Hollywood Parents

by Kristina Adams

  Trinity and I sat in two chairs opposite his desk. I clutched my coffee to me as the PI sat in the chair opposite us.

  “So, tell me what you know,” he said.

  “Nothing, really,” I said. “I only just found out. My parents never talked about my birth. Now I know why.”

  “Was it a closed adoption?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  He scribbled a few things into a notebook lying on his desk. “Do you have your adoption certificate?”

  I took it from my pocket and handed it to him. He read it, then scribbled a few more notes.

  “All right. Once you’ve sent the first payment through, I can get started.”

  “Great, thank you. I’ll transfer you the funds as soon as we’re done here,” I said.

  *

  A few weeks went by, and all I’d done was film a couple of TV commercials. There was no word from the PI about my birth parents. I was starting to lose hope.

  But I refused to lose it entirely.

  I had to believe that he’d find something. It was one of the only things keeping me going.

  Desperate, I know. But I’d lost so much in recent months—Jack, Astin, my TV show, numerous movie and TV roles I’d wanted, the childhood I thought I knew—that I needed to cling on to the possibility that something might go according to plan.

  It was getting close to the holiday season, and I’d hoped to spend at least one of the holidays with one or both of my birth parents. It was looking increasingly like that wouldn’t happen.

  I sat in Trinity’s apartment, walking around her sofa in circles as my agitation grew.

  “It takes time,” said Trinity. “And it’s not like he’s only working on your case.”

  “Well why not? I’m paying him good money. If money is the issue then I’ll give him more!”

  Trinity put her hands on my shoulders. “I love you, but you’ve got to take your mind off this. You’re getting obsessive and it isn’t healthy.”

  “I need answers!” I said, stamping my foot. “Don’t you get what it’s like?”

  “Answers aren’t always what we want them to be,” said Trinity.

  I sank onto the sofa and stared up at her. Trinity’s long, curly hair framed her elfin features, giving her an almost mystical appearance. No wonder they’d hired her to work on a fantasy film franchise. “What do you mean?”

  She sat beside me and put her hand on my leg. “I mean sometimes the answer you get isn’t the one you want. I don’t want you getting disappointed if your birth parents turn out to not be who you want them to be.”

  I’d spent the last few months fantasizing about my birth parents. It hadn’t occurred to me that I wouldn’t like what I found. In my head, they were astronauts or doctors or surgeons or politicians or other people who were too busy to have children. But then, my parents had been too busy to raise children and had done it anyway.

  “Can I play you something?” Trinity asked. “It might take your mind off everything. For a couple of minutes, anyway.”

  “Always,” I said, getting comfortable on her sofa. Trinity was one of the most talented musicians I knew. She wrote beautiful songs that the record label seldom let her release because they didn’t fit her target demographic. As she got older, she was getting away with it more, but for the most part they took her songs and gave them to someone else to sing. She got credit for them under a pseudonym. It was infuriating, but at least she got some money out of it.

  She settled in front of the piano in her living room. It was a beautiful antique one she’d bought from a shop in the Hamptons. How they’d gotten it up the stairs and into her apartment unscathed I’d never know.

  “It’s called ‘Eclipse.’” She stretched her fingers out, then began to play.

  “I never thought I’d want you

  But as I came to accept you

  You went away

  Leaving me alone again

  Now I can’t see

  You’ve taken my light from me

  All I see are shadows

  Hiding every rainbow

  I thought I saw the light

  That things were finally going right

  But then everything changed.

  When you left me

  My light was gone

  Extinguished by

  the pain of yesterday

  Everyone tells me to act my age

  But I’m already old before my years

  Forced to face my fears

  Through no choice of my own.

  You rejected me

  Because I wasn’t good enough

  I couldn’t be the person

  You needed.”

  She finished playing but didn’t move. Light reflected in her eyes as she tried not to cry.

  “Fuck, Tri, that’s dark,” I said when she’s finished. “But beautiful. Who’s it about?”

  She hesitated. “A bunch of people.”

  I didn’t believe her, but if Jack had taught me one thing, it was to back off when someone clearly wasn’t ready to talk about something. Trinity didn’t hesitate when answering. She answered first, then dealt with the aftermath later. If she was considering her answers, she was hiding something. She’d tell me what it was when she was ready. She always did.

  “But you like it?” she said.

  “I love it!” I said. “It’s one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard. The label is going to love it.”

  “I hope so,” she said. “I’m worried the label will think it’s too grown-up.”

  “Could you change some of the lyrics to make it fit?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really want to, but I guess if the alternative is to give it to someone else, I’d prefer to change bits of it.”

  “What’s wrong with giving it to someone else? You do it all the time,” I said.

  “I know, but this song is different. It’s really personal,” she said.

  “It goes so well with your voice. It’s very Adele.”

  Her face lit up. She adored Adele. “Really?”

  “Yep,” I said. I walked over to her and hugged her. “Thanks. I feel much better.”

  8

  Jack

  My sheets are still stained with your lipstick

  From when your makeup bled while you slept

  It was so cute back then, but we can’t go back to that shit

  I just hope that this isn’t it.

  — “Lipstick,” Jack Cuoco

  Whenever I went to Len and Angela’s house, I felt like I was imposing. They never gave me that impression, but I projected my insecurities onto them anyway. They had two children and three grandchildren. They were a happy family despite his addiction. Why would they want to include me? What had I done to deserve their affection?

  “Good afternoon,” said Len, opening the front door to let me inside.

  “I brought flowers.” I held out the lilies I was holding. Orange because that was Len’s favorite color, and white because Angela loved white flowers.

  Angela took them from me and placed them in the sink. “Thank you, dear. You shouldn’t have. Although I do like to have flowers around the place. It always brightens things up, don’t you think?”

  “Personally I think it’s asking for hay fever all year round,” muttered Len.

  I suppressed a laugh.

  Angela rolled her eyes.

  “Granddad!” called a voice. A moment later, a girl of about ten ran into the room. She was holding a white rabbit plushie and her hair was pulled back into a bun. “Is that—?” She gasped, staring at me.

  “Mia, we talked about this,” said Len. He turned to me: “Sorry.”

  Mia walked over to me and held out her hand. I shook it. “I’m Mia. I really love your music and I’m sorry for being starstruck.”

  Was she even old enough to listen to my music? I guess that wasn’t my choice.

  “Thank you,” I said, giving her a genuine smile. I always did love getting my ego stroked.

&nbs
p; “‘One Last Summer’ is one of my favorite songs,” she added.

  Well that hurt.

  “Sorry,” Len mumbled again. He touched the edge of his glasses self-consciously.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “It’s just a song.”

  Angela pursed her lips. She was pretending not to listen, but she definitely was. She patted her halo braids, then resumed preparing dinner.

  Len raised an eyebrow. He knew it was much more than that to me, but he wasn’t going to mention that in front of his wife or grandchild.

  “What’s wrong with the song?” said Mia, narrowing her eyes and looking from Len to me.

  “Nothing is wrong with it,” I said. Technically true. It was still a great song. It was just that whenever it was mentioned, I thought of Tate. And that felt like being stabbed in the gut with a meat cleaver. I shuddered, trying to rid myself of the image. “What’s your bunny called?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject.

  “Artemis,” she said, giving it a squeeze.

  “That’s an elaborate name,” I said. “Where’s it from?”

  “Artemis Fowl,” she said. “Granddad reads it to me whenever I visit.”

  “A granddad that reads to you? Now you’re a lucky one.”

  “Didn’t your granddad ever read to you?”

  “You don’t have to answer her,” said Len.

  Mia stomped her foot. “Would you please stop mumbling? I can hear you, you know!”

  I sniggered. “I never had a granddad,” I said. “That’s why I know it’s important that you take care of yours.”

  Mia smiled. “Don’t worry. I will.”

  *

  I spent the rest of the afternoon eating great food and hanging out with Mia. Her words about how she loved my music stuck with me. Did that make me a role model for young people? I mean, I was the worst possible role model someone like her could have. And yet here she was, looking up to me.

  Or was I overthinking it? Was it just about how much she liked one of my songs?

  How could I be sure?

  When Angela took Mia and the dog out for a walk, I used the opportunity to sit back with Len and talk to him about her. A part of me was reluctant to, but I had to know. What did she really think of me?

  We sat on the living room sofa, our hot drinks on the coffee table. I tucked my feet underneath me. If I didn’t ask, I’d never know. “What’s the deal with Mia?”

  OK, I asked it in a roundabout way. But it was a start.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like, the way she acts and stuff. She treats me like I’m some sort of role model.”

  “She looks up to you, if that’s what you mean,” said Len without hesitation. He reached for his coffee from the table, took a few gulps, then leaned back on the sofa, resting the mug on his stomach.

  I’d sort of hoped he’d lie about it if she really did look up to me. Not that that was Len’s style. Her not looking up to me would’ve been way less pressure.

  I curled into myself, hugging my knees. “But why? I don’t get it.”

  Len snorted. “We can’t control who does or doesn’t look up to us. Everyone is a role model to someone.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure to put on anyone,” I said.

  Len nodded, sipped his coffee, then placed the mug back on the table. “It is. But all we can do is the best that we can do. And that’s all those who look up to us ask for. They don’t expect us to be perfect, we just give them something to aspire to.”

  “And what is it in me that Mia aspires to?”

  “Your music,” said Len. “She’s a singer, but she also wants to go into music production. And she wants to learn to play more than just the recorder. We can’t afford it, though.”

  “I could give her some lessons,” I said.

  Len’s face lit up. Then he shook his head. “No. No. You don’t have to do that.”

  “I want to. She’s cool.”

  Len grinned. “Thank you, Jack. Despite what people say, you’re a good kid.”

  “Kid?” I said with a laugh.

  “When you’re as old as I am, everyone’s a kid to you.”

  9

  Jack

  You’re the Daisy to my Gatsby

  I’ll do anything for you

  Just say the word, I’ll make it happen

  The moon and the stars aren’t too far away.

  — “Gatsby,” Jack Cuoco

  Since breaking my arm I’d been avoiding Melrose. I wasn’t sure whether or not she’d figured that out yet. It was nice having a friend—it wasn’t like I had many—but spending time with her was just draining me of energy more and more often. I didn’t know much about friends, but I did know that spending time with them wasn’t supposed to be draining. It didn’t matter how drunk I was, either. She had the same effect on me regardless. Time with Len was so much easier. I always left his company feeling happier and recharged. What did that say?

  I still replied to her texts whenever they came through. I couldn’t help it. Why was I so reactive whenever someone messaged me? It just made me drink more to get rid of the compulsion to reply to people’s messages as soon as they came through. The best solution I’d found was to leave my phone in another room or not take it with me when I went out. At least then I wouldn’t know if someone had messaged me. Unfortunately, there were only two people that messaged me regularly: Larry and Melrose.

  Even worse, I succumbed and agreed to meet with Melrose for coffee on a day when the cafe we chose was playing music by tween stars. And just as I sat down with my drink at the table where Melrose was, one of Tate’s old songs came on. Had I not been in a relationship with her, I wouldn’t have recognized it. But as a way to show support when we’d been together, I’d checked out her backlist. Some of it was cringeworthy, but some of it I’d grown to like. “Ringleader,” the song that came on as I sat down, was one of them.

  I sat at the table and stared into my drink, picturing Tate belting out the song onstage as I knew she would. It was one of her songs that I could’ve reworked into something amazing. It had a powerful message that I knew resonated with her fanbase.

  “Hello?” said Melrose, waving her hand in front of my face.

  “Huh? Sorry.”

  “You’re not still pining for that bitch, are you?”

  “She’s not a bitch,” I said, a little defensively. A part of me still blamed Melrose for the argument that had resulted in Tate and me breaking up. If she hadn’t insisted on me throwing a party and not inviting Tate, the argument never would’ve happened.

  Melrose narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t go back to her, would you?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “For real? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing!”

  “We both know where second chances lead when you have a history with someone.”

  “Not always,” I said.

  “Pretty much,” said Melrose. “And, based on what you were like last time, I can’t see a second time around being any different.”

  I clutched my mug, taking my anger out on that instead of Melrose. Why was she so insistent that things between Tate and me would go back to how they were? So we’d had a rocky relationship. That didn’t mean things couldn’t change.

  “I’m worried about her,” I confessed. “I’ve heard rumors she’s going through a tough time.”

  “So are a lot of people. That doesn’t change how she treated you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, come on,” said Melrose. “She was a royal bore. She killed all the fun in you and tried to stop you from enjoying yourself.”

  I shifted in my seat. Was that true? Or was Melrose more of a bad influence than I’d thought?

  “I have to go,” I said.

  “What? Where? You don’t have any plans today,” said Melrose.

  “Just remembered I’ve got an appointment.” I walked off before she could say any more. Or before I could say anyt
hing I’d regret. Instead, I went to hang out with someone who’d be able to advise me.

  *

  “Well if it isn’t my favorite DJ,” said Len, embracing me as he opened the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Sorry for dropping in,” I said. “But I need your advice.”

  “Of course. Anytime. Is this the kind of conversation that requires coffee?”

  Usually I would’ve said something stronger, but Len was still sober, so I had the strongest black coffee he could give me, then we sat around the kitchen table.

  “So, what is it?”

  I sighed. I felt uncomfortable discussing Melrose like this when she’d done so much for me, but it just wasn’t the same anymore. “How do you know when a friendship is over?”

  “What’s the context?”

  “We’ve been friends for a long time. She saved me from a dark place. But now I’m wondering if she’s keeping me in a different dark place instead of letting me move on.”

  “So you think she’s stopping you from growing as a person?”

  I lowered my head. “Yeah.”

  Len leaned back in his wooden chair and crossed his legs. “Just because someone has been good to you in the past, that doesn’t mean they’re good to you now or that they’ll be good to you in the future. Sometimes people can change for the worse. And that can rub off on us, too.”

  “Or we don’t notice that someone was bad to begin with, because they were better than everyone else around us at the time?”

  “Potentially, yes. Are we talking about your friend Melrose by any chance?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “I know she was there for you through some bad times, but I also know that she can be manipulative.”

  “You do? How?”