by Jen Calonita
“Classic overblown ego,” Laney tsks. “I don’t buy this innocent act either. That girl knows what’s she doing with the press, the show, everything. Kaitlin, I wasn’t kidding when I said you need to watch out. I don’t care how nice she is to your face. She wants a permanent gig on FA and she’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
I shudder. “I know,” I agree. “What am I going to do about her?” Before either of them can answer, Liz runs in and slams the door shut behind her.
“You’re never going to believe what I just overheard!” Liz exclaims. “I was on my way back from the bathroom, when I passed Alexis pacing in a room waiting for her next appointment. She was on the phone and she was yelling about how ‘little miss perfect’ gave her no dirt to use and how this morning was a waste of her time. Kaitlin, she was so talking about you!”
“I’m not surprised,” I say angrily. “I’ve overheard her bash me before. This is what I was talking about. We have to take her down.”
“We are definitely taking her down!” Laney echoes with a battle cry. “No dirt? That girl is totally trying to feed the press garbage about you! I’m sure that’s where those new stories are coming from.”
“I thought Sky was our problem with those,” Mom says, looking very pale.
“I did at first too, but Sky is also getting creamed,” I explain. “And I think Sky hates Alexis more than she does me at this point. It’s got to be Alexis. I’m more sure of it now than ever.” Wait till I tell Nadine what just went down.
“I’ve spoiled your whole spa day,” Mom groans. “I can’t believe I invited that awful girl here. How can I make it up to you, honey?”
Without skipping a beat, I reply: “You could let me take driving lessons.”
Liz laughs.
My mom is flabbergasted. “You don’t even have your permit.”
“Actually I took the test and passed,” I mumble. Mom hears me anyway.
“What? How?” Mom asks.
“The point is, I have the permit and I should learn how to drive,” I tell her. “What if the next role I audition for requires me to drive a car? What am I going to say, I can’t?”
“She does have a point,” Laney says. Mom looks at me pensively.
“Mom, everyone my age is learning how to drive,” I add. “I should be learning too.”
“Okay, well, we can just teach you to drive on the back lot like everybody else,” Mom says reasonably.
“The class has to be done with a licensed instructor,” I explain. “I need six hours of driving time plus fifty hours in the car with a responsible adult over the age of twenty-five. So I Googled some schools online and there’s a bunch near the studio . . .”
“UH-UH.” Mom shakes her head. “We’ll hire you some top-notch private teacher who can teach you on your lunch hour. I don’t want you going to some public school.”
“The paparazzi will have a field day if you enroll at some dinky driving school and crash a car,” Laney agrees. I open my mouth to protest. “No buts, Kaitlin. You can learn to drive — if your mom okays it — but classes are out of the question.”
“But this is Los Angeles!” I argue. “Stars go food shopping, to the park, to the dog run, hiking, and no one bothers them. Why should driving lessons be any different? Sure, there might be a few pictures, but I bet a school wouldn’t even care that I’m enrolled.”
“It’s true,” Liz adds. “It’s totally ‘in’ to act as if you couldn’t care less that a celebrity is in your midst.”
“See?” I say. “I don’t want a professional or special treatment like I get with everything else. I want a totally normal driving class where a cranky old instructor yells at me for making a left turn into traffic. Is that so much to ask?”
“Yes,” Mom freaks. “And I’m sure your dad would back me up on this. You’re not like everybody else, sweetie. We’ve been through this. You can learn how to drive, fine, but you have to do it our way. It’s for the best. You don’t need any extra excuses to get bad press right now. Not while we’re still unsure what Alexis is really up to.”
“But . . .”
“No arguing.” Mom is firm. “Now let’s talk about something more pleasant, like cars. The first car a celebrity drives makes a huge statement. Do you want a showpiece or do you want to be eco-friendly and drive a Prius?”
“Oooh! Maybe we can get her a Tango electric car!” Laney offers. “I know someone who knows someone who can get Kaitlin one for less than $100,000.”
“Congratulations,” Liz says as Laney and Mom continue yapping away.
Congratulations?
Oh wait, Liz is right! They may not have agreed to driving lessons, but they still okayed me learning how to drive.
If I can win them over about this, I’m SURE I can make them love the cute, small driving school in Burbank that I’ve been secretly talking to (shhh . . . ). I feel so inspired, I think I’m going to call them this afternoon and sign up. When I come home after my first class (or maybe my second), I’ll give Mom, Dad, and Laney a demonstration of my amazing driving technique, point out how I’ve kept the paparazzi at bay, and then they’ll be so proud of me they won’t care that I lied to them.
I think.
Nadine doesn’t know I’ve been checking out schools behind her back (she agrees with Mom and Laney on this one), but I’m sure she won’t be mad. Right?
SATURDAY, 10/5
NOTE TO SELF:
Tell A about driving classes — warn him not 2 tell
Nadine or Rodney.
First appointment: Fri. 10/11 7 AM
Call time: 10 AM (yippee!)
Finalize Vegas details. Ask A’s Mom 4 permission 2 take
A 2 Vegas day after his b-day.
Find dress 4 Homecoming!
Seven: Learning Curve
Three . . . two . . . one, and . . .
“I know I said I wouldn’t say anything else, but I can’t help it!” Nadine is wigging out. “I can’t believe you did this. I just can’t!”
Okay, so maybe I underestimated. Nadine is beyond mad that I booked a driving class without telling her. She’s downright furious.
Gulp.
“You’re a smart girl, Kaitlin! How could you do this?” Nadine continues. At this point, she’ll still be yelling when Ralph, my Wheel Helpers driver’s education instructor, shows up. It’s 7 AM and Nadine, Rodney, Austin, and I are standing at Ralph’s and my agreed-upon top secret meeting place — the northwest corner of West Olive Street at an abandoned parking lot — and Ralph is ten minutes late. Or maybe he’s lurking nearby and is just afraid of facing Nadine.
Nadine actually sounds a lot like Laney right now. Or Mom. Or even Melli on the rare occasions that Sky and I have a spat in front of her.
“I thought you’d be proud of me finding a school on my own,” I sniff. I think I’m getting a cold — my voice has been sounding nasally for days. I guess that explains why I feel so chilly. I stick my hands in the pockets of my olive green cargo pants to warm them. I wanted to look and feel like any normal teen taking her first driving class, so I’m dressed casually in Gap pants and a plain black V-neck.
Nadine glares at me as she zips up her blue hoodie and pulls it up over her nose. She doesn’t say anything.
Now I feel bad. “Nadine, don’t be like this,” I beg. “I tell you everything. Everything. The truth is, I wanted to figure something out on my own for once.” I pause. “And I didn’t want to get you in trouble with Mom and Laney so I thought it was better if I kept you in the dark.”
I had tried feeling Nadine out about the driver’s class but she seemed to feel the same way my parents and Laney did — that I shouldn’t take any lessons until we found a studio-approved private instructor who had taught the likes of Mischa, Hilary, or Lindsay (and probably been so easy on them they didn’t even have to learn how to parallel park), and would agree to sign a confidentiality agreement. The whole idea of a private instructor seemed over the top to me. Why couldn’t they see that a
driving class at a school would be no big deal? Rather than continue to argue, I struck out on my own.
“But you always confide in me no matter what the consequences,” Nadine replies softly. “And with good reason. When have I ever steered you wrong?”
That’s true, but she’s exaggerating because she’s hurt. I know it. Even Yoda wasn’t always right. Was he?
I thought the extra-early appointment time and top secret location would make Nadine proud, but no, she’s still mad. Rodney picked up Austin on our way here and Nadine thought it was because he was coming for a set visit (on a school day?). Halfway to the studio, I told Rodney and Nadine the truth — my call time wasn’t until 10 AM and Austin was here to offer his support for my first-ever driver’s education lesson. Rodney took it well, but Nadine flipped.
Why couldn’t Nadine understand that what it all comes down to is I just want the same experience everyone else my age gets when it comes to learning how to drive? This is one of the first major decisions I’ve made on my own — well, if you forget about the whole skipping Hollywood for high school thing — and I’m sure I’ll look back on it proudly one day. If Jen Garner can hang out in the sandbox with her daughter every week and not be bothered, I can totally tackle driving school without a paparazzi entourage.
“Not only have I let you down by not stopping you from this suicide mission, I’m going to be fired!” Nadine is starting to get hysterical again. “When your mother and Laney find out what I let you do, they’re going to put a hit out on me!”
I’m about ready to hand her the paper bag from Austin’s sesame bagel and tell her to breathe in and out of it very slowly, but instead I say, “I’ll tell them the truth — that you had no idea what I was doing.” Nadine doesn’t look relieved.
“Think of it this way. At least she didn’t show up alone,” Rodney says, taking a bite of an egg sandwich oozing with ketchup.
“I really have thought this thing — AH-CHOO — through, Nadine,” I say. “The school is new, so no one knows it exists, and I’ve spoken to Ralph, my instructor, and he couldn’t care less that I’m on a TV show.”
“That’s what he’s telling you. I give this place fifteen minutes before helicopters are hovering overhead!” Nadine grimaces.
“Ralph assured me he would sign a confidentiality agreement when he got here,” I say before sneezing.
“As your longtime assistant, I would have told you that you should always have them sign the agreement before they arrive,” Nadine says. “Now they can show up with Hollywood Nation and you’d have no way to stop them.”
I didn’t think of that. “Ralph seemed very trustworthy,” I argue. “I grilled him several times before I set up the appointment.”
Nadine rolls her eyes. “Austin, talk some sense into her, will you? Remind her how many stars have been burned by people they thought were nice.”
“I’m staying out of this,” Austin says, holding up his hands in peace, and Nadine walks away in disgust.
“Between us, I have to say Nadine has some valid points,” Austin says tactfully.
I would hit his arm, but I feel too weak. I’m sweating and freezing at the same time. Is that even possible? Thank God Austin is here to keep me warm. He’s skipping his first two periods to cheer me on, which is not smart, but incredibly sweet.
“Seriously, everyone you know thinks this is a bad idea,” Austin adds. “What if Nadine’s right?”
I shake my head. “I’m going to lessons in the wee hours of the morning when Larry the Liar is still hungover from the night before. No one can leak this to the press, and besides, Ralph told me he couldn’t care less about celebrity culture so I feel positive that he . . . that he . . .” I wrinkle my nose. “AH-AH-CHOO!”
“Bless you! Listen, Burke, I’m on your side no matter what,” Austin says. “I just wanted to triple-check that you thought this thing through.”
That’s my problem, actually. I overthink everything I do! Like the other day on set. We were having a great time shooting a scene with Melli — which Alexis wasn’t in — and I was actually getting along with Sky and having a great time with Matty, and Tom was giving me compliments left and right about how much my acting had grown and all I could think about was that I belonged here. I want to work on FA till I’m forty-something, just like Melli. Who cares about college?
Ten minutes later the voice in my head was saying, “What if FA goes off the air? What if your career dries up? Do you want to be hawking bad jewelry on the Home Shopping Network? Go to college like Austin and Liz and have a backup plan!” And then the other voice in my head said, “But if you leave FA for college, your career will flop,” and so on. I wish I could just enjoy the ride and not worry about the long term. Today I was making a decision and sticking to it.
“Listen, Meyers, I’m in too deep to change gears now. Kind of like you and Homecoming,” I tease, finding the perfect segue. I’ve been trying to keep up the whole “I’m mad I can’t go to his Homecoming” thing so Austin doesn’t get suspicious. It’s good actor training.
“I don’t care about Homecoming,” he says, not very convincingly. “It’s a stupid tradition. I didn’t ask to be nominated.” Austin’s wearing his short-sleeved Clark High lacrosse shirt over a long-sleeved gray tee and distressed jeans. “I’d rather get the parade over with and spend as much of my birthday as possible with you.”
I think it’s cute that Austin is embarrassed about the nomination. And even cuter that he wants to protect me from the paparazzi — who Liz says have been hitting up students to find out if I’m going to the dance with Austin just like we hoped they would — but he doesn’t have to worry. Just like the driver’s lessons, I’ve got this figured out. The only thing left to do is get used to the idea that Austin could have to dance with his ex, Lori, who was unfortunately nominated for the court too. BLECH.
Nadine barrels over again, with Rodney behind her. “And another thing — you know what else your assistant would have handled if she was in charge?” she asks. “Making sure Rodney did a thorough security check of the location and a background check on the driving school.”
Rodney takes another bite of his sandwich. “Nadine, the school is brand-new and the location is an abandoned parking lot. I think you’re spending too much time around Laney.” He chuckles, but he still looks intimidating with his bald head wrapped in the hood of his black sweatshirt.
I try to laugh, but I sneeze again instead.
“Burke, I think you’re getting sick.” Austin puts his hand on my forehead, like our housekeeper Anita sometimes does when she thinks I’m overexerting myself. “You feel warm.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. Actually I do feel hot, but I thought that was because I’m excited. Besides, I don’t have time to get sick. Actors rarely take sick days.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER SEVEN: Celebrities don’t get sick. At least, they don’t tell the world when they do — unless they’re in serious need of some R&R and want to check themselves into Cedars Sinai for “exhaustion.” (Sky’s pulled that twice now.) Usually stars stick to the motto “The show must go on” and fight through the colds (with the aid of Emergen-C) and bouts with the stomach flu (delay filming for a few hours rather than a whole day). Of course, if you’re a major cast member and you come down with the chicken pox, shooting usually is delayed, like it was when my friend Gina got sick and infected two other cast members on her TV show. I’ve never taken a sick day, but that could be because whenever I sneeze, my mom reminds me that Oprah has never called in sick in almost two decades on the air.
“You’ve been coughing and sneezing for two days, Kaitlin,” Nadine says. “You should take some more Cold-EEZE. I bought orange and cream flavors.”
“I told you, I’m not sick! Plus, I shouldn’t drive while taking medication,” I joke.
“FINE.” Nadine rubs her temples. “Get sick. Get caught by Hollywood Nation.”
I hug her stiff body. “That’s not going to happen.” Nadine grunts. �
�But thank you for always looking out for me,” I tell her as an old white four-door sedan pulls into the lot with a glowing Wheel Helpers advertisement fastened on the roof. “He’s here!” I say excitedly, sneezing and jumping up and down.
Rodney folds his arms across his chest and stares menacingly. “It looks like a legitimate Wheels Helper vehicle. And no one is trailing him.”
When the car comes to a stop, I can see Ralph fiddling with his clipboard and a pile of paperwork that keeps falling into his lap along with his glasses. He pulls down the visor and smoothes his bushy eyebrows in the mirror. He looks over his shoulder a few times like he’s forgetting something and then he finally opens the car door. The first thing I notice is the comb over with his few strands of gray hair. He’s wearing a wrinkled white button-down shirt, has a pocket protector filled with pens in his shirt pocket, and has on gray pants that are cuffed too wide at the bottom.
“Hi, I’m Ralph from Wheel Helpers,” he says in a high-pitched squeak. His eyes are as wide as the cup saucers at high tea at the Ritz. He’s staring at me so intently that I start to squirm. “And you must be Kaitlin,” he says, shaking my hand with his own clammy one. He laughs goofily.
“Hi,” I say, wiping my sweaty brow. “It’s nice to meet you, Ralph. Thanks for meeting me at the crack of dawn.”
“No problem. I’m good at keeping secrets, Kaitlin. Kaitlin Burke.” He keeps fiddling with his pocket protector as he continues to stare at me and laughs nervously. This time it sounds like a hiccup. “This is so cool. I’ve never met a celebrity before.”
Nadine clears her throat. “Do you have the confidentiality agreement Kaitlin discussed with you over the phone, Ralph?”
“Sure. Sure.” He riffles through his papers and frowns. “I had it right here.” He keeps looking. “I know I left the house with it. It must be in the car.” Nadine glowers at him.
“So Ralph, I have to be at work by ten so I have to leave here by nine-thirty,” I tell him. “How long do you think our first lesson will take?”