by Lisa Ferrari
Sheila takes my hand and leads me back to the group, where she hands me off to Kellan.
The lawyer lady (Tracy?) asks if I have representation.
I’m pretty sure she means do I have an agent, but a talent agent rather than a literary agent. I immediately wonder if talent agents for show business are as douchey as Nathan Wellington back in Manhattan.
I ask if I (we) need representation.
The lawyer lady (Tanya?) says this deal is already fairly well done, so we likely don’t need an agent but we will definitely need a publicist and or a manager, and at some point down the road we’ll probably need and want an agent to assist with fielding offers, someone with experience who knows what to ask for and what to watch out for so we don’t get screwed.
“Oh, use Jeremee, my agent,” Calista says. “She’s the best. I’ve been with her for years. Way back when I was fat and first starting out and no one wanted to represent me, within sixty seconds Jeremee said she could tell I had what it takes, that je-ne-sais-quoi, and she signed me. I trust her. I can introduce you guys if you want. We’ll all have coffee or something so it won’t be weird or there won’t be any pressure.”
As she’s speaking, Calista texts her agent, Jeremee, and twenty minutes later the four of us are sitting at a table in the Paramount Commissary, drinking coffee. Jeremee is nothing like what I expected. I’m not sure what I expected, exactly; perhaps a smooth-talking ass kisser in an expensive suit. Jeremee looks more like a soccer mom. She’s wearing compression gear under a bright neon-green hoodie with a big red heart on the front. She explains that she just came from the gym and was driving down Melrose when Cali texted so she popped on in to meet with us. This is the first time I’ve heard Calista referred to as ‘Cali’. Jeremee and Calista (I’m not yet comfortable calling her Cali) have an easy banter between them and it’s clear they’ve known one another a long time. Jeremee explains that we don’t have to make any decisions today or anything, given that the deal for this picture is already in the bag. But she says she’s happy to represent us both sometime in the future if we’d like her to. She also suggests we meet with at least half a dozen other agents so we’ll make sure we sign with someone we’re comfortable with because it’s an important relationship and we need to know that the agent (whomever he or she may eventually be) has our best interests at heart. I’m not sure if this is classic reverse psychology or if Jeremee is genuine and forthright in her sentiment, but for now I decide that, tentatively at least, I like her.
We leave the commissary and Jeremee hugs me when she says goodbye. It’s weird receiving a hug from someone I’ve only just met, but Jeremee squeezes me tight, wishes me luck, and tells me not to hesitate to call her or Calista if I need anything at any time.
Once Kellan, Calista, and I are back in the production offices, we meet up with Sheila, who is walking around the office wearing a headset and talking on the phone. She has a phone in each hand, texting one person and speaking with another. She smiles and winks when she sees us.
Kellan and Calista and I take a seat on the big black sofas. Sheila joins us a few minutes later. She says we’ll all get together next week to go over more of the particulars and iron out compensation packages and stuff.
Sheila asks, “You guys live up north, right? You planning to relocate?”
Kellan says, “We are now.”
This startles me. Kellan and I haven’t had what I believe to be an adequate discussion about picking up and moving to Los Angeles. We discussed it briefly, but not thoroughly.
Before I can say anything about it, Sheila gasps. She grabs my hand and pulls it close, nearly yanking me off the sofa in the process, so she can study my engagement ring.
“Oh my God!” Sheila exclaims. “That’s right, you guys are engaged. I totally forgot to congratulate you. Wow, this thing must be almost flawless.”
“Triple zeroes,” Kellan says.
“One-and-a-third carats?” Sheila asks.
“One-point-five-nine.” Kellan winks at me.
I have no idea what they’re saying. All I know is that the diamond and the ring are gorgeous and that Kellan gave it to me when he asked me to be his wife and I accepted with more joy than I have the capacity to ever express. Knowing the particulars of the cut and clarity and inclusions and all that stuff will give me an idea of how much he spent and I don’t want to know. I know it was a lot. But once an actual dollar amount has been cited, it’ll freak me out. I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling guilty that Kellan spent $10,000 on my ring.
Sheila and Calista both hug me and then Kellan. Rami and Aaron walk by and ask what’s going on, what’s with the hug-fest. I hold up my ring and they both congratulate us as well. Heather walks by, also with a phone in each hand. She pauses to look at the ring, give me and awkward high-five which causes her to bobble both phones, but she manages to catch them and continues into her office.
Sheila says we must come to her beach house for the weekend to celebrate our movie and our engagement.
We agree to see her there tomorrow.
RAY DRIVES US back to our hotel.
When we arrive, there is a sea of paparazzi out front. They crowd around us as we exit the sleek black Cadillac Escalade and proceed into the lobby. Man, word travels fast.
We go upstairs to our room and sit on the bed in silence.
Our phones start pinging. We’re both receiving mentions and likes and direct messages from all of our social media platforms.
Kellan takes my phone and turns it off, along with his own. He puts them in a drawer, out of sight. We sit together quietly.
I begin to realize what has just happened. “What should we do? I’ve never been in this position before. I don’t know what to do. What to think.”
“Just enjoy it.”
“How? Everything is happening so fast. It seems like just a few minutes ago we were downstairs working out. Now, we’re back in our hotel room after they gave us the part in the movie. There’s a zillion rabid paparazzi people downstairs, we’re all over social media, all over the internet, we’re going to be on TMZ again tonight…”
Kellan puts his arms around me. “Just enjoy it. This is what we wanted. This is what we have been working so hard to attain. Let’s do our best to enjoy it, to be happy, to stay humble, but to acknowledge that we’ve worked really, really hard for this. So it’s okay to enjoy it and most of all to believe, to know, that we belong here. Even Calista said you look amazing and you should play the lead. We have a lot more work to do. A lot more. But it’s good that we enjoy the moment. Enjoy our weekend. That we savor this.”
“What do you mean, a lot more work?”
“Well, as soon as everyone gets all the papers signed and the lawyers get all the contracts done and money starts changing hands, things will speed up. We’ll start having preproduction meetings, script read-throughs, special training like combat and martial arts and stuff. Our characters get stranded on a strange alien planet, so Sheila and Rami an Aaron might want us to go out to the forest someplace and do some survival training for a week. Live off the land, eat bugs and worms and drink our own urine. Cool stuff like that. It adds credibility to our portrayals. Then, once the principal photography begins, and we’re actually on-set, shooting, that’s when the real work begins. That’s seven days a week, eighteen-hour days.”
“Wow. Really?”
“Yeah, but it’s totally awesome. Right? We get to be in a real movie. A big one. The biggest one of all time. How cool is that? That’s… that’s… history. We get to be a part of history. Just remember, that no matter how exhausted we get, no matter how cold or hungry or wet or miserable they make us, no matter what kind of weird, extreme stuff we have to do, we’ll always remember today. Friday. Sitting here in this historic hotel. Officially on the road of this grand adventure together. There’s no place else I’d rather be. And no one else I’d rather be with. So even when we’re hot, or cold, or tired, or hungry, and we�
��re covered in bruises and dirt and make-up, we’ll remember to be grateful and happy. Grateful and happy for our blessings. For getting to be in a movie together. It’s going to be so cool. And no matter what, we do not cave in to the pressure.”
“What pressure specifically are you referring to?”
“The pressure of being famous and of playing that role, and of having a lot of money and the success of the film on our shoulders. Why do you think so many people crack up and turn to drugs or booze? They can’t take it so they start to cope by using chemicals and substances. They self-sabotage because the sabotage and the act of losing everything feels less shitty than the pressure they allow themselves to feel. They take sleeping pills and a shot of liquor and they accidentally die in their sleep. We won’t let that happen to us.”
“So, what should we do now?”
“Do you want to make love? You look so gorgeous and so sexy in this outfit…”
“Um, sure. I’m kind of in shock right now, so it might be like you’re having sex with a mannequin or something.”
“I know. I feel the same way. Maybe later, after we’ve had a chance to process all of this. Okay, let’s see… We need a car to get to Sheila’s tomorrow, we need a place to stay, and we need a place to stay.”
“You said that twice.”
“I know. But we need a place to stay for the weekend and another place to stay for the next, I don’t know, year? Two? No idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve got to move down here. Remember? Like I told Sheila. We can’t keep flying back and forth. We need to live here so we can be here whenever we need to be. We need to be close to Aaron and Rami and Sheila and Heather and everybody. If we have a six a.m. call time to be on set, we have to be in hair and make-up at five or maybe even four. We either need to live nearby or live in a Starwaggon trailer at the actual location. Point being that we can’t fly back and forth from Sacramento to L.A.”
“We’re going to rent an apartment?”
“Or a house. Maybe something quaint up in the hills. Or out in Malibu. But it’s probably better to find something around here so it’ll only take twenty minutes to get to work.”
As he’s talking, Kellan is doing something on his phone. He appears to be texting someone.
He then pulls out his laptop and we begin looking at houses for rent in Hollywood. There are many. Monthly rent ranges from $5000 to $65,000.
“Sixty-five thousand dollars a month?” I ask.
Kellan clicks on the photos. “It’s sixteen thousand square feet. Nine bedrooms, nine bathrooms, guest house, pool, elevator, night club. Ridiculous. Nice, but ridiculous. Here’s one. It’s only seven thousand a month.”
“Only.”
“Well, that’s the market here. We won’t stay there forever. For the same money we could buy a place. We’re probably going to be paying their mortgage. But we need something now.”
I refrain from saying that Kellan could buy a place. I can barely make my measly $875 monthly rent on my little one-bedroom apartment.
Kellan calls the agent who has the listing on the house. She’s available and can meet us there in about twenty minutes.
Kellan microwaves two ready-meals (chicken and asparagus—oh, the humanity!) and we eat quickly. I drink a lot of water with it, now that our fast has concluded.
On the way down to the lobby, I ask Kellan about our transportation.
“You’ll see.”
He has something up his sleeve, as usual.
THAT SOMETHING TURNS out to be a red Ferrari. It’s parked in front of the hotel entrance. The same guys who brought us the last Ferrari are there as well. That was when Kellan rented a Ferrari so we could use the possibility of buying it as leverage while buying a Lamborghini Aventador, which was the car Kellan actually wanted. He still hasn’t sold the green Huracan he already had and I don’t think he wants to. He acknowledges that he doesn’t need two Lamborghinis. But he also says he loves them both. He loves the green Huracan because we had our first date in it. But he also loves the Aventador because I was with him when he bought it.
We all shake hands and the guys both go apeshit over our appearance, especially mine. They keep asking Kellan if I’m the same chick. He assures them that I am. They keep saying “Damn!” over and over while they check me out, but it’s more like “Dayyyyy-am!” Kellan tells them to, and I quote, chill the fuck out. Something in the tone of his voice causes them to comply immediately.
Kellan signs the paperwork and gets the keys.
Of course, there are a bunch of paparazzi documenting the whole ten-minute-long encounter.
But we mostly ignore them.
(I’m quite certain I hear more than one photographer ask who Kellan is with, along with my name and a lot of rising intonation denoting question marks and disbelief.)
Kellan opens the door for me and helps me into the beautiful red car, which causes such a flurry of flashbulbs to go off all around us, you’d think the Queen of England had just whipped out a blunt (I don’t even know what a blunt is; is it the same as a joint?) The Brits do so adore their gossip about the Royals.
Kellan starts the engine, which sounds amazing, and we drive away. Once we’re removed from the paparazzi, I am relieved; I can breathe again and be myself. The Ferrari reminds me of my little red Pontiac. Twenty times the price, of course; but I like my Pontiac more.
As we drive, I replay the past few minutes in my mind. Particularly the guys asking Kellan if I am the same chick. (The paparazzi, too.)
That is an interesting question.
It is interesting because, in truth, I am not the same chick. Not at all. The fact that they literally did not recognize me is evidence of that.
But beyond my outward appearance, which I love and yet am still trying to fully comprehend, I am different on the inside as well. I am hardly the timid underling my family and friends and coworkers have come to know. I’ve worked on becoming an assertive alpha-female. I worked on making my thoughts and feelings and wishes known. And it has not been without resistance. The intervention being the culmination of that. I haven’t really had time to think too much about it because Kellan and I have been so focused on our audition. But now that I am taking a moment to ponder it, the fact that they staged a bona fide intervention for me strikes me as nothing other than pure madness. I’m hardly one of those falling-down-drunk, ultra-dirty, perpetually-high-or-trying-to-get-high people on the television show. Those people need genuine help. I, on the other hand, have finally been receiving genuine help. For the first time in my life. From Kellan. He’s led and lived by example, teaching me how to be successful, how to prioritize and strategize and work, and to not give up until I’ve reached my goal. And how to know my worth and demand from others that I receive it. Which is why my family and friends have been so resistant. I am no longer at their beck and call. Things have changed. They’re no longer in the dominant position. And they don’t like it.
So they had an intervention.
They really did it!
In fact, I can’t believe Denise and Beth and Chris actually agreed to be a part of the intervention. In his defense and to his credit, Chris did say he was told to come over and eat some pie. There was of course never going to be pie, so he’s off the hook. But my mother did at some point call or text Beth and tell them when to come over. Same with Denise. And my dad. And they all showed up and sat there dutifully while Michael the kind-eyed and soft-handed doctor man gave them his instructions about why they were there and what they were going to do and say. I wonder if he gave them one of those blue cards like they use on the show, on which everyone writes out their statement about how they love the person but if nothing changes they will no longer be a part of their lives, and will they please accept this help today.
Were they going to whip out their cards and threaten to disconnect from me if I refused to go with Doctor Man to a facility of some kind for drug treatment and deto
x and rehabilitation?
Surely not.
And why was Denise there?
Was she promised pie?
Why didn’t she and Chris and Beth get up and leave when the Doctor Man told them what was happening?
Is that why my dad appeared so unenthused? And why he was pounding Scotch?
Think of it: an intervention. For a person who has shed 60-something pounds of fat and has found the love of her life and has completely changed her life around for the better, and who is finally, FINALLY . . . happy.
“CLAIRE?”
“Huh?”
Kellan is smiling at me.
The car is no longer moving. We’re parked in front of a giant wall overgrown with a hedge, and a big gate blocking a driveway.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Um. Yeah. Why?”
“You were staring off into space. Are you coming down from your adrenaline rush and finally feeling exhausted like I am or were you lost in thought?”
I take a deep breath. “Both.”
“Me too. Thinking about the intervention?”
“Yep.”
“Me too. Pretty messed up, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Well, it was done out of love.”
“You think so?”
“No. It was done out of fear and self-interest. I wanted to put a positive spin on it. In lieu of that, how about we forget about all that stuff and go check out our new digs?”
THE HOUSE IS amazing.
Beyond amazing.
I love it immediately.
The agent, Carla, is super sweet. She’s wearing a white pantsuit and purple heels. She has platinum blond hair and huge boobs. Like, porn star boobs. She seems like an intelligent woman and I don’t pick up any weird vibes or attitude from her, and she has the grace and common sense not to flirt with Kellan, so the ridiculous tits seem antithetical. Maybe she was a porn star who went into real estate, and the boobs were a tax write off and she eventually got tired of cream pies and dirty sanchezes and rusty trombones and having stuff inserted into her orifices every day by men whose names she would never know.
