by Lauren Rowe
I laugh. “It’s not me who’s the genius,” I say. “It’s Maddy Behind the Camera. Remember Maddy from that night at Giselle’s? I introduced you right after I performed.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s right—your cheerleader, right?” He laughs. “Well, you definitely owe her one. Those videos helped you get both offers. But, like I say, it’s a moot point about the movie. It’s a great boost for your confidence to get the offer, and it tells me you’re a slam dunk in auditions, so that’s great, but like I say I recommend you take the reality show. Without a doubt, especially based on who you are, the TV show’s the perfect fit for you.”
I bristle. “Based on who I am? Who am I, in your view?”
“Ball Peen Hammer, baby,” he says brightly. “You’re not trying to be some kind of serious actor or anything. You’re just a ‘handsome and happy lad,’ livin’ it up. And this reality show will play to that. Think about how Jersey Shore launched those kids and made ’em household names. That’s what I’m gonna do for you. But that’s all down the line, once we’ve gotten things rolling. First things first, let’s call the producer and tell her you’re in and that you can’t wait, okay?”
“No. Like I said, I gotta think about it before I make my decision.”
Adam audibly sighs. “Fine. I’ll tell them you’re traveling today on a family emergency or something and I can’t reach you ’til Monday. That way they won’t think you’re pulling some sort of diva crap. But I gotta know by Monday, Keane, okay? Or else we’re gonna piss them off.”
I clench my jaw. “Tell them whatever you want. I’ll let you know as soon as I make up my mind.”
“Okay. Call me as soon as you can.”
“I will. Talk to you later.”
We hang up and I sit and stare blankly at the wall for a long minute, my mind racing. Ho-lee shit. I’ve got a huge decision to make here.
I definitely need some expert counsel from someone who knows me inside and out. Someone who won’t bullshit me, no matter what. Someone who loves me the most.
Chapter 53
Keane
Friday, 10:04 a.m.
“What’s wrong?” my mother blurts when she answers my call.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?” I ask.
“Because you’re calling me.”
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh, thank God,” Mom says. “I thought you were calling me from the hospital or jail.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “So to what do I owe this rare pleasure, honey? You need money?”
“Nope. Just wanted to say hi.”
“Mmm hmm. Are you perhaps calling to charm me into making you a big pan of lasagna, my darling Keaney?”
“No, actually, I wasn’t, but if you’re offering, then hell yeah, dude, I’d totally mack the hell outta some Momma Lou lasagna.”
Mom giggles. “All right, honey. Just don’t tell the others. They always hate it when I coddle you.”
“You’re not coddling me, Momma Bear, you’re mothering me—and doing a mighty fine job of it, I must say.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can stop charming me now, Keaney—I’ve already said I’ll make you the lasagna.”
“Thanks, Mom-a-tron. You da best. But, hey, would you mind making me some chili instead of lasagna? I’ve got a big photo shoot next week so I’m laying off the carbs. Gotta make my abs pop; you know how it goes.”
“Yes, I do. It’s a constant battle for me to make sure my abs are popping.”
I laugh.
“So what’s the photo shoot, Keaney Baby?”
“Remember that modeling agency I told you guys about in our group text? They want me to shoot a bunch of different stuff for a portfolio so they can start booking modeling jobs and commercials for me.”
“Ooooh. That’s exciting. What kinds of modeling jobs?”
“Fitness stuff, mostly. Some fashion. They said I’m already in the running for a big Calvin Klein campaign even without having the portfolio, just based on some shots I posted on Instagram.”
“Calvin Klein? Omigosh. Is it an ad for jeans?”
I smile to myself, anticipating my mom’s reaction to what I’m about to say. “No, Mom. Underwear.”
“Underwear?” Mom blurts. “Oh, Keaney.” She sighs. “So you’re gonna make an entire career out of wearing nothing but your underwear?”
I laugh. “Apparently.”
“Oh, Keane. For goodness sake.” My mother’s words are scolding, but her tone tells me she’s smiling from ear to ear on the other end of the phone line. “Well, good luck with that. Speaking of you wearing nothing but your underwear,” Mom continues, her voice full of warmth, “are you still prancing around half naked for hordes of screaming women these days?”
“Yeah, but not as much. I’ve decided to try to make a go of the modeling and acting thing.”
“Oh, modeling and acting? I thought it was just modeling. That’s great, honey. I think acting will be right up your alley. I always say you’re a ham and cheese sandwich, don’t I?”
“Yup.”
“I really think you’ll have lots of success with acting if you put your mind to it, honey.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, Mom. I’ve been going to auditions the past few weeks and I just got offered my first two acting jobs—one on TV and another in a movie.”
“Oh my gosh! Two acting jobs? Congratulations, honey!” She begins squealing and shrieking in celebration.
“Mom, stop screaming with unbridled glee for a minute. Mom. Hey, Mom. Hello?”
“What?”
“There’s a glitch. Because of scheduling, I can only take one of the jobs. I gotta pick.”
Mom giggles. “Oh, well. That’s still worth shrieking about. Either way, you’ve landed your first job in Hollywood, right? This is so exciting!” She squeals again. “We’ll have to have everyone over for dinner to celebrate. When can you come?” She squeals yet again. “I’ll make whatever you want for dinner. Gah! I’m so proud of you.”
“Mom, listen. Stop squealing like Little G for a second, woman.”
We both laugh.
“Dude, I gotta make a huge decision here. I’m stressed out.”
“Oh, honey, there’s no reason to be stressed. This is a good problem to have. Just tell me about each offer and I’ll help you figure it out.”
I proceed to tell my momma every single thing I know about the two jobs, including telling her briefly about the videos I’ve been doing with Maddy (and how the reality show would require me to stop making them), and she listens intently, interrupting only occasionally to ask a few pointed questions.
“So what do you think I should do, Motherboard?” I ask when I’m finished telling her the scoop. “The way I see it, the reality show is the more immediately lucrative pick: more money, more exposure, and a bigger chance of getting other jobs from it, right off the bat. On the other hand, the movie is a small part—really just a glorified extra unless I can somehow razzle-dazzle everyone on-set and make it into something or maybe impress the casting director or director so they think of me for their next movie. And, hell, with the movie, there’s no guarantee I’d even make it past the cutting room floor. In the TV show, on the other hand, I’d be the star.” I sigh heavily, the weight of the world suddenly pressing down on me. “I’d be an idiot to pass up the reality show, right? It’s a bird in the hand. A sure thing.”
Mom audibly shrugs across the phone line.
“Mom, come on. Just tell me what you think. I need your expert counsel.”
“Okay. Here’s what I think: in my expert opinion as a mother and a wise old woman, I think you should listen to your gut.”
“Come on, Mom. Don’t go all Yoda on my ass. Tell me your opinion. It’s a huge decision and I don’t wanna blow it. I want to make a mature and reasoned decision, not based on emotion.”
“Honey, there’s nothing immature about following your heart. In fact, having the self-awareness and confidenc
e to bet on yourself and listen to your inner voice demonstrates more maturity and character than anything else. Life is rarely about what you think—it’s almost always about what you feel.”
I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. “So you’re telling me to take the movie?” I finally ask.
“I’m telling you that, after hearing you talk about the two offers, it’s clear to me which job offer made you feel like a million bucks and which one made you feel like that little poop-emoji with eyes—you know, the one Kat always tacks onto her texts when she’s changing a diaper?”
We both laugh.
“Screw your agent, sweetheart,” Mom says. “It’s his job to get you job offers and provide information to help you make your decision. But it’s your decision to make because it’s your life. In my opinion, you should take the offer that makes you feel like a million bucks every time, no matter how the potential money or fame stacks up. I don’t know anything about the entertainment industry, but I know a lot about life. And from my experience, in the long run, consistently making choices aligned with your true heart’s desire will lead you to your rightful destiny in the end. Life is a marathon, my love, not a sprint. Trust yourself. You’ll get to the finish line eventually. We all do. And when you get there, if you’ve been true to yourself, you’ll be able to look yourself in the mirror with pride and a sense of accomplishment—and, most importantly, no regrets.”
“Damn,” I breathe after a moment. “You rock, Mom.”
“Thanks. A little bit of brains combined with a lot of experience is a wicked combination.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She sighs deeply. “Sweetie, baseball was one chapter of your life, but your story has so many unwritten chapters to come. Don’t look back and long for what could have been—look ahead and aspire. You want to be a handsome and happy lad, like you always say? Then be true to yourself and dream big. You’re gonna do wonderful things, sweetheart—exciting things—some of them maybe even with your clothes on.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Mom.”
“So now that you’re gonna be Brad the Token White Guy Stripper in a Hollywood movie does this mean you’ll be moving to L.A.?”
“Yeah. I’m gonna crash at Daxy’s ’til Zander can get his ass down there at some point.”
“Good. And you’ll still do the videos, I presume? You sure look like you’re having fun doing them. I especially love watching you interact with that ‘Maddy Behind the Camera.’ The two of you are adorable together.”
My heart lurches into my throat. “You’ve seen my videos? Oh my God, Mom. I didn’t even know you knew about them before I mentioned them just now.”
“Kitty Kat showed them to me the other day. But don’t worry, she warned me you talk about raunchy stuff in some of them, so I only watched the ones she said wouldn’t traumatize me. And from what I saw, you’re wonderful in them. You light up the screen.”
“That’s what Maddy always says. She says I come alive on camera.”
“You do. Especially when you’re talking to Maddy. And, man, does she giggle at everything you say from behind the camera. She’s absolutely adorable.”
“Zander says she’s adorbsicles.”
Mom laughs. “I’d love to meet her. Can you bring her to dinner when we celebrate?”
“She lives in L.A.”
“Oh. That’s too bad. I was hoping to meet her.”
“She’s awesome, Mom—the smartest girl I’ve ever met (besides you, of course). She’s going to UCLA film school—she wants to make documentaries—so I hitched a ride with her from Seattle to L.A., and the whole drive we just had this incredible connection. It was amazing. I felt like I’d known her my whole life. She’s the best girl ever, Mom. Sweet. Funny. So smart. Doesn’t take any of my shit.”
“So she’s your girlfriend, then? Or do you kids call it something different these days?”
My chest tightens. “No. Maddy’s not my girlfriend. We’re just friends.”
“Oh. Really? Wow. The way you were talking about her, I assumed you two were having a romance.”
“Actually, Maddy and I were dating for a bit, sort of, but then she made it clear she wanted to get serious and I... freaked out.” I sigh deeply.
“Why’d you freak out? You just told me she’s the best girl ever. What’s there to freak out about?”
“Oh, you know, I was just...” I trail off, not sure of the ending to that sentence.
“Being an idiot?” Mom offers.
I exhale. “Yeah.”
“Ah.” Mom pauses. “So that’s an easy fix: tell her you’ve come to your senses and now you want to be with her. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. That kind of giggle doesn’t happen very often to a girl, trust me.”
I run my hand through my hair. “Mom, I know you’re just trying to be helpful and all, but you don’t understand. It’s not that simple.”
“Why not? She likes you and you like her. Sounds simple to me.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Explain it.”
I sigh. “Maddy totally put herself out there—which is something that’s really hard for her to do—and I smashed her in the teeth. And now she doesn’t wanna have anything to do with me beyond making our videos.”
“Aw, honey. She’s just protecting herself from getting hurt. You can’t expect the poor girl to slam her head into a brick wall twice, can you?”
“Mom, I screwed up. I hurt her. Our connection was amazing—once in a lifetime—and I acted like it was business as usual. She told me stuff she doesn’t normally tell people. And now I can’t just pick up the phone and say, ‘Hey, Maddy, I’m an idiot. I’ve realized I’m in love with you. Please forgive me,’ and expect everything to be magically amazing like it was before.”
There’s a long beat.
“Sweetheart, do you realize what you just said?”
My chest tightens. “What?”
“Think about what you just said, Keaney.”
I think. “Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow. Did you mean it?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
“Well, then, for the love of God, stop living up to your penile nickname and call that girl. Trust me, women have a tremendous capacity to forgive the idiots they love.”
My face flushes. “Holy shit, Mom.”
Mom laughs. “Holy shit, honey.”
I’m suddenly completely electrified. “Bye, Mom. Good talkin’ with you, babesicles. You know I love you the most, right?”
“Yes, I do. Isn’t it amazing what can happen when you actually call your mother instead of text her on occasion?”
I laugh. “Yeah, Mom. Point well taken.”
“I love you, Keaney Baby. Now go get that adorable girl.”
Chapter 54
Keane
Friday, 10:37 a.m.
I press my phone against my ear, my heart racing, waiting for Maddy to pick up my call. Oh my God, I can’t wait to tell Maddy how I feel about her. That I’ve been miserable without her since I left her. That I was an idiot. That I want to touch her. Kiss her. Fuck her. Hold her close while we watch a movie. And then lick her. Suck on her nipples. Make her come. Talk to her. Oh my God! I’ve got to tell Maddy I’m moving to L.A.!
But my call goes straight into Maddy’s voicemail.
“Hey, Maddy,” I say at the sound of the beep, my pulse pounding in my ears. “Call me as soon as you get this message, okay? I’ve got something important to tell you.” I pause. “Okay. Well. Bye. Talk to you soon.”
I hang up the phone and, for ten minutes, sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone, willing it to buzz with an incoming call from Maddy.
But it doesn’t.
So I wait another five minutes, feeling the whole time like my balls are gonna explode.
Finally, when I can’t take it anymore, I shoot Maddy a text: “Hey, Maddy,” I write. “I left u a vm. Gimme a call. There’s somet
hing I gotta tell u. It’s important. Please get back to me ASAP. Thanks. Can’t wait to talk to u!!”
I sit and stare at my phone for another five minutes, waiting for a reply, but she doesn’t respond.
Fuck.
I can’t stand it. I gotta take matters into my own hands.
I pull my laptop off my dresser and five minutes later, I’ve got myself booked on a two-hour flight to LAX, departing Seattle in a few hours.
I check my phone. Still nothing from Maddy.
Shit. My balls hurt.
I get dressed, pack a duffel bag, and sprint out of my bedroom. When I get into the living room, I find Zander entangled on the couch with Daphne, watching a movie. “Hey D,” I say to Daphne, my heart racing.
“Hey P,” Daphne replies.
I clear my throat, trying to keep myself from sounding like a madman. “Z, can I tear you away from D for just a minute? It’s rather important.” Oh my God, I’m about to explode.
“Sure thing,” Zander says. He lays a soft kiss on Daphne’s lips, touches her cheek, languidly disentangles himself from her long limbs like he’s got all the time in the world, and rises slowly from the couch. “What’s up, baby doll?” He looks at my duffel bag. “Where you going?”
“On safari, son—I’m going big-game hunting in L.A.”
Zander flashes a huge smile. “You’re finally gonna bag yourself a Maddy?”
I return Zander’s broad smile. “Boo-fucking-yah.”
“It’s about fucking time, Steve Sanders.”
“You’ve got an electric razor, right?”
“Yeah, in my bathroom. Left drawer.”
“Actually, I need your help with something. Come on.” Without waiting for Zander’s reply, I turn around and march toward Zander’s bathroom.
“Hang on,” Zander says behind my back. “I use that razor to shave my balls.”
I stop and weigh that nugget of information for a short beat. “Doesn’t matter,” I quickly decide, shaking my head with sudden determination. I motion to my blue hair. “Even if I have to rub this shit off using your balls as a scouring pad, it time for this shit to go.”