Epic Fail

by Claire Lazebnik

  A half hour later, Chase parked his car in a huge garage in Hollywood and we all got out. I shed my jacket, and Chase locked it in the trunk for me. “You sure you won’t be cold?” he asked me.

  “Probably. But—”

  “What price beauty?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Now we walk.” Chase took Juliana’s arm and led the way to the stairs out of the parking garage and onto Hollywood Boulevard.

  Derek and I fell back a few paces behind them. The night was cool, and I wasn’t wearing much other than that thin slip, but I was shivering with excitement, not cold.

  I glanced sideways at him. I didn’t feel like I should bring up the email since he hadn’t mentioned it. But it was weird not bringing it up. His face was impassive, impossible to read. And I didn’t even know how to begin. “Thanks for telling me all that horrible stuff that happened to your sister?”

  Better to wait and let him bring it up. If he did.

  You could see the movie theater we were going to from a block away: there were huge searchlights, and the whole area was cordoned off with police officers and security guards patrolling the edges. People were thronged outside the velvet ropes: tourists, who had probably just come to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre to see its famous footprints and then discovered with delight that an actual movie premiere was going on, with Melinda Anton herself in attendance.

  “Wow,” I said. “The whole red-carpet thing is for real.”

  “Yeah,” Derek said heavily. “It’s real.”

  I glanced sideways at him. “I’m sorry. I’ll probably say lots of stupid things tonight. Do you mind?”

  “No.” Like I said: a man of few words.

  “Do you like going to these things? It must be cool seeing your parents up on the screen.” He didn’t reply immediately, so I added sheepishly, “Or not.”

  “It’s just how it is,” he said. “They were already famous when I was born. I’ve never known it any other way.”

  “Was it weird when you were little? Going to stuff like this?”

  “I usually stayed at home with a babysitter. Georgia, too.” There was a pause and then, to my surprise, a sudden torrent of words. “We hated the whole paparazzi thing. Photographers would stake out our preschool and hang from trees and yell at us to get our attention—crazy stuff like that. You’d walk out of a building and be blinded by flashes. My sister used to put her hands over her face and cry, she’d be so overwhelmed. One guy actually tried to get her to hold this vodka bottle he’d brought, so he could snap her picture holding it. She was seven.”

  “That’s awful.” I was beginning to understand why Derek came off as so standoffish. If you had to deal with strangers constantly getting in your face, rooting for you to mess up in some way so they could get a photo of it, you’d probably learn to be on your guard all the time. And the way some of the kids were at school—all sycophantic and fawning—probably just made him feel even more targeted.

  And then there were the people like me, who assumed he was a jerk just because he was trying to protect himself from all that other stuff.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, misinterpreting my silence. “I won’t let anyone bother you tonight.”

  “It’s not that. I think I’m starting to understand a little more what you have to deal with every day. It sucks.”

  “It’s not all bad,” he said, as we joined up with Juliana and Chase, who were waiting for us near the theater entrance. “In about ten minutes, we’re going to be scarfing down as much free popcorn and Coke as we like. There are perks to my life, you know.”

  “To your life?” Chase repeated, overhearing the last bit. “Derek, your life is one big perk. I mean, look at this—” He gestured all around us. “This is the American Dream. And you’re living it.”

  “Yeah,” Derek said flatly. “I guess I am.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When you’re actually walking down a red carpet, the bright lights are blinding, and so are the flashes going off all over the place.

  Photographers all around us were calling out, trying to get the attention of anyone who might possibly be a celebrity. The tourists screamed whenever they recognized someone famous.

  Derek and I walked together, caught in the glare of the klieg lights and the stares of dozens of strangers. I felt excited, bewildered, important, unreal. . . .

  Someone said, “Hey, you! Girl in the slip dress!” and I turned toward the voice, without even thinking about it. A light flashed in my face. “Who are you?” the same voice called.

  I hesitated, but Derek firmly propelled me forward. “Just ignore them,” he said.

  A photographer leaned forward over the velvet ropes that separated us from them and shouted, “Hey, you’re Melinda’s son, right?” but Derek didn’t respond, just kept steadily walking.

  Juliana and Chase were right behind us. A voice yelled, “Hey, you—girl with the dark hair in the blue skirt!” I glanced back to see Juliana turn instinctively toward the speaker, and then the same guy screamed at her, “Get out of the way—you’re blocking my photo! Brooke, stop! Look here!”

  Brooke Shields was right behind Juliana and Chase.

  Juliana sped up, tugging Chase forward, and they caught up to us as we entered the building.

  “That was so embarrassing!” she said, collapsing against Chase’s side and hiding her face in his shoulder.

  “Don’t let them get to you,” Derek said. “Those guys make a living out of being professional jerks.”

  “Should we find our seats?” Chase asked, glancing around the crowded lobby. A few feet away from us, Megan Fox was talking to a woman in a glittery metallic dress, while a cameraman pointed a handheld video cam at her face.

  Derek shook his head. “I should check in with my folks first. They said they’d be doing interviews inside the lobby.”

  Juliana suddenly detached herself from Chase’s side and grabbed my arm. “Look!” she whispered. “That guy over there. See? He was on that Disney show we used to watch. We had the biggest crush on him—remember?”

  “Is he wearing eyeliner?” I said. “Yuck.”

  “I know. And those pants . . . they’re practically spray-painted on.”

  “This is all very disillusioning.”

  “There they are.” Derek pointed across the room. “Come on.” He led the way as Chase, Juliana, and I followed in single file along the path he cleared through the crowd to the other end of the lobby, where a more organized interview situation was taking place. Several people were standing against the wall, chatting comfortably like the reporters were old pals and they hadn’t even noticed the microphones and cameras.

  I recognized all three actors—Johnny Wall, Bud Depatillo, and Melinda Anton . . . aka Derek’s mother.

  I stared at Melinda Anton as we came closer. It was weird how much I felt like I already knew her. Everything about her face was so familiar: the beauty spot near her lips, the large luminous blue eyes, the unusually arched eyebrows, the cheekbones any woman in America would kill for—and Derek had inherited, come to think of it.

  She felt like an old family friend, like an aunt or a cousin, like someone I had spent hours and hours of my life with. Which I guess I had, only she was always lit up on a screen and I was always in the dark below, watching her. And of course I didn’t know her at all—I only knew the characters she played.

  Tonight she was wearing a simple black dress, sleeveless, but tailored so that it skimmed her body and showed off her narrow waist and slender legs. Her layered hair looked artlessly messy—which probably meant it had been painstakingly styled by a pro. At first I didn’t think she was wearing much makeup at all, but up close I decided she was, it was just skillfully applied.

  She was even more beautiful in real life than she was on the screen.

  She spotted her son and blew him a kiss. “I’m almost done,” she called gaily to him. “Don’t go anywhere.” Then she glanced around, saying, “Kyle?”

 
A man immediately removed himself from a nearby group of people and came toward us.

  “Hi, Dad,” Derek said.

  “There you are,” said Kyle Edwards. “Did you kids find parking?”

  Wow, was that the kind of question movie stars asked their kids? It was so . . . boring.

  Derek nodded. “Yeah, no problem.”

  His father was casual in a T-shirt and jeans, but the unzipped leather jacket he wore somehow made him look carelessly elegant at the same time. He was handsome, and if it hadn’t been for a few creases near his eyes and a slight puffiness under them, you’d think he was still in his twenties. His eyes were just like Derek’s: gorgeous, dark, veiled in a way that made it impossible to know what he was thinking, but also made you want to find out. His light brown hair was slightly overgrown and stylishly greasy from product. “Chase! How’s it going, man?” he said, shaking hands with his son’s friend. He turned to Juliana who nervously sidled closer to me. “And who’s this?”

  Chase introduced us and Kyle took first her hand and then mine, gazing into my eyes with an intensity that made me shiver. “Are you also at Coral Tree?”

  Juliana just looked at me, so I had to answer for us both. “Yes. We’re new this year.”

  “Here I am!” a voice trilled. And there she was indeed: Melinda Anton, shoving her hair out of her eyes with a pretty gesture and gently pushing her husband to the side so she could enter our little circle. “Sorry about that. I’m done. For now. Chase!” she exclaimed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you came tonight. You always bring the fun.”

  “Oh, no!” he said with mock distress. “I left the fun in my car. Shall I run and go get it?”

  “Didn’t your parents teach you to always keep a spare fun in your pocket?” she said, laughing. She turned toward Juliana and me. “Derek,” she said, but she was looking at us—my God, those beautiful eyes, that gorgeous face, all aimed at us! “Introduce me to your friends.”

  “Juliana and Elise Benton,” he said. “This is my mother, Melinda Anton.” Like we might not know that.

  She pressed our hands warmly. “You’re sisters? Which one of you is older?”

  “I am,” Juliana said faintly.

  “She’s a senior,” Chase added. “Like me and Derek.” He nudged Juliana’s shoulder gently with his.

  Melinda registered that and then looked at me with sudden interest.

  And I knew why. Chase’s affectionate bonk had made it clear that he and Juliana were there as a couple. Which maybe meant I was Derek’s date. Her son’s date.

  I flushed under her scrutiny and felt like I was about two years old. The slip dress that had seemed so elegant back at the house now seemed juvenile compared to the severe lines of her simple linen dress. “And you?” she said in her deliciously throaty voice. “What grade are you in, Elise?”

  “Eleventh.”

  “So you don’t have to worry about college yet.”

  “Don’t have to, but I do—I’m an early action worrier,” I said.

  She acknowledged my attempt at a joke with a gracious smile. “Do you have any other siblings?”

  “Two more sisters.”

  “Wow!” Her beautifully arched eyebrows soared up. “All girls in your family?”

  “Yes—I think my parents are still surprised that not a single boy snuck in there.”

  “They should adopt one from a Third World country,” she said seriously. “It’s such a wonderful thing to do—you literally save a life.”

  Yeah, right. I could just picture my mother, Madonna, and Angelina Jolie all trooping off to Malaysia together and becoming besties on the way.

  A woman in a navy business suit approached us. “Melinda, Lauren from E! Entertainment says she hasn’t gotten any time with you yet.”

  “Sorry. I’m coming.” She ran her fingers quickly through her hair, twisting the ends and arranging them carefully so that they appeared to fall carelessly. “Excuse me, kids. I wish I could stay and chat, but I’m working tonight.”

  “I’m not,” Kyle said cheerfully.

  “Actually,” the woman in the suit said, “they’d like to do some photos with both of you.”

  He shrugged in a becomingly self-deprecating way, then carefully ran his fingers through his hair and minutely adjusted his leather jacket on his shoulders. “Well, then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  Melinda took his arm. As they moved off, she called over her shoulder, “We won’t be sitting together, but I’ll see you all at the party.”

  Party? Juliana mouthed at me. I smiled and shook my head. I hadn’t realized there was going to be a party either. Cool.

  We snagged some popcorn and soda—there were rows of both out on the counter, free for the taking, just as Derek had promised—then Chase and Juliana headed up the stairs to the balcony where their seats were. Derek and I were sitting downstairs. We were squeezing through the crowd to get to the entrance of the auditorium when Derek exchanged a brief nod with some guy who was passing us.

  He immediately stopped and said, “Derek! How great to see you!”

  The guy was fairly handsome with lots of wavy hair that looked dyed and tanned skin that also looked dyed. Hard to tell how old he was. Somewhere between forty and death. “Wow, you’ve gotten tall!” he said, shaking Derek’s hand. “I haven’t seen you in years, not since I worked with your mom on Slippery Slope. You barely came up to my knees back then.”

  “How are you?” Derek asked politely.

  “Good, good. You still have that stamp collection?”

  Derek’s smile grew even more strained. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

  “You should keep it up. It’s good to have a hobby.” Derek made a noncommittal sound. “You know, my son is just a couple of years older than you,” the guy said. “Our families should get together—I think you guys would really hit it off.”

  “Sounds great,” Derek said. “Excuse us.” He took my arm, and we moved toward the auditorium entrance.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “No idea. Probably some D-list actor who wrangled an invitation out of his agent. It’s the story of my life—everyone knows who I am because of my parents, but I never know who they are.” His hand was warm and steady under my arm. “It’s my mistake for letting him make eye contact with me.”

  “Really? You can’t make eye contact with people?”

  “Not out in public. The second you do, people see it as an invitation to start talking to you.”

  “Is it so bad to have to talk to people?”

  “Not always—but a lot of people are nuts and think they actually know my mom and dad because they’ve seen them in movies and read about them in the tabloids, so they’ll say really personal things. And my parents have to be polite or suddenly they’re known as the rudest stars in Hollywood. The easiest thing is just not to open the door to a conversation.”

  “Makes sense.” We were stuck in a bottleneck of people waiting to get inside. I took a sip of my Diet Coke. “Well, now I have to ask—”

  “What?”

  “A stamp collection, Derek? Really?”

  He cringed. “Just stick the knife in and twist it around, why don’t you? I was, like, six. And it was Jackie’s idea—my nanny. Since my parents were always filming on various exotic locations, it gave us something to look for wherever we went.”

  “So did you score some Australian stamps this summer?”

  “Oh, damn, I forgot,” he said sarcastically. We had made it through the entryway, but as we headed down the aisle we got stuck behind two young women in absurdly tight and very similar short black dresses who had stopped to hug each other with excited squeals. Idly watching them, Derek said, “Now we only travel during school vacations, but when George and I were little, our parents would pull us out of school and take us all over the world with them. Jackie always came along. She’s great.” He glanced around the bustling auditorium. “Mom invited her tonight, but she’s not r
eally into this stuff—she’d only come if George or I begged her to.”

  “How long has she been your nanny?”

  “She’s always been my nanny,” he said. “Although I hate that word—it sounds so stupid. I don’t know what else to call her, though. She was around all the time, took us to the park and the doctor, got us ready for bed, helped us with homework. . . .”

  The word for that is mom, I thought. “Was it fun or overwhelming?” I asked. “All that traveling?”

  “Both. Georgia and I saw amazing things, but we never got to be with other kids. Made us closer than most siblings but also probably a little—” He searched for the word. “—socially inept, I guess.” He shot a grin sideways at me. “You don’t disagree with that, do you?”

  “Yeah, that’s not an awkward question,” I muttered, and thus managed to avoid answering it.

  The girls in the tight dresses finally separated, and we were able to continue down the aisle.

  When we got to our row, we had to squeeze past a few people who were already sitting down. I hoped my butt wasn’t too much in anyone’s face. Our seats were right in the middle and basically the perfect distance from the screen. I guess when your mother’s the star of the movie, you get good seats at the premiere.

  My fingers were freezing from holding my Diet Coke; it was a relief to put it in the cup holder. Derek offered me some popcorn from the bag he was holding, and I reached in greedily.

  “It all seems so cool from the outside,” I said.

  “What does?” Derek asked.

  “The whole celebrity thing. I mean, the traveling and the red carpet and all. . . . But now I know it’s got its dark side. Do you ever wish your parents weren’t so famous?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve never known it any other way. It’s like asking me if I wish I had different colored eyes.”

  “Do you?”

  There was a short pause. “Sometimes I wish I had blue eyes,” he said. “Girls seem to trust guys with blue eyes more.”

  My chest contracted at that. “Only the stupid ones.” I twisted toward him so I could put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. I was wrong about everything. You should hate me. Why don’t you hate me?”