Starstruck

by Rachel Schurig

  “No, Mom,” I cried, already losing my temper with her. “I need someone who can be flexible, someone who can come to the set and travel with us when necessary.”

  “I don’t know why you want to take this job, anyhow,” she continued, full-on blubbering now. “You had a perfectly good job at home. And now, you want to go running around after a movie star, when you have a four-month-old daughter at home.”

  I had to shove my hands in my pockets to keep from slamming them down on the counter. “Mom, if I keep working that job, I’ll never be able to really provide for Beth. There’s no room for advancement. I’ll always need your help and—”

  “We’re your family. We’re supposed to help you!”

  “You’re not supposed to house us for the rest of our lives!” I yelled, finally losing my temper. “How do you not see that I want to care for us myself?”

  “You shouldn’t be doing it by yourself! That’s what she has a father for!”

  That was the absolute last straw. I stormed from the kitchen and up to my room, only barely managing not to slam the door when I remembered that Beth was two feet away, sleeping in her bassinet.

  My mother drove me crazy.

  I stayed in my room for the rest of the day, even though I was supposed to be joining the rest of the family for dinner at the Medinas. I felt a little bad, knowing that my cousin Laura and my sister would be wanting details on the trip to Hollywood. But I figured denying them the gossip would be better than ripping my own mother’s face off at the dinner table.

  About half an hour after my parents left, there was a knock on my bedroom door. Before I could freak out that there was someone in the house, Lizzie’s brother Sam called my name softly. “You in there?”

  I jumped off the bed and opened the door. He was standing in the hallway, alone, hands shoved into his pocket. “Your mom told us what happened.”

  “Let me guess—your mom sent you over here to talk some sense into me.”

  He snorted. “You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

  I heard Beth whimper behind me. “Let’s go down to the living room.”

  I followed him down the stairs. “Are you hungry?” I asked. “I can’t believe you gave up your mother’s cooking to come and talk to me.”

  He pointed at a Tupperware container on the table by the door. “She, uh, sent dinner with me. For both of us.”

  I smacked his arm lightly. “You’re so spoiled.”

  I divided the still piping hot skirt steak up onto two plates, adding rice and veggies, and popped a few tortillas into the oven to warm while Sam poured us each a glass of ice water.

  “Cheers, cuz,” he said, once we were seated. “So. You want to talk about it?”

  “She drives me crazy, Sam. Seriously. She wants me to live in this house and work at a shitty job for the rest of my life. She doesn’t care if I’m miserable, so long as I’m not rocking the boat.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t want that,” he said. “She loves you. She wants you to be happy.”

  “Then she has no idea what would make me happy.”

  He didn’t respond, and I angrily tore into my first tortilla, taking way too big of a bite in my haste and almost choking.

  “She thinks I should be with Jim,” I finally said. “That’s why she wants me to stay in my shitty job. Because she thinks if I’m broke and desperate enough, I might take him back.”

  He nodded. “That’s the sense I get.”

  This time, I did slam my hands down. “Why does she think that’s okay?”

  “Because in her mind, misguided as it might be, she thinks the best thing for Beth is to have both of her parents.” I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “I know, Sof. I’m not saying she’s right. I’m just saying, for our parents, the…relationship isn’t as important, you know? I mean, I’m not saying they don’t love each other, your parents. But…”

  “Falling in love isn’t as important as doing the right thing.”

  “I know it sounds awful.”

  “It is awful.”

  “It’s the way they were raised. It was a different time.”

  “Well, I have no intention of bringing back the good old days.”

  My older cousin laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any different from you.” He chewed on his food for a few minutes. “So you decided to take the job with the movie star, huh?”

  I pushed away the reservations I still had about the job. “Yeah. So long as I can find a nanny who can be flexible enough to help me.”

  He perked up at that. “A nanny? How flexible are you talking?”

  I started piling toppings into my second tortilla, wishing my tia had thought to add some of her famous guacamole. But she liked to prepare it tableside, so it probably wasn’t finished when she sent Sam on his way. “Well, I need someone who can travel once in a while—as of now, Jackson has two trips he needs to take over the course of the shooting.”

  “And you would take Beth?”

  I nodded. “He has a private jet, so it would be pretty easy to take her along. So long as I had someone to help me.”

  He nodded, looking thoughtful.

  “They would also have to work around his schedule, which can get kind of crazy. Like, sometimes, I’ll need to be at the set late into the night. I would want someone who would be willing to drive back and forth, so I could see her during my breaks. And maybe be around to take over if I have to do some work from home.” I sighed. “That sounds way too intense, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said, his eyes excited. “In fact, I know just the person.”

  “You do?” I felt a stirring of excitement. Could it be this easy? “Who?”

  “Me!”

  I stared at him, waiting for the punch line. When none came, I frowned. “Wait, what?”

  “I could do it. I could take care of Beth.”

  “You want to be a nanny?”

  He puffed out his chest a little, winking at me. “In my case, it would be a manny.”

  “Sam. You are not serious.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  I gaped at him. “Because…you’re a guy!”

  His eyebrows went up, making him look exactly like his sister Lizzie. “I never would have taken you for a sexist, Sof.”

  “I’m not—I didn’t mean—I just…” I took a breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Guys in our family just don’t do stuff like that.”

  “And that means I can’t? Look, I’m good with kids. You know that. I’ve taken care of plenty of little cousins and nieces and nephews. I can feed a bottle and change a diaper as well as anyone.”

  “But…what would Matias say?” Matias was Sam’s twin brother. I tried to imagine him telling Matias that he was going to take a job as a nanny, and the image wouldn’t come. Maybe it was sexist, but the guys in our family didn’t even contribute to the cooking or the cleaning or the bulk of the childcare. It was old fashioned, yes, and personally drove me pretty crazy. But machismo was pretty much a given in our family culture.

  “If he’s not cool with it, he can bite me,” Sam said. He leaned across the table. “Look, Sof. I know it’s not really expected in our family. But isn’t that the same thing as what we were talking about before? You’re the one who said you had no intention of bringing back the good old days.”

  “Sam, I’m not saying I think it would be…strange for you to take a job in childcare. I just want to make sure you’re okay with what your brothers will say.” I swallowed. “Or your dad.”

  He leaned back in his chair, that eyebrow once again arched. “Probably about the same as their reaction when I quit my job.”

  Ah. There it was. Sam had quit a very good, very stable job as a certified electrician right before Christmas. His family had been surprisingly supportive when his brother Carlos spilled the beans at Christmas—and by supportive, I mean they ignored it until the holiday was over. But I knew he was feeling the pressure, just like I was, to f
all in line and meet the family’s expectations.

  “Is this what you pictured yourself doing?” I asked. “When you quit?”

  “I didn’t see myself doing anything,” he said, his tone very close to snapping. “That was the problem. That is the problem. I don’t know what I want to do. This… At least it’s something different.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “And I gotta tell you, Sof, the idea of a job that pays me to hang out at a movie set, meet different people, and travel, getting me the hell out of here for a little bit, well, that sounds pretty damn good.”

  “Of course you should do it,” I said at once. I wasn’t going to argue with him when he put it like that. I fully understood the feeling of being trapped, of having no idea what should come next. I wasn’t going to condemn Sam to that feeling just because certain members of our family would think it was strange for a guy to take care of a baby.

  “Really?” he asked, looking surprised.

  “Really. You are great with kids. If you’re cool with the weird hours, I think you’ll be perfect.”

  He looked so excited, I decided I would kick the ass of whatever cousin teased him first. “That’s great!”

  “And we’ll get to hang out,” I added.

  “The two of us, chilling on a movie set,” he said, grinning. “I like it.”

  “You know Lizzie is probably going to kill you, right?” I asked, matching his grin. “She isn’t exactly a fan of me working with Jackson—or of anyone who makes that easier.”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “I can handle my little sister.”

  We were quiet for a moment, both of our meals forgotten. “She’s so lucky,” I murmured. “She’s always known just what she wanted.”

  Sam nodded. “I know it was hard for her to go after it. But I would give anything to be so sure of something.”

  I played with the rim of my water glass. “You know, she caused some pretty big ripples in our family.”

  “Lizzie?”

  I nodded. “Standing up to her parents—and Maria.” We both shuddered. “Leaving home. Living with a guy—”

  “A white guy.”

  “Yeah, a white, Episcopalian guy.”

  Sam snorted. “Do you think we would have made the choices we’ve made if she hadn’t done it first?”

  I considered that. “I probably still would have hooked up with Jim. I can’t blame my misguided libido on Lizzie.” Sam choked on his water, and I rolled my eyes at him. “But I doubt I would have been able to stand up to my parents about everything that happened next if she hadn’t set that example.”

  He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think I would have quit my job, either. I didn’t even know I wanted to until I saw how happy she was doing something just because it was what she wanted.”

  I raised my water glass. “A little toast to Lizzie then. For being brave.”

  Sam tapped his glass against mine. “Or stupid. One of the two.” He returned his attention to the plate of food. “Now, tell me more about this travel. Where do I get to go in the movie star’s private jet? And will there be hot women there?”

  Chapter Nine

  While Jackson went back to London for a week after the L.A. trip, I was in charge of overseeing the move and coordinating with the studio, his manager, his publicist, and various other members of what Sonja referred to as “the team” in order to make sure he had everything he needed to get started.

  You would think that moving into an already furnished condo would have been a relatively simple endeavor. Especially when Jackson insisted that he would only be using the first floor, preferring to leave the second closed up. “No sense in being wasteful,” he had told me. So you’d think it was just a matter of packing some clothes and moving right in. Maybe it would be like that in the real world, but in Jackson’s world, it was so much more.

  The shipment of his clothes arrived first, on the Tuesday before he came to town. I was already at the condo, emailing his manager. When the building’s doorman called to alert me of its arrival, I told him to send the courier up, expecting a few bags. What I got instead was enough clothes to fill several closets. Box after box. they came in, my jaw dropping lower and lower as the parade of movers streamed in.

  When they were gone, I stood in the middle of the living room, staring at the boxes, wondering how in the hell I was going to get this all organized.

  “Guess the only way to start is to do it,” I said out loud, grabbing a kitchen knife and going to work on the tape of the box marked “#1.” As soon as I opened it, I realize that Sonja had once again proven her efficiency and organizational skills, even from afar. The first box contained a portfolio filled with instructions—there was a key for each box, letting me know what was inside, everything divided into categories. Promotional work. Photo shoots. Social. Casual. Track Suits. Dress Shoes. Trainers. At Home. Padded and Wooden Hangers—no wire or plastic! There was an entire section for Armani. I was starting to feel slightly faint.

  I perched on a leather barstool and read through the instructions several times. There were pages on how to hang the suits, what clothes were acceptable for folding instead of hanging (very little, it turned out. I was supposed to hang even his T-shirts, though they were permitted to be placed on wooden hangers instead of padded ones). When I was finished reading, I sat there for a long moment, feeling paralyzed. What if I messed something up and ruined a priceless piece of couture?

  I might have sat there all afternoon if I hadn’t gotten a text from Jackson.

  How’s it going?

  I typed out a quick reply. You have too many fucking clothes, Jackson.

  A moment later, the phone rang in my hand. It was him, of course.

  “I thought you had a million meetings today,” I said, in lieu of a hello.

  He was chuckling. “Sonja sent along the portfolio, didn’t she?”

  “This is insane, you know that right? Non-crazy people don’t catalog their clothes like this.”

  “It makes it easier when I get photographed a lot,” he explained. “There are designers I have relationships with, so I need to make sure I’m representing them when the paparazzi show up—”

  “Wait. Are you telling me that you coordinate the clothes you wear for the paparazzi?”

  “I have to, Sofie. We have deals with these designers, you know. It’s very important for them to get their clothes photographed.”

  “Wow.” I had never considered that the paparazzi might be anything other than an annoyance. “Well, I guess I better get to work then.”

  “Don’t worry about it too much,” he said. “It won’t matter quite as much in Detroit. Just shove everything in the closet.”

  “Yeah, like I’m going to shove tens of thousands of dollars of couture into the closet. Sonja would murder me.”

  He was chuckling again. “Well, don’t overdue it. I can help when I get there on Friday.”

  “Jackson. You do remembering hiring me, right? This is my job.”

  “Fine. Get to work, slow coach.”

  “Slow coach?”

  “You know. Lazy.”

  I laughed. “I’m going to assume that’s an expression that didn’t make it over the pond. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  The clothes took me two full days to get organized. And then there was the kitchenware delivery, the boxes of books and movies that arrived on Thursday, along with a stereo system so complicated, I didn’t even know where to begin. Sam brought Beth over for most of the afternoon and helped me finish up, even hooking up the scary stereo system.

  Friday was the day Jackson was set to arrive, and I was planning to pick him up at the airport so I could make sure he was settled properly. I stopped off at the condo one last time with the groceries I had picked up, following one of Sonja’s lists, as well as a few items I couldn’t help stuffing in my cart at Target. They weren’t exactly on the list, but I couldn’t imagine not having a few candles around and a throw or two for the couches.

  Jack
son’s flight came in at six that evening, and I was waiting at the baggage claim for him. “Look at you, slumming with the little people,” I told him as he approached, his security team behind him. He laughed and picked me up in a hug that I tried to pretend didn’t send my heart soaring.

  “The jet’s being serviced.”

  “That’s so annoying.” He released me, and I somehow managed not to sway on my feet. “If I had a nickel for every time my jet was in the shop…”

  “All right, all right, quiet, you,” he said, but he looked amused.

  And attracting some attention, in spite of his baseball cap and sunglasses.

  “Let’s head out to the car,” I told him, making eye contact with one of the security guys—Bill, I thought it was. He nodded at me and the other one—Hector—headed to the luggage belt to wait on the bag while we went out to the SUV.

  “Is this my car?” he asked when I pointed the key fob at the black Explorer.

  “It is.” I handed the key to Bill. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?”

  One of the emailed instructions I had received from his manager was a request to pick up a long-term rental for Jackson’s use. It specified that he would like a black Explorer. A perfectly nice car, but a far cry from the silver Lexus he had driven on his last trip here.

  “Absolutely,” he said, slinging his carry-on bag into the back seat before climbing in. I followed, and Bill climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “You wanted a Ford. Not a Lexus. Not a Range Rover.”

  “I’m hanging out in the motor city,” he said, slipping his glasses off so I was hit with my first full shot of those blue eyes. “I wanted to switch it up a little.”

  “If you say so,” I said, looking away. The intensity of his eyes took a little while to get used to.

  Bill pulled the car out into the arrivals lane where Hector was waiting with Jackson’s suitcase.

  “What in the hell could you possibly have in that suitcase?” I asked. “I’ve been hanging up your clothes for days!”

  He tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially. “The stuff I take with me no matter where I go.”