Trouble Me

by Beck Anderson

  “I’m not interested. I don’t want this. I don’t want you.”

  Amanda lights the last candle and looks up, straight into my eyes. “I don’t believe you. You’re trying to ‘remake your image,’ and I’m not buying it for one second.”

  “Get out of my trailer. I don’t care if you believe it or not. I don’t want to be a drunk. I don’t want to get wild in a Cannes disco bathroom with you. I definitely don’t want to have sex with you. Anywhere. Anytime.” I hold her gaze.

  She picks up a plate from the table and throws it at me. I duck left as it flies by. Then she flips the table and storms past me. “If that’s true, then go fuck yourself, Andy Pettigrew.”

  The door slams shut. I stand still and look at the wreckage.

  The door opens again, and Tucker pops his head in. “Did you get a nap?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Tucker.”

  “What? They need you on set.”

  “I’ll fill you in between takes.” I grab my sunglasses and follow him out of my trailer.

  His first job is to put a lock on that door.

  21: Bad News

  IT’S BEEN TWO WEEKS SINCE THE ACCIDENT. Now the world knows where we’re staying in New York, and somewhere in there, the word got out about my pregnancy too. The suckage meter is at full tilt. I guess I’m getting used to the chaos when I leave the building. If Andrew’s not with me, it only lasts for twenty seconds, anyway. Tons of screams and lights popping, followed by, “He’s not with her,” followed by no lights popping, followed by one or two rude questions shouted at me, usually along the lines of “What’s it like to share Andy with Mandy?” or “When’s the shotgun wedding?”

  Sometimes there’s a knock about me being too old to carry the baby. I love that one. That’s my favorite gem. I suspect the wish is that I pass on one of these remarks to Andrew. Then he might get incensed and come out and pound on someone. Boy, then those would be some choice pictures, wouldn’t they?

  But I chuckle because I prefer to imagine me going hoss on one of them. The crazy pregnant lady comes out swinging—maybe pulls a few ninja moves. I say nothing to Andrew about it. It actually doesn’t bother me at all, weirdly. I think there isn’t any real feeling behind the statements, so no reason to react with feeling.

  The bustle for Andrew, though, it’s scary. Bustle isn’t the best word. Frenzy. If we try to go out, he holds my hand tightly as we dash for the cab. There’s a sustained yelling and the flash of the cameras, and sometimes the doormen (there are two now) and even Tucker have to push back a wave, a wall of people who press closer to us. That physical swell of bodies can get intimidating.

  And then there are one or two guys on scooters who dart in and out of traffic and follow us through the streets of New York.

  It’s too bad, because the streets were supposed to be our anonymous hangout. Now Andrew can only go to set and back to the condo. The rest is crazy. We try to go out to eat, but it’s just not worth it. With his shoulder all torn up, he could really get hurt, and he only takes that risk to do his job.

  Tonight, though, he’s home from set early. We’re going to tell the boys about no Boise. It’s going to really suck. I’m not thrilled, but there’s no way we’re going to be apart from each other for longer than a weekend. Not with Andrew hurt. I’m not leaving him alone to go through this. And this opportunity he has in LA, it’s too amazing for him to pass up. He even let me take a peek at the script, and I can tell it’ll be huge for him. It’s about a mobster who goes into hiding at a cattle ranch in the middle of nowhere. With a meaty role and a high-powered director, Andrew’ll be one step closer to the ultimate prize in Hollywood: one of those little gold guys.

  The only concession I think we need to make is Hunter’s birthday. He turns fourteen next week, and he wants to be in Boise with his friends for that. There’s no way he’ll abide another four weeks in New York and the rest of a semester in LA if we don’t get back to say goodbye to his friends.

  I’m making tacos to soften the blow. I cook very basic stuff, but the boys have always liked my tacos.

  Andrew comes in the kitchen from the study. He’s been on the phone with the super-top-secret director for the mobster picture, Out of Range. He looks tired.

  For the past two weeks, he goes to set every night, usually for thirteen-hour shoots. Then he and Tucker go hit physical therapy right after that, usually around six or seven in the morning. Then he comes home and sleeps.

  I don’t sleep. At night, I worry. I watch the boys sleep. I pace. Sometimes I go down to the pool to swim, but at night, it’s kind of a creepy place—lots of echoes and drips and shadows. Plus I’ve been doing it without Andrew and Tucker knowing, and if they get wind of it, they’ll go ballistic. The guilt of that limits my trips to swim.

  During the day, when Andrew is home, I try to nap with him. But I spend a good chunk of time afraid I’ll hurt his shoulder when I try to turn over or something. The other part of the time I spend watching him breathe.

  I remember the first night home from the hospital with Hunter when he was born. I just watched him breathe, all night long. I was amazed at how tiny he was and terrified he wouldn’t take his next breath. But that worry ebbed after the first few nights. I got used to having a little baby around, and he was so tenacious and vocal (he was quite the crier) that he put me at ease.

  Andrew, he looks so vulnerable right now. He has deep circles under his eyes, dark and worrisome. He’s lost weight since getting hurt. The pain wears on him, and when his actor’s face is slack with sleep, it shows through. He whimpers, lets down his guard when he’s sleeping, and I can tell how much he hurts.

  I respect why he’s not taken anything more than an Advil. But the pain is slowing his healing.

  So, I worry and watch him sleep.

  I absentmindedly stir the taco meat. He comes to me, script in hand, and kisses me. We’re both tentative, more tender than usual, but it feels so good to be in his arms.

  “You look tired.” He kisses my forehead.

  “So do you.” I wrap my arms around his waist, rest my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat.

  “You’ll burn your tacos.” He rubs my back for a minute.

  “The peace offering can’t be burned. Bad karma.” I let go of him to check on the simmering ground beef.

  “What peace offering?” Beau strolls in.

  I give him a squeeze and then turn him in the direction of the hall. “Andrew and I need to talk to you and your brother. Can you go get him?”

  Beau looks at me and turns toward the bedrooms. “Hunter! Mom needs you!” he screams. “Hunter!”

  I roll my eyes. “I could’ve done that.”

  Beau’s brow furrows. “The last time we had a ‘talk,’ you told us about Hiccup. What is it now?”

  Hunter shuffles in. He wears soccer slides and his board shorts and that’s it.

  Fourteen. He’s going to be fourteen. His feet are almost as big as Andrew’s. He looks more and more like his dad every day, though he didn’t inherit the black curls. That’s Beau’s claim to Peter’s side of the family. How did we get these young men from those tiny babies I held not so long ago?

  I feel a little twinge of the sadness, but it’s a warm melancholy. Peter would be so proud of his boys.

  Hunter breaks my reverie. “What’s the big deal?”

  I have plates out. “Let’s do the tacos buffet-style. Then we’ll talk.”

  “Uh-oh.” Hunter squints at me. “Is everyone okay? Is Ditto all right? I don’t trust those girls with him. They’re going to let him out of the backyard. They live in a busy neighborhood. He’s gonna get hit.”

  The conversation isn’t going to get any easier. I plate up the tacos for the boys. “Here. Just sit, and then we’ll talk.”

  They do as they’re told. Andrew sits at the end of the island. He looks at me. “Kelly?”

  “Fine. Guys, Andrew’s got a chance to work on an amazing movie in LA. And since the accident,
I’m not keen on us being apart. I want all of us in the same place.”

  “And?”

  “So, we’re going to stay in New York a little longer.”

  Beau jumps up. “Awesome! We get to miss the start of school. I love it.”

  “Actually, you’ll do school online this semester, or maybe with a tutor. We’re going with Andrew to LA after he’s done shooting here.”

  Hunter’s up out of his seat. “No way. My birthday is this month. In Boise! All my friends. I told all of them I was having a party.”

  Andrew stands too. “You still are, bud. We’ll all be in Boise for your birthday. But we’re going to stick together.”

  “You can see why, with Andrew’s hurt shoulder, and the baby, you can see that, can’t you, Hunter?” My voice sounds squeaky. It doesn’t sound like much of an idea. Or much of a reason.

  “No.” Hunter picks up his plate and dumps it in the sink with a clatter. “No. I’ll live in Boise with Tessa. You can’t take me away from my friends, away from Boise. No.”

  He storms down the hall, and I hear the front door of the condo slam behind him.

  I rush to go after him, and Andrew catches me. “I’ll have Tucker go check on him. I bet he went to the pool.”

  “I need to go tell him, explain it to him.”

  “What is there to explain? We promised him his life wouldn’t change that much, with me coming into it, and here it is, changing.” He lets go of me and rubs his hands over his face, frustrated. “Give him some time. And I want to be the one to talk to him. I’m the one who lied to him.”

  “You didn’t lie. How could we know? We can’t be apart, Andrew. We can’t.”

  “He’s almost fourteen. It’s how it feels, so it’s true. End of story.” He stalks out of the room.

  Beau sits at the counter. He eats his tacos. “It’ll be fine, Mom.”

  “Why aren’t you mad? What makes it okay for you?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. I’d have Mr. Kissinger or Miss Bideganeta if we were in Boise. They’re both supposed to be mean. Maybe I’m dodging a bullet.”

  I give him the biggest hug I can manage. “Beau, I love you so much right now I can’t stand it.”

  “I’m still in the market for a phone. Maybe there’s a phone in my future if I stay mellow.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. He polishes off the last of his taco and goes into the great room to watch TV.

  I sit at the island and look at the pile of uneaten food. That went well.

  22: Everybody Loves Me

  AFTER KELLY AND I BREAK THE NEWS to the boys, I decide to take care of some unfinished business before we have to leave New York. We’ve only got a few weeks left. It’s stupid, I know, but I call Tucker and have him set it up anyway. I can’t protect Kelly, can’t keep the boys’ lives calm, maybe I can’t even keep my ass alive long enough to provide for this new family of mine, but I sure as hell can shut Tiffany’s down and get Kelly the biggest diamond my money can buy. Eye of the Tiger all the way here, people.

  Tucker humors me. Jeremy declares he’s coming along. Mostly, I think, because I usually don’t like to spend money, and here—in the course of what? Two weeks?—I’ve asked him to buy a house on the Oregon Coast for me and now I’m after a huge piece of jewelry. Maybe he’s worried I’m losing it.

  Maybe I am. I’m tired. Mind-numbingly tired. I hurt. My damn shoulder. There is no way, absolutely no way to sleep without it hurting. It gnaws at me mercilessly.

  This trip to buy a “real ring” gives me a couple minutes alone with Tucker and Jeremy to put my theory out there too. Somebody put a target on my back. Amanda is acting completely insane. Maybe she has something to do with this.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. But I’m scared for Kelly. For the baby. For the boys.

  My folks called, and they feigned concern for two seconds. Maybe it was real concern, but no one offered to come down and stay with us, or take the boys up to Pennsylvania. Mom lectured me about my “lifestyle choice,” which I think means she thinks acting is a poor career move, but I’ve never once heard her say a good thing about it, so now certainly won’t be the time when she’s supportive. And I don’t think she’s very supportive about Kelly and me. She’s trying. I think she and my dad are trying. But not “Send your family up here, and we’ll keep them safe for you” trying.

  Kelly wouldn’t go, anyway. I think I might feel the same way. I think she’d be safer away from me, but I can’t stand to think of her anywhere but here. My selfishness wins out since it coincides with her stubbornness.

  When she goes out for groceries now, I insist that Tucker goes with her, and I’m at loose ends until they get back. And on set is almost impossible. I don’t know how long any of us can maintain.

  I keep telling myself we just need to get to LA. Back to a routine. Jeremy’s scouting for a house in a locked-down neighborhood. High walls, 24/7 guards at the gate, the works. I’ll get to work on Out of Range, the press will forget about the baby, and we’ll put some distance between us and cars that want to run me over and costars that want to sleep with or kill me, I can’t tell which.

  I brood and flip my phone over and over in the elevator. Janus is with me. He’ll deposit me in a big armored Suburban and get himself back upstairs to my family. Jeremy and Tucker are already at Tiffany’s. They insisted on meeting the advance team together.

  Some Apotheosis driver picks me up in the garage. He’s bald and looks a lot like Oddjob from the Bond movies. I almost smile at the thought, but he could definitely kick my ass, and it’s been kicked around quite enough already.

  It’s late, after the store closing of seven p.m., and, no, I didn’t cheese out and go to the flagship store. Jeremy probably salivated about that photo op for at least a second, but I want privacy, not Aunt Mae from New Brunswick snapping photos from the sidewalk.

  So, it’s the SoHo store, and as Oddjob drives down Seventh Avenue, I sit back and try to focus on what I need to tell Tucker. Jeremy will just have to be an accomplice.

  The car turns left onto the store’s small street, and the tires hum over the cobbles. Oddjob pulls up to the curb and jumps out to get my door. He’s pretty light on his feet, as big as he is.

  No cameras. No one. He hustles me to the front of the store, where a man in a black suit holds the door open, then promptly shuts and locks it behind me. I watch the Suburban pull away and disappear down the dark street.

  The store is quiet for a moment. Then Jeremy hollers. It’s what he does.

  “My whipped friend! Never thought I’d see the day, brother!” He stands with Tucker and a girl with a bright Tiffany blue blouse and black skirt, her hair short and her lips very red.

  “The less you talk tonight, J, the happier I’ll be.” I come to them and shake Tucker’s hand. “Did you scope out some contenders?”

  “Lupita here pulled a tray together for you.” He nods to the girl. She smiles with very white teeth in between the red lips.

  “Can I get you anything to drink, Mr. Pettigrew?” She reminds me of a flight attendant.

  “You know, Lupita, I’d love a water.”

  “Still or sparkling?”

  “Surprise me. I need to have a few words with my team for a minute, before you come back with that water.”

  A tiny crease in her smooth brow pops up and then disappears. She smiles widely again. “Of course. Take your time. I’ll be back.”

  She glides away, her heels clicking on the polished floors. The man at the door stands guard. The street is still empty.

  Tucker looks worried. “What?”

  “I wanted to talk, and I can’t figure out how to get you alone in the condo or on set, so here we are.”

  Jeremy shakes his head. “Wait, we’re here to talk privately? You couldn’t ask for a moment alone with your security staff?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Shut up for a minute. You’ll get it if you actually listen.”

  “Go on.” Tucker leans in.<
br />
  “Amanda. I think you need to look at Amanda for all of this.”

  Jeremy opens his mouth again. “For what?”

  “Jeremy, I’m serious about the shutting the hell up part.” I’ll punch him, I’ll do it.

  “Yes, sorry.”

  Tucker’s gears are already turning. “Tell me.”

  “She was with us on the curb.”

  “She was in front of you.”

  “Wait, that wasn’t an accident?” Jeremy’s blabbing again. “Somebody pushed you? What in the—”

  This time I ignore Jeremy and continue. “But she has people. She could’ve hired someone. In the makeup trailer, she was seriously weird. Then the hiding in my trailer and dish throwing, that was full-on aggressive. I just say look at her for it.”

  Tucker nods, and he motions to Lupita, who waits with a carafe. “You can come on over.”

  Jeremy looks disappointed. “That’s it? That’s what all the cloak and dagger was about?”

  Tucker looks straight at him. “Do you not hear what we’re saying? This isn’t an accident. Someone wants to hurt Andrew. On purpose. Kill him.”

  “So, get the FBI in, get law enforcement. Get it handled.” Now Jeremy’s gone from lost little puppy to killer German Shepherd.

  Tucker finishes the conversation. “They’re in the loop, and now so are you. Keep your mouth shut on this one. This isn’t some casting rumor.”

  Jeremy nods. His lips are a grim line. “Fine.” Lupita hands me a glass of water, and Jeremy breaks out in a smile. “So, let’s get a big fat diamond, why don’t we?”

  He’s about to clap me on the back, like he always does, when he remembers the chunk taken out of my shoulder and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

  Lupita goes behind the counter and pulls out a velvet tray. “What do you have in mind, Mr. Pettigrew?”

  “Something in line with my agent here: ridiculously overpaid and too big for his britches.”