by Jen Calonita
We’re at the packaging station putting together boxes of Thanksgiving goods to feed Los Angelenos in need, and I’m afraid Liz may throw a box of Turkey Tasters crushed cranberries at someone’s head. I look at Austin and Liz’s boyfriend, Josh, hoping they can calm her down, but they look just as worried as I do.
“You’re completely right, Lizzie,” I agree quietly. She’s right about everything, but if someone overhears her, I’ll take the heat for it in the press. “I never would have dragged you guys here if I knew it was a freebie haven masquerading as a cause.”
The Turkey Tasters Feed the Homeless event, which is being held inside a rented beach house in Malibu, is a good idea in theory. Turkey Tasters, which is best known for its gravy, asked stars to come out and put together over four hundred meals for families in need. All of the food was donated by local supermarkets and celebrities (I was photographed coming in with my Whole Foods bags) and will be delivered by various stars on Thanksgiving eve. Donating your time to a worthy cause is a great idea, but somehow tonight’s event turned into an elaborate gift suite/photo op as well. One of the Tasters people slipped and told me the RSVPs were so poor, they got desperate and had to bring in other sponsors to entice celebrities. They’re calling the house the Turkey Tasters Beach Retreat, and they’ve set up a huge gift suite armed with an array of products stars can take in exchange for donating their time to charity. As if getting the chance to help others isn’t fulfilling enough.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER THREE: I’m sure you’re wondering the same thing I was the first time I heard about these celebrity-frequented beach houses: What’s the deal and why do I keep reading about them in the tabloids? I have an answer for you. Every summer big brands and corporations lure the Lauren Cobb and Ava Hayden types to a fabulous Malibu beach house with the promise of two types of celebrity catnip: free stuff and guaranteed paparazzi coverage. Free stuff is something celebrities covet everywhere, especially at gift suites, which I know you guys already know all about. But it is the guaranteed paparazzi coverage that makes minor stars and reality show wannabes who are desperate to extend their fifteen minutes of fame flock to the beach house. Usually the more famous stars stay away. (Do any of us really need another picture in Hollywood Nation? I think not. Do any of us need a fourth iPad? Ditto.)
“I thought this was going to be an event of substance,” Liz continues, shaking a metal can up and down so hard that I’m afraid cranberry is going to explode into the air. Her cool pink-and-purple Pucci tank dress is barely visible under the harsh green apron. Her curly dark brown hair is pulled off her face and held back with a purple headband, and you can see her funky purple beaded earrings madly swing back and forth. “Your mom said Clooney was going to be here, and he doesn’t do anything that isn’t worthy.”
“I know.” I quietly pry the can from her hands. I’m careful not to tear the sleeve of my Anna Sui silk shirt on the edge of the basket I’m loading. At least my new J Brand jeans and cream Prada ballet flats are a little more practical for an event like this.
“This is nothing like that,” Liz continues, waving her now empty hands around wildly. Behind her I can see one of the Jersey Shore dudes posing in a new pair of sunglasses.
“We’re still helping others,” Austin reminds Liz and places a can of the new Turkey Tasters crushed cranberries in the basket he’s putting together. “I’ve always wanted to give back at Thanksgiving. I think it’s pretty cool a company would at least try to do something decent. Sure, they haven’t done things exactly right,” he adds, when he sees Liz’s skin start to prickle, “but we’re still doing good. You’re not going to walk out on giving Thanksgiving to four hundred people who can’t afford it themselves, are you? Besides, this could be a great conversation starter at a college interview.” He winks at me, and I have the overwhelming urge to kiss him.
Even in that Turkey Tasters apron, Austin looks good. His navy polo and dark denim jeans stand out against the weird green apron he has on, and his blond hair looks too lush to be wasted on a boy.
“Austin Meyers, you are trying to soften me up, aren’t you? It’s working.” Then Liz smiles for the first time since we arrived, when they offered her a Turkey Tasters Snuggie, and she burst out laughing.
“I like the positive thinking, Meyers,” Josh says, pointing to his forehead. “Mind if I steal the college angle too?” He clears his throat. “Yes, college interviewer, I do think I can change the world. Just the other night I was overcompensating for a bunch of half-baked celebrities readying baskets to feed the homeless and I thought to myself, ‘This isn’t enough for me. This is too small scale. Four hundred homeless? Pish posh. What can we do on a more global scale to help others in need?’ That’s what I hope to find out through my studies here at Brown University.” Liz chuckles. She adores Josh, and not just because he looks like a young Brad Pitt. He makes her laugh. A lot.
“You guys are terrible,” Liz says, wagging a finger in their direction. “But you may be on to something. I might have to work this into my essay for UCLA.”
“UCLA?” I ask, trying not to get too excited. “Since when did that get added to the mix? Are you really considering West Coast schools now? Los Angeles area or northern California? Just California or as far north as Seattle?”
“Slow down,” Liz tells me, holding a bag of spaghetti like a shield. “I’m not saying I’m staying in So. Cal. I’m just exploring my options. NYU is still on the table, but I still have my doubts about East Coast living. Unlike Josh, I’m not sure I’d look cute in snow boots. Does Burberry make any?”
“If they do, I’m sure they’re not as cute as the Burberry rain boots, which you’d get to wear often if you stayed here,” I say hopefully, and Liz just shakes her head.
A huge box of supplies lands with a loud thump in the middle of our table, and cans roll out in all directions. The four of us scramble to catch them before they slide off the table.
“Sorry about that, guys,” Trevor Wainright apologizes. “That Tasters guy said you were running out of Turkey Tasters soup.”
Trevor is Sky’s off-again/on-again boyfriend and has been since we were all on Family Affair together. At first I thought Sky was just taking advantage of Trevor’s wholesome Iowa-raised sweetness. He’s a farm boy turned actor, and he has the looks to match—bright blond hair, blue eyes, tall, and muscular all over. But I soon realized that Sky really had a thing for him, even if she does have a funny way of showing it.
“Trevs, go get more whole-grain bread.” Sky snaps her fingers at him. “And bring the rest of our stuff over here too. If I have to hear Baron Darter talk about Dancing with the Stars for another minute, I might throw a Turkey Tasters Gravy Maker at his head!” Sky nudges Austin with her hip. “Move down and make room, A. I need elbow space.”
“You got it, Skylar,” Austin quips and winks at me. He can’t stand when Sky calls him A, so he’s started calling her Skylar. The two of them have developed a friendly-snipey relationship like she and I used to have.
Sky wipes her brow, and I’m about to tell her she’s sweating (Sky claims she doesn’t perspire), but I think better of it when I see the annoyed look on her face. Her black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and she’s wearing simple emerald earrings that match her green Stella McCartney top and coordinating cream skirt. I think she’s also wearing Prada pumps, which aren’t really appropriate for standing on your feet for hours doing charity work, but that’s Sky. “This event is lame,” she whispers loud enough for all of us to hear. She’s looking at me when she says it though. “We should not be here, K. Skits on The Tonight Show, yes. Cooking with Rachael Ray, fine. But packaging Tofurky with Mario Lopez is out of the question. I could kill your mom for telling my mom about this!”
“I’m with Sky.” Liz is neatly organizing our new supplies. The boxes of stuffing look like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “You two do not belong with all these reality show stars and C-listers. If your mom thought you needed to do more volunteer work, then t
here are a zillion soup kitchens that would have loved to have you. This lowbrow event is beneath you guys.”
“I’ll say.” Sky gives one of the former The Hills stars a dirty look as she pretends to kiss a frozen turkey for a shutterbug.
“I’m sorry, guys.” I sigh. “Mom is so obsessed with making Small Fries a huge hit that she says yes to everything these days. She probably was so distracted when she took the call that she thought the Tasters people said Clooney instead of cranberries,” I try to joke, but no one laughs. “She’s overwhelmed,” I admit. “I think she’s got a touch of the career anxiety I had last summer, and juggling Matty and me seems to be a lot of pressure on her. She’s so upset about not having time to do the Darling Daisies out here. I knew this event was off base, but I didn’t want to get her all riled up.”
I don’t add that I did try to get out of tonight. I casually mentioned tonight’s RSVP list to mom—think the Jersey Shore stars, the Lohans, and Tori Spelling—but she barely heard me. She was prepping for a conference call with Matty’s producers and had the network’s publicity department on hold about something with me at the same time. “Kate-Kate, I can’t talk right now,” she said, sounding weary. “Can we discuss this around two over Ice Blendeds? Just you and me and Coffee Bean?” I agreed, excited for the one-on-one time, but there wasn’t a later. When I came to get her, Anita told me she left a half hour earlier to take Matty to a photo shoot.
“Kates, if this was a one-time thing, I’d get it, but your mom never listens to you,” Liz says gingerly, taking a box of pasta from Sky, who nods in agreement. “It’s like your opinion doesn’t count at all, whether it’s about a movie role, a dress to wear to the SAG Awards, or going out with us instead of turning up at a lame event.”
“She doesn’t do it on purpose,” I say, feeling suddenly unsure of myself. “And Mom doesn’t do that all the time, does she?” I ask Austin.
He looks uncomfortable. “She did book up all your free nights, even though you asked to leave them open so we could hang out.”
“She didn’t!” Liz drops an orange on the floor. “Kates, you’ve been saying for weeks that you need a few nights off from the publicity machine. You have to put her in her place.”
“Liz, she’s my momager,” I remind her. Momager is the word for moms who are also their kids’ managers. “The normal rules don’t apply. Momagers are sort of like Emperor Palpatine.” I glance at Austin for confirmation on my Star Wars reference. “Too much power sometimes goes to their heads, and you have no control over how they act. My hands are tied.”
“No, they’re not,” Sky says and tosses a thing of apples in the box that she’s carelessly filling. “Do what I did. I fired my mom this week. Her manager duty is over.”
I drop a box of instant sweet potatoes and stare at Sky. “You did what?” I stutter. “But how? What did she say? Did she flip out? Didn’t she, well, didn’t she say no?”
Sky laughs. “K, she can’t say no! It’s my decision. I am nineteen.” She says that last part quietly. Sky’s age is a sore subject. This mean costar we had on FA outed Sky’s true age to a tabloid, when she had been claiming to be a teenager a few years younger. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions about management, and I’ve decided my mom is better off being just my mom.”
“She took it better than I thought she would,” Trev adds, as he joins us again. He’s got two boxes on his shoulders, and he effortlessly lowers them down to the table. Loaves of bread and apples roll out. “She went out and booked a vacation to Tahiti. She didn’t even buy a return ticket.”
“She may stay there through Christmas, and then it will just be me and Daddy eating Wagyu beef at Cut on Christmas Eve,” Sky says gleefully.
Wow. I mean, really wow. Sky fired her mom! I never…I mean, it wouldn’t even occur to me to…I’ll be eighteen next month.
Does that mean…can you really do that? No, no, that’s crazy. No one could do a job as good as my mom.
Actually, they probably could.
WAIT. WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?
My mom would be crushed! She loves managing me.
At least she used to. Now it seems like everything is another battle, another nuisance, and she’s listening to my say less than ever. We have no time to talk, ever, and when we do talk, it’s about work.
“Kates, are you okay?” Liz is looking at me, the corners of her mouth twitching. She must be thinking the same thing I am. “Did Sky’s mom news throw you?”
I look at my hand still resting on the dropped box of sweet potatoes. “I’m fine,” I insist, adding a spray of sunflowers to my basket. There. That looks pretty. Making baskets really is mindless work, which means your mind can concentrate on other things like…wow, Sky fired her mom!
“Makes you think about things, doesn’t it, Kates?” Liz pushes, looking sort of satisfied. “Maybe you should throw around the words job termination in front of your mom.”
“My mom is nothing like Sky’s mom.” I look at Sky. That sounded harsh.
“You’re right,” Sky agrees. “Your mom is worse. At least my mom doesn’t cancel my dates with Trev or make me feel like an employee.”
Ouch. That was a little harsh too, but… Mom shouldn’t be canceling my dates with Austin or giving me no free time. I know that. I’ve always known that. It’s been part of my argument for as long as I can remember—I need a say in things. We’ve talked about this before, and she swore she’d change. Mom keeps saying how she wants us to be closer, but this latest snafu isn’t helping.
I add a box of Turkey Tasters stuffing and voilà! My twentieth basket of the night is complete. I stare at the large table. Except for a few miscellaneous cans, and Sky and Trevor’s stuff, I think our work here is done. “Why don’t we get out of here and get something to eat,” I suggest, hoping for a topic changer. “I think we’ve done our fair share here.”
“Between the four of us we’ve put together fifty baskets,” Josh says, wiping his hands on his apron. “That better be enough to spring us.”
“It’s six thirty,” Liz says, looking at her Gucci watch. “We’ll never make our seven o’clock reservation at Il Sole. Where should we go?”
“A Slice of Heaven?” I suggest.
“Grease it is.” Liz pulls her apron off her head, and instantly a Turkey Tasters rep is there to grab it.
“Where are you guys going?” she asks nervously. “We haven’t played Turkey Tasters bingo yet. The money raised goes to charity, you know. And you really must take time to go to our thank-you gifting suite. Brendan is back in there now picking out an unreleased version of Guitar Hero.”
“Ooh, I want one of those!” Sky raises her hand wildly, and Liz slaps her.
“Tasters gifting suite?” Liz’s voice rises an octave. “At a charity event? You can take your Guitar Hero and your bingo and—”
I grab Liz’s arm and smile serenely at the rep. “What she’s trying to say is we don’t need any gifts. We were happy to help.” I look at the others, who nod in agreement. Liz is still pouting. “But we really must be going. Sky and I have another commitment this evening.”
The Tasters rep looks disappointed. “Could you take one last picture? We haven’t gotten one of you with Tom Turkey Taster yet.” She motions to the guy in the oversized turkey costume. I glance at Sky. She looks like she’d rather eat Tom than pose with him.
“Just one,” I tell her. The Tasters people rush him over, and I look at the others. “I’ll text Rodney to bring the car around. Then we should call Antonio.” Liz starts to dial our favorite pizza place’s owner’s number.
Josh pokes Liz. “Make sure he puts some garlic knots on.”
“And mozzarella sticks,” Austin adds.
“Salad pizza,” Sky calls out, and Trevor groans. “Hold the cheese. I’ll bloat.”
I’m not that hungry, so I don’t add to the order. All I can think about is Sky firing her mom. I feel a vibration and pull my iPhone out of my pants pocket. I look at the me
ssage in horror.
MOM’S CELL: Change of plans. Need 2 move UR Seth dinner mtg 2 2nite. Rodney will pick you up ASAP and bring U to the Polo Lounge. Hope you’re dressed for dinner.
“What’s wrong?” Austin asks, touching my shoulder.
“Nothing,” I insist, typing quickly.
KAITLIN’S CELL: Mom, I have plans with my friends. Remember? You wanted me 2 come 2 this Tasters thing 2nite and I did. Now we’re going out.
MOM’S CELL: Sorry. I’m double-booked tomorrow. Everyone already on their way. This is more important! See you at the Polo Lounge.
“I hate when she does this!” I complain, yelling in Tom Turkey Taster’s beak without realizing it. “Sorry. Pictures. Right.”
We snap a handful, and then I break the bad news.
“She can’t keep doing this to me,” I say, exasperated. “What if I couldn’t leave the event right now? Then what would I do? I have to talk to her about her Darth Vader choke hold!”
“You go, Kates!” Liz cheers. “Do it for real this time. You can always meet us afterward. Antonio will keep the place open so we can hang out late. You know that.”
“I’m sorry,” I feel the need to say again. “I’ll be as quick as I can, but remember, this is a dinner meeting so it could take a few hours.”
Austin hands me my coat. “We’ll be waiting.”
I kiss him and rush outside to meet Rodney, practically knocking down one of the guys from The Bachelor, who is hauling a huge box of loot to his car.
I fight the urge to laugh. Only in Hollywood. Even if it is weird, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
Saturday, November 7
NOTE TO SELF:
