Outside In

by Courtney Thorne-Smith

  Paige spoke painstakingly slowly, trying to break through Kate’s paralysis. “Let’s. Go. Get. Your. Things.”

  “Oh,” said Kate, coming back into reality. “Right…my things.”

  “Yes, let’s go get them, so that we can go.”

  Sensing freedom, Kate’s survival instincts finally kicked in and she turned to lead the way down the hall to the junk room. Unfortunately, Marcia stepped in front of her. “I hope you girls are heading back there to start getting ready for the party. I saw that you brought some lovely gowns.” Looking up and down Paige’s well-fed body, she added, “I think I saw a forgiving dress with an empire waist in there that just might work on you, dear.”

  Hearing the thinly veiled insult directed at her friend endowed Kate with new strength. “Mom, we aren’t going to the party. I told you, we have other plans.”

  “And I told you, Katherine, you can’t have other plans. This party is for you.”

  “I don’t want a party.” Kate was overwhelmed with a sense of déjà vu. How many times had she had this same conversation with her mother? At least thirty, since every one of her birthdays had been marked by a luncheon “in her honor,” during which she sat at a table in the middle of her mother’s favorite restaurant, surrounded by her mother’s friends. Chuck E. Cheese’s gave her mother a headache, as did being surrounded by children, so Kate had learned very early that her birthday parties were really a celebration of her birth mother.

  “Well, dear, you can’t always get what you want.”

  “That is so true,” said Paige, nodding sagely. “You can’t always get what you want.”

  “Exactly,” said Marcia, glad to have an ally. “I’m so happy that you understand. Now, if you could just explain it to my daughter, we can all get on with our day.”

  “Absolutely,” said Paige to Marcia. To Kate, she said, “I am afraid that your mother is not going to get what she wants.”

  “What?” Marcia was aghast.

  Kate, on the other hand, was giddy with the thought of her impending emancipation. “We are going, Mom. It’s like you just said: you can’t always get what you want.”

  “No, Kate,” said Marcia, getting more irritated by the minute. “You can’t always get what you want. I always do.”

  “Well then, this will be a nice little life lesson for you, won’t it?” Paige hooked her arm through Kate’s and they began to weave their way through the piles of boxes and chairs.

  “But, Kate, what am I going to tell everyone?”

  “I don’t know, Mom. Tell them I couldn’t make it,” Kate called over her shoulder.

  “But…but…you are an auction item!”

  The two women stopped and turned around. Kate spoke first. “I’m a what?”

  Relieved that their exit had been stalled for a moment, Marcia plastered on her most charming smile. “You are an auction item, darling. Isn’t that flattering?” When Kate didn’t say anything, she went on. “It’s actually quite an interesting story: Last night, your father and I were at that live-auction thingy they always have right after the benefit dinner. And, as always, we were watching everyone showing off, bidding outlandish sums of money for a weekend at so-and-so’s beach house or an evening with some other muckety-muck’s private chef, and we suddenly realized that we had something people would happily pay money for—right in our very own house!”

  “Some-thing?” hissed Paige, pinching Kate’s arm hard enough to leave a bruise.

  “I heard,” Kate whispered back, yanking her arm away and rubbing the sore spot.

  “So your father stood right up in the middle of the auction and said, ‘We would like to donate a dinner party hosted by our daughter, television’s Kate Keyes-Morgan!”

  “You call your daughter television’s Kate Keyes-Morgan?”

  “Not all the time,” said Marcia, “but that is hardly the point. The point is that people started bidding like crazy, and the couple who bid the highest—ten thousand dollars, if you can believe that!—is leaving on a trip to Bhutan tomorrow morning, so we have to have the dinner tonight. I mean, planning a dinner for twenty people in less than twenty-four hours! I don’t have to tell you, I am exhausted.”

  “Or at least your caterer is,” mumbled Paige.

  Kate’s voice was preternaturally calm. “So, let me get this straight: while I was here, crying my eyes out over my marriage falling apart, you were whoring me out to pay for a swimming pool?”

  “Oh, Kate, there you go with that language again.”

  “Mom!”

  “Okay, okay, dear, calm down. Honestly, I am just so surprised to see that you are upset about this. Well, surprised and a little disappointed in you, to be quite frank. Your father and I have always tried to teach you that the best way to cheer yourself up is to help someone less fortunate. We just assumed that you’d be thrilled for the opportunity to step out of your little pity pot to help us with our fund-raiser.”

  “Mom, you didn’t even ask me.”

  “I wasn’t aware that I needed to ask my daughter—who is staying in my home free of charge—if she wanted to have dinner with her father and me.”

  For the first time ever, Marcia’s pouting had no effect on her daughter. “Well, you do,” said Kate simply.

  Marcia’s gasp was interrupted by Paige exclaiming, “You go, girl!”

  Dropping all pretense of being hurt, Marcia moved right into bully mode. “Can’t you girls throw this ridiculous tantrum tomorrow?”

  “No, we really can’t,” said Paige, checking an imaginary date book on her open left palm. “Tomorrow we are getting our nails done, Wednesday we have yodeling class…Yup, just like I thought—today is the only day this week that we can fit in a tantrum.”

  “Well, it’s obvious that you both see this as nothing more than a joke. Maybe you see me as nothing more than a joke.”

  “Don’t bite, don’t bite,” Paige muttered under her breath.

  Kate breathed in her friend’s strength. “I don’t see you as a joke, Mom. I just don’t want to go to your party.”

  “Well, first of all, it isn’t my party, it is your party, but I can see that your father’s new pool means nothing to you.”

  Rallying more internal resolve than she ever imagined she possessed, Kate said, “No, Mom, it really doesn’t.”

  “Well, then, Katherine,” said her mother, narrowing her eyes in preparation for her final attack, “I don’t see how it will be possible for you to stay in our home anymore. I’m afraid it would be too uncomfortable for your father.”

  “But where will she stay?” asked Paige, wide-eyed.

  “I really don’t know,” said Marcia smugly, sensing victory.

  “That’s the thing, Mom,” said Kate, linking her arm through Paige’s. “I do.”

  With that, they headed down the hallway to collect the gowns.

  24

  “Hamilton Morgan on two,” squawked the box on Michael’s desk.

  Crap.

  Picking up the phone, Michael forced out a hearty “Hello, Hamilton!” Overkill? Perhaps.

  “Well, hello to you, Michael! It’s nice to hear you sounding so chipper.”

  Chipper? Okay, definitely overkill. “How can I help you this morning, Hamilton?”

  “It’s not me who needs your help, my friend. It is our favorite client, the beautiful Sapphire Rose.”

  Michael sat back in his chair, instantly exhausted. He didn’t want to be talking to Hamilton Morgan, nor did he want to be talking about Sapphire. When had his life become so full of things he didn’t want to do? “Yes, Hamilton, I’m all ears.”

  “Well, it seems that our little girl is feeling increasingly uncomfortable at work. I’m afraid that it is my fault, in a sense, in that my ex-wife is the cause of her discomfort.”

  “Ex-wife? That was fast.” That rocks.

  “I just think it’s easier for all concerned if we start using our new titles as soon as possible.” Did that mean that Hamilton and Sapphire woul
d expect to be called Antony and Cleopatra? Or, even worse, Emperor and Mrs. Emperor?

  “Does that mean that you are definitely going forward with a divorce?”

  “As soon as humanly possible. You know, I feel so deeply connected to Sapphire that still being married to Kate almost feels like unintentional bigamy.”

  “Unintentional bigamy? Is that considered legal grounds for divorce?”

  “No, I think we will probably go with ‘irreconcilable differences.’ I don’t see a problem. The truth is, it was always more of a business deal than a love match.” Michael wondered if Kate had been let in on this little tidbit or if she had been under the mistaken assumption that she had married for love.

  “Well, good for you, Hamilton.” And good for me…if Kate is ever able to trust a man again. “I’m still not clear what you need from me this morning. I haven’t had time to call Bob Steinman yet, so I don’t have any news on that front.”

  “No, no, I wouldn’t expect any…yet. I’m calling about Generations. More specifically, how we can work together to make our client more comfortable there.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Hamilton, but isn’t Sapphire’s comfort the reason behind both the recent scheduling changes and the weekly six a.m. meetings?”

  “Absolutely,” said Hamilton. “And they have certainly helped, but our princess is having difficulty with being forced to see Kate on a regular basis. It upsets her.”

  “I see,” said Michael, wondering how he had ended up on the wrong side of this miniature battle between good and evil. “And what are you proposing?”

  “I think it would be better for everyone if Kate was replaced.”

  Michael held the phone out in front of him and stared at it, aghast, like an actor on a campy soap opera. Regaining his composure somewhat, he said, “I just can’t imagine how that would be better for Kate, Hamilton.”

  “Well, you don’t know Kate like I do.” Not for lack of trying, thought Michael. “She has trouble letting go and moving on. When I met her, she still had jackets in her closet with shoulder pads, for god’s sake!” Michael did not join in on Hamilton’s laughter.

  “What does that have to do with her job?”

  “I just don’t think she is capable of seeing it for the unhealthy situation it is. I mean, think about it: she’s working with her ex-husband’s new love. On some level, that has got to hurt.”

  “On many levels.”

  “Exactly. So I think what we are talking about is doing for Kate what she can’t do for herself.”

  “And making your ‘new love’ more comfortable in the process.”

  “Precisely. It’s a win-win.”

  “You know, Hamilton, I am still having trouble seeing how losing her job is a win for Kate, much less a win for the show.”

  “The show?”

  “Yes. I know that you view Sapphire as the star—”

  “She is the star.”

  “—but Kate has a solid fan base, too, and it is very dangerous to mess with the chemistry of a cast that works as well as Generations’s does.”

  “I admit that you make a good point, Michael. However, Kate is an ingenue, and pretty girls are a dime a dozen in this town. We could even keep the character as is and just change the actress.”

  Michael’s heart ached for Kate. Had this asshole shared his cruel, inaccurate opinions with her? “How about this, Hamilton: how about we let things settle for a few days, see if things quiet down on the set, and revisit this idea on Monday morning.”

  “I don’t know, Michael—Sapphire really wants us to act on this thing. She has to pass Kate’s trailer every day and it upsets her.”

  Oh lord. “Well, maybe the set decorating department can create some sort of a shield to protect her delicate eyes,” said Michael sarcastically.

  “That’s a great idea,” answered Hamilton sincerely. “And maybe I can get Jerry to make up some special call sheets so that Sapphire doesn’t have to see Kate’s name. That bothers her, too.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Yes, she is very sensitive. Her femininity is one of the main things I—and her public—love about her.”

  Michael wondered what was so feminine about being narcissistic and hyperemotional, but his drive to get off the phone was much stronger than his curiosity. “Listen, Hamilton, I’ve got to run.”

  “Me, too. Busy day!”

  “Yes, I imagine that Sapphire keeps you hopping.”

  “Like a bunny, my friend, like a bunny!”

  Picturing Hamilton in a Playboy bunny costume, hopping around behind Sapphire, gave Michael his first sincere chuckle of the day.

  25

  Kate woke up and stretched as long and languidly as Paige’s pullout couch would allow. In spite of the metal bar that insisted on making itself known through the middle of the thin mattress, she had slept like a log, for the first time in weeks. She was filled with a sense of optimism, as if she had finally hit rock bottom and her fall was softened by this lumpy hide-a-bed.

  “Well, the good news is that there’s nowhere to go but up,” she said aloud.

  “What?” she heard from the general direction of Paige’s kitchen. “Did you just ask if I was up?”

  “No,” she called back. “But are you?”

  Paige walked into the room. “No.”

  Kate laughed. “Shut up. It’s too early to confuse me. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Six-thirty. I have to be in at ten to do some guest actors for that party scene. Do you have to go in today?”

  Kate searched her body for the familiar feeling of panic that usually arose when she wasn’t sure of her schedule but found only a sense of mild curiosity. “You know, I really don’t know. I assume they would have called me if they needed me, right?”

  “Yes, assuming they know where to find you. Do I need to go over the whole ‘assuming makes an ass out of you and me’ thing again?”

  Panic struggled to force its way to the surface, but Kate’s hopeful mood won out. “They have my cell number. But I’ll give Sam a call anyway, just to be sure. I’ve barely even looked at this week’s script. Am I in it?”

  “Yeah,” Paige said over her shoulder, heading back into the kitchen. “Don’t you remember? This is the episode where you do that stunt where you swing naked on a trapeze over the garden party. Don’t worry, though—I have pasties to cover all of your private parts.”

  “Great,” Kate answered, not fooled for a minute. “I don’t think I want to use the pasties, though. I fear they might stanch the flow of my creativity.”

  “It is way too early in the morning to use the word ‘stanch.’ Do you want coffee?”

  “I do. Do you want to go out for it?”

  “Sure,” said Paige. “There is a little coffee shop right up the street.”

  “Or…” said Kate with a mischievous smile. “We could go out to the Palisades.”

  “For coffee? Why don’t we just go to the moon? There would be less traffic.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Kate. “But there would also be fewer super-cute writer guys to talk to.”

  Paige took in Kate’s raised eyebrows. “What are you talking about? Have you been reading LA Weekly again? Trust me, I have been to every one of their ‘hot spots to find hot guys’ for the past ten years, and all I have ever found are crowds of disappointed women.”

  “What if I were to tell you that there was a specific cute writer guy there?”

  “What?” Paige covered the five steps to the bed in 0.03 seconds, roughly the speed of light. “Have you been holding out on me? Here I have been coddling you like some wounded little bird, when all along you have had some hot romance going with a sexy writer? Scoot over—you should be taking care of me.”

  “No, I don’t have a hot romance. There is just a very nice guy I have seen a couple of times at Starbucks, whom I would very much like to see again.”

  “And…”

  “And…marry him and have his kids and live ha
ppily ever after in a Cape Cod house on Martha’s Vineyard, where he will write all day and I will make jam with the strawberries we grow in our very own garden.”

  “I see. And how much time have you spent with this guy?”

  “Let’s see…” Kate raised her right hand and began writing imaginary numbers on an imaginary chalkboard. “Carry the five…Multiply that by three…Subtract seventeen…”

  “Kate!”

  Kate dropped her hand. “About an hour and a half.”

  “Oh, great,” said Paige. “It’s good to know that you aren’t rushing into anything.”

  “I’m not.” Kate laughed.

  “Ha!” said Paige with a flip of her hair.

  “Ha? Did you really just say ‘Ha!’ and flip your hair? What are you, a 1940s detective?”

  Paige pointed a finger at Kate and tried not to laugh. “Don’t you try to distract me, young lady. If you are going to get married and move to an island with this boy, I demand more details. Does he have a job? Is he married? Does he have any single friends?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not. And if it will make you drive me out to the Palisades, then yes, he has lots of single friends.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

  “For a ride across town? Absolutely.”

  Paige stood. “Good enough for me. Let’s go.”

  “Wait a minute. I need to pretty up.”

  “I have to be at work by ten. There isn’t time for prettying up.” Paige reached across the bed and dragged Kate to her feet. “Besides, I hate to give you a big head, but you are pretty damn pretty just like you are.”

  Kate was touched. “That is so sweet.”

  “You may want to brush your teeth, though.”

  “That was less sweet.”

  “I could say the same about your breath. Go!”

  Kate literally ran into the bathroom.

  26

  Michael stared at his laptop. He had opened and closed the latest draft of the short story he was writing about his father no fewer than three times. Every time he settled in to work on his story about a man and his son who escaped the pain of a mentally ill wife and mother by watching the news, he was distracted by thoughts of Vivien Leigh. He’d been awake most of the night, completely engrossed in a biography of the beautiful actress. He was preparing for his pitch meeting with Bob Steinman, which was scheduled for late Thursday morning. He had two days to learn enough about Ms. Leigh to convince the president of Cutting Edge Pictures to put money behind a movie about her life…starring Sapphire Rose. He had no doubt that Sapphire was perfect for the role, but he also knew that he would have to walk a delicate line between convincing Bob that she was crazy enough to be brilliant in the role, but not so crazy that she wouldn’t behave in a professional manner. He’d have to use a lot of words like sensitive and creative and avoid phrases like off her rocker.