Trouble Me (11 page)

“No problem.” Janus turns out on to Seventh Avenue and guns it. A town car, two scooters, and a BMW give chase.

T
HE
S
UMMER’S
B
EEN
N
UTS
. I’ve been putting in sixteen-hour days on set, we just had an ultrasound for the baby, Kelly and the boys are due to go back to Boise for the start of the school year, and yesterday someone tipped off the paparazzi that we were at the doctor’s office. The last thing I want to do right now is spend lunch with Jeremy talking about me and my film career. But I know Jeremy’s right. We need to sit and have a strategy session.

Someone in Hollywood once said, “You’re only as good as your last picture.” That’s bullshit. You’re only as good as the next project you have lined up. And it better be financed, locked and loaded, and starting pre-production. Second unit better be gearing up to start location shots, or you’ve got nothing.

I’m white hot right now. That’s not vanity; that’s fact. And if I don’t capitalize on it, squeeze every last deal out of it while I can, I’ll turn around and find the offers for
Dancing with the Stars
and VH1’s
Where are They Now
and Lifetime Christmas movies as the only game in my town.

I’m not ready for my fifteen minutes to be up. I love acting. I like the challenge. I want to get better. I need to work to get better. And yes, I won a Golden Globe, but I haven’t gotten one of those little golden guys that make every actor salivate.

I want one. I’m ambitious. This town would have eaten me alive ages ago if I hadn’t been hungry, willing to push myself, and willing to expect more from myself every single time.

So, Jeremy sits with me at lunch at the Lion in the Village. Lucky for me, as one of the best agents in Hollywood, Jeremy King’s not just hungry; he’s downright bloodthirsty. He’ll die making a deal for me if he thinks it’ll get us closer to the prize. He wants an Oscar for me, sure, but he also wants me to have my pick of projects, and he wants the projects I pick to get made.

Easier said than done in our business.

“Let’s talk about
Flat Rock
,” he begins.

“Give me the update.”

“Daniel means well, but I swear he needs to not talk to the money guys at Paramount. Every time he does, they call me, and I have to promise that we can control him and that, no, shooting will not take ‘as long as it needs to take.’”

Daniel is the best director for this picture, but he gets lost in the art. Movies are about money, plain and simple. If you want to shoot a period piece with horses and special effects and a star like me, you better serve up a budget and a tight shooting schedule and lots and lots of promises that the movie will be loved by every demographic group from twelve to sixty-four.

“Just keep telling them it’s a four-quadrant movie,” I tell him. “And keep reminding them that the production company can squeeze a nickel from a turnip.”

Jeremy crunches a celery stick. “I don’t think that’s the saying.”

“Whatever.”

“He who pays the piper calls the tune—that’s a better saying for that.”

“Don’t make me get out my phone and Google pithy money aphorisms. I’ll do it.”

“We just need to keep Daniel on track, son. I smell a hit, and it has the appeal across all four quadrants, so, yes, I’ll keep telling them that. Now you help me by keeping the drama of your life out of your work.”

“There’s no drama. Everything’s fine.”

“Really? Let’s take stock. Your girlfriend’s pregnant, and you’d rather no one know about it yet, but you just got ambushed outside the baby doctor’s office. Amanda keeps making googly eyes at you on set. Your new sobriety is not even two years old. Yeah, that’s quite the boring life.”

“And there was a weird thing.”

“Weirder than normal? Do tell. Why am I not on blood pressure meds yet? Why? Oh, that’s right, I still drink.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Not in front of you, Andy. I’m as considerate as the next guy.”

“You’re waiting until I hit two years, and then you’ll drink whatever you damn well please in front of me. And consider taking up smoking just to irk me. I know you.”

“Too well. It’s all out of love, only love. What’s the weird stuff?”

“At the Frying Pan, below deck, someone was watching us.”

“So? You’re you. Someone sees you; they watch you.”

“No, someone sees me; they come over and want a picture and ask me to sign the back of their iPhone case and see if I will call their aunt in Hoboken and tell her yes, OMG, it’s really Andy Pettigrew on the phone. Someone does not stay hidden and run away when we hear him.”

“Okay, that’s weird. Did you tell Tucker?”

“Yes.”

“What else?”

“That’s it. Can we talk movies now? My palms are sweating.” Even now, thinking about that rattles me.

“Fine. What do you want to work on next?”

“After
Flat Rock
?”

“Before that. It’s not till May. It’s barely September, and we wrap end of the month. You could squeeze three projects in before May. You’ll have post on
The Bull and the Bear and The Whatever-the-hell-else
, but reshoots shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I have a baby coming in February, Jeremy. I’m not jumping into another project. Not yet.”

“Really.” He snaps another celery stick in two.

“Really. Baby. Baby being born. Kind of a big deal.”

“You’ll have more than enough time to play Daddy of the Year when your streak cools off. Don’t lose your momentum. Eight months is an eternity.”

“You have a cameo in something? Something supporting? I could probably do something if it was in LA.”

“Only if you’re planning on living in LA for a while. You can’t just drop in on a set if you’re going back to Boise after this.”

“The boys start school in Boise, and I’m already going to leave them alone for almost a month.”

“That’s the boys. Kelly’s a pro at taking care of them on her own. She’s done it before, if you recall.”

“And now you’re starting to piss me off. I get it, Jeremy. I need to be where the business is. But I am also a top-earning actor. I can use some of my ‘star power’ to leverage the life I want.”

“What if we found a really awesome new house in LA? That way we could see about squeezing in some projects before the baby comes. The whole family could be together in LA. You keep your momentum with a couple new projects, and then, boom, you’re home in Boise to hang the tinsel for Christmas. And I have another script you could check out for filming in January—just three weeks in LA on your own, then home to Boise for the babypalooza.”

“Kelly wants to be in Boise for the semester. It’s bad enough they have to start the school year without me.”

Jeremy looks at me, stops chewing. His face is dead serious. “Maybe now’s the time to have the you’re-the-almost-wife-of-a-working-actor-in-Hollywood talk with the missus. Andy, you can’t miss this chance. You know it as well as I do. Why not have a place in LA? Why not have the kids out of school for a semester? There’s such a thing as a tutor. I think you can spring for one.”

I sit quiet. I take a sip of water. He’s got me on this one. He’s right.

“You know I’m right, son. You know you have to capitalize on your heat. Now. And I have a director who’s dying to work with you.”

“Who?”

“Oh, I don’t know, someone who’s won Best Picture. And not in Cannes, and not at the Globes. I’m talking the big leagues. The full-on Academy Awards.”

“Now I think you’re lying.”

Jeremy looks left and right and pulls out a pen. I hate it when he’s dramatic. Whenever we have business lunches out, he refuses to talk names out loud—he says someone screwed him on a deal once when they heard him discussing it at Nobu over lunch. I really think it’s that he wishes he was a spy. I swear to God. He pens the name of the director on a cocktail napkin and slides it over to me. Below it is a huge dollar amount.

“This script—I can shoot it to you this afternoon. You don’t have to audition, the money’s solid, the director’s attached, and the deal’s locked down. And that number? The one with all those zeroes? Yeah, that’s just the beginning number for negotiations. It’s the most anyone’s ever offered you for a leading role. Serious folding money, brother.”

I shake my head. “You can’t put a deal like that together this fast. There’s no way it’d shoot until after Christmas, at least. And anyway, Mr. Director-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is about to start filming in LA next month on another movie,
Out of Range
.”

Jeremy smiles, ear-to-damn-ear. “I know. And his star just came down with pneumonia. Dropped out.”

Well, shit. If this is true, Jeremy has me exactly where he wants me. I’d have to be certifiable not to jump at an opportunity like this. That director’s worked with DeNiro, Damon, Clooney, Hanks. My pulse revs at the thought of getting a part like that.

I nod. “Yes, I’m interested.”

Jeremy fist pumps in victory. “I knew you’d come to your senses. Andy Pettigrew, you’re as dog-with-a-bone about this as I am. Don’t deny it. We both want the top of the pile, number-one spot. Badly. You’ve worked your ass off for it.”

I sigh. “All right. You can cram October to January with as much as I can humanly do. Make this deal happen; see what else is out there. But come February, it’s full-time babyrama.”

“For how long?”

“I want to be home with Kelly, in Boise, till we start on
Flat Rock
.”

“God, Andy. That’s a long, long time.”

“Yes, it is. That I want to spend with my family.”

“Fine. In May, it’s
Flat Rock
. Then you can take the whole family on location for the rest of the summer. You get quality time with them, you shoot a big action movie that I happen to have a lead on, and the kids get to play in the lovely waters of the Mediterranean.”

“Where?”

“Croatia. Cheap labor. Warm waters. It’s actually not a shithole. I went there once with Brunhilda.”

Brunhilda is Jeremy’s ex—not her real name of course. Jeremy never refers to exes by real names once he breaks up with them. She’s a gorgeous woman who ate men for a living. They were a match made in heaven. But she moved on to an eighty-year-old Israeli producer with a very small immediate family and a very weak heart.

“What’s the movie?”

“Let’s just say someone is aging out of a particular franchise, and you look great in a tux.”

“I’m not British. There’d be a riot.”

“Not that one.”

Something occurs to me. “What’s the shooting schedule for
Bull and Bear
the last two weeks?”

“Why?”

“You’ve got to clear it with Aaronson that I’m in Boise for Hunter’s birthday.”

“How adorable. When is it?”

“September twenty-fifth. I can’t miss that. Even if I have to borrow Jordan the Dick’s jet, I have to be there for that.”

“How old will the whipper-snapper be?”

“Fourteen.”

“Only four more years till he’s out of the house. Good for you.”

“You’re a douche. You know that, don’t you?” I throw a crouton at him.

“Yes, I do. You pay me very well to be
your
douche. So there.” He throws the crouton back at me.

E
VEN
T
HOUGH
T
HE
D
OCTOR’S
O
FFICE
paparazzi spooked me, I still want to do what I want to do. The boys and I only have a few days left in NYC before we go back to Boise. I want to savor the big city in our time left, do the things I like. Mari and I have taken the boys on lots of strolls in Central Park, and we went to the top of the Empire State Building on a rainy day. Mari even took us on a tour of the Fashion District and pointed out all the boutiques where she wants to have her designs featured someday.

Besides getting to know the city, one of the simpler things I like to do is spend too much money at the Whole Foods in our building. It’s so convenient, it’s dangerous. Today I sneak with Tucker from the delivery entrance of the condos through the front doors of the store. He hangs out in front with the carts, looking as casual as he can. No one seems to notice me. No one recognizes me without Andrew by my side.

This time I buy red cinnamon bears for Andrew, avocadoes for the salad tonight, and juice and pop for the boys. Hunter has decided he’s going to “eat clean,” and Beau has decided to do exactly the opposite just to goad his brother.

Hunter hangs around Tucker too much. They’ve been talking about lifting and CrossFit and all sorts of manly things lately.

When I’m done, we head up to the condo. I get the key in the door and swing it wide, carrying my bag. Tucker always wants to carry it, but I’m pregnant, not an invalid.

Tucker calls out, “Honey, we’re home!” Since we’ve been in New York, Tucker lives with us, camped out in the guest room. I’m surrounded by boys, but I like it.

Andrew strolls out from the study. “Hey.” He claps Tucker on the shoulder; Tucker gives him a strong handshake.

Hunter and Beau materialize from the far corners of the condo to dig through my bag. They’re dressed in swim trunks and have towels. They live at the condo pool.

“Don’t drink those till dinner,” I call.

“Fine, Mom,” Beau answers as he turns back toward wherever he came from, tailed by Hunter. They look likely to be ignoring me.

“I don’t even know why I bother.” I sigh.

The boys return to the great room and turn on the TV, too loud as usual.

I have twenty million things going on at the same time in my head.

Andrew comes over. We haven’t even said hi yet. “We need to talk,” he says.

“What?” I can’t sort any of the noise in the room. It’s too much.

“Never mind,” he walks away. He seems stressed, worried about something. But he’s not giving me much of a chance.

Ugh. I swear. “Hey, I just didn’t hear you.”

“Can you listen?” He purses his lips. The annoyed look. This should be fun.

“I’m trying. I have ten things in my ear right now.”

Tucker notices us, smiles at me nervously. Double ugh.

I really want to scream, but I won’t. “Let’s go in the study for two seconds.” I breathe deep. I feel snappish. I shouldn’t be snappish.

“Okay. It’s not that big of a deal,” Andrew says.

“It’s big enough that I need to attend to it, and right now Beau’s infatuation with
Antiques Roadshow
is cramping my listening style.”

We head down the hall into the study. I exhale. My brain feels a hundred times better without the barrage of continuous noise. “What’s up?”

Andrew plops down in the overstuffed leather chair behind his desk. I take a spot on the edge of the desk.

“So, you know that I need to stay in New York until beginning of October.”

I don’t know if all girls do this, but as soon as this sentence is out of his beautiful, pouty lips, I start trying to figure out where Andrew’s headed with this. “Yeah. And?” What’s he getting at?

“Well, after that, I was supposed to come join you guys in Boise.”

“Supposed?” My jaw tenses.

“Jeremy got an offer.”

“Jeremy? You let Jeremy get you another job? We’re supposed to be in Boise, together, for school. We talked about it.”

“Can you please let me finish?” He pushes back from the desk and runs his hands through his hair.

I bite my lip.

“It’s not just a job. It’s the most I’ve ever been offered. Ever. Eight figures.”

I can’t help it. I go on the attack. I want to scream in frustration, but instead, I go for the jugular. “Money? This is about money? How long are you going to be gone?”

Andrew stands up, and I take two steps back. He’s mad now too, and he’s tall and kind of intimidating when he’s mad. “It’s not the money. It’s the point of the money. That’s a lot of power in Hollywood.”

“Power and money, some super-awesome family values. Awesome.” The sarcasm drips from my words.
I
don’t even like the sound of them. I sound mean.

“You need to slow down and breathe, Kelly. You’ve gone from zero to raging in two seconds.”

I walk to the window. I know I need to back off, but I still feel like I want to go in for the kill. I want to punch the crap out of each of the carefully tufted pillows on the stylish suede couch in front of me.
Yikes
. “Why is this so important to you? What’s special about this besides the money?”

“I’d be in very good company. Best Picture company.”

“How long are you going to be gone?”

“I thought we’d live in LA until Christmas. We could pull the boys—”

I don’t even let him finish. “Pull them out of school? Are you absolutely crazy? They’ll freak. Boise is home, Andrew. You said it was your home. Now I don’t even know. Maybe you didn’t mean that.”

“Of course I meant that. Jesus, Kelly. Don’t make this about everything. We need to actually have a real talk, not a hormone-driven blowout.”

Now I do kick the leg of the couch. Twice. Really. The second I do it, I feel like the biggest freak of pregnant nature. “You’re making me crazy! I can’t do this right now. I won’t. Leave me alone.”

I attempt to turn on my heel and go back down the hall toward the laundry room. But the swift turn sends my head into a spin.

Everything gets hot, I feel like I’m about to puke, and the room goes gray.

“She’s coming to. Andrew, get off the phone! If you call dispatch, everyone and their sister will be shouting about this across all the internet and TV stations in five minutes.” Tucker pats me on the cheek. “Kelly Jo Jo, open your eyes now.”

I do as I’m told. “What?”

He’s above me. I’m on the floor. “You fainted.”

“Is she conscious?” I hear the squeak of sneakers on the hardwood floor. Andrew’s head is over me now too.

“I feel like I’m going to puke.” My head throbs.

“You’re a lovely shade of green. Did you eat recently? Does your head hurt?” Tucker always sounds so calm. I like him so much. Maybe we should name the baby after him.

“Did I crack my head?”

“Did she?”

Tucker runs a hand gently over the back of my head. I wince when he rubs a forming goose egg. “Yep.”

“Then we’re going to the hospital. Go get the car.” Andrew smooths my hair with one hand, slides the other one under my shoulders.

“Wait a second there, cowboy.” Tucker rests a hand on Andrew’s shoulder. “She’s awake. She fainted, but she didn’t lose consciousness from hitting her head. People faint.”

“Yeah, people faint.” I chime in. I feel the need to contribute to this discussion. I also might contribute by puking, but you know…

The two men stare at each other for a minute. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them fight. Interesting.

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “You sure about this, Tuck?”

“No hospital. Not now. We can watch her.” He smiles at me, pats my hand. “You want to stand up, Miss Kelly?”

I don’t know. My number-one priority is not vomiting. I hate throwing up. “Um. Maybe I’ll just hang out down here for a while.”

The guys act without any more discussion. Andrew has me by the shoulders, then the world is upright again. I’m on my feet for less than a second when he sweeps me up into his arms.

“I don’t want him to carry me. I’m still mad.”

Tucker laughs. “She’s fine.”

“And he’ll throw his back out. I’m not some teeny movie girl. I’m big and pregnant.”

Andrew doesn’t even look at me. He still looks at Tucker.

“He’s all hopped up on adrenaline, Kelly. His back’ll be fine.” Tucker is calm and cool. I think he might be trying to calm Andrew down.

Maybe I should follow suit. “Are you implying that I’m heavy?”

“I’ve seen the snacks you’ve had in the name of ‘eating for two.’” Tucker’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Are you two done?” Andrew has carried me down the hall to the bedroom door. He nods to Tucker, who swings the door open for him in response.

“I feel better, Andrew. I promise. I just want to be alone for a while.”

He carries me to the bed. Tucker stands at the doorway and gives me a little salute. “I’ll go make sandwiches to start.”

Andrew puts me in the bed, pulls the covers up, adds a pillow behind me.

“I’m not tired. I’m pissed. And I was going to make dinner. It’s, like, five thirty, you know.” In most cases, I’d love the idea of being swept off my feet, but we haven’t finished talking about this movie.

“I did this.” He sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the floor.

“What?” I’m confused.

“I upset you, and you fainted. You could have a concussion. It could have put the baby in danger.”

“Hiccup’s fine. I have a lot of padding around him. And I passed out because I was tired and spun around too fast, and I probably should have eaten more at lunch. This is not emotional distress. I’m not Rhett’s lover…you know, the one from
Gone With the Wind
.”

“You don’t remember her name?” Andrew’s eyes are aflame with worry.

“Pregnancy brain. Not concussion brain. Andrew, it’s okay.”

“What’s her name, then?” He looks like he’s going to cry. His blue eyes are deep and wet.

“Jesus. Scarlett. Scarlett O’Hara, okay? I couldn’t remember for a second. It’s more likely Alzheimer’s than a brain injury. I promise.” I take his hand. “Listen, the boys and I can manage in Boise alone. We’ve done it before.”

“No. I’ll turn down the movie. I don’t care about it.”

“No, you do care about it. You’ve worked very hard for a very long time to make this happen. You deserve it. My job as your almost-wife is to cheer you on. I should trust you enough to believe in you.”

“I’d be in LA until Christmas, probably.”

Tears come up in my eyes. That sucks. I hate being away from him. “We could manage. Make hay when the sun shines, right?”

“You’re just repeating stuff you’ve heard Jeremy say.”

“If I was doing that, I’d be cussing and insulting someone, possibly saying something sexist.” I squeeze his hand. “It’ll be fine. I’m tired and pregnant, and I worry. But we’ve gotten through lots worse. It’ll be fine. It’s not even for very long.”

He takes his hand back and runs it over the back of my head. He pauses on the bump, and I resist the urge to smack him. Yes, I have a knot on the back of my head. Stop touching it, everybody. Geez.

But I don’t smack him. He leans over and plants the softest, most tender kiss on my lips. “Nothing can happen to you. You, the boys, the baby. He has to be safe. You guys all have to be okay.”

“Ha! See, I got you to call Hiccup a him. I’m winning the gender war.”

“Hiccup. Ugh.” He smiles, just a little. Maybe I have succeeded in distracting him.

“It’s cheesy, I know. He had the hiccups. It was destiny. And if it’s a girl, then it’s gender neutral enough for her too.”

“I’m not kidding. Your safety is first. If anything happened to you…” He stops talking and tucks the blanket tightly in around me.

“Same for you, Andrew. You know that. Life is precious and short. You’re talking to the expert at that, remember?”

He kisses me again, taking me by the shoulders. His intensity stirs me, and I kiss back, wanting him closer. I pull his shirt, tug him toward me.

“Slow down there, Cochise.” He lifts his head and breaks the moment.

“You started it.”

“I love you, and I want you to rest now. Humor me?” He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, kisses me again, this time on my forehead.

I sigh. “Fine. Tell the boys not to drink what I bought them yet. They’ll never eat dinner.”

“I’ll handle it. They were going down to the pool last time I checked. I’m glad they missed all this. They worry about you too, you know.”

“Enough worrying! I’ll take a nap. Go handle dinner.”

“I’m looking in on you in about ten minutes. Call me if you feel sick again.”

I push him. “Go. If you hover, I will be sick from all the fussing.”

He stands, and his hands go deep in his pockets, his shoulders shrugging up. “I know, but—”

“Stop!” I throw a pillow at his head.

He ducks. “I’m going.” He smiles and slides out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

I stare at the ceiling. I’m not tired. I feel fine. I don’t even feel sick anymore. But for Andrew to worry, that gets me worrying too. I’m the master at it. I’ve spent my life with real, unreal, big, and little fears eating at my gut.