Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  “When did you wake up?” I asked.

  “Just now. You have a very pensive look on your face for six o’clock in the morning.”

  “The press know already,” I said.

  She stroked my cheek. “Are you really surprised? It was a busy theater.”

  “I suppose,” I said. “I’d just hoped we’d have some more time to figure this all out first, you know?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”

  I pulled her closer to me. “Don’t you dare say that. No it isn’t. This isn’t about who you are or what you do, it’s about other people feeling entitled to your private life. They need to learn to keep their damn noses out.”

  “But they won’t,” she said. “People love a good story, and you can’t deny that we’ve given them one so far.”

  “And there was me thinking I wasn’t that interesting.”

  “Nonsense! You’re one of the most interesting people I know,” she said.

  “Then you must know some very boring people,” I said.

  “A few,” she admitted. “But you’re definitely not one of them.” She lifted her head and pressed her lips to mine. Yes, being back in her apartment again was just what I needed. Being back in her bed was something I’d never thought I’d feel again, and yet it was one of the most magical things in the world. She made me feel alive—like I could take on the world. How she had that faith in me I’d never know, but I needed to keep feeling it for as long as I could, because I knew that if I had that, I really was invincible.

  32

  Jack

  I can’t keep up with our goodbyes

  When will the next one be?

  I’m just waiting for something else

  To go wrong.

  — “Anticipation,” Jack Cuoco

  Did Jack Cheat on Tate (the First Time)?

  So we all know that way back when, the first time Tate Gardener and Jack Cuoco dated, she cheated on him with sexy model Astin Mack. But could he have cheated on her too?

  A source close to the couple suggested that was what led Tate to seek revenge by cheating on him with Astin.

  But that’s not all.

  He cheated on her with a guy!

  We assumed Jack Cuoco was bisexual, but we didn’t have proof. Well, consider this your proof.

  Could our favorite couple really be that petty? Only they know…

  Well, they weren’t wrong about her sleeping with Astin out of revenge, but outside of that, could they be any more wrong?

  I paced my apartment while I was on the phone to Larry, as if he’d have any solutions.

  “At least they’re talking about you,” said Larry.

  I rolled my eyes. “That’s not usually your reaction.”

  “It is when it’s your relationship, you know that.”

  That was true. He’d utilized our relationship to get me to do a modeling gig last year. That was where we’d met Astin. And it had all gone downhill from there…

  I scrunched my eyes together, hoping it’d help with the headache that was forming. It didn’t. I needed a drink and stat. The one good thing about being away from Tate had been that the press had slowly become less interested in me. That had lasted.

  “I just hoped we’d be less interesting this time around,” I said.

  Astin had tried to keep the house as alcohol-free as possible out of respect for me. Except I wasn’t sure that it was respect, more like trying to tell me how to live. So I went up the weird spiral staircase and to my room, where my hip flask had been recently filled with vodka.

  “Are you kidding me? They think Tate is falling off the wagon and you’ve already fallen off it. You’re gossip magazine gold.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Great.”

  I fished my hip flask out of my coat pocket. While my phone was on mute and Larry was babbling away about publicity, I took a few sips. Ah, that was better.

  “Are you still listening?” said Larry.

  I rushed to turn my microphone back on. “You were saying about all publicity being good because it gets people to stream my music.”

  “Exactly. You just have to learn to tune it out. Stop reading it and letting it get to you.”

  “Did you read it? Did you notice the biphobic undertones of what they said?”

  “How is it biphobic?”

  “Because they emphasize the fact that I supposedly cheated on her with a guy. They wouldn’t have done that if I’d slept with another woman. They may not have even bothered to mention the gender at all. And don’t even get me started on how excited they seem that I had sex with a dude.”

  Larry paused. “You’re right. That’s not cool. Do you want me to reach out to them and say something?”

  “No, I think there’s a better way,” I said, an idea creeping into my head.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, I mean, you’re always saying I should use social media more…”

  *

  I hated social media. But in this case, I felt like it was the perfect tool to amplify what I wanted to say. With a little bit of help from Tate and Larry to make sure I worded everything right, I sent out a tweet storm linking to the article in question. Then I called them up on their biphobia.

  Firstly, I didn’t cheat on Tate. And she didn’t cheat on me. And as for this article? Why is it a big deal if someone cheats on another person with someone of the same sex? Cheating is cheating. Emphasizing gender like that—and labeling someone’s sexuality when they don’t—is biphobia.

  Within minutes, I had people replying and backing me up. By the next day, my Twitter had gone off the charts. I couldn’t keep up with it. The gossip site in question had fallen over from so many hits. And most of them were people hating on them for the biphobic angle of their post. What a shame. Not.

  “I got a call from the editor this morning,” said Larry. Tate and I were sitting in his office, discussing the success of my tweet.

  I swung my legs, staring at my feet. “Did they apologize?”

  “Not really. They still don’t see what’s wrong with it. They see gossip as gossip.”

  “Which is precisely how these places keep going,” said Tate with an eye roll.

  “Yeah,” agreed Larry. “They did offer to print an apology to save face…if you ask your followers to back off. He said they’ve been getting a lot of hate mail the last few days. It’s scaring the employees.”

  Tate wrinkled her nose. “That feels extreme.”

  “Unfortunately some people believe in fighting fire with fire, instead of fire with water,” said Larry.

  “Look at you getting all philosophical,” I said with a smirk.

  Larry narrowed his eyes at me. “Anyway, it’s up to you what you do.”

  “What? No words of wisdom?”

  “Not this time, kid. You’re the one the piece attacks and offends. I can’t begin to understand what that’s like. I’m staying out of it.”

  I turned to Tate. “What do you think I should do?”

  “I mean, it isn’t nice for people to get hate mail,” she said. She tried to avoid talking about it, but she knew what it was like because she got it every day. Her management team filtered through it so that she didn’t see it.

  I turned back to Larry. “I’ll say something once they’ve published their apology. But I’ll also mention that actions speak louder than words. If they say that, then go on to do the same thing with someone else—or probably more than likely, me again—it’s up to their readers how they respond to that.”

  Larry smiled. “What do you know? You’re more mature than you look.”

  Tate tried to hide her laugh, but I knew she found his comment hilarious.

  I glowered at him.

  *

  As promised, they published their apology. As expected, it was half-assed. But I held up my end of the deal and posted something asking people to lay off.

  While I disagreed with the way the gossip site had handled just about everything, I al
so disagreed with hate mail. And I totally stole Larry’s line about fighting fire with fire instead of water.

  It didn’t get the same reaction as my earlier post, but I didn’t expect it to. People will always react to something that sparks a negative emotion in them. It’s just the way they are.

  33

  Tate

  I’m not who you want me to be

  And I never will be.

  I tried to fit into your dreams

  but it just didn’t work.

  — “Dreams,” Tate Gardener

  I stood in the recording booth, my hands shaking. Was it too late to back out? Would Trinity really hold a grudge against me if I went through with recording “Eclipse?” She knew how important my career was to me. Why would she get so wound up about one song?

  “Tate, when you’re ready,” said the producer.

  I nodded. The music began to play. As I started to sing, my voice quivered. That wasn’t good. The producer stopped. “Try to steady your voice, yeah?”

  “Sorry,” I said. I sipped some water from the glass beside me. I couldn’t let Trinity get inside my head. Not right now. I had other things to worry about. I’d deal with her reaction later.

  “OK, let’s try again,” I said.

  The producer nodded. He hit record. I began to sing again. My voice was still shaking, but this time, it kind of worked. When the song was over, the producer paused, then his voice echoed through the recording booth: “I liked it. It’s got vulnerability. Think we can do another take?”

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Of course, the next time, my voice was totally different. I couldn’t emulate what I’d done before. We spent ages trying to recreate the quiver in my voice, but instead, I just grew hoarse.

  “Let’s take a break,” said the producer.

  I agreed, desperate to get some fresh air. I went outside and called Jack.

  “Hey, babe. How’s it going?” he said.

  I stamped my foot. “I sound awful!”

  He chuckled. Not helpful! “You sound pretty worked up, to be fair.”

  “I am! I’m a betrayer! A traitor!” I leaned against the wall, staring up at the blue sky in the hopes that it would stop me from crying.

  “Then why are you doing it?”

  “This song could change everything. Our song was the first step to me being taken seriously. This song is the next step. If this goes well, I might finally be taken seriously as an artist! Well, that’s what Mike seems to think anyway. I’m still not sure if he was just saying that to make me feel better about doing it.”

  “Is that why you’re panicking?” he asked, his voice annoyingly calm.

  “I’m not panicking!” Much.

  “I can hear it in your voice.”

  I grumbled.

  “Don’t think about Trinity or your career or any of it. Just enjoy the music,” he advised.

  I sighed. “How do you make complicated things sound so simple?”

  “Because they usually are.”

  *

  After having something to eat I returned to the studio with a clearer head. It was just a song. I’d recorded dozens of them. I shouldn’t let it intimidate me because of who’d written it or what it could do for my career. It was time to put my business hat on and focus on my career, not worry about what other people thought. Worrying too much about what people thought ruined the creative process and risked me stagnating in my career. I had to put my wants and needs first when it came to my future.

  “Ready?” said the producer.

  I took a deep breath. “Ready.”

  This time, as I sang, each word, each note, was carefully calculated. I let my voice quiver in some places and not others to add emphasis and show emotion. When the song was over, the producer was grinning.

  “Someone’s been holding out on me. That was awesome! I don’t think we need to do another take.”

  I beamed. Finally.

  He hit play and my voice echoed through the room. He was right. I’d done a good job. There were a couple of things I wanted to change that he hadn’t noticed and insisted were fine, but we rerecorded some parts anyway. The next step would be for him to combine the different recordings to create something that sounded truly magical.

  And based on what we’d recorded that afternoon, I was pretty sure it would be.

  *

  When I got home, the guilt returned.

  It was Trinity’s song, and for whatever reason, she had a close personal connection to it. I wasn’t sure if she hated it more that we’d changed the lyrics or that I was singing it more. The lyrics had been too mature and were likely to scare people off. We wanted something more general that people could read their own meaning into. Usually Trinity understood things like that. It was part of being a creator.

  I went into the freezer to get out something to eat. That’s when I saw them: frozen meals Trinity had made for me. I’d forgotten about those. I sank onto the kitchen floor and started crying.

  Moxie scurried over, licking my hand because she was too small to reach my face. I picked her up and hugged her to me. She licked the tears off my face, making cute slurping noises as she did so. I giggled, her cuteness taking my mind off the problem for a minute.

  What had I done? Had I done the right thing? Would Trinity ever understand my business decision? I took Moxie and went to bed, curling up with the little dog beside me. She nibbled on my finger.

  “Ow!” I yelped.

  Moxie lowered her head, looking guilty. I ignored her, taking my phone from my bag. I scrolled through my contacts until I found Trinity’s name. My finger hovered over it. Even though she hadn’t spoken to me in weeks, she was still listed as one of my favorite contacts. I hit call.

  It rang.

  And rang.

  Then, voicemail.

  She’d rejected my call.

  I leaned back on the bed and sighed. Moxie climbed on me, using my chest as a bed and my breast as a pillow. I stroked her absentmindedly.

  I mean, the song was clearly about someone specific. I just couldn’t figure out who. For her to get so upset, it had to be about a personal experience, didn’t it? I knew all her secrets.

  But her getting so upset didn’t make sense if it was a work of fiction. What was I missing?

  *

  The next day was Camilla’s birthday. She was having a house party to celebrate. I hadn’t been to a house party in months. It wasn’t because nobody was inviting me, it was because the memory of what had happened at the first house party I’d been to at Jack’s that still haunted me. I’d been assaulted, and if Jack hadn’t stopped the guy, I was afraid to think what could’ve happened. Jack had gotten into a fight with the guy and ended up getting arrested. It had been a horrible turn of events that I’d wanted to forget but whenever I thought about house parties, that was all I could think about.

  But it was Camilla’s birthday. I couldn’t not go. She was one of my closest friends and she was always there for me. She’d have understood if I’d said no, but I wasn’t going to do that to her. I’d just have to face my fears.

  Except when the taxi pulled up and I stood outside, I wasn’t so sure of my decision. Country music blasted through the open front door. People ran in and out, cheering and waving beer bottles in the air. It was still light out, and the crowd seemed to be half-drunk already.

  I paid the taxi driver, then walked toward the door. Someone pushed me through before I had chance to ready myself. I stumbled, falling to the floor. I put my hands out just in time to stop myself from face-planting it.

  My heart thundering in my chest, I forced myself upright and against a wall. At least then I’d be away from people and they couldn’t push into me again.

  But that didn’t change the crowds around me, or the flashbacks flickering in my mind like a lightbulb that needed changing.

  I saw his face and that greasy, untamed hair. The smell of alcohol on his breath. His hands on my skin as he pulled me into him and
told me that I’d enjoy whatever he planned to do with me.

  Barely able to breathe, I shoved past the people by the front door and ran back outside. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

  Did I need to take my inhaler?

  Would that help?

  I grabbed it from my handbag and took a puff.

  “Tate?” said a voice.

  I looked up to see Jack standing over me.

  “Hi,” I said. I’d expected him to arrive later. Talk about the worst time for him to run into me. I hadn’t wanted anyone to see me like that.

  He took my hand and guided me to a wall at the front of the house to sit on.

  34

  Jack

  I hate the way they treat you

  Like fuel for their rumor mill

  I wish I knew what to do

  But instead I stand frozen.

  — “Frozen,” Jack Cuoco

  “Are you all right?” I asked. Her hands were shaking and she was taking short, shallow breaths.

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said in between pants. “One minute I was fine and the next…” She inhaled, paused, and exhaled. “I saw his face. That guy from the party that almost…”

  I put my arm around her and pulled her into me. The mention of that guy made my blood boil. He’d assaulted her at one of my house parties. If I hadn’t stepped in I hated to think what would’ve happened. She’d seemed fine after, maybe a little jumpy if someone got too close and she wasn’t expecting it, but that was it.

  “Have you been to any other house parties since it happened?” I asked.

  She pursed her lips. “Not since we broke up, no.”