by Jen Calonita
Broadway Lights: Secrets of my Hollywood Life
Jen Calonita
For Dylan, who was well worth the wait.
one: You've Got to Love a Premiere
"I'm Chatty Cathy from Inside Hollywood--your source for all things Hollywood--and tonight I'm at the premiere of Pretty Young Assassins. This heart-stopping, action-packed ride stars the stunning young lady standing next to me, Family Affair star Kaitlin Burke. Hi, Kaitlin!"
"Hi, Cathy!" I flash her my most dazzling smile. "It's nice to see you again."
Cathy is an Amazonian tabloid reporter known for her dyed neon yellow hair and right now she's standing next to me on the red carpet at Westwood's Mann Village Theatre in Los Angeles, where my movie, Pretty Young Assassins, is premiering on this warm May night. Behind me there are dozens of die-hard fans screaming so loudly I can barely hear and holding handmade signs as they press against a crowd control rope on the normally quiet palm tree-lined street. In a few minutes, I'll be sitting in the cool, darkened theater with my costars and my family surrounding me, but right now I'm doing what my publicist Laney Peters calls "a necessary evil"--talking to the tabloid press. Sometimes they love me, sometimes they drag me through the mud. It depends on whether it's a slow news week.
Cathy sticks her glittery microphone in my face. Cathy's electric green paisley print mini dress is so bright it almost blinds me. "It's nice to see you." Cathy stares at me with her piercing green eyes, which are so similar to my own. "You look drop-dead gorgeous. Who are you wearing?"
"This is Marchesa." I give a sort of half-spin to show off my pale pink Grecian-style gown. My stylist had it shortened from floor-length to mid-thigh, and my hoofs (aka big feet) are blinged out in strappy, sparkly Jimmy Choos. I wore my long, honey-blond hair half up and had Paul, my favorite hair guru, set it so that curls cascade down my bronzed back. For makeup, Shelly swept my green eyes with a very in vogue pearl blue shadow and left my tanned face bare except for peach blush and gloss. Austin said I look like a goddess. God, I adore him.
"Kaitlin, let's talk business." Cathy puts an arm around my bare shoulder and stares directly into the video camera instead of looking at me. "You've had quite a year, and it's not even half over. Your TV show goes off the air in a few weeks, you're making your Broadway debut at the end of June, and you've survived a heap of media coverage surrounding your train-wreck friendship with party girls Lauren Cobb and Ava Hayden." Her smoky voice is so raspy, I almost have to read her lips to follow along. "Not to mention all that gossip about your supposed near breakdown at a Sure magazine photo shoot. What's the real deal, Kaitlin?"
I do my best to keep smiling and turn on the charm that years of media training have taught me well. "Cathy, if my life were really that dramatic, it would be a movie!" I laugh even though for this particular crisis, the press kind of got it right. Not that I can actually admit that. Laney would kill me! I stare up at the famous glowing Fox tower sign perched above the theater.
"Lauren and Ava are great girls, but we haven't hung out together in a long time." I talk slowly, making sure every word I say is just right. "They like to go out, and I'm a couch potato. My nights usually involve a trip to Blockbuster, studying my script for Meeting of the Minds, my upcoming Broadway show, or getting takeout with my boyfriend." Cathy doesn't look convinced, but I keep going. "I'm happy, which I know is hard for some people to believe when they hear all those meltdown rumors, but they're not true. I had a panic attack. I had a hard time coping with the news that Family Affair was going off the air. I mean, I was losing a show that I'd been part of since I was a preschooler."
Cathy nods, but I'm not sure she's really paying attention. Her eyes have locked on my date. "It must help to have such a dashing boyfriend to lean on," she coos.
I turn to Austin Meyers, my boyfriend of over a year, and notice his face is redder than the carpet we're standing on. Cathy's right about one thing--my boyfriend is hot. He's taller than me (which isn't hard, since I'm under 5'4"), with broad, muscular shoulders and arms. And he has the best hair on any guy I know. Austin wears it sort of long, so his bangs are hanging constantly in his amazing blue eyes, which gives me plenty of excuses to touch his face and push his hair out of the way. Tonight Austin is wearing a dark blue suit with a skinny gray tie. Very Robert Pattinson. He smiles at me nervously.
I smile back at him. "I am lucky," I tell Cathy, and squeeze Austin's hand, which has been linked with mine for the entire interview.
"Me too," Austin echoes, surprising me by saying anything at all. He's not used to getting the media third degree like I am. Austin spends his days doing algebra and playing lacrosse (he has a normal high school existence), while I spend mine in front of a camera, doing interviews, or hiding from the paparazzi.
Laney taps me on the shoulder, or should I say, jabs me hard with one of her highly laquered nails. "We have to be inside in ten." She gives Cathy the evil eye. "Last question, Cathy."
I try not to laugh as Cathy's perky expression changes to a look of pure terror. My publicist may look young and cute with her round face, long, layered blond locks, picture-perfect petite figure, and wrinkle-free face (is it Botox or youth? I may never know. Laney won't let me see her driver's license), but Hollywood insiders and the media know better. Underneath that white Calvin Klein pantsuit and carefully tanned exterior, Laney is a Category 5 hurricane. She will do anything and everything to protect her clients. Why do you think she has one of the biggest A-list rosters in Hollywood?
"Sorry to hold you hostage, Kaitlin." Cathy sounds flustered for the first time tonight. "Last question: Your Broadway run is only eight weeks. What are you going to do after that ends?"
Um... I don't have a clue.
That's the terrifying truth. I've been trying not to think about it, but it's hard not to--especially when everyone keeps bringing it up. My agent, Seth, says I've had offers but nothing worthwhile, and that's what gives me nightmares. "I'm exploring my options but can't say anything just yet," I tell Cathy. "I will say I can't wait to sink my teeth into a new challenge." There. That sounded okay. There is no way I'm telling Cathy I have no job lined up.
"Like what?" Cathy moves the microphone closer.
Uh-oh.
"Interview over. We're going to miss the start of the movie," Laney snaps, and pulls us away before I have to answer.
The flashbulbs pop as we hurry down the rest of the red carpet and past my film's oversized movie poster. It's so cool. Drew Thomas and I are hiding behind a crumbling wall, and we're all sweaty and battle-scarred. Before we head inside, Austin and I pause for a final photo in the brightly lit butter-yellow exterior lobby directly below the Mann Village Theatre marquee. Then Laney pulls Austin and me through the theater doors and rushes us through the cavernous lobby. I glimpse mosaics, murals, paintings, and photographs of the California Gold Rush on the walls, but Laney doesn't give us time to sightsee. I guess I should just be happy I'm here for a premiere. This place has hosted some of the coolest ones in Hollywood (think Twilight and Spider-Man). It was built in 1931, and people still rave about its huge auditorium (it has over 1,300 seats), incredible architecture, and dome-like arches trimmed in gold. There are sculptures throughout the lobby and scrollwork everywhere, but my favorite thing is the six-pointed painted star on the auditorium ceiling. I won't get to stare at it tonight, though. We're running really late. Someone from the studio hands Austin and me popcorn and soda, takes a picture of us holding them, and ushers us to our seats. The lights are dimming, so I can't see where my castmates are sitting, but I know Mom, Dad, my brother Matty, and my personal assistant, Nadine, are seated behind us.
> "You almost missed the credits," Mom scolds before my butt has even touched the seat.
I want to tell Mom that's impossible, but the movie is about to start, so I'll have to tell her the first of many new HOLLYWOOD SECRETS later.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER ONE: Premieres don't start till the stars are seated--whether that's ten minutes late because you're talking to Access Hollywood or two hours late because your names are Brad and Angelina and you have to get your ever-expanding brood to bed first. Movie premiere start times are figurative. If the stars are scheduled to appear, no one from the studio will start the film till they arrive. The bigger the star, the later the arrival and the less likely you'll see them in the theater. Another thing to know: the lights will dim right before the biggest star shows up so that no one in the audience knows where they're sitting (if they actually stay at all. Some stars do the red carpet and then slip out the back door to avoid sitting through their new film more than once).
"The movie is starting," Dad reminds Mom, and that's enough to make her hold her tongue--for now.
I take a few kernels of popcorn, then sit back and enjoy.
* * *
Two hours and seven minutes later the end credits are rolling, and Austin follows up his praise with a kiss on the cheek, which is good, because my mom and dad are right behind us. "That. Was. Awesome," Austin congratulates me.
"I know, right?" I practically squeal. The lights are coming up, and the chatter in the theater is loud and boisterous. People are smiling and laughing, and I think they liked the movie.
Austin laughs. "Why do you sound so surprised?"
"Well, you know," I tell him without actually telling him anything. Sure, I've seen a rough cut, but my meticulous director, Hutch Adams, is known for making a lot of last-minute changes. Whatever tweaks he's made work, because I like the movie even more than I did when I saw it the first time.
"Kate-Kate, that was wonderful." Mom reaches over the seat to hug me and I almost choke on her perfume. ("It's Victoria Beckham's! She gave it to me personally and if she walked by, she'd want to smell it on me," Mom insisted when Matty and I staged an intervention to tell her that maybe she'd been using a tad too much.) Like her perfume spritzing, everything about Mom is carefully packaged. She's a tall, toned Hollywood machine who does not leave the house without Crème de la Mer on her tanned face, her blond hair blown out, and designer labels on every inch of her body. (Tonight she's wearing a Michael Kors silk tunic and black fitted Gucci pants. The underwear are probably Dolce Gabbana.) "I think your work in this puts you on a whole new playing field," Mom tells me. She has one hand on me and one on her BlackBerry, which she starts typing on furiously with her thumb. "I'm telling Seth he should start fielding offers for more blockbuster-type films or action TV shows. Maybe we can get you a role on something like Lost!"
Mom has been hounding Seth about my next project ever since it was announced that FA was ending. Mom's still not convinced that a Broadway show is going to advance my career, but Seth thinks Meeting of the Minds is going to move mountains (his words, not mine). The play is a teen-centric drama, which isn't an entirely new concept, but it's more PG-friendly and comical than other teen-driven shows like Spring Awakening. At the same time, the show's issues--race, coming of age, peer pressure--are a step up from my character development on Family Affair. "This could be the highbrow High School Musical of Broadway," Seth declared. "Without the singing. Or dancing. It doesn't need it! This show has bite. It could be huge!"
"Sweetie, can we just enjoy the movie premiere first?" Dad tries to pry the BlackBerry from Mom's dark red fingernails. He's much bigger than she is. Matty and I call our parents Barbie and Ken, because that's seriously what they look like, even though Dad is nowhere near as put together as Mom is. Most days he doesn't even iron his standard Ralph Lauren golf shirt before putting it on. Tonight Mom must have dressed him because he's in a smart-looking beige suit. Still, I notice the white shirt underneath looks a tad wrinkled. "You can tell Seth when we meet with him before we leave town next week."
The words hit me like a bad review.
I'm leaving Los Angeles.
My home.
Next week.
And Austin is not coming with me.
In seven days, I am moving to New York for a few months while Austin will be here in Los Angeles and then in Texas for a summer lacrosse camp he's been dying to attend. I know Seth's right about the play being a huge opportunity for my career, but what about my blissful love life? Austin and I have never been apart for more than two weeks! How are we going to deal with being three thousand miles away from each other?
I guess I shouldn't complain. All this was supposed to happen sooner. Originally I was supposed to be in New York in April and start the play in May, but then the show's original London lead, Meg Valentine, got off crutches before everyone thought she would, so I got bumped back to a June start date for rehearsals and a July and August run, which is... PRINCESS LEIA WATCH!
I pull out my new iPhone--I've upgraded from my trusty Sidekick--and jot down another item I have to remember to pack for my move (I'm lost without my Leia watch). My iPhone has a dozen "note to self" lists on it already and it's only a week old.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, my new play start date. I was happy about it--more time with Austin! Yay!--but some of us weren't so thrilled.
"Mom." I hear a familiar whine. "I told you a zillion times already, I'm sure I can pull some strings and get Kates a cameo on my show."
That would be my younger brother, Matty, talking. His ego is much bigger than his actual age, fifteen. (We just celebrated his birthday.) He's signed more autographs and shaken more hands tonight than he has in his life. And this is probably only the beginning. After years of bit parts and commercials, Matty has hit the big time with his new TV show, a remake of Scooby-Doo, directed by my FA director, Tom Pullman. Matty has to be on set in late July to start shooting the season (which will premiere in October), so he and Dad have to leave New York earlier than the rest of us. I think Matty was hoping to go all Gossip Girl and take the New York social scene by storm, but now he's whining that he won't have as much time to do it. But what is he complaining about? He has a paying gig to come home to, one that everyone in town is gaga over. Entertainment Weekly is calling Scooby "the must-see show of the new season." And Celebrity Insider says it's this generation's Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I can't say I'm not a wee bit jealous as I stare at my brother, who looks a lot like a young Brad Pitt with his new short blond hair, green eyes, and gray Armani suit.
"Let's move, people," Laney barks, making even my long-time personal security, Rodney, jump. "The car is out front to take you to the after-party, and I want to get you guys in it before fans start asking for autographs."
"Can you imagine the horror?" Nadine quips so that only I can hear. I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Rodney whips into work mode, puts his trademark black sunglasses back on, and uses his large frame to clear a path for my family to make our way out a side door of the theater and into the waiting Escalade idling near the curb. I follow his dark, shiny bald dome through the crowd. We slip in without commotion and are at the next red carpet outside the Crown Bar on Santa Monica Boulevard before I know it.
The white building looks as if it could be someone's house instead of a hip lounge. It has lush greenery in the front and a candlelit outdoor patio. Inside, the mood is very old-school Hollywood romantic, making me think Austin and I would like hanging out here if it wasn't so scene-y. There are chandeliers everywhere, lots of dark wood, distressed mirrors, padded walls with textured wallpaper, and intimate banquettes. In the middle of the place is an octagon-shaped bar. I hear the food here is pretty good. It's classic American bistro with burgers and flatbread sandwiches, with fish and chips thrown in. Tonight everything is being served appetizer-style. We head to the back of the place, where we have a reserved banquette; everyone drops their gift bags and rushes off to network. Everyone except me and Au
stin.
"So," I say softly, my voice barely audible over the DJ and the noise of the packed party. But I know Austin heard me.
Austin stares back at me. "So." He weaves his fingers through mine. "Seven days left."
I nod, looking away from his blue eyes and trying to blink back tears. I focus on his silver cuff links. I bought them for him a few months ago. They're tiny lacrosse sticks. "Seven days."
"I've been thinking of our last hurrah before you go." Austin gives me a quizzical look. "How do you feel about--"
"Katie-Kat!" Mom's voice is louder than even the DJ's, and he has a microphone. I look up. Mom is a few tables away. She's waving her hands wildly and standing next to a short, plump man in a wrinkled dress shirt. "I need you!"
"I'll be right back," I promise Austin, squeezing his rough, calloused hand.
I scoot out of my seat and talk to Mom's new "friend," who turns out to be a TV producer working on a mid-season series about cocktail waitresses in Vegas (blech). Before I get back to my table, I see my PYA director, Hutch Adams, and zip over for a quick hello (with a drink in hand, he's always much friendlier). Then I run into my obnoxious PYA costar Drew, and though he and I aren't on good terms, I do my job and pose with gritted teeth for a few pictures. I try not to think about the fact that Drew's garish pinstriped black suit, striped shirt, and tie completely clash with my soft pink dress. (Who wears so many stripes together anyway? Does Drew think he's Ed Westwick channeling his alter ego Chuck Bass? Drew may be dark and handsome, but he'll never be as legendary as Mr. Bass.)
Next I shake hands with a few executives from other studios whom I've never met. (Seth would be happy), stand patiently and listen while an actress I barely know laments the lack of good jobs available for twenty-somethings ("Everyone wants teens!"), and do a quick interview with Entertainment Weekly, the sole print outlet allowed at the party. As I talk to the reporter, I sneak wistful glances at my table. Austin is talking to my best friend, Liz Mendes, who must have slipped in while I was gone. She missed the premiere because she had a kickboxing tournament. When my interview is done, I start walking quickly, eyes straight ahead to avoid being stopped again, but someone blocks my path.
