by Jen Calonita
“What’s on your mind, Burke?” he asks without looking up. I blush madly. He’s caught me staring at him. Again.
“Nothing ,” I reply. “I’m just so happy to see all of you. It’s been such a loooonnnnnggg week without you guys.” After PYA wrapped, I had two blissful weeks off and the four of us hung out 24/7. After FA started back up, we hung out at night or they’d come by the set (I love showing off my boyfriend!), but now that school has started again, everyone’s schedules are all over the map and we’re limited to getting together on weekends. It’s so depressing.
Liz’s smile turns into a yawn. “We missed you too,” she mumbles sleepily. “Especially when we were sitting in American history and Mrs. Watson was droning on about our gazillion-page textbook, The American Nation.”
“We have to read the second chapter on prehistory to the eighteen hundreds and write a short essay by Monday about the most trying time for settlers in the English colonies,” complains Austin. “I wish I could rewind three weeks and be back at your house, lying by the pool.”
“Me too,” Liz chimes in, resting her hands under her chin.
Her eyes look heavy, like she’s ready to go to sleep. “I’d even be your assistant again. And that’s saying a lot.”
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically. Liz was my second assistant (Nadine holding the longtime “first” throne, of course) on PYA and it wouldn’t be a lie to say she hated the job (Tip: Friends shouldn’t hire friends). Some good did come out of the experience, though. Liz met Daniella Cook, Hutch’s producing partner on PYA, and made such a great impression that Daniella gave her an after-school job helping out in the production office. Now Liz is seriously considering a career as a producer someday.
“I am so tired,” Liz whines. “But I missed you too much to cancel.” She frowns, revealing the dimple in her left cheek. “Between school, kickboxing, and working with Daniella, I could curl up under this table and not wake up till Monday. ”
Josh laughs, his face turning as red as his strawberry blond hair. “Just wait till your SAT prep class starts next week. You’re going to be really wiped.” Liz moans.
“Were you able to get into the one you wanted?” I flag down the waitress to take our order before Liz starts snoring.
“Yep. We have it during fifth period,” Austin says. “We take that the first half of the year and then second semester we take statistics. Liz and I got into the same class.”
“I’m stuck taking it on Saturdays because my school doesn’t have a prep during the day,” Josh complains. While Liz and Austin go to private Clark High School in Santa Rosita (which is where I joined them for a few months), Josh goes to the public school across town. “What about you, Kates?” Josh adds. “Are you taking a prep course too?”
I blush. “I don’t think so. Monique has been quizzing me, but she says I shouldn’t sweat the test too much since I’ll probably be on FA till I’m fifty.” I laugh, but when I think about it, it’s not really funny. What if the show is suddenly canceled or I’m slammed in the press about something really awful and I’m fired? If I get a bad score on the SATs, I’ll never get into a good college. And if I don’t get into a good college, I won’t be able to find a new career and new job prospects. And my money will run out. I feel myself start to perspire. An image of Mom, Dad, Matty, and me huddled on a street corner wearing shredded Prada coats flashes through my mind. I shudder.
I guess I could try out for Dancing with the Stars as a last resort. Double shudder.
“Are you cold?” Austin asks. I shake my head.
“The SATs are all I can think about,” Austin says to us. “Junior year is time to get serious, you know? I don’t have lacrosse till spring, so I’ve got no excuse not to hit the books. Coach wanted me to take track, but I’m not a hundred-meter-dash kind of guy. I’d rather concentrate on getting a killer SAT score so I can get into UCLA or Notre Dame or Boston College.”
Wait a minute. Austin is moving to Boston? The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Liz and Austin are going to college in two years and they’re probably going to pick someplace far away. My stomach starts to growl in protest. In the past, I never worried when Liz brought up college because it seemed like such a long way off, but it’s really not. Not anymore. I picture myself waving goodbye to Liz and Austin as they drive off to points unknown. Pretty soon we won’t get to hang out like this anymore. We’ll see each other on breaks and during the summer, but we’ll spend most of the year apart. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to burst into tears right in the middle of the courtyard at Les Deux.
Austin and Liz’s futures seem set. So where does that leave me? Do I even want to go to college? I already have a great job. Nadine is always bugging me about college, saying it’s really important for my growth. She recites her list of popular stars, like Natalie Portman, who’ve taken time off to go to class. That’s when I say that people like Natalie Portman and Julia Stiles weren’t starring on a hit TV show that shoots nine months out of the year when they went to college. But in theory, I guess I could go, if I want to. And if I don’t totally fail my SATs. I should talk to Monique about this. She’s been my tutor since I started on FA and it’s her job to prepare me for life by teaching me well, right? My PSAT scores weren’t horrible, but they weren’t stellar either. I should get SAT help. Just in case.
“So you’re thinking of a school on the East Coast?” I ask Austin, trying to sound calm and not at all concerned.
“Maybe,” Austin says, looking pensive. “But my top choice is UCLA.”
Oh thank God.
“NYU is still my top choice,” Liz says. “I’ve always wanted to go there, but now that I want to be a producer, I’m obsessed with getting in. Their film school rocks. And New York seems like such a great city to live in.”
“I will miss you tons, but it really does seem perfect for you,” I agree regretfully.
New York really is full of possibilities. Every time I go to New York to do the talk-show circuit, I fall even more in love with that city. In New York, no one even notices celebrities. It’s true. There’s no paparazzi brigade following you down the street, no cameramen in the bushes waiting to get a picture of your face dripping with Pinkberry yogurt. I wonder what it would be like to live there. It sounds serene, if you forget about the street traffic and constantly honking taxis. But I could probably drown them out with a noise machine from Sharper Image.
I have a fleeting image of Liz and me as roomies at NYU. Eating at Serendipity, flagging a cab with our arms full of shopping bags, Rollerblading in Central Park . . . How fun would it be to live 3,000 miles away from home and still be with Lizzie? Sure, I get to go away anytime I shoot a movie on location, but still! If I went to college, I’d be away all year. That would mean no parents, no rules, and no publicist. That’s kind of cool. Now I’m a little jealous, even if the idea is far-fetched. I push the fantasy out of my head and try to pay attention to what Liz is saying.
“I just hope I can keep up with everything I have on my plate,” Liz says, looking stressed. “I’m on overload already and it’s only mid-September. I don’t even have an hour a week to watch Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Don’t forget driver’s ed is starting too,” Austin says with a twinkle in his eye.
“That’s right,” I say, happy to change the subject. “I can’t wait for you guys to get your licenses and drive me around. Rodney is going to be so bummed he’s not my main chauf-feur anymore,” I joke. “Austin, your birthday is first, so I guess you’re hired.” His birthday is October 26, which makes him just shy of two months older than me. My birthday is December 11.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be seventeen,” Austin marvels.
“Welcome to the club, man,” Josh pats Austin on the back. Josh just got his license, but his mom still won’t let him take the car at night.
“Any idea what you want, Meyers?” I ask. “Other than a candy apple red Jeep Cherokee?”
Austin shrugs.
“Not really — other than you having the day off.” He leans over and gives me a kiss. He’s so cute.
“I don’t turn seventeen till March,” Liz laments. “I’m lucky they even let me sign up for the class now.”
“Backtrack,” Josh says suddenly. “Kates, what did you mean by, ‘I can’t wait for you guys to drive me around’? Aren’t you getting your permit too?”
I bite my lip. “I haven’t really thought about it,” I reply, feeling small. Wow, this conversation is getting really depressing.
“I think you should get your license.” Austin reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re not going to want Rodney to drive you everywhere for the rest of your life.”
Austin has a point. A license is my ticket to freedom. I could actually get in the car and go to Kitson Boutique by myself for once. It would be nice to get one of those cute little convertibles in a deep shade of green. I can see myself driving along Pacific Coast Highway, the wind blowing my hair. “How much fun would it be if we could all take driver’s ed together?” I say, feeling wistful. I frown. “But with my luck, I’d show up and Hollywood Nation would mob the parking lot with cameras and ruin class.” Everyone laughs.
Yes, my life is extraordinary and meeting the President and going on Oprah can’t be beat. But sometimes I can’t help but be frustrated when I realize I’m missing out on normal rites of passage like driver’s ed, going to my own prom, or having a dorm room the size of a shoebox. Skipping that stuff makes me feel ancient sometimes. Too ancient for someone who hasn’t even turned seventeen.
Austin gives me one of his beyond-perfect smiles that always make me turn to goo. “Private driving lessons are better than driver’s ed,” Austin says. “At least you won’t have to put your life in the hands of three other overexcited teens taking turns at the wheel.”
“That’s true.”
He’s trying to make me feel better and it’s working.
“Kates, Austin and I are in the same driver’s ed car,” Liz says. “I promise to spill all the details about Austin’s slipups so you don’t miss a thing.” She giggles.
“As if you’re going to be so much better,” Austin says to Liz, a smirk spreading across his face. “Picture this, Burke: Liz driving down the 101 with Mr. Thomas, Rob Murray, and me as passengers. That’s a horror movie waiting to happen!”
They erupt in laughter. I laugh too, but I feel stupid.
“KAITLIN BURKE! What are you doing here?” My publicist, Laney Peters, interrupts and almost knocks me out of my chair as she hugs me. “How are you, sweetums?”
Sweetums? This can’t be Laney even if she does look like her. She’s standing in front of me with her latest Gucci bag on her arm, wearing a Dolce & Gabbana tank top and Diesel capri jeans with ballet flats. She could walk the halls at Clark High with Liz and Austin and everyone would assume she was a student. (For all I know, she could be that young. She has never revealed her true age.) Laney’s long blond hair is ironed flat.
“I’m great, Laney, couldn’t be better,” I reply.
“Kaitlin, this is Heidi Caldwell, the West Coast editor of Men’s Matters,” Laney purrs. I look to Laney’s right and see a forty-something brunette with long curly hair, smiling at me. She’s wearing a fitted black tank and dark denim jeans.
Ohhhh . . . sweetums. Got it. I extend my hand to take Heidi’s and shake it politely before introducing Austin, Liz, and Josh.
“We were at Kelly Clarkson’s concert at Hyde, but it was so crowded.” Laney shudders in horror.
“How’d she sound?” I ask politely. Kelly is one of Laney’s other high-profile clients.
“Perfect,” says Laney. “And she looks incredible. She may pose for Men’s Matters.”
“Kelly?” She seems too sweet to slather on some oil and pose in a G-string for millions of guy readers to ogle.
“Everyone wants to do Men’s Matters,” Heidi jumps in and says matter-of-factly. “You should consider it, Kaitlin. Your costar Alexis Holden is on our next cover. We’d have to wait a few months to do another Family Affairs star, but I’m sure they’d want you too.”
“You shot Alexis?” I’m feeling green with envy even though I’ve never had the desire to be photographed in a garter.
“Your sales would be through the roof if you did a Kaitlin Burke cover,” Laney tells her. “You should have approached us first. Kaitlin is a household name. Alexis will only be on the show for a few episodes, you know.” I try to suppress a smile. It’s nice to be in Laney’s presence when she goes to bat for me.
“Alexis is going to be huge,” Heidi counters. “Everyone’s talking about her. I mean, the girl came out of nowhere and now she’s got a role on FA, is hanging with Lindsay and Paris, and every guy in town wants her number. You don’t get hotter than that. And we’ve got her first cover.”
I feel my skin begin to blister. Hot? The girl has been on the air twice! Suddenly I can understand what Sky must have felt like last year when TV Tome graced me with their “Teen Queen” title. It’s not fun listening to people wax on about a competing star’s wattage when they’re not referring to your own.
“I would like to meet Alexis, Kaitlin.” Laney turns to me. “Alexis might not have a publicist. I’ll stop by the set next week and we’ll have some chai tea. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Oh, the hostess is waving us over.” Laney leans down and gives me a kiss on both cheeks. I’m so surprised, I practically head butt her. She clears her throat.
“Enjoy your night, everyone,” says Heidi. “Think about my offer, Kaitlin.”
“I will.” I smile sweetly until they walk away. Then I rub my temples.
“What was that about?” asks Austin. “Who is Alexis?”
“More importantly,” butts in Liz, “promise me you won’t do those stupid men’s magazines. They’re degrading.” Austin and Josh blush. They must have subscriptions.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER TWO: The reason actresses do men’s books is simple: They’re great publicity. Hollywood knows the people who buy tickets to a movie’s opening weekend, or stand in line all weekend for a concert, are mostly young guys. And the way to get the word out to guys is to do a cover in your underwear for a magazine like Men’s Matters. Even studios keep tabs on these covers. The dark side of these covers is that they can be demeaning. Have you seen the gymnastic poses some of these girls have to strike? Or the interview questions? Do I really have to talk about being a virgin? I can’t even have that conversation with my boyfriend, let alone an entire subscription base!
Laney may have bristled at Heidi about me not getting the cover of Men’s Matters, but the truth is she wouldn’t let me be on their cover anyway. She thinks those men’s books are Playboy-light and should only be considered if you’re a C-level star hoping to bump up to a semi-B. Guess that makes Alexis still a C. Hee-hee.
Wait, that’s mean. What’s wrong with me?
I tell everyone a little about Alexis and her character before the waitress brings our dinner. My ravioli filled with spinach and ricotta cheese looks amazing, but I have to make sure I leave room for a little dessert. I don’t want to overdue it when I have to fit into a size four sample for FA Monday morning. “Enough talking,” I tell them. “Let’s dig in.”
“This gnocchi is incredible,” Liz mumbles, taking a bite of her pasta. “Doesn’t it look comestible?”
Austin, Josh, and I look at each other in confusion and then at Liz.
“Comestible means ‘fit to be eaten.’” Liz sounds so proud of herself. “That’s an SAT vocabulary word.”
“Show-off,” Josh jokes as he takes a spoonful of his linguini with clams. “All right, smarty. What does demulcent mean?”
“To de-mulch something?” she asks, sounding unsure.
Austin makes a buzzer sound. “That would be incorrect. Sorry, Miss Mendes, but I’m afraid the correct answer is an application soothing to an irritated surface.”
“What’s denizen mean? An inhabitant. HA!”
“Oh yeah? What about felicitate? To wish joy or happiness.”
I feel like I’m trapped on some hideous game show hosted by Howie Mandel. I eat my ravioli, staring at another table, secretly wishing I had a list of SAT vocabulary words stashed away so that I could join this bizarre discussion.
I realize I’m staring at Laney and Heidi’s table and I notice Heidi hold up a picture to show Laney. It’s one of Alexis in a pink bra and panties. I squint menacingly. Even from here I can tell she looks good. I turn to Liz, Josh, and Austin to say something, but they’re still busy quizzing each other.
“Indivisible. Not separable into parts.”
“Please. Who doesn’t know the word indivisible?”
I flag the waitress over and ask her to put in our order of cupcakes. That’s about the only thing that will cheer me up right now.
The SATs, driver’s ed, college . . . my biggest problem is whether my call time has been switched or Sky is feeding lies about me to perezhilton.com. I watch the three of them quiz each other and suddenly our worlds seem so far apart.
I’ve got an SAT question. What’s another word for feeling left out?
FRIDAY, 9/13
NOTE TO SELF:
Ask Monique 2 beef up SAT prep Q’s.
Have Nadine look in2 permit test requirements & driver’s ed.
Find great b-day present 4 Austin!
Three: Dressed for Success
Please don’t tell the press I said this, but I have a confession: I secretly hate weeknight Hollywood events. I’m not antisocial, or totally boring, it’s just that I don’t like being out late when I know I have long workdays ahead of me. What if I overslept and was late to set? (The last thing I want is for my director or the studio head to write a letter bashing my tardiness and sending it to the press to prove he means business.)
Now that I am over sixteen and no longer fall under the child labor laws, my workdays usually stretch from five AM to eight or nine in the evening and include meetings, interviews, photo shoots, and schoolwork. Some days, it’s just too much. That’s why I’ve finally put my size nine Manolos down and told Laney, Mom, and Nadine to run weeknight events by me before RSVPing. Unless it’s a major happening, I’d rather go home, watch the latest TiVo’d episode of Ugly Betty, and collapse in a large, hot bubble bath.
