Trouble Me (7 page)

A F
EW
H
OURS
L
ATER
, Amanda waves me over. “Are you coming, Andy?”

We’re due on set. She’s got a ridiculous “lawyer” outfit on for our scene together. Her heels are sky-high, the suit she’s wearing is low cut, and the skirt, well, the skirt isn’t a skirt. It’s a napkin.

I wouldn’t last a second if I was a girl in this business. It’s brutal. Amanda is smart, but if she wasn’t built the way she is, didn’t look the way she does, she wouldn’t be here. Sure, I know I look decent enough, but guys in Hollywood have it easy. Take the Bechdel test. It says look at any movie and try to find more than one woman in it. Then see if either woman has a name and talks to the other one. And if they talk about something besides the guys. That’s how screwed up this business is. Take a second, see if you can think of a movie…This is why Amanda has to be Amanda. I might be ambitious, Jeremy might be ruthless, but Amanda has to be stone cold and lethal or she’s out.

In moments like this, I think Amanda’s not that terrible. Okay, she’s terrible. But she doesn’t seem to hate me anymore—not yet, at least. This is an improvement from back when we dated. By the end of that, she wanted to kill me. Maybe not kill me, just break a lot of plates and other expensive things in our hotel room in Cannes. You know, to make the point of how much she disliked me.

“Are you ready for this?” She tosses her red hair over her shoulder and runs a finger over her teeth, checking for flecks of red lipstick.

“Game on, sister.” I’m trying really hard to be on her side. The whole shoot will go better if she doesn’t hate me. And she has really good aim. I remember that, so I’d rather not have anything chucked at my head.

We approach the sidewalk. We’re shooting right by the bull, the one from my dream. Tucker salutes me, and it’s barely a nod, which tells me he’s working hard, and I need to be Mr. Predictable.

I see McDougal over at the dolly camera, and the director of photography is checking the boom cam.

My job today? To walk. In a straight line. I’m not even kidding. Oh, and at one point, I have to take Amanda’s hand, and she has to look into my eyes.

We’ll shoot this for two to four hours. If we really get clicking, there may be a line or two of dialogue. If we get really, really ahead of schedule, I’ll get to hail a cab. And it’s crazy to expect it, but we may get the blocking figured out for how Amanda gets into the cab. We might not shoot it, though.

When people say to me, “Movies are so glamorous,” they have no idea. I have a stand-in who takes my place when the crew blocks out shots and checks the lighting on scenes, but it’s still a ton of waiting around. When I was just getting started, I was lucky enough to have to stand there for all the set-up too. It was painful.

I’m better at the waiting now.

“Stop wiggling. You’re terrible.” Amanda elbows me.

“What?”

“Put in your headphones and do your I-think-I’m-Michael-Phelps thing.”

“Funny.”

Amanda likes to tease.

“Really, go ahead. I need you in the zone when you walk down the street with me. What if you’re not in character? The real you walks goofy.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t even walk in a straight line. Remember that time in Aspen when you bumped into that rapper, what was his name?”

“Easy Cheez.”

“Not even close. I thought you were street. You’re supposed to remember all the rap names. Hang with them. Get a grill, tat up, you know.”

“I don’t remember his name. I do remember that he wanted to kill me on the spot. I wasn’t even drinking.”

“But you can’t walk in a straight line.”

“Fine, you win.” I make a motion for my headphones, but Amanda touches my arm.

“We had fun, though, didn’t we?” She smiles.

“Are we reminiscing?” I try to keep the tone light, but I don’t think we should go there. It’s territory best left in the past, as far as I’m concerned.

A tiny, tiny crack in her confidence flits through her eyes. “You don’t like remembering?”

“It’s not because of you, Amanda. It was a long time ago. I’m a lot different now.”

“You’ve got a family now.”

I start a little, until I realize she’s not talking about baby-to-be. She doesn’t know, unless I screw up and say something so she guesses.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“I’ve seen pictures of the boys. They’re older. What’s that like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do they like you?”

“Yeah, I think they do.”

“Isn’t it hard, with their dad, well, you know—gone?”

“It’s hard for them, and it’s hard for Kelly. I just try to help as best I can. They’re great boys.”

“Maybe you’ll bring them onto set. I’d like to meet them.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You hate kids.”

Amanda tugs at whatever small thing serves as an undergarment underneath that tiny skirt. “You’re right, I do. But I’m dying to meet these boys. They must be magical.”

“Why?”

“To tame you. To send you to rehab, turn you into the law-abiding Andrew Pettigrew. No more dancing on the tables, no more sex in the stalls at the club, huh? I remember liking that.” She skims a hand over her blazer, smooths the hem.

“Okay. I’m putting my headphones in. And Amanda?”

She licks her lips. “Yes?”

“Let it go. Not interested in skanky club sex anymore.”

She yawns. “Where’s the fun in that?”

McDougal saves me. He walks up and waves me to the curb. “Let’s walk through the cab hailing real quick. I want to make sure you hit your marks.”

She
is
as terrible as I remember. Things’ll probably get thrown at me. Unless I chuck something at her first.

T
HE
B
OYS
H
AVE
B
EEN
H
ERE
F
OR
A W
EEK
, Andrew’s in the swing of filming, and me? I think I am best described as “at loose ends.” I miss Tessa. I miss Boise. I miss Ditto, who has been claimed as a hairy, smelly dog “stepbrother” by Tessa’s three daughters and is staying with them until we come home to Boise.

I miss Andrew. Yes, he’s here. But he’s a million miles away. He’s happy, most days, and I love seeing him in his element. But I’m just not there with him. He’s so smart, and I can see that mind, those gears turning, as we sit at dinner, or watch a movie together. He’s with me, but his brain is on set, in the script, in the heart of that movie, that character.

The boys are happy to be here, and I love showing them around. But they are boys too. They are content with sleeping in until noon and watching videos and eating cereal out of the box. They are willing to go with me and explore New York, but they just got here, and they want to veg out too, not just play super tourist with their mother.

So, that leaves me. I’m still a little queasy, and I’m bored. I don’t do well with bored. Maybe I used to, a long time ago, but now I fret and worry and pace and other annoying stuff that doesn’t endear me to anyone.

This morning I get up with Andrew just to see him a minute before he heads to the set. I pop a ginger ale, my new best food friend, and shuffle into the master bath to see what he’s doing.

He’s shaving. Watching a man shave—watching
my
man shave—I love it.

“Hey, it’s Queasy Girl.” He runs the razor under the tap, gives me an air kiss. I avoid the urge to kiss that soapy face, shaving cream or no. I would, but there’s a strong possibility it would make me hurl.

“Good morning. I’m Semi-Queasy Girl this a.m. I keep waiting for the morning sickness to decide if it’s done kicking my ass or not.”

“How much longer before it’s officially in the rearview mirror? You’re, what, fourteen weeks in?”

I shrug. “A tender stomach is a tender stomach. I wish it would have miraculously cleared up when I made it to the second trimester, but sometimes morning sickness hangs on. Just like it’s not always just in the morning.”

He nods. “Total false advertising. But look how far we’re into it. That’s a fringe benefit of the surprise pregnancy. Your first trimester flew by.”

He knows this is a sore subject. It pisses me off that I was so clueless and went almost two months before I realized what was up. It makes Andrew grin. He grins right now.

“Ha ha. Don’t tease me. I’m not awake yet.”

“Why are you up? An early call for me doesn’t mean early call for you.”

“I wanted to see you before you left.” I scoot up behind him, slip my arms around his waist, bury my nose in between his shoulder blades. He smells like chlorine and Ivory soap.

“I have a razor in my hand. Careful there, pet.” He pauses for a minute to wrap an arm behind him and give me a little squeeze.

I hold still and peek around his shoulder, watch him draw the razor down his strong jaw.

“I like this.” I tighten my hold around his torso a bit.

“Fifteen minutes ago I could have gotten into all sorts of trouble with you. But five minutes from now Janus and Tucker will be waiting for me on the other side of our door. You must not throw off the Apotheosis production schedule.”

“Or what?”

“Or suffer the consequences.” He flicks a little water on my head.

“Sounds terrifying.”

“I don’t care about that, but I do have a plan to be the movie MVP. You’d throw a wrench in my plans.”

“MVP, eh? Any particular reason?”

“To spite Amanda. It won’t be very hard. She’s temperamental. Likes to live up to her ginger reputation.”

“So, you’re feeling a bit competitive?” I let go of him and come to sit on the counter.

“She doesn’t know it, but yeah. I have no desire to draw any diva comparisons with her.”

I don’t say it, but I wonder if since rehab, it’s also important to Andrew to prove he’s a reliable, bankable, worthy investment. Not a risky chance to be taken.

When he was drinking, he told me, he never messed around on set, but he showed up hung over plenty of times. I think he feels strongly that he make up for any stains on his rep left from back then.

“I need a plan for the day.”

“Soon you can come hang with me. We still need to firm up the sitter for the boys, but they can always come hang in my trailer too.”

“They can’t watch videos in their pjs-slash-underwear in your trailer.”

“True. But I like to see them. I miss all of you on the long days.”

I run a hand down his forearm. It’s still moist from the shower, and I feel the veins and the muscles tense under my touch. “I miss you too.”

“Now listen, we just had this conversation. You’re too tempting.”

“I have no control over my irresistible charms.” I smile and sip my ginger ale.

“Why don’t you go hit a museum? Maybe Jeremy can hang with the boys today. He can use my office, and he knows Hunter will play
Call of Duty
with him if he asks.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about Jeremy King, world-class agent and, oh yeah, babysitter.”

“Jeremy is an LA boy. He doesn’t know what to do with himself here in New York if he doesn’t have meetings. I don’t think you get that he’ll eventually be the adopted uncle-slash-third, no, wait, fourth son in our family. I promise you, he’s lonely. I’m texting him now.” He picks his phone up and sends Jeremy a message.

I smile. “Poor lonely Jeremy King. And my money was on Todd to be our extra child.”

Jeremy was maybe at the bottom of my list when we first met. He’s still a Hollywood agent, but he stayed at Andrew’s side when he went through rehab, and he’s proven to be very loyal. I’d even hazard a guess and say Andrew might be his best friend. Maybe his only friend, but still. And he is steadfast and bulldog-tenacious about protecting Andrew from anyone who might try to take him off a sober path, so I appreciate that about him. And he’s around anytime Andrew’s doing business, so he’s been growing on me. He even was, dare I say, fun to hang out with at the Golden Globes in January. But I’d never tell him that. His ego is insufferable as it is.

Andrew dismisses the mention of Todd. “Too many groupies in Todd’s line of work. He’s a busy, busy man.”

“If Jeremy comes over, I think I’ll go to the museums.”

“He’s on his way. And
all
the museums? I’ll see you next year.”

“Yes, all of them. I’m renting a Rascal scooter and hitting all of them.”

“Really. Well, where first?”

“I think the Met. I want to see the Monets.”

“Good choice. By yourself?” He wipes the last of the shaving cream from his face with a washcloth, and I think I see two seconds of worry cross that perfect, smooth canvas.

“Maybe I could ask that girl I met. I don’t know what floor she lives on, though. Guess I can’t knock on doors all day.”

“The runner?” He asks before he sticks his toothbrush under the faucet.

“Yeah.”

“Hang in the lobby when I leave. I’ve seen her the last three mornings coming back at about the same time.”

This cheers me. But I can’t help it, I chuckle. “Are you stalking her?”

“I figure it’s her. I thought I might broker some sort of running buddy program between the two of you. I’m a giver, you know. I do these things all the time.”

I can’t help it, I’m excited. “Let me brush my teeth too, and I’ll go down to the lobby with you. Set something up. Have you said anything to her?”

“No. I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember? Mr. Movie Star, you know. Don’t forget, I’m all kinds of famous.” He raises an eyebrow ironically, but he’s right. If he wanted to put the two of us together, he’d have to have one of the guys do it. No one knows he’s in this building yet.

“Stealthy, that’s you. All right, I’m putting on a bra and going down with you.”

“Those are such disappointing words. I’m supposed to inspire the removal of undergarments.”

“You shut me down not ten seconds ago. You decided you’ve got to be the punctual brown-noser. You can’t be seductive at the same time.”

He snaps a towel at me as I leave to find the rest of my clothes. “Tonight, it’s all hotness,” he calls. “Just you wait.”

A few minutes later, I hustle along behind Andrew, trying to appear casual and not too geeky. But oh, I’d like someone to hang with. Mari seemed nice when we ran into each other at the High Line, though she did leave sort of abruptly…I haven’t seen her in the building since, and I’ve been looking.

“Calm yourself, woman.” Andrew throws an arm around me as we wait for the elevator.

“What?” And here I thought I was being cool.

“You’re spinning the key ring around. A lot.” Tucker points to my keys.

“Fine.” I cross my arms over my chest and pout.

We get in the elevator, and Tucker moves into business mode. They’ve got another location shoot today, outside a diner. “I heard from Aaronson last night. He texted me and said the Dubai boys are on set today. Don’t let him distract you. You do your job and follow the shooting schedule the way McDougal set it up.”

I don’t understand why Tucker sounds so peeved. “What would Aaronson try to do?”

Andrew shakes his head. “He’s moved scenes around before, screwed up the shooting schedule, just to shoot something flashy for investors.”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Last movie he produced, the second-unit director quit because he meddled so bad. He’s such a—”

“Dick?” I offer. “That’s his nickname, huh?”

“Jordan the dick. Sad, but true.” Andrew steps off the elevator in the lobby. “Okay, Kells, we gotta go.” He checks his phone. “She came back in the building right about at this time last couple of days. Keep your eyes peeled.” He kisses me quickly and heads toward the front doors. Tucker whispers into the cuff of his jacket, which means someone else is bringing a car around. Probably Janus.

Tucker waves. “See you tonight!”

And then they’re out.

I stand in the lobby for a minute, feeling sheepish. What’s my plan? I guess I can go sit in one of the chairs by the big fireplace and look at my phone. I should’ve brought a book.

Just then, Jeremy strolls in. Ugh. I always prefer to have Andrew on hand when I deal with him.

“Gorgeous! Look at you!” He sweeps over to me, takes my hand.

“It’s too early in the morning for the sycophant stuff, Jeremy.” I stand, and he gives me little air kisses on both cheeks.

“Glowing. Positively.” He arches an eyebrow. He loves having that secret.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on the boys. I need to firm up my plans, and then I’ll be up to get ready. Maybe you could head on up there?” I point to the elevator as encouragement.

He nods but still grins impishly. “Mum’s the word. Or, maybe I should say
mom
’s the word. See you upstairs.” He waves over his shoulder and gets on the elevator. I worry for a split second about how he’ll get into our place. Then I remember he’s Jeremy, and he’s always one step ahead of me.

Back to my reconnaissance mission, I sit and pull out my phone, trying to look engaged and busy. I keep one eye on the front door.

And then she walks in. She’s clearly been running; she’s wearing the same outfit I saw her in on the High Line. I look up and try to figure out how I’m going to get her attention when she sees me and glides over.

“It’s Kelly from the South. Hi.” She comes to the chair next to me and sits, like we’ve been friends forever.

“Hi. Mari, right?”

“Yeah, and you said it right too. How’s it going?”

“Good. I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Really? I thought I’d see you out on a run.”

“I’ve been running later in the day.”

“So, what are you up to today? A run later?”

“No. Actually, I was planning on hitting the Met.” And now I have to figure how to ask her to come with me. I feel like I’m dating again. And I always sucked at that.

“Oh, I love the Met. Are you going alone?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Want some company? I don’t have class today.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Look at that. I didn’t even have to ask her. How perfect was that?

“Well, I obviously need to shower, and you’re looking like you just rolled out of bed too, so why don’t we get ready and meet down here in an hour and half?”

“Sounds great.”

“I can show you how to ride the subway.”

“Now, just because I’m a newbie, don’t assume. I’ve already done that.”

“Good for you. And it’s noob. That’s what all the cool kids say nowadays.”

“Thanks for reminding me I’m not a cool kid.”

“It’s okay. Cool’s overrated.”

I smile and get up. “I’ll see you in a little while, then?”

She nods. “I’m going to get my mail from the concierge’s desk and then head up. Meet you down here.”

“Just come by my place. Sixty-one twenty-nine.”

“Okay. I’ll knock.”

I get on the elevator, excited. As I press the button, I have one minute of regret. I just told her my condo number. Was I supposed to keep that a secret? I shake it off. She doesn’t know who my boyfriend is. A normal friend, I’d let them know where I live. Actually, the friend’s still normal; it’s me that’s not anymore. Oh, I don’t know—I probably never was. But anyway, I have to check myself more closely. I don’t know what strangers might be wanting with me anymore. Mari’s fine; she doesn’t know who I am, or who Andrew is. But still, my days of no guard up are over.