Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flush. I shook my head, trying to clear it. It didn’t do much good.

  Maria sidled up to me. She’d taken it on herself to babysit me during the shoot since she didn’t know what was wrong with me. She’d always been really hands-off, so her recent involvement—and Mike’s lack of involvement—concerned me. And my lack of work ethic was concerning her, apparently. “What’s wrong with you lately?”

  I bit my tongue. Not that discussion again.

  “You know what? I don’t have to tell everyone the cause of my problems.”

  “You do when they put a whole production on hold,” she said.

  I waved my arms. “Does this look like it’s on hold?” We were surrounded by people. My hair and makeup was done. My outfit was on. What more did she want?

  “You were late.”

  “I went to the doctor because I hit my head.”

  “After going to a party the night before a photoshoot,” said Maria.

  “Are you two done with this little domestic drama, or do we need to delay things even further? It’s not like any of us have families we’d like to see tonight or anything,” interrupted the photographer.

  “Of course, I apologize,” said Maria. “Carry on.” She shot me a warning look, then stepped out of the way and stood beside the photographer. I’d never felt more like I lived under a microscope.

  *

  I caught up with Jack a few hours later. Moxie had stayed with him while I was out. When she saw me, she ran over with her tail wagging and her eyes bright. “Thanks for watching her,” I said, kissing his cheek.

  “I don’t mind, she’s cute.” He bent down and picked her up. She licked his face happily.

  “I think she likes you,” I said.

  Jack smiled. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into him. I rested my head on his shoulder. Moxie rested her head between us, nuzzling our collarbones.

  “Have you eaten?” asked Jack.

  “I’m not really hungry,” I said.

  Jack cleared his throat.

  I pulled away. “What?”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “Um…” When was it? “This morning, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Don’t start, Jack. Not now. Please.”

  “You can’t not eat because of everything that’s going on. That will just make you feel worse.”

  “I just don’t have an appetite, that’s all.”

  “Food isn’t always about whether or not you’re hungry. Sometimes your brain sends your stomach the wrong signals.”

  “Yeah, well, my brain has been sending my whole body the wrong signals for years,” I said.

  “Have you thought about speaking to someone?” said Jack.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “A therapist or a support group or something.”

  “I don’t think they do support groups for has-been child stars,” I said.

  He shrugged. “There are support groups for most things.”

  I ground my teeth together. I’d had therapy when I’d been in rehab, but that had been years ago. I wasn’t opposed to it, I just wasn’t sure if it would help.

  “I’m serious. I think therapy would really help you. Especially after everything that’s happened lately.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I said. I hadn’t really considered it, but I didn’t know how to process everything that had happened lately. Would therapy be the perfect way for me to work through everything?

  36

  Tate

  You want me to keep writing catchy tunes

  But it’s so hard when you’ve got the blues

  To write things that sound happy

  ’Cause everything in life feels crappy.

  — “Got the Blues” (unreleased), Tate Gardener

  “I’m really not sure about this,” I said as Jack and I pulled up outside Len and Angela’s place.

  Jack put a reassuring hand on mine as I parked the car. “Trust me.”

  I did, but we were about to go into the house of two people I’d never met for dinner. Given how close Jack was to them, it felt like meeting the parents. They were probably the closest thing he’d had to them in a long time.

  Not to mention my being vegan made things awkward. Most people whined about having to cater; a lot of them didn’t understand what veganism was or what it meant. I’d had family members complain and try to serve me meat in the past. It led to me avoiding meals out unless I knew the person actually cared. Or I was sweet-talked by Jack.

  Len and Angela lived in a secluded part of town that I hadn’t visited before. Kids played out on the street; everyone seemed to know each other from the way the adults were walking past and greeting each other. It wasn’t busy, but it wasn’t quiet, either. Lots of people milling about. It had a real community feel to it. I’d never lived somewhere like that before.

  We reached the front door and knocked. Len opened it a moment later. “Afternoon,” he said with a big grin. He stepped aside to let us in.

  “We brought dessert,” I said. “I felt bad coming empty-handed.”

  Len laughed. “Jack said you might want to do some baking. What have we got?”

  “Apple pie,” I said with a smile. It was generic but foolproof. Everyone loved apple pie and it was easy to make vegan.

  “Sounds amazing.”

  We stepped out of the hallway into the kitchen. The smells of rosemary, thyme, and mint filled my nostrils. “That smells amazing. What is it?”

  “You’ll see,” said a woman standing over the stove. “I’m Angela. You must be Tate.” She pulled me into a warm, almost motherly, hug.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, hugging her back.

  “Jack’s been talking about you for so long you were starting to seem mythical,” said Len with a laugh.

  “I don’t think I am,” I laughed back.

  Jack rubbed the top of my head. I flattened my hair back down. “Don’t think she’s mythical,” said Jack.

  “Can we get you anything to drink?” Angela offered.

  “Water’s fine,” I said.

  “Low-maintenance, I like it,” she said. “Jack?”

  “Usual, please.”

  “You have a usual order for when you come over?” I said.

  He laughed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring at the floor. “Yeah.”

  “Coffee?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Of course.”

  Len saw to our drinks, then the four of us sat around the wooden table in the middle of the cozy kitchen.

  “I love your kitchen. It’s such a nice space,” I said. I had a thing for kitchens. The right one could make or break my decision to buy or rent a place. It told you a lot about the people that lived there too. This particular kitchen said to me that the house was inhabited by a whole lot of love.

  “Thank you,” said Angela. “We recently redecorated. It hadn’t been done for what, twenty years? It was time.”

  Len nodded. “Yeah. Some of the paint was peeling pretty bad. We probably shouldn’t have let it get to that state, but sometimes the cracks happen so slowly you don’t always notice them.”

  I couldn’t help but feel like that was a great metaphor for life in general. I wasn’t sure if he’d intended for it to be that way or not.

  “Say, Jack? Could you help me with some tech gadget mumbo jumbo? You did such a good job last time,” said Len.

  “What have you broken this time?”

  “I didn’t say I’d broken anything, just said I needed your help. And I’ll have you know it’s an installation, not a repair.”

  “I’ll let you off, then,” said Jack.

  “How long until dinner, darling?” asked Len.

  “Ten minutes, so no messing around!” said Angela.

  “Will you be OK if I go help Len out?” Jack asked me.

  I nodded. “Go sort it.”

  Jack kissed my forehead, then he and
Len went upstairs.

  “You know, if you want a hot drink, we have some almond milk,” said Angela.

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “Jack mentioned you were vegan, so I’ve cooked us a vegan feast.”

  “That’s…you didn’t have to cater like that,” I said, feeling my eyes well up. Having someone that didn’t know me cater—in their own home, no less—to such an extent was an unusual occurrence.

  “Hot chocolate? Jack mentioned you like it.”

  “That sounds lovely,” I said with a smile.

  She set to work making two hot chocolates, putting the powder in, mixing it with the almond milk, boiling the water. She moved so gracefully it was hypnotic.

  “Jack also mentioned you recently found out you were adopted,” she said as she waited for the kettle to boil.

  “He did?”

  Rage began to fill me. That was not his story to tell.

  “Please don’t be annoyed at him. He was worried about you and doesn’t have anyone else to go to for advice. Except you,” she said with a wan smile.

  My rage lessened. I supposed she had a point.

  The kettle boiled. She poured hot water into the mugs, stirred the mixture, the placed our drinks onto the table and sat down.

  “He was worried about how depressed you’ve been,” she said.

  “I’m not depressed!”

  She raised an eyebrow at me. “Not getting out of bed. Turning down job opportunities. Going out and drinking and partying lots.”

  “That doesn’t sound like depression,” I said.

  “Avoiding the real world, not feeling able to work, and hiding in substances doesn’t sound like depression to you?”

  I sighed. Was she right? Was I depressed?

  I sipped my hot chocolate. Was that why Jack had brought me over? So that I could talk to Angela? I suddenly felt like I was being blindsided.

  But Angela was so nice. She was being so kind to me. And it would be good to talk to someone disconnected from the whole thing. Maybe she’d be able to give me some objective advice about what to do.

  “My birth mom hates me,” I admitted. “After all that searching I couldn’t even have a civil conversation with her. She was so angry.” My eyes filled with tears. Angela got up, tore a paper towel off the roll, and passed it to me. I dabbed at my eyes with it as she sat back down.

  “But that’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it? She was raped.” I whispered the last word. It still hurt to say it aloud. “If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t even be here. I only exist because of one of the most heinous things one person can do to another.”

  “But it still isn’t your fault. You can beat yourself up all you like, but you can’t change it. They may be your egg and sperm donors, but they’ll never be your family.”

  “But I wouldn’t exist without them.”

  “Doesn’t make them your parents. If you’d had any other donors you wouldn’t be who you are now. And don’t you like who you are?”

  “I used to.”

  “What changed?”

  “I found out where I came from.”

  “You’re not the first person to come from a shitty background and achieve great things and you won’t be the last. You owe your past, present, and future to the people who raised you, not to the people who created you. There’s no point beating yourself up about them.”

  “Who says I’m beating myself up?”

  “The expression on your face right now, honey,” she said. She reached over and touched my hand. “Before I met Len, I was raped and got pregnant. And I carried the baby to term. I wasn’t sure what I was gonna do with it, but I didn’t have access to an abortion clinic, so it wasn’t an option. Over time, I became attached to the idea of being a mother. I accepted that while something terrible had happened to me, maybe something good could come out of it. But it wasn’t meant to be. The baby was stillborn.”

  I sniffled. “I’m so sorry!”

  She patted my hand. “But that hospital where I lost my first child was where I met Len.” She wiped under her eyes with her fingers as they began to fill with tears too. “If all those bad things hadn’t happened, I never would’ve met Len. He isn’t perfect, but neither am I. I like our life, though, and I’m pretty sure he does too.”

  I nodded. “Me too.” I picked up my hot chocolate and took several gulps. My mouth was going dry from how emotional I was feeling.

  “My point is, I chose to see the light in the darkness. And I promise you that the light is always there. The darkness may tell you otherwise, but it’s there all right. You just have to keep looking. Your birth mother sounds like a bitter person and that terrible situation brought out the worst in her. None of that was your fault; she just chose to take it out on you.”

  “But she ended up homeless because of me!”

  “No. She was homeless because of her parents. Now don’t even get me started on parenting decisions like that, because in my opinion kicking your own child out is reprehensible, but that’s another discussion. Homelessness is terrible. For anyone. When you’re female and you’re pregnant…” She shook her head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that was like. That still doesn’t make it your fault. Those events started with the person that raped your birth mother, and the consequences of that lie with him, too.”

  “He’s never even been held to account,” I said. Would I have felt better if he’d at least gone to prison for what he’d done?

  “Neither have most rapists. That’s why they keep on doing it. So long as the people with the penises are in charge, nothing will ever change. It’s a sad fact but a true fact. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”

  “That none of it’s my fault and I should stop blaming myself?”

  She smiled, nodding. “Yes. You bring so much joy to people’s lives. Please don’t let your birth mother take that away from you because she’s a grumpy old hag.”

  I snorted. Snot ran down my face in the most unglamorous way you’ve ever seen. I quickly covered my face with the kitchen roll and wiped it away. Thank god Jack hadn’t been around to see that. Talk about unattractive.

  “You are not the actions of your parents. Birth or adopted. You are only responsible for your own actions and decisions. And you’ve done a hell of a lot for a child your age!”

  I blushed. “Thank you.”

  She stood up, and gestured for me to do the same. I did. She took my hand. “Now, I want you to say it loud and said it proud: ‘I am Tate Gardener, and I am fabulous!’”

  I laughed. Affirmations weren’t really my thing.

  She nudged me.

  I decided to humor her. “I am Tate Gardener, and I am fabulous!”

  She grinned. “Damn right.”

  37

  Tate

  I was forced to make a choice

  That stripped me of my voice

  And now I’ve lost something

  That meant everything.

  — “No Choice,” Tate Gardener

  New Dawn was being recorded in a studio in New York where I’d spent a lot of my time growing up. I’d toyed with visiting Liam there in the hopes of accidentally on purpose running into Trinity, but I’d always convinced myself it was a bad idea. Until the day after I’d had dinner at Len and Angela’s. It had made me realize how important real friends were. Trinity was one of mine, and I didn’t want to lose her. I had to try to win her back.

  They let me on to set no problem even though my dad wasn’t around. Since I was in the business myself, they knew I wouldn’t get in the way.

  I watched as Liam and Trinity recorded some green screen scenes where they were fighting off a giant snake. I hadn’t done much green screen, and what I had done had mostly involved backgrounds that didn’t exist. They were reacting to a ball on a stick like it was a terrifying snake. The finished effect would look amazing.

  The director yelled “CUT” and the two of them climbed down from the platform they�
�d been on. It was supposed to be a rickety old bridge.

  Trinity acted like she hadn’t seen me but I knew she had. She tried to walk away from me and to her dressing room, but I ran to catch up with her.

  “You’ve got some nerve,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Can we talk?” I said. A few of the cast and crew were watching, but I didn’t care. Liam had disappeared since he didn’t like conflict. Baby.

  “No,” she said as she kept walking.

  Against my better judgment, I followed her. “Please, Tri.”

  “Don’t call me that. That’s what my friends call me.”

  I steeled myself, trying to hide the tears that remark had almost caused. “It’s just a song. Why are you getting so worked up about it?”

  She turned to face me. “It’s just a career. Why are you getting so worked up about it?” she asked in a mock voice.

  “I have no acting roles right now. I need to do something to keep money coming in!”

  “As if you need to worry about money. I might understand if you were short on it, but we both know you’re not. Betraying people you’re supposed to care about is how you generate money? Wow. That’s low, even for you.”

  I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. “Why does someone else singing your song bother you so much? You’ve done it plenty of times.”

  “It’s not someone else. It’s you. And it’s not any old song. How would you feel if I stole something from your wardrobe without your permission?”

  My clothes would never fit her, but this wasn’t the time to point it out. “I’d be upset, but I wouldn’t be blackout upset.”

  “What if it was a one-of-a-kind gown that you’d designed yourself, and I wore it for an outfit and claimed it was mine?”

  How would that make me feel? I mean, I’d never designed my own outfit before, but it was a good idea. If someone else claimed it was mine, I would be peeved.

  Shit.

  “Exactly,” said Trinity, taking my hesitation as confirmation. By now, everyone left on set—so basically everyone involved in production except Liam—was watching the argument unfold. And there was nothing I could do about it because I doubted I’d get another chance to talk to her face-to-face.