed to the door.

  “Why does it matter?” I said.

  “Because it’s a good opportunity to educate people,” said Larry.

  I turned to face him. “So this has nothing to do with reputation management?”

  “Actually, no,” he said. Sometimes he really did surprise me. “It’s important to talk about mental health and while we won’t discuss your addiction—”

  “I’m not addicted.”

  “—what that guy did was a dick move.”

  “Agreed,” said Astin as he opened the front door and the three of us stepped inside. He didn’t strike me as the kind of guy to get involved in other people’s conversations, but he’d clearly been listening.

  “What do you think I should do?” I asked Astin.

  “Much as I hate social media, I think Larry is right. If you educate people, you can turn it around on the other guy and he’ll be the one that looks like the asshole. People will have sympathy for you. Most of us know someone who talks, walks, or fidgets in their sleep. Filming someone in their sleep without their consent is a dick move.”

  “See? The model knows what he’s talking about,” said Larry.

  Astin glared at him. “I’m not just a model, you know.”

  “Sorry,” said Larry. “What’s your name again?”

  “Astin,” chorused Astin and I.

  “That’s an odd name,” said Larry.

  He shrugged, then walked off. So much in life seemed to wash over him. It was refreshing. I hoped some of that would rub off on me.

  “I like him,” said Larry, turning back to me. “Where were we?”

  “Damage control,” I said.

  “Ah yes.” He got his phone from his pocket. “Now what shall we tweet?”

  *

  We ended up tweeting what Larry had suggested: that I’d had a night terror, I’d been recorded without my consent, and some links to resources that people could go to for more information.

  That tweet ended up getting more exposure than what the douchebag had posted. Ha! I did wonder if it drew more attention to the tweet as well, but Larry told me not to worry. The tweet had succeeded in making me look like the innocent and Levi look like a douche. So much so that he had to delete his Twitter account because he got so much shit for filming me without my consent. Karma.

  I got a couple of interviews off the back of it too. We used the angle of music helping with mental health but were careful not to talk about my reliance on alcohol. The reporters were told not to ask about my trips to rehab. If they did, I’d leave. They were pretty good about the whole thing. It was hard for them not to be when we were talking mental health. If they pursued the wrong path, it would’ve made them look bad and reflected badly on their publication.

  One thing was for sure: that made me think again about my one-night stands. Any future rendezvous would not involve overnights regardless of if they were at my place, theirs, or a hotel room. From now on, the only person sleeping in my bed would be me.

  26

  Tate

  People fade in and out of your life

  Like colors in a rainbow

  When you’re not ready to say goodbye

  They move into another color

  Leaving you behind

  — “Love Fades,” Tate Gardener

  Over the next few weeks, I spent most of my evenings going out. The paparazzi loved it. They were just waiting for me to mess up so that they could catch it on camera. I was determined that I wouldn’t. Mess up or get caught on camera if it did happen, that was.

  My mom looked after Moxie when I went out, which she loved. I was starting to think she loved the dog more than me. Moxie always seemed happy when I picked her up the next day, so that was something.

  I spent some time away recording a cameo in an upcoming children’s movie. It was the only thing
I could get, and my management team forced me to take it. I could feel the judgment resonating from the director. He didn’t seem to like that I was out partying at night. It set a bad example for the children. But I didn’t care. It helped to take my mind off things, and that was all that mattered to me.

  Trinity returned from her trip to the rainforest and immediately wanted to go out. I’d enjoyed going out with other people, but I couldn’t say no to her even though I was still pissed off at her. So a bunch of us headed to a party at one of our favorite venues. It was an ornate hotel with a bar at the top that looked out across the harbor.

  “How’s filming part two going?” I asked as Trinity and I sat at a table with our drinks. Lately I just didn’t know what to talk to her about, so I defaulted to something safe: work.

  “Fine,” she said.

  I wasn’t convinced. She’d almost ruined the press tour for the first movie because she’d been taking drugs and kept showing up late and causing arguments. If she did that during the filming of the second one, would they bring her back for the third movie? The plan was for it to be a trilogy, but it wouldn’t be the first time a production company had changed how a series ended because someone was written out of it.

  “You really managed out there in the middle of nowhere?”

  Where she couldn’t get the cocaine that she was clearly addicted to.

  “Yes, Mom,” she said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Sorry,” I said, biting my lip. It really wasn’t my business. I knew that. But I was worried about her. I was allowed to be, wasn’t I?

  It was a weird position to be in, feeling both annoyed at her but also still caring about her. If I was being honest, the atmosphere between us was so awkward that I couldn’t wait to find someone else to hang out with and go spend time with them instead.