With a few clicks on my phone, I ordered take-out for the night. Then I hopped onto Tinder to see if I could order myself a woman, too.
Tinder had been a game-changer when I signed up a few years ago. Before that, I’d had to lurk around bars and clubs to find the kind of quick and dirty hook-ups I liked. Using an app made it far easier to find girls I was attracted to, and to weed out the ones who weren’t interested in the same thing that I was.
It’d been easy enough to find what I wanted back in the day, and it was even easier now. I was blessed with somewhat good looks, or at least that was what people told me. On top of that, girls were often fascinated by the idea of bedding a celebrity, however minor. Once I told them who I was, their pants were halfway off, and that was if they hadn’t recognized me already.
I swiped for a few minutes, taking my time looking at each profile. It wasn’t as if I had much else going on. This was going to be a boring weekend, unless I found someone to spice it up.
My phone vibrated in my hand, and I swiped down to see the message, fully expecting it to be a drinking buddy. Instead, it was from an unknown number.
Hey, it’s Sarah, it said. Emma and I were wondering if you might like to come to her gymnastics competition tomorrow. We wanted to ask you today, but you were out the door as soon as we were done shooting!
My nose wrinkled as I reread the message. Sarah had to be out of her mind if she thought I wanted to spend any more time with her than necessary. Did she think I’d willingly subject myself to a room full of snotty-nosed brats?
No thanks, I began to type, then paused. Sarah wasn’t a bad person—definitely not my least favorite person. Even her kid was halfway decent, outside of being eight, which she couldn’t help. It wasn’t like I had anything else going on.
Besides, seeing her outside of work might help me get into her head. Put some effort in, Katie. You could still have a shot at being a serious actor.
Fuck. I had to go, didn’t I?
Maybe, I wrote. Let me know the details, and I’ll see if I have time tomorrow.
Her reply came back almost instantly. Great! Emma’s so excited that you can make it. It’s at 2pm, 3504 W Slauson Ave in Park Mesa Heights.
Hey! I wrote. I didn’t say I was going to come.
All she sent back was a smiley face.
*
At two-fifteen the next day, I found myself at the address she’d given me. As I walked into the gymnastics center, I wondered how I’d even find those two. The place was milling with people—some adults, but mostly kids.
“There you are!” Sarah said, running up to me. “You’re early.”
“Early?”
She grinned. “The competition starts at two-thirty. I noticed you don’t like to be on time for things, so…”
She looked way too self-satisfied. It was cute on her, actually—but then again, she was usually cute.
“You got me,” I said. “So, where’s Emma?”
“Getting changed. You won’t get to talk to her until after—hopefully to congratulate her after she gets first place.”
Her pride in Emma was cute, too. You can’t fuck her, I told myself. It’d be too messy. Besides, she’s straight.
We sat down, and I yelled over the noise of the other parents and guests. “Where do you find the time to take her to gymnastics? She’s so busy with filming.”
“You’re telling me.” Sarah shook her head. “Things have been crazy lately, but I’m doing my best to keep her life as normal as possible. Plus, she loves gymnastics.”
“But where do you find time for you?”
She snorted. “I don’t, really. That’s just life when you’re a parent, especially a single one.”
Ah, so she was single. “Her dad doesn’t help out at all?” I knew I was on shaky ground here, but I’d been wanting to ask about the kid’s dad for a while, and this was the first time the subject had come up semi-naturally.
“Child support, sure.” Her lips went thin, and she glared into the distance. “He fucked off to New York when he left me. Said he wanted a more exciting life and that he wasn’t ready for all of this commitment.”
“Wow.” I felt bad for having asked. This was totally irrelevant to the role I was playing, so I should’ve left the topic alone. Still, I felt obliged to say something more. “He helped create Emma. He should help take care of her.”
“Technically he could take her every weekend if he wanted, but he never does. I don’t actually mind that much, though. He was a pretty lackadaisical parent for the first three years of her life, so I was pretty much on my own then anyway.”
“I’d rather have the cash in hand, too,” I said. “Then again, I hear some people appreciate men for other things.”
She snorted. “Trust me, this one had nothing else to offer.”
The competition was about to begin, so I sat back and watched the kids run out. I’d kind of expected there’d be more people with me and Sarah. Didn’t she have any siblings to invite, or even friends?
“Welcome to the Girls’ 7-12 Intermediate Gymnastics Competition,” the man at the front called out. “Our first event is the balance beams. First up is Kyla Lowrie.”
A kid stood up from the seats on the other side of the room and headed for the beams. Instead of watching her perform, I searched the crowd for Emma. There she was, looking like a little gymnast in her pink leotard and high ponytail. She caught my eye and waved excitedly. Almost embarrassed to have been looking at her, I gave a curt wave back.
I watched the next few kids take their turns, one after the other. They were all pretty good, jumping and spinning across the beam without ever falling. I knew I would’ve toppled off the beam as soon as I tried to even stand on it.
“This one is Emma’s nemesis,” Sarah whispered into my ear as a petite brunette named Melody went up. “She got third place by a hair last time, and Emma got nothing.”
I nodded. “Want me to boo her?”
“That’s okay, but feel free to cheer for Emma.”
Melody executed her exercises flawlessly, at least from what I could see, and the judges held up their signs. 8.5, 8.7, 8.9, and 8.1.
“That’s better than the last few, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, she has a shot at first place—but Emma’s up next.”
Emma looked our way again, and I gave her an awkward thumbs-up before I realized she was looking at her mom, not at me. I studied the way Sarah clapped wildly, trying to memorize the obvious pride on her face and the hope in her eyes.
The announcer called Emma’s name and she stood up with complete confidence, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. The song she’d chosen was “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger” by Daft Punk, and the title seemed appropriate as she cartwheeled toward the beam. Without even pausing, she did a front flip onto the thin piece of wood.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
She spun in a whirlwind, ponytail flying, a look of intense concentration on her face. She did some moves I didn’t even know the name for before somersaulting up to the edge of the beam. I raised my hands to clap whole-heartedly—but she wasn’t done yet. She did a back flip and then slid into the splits, on the beam.
As soon as the music ended, I was on my feet, cheering wildly. It didn’t occur to me until too late that I was the only one screaming and stomping my feet. Sheepish, I dropped back into my seat. The judges held up their signs: 8.1, 7.8, 7.9, 8.5.
“An average of 8.0,” the announcer said. “Unfortunately, we can’t give bonus points for having a very enthusiastic mother.”
People laughed, and my cheeks flushed. Not only had I embarrassed myself, but these people seriously thought I was Emma’s mom. Maybe I really was too old to play a high schooler, after all.
“How could they give her such bad scores?” I hissed to Sarah. “She was amazing.”
“So were the rest of the kids,” she said. “Plus she stuck the landing after her back flip.”
I scoffed. E
mma was clearly the best so far, and definitely better than that brat, Melody.
“Don’t worry, though,” Sarah said. “This is just the first event. Emma can still recover with the uneven bars and floor exercise.”
*
Emma finished the contest with a respectable 8.4 average and a third-place ribbon. Melody took second, but that didn’t seem to matter to Emma as she ran up to me and her mom.
First Sarah picked her up and squeezed her, and then it was my turn to find something to say. “You did great,” I tried, giving her a one-armed hug. “Congrats.”
“Thanks, Katie. I’m glad you could come!”
She ran off to change, and I looked at Sarah. “She’s a pretty cool kid, you know.”
“Thanks, I kind of like her.” She gave me a soft punch on the arm. “And by the way, you’re not as bad with kids as you seem to think.”
“I’m pretty bad with them. Just being realistic.” I shrugged. We were quiet for a second, and I decided to ask the question that’d been bothering me since she’d texted me. “Why did you invite me here? I had a good time and all. I’ve just been wondering. Where’d you even get my number?”
“The actors’ contact sheet,” she said, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I figured you might like it… and I also thought it’d be good for both you and Emma to spend a little time together. For the show.”
“Oh, just for the show?”
She coughed and looked down. “Well, why did you come?”
“Same thing,” I said. “For the show.”
“So we’re on the same page, then?”
What page was she talking about? Her eyes searched mine, and I had the feeling that a greater meaning lay beneath the surface. She meant Emma and I should get comfortable with each other to be more believable as mother and daughter, right?
She couldn’t mean we were on the same page about wanting anything more than that.
“Of course,” I said. “Totally on the same page.”
Nine – Sarah
“Thank you so much for taking Emma for the afternoon,” I told Valerie on her doorstep, Emma racing inside to meet her friends. “You have no idea how many things I need to get done.”
“You must be so busy lately,” she said. “Do you have time to come in for some coffee?”
I really didn’t, but some stress-free interaction with another adult sounded like just what the doctor ordered. “Sure, I’ll make the time.”
Valerie was Emma’s friend Cee’s mom, and even though she was married, she understood how tough it was to balance work and parenting. As I went in, I waved at Cee and Emma already playing in the living room. The rest of their gang were there, too, and Valerie’s husband sat with his feet on the couch, watching the four absent-mindedly as he tapped on his tablet.
“So, what’s it like being the mom of a TV star?” Valerie asked.
“TV star?” I laughed. “Emma’s having fun working, and she’s earning some money for her future. I don’t think she’ll be a celebrity anytime soon.” Even if Katie claimed to think otherwise.
“She’s going to be on TV, and she’s one of the stars of the show, so…” Valerie poured me a cup of coffee.
“I don’t know. People keep joking about her becoming a celebrity, but I just can’t see it.”
“Sarah, I don’t think they’re joking.” She sipped from her own cup, leaning against the counter. “Didn’t you tell me someone famous was on the show? Who was it, again?”
“Katie Days,” I said reflexively. “Yeah, I guess she’s kind of famous. I keep forgetting that lately.”
“Why? Is she nice in real life?”
“Um… not exactly.” I smiled at a memory of her crustiness, and the softness that lay beneath it. “She’s just a normal person who happens to have spent part of her childhood on TV.”
“So you mean she’s a jerk? Why are you smiling so hard?” Valerie dropped into a chair and pointed at the one across from her. “C’mon, sit. I want to hear all about her.”
“Were you a fan of Great Takes Eight?” I asked.
“I still watch the reruns from time to time.”
I wondered what it’d feel like to have people watching something Katie had recorded years ago. Some people still thought of her as her character on that show. “She’s actually pretty cool,” I said. “She came to Emma’s gymnastics meet the other weekend.”
“What? Why?” Valerie’s jaw dropped. “Are you two friends? Could I meet her?”
“No, I wouldn’t say we’re friends. We’ve talked a little.”
“And now you’ve hung out. That makes you friends.”
I laughed a little uncomfortably. I didn’t know if Katie was even capable of friendship. “I definitely wouldn’t introduce her to someone who’s going to go crazy over her.”
“I’d only go a little crazy,” she said playfully.
I relaxed a little. Something came to my mind. “Did you know she’s gay?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t know. I can’t say I follow a lot of celebrity gossip—”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Okay, I do.” She grinned unapologetically. “I don’t know every detail of every celebrity’s life, but yeah, I don’t recall hearing anything like that. Why, though?”
“Just curious. She was very open about it, but I didn’t see anything that said that on the Internet. I wasn’t sure if it was common knowledge.”
“But why do you care?” She peered at me. “Wait… do you…”
“Do I like her?” I laughed a little too hard. “Of course not. It’s not like that.”
“And that’s why you got all dreamy-eyed as soon as I mentioned her?” She quirked an eyebrow at me. “I’ve been around the block a few times, Sarah. I’d have to be blind to not see you’ve got it bad for her.”
“Well…”
“I knew it!” she screamed before I could figure out how to continue.
All four of the girls appeared at the door. “Knew what, Mom?” Cee asked.
“Nothing, nothing. You girls go play.” She shooed them off.
I lowered my voice in case they were still listening. “All right, there’s something about her. I mean, famous people tend to be beautiful and charming. It doesn’t mean I actually like her.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m straight as an arrow, but if Angelina Jolie wanted to go for a roll in the hay, well…” She shrugged.
I bit my lip. It wasn’t even like that with me and Katie. Part of me wanted to be intimate with her, but it wasn’t all about sex. That part of me wanted to put a smile on her lips, to lace my fingers through hers, to go out with her, and maybe even come home to her. And that part was growing every day.
“She’d never be interested in me,” I said. “Never in a million years.”
“You never know,” Valerie said. “At least, not if you don’t try.”
As I headed off on my errands, I wondered whether I should try somehow. Not that I’d make a move on Katie or anything, but I did remember the stylists’ comments about making me over. Maybe I’d stop by and talk to them when I had a free minute sometime… sometime when Katie wasn’t around.
*
A week later, I stared into the mirror after a haircut. The hairdresser had basically worked a miracle, taking my lifeless, limp brown strands and turning them into beachy waves. I’d barely lost any length, and I’d never thought my hair would be capable of such volume.
“Mommy, you look so pretty!” Emma said, peering into the bathroom from behind me.
I was used to having no privacy, so I pushed the door open wider and let her in. “You think so?” I knew my hair looked good, I just wasn’t sure about the face that went along with it. This hair belonged to someone five years younger, with no kids.
“It looks amazing. Can you make my hair do that, too?”
“Probably not.” Her hair was pin-straight, like her father’s. “Besides, I don’t even know if I can pull this off again, myself.”
&n
bsp; “Then you have to go to the hairdresser’s every week,” she said seriously. Her eyes lit on the sink counter, and she picked up an eyeliner pen. “What’s this?”
“That’s some make-up. The make-up lady uses things like this on you when you’re at work.”
“But you’re not working.” Emma opened the cap and twisted the base until an inch of eyeliner protruded. “Can I wear it when I’m not working, too?”
“When you’re older.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why did you get it if it’s not for work?”
“I felt like looking pretty. Am I allowed to want to look pretty?”
Emma pouted as she backed out of the bathroom. “Sor-ry.”
I felt bad for my overly harsh tone. I’d apologize later—I was already a little irritated, and I worried I’d snap at her again if I said anything right now.
In the meantime, I brushed my hair out of my face and leaned closer to the mirror, eyeliner in hand. Where exactly was this stuff supposed to go? Above or below my eyes, or maybe both?
I pulled my lower eyelid down, remembering how I used to experiment with make-up in high school. As soon as I tried to draw onto it, my eyes watered and I blinked uncontrollably. “Fuck,” I said softly.
I’d have to ask those ladies about the make-up stuff on Monday.
I just hoped they wouldn’t figure out why I was suddenly interested.
Ten – Katie
“You look different,” I said to Sarah on Monday morning.
She was sitting in the back corner of the boardroom where we cold-read our lines, not even at the table with the rest of us, as if she was trying to hide from any possible attention. Unfortunately for her, she might as well have had a spotlight on her with the way her brown waves of hair shone.
“She got some eyeliner,” Emma piped up from her seat.
Ah… it seemed like Sarah had taken the advice from the other week into account. “You look nice,” I told her, slipping into a chair and setting my coffee cup on the table in front of me.
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