by Carol Snow
“You knew? And you didn’t say anything?”
When I didn’t respond, he said, “She has a party tonight. She can’t miss it.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want to go.”
“I don’t give a shit what she wants. She isn’t a guest—she’s a performer. For Phil Leventhal, the COO of Mercer Media. Mercer Media owns a controlling interest in Bright Broadcasting, which controls the Betwixt Channel. Phil’s paying Haley a quarter million dollars to sing ten songs at his daughter’s twelfth birthday party.”
When I’d absorbed that information and could adequately speak, I said, “You’d think he’d get a discounted rate.”
“That is the discounted rate. At least Phil thinks it is.”
“And he still wants her to perform? After, you know . . .”
“Kitty is Betwixt’s only hit show. Without Haley, there’s no Kitty, and without Kitty, there may as well be no Betwixt. All of the guests—most of whom are industry people—know that Haley’s supposed to perform. If Phil cancels, he’s signaling a loss of faith in her.”
I swallowed hard. “I’ll call Ken.”
“Who’s Ken?”
“Haley’s, um, friend. From Fullerton. They had plans this weekend.”
“Haley is ditching Phil Leventhal’s party to go out with a guy in Fullerton? Fuck!”
I tried to keep my voice steady. “You should be happy for her. Ken’s a nice guy. I actually think he’ll be good for her. And besides, you should be glad that she’s finally getting over Brady.”
“There was never anything going on between Haley and Brady.”
“What?”
“They were photographed together a couple of times after Brady joined the show, and rumors started. So the producers said, let’s go with it. They’d already tried making it look like there was something going on between Haley and Jason Price, but he’s kind of skeeve, and she wasn’t comfortable with it. So they sent Haley and Brady for some dinners and on a trip to Hawaii. The producers wanted to keep it going, but Haley refused.”
“They didn’t go out at all?” I clarified.
“No. And it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she get her ass back here. Now.”
Ken didn’t answer his cell phone or his home phone. Hoping he and Haley were ignoring the rings, I dragged poor Ben out of the house. “We’re going to go see Brice and Arches and—what’s their brother’s name?”
“Powell.”
“Him, too.”
“I haven’t finished my pancakes.”
“You can eat them in the car. Out of your hand.”
He was okay with that. I did my very best to ignore the syrup dripping down his arm.
Brady and Haley were never really a couple. I was still trying to decide how I felt about that. I was hurt that he had lied to me, of course—but he had probably signed some kind of confidentiality agreement. Besides, if Brady didn’t even like Haley, that meant that he liked me for myself.
Haley’s big yellow truck was parked in Ken’s driveway.
I let Ben push the doorbell. No one came. I knocked: still no answer. Juniper bushes ran along the front of the house. I crept through them and peeked through a living room window.
“Mommy, I don’t think you’re supposed to be doing that.”
“It’s fine, honey. The Druckers are our friends.”
The living room was empty.
“Looking for Mr. Drucker?”
At the sound of the man’s voice, I wheeled around to see a slightly stooped, gray-haired man in khaki shorts and a red crewneck sweater. He had a chocolate Lab on a leash.
“Oh!” he said when he saw my face. “I thought you’d gone with him.”
“No, um . . .” I wiggled around the bushes. “No. I didn’t.” I wiped some bush sprigs from my jeans, thinking, as I always did, that juniper smells just like cat piss. “So, he’s left, then?”
“Yup.” He shook the leash. The dog sat down, awaiting his next commandment. “Asked me to walk Tahoe here. I was just about to take him around to the backyard.”
He pointed at a cream-colored ranch house. “I live next door.”
“Oh. That’s nice. Did Ken have anyone with him?”
“I thought you . . .” Anxiety strained his face. That’s all I needed to add to my list of sins: making an old man believe he was losing his mind.
“Ken has a woman friend who looks something like me. A lot like me.”
“Okay! Now I get it.” His face softened with relief. “She was with him. They left this morning, right after Ken took the boys to his ex-wife’s. He said they were staying with Pamela this weekend.” He rolled his eyes: not a Pamela fan.
“Do you know where they were going?”
“They had camping gear. I think he said something about Mount Whitney.”
Mount Whitney is 225 miles from Fullerton. According to Mapquest (which always underestimates how long it takes to cross the Los Angeles basin), it would take approximately four hours to drive there. Even if I left a message for Haley at all of the Whitney base camps (assuming such a thing was possible, which it probably wasn’t) and even if she agreed to come home (which she probably wouldn’t) there was no way she could make it back in time for tonight’s performance.
I considered just telling Jay that I had been unable to track her down, but my conscience got the better of me. The situation was at least partly my fault. Without me, Haley would never have met Ken. And without me, Haley wouldn’t have been attacked for the sex tape. In my defense, Haley was an irresponsible nut job before I got involved, and if she hadn’t taken off with Ken, she might have taken off alone or with someone else, or she might have stayed in her velour sweats and locked herself in her room.
“Jay? I’ve tracked down Haley.” I was in the bedroom. Ben was in the main room watching yet another DVD.
“Oh, thank God,” Jay said. “Where is she?”
“On her way to Mount Whitney.”
Outside my window, Shaun Mott was shooting Nerf arrows across the pool. Oops—one went in the water.
“Where?” Jay asked.
“Mount Whitney. It’s a mountain.”
“Yes, thank you. I got that. The Mount tipped me off.”
“It’s the highest mountain in the continental United States,” I said, as if describing a really cool field trip. “She went with my friend . . . her friend . . . Ken. He’s an experienced climber. So, she’ll be completely safe—you don’t have to worry. But there’s no way she’s going to make it back by tonight.”
“She has to! Where is this mountain? How far away is it?”
“It’s like five hours from L.A. There’s just no way . . .”
The line was so quiet that I thought he’d hung up. No such luck.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
Reflexively, I looked at the closed door, afraid that Ben could somehow hear the distant profanities.
I did my best to keep my voice steady. “You’ll just have to say she got sick. Laryngitis, maybe. Or a sinus infection. You ever have one of those? They really knock you out.”
“They’ll know.”
“No, they won’t.”
“Haley never leaves the house. How could she get sick?”
“She does leave the house! She comes to Fullerton.”
He moaned. “If she doesn’t show tonight, her career is over. Not only will she piss off Phil Leventhal—a no-show will confirm what everyone suspects: that she’s unreliable. Nobody will ever sign her again.”
“Well, Haley’s not going to show,” I said.
“Yes, she is.”
“Jay, you’ve got to be realistic.”
“Haley’s going to show because you’re going to be Haley.”
I froze. “I don’t think this is a good—”
“It’s our only shot.”
“Jay, I can’t sing. And when Haley’s friends see me up close, they’ll know I’m not her. There’s just no way that—”
“You’ll li
p-sync. Nobody there knows her well enough to see the difference. And only the kids will really be paying attention, anyway—the adults will be too busy drinking and schmoozing.”
Ben opened the door. “There’s nothing good to eat.”
I covered the phone with my hand. “Give me a minute, Benji. Just let me finish my phone conversation and—”
“I’m hungry.” A whine was quickly working its way into his voice.
“One minute.”
He kicked the door.
“Benji!”
“I haven’t even had breakfast, and I want something to eat!”
“You have had breakfast! I made you pancakes! Jay? I need to call you back.”
In the yard, Shaun Mott retrieved the Nerf arrow, reloaded his plastic crossbow, and aimed for my front door.
“I’m sorry, Jay, but I can’t do it.”
Fifteen minutes had gone by. I had told Ben he needed to show better self-control, I had made him a cheese sandwich, and I had told him that he had lost all DVD privileges for the weekend and possibly for the rest of his life.
Clearly, he hated me, though he was smart enough not to tell me so. He took his cheese sandwich and went outside to brave Shaun Mott.
“Come on, Veronica. You owe me this,” Jay pleaded.
“I have my son this weekend.”
Outside my window, Ben sat on the front stoop. Shaun sauntered over to retrieve his arrow from the bushes.
“So get a sitter.”
“I don’t have a sitter.”
“So call an agency.”
“I don’t live in your world, Jay. I don’t call agencies. And I’m not going to leave my son with a complete stranger.” Of course, at this point, he’d probably prefer a stranger to me.
“So bring him to Haley’s house. The party’s not far, and you’ll only be gone for a couple hours, maybe not even that long. He can hang out with you while you get dressed and he’ll see you as soon as you come back.”
“And who’s going to stay with him? You?”
“I can’t. I’ve got to take you to the party. Esperanza can probably do it.”
“I can’t stand that woman! There is no way I’m leaving my—”
“I’ll call one of the security guys, then. Elliott likes kids. At least, I think he does.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay with him. We’ll watch movies.”
I pictured Jay and Ben in Haley’s theater room, eating popcorn, and watching an animated film—something brand-new that he hadn’t seen before. And then I imagined telling Ben that I was leaving him. Again.
I sighed. “I can’t.”
“I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars.”
It took me a moment to speak. “Are you serious?”
“I’m desperate. So, yes—I’m serious.”
Shaun Mott stood over Ben, burying him in his shadow as he threatened to shoot the arrow.
“Fifty thousand,” I blurted.
Immediately, I regretted my greed, afraid Jay would refuse to pay me anything at all.
“Be here in an hour,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-five
Target carried Kitty and the Katz: Season One Soundtrack; Kitty and the Katz: Season Two Soundtrack; and Kitty and the Katz: Greatest Hits. I went with the greatest hits.
“So you know how people say I look like Haley Rush?” I said to Ben as we pulled onto the freeway. In the interest of time, Jay decided it was best if I simply drove to Haley’s house, even it meant risking curious stares. Right now, that was the least of our worries.
“Who?”
“Kitty from Kitty and the Katz.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Well, the funny thing is, her manager thinks I look like her, too.”
“Who?”
“Her . . . this guy. Anyway, since Haley’s so famous, people are always asking her to go places. Only, she’s so busy that she can’t always go. So her manager has asked me to dress up and pretend to be Haley.”
“You mean, like Halloween?”
“Kind of. Except I’m the only one dressed up. And, I have to memorize some songs,” I told him. “Maybe you can help me.”
We sang all the way to Beverly Hills. The benefit of Haley/ Kitty’s simplistic songs was that they were easy to learn. They were catchy, too, I had to admit. My favorite went like this:
I LIKE ME (JUST THE WAY I AM)
You tell me to change my clothes—
My hair, my eyebrows, laugh, and nose.
You say I’m not good enough right now.
But I like me just the way I am—
My crooked grin and my too-big hands.
I like facing another day as meeeeee . . .
Because I’m not you, you see.
When Jay answered the door, in his red high-tops, faded jeans, and white T-shirt, he didn’t even look at me. Instead, he fell to one knee and spoke to Ben.
“You must be Veronica’s manager.”
Ben shook his head.
“Agent?”
He shook his head again.
“Not even a secret agent?”
Ben started to giggle.
“I know! You’re her bodyguard!”
Ben thought that was hysterical. If Jay could keep this routine up while I was gone, everything might be okay.
Finally, he stood up and sort of smiled.
“No paparazzi?” I asked. I hadn’t realized how uncomfortable I’d feel, knowing that Jay had seen my ass on YouTube.
He ran a hand through his hair. “I called security an hour ago, and they shooed them away. They’ve been swarming ever since . . . that thing.”
Blood ran to my face. I looked at the ground.
Jay cleared this throat. “So, anyway—this is how it’s going to go. Elliott will be here in three hours to drive you. Phil Leventhal’s assistant, Caitlin, will meet you at the side entrance and take you to your dressing room—a guest bedroom, probably. I’m going to give you an iPod. Keep it in your ears the whole time—that way, Caitlin won’t try to chat.
“The sound guys are over there now, so everything will be ready to go. I’ll text them the final playlist as soon as we figure it out.”
“Won’t they think it’s weird that I’m lip-syncing?”
He snorted. “Haley always lip-syncs her performances. The sound guys would think it was weird if she actually sang.”
I spent the next three hours in the Frontier Land living room, watching Haley’s music videos on the giant television and doing my best to imitate her. She was big on stepping from side to side, punching her fist in the air, and tossing her blond mane.
Jay assigned Ben to play backup air band, though he didn’t quite get the message that “air” equals “silent.”
“Freeze and smile at the end of each song,” Jay instructed as I finished a number.
I froze. I smiled.
“No,” he said. “Watch the video.”
“Boo-ya!” Ben shouted.
I collapsed on the soft leather couch and watched. As with every song, when Haley hit her final note, she held her position as long as she could while breathing hard from the exertion, and she beamed. Eyes wide, she blinked at the lights, as if she couldn’t quite believe that she, a little country girl from Montana, had wound up on stage. Her smile was toothy, enormous, and genuinely joyful. She wasn’t a good enough actress to fake it.
I got up and did it again. Ben switched from air guitar to air drum.
Finally, it was time to get dressed. I put on the midnight blue minidress that Simone had brought over weeks earlier. I wore my hair down to provide maximum facial coverage.
“No Simone today?” I asked when I came out to model.
“She quit. Because of the recent photos.”
Simone saw my butt. Crap.
When Jay saw my expression, he said, “Not those. The ones from the film premiere. The cowboy stuff. Which she’s trying to blame on Haley even though she put the outfit t
ogether herself.”
“Hey, Mom? Can I take drum lessons?” Ben asked.
“We don’t have room for a drum set,” I said. “But ask Daddy. I bet Darcy would love to listen to you practice.”
Jay checked his expensive watch. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before Elliott gets here. You want to run through a couple of the numbers one last time?”
“Sure.” I didn’t need to write the lyrics on my arm, after all. My head buzzed with Haley’s songs. I tossed my mane, pumped the air, and dove into the music, finishing the set with a master-piece of irony.
JUST LIKE ME, ONLY BETTER
When I was a little girl
I dreamed of who I’d be.
Now I look in the mirror,
And she’s looking back at me.
She’s just like me, only better!
She’s cool, she’s smart—a true go-getter!
I can’t believe I’m seeing what I see—
That better girl is me.
I froze. I smiled.
Ben said, “Bud-da boom bah!” and hit an imaginary drum.
Jay applauded.
I brushed a blond clump out of my eyes and bowed.
Jay’s phone rang: just a normal tone today. He checked the display and rolled his eyes. “Hey, Brady.”
Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!
“I haven’t heard anything,” Jay said. “I’ll call Monday.”
He wandered across the room, but I still caught everything he said. “I did call yesterday, but nobody called me back. Last I heard, the project hasn’t even been green-lighted yet, so it’s a little early to—” He stopped walking. “I don’t know. Fifty-fifty? Sixty-forty? . . . Monday. Right.”
He turned off his phone and slipped it back in his pocket. He held my gaze and waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, he said, “That was your friend.”
“Yeah. I got that.” If Brady was able to borrow someone else’s phone, why wasn’t he calling me? My phone was in my purse, in the other room. Maybe he was leaving me a message right now.
“Do you know when he’s coming back from Australia?” I asked.
