Secrets of My Hollywood Life #2: On Location

Secrets of My Hollywood Life #2

On Location

Jen Calonita

For the soon-to-be Mrs. John Neary,
aka my kid sister, Nicole

one:
The Comeback Kid

The sound is unmistakable as it rises in decibel, frightening the blue jay that is drinking from the Italian marble bird-bath and causing our new landscaper, Joe, to drop his gardening hose. Only one thing could cause this much commotion on a beautiful, eighty-six-degree Saturday morn ing in Southern California--and it's not an earthquake.

"KAITLIN BURKE, YOU'RE BACK ON TOP OF THE HOLLYWOOD FOOD CHAIN WHERE YOU BELONG!" My publicist, Laney loudly bursts through our living room French doors over to the pool area with my excited en tourage in tow. Laney's pale blond hair, recently colored the exact shade she was born with, flies behind her as she strides ahead carrying a thick, glossy magazine.

It takes exactly two seconds for Austin and me to realize that we're being ambushed. He quickly jumps on the empty chaise next to me and tries to look like he's been busy wor shiping the sun.

"What food chain? Were we supposed to have lunch today?" I'm feeling disoriented from the marathon kissing session that Laney just interrupted. All I can remember right now is how good Austin's coconut-scented sunblock smelled when his face was nuzzled into my neck.

Laney must smell weakness because she stops in front of my chair and squints her dark-as-coal eyes at me. "What's wrong with you?" she asks suspiciously pointing a ruby red manicured finger in my direction.

"Nothing," I lie, putting on my oversized black sunglasses to hide my guilty look that says, "I was making out with my boyfriend instead of memorizing lines."

My mom, dad, and younger brother are breathing down Laney's neck before my sunglasses are even pushed onto my nose. Matty pushes through the group and looks at the mag azine in Laney's airbrush-tanned hands.

"That's what this is about? Another Kaitlin cover?" Matt rolls his emerald green eyes that match mine. "How excit ing. NOT."

My best pal, Liz, would say Matty's being obnoxious be cause that's what thirteen-year-old boys do best, but I know the real reason he's been dissing me more than one spoiled socialite to another: Matty's itching to nail a part in the movie I just signed on to, which is currently known around town as
The Untitled Hutch Adams Project
(or as
Variety
dubbed it, "Hutch Adams's next surefire blockbuster"). I'm finally going to work with my favorite director, and the best part about it is that I can honestly say I like the plot. I play Carly Murray, a teen at an elite high school who finds out that she's been groomed since birth to become part of a shady super human race. Matty is reading for the part of my younger brother. He's a shoo-in. I think so, our agent thinks so, and Hutch has alluded so, but Matt is practically menstrual over how long it's taking them to sign him.

"This is not just any cover. This is your
Fashionistas
cover!" Laney's smoky voice explains as she flashes the fashion mag azine in Austin's and my face. On the front is a serious, or what some would call sexy, picture of me wearing a skimpy silver tank top, bikini bottoms, and Jimmy Choos. I'm sitting cross-legged with my bare arms wrapped around my chest. A ton of makeup (very unlike me) accents my face and my long honey-colored hair is wild, overblown with curls and piled high on my head, as only a high fashion magazine would request. Next to my picture in silver letters it says:

"My life was spiraling out of control and I knew I had to be daring if I wanted to fix it."

Kaitlin Burke: Confessions of the Comeback Kid

My mother-turned-business manager (who could pass as my twin after an hour in a makeup chair) squeals with de light as she pushes past my beefy bodyguard, Rodney, and my assistant, Nadine, to squeeze onto the chaise on the other side of me.

"You see, Katie-Kat? I knew this town would forget what happened!" Mom shakes her highlighted hair and gives me a light hug, trying not to wrinkle the cream-colored silk cami that she's paired with ripped Earl Jeans. (My mom has traded her PB &J Couture sweat suit obsession for jeans in every brand, color, and style.) "Oh, hi, Austin," Mom adds stiffly, glancing over my shoulder. "I didn't know you were here."

My boyfriend of exactly four weeks, two days, and four teen hours (but who's counting?) blushes a violent shade of fuchsia while I try not to grin. For once, I have to agree with Mom--landing
Fashionistas,
the most coveted magazine cover of all, is a big deal. My TV show
Family Affair
may be a ratings cow and
Entertainment Nation
may have named me "Teen Most Likely to Win an Oscar Before She's 30," but six months ago, Laney couldn't have booked me
Fashionistas
even if she begged, borrowed, and stole enough Ebe bags for the whole staff.

Nadine pries the magazine from Laney's grip. "'The comeback kid,'" Nadine reads aloud as she plays with her short, strawberry red hair. "This is a comeback? Please, you were only on the outs for a month!"

Sometimes I think Nadine is wiser than Yoda. Nadine hates Hollywood, which is why she and Austin are the perfect people to give me a sometimes urgently needed reality check. Raised in Chicago, Nadine doesn't hide her plan to use the money she's earned with me to go to business school so she can become the first U.S. female prez. I'm dreading the day she finally makes good on that threat. After three years, I don't know what I'd do without her running my schedule and, well, my life.

Laney squints menacingly at Nadine. "Maybe you've for gotten what a hideous month the last one was." She rummages in her white leather tote for her cell phone, which hasn't stopped ringing since she set foot on the poolside bluestone.

Just a few months ago, Casa Burke was bleaker than a visit to the Death Star. Worn out from my hectic shooting sched ule playing fraternal twin Sam Buchanan on
Family Affair
and desperate for some privacy I hatched a scheme with Liz for me to escape to high school for a few months of nor malcy. But when you're paparazzi bait at Whole Foods, the only way you can pull off something that daring is to do it in disguise.

So I did, posing as a nerdy British exchange student named Rachel Rogers so that I could do crazy things like eat fattening fries in the cafeteria and crush on guys who didn't care how much my most recent movie made opening week end. (Leave it to me to fall for Austin, who was seriously taken.) Things were actually going okay until my highly competitive
FA
costar Sky Mackenzie stole my Sidekick and read about my double life. Faster than you can say Mango-a-Go-Go (my favorite Jamba Juice concoction), Sky exposed me at a school dance in front of numerous camera crews. Liz and I think Sky tried to ruin me because she assumed the Teen Queen spotlight would pass to her while I would be banished to the D-list and offers from
Dancing with the Stars.
But Sky miscalculated.

Okay, to be honest I wasn't far from that fate when Laney and my family snapped me out of the yoga-like trance I'd retreated into. They convinced me to fight back with a me dia blitz in which I explained with almost embarrassing hon esty that my disguise was a chance for me to be a regular teen. Within two weeks, the positive press was so redeeming that I secured the lead in Hutch Adams's untitled action flick (over Sky who was also in the running) and accepted the
Fashionistas
cover that was originally supposed to feature fellow "It" girl Becky Callow. I also started dating Austin, who had recently dumped his cliquey cheerleader girl friend, fallen for "Rachel," and eventually agreed to take a chance on the real me.

Even Hollywood couldn't come up with a screenplay that good.

I feel Austin's warm hand squeeze mine and my intense memories fade.

"Congratulations," Austin says softly, his tropical ocean-blue eyes dancing as they gaze into mine. It feels like 1,000 volts of electricity are pulsing through my fingers. A few weeks of pool time at my house have lightened Austin's growing blond hair, which now falls over his eyes. His red surfer-style swim shorts show off his lacrosse-toned arms and tanned abs. "I think that cover is cause to celebrate." He flashes his even white teeth. "How about dinner to night?"

"Dinner is a great idea," my dad booms, obviously listen ing in with his free ear. His other one is on the phone setting up his golf tee time for Rancho Park Golf Course. His golf tee and khakis, along with sunglasses perched atop his blond head, gave it away.

Mom nods eagerly. "Nadine, see if you can reserve a table for all of us at Koi."

Before I can protest, Nadine begins dialing the silver Mo torola I re-gifted to her.

"Done," Nadine announces a few moments later, snap ping the cell phone shut and writing the change to my schedule in her leather folder, which we dubbed "the Bible" because it has all my personal info inside. "Eight o'clock at Koi, party of six." She smoothes the faded jeans and pink breast cancer awareness tee we both got at a benefit last week. "I thought you might want to invite Liz."

I nod. Well, I guess if everyone is coming....

"Perfect!" Mom jumps up from my lounge chair. "I'm off for a treatment at Face Place. Jessica and Ashlee's mom is meeting me there." Before she takes two steps in her Kate Spade pumps, Mom notices my unopened script and frowns. I've been carting it around in the large white and multi colored Louis Vuitton agenda she gave me when I won the part. It's lying on the ground, next to my chair, and may have absorbed a little pool water. "You might want to run through lines with Matty this afternoon, Katie-Kat," Mom says coolly, raising her right eyebrow at me. "You've got a table read on Wednesday."

"I'm ready, Mom," I assure her.

"I've got to go too." Laney snatches
Fashionistas
back from Matty, who is thumbing through it, probably looking for their occasional artsy topless model fashion spreads. "I have to meet Uma at Il Sole for lunch." She stuffs the issue in her bag and hurries back into the house. Like cattle, everyone else moves to follow.

Nadine spins around. "Kates, don't forget--four o'clock wardrobe fitting."

"Four," I repeat, fumbling for my relatively new Sidekick 3, which is covered in Swarovski crystals. Laney bought me the Sidekick 2 after Sky stole my original one, but when the newer model came out a month later, she promptly up graded me again. ("You can't walk around with last year's version," she said dismissively when I claimed the 2 had more than enough gadgets for me to handle.)

When the French doors slam shut, it's so quiet you can hear the pool jets. Austin and I are finally alone again--well, if you don't count Joe, who is standing behind the rosebush with his pruning shears in hand and a bewildered look on his face. Good thing Laney left. I know she'd think Joe was spying on us for the tabloids.

"Where were we?" Austin creeps back onto the teak wood chaise and kisses me again. My stomach does a series of somersaults like it does every time Austin's lips are on mine. I can't help thinking how good it feels to be me for a change. Here's a guy who's not intimidated by my job, my family, or even my over-caffeinated publicist.

This leads me to the first of many new Hollywood secrets that I'm dying to divulge. HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER ONE: When it comes to celebrity dating, many stars talk about the benefits of dating a fellow actor. They reason that only someone inside the biz could understand when you work such grueling hours or collect a paycheck for playing a spelunker in peril. Between you and me, that "celeb-only" dat ing speech is week-old baloney. The truth is, it's
tough
to date a fellow actor. There's too much competition over who's the bigger star and too much stress over spending six months apart when you ship off to shoot a movie in Bangladesh and he is on location in the West Indies. The real reason why ac tors so often date other actors? We've got nobody else to date! Stars mostly spend time with other stars (and reality show hangers-on). A famous actress is unlikely to find her next relationship while pumping gas at the local Mobil.

That is, unless...you spend a few months pretending to be someone you're not. That's how I met a real guy like Austin. Now I just hope he can handle living under a mi croscope.

I kiss Austin's chin, then reluctantly lean away so I can look him in the eye. "Can we talk?" I ask nervously.

"Now?" Austin laughs. I nod and pull my longish legs and gargantuan feet up into a ball so that I can put a little space between us. That's the only way I can get through this con versation without reaching over and kissing him again.

"These past few weeks have been amazing," I start slowly.

"I know." Austin draws an imaginary circle on my knee, giving me goose bumps.

"I think you're vying for Boyfriend of the Year." Just last weekend, Austin surprised me with my first trip to the cir cus and took me to Santa Monica Pier to try a corn dog. Since my film training sessions have been in the morning, and production meetings have been few, I've had my after noons free to hang with Austin after he finishes lacrosse practice. Mom thought a few weeks off would leave me bored, but I'm cherishing every minute of freedom I have till filming officially begins. "I still can't believe they have go-cart racing in the Valley," I add out loud.

"Don't forget--you owe me a rematch, Burke," Austin teases. "I would have beat you if Larry the Liar and Sam the Slug hadn't set off flashes in my face."

"You remembered their names." I'm surprised he re called my most persistent shutter hounds. "I'm impressed, Meyers." Austin's the only one who doesn't call me one of the million Kaitlin nicknames--Kates, K, Katie-Kat, Katie-Kins...take your pick--that everyone from my family to strangers on the street use. When Austin calls me "Burke," I feel like a completely different uncomplicated person that only he knows. It's exhilarating. I've started calling him by his last name too.