by Jen Calonita
The same goes for me.
I swear, if I can have my old Hollywood life back, I won’t gripe about it anymore. No one wants to hear a celebrity complain about how hard her incredible life is. I’m going to be grateful for the good and the bad that comes along with having a career at the age of eighteen. My life is pretty darn fabulous, and the parts that need fixing? Well, I can fix them if I finally get up the guts to do it.
“Sam, what do you mean you saw Miss Carmichael changing answers on Lexie’s test?” Melli asks.
It’s my line—Alexis’s line—and she’s stuttering again.
“I was… I was standing… I, um, uh…”
Oh, enough of this!
I march onto the set, stick my crutch in front of Alexis to hold her back, and say the line the way it was meant to be said. Melli and Sky stare at me with wide eyes.
“I was standing in the doorway watching her, Mom,” I tell them, fully feeling my former character’s heartbreak. “She kept changing all of the answers from the wrong ones to the right ones. She gave her an A, when she should have gotten a D. I saw it with my own eyes, and yet I didn’t do anything about it. I stood there and watched her, and I knew it was wrong. What do I do now, Mom? I can’t live with myself if I let her get away with it.”
There. Nailed it!
The whole set is quiet. Stunned would be a better word. I hear someone say, “She’s good. A million times better than Alexis.”
I can’t help but grin, and I see Melli smirk. Then someone pushes me. Rodney reaches out to grab me, but Alexis knocks his arm out of the way.
“YOU.” Alexis points a shaky finger at me. “How dare you? Grandstanding like that, trying to make me look like a fool… it’s… it’s…”
“You are a fool,” Sky mumbles under her breath.
Alexis looks around the room crazily, and am I dreaming or do people seem to be enjoying this? “YOU ARE FIRED!” she yells at me, looking satisfied.
I spritz her face with the mineral spray, shooting the mist hard so that it drenches her face and her makeup smears. Then I drop the bottle at her feet. “No, Alexis,” I say calmly. “You’re fired.”
Alexis laughs and crosses her bony arms. “Never.”
“Yes, as if. ” I grab my crutches. I start making my way through the crowd, and Rodney winks at me. “That’s where you’re wrong, Alexis.” I smile with satisfaction. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Note to Self:
Appreciate what you have and stop griping about what you don’t.
Meet Liz at 7 PM for premiere party at Boa.
FOURTEEN: Party Poopers
I hear a knock on my bedroom door, and I remove my iPod earbuds. “Come in!”
Mom is standing in my doorway looking very grave. Even so, I have to resist the urge to burst out laughing. She’s wearing a cook’s apron. An apron! On the front it says “Irish Women Make the World’s Best Cooks!”
Mom’s one of the world’s best cooks? God, if my real mom could see this, she would need an oxygen facial at Medi Spa for sure. Mom’s holding two things: a wooden spoon in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. I can’t see what’s written on it, but it’s typed and most of the lettering is in caps.
“Kaitlin, I was on the Food Network Web site to double-check the recipe for Rachael Ray’s goulash, when I hit a button and this popped up on the screen.” Her voice is sort of strained. “You know I’m not very tech savvy, but I believe this is yours.”
“Thanks! You can leave it right there.” I slide off my bed and hobble to the closet on one foot. I can’t stand using my crutches to walk just a few feet. I still need to find something in this closet that is right to wear to Boa Steakhouse tonight. They’re hosting a movie premiere party for Tom Cruise’s latest, and I’m going with Liz, who is going with Lauren and Ava.
Gag.
Just the thought of making small talk—not to mention butt-kissy small talk—with the gruesome twosome is enough to make me want to hurl my dinner from crafty. Even though Alexis banished me, the crew was so proud of me for standing up to her that they snuck me over to the craft services cart (Alexis never visits since she doesn’t eat). It felt so good to have crafty on set today. It felt normal. Free-range chicken on a bed of greens with a side of gummy bears just can’t be beat.
Liz says going out tonight will be even better. I doubt that, but I still have to go. Liz needs me there to help her realize Lauren and Ava aren’t the perfect party wingmen. Liz can do it fine on her own without getting caught up in the fame and excess that have taken down so many before her. At least I hope so. Matty’s already showing improvement. Yesterday I got him to wear jeans and a polo instead of a sweat suit to class, and I’m thisclose to getting him to join the winter formal committee. I told him it is much cooler than that lame online virtual prom he’s been talking about.
Mom is still standing in the doorway, holding the paper and staring at me. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Not really.” She sits down on the edge of my bed and smooths the lumps in my comforter. This Mom is a mini Martha Stewart. She’s always mopping the floors, dusting the furniture, and saying how a housekeeper is “so unnecessary.” Anita, our real world housekeeper, would get a good laugh out of that one, but I actually think the change in Mom is nice. This Mom will actually stop what she’s doing to help me with homework, watch a TV show with me, or be Matty’s number two on a computer game she doesn’t know how to play. She loves to go shopping, but she doesn’t care what designer is on the label. She eats pizza without blotting the oil off the top. She doesn’t mention celebrities in every other sentence. She insists on the family sitting down for dinner together every night (which I admit is pretty nice), and Dad is just as involved. The other day he asked me to meet him for dessert at work just so we could catch up. (He had to work late all week at the dealership.) I like spending time with all of them, even if I feel a little guilty. The truth is if my actual family life could be half as nice as this alternate one, I would really have it all.
Mom holds the paper out for me to take and looks at me sadly. “When did you write this?”
Uh-oh. Alter-Mom printed out my lame attempt at the stupid college admission essay, which starts off with the all-caps sentence “I HATE IT HERE!” From there I go on to say what a nightmare my life is. Oops. “I was upset about something at school when I wrote this.”
Mom nods. “So I see.” She looks down at the comforter and traces her fingers along one of the flower designs. “I didn’t realize we were making you so unhappy by sending you to Clark Hall, Kaitlin. I thought you could tell me anything, but you’ve kept your feelings about school and your family a secret.” Her lower lip begins to quiver. “I know Dad and I don’t do as well as Liz’s dad and you wish you had her life, but I didn’t know our non-celebrity lifestyle made you so miserable.”
“It doesn’t!” I don’t know if I should hug her or stay where I am, pulling at the threads on a black sweater dress I just found buried in the back of alter-Kaitlin’s closet. It has a cowl-neck collar and a cross knit at the waist, which is really flattering. If I pair this with my heeled boots, this could be a killer outfit.
“Apparently it does,” Mom says softly. “You’ve been unhappy ever since you went to Clark Hall. I guess transferring you was a mistake. Clark Hall has made you feel like you deserve a different life. You’ve gone to all these parties with Liz and stayed out to all hours with people like Jay-Z and Rihanna. I should have realized that our little world wouldn’t compare to what Hollywood has to offer.”
I hang my head a bit, feeling guilty. Alter-Kaitlin sounds like she’s been a troublemaker.
“But you know something, Kaitlin? I like our life,” Mom tells me, her face brightening. “I have enough time for my work and for my family. I feel like I have some balance. So does your father. He loves working at that dealership, and someday he’ll own one, I just know it. That’s always been his dream.”
My ears perk up. “I didn’t kn
ow that.”
Mom nods. “When I met him, that’s the first thing he said to me.” She chuckles. “He was so nervous he talked about cars the whole time! Can’t get enough of them, which is why he’s always saying all those weird mechanical expressions. I’m sure you find them dorky, but I’ve always loved that about him.”
I have too, actually. My real dad seems so lost these days. He’s got no job to speak of and Mom won’t let him help run my career or Matty’s. I bet he’d love to work at a dealership again, even if he was just the guy who greeted you at the door. Mom would never let it happen, though.
“But you, Kaitlin, I can’t figure out.” Mom rests a hand on her face. “We’ve always known you would do something great, but we wanted you to figure out what that was on your own, without any interference from us. You know I’m not the type of mom to pry or dictate.”
Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
“I want you to find yourself, but to be honest,” she chokes up, “I don’t know if I like who you’ve become.”
“Mom.” Ouch. That hurts. Even if this isn’t me, I don’t want to see her so disappointed. “That letter isn’t real. I was just angry and blowing off steam. It’s been a rough two weeks. And look,” I point out, “at least I was starting a draft for a college admission essay.”
Mom’s eyes are teary. “So you do want to go to college?”
I think of my conversation with Ms. Jasons again and smile. “I think so.”
Mom leans in, her green eyes full of newfound excitement. “That’s good to hear. I think you’d love it.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “Have you thought at all about where you might want to go?”
“Not really,” I admit and walk toward her, still holding the black dress in my hands. I sit down next to her, hesitant to open up about something my real mom would frown on. “I looked at the USC application, and they have a lot of good programs. The campus looks pretty, in pictures at least.”
“Maybe we should make an appointment to take a tour,” Mom suggests, getting excited. “We could meet with an advisor too, and you could talk about majors. Or maybe we could find someone who goes to USC to sit down and talk to you about it?”
She’s rattling off suggestions so quickly, I find my head growing heavy and my heart sort of anxious. It’s too much at once. I’ve barely decided I want to squeeze college in. I don’t need a weekend tour just yet. Still, I say out of habit, “Sure.”
Mom gives me a look, and then her right eyebrow raises ever so slightly. Wow! Just like my mom’s! “You’re not ready for a whirlwind tour yet, are you?” I shake my head. “Then tell me that,” she stresses, shaking my arms slightly as she reaches over to grab me and pull me closer. “I want you to be open with me, you know that.” She hugs me tight, and I let her stroke my hair. It’s very relaxing. “I’m sorry if I push too hard, Kaitlin. I just want what’s best for you and Matty. I guess sometimes I forget that you guys have opinions and dreams of your own too.” She laughs. “That’s a mom for you. We never stop mothering.”
Maybe that’s the mistake my real mom has been making—smothering instead of mothering. She basically admitted that to me the night we were at the meeting with Seth and Laney. She wants what’s best for me, but her idea of what’s best and mine seem to be two different things.
What I want, I realize so strongly that I wish I could say it right now even though it wouldn’t make sense, is my mom back. Someone else can run my career, but I want a mom who I can have this kind of conversation with.
“I like that you mother me.” I mean that. I really do.
Mom and I sit just like that for a while, neither of us saying anything, until my phone rings, and I see it’s Liz. She’s waiting for me outside.
The whole car ride to the premiere I think about my conversation with Mom, and when I’m not thinking about that, I think about the fact that I’m minutes away from hanging out with Lauren and Ava. As much as I’d like to see this Tom Cruise movie I’ve never heard of (maybe it’s an alter-Kaitlin-verse exclusive?), I could do without seeing LAVA. I wish I could just watch the Cruise flick at home in my comfy bed. Sometimes it pays to be as big and powerful as Tom Cruise or the president because then you can do just that.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER FOURTEEN: There are only a few who can call up a studio head and tell them to send over a movie print that is currently in theaters or isn’t even out yet. Think Cruise, Spielberg, Prince William, or the first lady. If you’re going to all that trouble, you’re probably not watching the movie on a flat-screen TV in your den. No, these folks have actual screening rooms in their houses with movie seats and large projectors. (Dad has always wanted one of those.) But like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, a Hollywood screener must return to its rightful place (aka the studio). For repeat viewings, you’ll have to get out a wig and dark sunglasses and go to the theater like everyone else.
“Isn’t this exciting?” Liz asks as she grabs my arm and we whisk through the velvet rope into Boa Steakhouse in West Hollywood. “I hope Lauren and Ava saved us seats at their reserved table.” She adjusts her funky purple headscarf. I convinced her to wear it with her new black Prada dress to add a splash of color. The real Liz would never settle for an all-black ensemble. “Do you think they remembered we were coming?” Liz frets. “I texted them three times today to say we were, but I never heard back.”
“We don’t need them to have a good time,” I insist, taking a look around. I’ve only been to Boa Steakhouse once, for dinner with Seth, but the fare is what you’d expect from a big meat and potatoes place (with more unusual stuff like a Kobe beef corn dog thrown on the menu too). Boa is very feng shui—modern and sleek—with walls of marble and glass bricks, cylinder light fixtures, a steel floor-to-ceiling wine case, and bare tree branches dotting the landscape between the tables.
The crowd is just as cool as the digs. Everyone I know under twenty-five is here, including some of my real-life celeb friends like Gina. I can’t help but say hi as she walks by, but she just smiles at me politely and keeps going.
“She had a huge fight with Ava a few weeks ago,” Liz confides when Gina is out of earshot. “Remember when she got mad at Ava for hitting on Pierce? Ava said it’s not like they’re married or anything.”
“How mad would you be if Ava hit on your boyfriend?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I guess I’d have to have one first.”
“What about Josh, that cute guy at your kickboxing studio?” I hint hopefully. Liz’s face instantly shuts me down.
“Josh? He’s not going to help me get in anywhere!” She shakes her head, her gold hoop earrings shining in the light. “I need someone who can up my profile, not sink it. That’s what Ava says.”
I can’t help but groan. “I told you! We don’t need her. We can hang out at these things without getting obsessed with all the freebies and the wannabes.”
I can tell she’s only half listening to me as she scans the room. “Look! They’ve got a table over there.”
“Let’s get our own table,” I beg, and Liz looks at me like I’ve hit my head again. “We can draw our own crowd! People will love us.”
Liz drops her eyes and stares at her new snakeskin Gucci heels. “I heard about the studio thing today.”
“You did?” My eyes widen. Oops.
“Daddy got a call,” Liz says. “He’s going to try to smooth things over. What were you thinking? We were this close to getting on Alexis’s radar. Now we’re going to be banned for life.”
“So?” I huff. “We don’t need people like Alexis or Lori Peters who think they’re better than everyone else. If we get sucked into this world and do what everyone tells us to, we could wind up like…Sky Mackenzie.” I wince at her name. “All this partying has pretty much ruined any chance she has of having a career after Family Affair.”
Liz rolls her eyes. “Now you sound like my dad! What’s so wrong with fitting in? Look at this crowd!” Liz says, scanning the room of beautifully clad
people, each more wisp-thin than the next. “They have it all! Is it so wrong to want what they have? You seemed to agree with me a few weeks ago, but ever since that accident, you’ve become holier-than-thou, preaching about morals and what losers our Hollywood friends are.” She puts her hands over her ears. “I can’t stand it!”
I’m so shocked by her outburst, I don’t know what to say. Thankfully a waitress walks over with a tray of drinks and offers us some pink nonalcoholic smoothie they’ve named the Smooth Cruise Control, which has mango and papaya juice. I take one and play with the funky purple straw, swirling the ice crystals around and around. The two of us just stare at each other, and I blink rapidly to avoid crying.
“I’m sorry,” Liz says flatly, not looking at me. “I shouldn’t have freaked out on you. It’s just…you’ve been acting so weird.”
“I know,” I say, my voice hoarse.
“I want the old Kaitlin back,” Liz adds.
“Me too,” I say. I think we’re both thinking of different Kaitlins, but no matter.
Okay, I’m going to cry now.
“Maybe we should take five,” Liz suggests before storming off. “Since you want your own reserved table, take this one. I’m going to go say hi to the girls—and I don’t want a lecture because I’m doing it.” She’s got my Liz’s fire, all right, but she’s using it in all the wrong places.
I stand there, thinking away the tears that I know are seconds from dropping. I can’t live in a world where my best friend thinks I’m a nightmare, or where Sky looks the way Sky does. I can’t be someplace where a person as awful as Alexis Holden controls a whole studio of good, decent people that I love. I can’t live with this Austin. I know I’m trying to make things right, but the more time I spend here, the less sure I feel about anything.
