The Good Twin's Baby

by Vivien Vale

  Alice drums her fingers on the edge of the table. She knows better than to interrupt me when I’m in this state.

  “You better call his agent and find out what’s going on. Because if you let me do it, I’ll end up firing him on the spot.”

  Todd

  Damn, who are all these people?

  I'm thumbing through my phone messages and there have to be at least ten missed calls and a dozen texts. The only number I recognize is Jordan’s. Nope, not right now, pal

  I swipe left and put the phone back inside my jacket pocket. I am uninterested in anything except getting another glass of Winter Storm.

  There’s nothing like twenty-one-year-old Kentucky bourbon. It goes down sweet.

  I motion to the bartender for a refill. He hustles over with the tall white bottle, and I watch as he pours the deep amber liquid.

  “Ahhhh,” I swallow and smile, enjoying the burn at the back of my throat.

  I look around. The Eleganzia restaurant is the place to be seen, but there’s no one else here but me at the bar. It’s the lull between lunch and dinner, so the place is almost empty.

  I look past the low copper-clad wall that separates the bar from the dining room and see a few celebrity wannabes still sitting at tables, hoping someone will notice them or give them a job.

  The real celebrities have already had lunch with their agents, or managers, or studio heads, or with members of their entourage. Whatever it is they’ve done, they’re gone now. Probably out getting that extra shot of Botox, or working off that last cocktail at the gym, or screwing their assistant.

  Like I said, whatever.

  Looking out past the starlets-in-training, I start thinking again, and my grip tightens around my glass. What possessed me to sign that contract? An independent movie isn’t going to bring my career back from the free fall it’s in.

  I take another swig. I'm definitely buzzed.

  “Shit, man, finally,” Jordan grunts as he stomps over.

  Damn, he’s found me.

  He squeezes between the barstools and stands over me. “What the fuck? Like, what the literal fuck are you doing?”

  I motion the bartender for another and give Jordan a sideways look.

  “Why would you intentionally blow off this meeting?”

  Now I give him a smirk.

  “No, I’m serious,” Jordan says, pointing his finger in my face.

  “Sit down,” I say, and once again I catch the bartender's eye. “Pour my friend a drink, won’t you?”

  I can hear Jordan let out a big breath, and I know he’s flaming furious. But frankly, at this point, thanks to the Storm, I am feeling no pain. I’m happy to just sit here all afternoon.

  Jordan swallows the shot in one gulp and then stares at the bottles lining the wall. I can see he’s thinking about what he wants to say, and I don’t have to wait long before he lets it rip.

  “Todd, it’s obvious you’ve slipped into some sort of idiot phase. Pretty soon, you won’t need to disappear, ‘cause people are going to start acting like you’re invisible. It's never good when you don’t show up for a meeting, and I’m telling you, this is catastrophic.”

  Jordan is serving up all kinds of buzzkill, and I need to put an end to this inquisition.

  “Jeez, calm down,” I say, “This is not the shit storm you think it is. People flake on meetings all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

  He gives me a stone-cold look, and it doesn’t matter what I say, because I can see he's not about to let up. Christ, he’s ragging on me like he’s my mother.

  I’m about to tell Jordan that it’s time for him to leave, when I hear a commotion at the maître d’s desk.

  I swivel my seat to get a better look, and I see a sexy beauty with eyes blazing barreling toward me. I stand and Jordan jumps from his barstool. She stops inches from my face, her nostrils flaring.

  “You are not that important. The world does not owe you a favor, and the sooner you realize it, the better off anyone forced to associate with you will be!”

  I have no idea who this woman is, but there’s no doubt she is upset and hell bent on ripping me a new asshole. That video is like a bad smell following me wherever I go. But at this point I have taken all I’m going to take.

  “Look, lady, I’m gonna tell you what I told the press. Fuck off!”

  I expect her to march off, but instead she stands there looking a little nonplussed. Maybe this gorgeous woman is nuts. Maybe I should be feeling sorry for her.

  I look around for help, but Jordan grabs me by the arm, and clears his throat.

  “Uh…Todd…I’d like you to meet Sophie Palmer, your director and leading lady.”

  Well, color me caught. I smile sheepishly at her, but it’s not returned. I extend my hand, but she slaps it away. This bitch is furious.

  “Don’t you understand that you’re not the only one affected when you don’t show up?” Ms. Palmer pokes her finger hard against my chest, and I step back an inch, trapped between her and the bar.

  “I’ve spent time and money and called in any number of favors for this movie.” She brushes back her hair with a flick of her hand.

  For some reason, I find this woman's rant sexy. The angrier she gets, the more captivated I am.

  “Look, this film is very important to me,” she continues, “and you just shit all over it by thinking you’re a movie star who can get away with anything. Well, let me set you straight. That’s not how we’re going to play this.”

  Sophie turns to walk away, but I step in front of her. We're staring into each other’s eyes and she’s not backing down.

  I am transfixed. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but this woman has definitely got my undivided attention.

  Sophie

  I’m not a violent person, not all, but right now I’m struggling not to punch or kick Todd to get his attention.

  I doubt he’s heard anything I’ve said to him, the arrogant pig.

  “Todd? Earth to Todd? Mother of all mother’s give me mercy.” I ring my hands in frustration and stomp my right foot onto the ground. My instincts had warned me - why didn’t I listen to them?

  To make sure I maintain some semblance of self-control I keep my shaking hands by my side and make a tight fist. I try and slow down my breathing. This man is really impossible. I can’t believe I’ve found him sitting at the bar of The Extravaganza in the middle of the day.

  It is beyond me why he is simply staring at me and not groveling at my feet, begging forgiveness.

  Mental note to self, next time Alice and Erik want me to work with some rude, self-absorbed mega star, say no. Yeah, sure, it was one of the investors demands – to bring Todd in so that the whole project could turn a profit…but, really, is it worth it?

  “We were about to take a seat in the restaurant Sophie. Why don’t you join us? You seem a little upset. Hot and bothered is how I would describe you, actually.”

  I am staring at a smiling Todd. Not a hint of remorse.

  Is he taking the piss out of me, or is he serious? I can’t tell.

  Unfortunately his sudden change to nice guy is taking the wind out of my sails. It took all my courage to storm in here and confront the man and now my self-assurance is waning.

  I reach for my gold pendant, a clapper board, a gift from dad for graduating from film school and move it from side to side on its chain.

  Without waiting for an answer Todd guides me to a table. He pulls out a chair for me and makes sure I’m seated before he pushes my chair in a little.

  If I had to put money on it, I would have said Todd is the last person to know about manners, and here he is, being a perfect gentleman.

  I sigh. More of my anger evaporates.

  Todd has taken charge and that’s not how I had planned to rip shreds out of him. I was a savage beast on the prowl and hungry for blood. Todd was my prey. He was meant to cower in front of me and beg forgiveness.

  Why didn’t he stick to the script? The man’s impossible. He’s w
riting his own and getting away with it. My confidence is quickly nose-diving.

  “Can I just say how sorry Todd is for missing the meeting,” Jordan says and I take the menu a waiter is handing me.

  “You see,” Jordan continues, “it was my fault. I did not synch our calendars and did not tell Todd about the meeting. It won’t happen again.”

  There’s a thud from under the table, a grunt from Todd and then a “no, it won’t happen again.”

  I pretend not to have noticed anything. My head is hidden behind the menu. From what I can see Todd leans forward a little to rub his shin. If looks could kill, Jordan would be nothing more than a pile of ashes.

  The waiter is back to take our order.

  Words swim in front of me. Things are moving too fast. Exactly at what point in time had I reneged on being the driver and agreed to back seat passenger position?

  In my plan there was no invitation to sit with Todd, share a drink or anything of the sort. In my plan there was a severe verbal attack followed by groveling, from Todd.

  “I’ll just have water,” I mutter and hand the menu back to the waiter. He smiles and turns his attention to Todd and Jordan.

  Todd laughs at my order and says something about me being a Palmer and knowing how places like this work.

  My rage meter goes up a little.

  “If I wanted to have something in this establishment I would pay for it myself, which is what we Palmers are known for. The Palmers don’t need charity.” I hold my head up high.

  Clearly I have been premature in thinking the man was kind of decent.

  I clear my throat. Positive self-talk. You can do this, you can do this. I think of the little steam engine.

  “Listen here Todd.” I start and make my voice sound as icy as I can. “I did not come here to have drinks with you or Jordan. It’s not a social occasion for me. I came here to make sure there’s not going to be any further problem with you.” I take a deep breath; so far so good. “If you are going to work on this film you need to give it one hundred percent. I expect all my team members to give me one hundred percent.”

  Todd is nodding and seems to be hanging on every word I say. I’m not sure, but deep down I feel as if he’s mocking me.

  “I promise Sophie,” he holds up his left hand and puts his right hand on his heart. I roll my eyes. What a melodramatic drama queen. “I will give one hundred percent. I will not give you any problem and I will be there from the first day till the last day.”

  What an over spruced bush turkey.

  “Them’s big words Todd Alexander,” I say and make to stand. “You better live up to them big words, otherwise…” I don’t finish my sentence, partly because I’m not quite sure what to say and partly because I need to leave…now.

  I take slow deliberate steps away from Todd and Jordan. I don’t want to appear as if I’m running away from them, even though that is exactly what I’m doing.

  By the time I reach the door my legs feel like jelly and I can’t wait to take a deep breath of fresh air.

  Once outside I lean against the cool bricks of the building. I close my eyes. Mentally I go over what just happened. I don’t know if I can do this. A lone tear trickles down my cheek. My tongue catches it in the corner of my mouth. The salty taste a bittersweet reminder.

  Maybe I’m not as much a Palmer as I could be.

  Todd

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  I pull into the studio lot and past the paparazzi. I remind myself to smile as I put my Porsche in park.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  Vultures, I think to myself as I turn off the ignition. They've run after me and now have me surrounded. Just keep smiling.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  I get out of the car, keep my eyes focused straight ahead, and make my way to the Megastar Gate. It’s only a few yards away, but I feel as though I'm running the gauntlet, practically forcing my way forward. I just smile and keep my mouth shut, avoiding the barrage of questions from these bottom feeders as they continue to snap pics and hurl questions.

  “Is it true you’re being sued by the man you punched?”

  “When do you start your anger management classes?”

  “Did the studio insure the picture for one-hundred million because you’re a flight risk?”

  Each question, more ridiculous than the next. These people really need to get a life, because I’m sure as hell not giving them mine.

  I reach the gate, and this walk of shame finally comes to an end. Mercifully, the guard recognizes me and waves me through.

  “Hello, Mr. Alexander.”

  I’m greeted by a twenty-something woman, wearing a headset and carrying a clip board.

  “I’m Marcey, the production manager.”

  I shake her hand and see Jordan jogging toward me.

  “Hey!” he calls out. I nod and we wait for him to catch up. “I’ll take you to your trailer and you can drop off your things. Then we’ll head on over to hair and make-up,” Marcey says in a crisp, professional tone.

  I follow her lead and Jordan falls in step. “So, you excited?” he asks.

  “As if.” I groan. “This isn’t my first movie, you do know that.”

  “Listen, Todd, we didn’t get off to the best start on this project,” he leans in close and whispers. “Let’s not continue in that vein, OK?”

  I roll my eyes. First, I gotta deal with the sharks outside, and now, I got my best friend and PR man telling me how to act. It’s not yet 6:30 in the morning. What’s next?

  I get to my trailer, and thankfully a production assistant hands me a triple espresso, just the way I like it. I smile and take a sip.

  Ahhh, much better. I’m getting my groove on. I look around to get my bearings.

  The trailer is smaller than I’m used to, and it has fewer amenities, with only one couch and a small TV, but it will have to do.

  Jordan shoos everyone out and lets Marcey know we’ll be at the hair and make-up trailer in a minute.

  I give Jordan a What’s up? shoulder shrug. “If you’re worried that I won’t be cool, give it a rest. I’ll be a good boy,” I say, crossing my heart.

  “I just want to make sure you understand that this movie hasn’t even shot yet, and there’s already an Oscar buzz. Important people love this script. It’s the hottest property around and the fact that Sophie Palmer is attached, well―”

  I give him my best raised eyebrow. The one that says, You’re overselling and it’s not necessary, I’m here. I’m a sure bet.

  “Wait, let me finish before you act like you’ve heard it all before,” Jordan protests. “This could really break your career wide open. So, if you have any kind of problem, let me know before you let your temper take over.”

  Now I give him the Who, me? look.

  Jordan doesn’t find this amusing. “Promise me you won’t get stupid. That’s all I ask.”

  I’m saved by the knock on the door, and Marcey calls out, “Mr. Alexander, they’re ready for you.”

  “Call me Todd,” I say as I open the door, “I’m ready, lead the way.”

  I admit I’m a little apprehensive when I sit in the make-up chair. I’ve been in enough box office hits that I’ve earned the right to have the make-up and hair person of my choice. But this is an indie, and they could never afford the three-thousand-dollar-a-day price tag my stylist comes with.

  So they gave me Lloyd.

  Okay, I say to myself, let’s see Lloydy-boy do his stuff.

  I’m facing the mirror while he’s working on my hair, but I can’t see a thing, because not only is he standing right in front of me, his enormous frame covers the width of the mirror.

  I just try to relax, but that's proving to be difficult, because Jordan is talking my ear off and Lloyd is slightly heavy-handed with the patchouli oil this morning, and I’m now concentrating on breathing through my mouth. Not easy.

  After what seems like an hour, Lloyd adds one more spritz of hair spray and with a flourish says, “Ta
da! Gorgeous!”

  He steps away and I can’t fucking believe what I’m looking at. I yank the black nylon cape from around my neck and throw it to the floor.

  “What the fuck is this?” I yell, “If I wanted to look like a hipster, the script would call for a hipster. Have you even read the script? Do you have any idea what character I’m playing?”

  Lloyd looks scared shitless. But I really don’t care.

  “You just spent forty-minutes making me look like a clown. And we all know I’m supposed to look good. And that should have taken you all of five minutes!”

  “I…I’m…I…” Lloyd stammers, but nothing is really coming out.

  “Hey, Todd, calm down.” Jordan puts his hand on my shoulder, but I shake him off.

  “I will not calm down.”

  “So…sorry…I…”

  “Oh, just shut the fuck up and get out of my face. You’re fired!”

  “Todd, you can’t do that,” Jordan says, and positions himself between me and Lloyd.

  “Lloyd, just give us a minute.”

  “Oh, hell no. We don’t need a minute, he’s out!”

  Lloyd scurries out of the trailer as I go to the sink and stick my hair under the faucet to wash out the goop. I hear Jordan yelling, but I can’t make out the words over the running water.

  “What?” I yell back.

  “You’re barely over the last shit storm you created, and now you’re starting another one. Not an hour ago, you promised me if there was a problem, you’d come to me first.”

  I get a towel and dry my hair. “You were here. You witnessed first-hand the disaster that was created. Why didn’t you say something?”

  I reach for the blow dryer. It’s time for me to take matters into my own hands. Jordan won’t stop staring at me, and I don’t give a flying rat's ass.

  I’m right. And everyone else is beyond wrong.

  I continue to style my hair and scream over the sound of the dryer. “He’s out. That’s it. Him or me. There’s no more to discuss.”