Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home (3 page)

“Yeah, well, you know.” Matty shrugs slightly and, seeing my Sour Patch Watermelons, takes a bunch. “You never know. Anything
could have happened.”

See? All actors are superstitious. It’s not just me.

“I wanted to watch you this afternoon, but I’m sort of in the middle of a pretty big battle,” Matty says and points to his
attire. He looks so terrifying that if I didn’t know it was him, I would probably scream. His honey blond hair is matted in
blood, his face is dripping red goo, and he’s got a fat upper lip. His shirt is torn and his jeans are shredded at the knees,
like he’s been attacked by a werewolf (which he may well have been). But his green eyes are sparkling.

“Looks pretty bloody. I hope you’re winning. Aren’t you exhausted? You’ve been on set all day.”

“Not really.” Matty perches himself on a high stool in front of my mirror. “I had math and science this morning, lunch in
the cafeteria with you, and then history and English. I only started taping an hour ago. If I get done around seven and you’re
still here, I’ll stop by.”

“You can watch me another time. I want you to go home and get some sleep.” I don’t care what Matty says, he looks tired.

“Stop worrying about me.” Matty reads my thoughts. “I’m fine. I’m having a great time! I know you worked too hard at my age,
but I promise I’ll learn from your mistakes, and I won’t overdo it. Is that what you want to hear?” He grins a smile that
will someday soon make girls faint.

“I know I’m overprotective, but I don’t want you burned out.”

“I’m not,” Matty insists. He looks wistfully at the couch, but I know he doesn’t want to stain it with fake blood. “Let’s
talk about something else. I heard you guys pummeled
Megan
. Nice.”

“It’s a good start.” I play with the chunky, gold Michael Kors watch I’m wearing. “We’ll see what happens.”

“Mom was on the phone with Laney earlier,” Matty tells me, swiping some more Sour Patch. Mom has been dividing her time between
Matty’s set and mine. Thankfully we’re on the same lot, but the way she trots back and forth we keep joking she’s going to
have to give up her stilettos and start wearing sneakers. (“Over my dead body!” Mom declared.) “They’ve got you booked on
everything on the West Coast they could squeeze in next week.”

“I can’t believe I’m in such high demand all of a sudden. It’s kind of nice.” I sink back into the couch. This thing could
really use some throw pillows. I’ve been putting off adding a personal touch to my dressing room (superstitions!), but hearing
that news makes me feel more at home. Heck, I’m going to buy pillows and an area rug too. If we get cancelled, I’ll find a
place for them in my bedroom.

There is another knock at my door, and my costar Kayla peeks her head in, her blond hair falling around her face. “Hey, Kaitlin.
I was just running down to crafty before we start. Want to join me?”

A new show feels a lot like a new school year. Well, if I went to an actual school. Even though I want to hang with Matty,
I feel like I should join Kayla and get to know her better. “Sure.” I glance at Matty. “Kayla, this is my brother. I don’t
know if you two have met.”

“Hi there,” Matty says in a voice much deeper than his own. He shakes Kayla’s hand, and if I didn’t know any better, I would
think she’s blushing. Isn’t she sixteen? She’s a little older than Matty. “I’ve seen your work the past few weeks. You’re
really good.”

I almost gag on the last Sour Patch Watermelon I swiped when Matty wasn’t looking. Kayla is not good. She’s good-
looking
and very sweet, but she’s no Meryl Streep.

Kayla plays with her hair thoughtfully. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from a star like you.”

“Star? Nah.” Matty seems flustered. “Well, maybe. But I’m new too, you know. I’ve been in your shoes so I get where you’re
coming from. Listen, if you ever need some advice…”

Oh brother…

“I’d love some advice!” Kayla says with glee and beams at me. “Your brother is awesome, Kaitlin.”

“
Awesome
doesn’t begin to describe him,” I say wryly and give him a look. He pretends to be looking at my dressing room’s dull, white
ceiling.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kayla says to someone we can’t see, and I hear a muffled voice. “Yeah, she’s right in here.” The door opens
further, and there is the best delivery I could ever get: My boyfriend, Austin Meyers, is standing in the doorway holding
a small bouquet of daisies.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp, jumping up and practically leaping into his arms.

“I got out early, so I thought you’d like some company.” He smiles and stares down at me with his incredible blue eyes.

I can’t help but grin. Austin has one of those faces that just sticks with you, and it’s not just because his eyes suck you
in or because he has great hair. (It really is great. His bangs are long and his hair skims the bottom of his ears.) His face
is practically hand-carved and tan, and then when your eyes trail down to the rest of him, you can’t help feeling all gooey.
He gives being fit new meaning, thanks to daily lacrosse practice even during off season, and I love his muscular arms. He’s
a great dresser too. Today he’s in a navy, long-sleeve, Abercrombie tee and dark denim jeans with low, brown Diesel shoes
that I got him at a gift suite.

“I know we have a date later, but I figured we’d start early,” he says, handing me the flowers.

“Sounds good to me,” I agree and kiss him.

We had a rocky summer apart—I was in New York and he was at a lacrosse camp in Texas—but ever since we’ve both been back in
Los Angeles, it’s been bliss. Well, bliss on a much tighter schedule. My new show has required some seventeen-hour days, which
doesn’t give me a lot of time for date nights, but Austin has been incredibly understanding. He’s always doing romantic things
like popping by the set.

Austin sits down on the couch and grins at Matt. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks, man,” Matty says, standing up and puffing out his chest, which you can sort of see through his ripped, blood-soaked
shirt. I’m not sure if the effect is for Austin, who Matty is always trying to impress, or for Kayla. “Just keeping it real.”

I look at Kayla and realize we’ve kept her waiting. We probably have to be back on set in five minutes. “Kayla, I’m so sorry!
You remember my boyfriend, Austin, right?” The two quickly say hi. “I didn’t mean to keep you from crafty,” I apologize. “Go
without me. Can we go together some other time?”

“Definitely,” Kayla says. She looks at Matty. “Do you want to go with me, maybe, before you go back to
Scooby
?”

“Sure,” Matty says a little too eagerly. He clears his throat. “It’s not like they can start without me, right? I guess I
can take ten more minutes.” Matty looks at me. “Kates, have a great taping. A, I’ll catch you later. I’m heading from the
set to the gym.” He puffs out his chest again and sneaks a glance at Kayla. “I’m really bulking up for this role.”

“I see that,” Austin says, and I think I see the corners of his mouth twitch.

I resist the urge to giggle till Matty has led Kayla down the hall. “You may have to help me bring Matty down a peg,” I tell
Austin as I close the door behind them and snuggle up next to my boyfriend on the uncomfortable couch. “Can you imagine how
inflated his ego will be by the time his show finishes taping in March? We won’t be able to fit him through the studio gates.”

Austin chuckles. “It’s not so bad yet. He was trying to impress a girl.”

“True, but if he starts giving me or Kayla acting or workout tips, I’m staging an intervention.” On the other hand, it is
nice to see Matty so confident. He seems really happy.

Austin grins as he plays with my hands. “Deal.” He looks around the bare room. I never realized how bad the lighting was in
here. “We have to do something about this space of yours.”

My new dressing room is nothing much to look at—yet. It’s standard; lots of mirrors, a couch, bad art on the wall, a lounge
chair, blah beige walls. I did pin up a promo poster they made for
Small Fries
. It’s supposed to look like a fast-food ad. The cast is in knockoff McDonald’s uniforms and the tagline reads: “Supersize
your Thursdays. Get (
Small
 )
Fries
!” It’s pretty cute. But that’s my only personal touch so far. Sky started redoing her dressing room immediately. She painted
her walls hot pink and bought a faux zebra rug, but if we’re only here a few weeks, I don’t want to get too attached. Still…
I look over at the tiny paint swatches I’ve taped to the rear wall where no one can really see them. If things go well, I
am so painting this room a warm, buttery yellow.

“Maybe we should paint and get you some posters?” Austin suggests.  “From what I just heard out in the hall, it sounds like
you’re going to be here awhile.”

“Can you believe it?” I squeak. “We beat
Megan
!
Megan
!” Sky is right. That is amazing!

“My mom said
Small Fries
is on this week’s
TV Guide
cover and the article said you were the show to watch,” Austin marvels, throwing his arm around me. “You guys have
hit
written all over you, Burke.”

I bite my lip. “I can’t believe this is happening. It’s overwhelming, but in a good way.” I play with Austin’s hair. “I feel
really lucky.”

“You are, but you also earned it,” he reminds me. “I’m so proud of you, Burke. Everyone at school was talking about the show
today. Principal P. even mentioned it during morning announcements.”

Austin’s principal and I go way back. She was a major
FA
fan.

“I really like it here, Austin,” I admit. “The cast seems great, Amy has a cool vision for the show’s first season, and it
feels right doing TV again. I know I’ve been logging a lot of hours,” I feel the need to add, “but once the show gets off
the ground we’ll be able to hang out somewhere other than my dressing room. At least you’ve had college applications to keep
you busy.” Austin and my best friend, Liz, are in full-on college mode, a thought I try to block out since both seem determined
to go to places as far from the Pacific Ocean as possible. I have to be supportive, as much as I wish they’d stay close to
home. And to me. “How’s that going, by the way?” I ask.

“Good,” Austin says easily. “My English lit teacher read over my Boston College essay and she really liked it. Did you look
at any of the applications that Nadine pulled for you yet?”

“No,” I admit, feeling ashamed. “But I will.”

“It’s your call, Burke,” Austin says and leans his head back against the cinder block wall. “You don’t have to do the college
thing if you don’t want to. You do have a pretty good thing going right here.”

“I know, but…”

This is the one area of my life that I don’t have an answer for yet. Go to college or forget it? I’m so torn. Sometimes I
wish I could split myself in two. I’d be Kaitlin the actress and Kaitlin the regular girl. Then I wouldn’t have to make a
choice.

“Don’t worry about this tonight.” Austin reads my mind as a P.A. knocks on my door and announces I need to be on set in ten
minutes. “For now, let’s figure out when we’re going to have a dinner that isn’t catered by crafty.”

I love that Austin is using Hollywood terms now, like
crafty
for craft services. I grab my iPhone and scroll through the calendar. Nadine found this great application that syncs our
calendars, so mine is always up to date. I start scrolling through the next seven days. “Saturday we have that Turkey Tasters
thing,” I remind him.

“What are we doing again? Cooking turkeys?” Austin looks confused.

“We’re making turkey care packages for Turkey Tasters,” I explain.

“Why do turkeys need care packages?”

I give him a look. “They don’t. They’re care packages sponsored by Turkey Tasters, with turkey items inside, I guess. Mom
says I need to do more charity work, so she signed us all up, including Sky and Liz. Hopefully we can go out after.” I look
at the next few days’ schedule. “I told Mom you and I were way overdue for a proper date night, so she should leave some nights
free next week, and she said she would. I know I’m free Tuesday night and Wednesday and…HEY. ”

“What?” Austin sounds surprised at my tone.

“Every night next week is booked up with interviews or meetings!” I say indignantly. “Nadine even has a note next to each
event that says ‘booked by your mom.’ ” I guess she knew I’d be mad. I can’t believe Mom did that to me. Okay, I
can
believe it, but I can’t. Grr…

“Breathe,” Austin says soothingly and strokes my arm. I take a deep breath and place Austin’s hands in mine, tracing a heart
on his calloused palm (too much time cradling a lacrosse stick).

“I just want more time with you.” I sigh.

“You have time with me,” Austin says softly. “Only it feels like we’re on house arrest or
Big Brother
.” I giggle. “But it’s okay, Burke. Like I said before, I just want you to be happy, and I know this show does that for you.
You know what makes me happy?”

“What?” I whisper, even though I think I know the answer.

“Being with you.” He kisses me again.

I really do have the best boyfriend.

“FIVE MINUTES TILL TAPING.” I hear the P.A. loud and clear.

“Maybe I can beg for ten,” I murmur between kisses.

“We’ll deal with five,” Austin says, super supportive as always.

And then we go back to kissing.

My
Small Fries
costar Brendan scoots past me on his brand-new (free) skateboard before he veers out of control and nearly careens into the
giant tower of canned cranberries that are set up in the Turkey Tasters Feed the Homeless Photo Lounge. Two Turkey Tasters
workers, who are dressed in green aprons with pictures of the cartoon Tom Turkey Taster on them, run for cover as a photographer
snaps pictures of the impending disaster.

Brendan thankfully stops himself inches from the towering processed Thanksgiving favorite, but the shutterbug continues to
snap away. “Who put these cans here?” Brendan demands more for the sake of his wounded ego than the almost ruined display.
“I could have dropped one of these babies on my head and wound up with a real shiner. I have a taping tomorrow!”

Three Tasters employees rush over to make sure there isn’t a scratch on widdle Brendan’s chinny chin chin (hee hee) while
two more Turkey Tasters sponsors give Brendan more freebies to soothe the only thing he did bruise—his ego. One hands him
the latest iPad while the other offers the newest edition of Rock Band, both of which he practically salivates over. The
event photographer snaps a photo of him holding his loot.

“Your costar is a total tool,” my best friend, Liz, says under her breath. “This is a charity event, not a gift suite! And
yet, here we are, packing food for the needy while someone tries to photograph us wearing the latest ‘it’ jacket. Why are
they giving us iPads and coats? How is that related to giving thanks?” Liz asks, getting fired up. I notice one of the Tasters
people staring at us, and I give a little wave. “They should be spending all their time and money on the people that really
need it, not pampering the likes of him.”

We’re at the packaging station putting together boxes of Thanksgiving goods to feed Los Angelenos in need, and I’m afraid
Liz may throw a box of Turkey Tasters crushed cranberries at someone’s head. I look at Austin and Liz’s boyfriend, Josh, hoping
they can calm her down, but they look just as worried as I do.

“You’re completely right, Lizzie,” I agree quietly. She’s right about everything, but if someone overhears her, I’ll take
the heat for it in the press. “I never would have dragged you guys here if I knew it was a freebie haven masquerading as a
cause.”

The Turkey Tasters Feed the Homeless event, which is being held inside a rented beach house in Malibu, is a good idea in theory.
Turkey Tasters, which is best known for its gravy, asked stars to come out and put together over four hundred meals for families
in need. All of the food was donated by local supermarkets and celebrities (I was photographed coming in with my Whole Foods
bags) and will be delivered by various stars on Thanksgiving eve. Donating your time to a worthy cause is a great idea, but
somehow tonight’s event turned into an elaborate gift suite/photo op as well. One of the Tasters people slipped and told me
the RSVPs were so poor, they got desperate and had to bring in other sponsors to entice celebrities. They’re calling the house
the Turkey Tasters Beach Retreat, and they’ve set up a huge gift suite armed with an array of products stars can take in exchange
for donating their time to charity. As if getting the chance to help others isn’t fulfilling enough.

HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER THREE: I’m sure you’re wondering the same thing I was the first time I heard about these celebrity-frequented
beach houses: What’s the deal and why do I keep reading about them in the tabloids? I have an answer for you. Every summer
big brands and corporations lure the Lauren Cobb and Ava Hayden types to a fabulous Malibu beach house with the promise of
two types of celebrity catnip: free stuff and guaranteed paparazzi coverage. Free stuff is something celebrities covet everywhere,
especially at gift suites, which I know you guys already know all about. But it is the guaranteed paparazzi coverage that
makes minor stars and reality show wannabes who are desperate to extend their fifteen minutes of fame flock to the beach house.
Usually the more famous stars stay away. (Do any of us really need another picture in
Hollywood Nation
? I think not. Do any of us need a fourth iPad? Ditto.)

“I thought this was going to be an event of substance,” Liz continues, shaking a metal can up and down so hard that I’m afraid
cranberry is going to explode into the air. Her cool pink-and-purple Pucci tank dress is barely visible under the harsh green
apron. Her curly dark brown hair is pulled off her face and held back with a purple headband, and you can see her funky purple
beaded earrings madly swing back and forth. “Your mom said Clooney was going to be here, and he doesn’t do anything that isn’t
worthy.”

“I know.” I quietly pry the can from her hands. I’m careful not to tear the sleeve of my Anna Sui silk shirt on the edge of
the basket I’m loading. At least my new J Brand jeans and cream Prada ballet flats are a little more practical for an event
like this.

“
This
is nothing like that,” Liz continues, waving her now empty hands around wildly. Behind her I can see one of the
Jersey Shore
dudes posing in a new pair of sunglasses.

“We’re still helping others,” Austin reminds Liz and places a can of the new Turkey Tasters crushed cranberries in the basket
he’s putting together. “I’ve always wanted to give back at Thanksgiving. I think it’s pretty cool a company would at least
try
to do something decent. Sure, they haven’t done things exactly right,” he adds, when he sees Liz’s skin start to prickle,
“but we’re still doing good. You’re not going to walk out on giving Thanksgiving to four hundred people who can’t afford it
themselves, are you? Besides, this could be a great conversation starter at a college interview.” He winks at me, and I have
the overwhelming urge to kiss him.

Even in that Turkey Tasters apron, Austin looks good. His navy polo and dark denim jeans stand out against the weird green
apron he has on, and his blond hair looks too lush to be wasted on a boy.

“Austin Meyers, you are trying to soften me up, aren’t you? It’s working.” Then Liz smiles for the first time since we arrived,
when they offered her a Turkey Tasters Snuggie, and she burst out laughing.

“I like the positive thinking, Meyers,” Josh says, pointing to his forehead. “Mind if I steal the college angle too?” He clears
his throat. “Yes, college interviewer, I do think I can change the world. Just the other night I was overcompensating for
a bunch of half-baked celebrities readying baskets to feed the homeless and I thought to myself, ‘This isn’t enough for me.
This is too small scale. Four hundred homeless? Pish posh. What can we do on a more
global
scale to help others in need?’ That’s what I hope to find out through my studies here at Brown University.” Liz chuckles.
She adores Josh, and not just because he looks like a young Brad Pitt. He makes her laugh. A lot.

“You guys are terrible,” Liz says, wagging a finger in their direction. “But you may be on to something. I might have to work
this into my essay for UCLA.”

“UCLA?” I ask, trying not to get too excited. “Since when did that get added to the mix? Are you really considering West Coast
schools now? Los Angeles area or northern California? Just California or as far north as Seattle?”

“Slow down,” Liz tells me, holding a bag of spaghetti like a shield. “I’m not saying I’m staying in So. Cal. I’m just exploring
my options. NYU is still on the table, but I still have my doubts about East Coast living. Unlike Josh, I’m not sure I’d look
cute in snow boots. Does Burberry make any?”

“If they do, I’m sure they’re not as cute as the Burberry
rain
boots, which you’d get to wear often if you stayed here,” I say hopefully, and Liz just shakes her head.

A huge box of supplies lands with a loud thump in the middle of our table, and cans roll out in all directions. The four of
us scramble to catch them before they slide off the table.

“Sorry about that, guys,” Trevor Wainright apologizes. “That Tasters guy said you were running out of Turkey Tasters soup.”

Trevor is Sky’s off-again/on-again boyfriend and has been since we were all on
Family Affair
together. At first I thought Sky was just taking advantage of Trevor’s wholesome Iowa-raised sweetness. He’s a farm boy turned
actor, and he has the looks to match—bright blond hair, blue eyes, tall, and muscular all over. But I soon realized that Sky
really had a thing for him, even if she does have a funny way of showing it.

“Trevs, go get more whole-grain bread.” Sky snaps her fingers at him. “And bring the rest of our stuff over here too. If I
have to hear Baron Darter talk about
Dancing with the Stars
for another minute, I might throw a Turkey Tasters Gravy Maker at his head!” Sky nudges Austin with her hip. “Move down and
make room, A. I need elbow space.”

“You got it, Skylar,” Austin quips and winks at me. He can’t stand when Sky calls him A, so he’s started calling her Skylar.
The two of them have developed a friendly-snipey relationship like she and I used to have.

Sky wipes her brow, and I’m about to tell her she’s sweating (Sky claims she doesn’t perspire), but I think better of it when
I see the annoyed look on her face. Her black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, and she’s wearing simple emerald earrings
that match her green Stella McCartney top and coordinating cream skirt. I think she’s also wearing Prada pumps, which aren’t
really appropriate for standing on your feet for hours doing charity work, but that’s Sky. “This event is lame,” she whispers
loud enough for all of us to hear. She’s looking at me when she says it though. “We should
not
be here, K. Skits on
The Tonight Show
, yes. Cooking with Rachael Ray, fine. But packaging Tofurky with Mario Lopez is out of the question. I could kill your mom
for telling my mom about this!”

“I’m with Sky.” Liz is neatly organizing our new supplies. The boxes of stuffing look like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. “You
two do not belong with all these reality show stars and C-listers. If your mom thought you needed to do more volunteer work,
then there are a zillion soup kitchens that would have loved to have you. This lowbrow event is beneath you guys.”

“I’ll say.” Sky gives one of the former
The Hills
stars a dirty look as she pretends to kiss a frozen turkey for a shutterbug.

“I’m sorry, guys.” I sigh. “Mom is so obsessed with making
Small Fries
a huge hit that she says yes to everything these days. She probably was so distracted when she took the call that she thought
the Tasters people said Clooney instead of cranberries,” I try to joke, but no one laughs. “She’s overwhelmed,” I admit. “I
think she’s got a touch of the career anxiety I had last summer, and juggling Matty and me seems to be a lot of pressure on
her. She’s so upset about not having time to do the Darling Daisies out here. I knew this event was off base, but I didn’t
want to get her all riled up.”

I don’t add that I did try to get out of tonight. I casually mentioned tonight’s RSVP list to mom—think the
Jersey Shore
stars, the Lohans, and Tori Spelling—but she barely heard me. She was prepping for a conference call with Matty’s producers
and had the network’s publicity department on hold about something with me at the same time. “Kate-Kate, I can’t talk right
now,” she said, sounding weary. “Can we discuss this around two over Ice Blendeds? Just you and me and Coffee Bean?” I agreed,
excited for the one-on-one time, but there wasn’t a later. When I came to get her, Anita told me she left a half hour earlier
to take Matty to a photo shoot.

“Kates, if this was a one-time thing, I’d get it, but your mom never listens to you,” Liz says gingerly, taking a box of pasta
from Sky, who nods in agreement. “It’s like your opinion doesn’t count at all, whether it’s about a movie role, a dress to
wear to the SAG Awards, or going out with us instead of turning up at a lame event.”

“She doesn’t do it on purpose,” I say, feeling suddenly unsure of myself. “And Mom doesn’t do that all the time, does she?”
I ask Austin.

He looks uncomfortable. “She did book up all your free nights, even though you asked to leave them open so we could hang out.”

“She didn’t!” Liz drops an orange on the floor. “Kates, you’ve been saying for weeks that you need a few nights off from the
publicity machine. You have to put her in her place.”

“Liz, she’s my momager,” I remind her.
Momager
is the word for moms who are also their kids’ managers. “The normal rules don’t apply. Momagers are sort of like Emperor
Palpatine.” I glance at Austin for confirmation on my
Star Wars
reference. “Too much power sometimes goes to their heads, and you have no control over how they act. My hands are tied.”

“No, they’re not,” Sky says and tosses a thing of apples in the box that she’s carelessly filling. “Do what I did. I fired
my mom this week. Her manager duty is over.”

I drop a box of instant sweet potatoes and stare at Sky. “You did what?” I stutter. “But how? What did she say? Did she flip
out? Didn’t she, well, didn’t she say no?”

Sky laughs. “K, she can’t say no! It’s my decision. I am nineteen.” She says that last part quietly. Sky’s age is a sore subject.
This mean costar we had on
FA
outed Sky’s true age to a tabloid, when she had been claiming to be a teenager a few years younger. “I’m old enough to make
my own decisions about management, and I’ve decided my mom is better off being just my mom.”

“She took it better than I thought she would,” Trev adds, as he joins us again. He’s got two boxes on his shoulders, and he
effortlessly lowers them down to the table. Loaves of bread and apples roll out. “She went out and booked a vacation to Tahiti.
She didn’t even buy a return ticket.”

“She may stay there through Christmas, and then it will just be me and Daddy eating Wagyu beef at Cut on Christmas Eve,” Sky
says gleefully.

Wow. I mean, really wow. Sky fired her mom! I never…I mean, it wouldn’t even occur to me to…I’ll be eighteen next month.