Movie Star By Lizzie Pepper

by Hilary Liftin

  The cigarette was gone, far too soon. I longed for another. But there was nothing now, nothing in the darkness but me and the reality of my situation. My beautiful children. My godlike husband. My sham of a marriage. And then, all the questions I’d pushed under the rug: Patricia’s disappearance; the boys’ lessons with Teacher Jana; Lexy’s fear of the Studio; the pictures of Allison that appeared just when I was starting to ask questions; the much-touted Studio Manhattan that I had never seen with my own eyes. Whenever I started to take notice, I was interrupted, distracted, dismissed, led like a dim-witted cow away from the danger. How many pieces of this puzzle could I ignore, and for how long?

  The peppermint tin Cap had found at the cabin. If, just if, everything was a great conspiracy, then that tin belonged to Geoff, and he had exploited information I’d revealed in my 100—that private, sacrosanct ritual. Why would Geoff go to all the trouble to find and photograph my sister? My father’s phone call came back to me. He thought someone wanted to use Allison against me. But the photos were already out. The damage was done. Allison’s words came back to me: “Oh God, there’s more. Mom and Dad protected you from me, and they were right . . .” Was there another shoe yet to drop?

  I picked up my spent cigarette butt and peeled open the white paper. I dropped the stub of tobacco into a flowerpot and shoved the bit of rolling paper in my pocket. We all have our secrets.

  Cap had said that Uncle Geoff gave him mints after taking his picture. Another photo session with a family member. I wracked my brain. Could it have something to do with the poster in Bluebeard’s chamber—the Valentine’s gift that Rob had never given to me? It didn’t seem like a big deal. Unless it was.

  I remembered the phone number from the back of the poster. I’m weird like that.

  I wanted to call it, then and there.

  What was the point in calling? It had to be the number for the photo studio.

  Why shouldn’t I call? They’d done such a nice job with the photograph. I might want to use them again sometime.

  Geoff had given my son mints. A harmless gesture, and yet . . . it felt like candy from a stranger.

  Once I had that thought, I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled out my phone. Then, thinking twice, I looked in the settings of my phone and switched it to “private browsing.” I googled “How to make a cell phone call anonymously,” praying that if my phone was bugged they couldn’t see what I was googling. I punched *67, to block my number, then dialed the number that I’d seen on the back of the poster. It was eleven o’clock, East Coast time. I expected to get the photo studio’s answering service.

  “One Cell Promotions,” a voice said briskly. I thought fast.

  “Yes, hi. Hi! This is . . . Julia Green calling from the PR department at Glam. I’m an assistant, and it’s my first week actually, so I really, really hope you can help me. My boss asked me to research this picture that came in. It’s two boys standing in front of a sunset, and it says ‘A world of opportunity lies ahead.’ She wants to hire the same photographer for the magazine? Can you help me? I really, really need this job. I’ll, like, lose my apartment. My roommate is totally over me and . . . oh my gosh, I’m so sorry to talk so much. Can you please just tell me about this poster?”

  “Oh! Well, I’m not sure who sent it to you, but that sounds like our new bus stop ad campaign.”

  A cold dread started at my neck and spread down my spine. “Oh, it’s an ad campaign! That totally makes sense. We’re that department. Can you tell me more about it? It’s going to be on bus stops?” I said.

  “Yes. If you only have one picture, you’re missing half of it. There’s a companion poster—one that goes facing it.”

  “Cool, great. Can you tell me what’s on the other side?”

  “It’s a picture of Earth. It says ‘One Cell.’ They go up across six cities when we launch our fall marketing campaign.”

  The beautiful picture of Cap and Leo wasn’t a Valentine’s gift for me. It had nothing to do with me or love. The world of opportunity that awaited my sons—everyone on Earth, as the ad proclaimed—was . . . the Studio.

  I hung up.

  I already knew that my little boys would never roller-skate down the block or tug my hand in the supermarket, pleading for sweets. They would never make a friend or have a teacher who didn’t already have an opinion about their parents, or at least know that they were rich beyond belief. They would never have anonymity or feel normal. These losses weren’t Rob’s fault, and I had already come to terms with them. They were stuck with who we were and the bizarre corner of the planet that we called home. In theory, the amazing opportunities we could offer made it worthwhile.

  But that one image captured all the differences in how my husband and I saw their future.

  Later, when Aurora saw the posters, she would say that Rob was exploiting our children, using them, literally, as poster children for his cause. But that wasn’t how I saw it at all. Rob would never put our boys’ faces on an advertisement. He was as protective as I of their privacy. On its surface, the poster itself did no harm. Nobody would recognize them. They might not even recognize themselves.

  The problem was more complex, and it was between me and Rob. It was perfectly natural to him to offer his children for the photo, the way someone might allow an image of their kids at play to be used in a neighborhood bulletin. One Cell was deeply significant to him. But I did not feel the same way. The Studio was not my community. I could not commit them to that world.

  We all make choices for our children, and I was particularly careful about mine. Allison was adopted and maybe she was born to be troubled, but the pressure to live up to the Pepper name had driven her to escape our world entirely. And grateful as I was for American Dream, I couldn’t help thinking about how much I’d loved English literature, and French class, and how for the first twelve years of my life I was certain I’d end up a pediatrician. Dreams change, children don’t become their parents, and the greatest luxury we could give Cap and Leo was the freedom to choose their own paths. To make certain choices for them about who they were, well, that would be breaking the one promise I’d made to my younger self.

  Rob had conducted the photo session behind my back and had hidden the resulting poster in his private room. He must have known I’d eventually see the posters and most likely recognize the boys. So why the secrecy? I knew the answer to that. Rob didn’t want the annoyance of my opinion. I simply didn’t matter.

  Rob. When I married him, I believed he was the love of my life, and I knew there might be hard times. I was committed to working through them. My parents were still together, for better and worse, and I never thought I would do anything differently.

  I had finally found the missing piece that I’d been looking for all these years, the unreachable part of Rob. It was the knowledge that his ambition drove him. He was committed to his work, and faithful to One Cell. Everything else was far down the list.

  In a flash, I saw what my life looked like from the outside, what Aurora had tried to tell me. My life wasn’t my own. But I wasn’t a target; I was an accessory to Rob’s vision and goals. As long as I was in his life, there wouldn’t be a choice about me and the boys being part of the Studio. It was his way of life. It was more core to who he was than our marriage.

  That poster. The dramatic shadows, the rosy sunset, the Hallmark message. I had thought it was a Valentine’s present for me. I had let myself believe it was a symbol of family, of true love. But it was so goddamned corny. I could see Aurora gagging. On top of everything else, I had lost my edge.

  I slipped back inside and went upstairs to the boys’ room. Cap lay stick straight in his twin bed, covers up to his chin, hands neatly clasped on his chest. My little angel. In his matching bed, Leo, as usual, had rotated ninety degrees and was now sideways on the bed, the covers in a twist, his head nearly dangling off the edge. I pulled him back to his pillow, str
aightening him up. Now the two of them were parallel again, their breath rising and falling in sync as it often did. Their bodies formed such small bumps under the thick down duvets. We hadn’t ruined them yet. But their vulnerability terrified me. My job was to protect them, even from a man who loved them and wanted to give them the world.

  I didn’t care about being a movie star, about being Rob Mars’s wife. Not anymore. What I wanted, more than anything, was for my boys to have an imperfect, simple, real-world childhood where they could have friendships that came and went, get report cards, study the secret lives of turtles, and when the day came, they would mourn Mr. Hooper on Sesame Street, or his modern-day equivalent.

  The only reason I was still in this marriage was for Cap and Leo. But I was wrong. Staying wasn’t best for them. It would slowly, insidiously form them. I couldn’t sit around for a day, an hour, a minute, with the sense that other forces would shape my sons’ lives.

  I had to get them away, to start a new life. I wanted a divorce, and I wanted custody. I looked at my phone, next to me on the bed, and remembered how, right after I called Lexy, her number went dead and she was whisked away to Mustique. My phone was being monitored. And Jordan was always with me. And Lewis, a longtime One Cell employee, had the keys to “my” car.

  I knew what I had to do. I just had no idea how I could ever do it.

  PART FOUR

  DAYLIGHT

  1

  I just want to go on a hike, like we used to,” I said into my phone.

  Aurora and I had been friends since I was fourteen and if there was anything she knew for certain about me it was that I never had and never would want to go on a hike. My expeditions were strictly armchair.

  “I would love to,” Aurora said. “I’ve been missing our hikes. Just don’t get us lost like you did last time.”

  Leave it to Aurora to take a lie and run with it. I had missed her.

  “But I need you to know: I’m very happy being part of the Studio. I can’t associate with you if you’re still talking to that guy—what was his name?”

  Aurora instantly picked up on what I was doing. “Buddy. Don’t worry. He turned out to be a creep.”

  The hike Aurora chose ostensibly led to a waterfall, but it hadn’t rained much lately in Topanga and everything was dry. The first half of the trail was flat, but it soon became so steep that in places there were chain handholds along the rock wall of the path. My sneakers, which must have been designed for in-gym use, had zero traction and I was sliding all over the place. Aurora set a rigorous pace.

  “I get it,” I panted behind. “I didn’t listen to you.”

  “I’m your best friend! You ditched me for fame and fortune!”

  I stopped. “I know you’re joking,” I said, “but you’re right. I’m sorry. I got swept up in . . . all of it. I thought it was a dream come true. Go ahead. Tell me I’m a shallow bitch.”

  “I guess it’s not entirely your fault. The One Cell Studio plus Rob Mars. That is a hard-core combo. I can’t really blame you for getting sucked in.”

  I’d once accused Aurora of leaking information to the press, but now I suspected the Studio of tapping my phone. Had Geoff tried to frame her—the one friend I had who would worry and warn me about the organization? Had he poisoned me against her?

  Though I think there were, and are, many honest, good people in the Studio, I was soon to learn about its dark underbelly. To Geoff, public perception was everything. He had groomed Rob as his poster boy, and he would do anything to maintain that image. Which included me, Rob’s perfect wife. To turn me against Aurora was just what Geoff would do to “protect” me.

  At the top of the climb, we took a water break on a comfortable perch overlooking the Pacific.

  “This feeling in my legs. I don’t like it,” I told Aurora.

  “You prefer to do that weird yoga shit at the Studio?” Aurora teased.

  “No, I hate that, too. But this feels more . . . self-inflicted.”

  Exertion aside, to be outside and perfectly alone—it was amazing. I was free. Free from paparazzi. Free from tapped phones. Free from the watchful eyes of too-polite household employees. A gray “S” of highway was so far below that we couldn’t hear its white noise. Even the trees held still. Safe at last, I told Aurora everything.

  Aurora, who’d seemed so alarmist all along, was careful not to judge. I now know that she’d been carefully prepped for this meeting by none other than the infamous One Cell rebel Buddy White. Aurora had been told not to scare me away with all she knew about the Studio. It worked; I found her supportive and practical.

  And then, when I thought I’d told her everything, I finally said what I’d been thinking ever since I’d found Rob’s scripts.

  “This is my fault. I got exactly what I wanted: a perfect-on-the-outside husband.”

  It was the first time I’d admitted it out loud. Rob, whose very touch had given me shivers, was still the enigma he’d been when we first met. The allure of that mystery had transformed into a kind of torture. Giving up the grand lifestyle—that didn’t faze me. But I had to accept that the love I’d felt, the love I’d believed in, the love I’d built my life around—it was all a façade. Explaining that, for the first time, I wept.

  Aurora put her arm around me. “You loved him. Of course you loved him. It’s Rob fucking Mars. You won the heart of the prince of all the land. It’s so hard to let go of that.”

  “Rob Mars.” I was crying and laughing. “I’m dumping Rob Mars. Can I do that?”

  “Actually,” Aurora said, “dumping him might be even cooler than marrying him.”

  Then I got serious. “But look what happened to Lexy. When she left Rob she walked away from everything. But I have more to lose. Rob will want the boys. That cannot happen. I can’t lose them. I’d stay with Rob forever before I’d let that happen.”

  I know how it sounds. Rob Mars stealing my children! This wasn’t a made-for-TV movie (please, I would never). For all the custody issues in all of Hollywood, for all Rob’s power and influence, he couldn’t keep my children away from me. Except . . . this was Rob Mars and the Studio. Lexy seemed to have grown to appreciate her quiet small-town life, but did she have a choice? Geoff’s girlfriend, Patricia, had disappeared. Emotions are a chemical reaction. Well, there was a chemical reaction going on in my gut, and it told me to be very, very careful. I couldn’t just grab Cap and Leo and walk out the door, and Aurora and I both knew it.

  “You have to call him,” Aurora said.

  “I know.” I stood up and paced in a tight circle around the summit.

  “You don’t have to do it right now,” Aurora said.

  “Give me your phone.”

  I needed my father’s help, but I had no idea how he would respond. After all, being married to Rob was everything he’d ever wanted for me. Not just the famous, rich husband and beautiful children. Rob was my career ticket. That was what my father had arranged for me before I’d even dreamed of marrying a megastar. The Safe House was about to catapult me to the next level. Staying with Rob meant success—my father would accept nothing less.

  I called him at work—something I’d only ever done to announce that I’d landed a part. I didn’t mince words. “Dad, I’m leaving Rob and I need your help.”

  My father spoke. “I got you into this, and I’ll get you out of it.” There was an odd garbled sound at the other end of the line, and when he spoke again I could barely hear him. “My baby girl, I’m sorry, for what I did, for all of this . . . Please forgive me, Lizzie.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. He hadn’t called me Lizzie since I was little. “Of course, Daddy.” There was so much to say that I couldn’t find another word.

  I heard him sigh deeply, and I was almost relieved when his next words summoned his familiar gruffness. “Tell me what you want.”

  My father, whose ambition on my b
ehalf had both shaped my life and put a wedge between us, was at last ready to listen to me. He’d always cared about me, but for the first time he actually cared about what I wanted. My answer was easy.

  “I just want my children.” I would move to Bend, Oregon, and give up acting forever if that was what it took. So long as I was with my boys.

  “You got it, Elizabeth.” I smiled in spite of myself. That was Doug Pepper for “I love you.”

  Four days later, on a Saturday, my father met me and Aurora at a nondescript office in Santa Monica that his secretary had rented under the name of a client.

  As always, Doug Pepper came prepared. “First off, we need to get you to New York as soon as possible,” my father said. “You’ll start applying to New York schools for the twins immediately.”

  He explained that unlike California, where the family courts liked to split everything fifty-fifty, in New York, one parent would be awarded primary custody and the other would get visitation. Even though we hadn’t spent quite enough time in New York to establish residency, if the New York courts saw that we were serious about staying, they would probably accept the case.

  “Second: money. Don’t worry about money,” he said. “I realize you don’t like to mix business and love. However, the prenup I had my lawyers draw up for you is watertight. Aside from your savings from American Dream and the proceeds from the sale of your condo, you will have an additional eleven million dollars safely in your Pepper Mills account to get you back on your feet.”

  Aurora whistled.

  I rolled my eyes. “My dowry,” I said with scorn.

  “You’ll be thanking me for it when Rob’s people freeze your joint accounts,” my father said grimly.

  “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it!” Aurora chimed in. “Uh . . . for charity!” she added.