Famous (15 page)

“Yeah, right.” He suddenly sounded bitter. “Too bad they didn't feel that way when I was offered that role on
Rich and Poor
.”

“Anything new on the acting front?” I asked.

“I've got some things cooking, but August was slow.
Everyone says it always picks up in the fall. So, what about you? Sell any shots lately?”

“The scene still hasn't kicked into gear here, either,” I said. “But it will. I'm not worried.”

“How's Nasim? How was his trip to Iran?”

This was another irksome and distressing part of my life. I told him that Nasim had come home from Iran the week before and hadn't called. I'd waited two days and then called him. “He acted like nothing was wrong, but I could tell something was. Remember I told you about what happened last spring? When he was practicing for his recital and I got that call from Carla? It's like he's never really forgiven me for that.”

“And you've talked to him about it, right?”

“A bunch of times. He keeps saying it's all right and he's gotten past it, but he doesn't
act
like it's all right.”

Avy was silent. Then he said, “I wish I knew what to say, Jamie. It sucks when you know someone you really care about is holding back. 'Cause there's no way you can make them talk. So every time you see him you feel like it's hovering there between you. The proverbial albatross around your neck.”

Tears threatened to well up in my eyes. Avy was so great. How many people do you know who really listen and think about you like that? He was special, and that only made me miss him more. “Your parents aren't the only ones who want you to come back, Avy. I miss you too.”

“Yeah, I miss you,” he said, his tone changing. “You know, seriously, Wonder Girl, it's not all fun and games out here. It gets lonely a lot. And there are so many people who can't be bothered with you. You never feel more like a nobody than when you're trying to be somebody and everyone's closing doors in your face. Tell you the truth, I really am glad my parents want me to go to the Professional Children's Academy. At least I'll be with people like myself.”

“Or you could just come back,” I said hopefully.

“There's no point. This is where I have to be. I mean, I know it's gonna be hard, but I have to do it. And I will do it. Know how I know? Because I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I mean . . .” He paused, and I got the feeling he was debating whether to tell me something. “Guess where I'm going next week. Tijuana.”

“Why?”

“To have some work done.”

“What kind of work?” I asked, not understanding.

“Nose and chin.”

I nearly dropped my cell phone. “Oh, Avy, you're not serious!”

He was quiet for a moment, as if that wasn't the reaction he'd hoped for. Then he said, “You don't understand, Jamie. It's different out here.”

“Your nose and chin are fine,” I said.

“It's not a big deal. Really.”

“It's mutilation, Avy.”

“If that's true, then just about everyone out here is mutilated,” he said.

I was glad he couldn't see the brief smile that came and went from my lips. But just because he could make a joke about it didn't make it any less serious. I wanted him to know how extremely opposed I was to someone our age having cosmetic work done. We talked for a while longer, but nothing I said could make him change his mind. Avy clung to the idea like it was a life preserver . . . or a magic bullet that would alter the trajectory of his career.

From there the conversation moved on to the safe and comfortable zone of celebrity gossip, a place where Avy and I could have easily dwelled for hours were it not for the limitations of our cell phone batteries. But deep inside I couldn't help thinking that something was seriously wrong.

I WAS HYPER. CARLA HAD CALLED AND SAID SHE HAD SOMETHING HUGE,
and now I was sitting in the waiting area of her office, hands pressed between my knees, feet tapping nervously. My career had been stalled for nearly a year. She'd said on the phone that this wouldn't be like the Alicia Howard thing. It would be better. Whatever “it” was, I needed it badly.

Carla skipped out of her office practically hyperventilating, plunked herself down on the couch, took my hands in hers and patted them. “You, my darling, are about to have your dreams come true.”

My heart beat harder. I already knew that Willow
Twine's manager, Aaron Ives, and her publicist, Heather Taylor, were in Carla's office, waiting to speak to me. What I didn't know was why. A month earlier a fresh-faced Willow had emerged happy and smiling from rehab with a planned concert tour, dozens of interviews and TV appearances. Rex Dobro had been photographed with a strictly B-role actress named Dominika Bartoli. When asked about him, Willow said they were out of touch. It was as if he'd never happened.

“Just be your normal sweet adorable self,” Carla counseled on the couch outside her office. “That's what they like about you.”

“They?”
I repeated.

“You'll see.” Pulling me by the hand, Carla led me into the office.

Inside, Aaron Ives sat at the desk, talking to someone on Carla's MacPro. I recognized him from photographs. This was the man who'd made Willow who she was. Actually, they'd made each other. Aaron was just starting out in the talent agency business when he discovered Willow, so everything he'd become he owed to her. And vice versa.

“Give me a second, sweetheart, she's here,” he said in a British accent. He looked up from the computer, smiled at me—revealing unnaturally straight white teeth—and extended his hand. “Jamie? I'm Aaron Ives. Delighted to meet you.”

“Thanks, me, too,” I said, shaking his hand. “I mean, I'm delighted to meet
you,
since I've already met me.”

He smiled as if anything I'd said would have been utterly adorable. “Have a seat.” He gestured to the couch, where, for the first time, I noticed Heather Taylor, a small, redheaded woman wearing a black pantsuit.

“Hi,” I said.

Willow's publicist gave me the old “we're so very glad to meet you” routine. I sat down beside her on the couch. Carla took a chair near the door. I thought it was strange that this was her office and yet Aaron Ives was sitting at her desk, using her Mac, and acting as if it were his office. But maybe that was how things worked in showbiz.

“So, Jamie.” Aaron leaned his elbows on the desk and intertwined his fingers as if in prayer. “Congratulations.”

“Uh, thanks, but for what exactly?” I asked.

Aaron turned to Carla, who smiled as if once again I'd just said something utterly adorable.

“For accomplishing so much at such a young age,” he said. “It's not everyone who gets profiled in
New York Weekly
and has a
People
magazine cover at the age of fifteen.”

“Thank you.” I couldn't imagine where this was leading and had to stop myself from blurting out that I wished he'd cut to the chase and just tell me. With that blindingly white, unnaturally even smile, Aaron leaned
and placed his elbows on his thighs. “How would you like to do an exclusive on Willow?”

“But not like what Carla told us happened with Alicia Howard,” Heather quickly interjected. “We're looking at a magazine spread. We're talking to
People,
US Weekly,
and
Seventeen.
They're all interested.”

To avoid betraying the way I felt, which was totally stunned, I tried to act cool and asked the first thing that popped into my head: “Willow's coming to New York?”

“Oh, no,” said Heather. “You'll be going out there. She wants you to stay with her.”

“In Los Angeles?” I asked uncertainly.

“That's right,” said Aaron. “In her mansion.”

Stay with Willow Twine—the biggest teen star in the world—in her mansion?
I glanced at Carla, and she nodded eagerly as if to assure me that it wasn't a joke. That's when my total astonishment got the better of me and I asked the kind of question you're not supposed to ask: “Why me?”

“Brilliant question,” Aaron said in a way that let me know he'd been waiting for me to ask. “Willow's known about you ever since that
New York Weekly
story. You may recall she was also in that issue.”

I nodded.

“And you know, of course, that's she's been through rather a rough patch recently. The unfortunate accident and the run-in with the authorities, and then rehab. But
she's put all that behind her now. She's ready to make her comeback, and she's got the perfect vehicle. A terrific new movie,
The Pretenders
. I can't tell you much more than that right now, but believe me, in a few weeks it will be huge entertainment news. For now we just want young women, I mean, girls, to know that Willow is still one of them. What better way to do that than to have someone close to their own age spend time with her, get to know her, literally become her friend, and document a week in the life of Willow Twine.”

Aaron paused to let the words sink in.
A Week in the Life of Willow Twine . . . by Jamie Gordon.
Carla, Aaron, and Heather looked at me expectantly. For a moment I was so dazzled—by the suggestion, by his accent, by the blinding brightness of his teeth—that I didn't realize they were waiting for my answer.

“Jamie?” Carla finally said.

I forced myself out of the fog. “Uh, yeah, I mean, thank you
so
much. I'm thrilled. I mean, yes! Great, let's do it!” I said. Was there any other way to reply?

“Brilliant!” Aaron turned the MacPro to face me. On the screen was a desk and an empty chair. Behind the chair was a bookcase lined with plaques, statuettes, and photos. “Willow, darling?” he said.

For a few seconds nothing happened. Then a woman sat down in the chair. She was wearing a thick white terrycloth robe and pulling a large light blue comb through her
straight, wet hair. She looked very familiar, but without makeup it took an extra second for me to recognize her. “Hi, there,” she said with a smile.

“Uh, hi.” I concentrated on not sounding utterly awestruck and bedazzled.

“Nice to meet you,” she said.

“You, too,” I said. “I mean, thank you so much for thinking of me.”

“So, you like our idea?” Willow asked.

“It sounds great,” I said.

“I think it's going to be so much fun,” Willow gushed as if she were as excited as me. “We'll spend the whole week together. Just you and me. We'll really get to know each other. It'll be such a blast.”

We grinned at each other on the computer. Then Willow reached toward the screen. “Gotta go, okay? See you soon.”

The screen went gray. Aaron Ives swiveled it away.

“Uh, okay,” Heather the publicist said, more to Carla than to me. “Just so we're straight up front, there are a couple of conditions. Obviously, it can't just be Jamie and Willow all week. Willow's got all kinds of appointments and meetings. But we are proposing that Jamie stay on the property and spend as much time as possible with her. As far as the pictures go, we'd like to get past the typical photo op and really let Jamie have the opportunity for some intimate candids, but obviously we also need to have some control.”

“I'm sure she understands,” Aaron said in a terse way that made it clear that these details could be discussed at another time. “So, you're on board, Jamie?”

“Definitely,” I said.

“Brilliant.” Willow's manager nodded at Carla, who rose from her chair and said to me, “Come on, Jamie, I'll walk you out.”

Aaron and Heather stood, and once again we shook hands. Out in the waiting room, I gave Carla a quizzical look and whispered, “Why would Willow want to hang out with me? Isn't she, like, three or four years older?”

“Try four or five years.” Carla dropped her voice to imply confidentiality. “But my guess is, that's got a lot to do with it.”

“You mean, youth by association?” I asked.

“Right. It gives the whole project a younger feel. At least, that's the way Heather wants to spin it. It's all about reassuring Willow's fan base that even though she and Rex Dobro were hot and heavy, she's still the same sweet, virginal girl singer and actress that they've come to love and admire. There's just one thing you have to do. Get your mom to let you go out to Hollywood for a week.”