Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home (5 page)

When would she have time to go?

“Mom?” I question. I feel like I’m interrupting a very private moment. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, hi, honey,” Mom says and quickly composes herself. Her makeup is flawless, but her green eyes are cloudy. “Everything
is fine. That was Nancy Walsh on the phone. She’s very close to getting the chapter off the ground, you know, and things are
very hectic to say the least.”

When we were in New York this past summer, Mom worked with Nancy Walsh on a bunch of charity projects, but her favorite was
this group called the Darling Daisies Committee. They beautified the New York landscape by planting—you guessed it—daisies
all over the city. Nancy adored Mom and said she was a shoo-in to run their new Los Angeles division. But that was before
managing Matty became a job of its own—his under-sixteen status means there are a lot of laws to navigate. Now she’s so busy
with him I don’t see or hear from her as frequently and, secretly, it’s been kind of nice. Plus, Matty has gotten so popular
with the tween set that he’s getting cover offers from
Teen Vogue
and
J-14
and every teen book out there. Mom can barely keep up with his requests.

Not that she’ll let on that she’s swamped. She snaps constantly, but she’s always telling us she has everything under control.
The only time she seems relaxed is when she’s doing something for the Daisies.

“What’s happening with the president position?” I perch myself on a nearby tufted ottoman with gold legs and watch as Mom
gathers up her things. First she drops her BlackBerry and the battery pops out, then she drops a pen, then her notebook. It
shouldn’t be a biggie, but Mom actually yells something loudly that I shouldn’t repeat. “Mom?” I ask worriedly.

“She’s giving the job to someone else,” Mom says flatly and scoops everything up and drops it in her oversized Louis Vuitton
bag. “She didn’t say that exactly, but I know she is. She doesn’t feel I have time to devote to the Daisies.”

“Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry.” I reach out and touch her wrist. She wasn’t this crushed when I lost out on that Steven Spielberg
movie.

“She’s giving me fifteen minutes on Tuesday to prove myself, but I know I won’t change her mind.” Mom’s voice is strange.
“The bottom line is she’s right. I don’t have time.”

“Make the time,” I stress, trying to get Mom to look at me. “Maybe if you cut back on other things, like”—I take a deep breath
and think of Sky— “me, you’ll have the time you need for the Daisies.”

Mom looks at me like I’ve suggested she put me up for adoption. “What do you mean, cut back on you? I can’t do that!” Her
voice starts to rise a little. “You
need
me.”

“I know I do,” I backpedal, side-eyeing the guy in the business suit sitting across from us that is staring. “I just meant
you seem so overworked and stressed all the time, and that makes me worried. My career is doing great now—you could cut back
and Nadine could take up the slack. I never get to see you anymore. I miss you.”

Mom waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, Kaitlin, now you’re being dramatic. I see you all the time!”

“No, Mom,” I say quietly. “I mean,
really
see you. Not at work, not about work; as my mom. When’s the last time you and I did anything that didn’t have to do with
filming?”

Mom’s face sort of crumbles when I say that. “Honey, I know it feels that way sometimes, but I love you and your brother more
than anything in this world,” she says, sounding genuine. “I love being part of your careers and it’s so important that I
am because I feel so fiercely protective of you two. No one looks out for your interests the way I do, and when I see you
doing so well with
Small Fries
and getting these incredible offers that we’re going to talk about tonight, I feel so proud. You and Matty doing well at
something you love, that’s the most important thing to me. I want you two to be bigger than Angelina Jolie and George Clooney!”

I can’t help but laugh at that one, and Mom pulls me in tightly, giving me a rare hug. I breathe deeply, taking in her Beckham
perfume, and try to remember the moment.

“If Nancy Walsh thinks my job with you two will take away from the Daisies, then let her. My children are more important than
some silly flower project.” She touches my chin. “I am never cutting back on you, ever.” She pulls away from me, and I notice
her eyes are sort of stricken. “Unless you don’t want me to manage you anymore. Is that it?”

“Of course not!” I blurt out quickly, feeling guilty for even bringing it up. Look at her—Mom would be devastated if I ever sent her packing. I couldn’t do that to her. At least this way I get to see her every day. Sure, she makes me crazy
and doesn’t listen to my opinions, but if she wasn’t my manager anymore, maybe we’d have no relationship at all.

“Good,” Mom says, breathing out slowly. “I got worried for a minute. I just wish… forget it. It is what it is. This is what
we wanted, right? To be busy and successful.” She puts her arm around me. “And we are. That’s what’s most important.”

“Mom, you love the Daisies—” I start to say again, but she cuts me off.

“Forget the Daisies.” She grabs my arm and leads me through the lobby toward the entrance to the Polo Lounge. “Tonight we
have more important things to worry about, like your future.”

Stepping into the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel makes you feel like you’ve time-warped to another decade. You half
expect to see Tinseltown legends like Jimmy Stewart and Marilyn Monroe sitting in a booth having cocktails. The cozy restaurant
is known for its famous brunch on the gorgeous patio, but tonight we’re having dinner inside at a table that has cushy, fabric-covered,
wood-armed chairs and a view of a massive tree in the courtyard. Jazz music is playing, and the dimly lit room and candles
soothe me instantly after the conversation I just had with Mom.

I find Seth, Laney, Matty, and my dad sipping drinks and eating bread. (Well, Matty and Dad are at least. I don’t think Laney
has had bread since 1986.) Dad looks up from his TAG Heuer watch to Mom and I as we sit down.

“Everything okay?” Dad asks Mom. “You were on that call for a while.”

“It was Nancy Walsh,” Mom says reluctantly as a waiter places a napkin on her lap. “She thinks I have too much on my plate
to handle the launch of the Daisies on the West Coast. I’m going to convince her otherwise.” Mom starts punching buttons on
her BlackBerry, her new diamond Rolex sparkling brighter than my water goblet, which a waiter just filled to the top.

“You know, sweetie, your schedule is very full,” Dad says delicately and touches my mom’s hand. “This is the first time we’ve
had dinner together in over a week. You haven’t called Victoria Beckham back, and she’s called three times.”

Wow, Mom is ignoring the Beckhams? She really must be swamped.

“I could help with Katie-Kat more,” Dad offers and winks at me. “I’ve been hanging out at her shoots while you’re busy with
Matty, and I feel like I did when I test-drove the Maserati GranTurismo with the Poltrona Frau leather upholstery! I’m sure
I could swing things for a while until your datebook settles down.”

“
Swing
things?” Mom stops typing and looks at him sharply. Any trace of the warmth in her voice from our conversation is gone. “When
you’re a manager you don’t
swing
. You shake. You shimmy. You make your client the best darn thing this town has ever seen!”

“You mean our daughter and son, right?” Dad asks, sounding slightly embarrassed and yet annoyed at the same time. “Are our
children just clients now?” Mom looks a little shocked at herself. “We talked about blurring the line, Meg. This is what I
meant. Look at how you’re acting!”

Matty and I look at each other worriedly. Now my parents are fighting? And in public? They never fight. I think. It’s not
like I’m around that often to see, but they’re always so happy when they’re off on a double date with Tom (Hanks) and Rita
(Wilson). I nudge Laney, praying she can rein them in before they cause a scene. Jack Nicholson is eating at a table nearby,
and he’s staring at us.

“Meg?” Laney tries. “Did I tell you
Vanity Fair
is booking their Young Hollywood cover?”

The words
Vanity Fair
jolt Mom out of her tirade. “Have they called for us yet?”

Laney sips her iced tea. “I’m sure they will any day. If not, believe me, I’ll call them. They owe me big time.”

You do not want to get on Laney’s bad side. Her twenty-something look—Brazilian-straightened blond hair, petite figure, cute
fitted suits (tonight she has on a black Elizabeth and James stretch jacket over a white tee and black trousers)—makes her
seem like a teddy bear. She’s more like a grizzly bear. Laney protects her clients—and their extended families—like they are
her own cubs. Most of Hollywood is deathly afraid of her wrath. Even I still get a little nervous around her, and she’s been
my publicist for years.

“You’re right. They’ll call us. I can’t handle making another call this week.” Mom motions to the waiter. “I’ll have a glass
of Merlot, please.”

“Actually, we’ll have a bottle of your best Merlot,” Seth tells the waiter. “Tonight is a celebration. Our shooting star is
officially a planet!” Seth looks at me, his laser-white teeth dazzling. His short, brown hair is freshly highlighted, and
he’s wearing a gorgeous brown Tom Ford suit. Seth always looks like he’s at the most important meeting of his life, even if
we’re doing something as routine as going over my call sheets.

When the wine arrives and Matty and I have our sodas, Seth grins at me over his glass. “You’ve done it, Kaitlin. You’ve officially
arrived.” He starts to applaud me. Here. In the middle of the restaurant. I could die. Especially when Dad joins him.

Matty clears his throat. “Not that Kates doesn’t deserve her moment to shine, but…”

Seth slaps his hand on the table. “Matt, you’re right! Sorry, dude.” He raises his glass of Merlot. “And to Matt for getting
the part that Ty Crawlord was stupid enough to let slip out of his fingers.” Everyone clinks glasses.

I look from one person to the next, hoping I will get filled in. Matty smiles like someone who swallowed a canary.

“I’m going to be Dusty Dermont in
Hope, Guts, and Glory 2
,” he says proudly before giving the waiter his order. (I just heard Laney give hers. She’s starting with a salad and then
moving on to Alaskan halibut.) “Ty Crawlord tried to get the studio to pony up a huge pay raise, and they balked. He’s being
replaced by me!”

Hope, Guts, and Glory
raked in over two hundred million at the box office thanks to direction from Quinn Tartaglia and a ragtag band of unknown
stars willing to play American soldiers battling zombie mutants in an African rain forest. Released last Halloween, it broke
box office records, thanks in large part to the college crowd. Ty Crawlord looked to be the breakout star, and he’s already
signed on to two other films. I guess
Hope, Guts, and Glory 2
won’t be his third deal.

HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER FIVE: You would think a high-profile project and a well-liked part would be an unbeatable combination,
but sometimes if a star threatens to walk off a sequel, they’ll let him. It would be awfully hard to imagine anyone playing
the young Obi-Wan Kenobi other than Ewan McGregor, but sometimes established actors are recast in film franchises. If a star
is being difficult, or they locked in early for a sequel, the studio may look elsewhere to fill that character’s shoes. Sure,
you’d rather go with the original, but franchises can survive without them. 
Harry Potter
isn’t going to tank because they’ve replaced the person who plays Quidditch player number four.

“Matty, that’s incredible!” I tell him, my face beaming as brightly as his. “When do you start?”

“Hiatus,” he says and takes a sip of his Sprite. “We’re shooting in Brazil. Mom is coming with me.”

“But don’t you worry, sweetie,” Mom says after she’s placed her order (same as mine—the truffled Jidori chicken breast. Mom
is starting with chilled leek soup, and I’m starting with the Santa Monica Farmers Market salad). “I will fly back and forth
to your sets, and Daddy can give me updates. We know you’re going to have a crazy hiatus as well.”

I shrug, trying not to look too excited.

And I certainly try not to think:
James Cameron. James Cameron. James Cameron!

AAAAH!

“It’s not like I’ve been offered anything yet.” I try to inconspicuously sneak a peek at the rest of the table. Seth’s face
makes my heart start to beat out of control.

“That’s what you think,” he says and throws a heavy bound book of pages at me (well, he sort of places it in front of me,
but you get the idea). The word
CONFIDENTIAL
is stamped all over it. “This is for you. You’re going in to read and meet with Jim next week.”

I glance at the cover and see a name I’ve only dreamed about working with: James Cameron. I bite my lip to keep from screaming
at the top of my lungs. “Is this what I think it is?” I can barely breathe.

“You bet your future Oscar it is.” Laney looks satisfied. “I told you your life was changing! This part, the stellar press—you’re
moving in the right circles and people have noticed.”

Seth explains more. “It’s an action flick set in the near distant future, but it’s not an apocalyptic film.” Seth rolls his
eyes. “I’m so sick of those. This is more of a think piece that focuses on a research team exploring a cure for the greenhouse
effect on the planet of Abaronza, which is in the middle of an intergalactic war zone. Brad Pitt just signed on to be the
head astronaut, and Sandra Bullock is his copilot.”

Laney nods approvingly. “I’ve been telling Sandy for years she needed to do sci-fi. That and paranormal are so in.”

“I get to be an astronaut?” I squeak. And work with Pitt and Bullock? EEEEEE!

Seth grins. “Jim already likes you, but if he likes you when you meet, the part is yours. You’d be locked in for a trilogy,
should the first film do well enough to warrant more.”

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod ohmygod!

OH MY GOD!

I feel like I might pass out. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever be offered a part like this. Me! Working with
James Cameron! With two of the most talked-about actors of this generation! I can’t believe it. I really can’t believe it!
I need to excuse myself so I can tell Austin and Liz. They are going to flip.

“You’ve arrived, shining star,” Seth says, his eyes, I think, actually glittering with tears. I look at Laney. She is misty
too. As is Dad. The four of us actually clutch hands. I look at Mom for approval.

“There’s more,” she says, pulling a dog-eared script out of her bag.

“Meg, I thought we decided to table the other offer till we know  Jim’s timeline,” Seth says lightly, but he looks peeved.
If his eyes were lasers, the new script piled on top of my Cameron one would explode.

Mom smooths her napkin. “I don’t want to table it.”

Uh-oh.

“Why does she have two offers and I only have one?” Matty whines.

“I don’t even want to hear it,” I joke. “Nothing is better than working with James Cameron. I want to take this one!” Seth
and Laney laugh.

The waiter brings over our starters, and my yummy salad stares up at me begging to be eaten. I had lunch almost six hours
ago, and I’m starved. As I take my first bite, I hear Mom’s reply.

“Of course you’re going to do the James Cameron movie, but you’re going to take this one too.” Seth just looks at her. So
does Dad. “What? This script is incredible. To pass it up would be insulting.”

“Meg, every five minutes someone in Hollywood is insulted,” Seth points out. “This Cameron project is massive. There is no
time to do both.”

“You said yourself that we can make time if she wants to,” Mom reminds him.

“
If
she wants to,” Seth says and looks at me since he probably knows I’m confused. “Your mom is right that the other script is
a winner too. Clint Eastwood wants you to play George Clooney’s estranged daughter in his new film, which he also wrote. The part of the mom will be played by Julia Roberts, and
rumor has it they’ve confirmed Robert Pattinson as the boyfriend.”

Whoa. That is pretty good too.

“The film is shooting during hiatus, and it’s an intense six-week shooting schedule,” Mom tells me knowledgeably. “Clint’s
people told me they’d be willing to work with Cameron so that you could squeeze in both.” Mom pauses, takes a sip of wine,
and takes my hand. “Kaitlin, you’ve never had offers like this before. How can you pick just one? The Eastwood film could
mean Oscar.”

“So could the Jim project,” Seth reminds me.

When Nadine said it, I thought she was joking, but now that Laney has mentioned it, and Mom and Seth have said it in all seriousness,
I can scarcely breathe.

“The screenplay is amazing,” Seth agrees. “I didn’t bring it to you first because I know you’ve always wanted to work with
Jim, and that one is a trilogy offer and—”

“Your job is to bring her all offers,” Mom reminds him.

“Meg,” Dad warns. Matty and I look at each other.

“Are you saying I’m not doing my job, Meg?” Seth’s voice is tight.

“No, but—”

“We shouldn’t overwork her.” Seth is firm. “I want her fresh when she goes back for season two of
Small Fries
.” He winks at me. “We know there will be one. I’ve put a call in to Eastwood’s people to check on start dates. Maybe if the
Eastwood project is pushed back then we can—”

“That’s a good idea,” I agree quickly.

“No,” Mom insists. “We’re not losing this.” She grabs my hand again and shakes it. “Kate-Kate, I know it’s a lot of work,
but you can handle it. I know what’s best for you. You know that. Don’t you trust me?”

“I do, but…” I falter.

“You can multitask,” Mom says. “We can squeeze in both, and you can do sci-fi and work toward Oscar glory. Sweetie, I want
you to have it all.”

Laney looks at her plate. Seth looks annoyed. Matty seems a tad jealous. Everyone seems to think this is a bad idea except
for Mom. I know it’s Eastwood and Clooney, but Seth makes the schedule sound like climbing Mount Kilimanjaro. I’m intrigued,
but how am I going to do it all? I think of what Nadine said. “I don’t want to be worn out before I even begin work,” I say
gingerly. “The second season of the show, should we get one, is so important. Maybe I should only pick one film.”

“Kaitlin.” Mom’s smile fades and her voice sounds strained. “You don’t have to pick one. Didn’t I just explain how this would
work?”

“Yes, but doing both feels like a lot.” Suddenly I feel very small.

“It’s not a lot!” Mom’s voice is shrill. “You can do it all! I can do it all! I manage you and your brother, and I’ll persuade
Nancy about the Daisies. If I can do it, you can too.”

“But…” What if I don’t want to do it all? What if I want a life too? That’s what I’ve always wanted—work and a real life and
to keep them both separate. But I don’t say that part. I’m too afraid of upsetting Mom and making her turn into a female Hulk.

“Sweetie, maybe you should go freshen up,” Dad suggests and puts his hand on Mom’s shoulder.

“Yes, I could use a spritz of Evian.” Mom is trancelike. “I’ll be right back.” We watch her walk away.