Movie Star By Lizzie Pepper

by Hilary Liftin

  Then a realization swept over me. “I don’t want to act,” I said, slowly and with certainty. As soon as I said it I realized it had been true for a very long time. Me and my stardom were my parents’ redemption. My success came from guilt, not inspiration. In high school I had liked acting—it was my decision to put myself up for TV pilots—but then my friends were going off to college, and I hadn’t wanted to miss out. I had wanted to quit American Dream. But my father wouldn’t let me do it. He made me honor that commitment, and now acting was the only skill I had. But was I meant to be an actor? I’d never had a chance to try anything else.

  I tried to explain it to Rob. “These babies are my chance to be something real. Not a made-up character. Not a superhero or a spy’s girlfriend or a pioneer. Not bound to the career that I stumbled into at seventeen. It doesn’t feel right anymore. I want to try being a wife and a mother. The best wife and mother I can be.” I thought about how I’d been willing to sacrifice the part in American Dream to be at Granny’s side when she was ill. This moment felt just as important.

  “Come closer,” Rob said, reaching toward me. I lay down next to him. He put his hands on my belly. “I would love for you to focus on the twins,” he said. “To be honest, Meg and I were just talking about this. Meg was saying, and I agree with her, that a child needs his mother more than anything. It is the greatest role in the world.”

  “I’m quitting Skye London,” I said.

  Rob stroked my hair, and we were quiet for a bit.

  “Okay, you said that out loud. How does it feel? Is it what you want? Are you happy?” he asked.

  “Very,” I said. And I was.

  Now Rob knew all my secrets. What I didn’t think about at the time was that he was still keeping at least one secret from me—the door to Bluebeard’s chamber remained shut and locked, a reminder that even though I’d done my 100, no matter how close we were growing and how the twins would bond us, there was still a piece of him that might never be mine.

  My parents found out that I’d quit Skye London by reading it in the press. My father was livid.

  “How could you do this without speaking to me? It’s a terrible mistake. But don’t worry, we can probably get you back in. I have a call in to Cherry Simpson—”

  “No, Dad. I don’t want to do it. I’m really not sure I want to stick with acting.”

  “This is what we’ve worked for, Elizabeth. All these years of training and you quit the Olympics. You want to reconsider your career, fine. Do it after Skye London.”

  “I’m not sure you heard me—”

  “I heard you, dammit. I just can’t believe it. What does Rob say?”

  “He supports me, Dad. He knows I am capable of making my own decisions. Acting doesn’t define me.”

  “Elizabeth, this is nonsense. Is this what they’re teaching you at that fake Hollywood commune?”

  “Okay, Dad, this conversation is over.”

  “No, Elizabeth, it isn’t. I’m not going to stand by and watch you throw everything away.”

  I hung up. My father had to have the last word, but I didn’t have to listen to it. Afterward, I felt giddy. This is what it felt like to take control of my own life. I was going to be a mother. It was about time.

  A week later, on our way home from a One Cell dinner, Rob asked if I was ready to commit to the Practice.

  “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It’s a formality, really,” he said. “Your Core Group gathers, and anyone else you want to support you—I hope that would include your loving fiancé—”

  “It might,” I said.

  “And there’s a simple ceremony. Each supporter offers a truth that he or she respects about you. They’re not always compliments. If I remember correctly, Meg commended my ‘perpetual control’—that one hit a little close to home. But it’s kind of nice to feel . . . understood. Then you state your life goals—they don’t have to stay the same, of course they’re always evolving—but it’s meant as an acknowledgment that at any point in time we should be able to articulate our goals. At the end, you make a statement, committing yourself to making the Practice an integral part of your life, and raising our children to learn the Whole Body Principles, and you get one of these.” He twiddled his Truth necklace, the one he never took off.

  “It may sound like a big commitment, but actually you’re already doing it. If you’re comfortable with the involvement you have right now, you’ll be fine.” He pulled into our drive, rolled down his window, and said hi to the guards as they raised the gate. “Also,” Rob said, “it would mean a lot to me.”

  Rob’s twin sons were in my belly. We would soon be married. I was still getting to know this man, who had so quickly become my world, but I believed in him and in us. All my life I had followed my parents’ plan for me, their edicts, their ambitions, their secrets. I judged myself on my ever-seesawing public image. Now I wanted to let all of that go. With Rob’s strength to guide me, I was separating from them, choosing my own way. Even Aurora was less a part of my decisions than she’d been for many years. My 100 had been my confession, and after that I felt a new sort of intimacy with the Studio. I was known, understood. I saw me and Rob raising our children in that community. It would be the philosophical, social, and moral center of the life we built together.

  And, although I couldn’t have put it into words at the time, I would have done anything to deepen my connection to this too-perfect man.

  The next day, in front of Rob, Liesl, his mother, Scotty, Meg, Mary, and most of my Core Group, I stood up and committed myself to the Studio. Mary handed me a thin string, and led me to a table with bowls of beads. I was to put as many beads as I wanted on my Truth necklace, to represent whatever elements of strength I chose. I selected three beads: one for independence, one for strength of spirit, and one for love. My father had always said, “The Peppers aren’t joiners,” but that was kind of the point. I didn’t obey my father. I was a grown-up now.

  8

  Aurora, my mother, and Rob’s mother cohosted my baby shower. Before Aurora could even worry about the cost, I told her I would send her the money for her share, and it would be between us. As soon as she received the check, I got the call I knew was coming.

  “Ninety thousand dollars for a baby shower! You could feed a Third World country for that.”

  This was my life. It was hard enough to get used to it on my own.

  “Actually, Rob has adopted a Third World country.” That shut her up.

  It was an exaggeration, but he did send a lot of money to Burundi and had built six schools and a hospital there. One of our bathrooms in Brentwood was done in Burundian copper, and Rob had gotten it photographed for Celebrity Homes in an attempt to start a trend. It’s the little things . . .

  The day before the shower, Aurora and my parents took me out to lunch at Duke’s, which I knew my father would love, but I don’t know if he ate a bite of his cheeseburger.

  “Everything is moving so quickly, Lizzie,” my mother said. “Your father wants to make sure this is what you want.”

  When my mother spoke for my father, it meant she knew a storm was coming and was doing everything in her power to temper it. Doug Pepper was not happy.

  I smiled and patted my belly. “There’s no turning back now.”

  Dad wasn’t one to pussyfoot. “Elizabeth, you pulled out of Skye London. Your connection to Rob was supposed to help your career, not stall it. And now I’m hearing rumors that you’ve become part of that . . . organization.” He shook his head. “You really have to be more careful.”

  “Um, Dad? Maybe you didn’t notice that I’m pregnant? Even if I do decide to go back to acting, I’m allowed to take a break.”

  “Elizabeth, you weren’t meant to be a star’s wife. You’re a star.”

  Aurora joined in. “The thing that’s freaking me out is this One Cell Stud
io. Lizzie, have you googled it? There is some crazy shit going on there. Seriously. They say it’s a cult. Once you’re in, it’s hard to get out. It’s supposed to be a nonprofit, but people pay to practice there. The group leaders and lecturers don’t get paid. And that town where it started, Fernhills—people who live there have no contact with people on the outside.”

  A baby shower is supposed to be a sweet, joyful event. Babies! What could be more pure and innocent? But instead of being celebrated I was being ambushed. “Whoa,” I said “everybody just calm down. Yes, my life has changed very quickly. But you need to trust me. I’m an adult. I make my own choices. This is what I want. And that’s all that should matter to you.”

  My father pounded his fist on the table. “No, Elizabeth. Let me tell you what we’re going to do—”

  A rage that I’d never known hit me. He was still doing it. Telling me what we were going to do. I focused on the Whole Body Principles: observing my rage, defining it, and discarding it. When I spoke, I was perfectly calm.

  “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. I’m making my own decisions now. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

  It was the first time I’d crossed my father, and it didn’t go well. “You are out of your league, Elizabeth. Who do you think made all of this happen for you? You think you met Rob because he wanted to hire you for some movie? I have worked extremely hard to give you this life, to give you every opportunity in the world, and you are squandering it!” He rose and stormed out of the restaurant.

  I was accustomed to my father taking credit for my success, but this was the first time I’d heard him take credit for my relationship with Rob. What the hell? West Bengal was three generations away and nearly erased by American crossbreeding. My father couldn’t have thought he had any right to a hand in my romantic choices.

  My mother stood up and patted my hand before hurrying after him. She always stood by her man. I knew the parting glance she gave me well. It said, “Don’t worry, dear, he’ll cool down.”

  “Wow,” Aurora said. “You grew balls.” We laughed.

  And then my phone buzzed. It was Lewis calling from the parking lot of Duke’s to ask if it was okay for him to take my parents back to the house without us. Oh, it must have killed my father that Lewis didn’t follow his orders without my sign-off.

  Aurora, however, was still in this. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but there’s a guy I want you to meet. He used to be part of One Cell and now he helps people extricate themselves from the Practice. I’m not saying he’s right. But it can’t hurt to talk to him—just to get a perspective. Buddy White is—”

  Buddy. The name hit me instantly. Buddy White was the man whose name had come up in my 100. I’d been warned about this, and now it was happening.

  “Aurora, Buddy White is the disturbed stepbrother of Rob’s friend Geoff. You can’t trust him. I don’t trust him. Please don’t tell him anything about me!”

  Aurora looked thrown. “No, Lizzie . . . I don’t think—I mean, are you sure? I’ve met him. He’s totally down-to-earth. I can’t see why he’d want to hurt you.”

  She was so naïve. I prayed she hadn’t already somehow exposed me. “Just promise you won’t talk to him about me? You have to promise.”

  “Okay, Lizzie, I promise.”

  When I came home, Rob was at the kitchen counter, reading the paper.

  “I have a question for you.” I chose my words carefully. “When we first met, you were much more interested in dating me than in hiring me for a movie, weren’t you?”

  “Definitely,” he said, moving the paper to smile at me.

  “The gossip mags have always said that it was an arranged meeting . . . was it?”

  “Every meeting is an arranged meeting,” he said.

  “But was it a setup?”

  “Yeah, my agents set it up with your dad.” His face was open and unconcerned. It was as if he had just told me there was leftover pasta on the stove. He clearly wasn’t hiding anything.

  “Tell me more.”

  Rob looked a little confused. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. My agents put the word out that I was single. I can’t exactly go to 7-Eleven and ask out the checkout girl. I can’t even say hi to a woman on a movie set without rumors flying. So that’s the way we’ve done it ever since Lexy and I broke up.”

  “And my dad contacted you?”

  “Actually, if I remember correctly, we reached out to him. I thought you were cute, and someone—maybe Bethamy?—knew that you grew up with that poster of me on your door. I didn’t know how I would feel about you. But it couldn’t hurt to meet you.”

  No wonder he called me Elizabeth. He’d picked it up from my father before we’d ever met. Rob stood up and wrapped his arms around me. “What’s this about?”

  I explained to him that my father was still upset that I’d turned down Skye London.

  “Ah,” he said. “He’s probably thinking I haven’t fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Before you and I met, I promised your dad I’d help you get a franchise.” Oh, and there’s tomato sauce in the skillet. It might need salt. Rob saw my face. “I thought you knew.”

  I shook my head. No, I didn’t know.

  “Being with me changes your life. It puts you in the spotlight. It restricts your freedoms. Your father was just looking out for you.” He kissed me and held my cheeks in his hands. “Okay?” he said.

  From the start, my father had seemed overly focused on what my relationship with Rob could do for my career. Now it was clear why. The two men in my life had planned my future like I was one of my father’s investments. They’d negotiated our potential relationship long before I introduced them for what I thought was the first time in Chicago. I didn’t blame Rob. This was how the world worked for him, even when it came to love. And he’d been nothing but forthcoming and honest about it when I’d asked.

  I left my latte on the warming tray and walked across the house to the wing where my parents were staying. I entered without knocking. They were already in bed: my father reading the paper, my mother on her laptop.

  I walked calmly up to my father and stopped. My voice was cold and steely. “You set me up with Rob. For my career. I’m not part of your portfolio, Dad.”

  “Now just a minute, Elizabeth. Everything I did, I did for you,” he said.

  “I want you to leave. First thing in the morning.”

  “Calm down, sweetheart,” my mother said. “Your father was just trying to help you.”

  “I am calm. I want you to leave. Both of you. I’m done.”

  “This is ridiculous, Elizabeth. You’ll see.”

  It was impossible to fight him because he only ever won. Doug “Pitbull” Pepper never backed down. But I could fight back in my own way.

  It was the last time we would speak for a very long time.

  The next day was the baby shower at the Polo Lounge. Bethamy would have insisted on a theme: two peas in a pod or Thing 1 and Thing 2 from the Cat in the Hat. Instead, Meg and I planned a simple shower in nautical colors: navy and white with pops of canary yellow. The pile of presents that came in was tall and all of them were professionally wrapped, embellished by little wooden rattles, organic mini cuddle blankets, and a slew of little Truth bracelets for the babies (who could wear them until they broke because newborns were “unsullied”). All the gifts were in doubles, most of them baby blue. I opened matching cashmere onesies and other tiny designer clothes, most of which I would later find had unfinished zippers that scratched the babies or tiny buttons that drove the mother crazy. There were two real fur jackets, size six months, and at least twenty silver spoons (ha, ha). Everything I’d read said that the parents of twins should treat them as individuals. No rhyming names; no matching outfits; separate birthda
y cakes. Already I could see that the world wasn’t on board with that approach. Two matching babies was what they wanted from me. Later I would give away exactly half of each gift.

  At the very bottom of the heap was Aurora’s present, hand wrapped. There were two woolen baby hats, one striped and one solid. With them was a scarf in the same autumnal colors that was clearly meant for me—it was a set, to be sure, but a subtle one. Each had a silky tag that read “Knit with love by Aurora.” I loved the gift, and I told her so, but I would never be able to wear a scarf like that in public.

  My parents didn’t attend the shower, having flown home in a huff that morning, but I barely noticed. The room was a sea of well-wishers. Everywhere I turned, I was congratulated and praised. And much as I knew that people pandered to Rob, I had never experienced it myself. I believed them. My new life, the one I had made for myself, felt great.

  The next day, in Glam, the infamous Buddy White was quoted as saying that my parents had staged an intervention to get me out of the Studio. Is that what lunch had been? An intervention? Aurora texted immediately, insisting she hadn’t said anything, but my Studio contacts confirmed that she was the informer. And so, with great regret, I had to shut out Aurora, too.

  After that, I had a different view of the rumors that practicing with the Studio meant leaving your family and friends behind. Nobody had urged me to sever ties. On the contrary, I was finally listening to my own instincts. The Studio was teaching me how.

  9

  I was supposed to have an “elective” Cesarean, which meant that I had chosen it, even though I hadn’t. I wanted natural childbirth—I wasn’t against drugs, but I wanted at least to give it a try. But my doctor, Henri, said it wasn’t an option for “someone like me.” Aside from the fact that any twin pregnancy was automatically categorized as high risk, Henri said that if I wanted to guarantee my privacy, while in labor and while giving birth, he absolutely had to book an operating room in advance. The risk that someone would get a shot of me indisposed was just too high. This was how “everyone” did it—Jessica Rand, Chantelle, Isle Goodwin.