Secrets of My Hollywood Life: Family Affairs

by Jen Calonita

  I hang up, feeling numb. Fired for real? I thought Alexis was bluffing and it would come out that the pages weren’t approved and all would be forgiven. But I was wrong.

  “What did they say?” Sky asks as Rodney pulls off the lot. “Are we to report to the principal’s office at once? Being held a day’s pay? What?”

  “Guys, where are we going?” Rodney asks.

  I stare at Sky. “Nadine said they’re going to fire us.”

  Sky rolls her eyes and begins to laugh. “I’ve done far worse plenty of times and never been fired. Don’t sweat it.”

  I shake my head. “No, Nadine sounded serious. She said the network wouldn’t tolerate more bad press. Sky, forget whether the script is real. They’re going to can us for this whether we were being written out of the show or not.”

  Sky stops laughing and the car grows quiet. Fired for bad behavior? Me?

  “Guys?” Rodney asks softly. “Should I keep driving around in circles or am I going someplace?”

  “Sky?” I ask, trying not to cry. “Do you think they’re serious? Should we go back?”

  “I need time to think,” Sky says to herself. “Really think.”

  I look at her expectantly. “Sky?”

  “Rodney, take us to Guy Anthony’s bar on Beverly Drive in West Hollywood,” Sky says abruptly.

  “Sky, a bar?” Is she crazy? The press will really love that one. “I don’t think a margarita will fix things,” I reprimand.

  “That’s not why we’re going to Guy Anthony’s.”

  I don’t like the sound of this. Suddenly I feel the urge to grab the wheel from Rodney and steer us back to the studio. Maybe there’s still time to save our jobs.

  “K, trust me,” Sky says after seeing my skeptical expression. “We need an hour to clear our heads, and Guy Anthony’s is just the place. Give me an hour.”

  “I don’t know.” I feel like I might hyperventilate. Is Sky playing me? What if she found a way to cover her own butt and is leaving mine out to hang? It wouldn’t be the first time. “How do I know I can trust you?” I ask. “How do I know this is not just you trying to ruin my life again?”

  “You don’t,” Sky admits. She pulls a black Bobbi Brown compact out of her candy apple red Marc Jacobs Totally Turnlock Bowler bag (I have the exact same one in green) and looks at her face in the mirror. “But what other choice do you have right now?” I bite my lower lip. “We’ve been on FA a long time,” Sky reminds me. “If they’re going to fire us for leaving over a script that basically said RIP, then what are we running back to? Give me an hour.”

  “Kates, Nadine and Laney keep calling me and I’m sure your mom will hear what’s happened any minute. What do you want me to do?” Rodney yells.

  Sky’s right, even though I hate the idea of her having all the answers today. “Ignore their calls. Take us to Guy Anthony’s,” I tell him, looking straight at Sky. After that, we drive along in silence, listening to a symphony of cell phone rings until we reach our destination.

  I’ve never been at an event inside the popular celeb hangout, so I take my time looking around the small, intimate space. It reminds me of a New York City–style lounge Nadine and I once went to. The walls are swathed in black drapes from floor to ceiling and leather banquettes surround the silver dance floor. At the center of the back wall is a long glass bar you can see through.

  HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER THIRTEEN: Ever wonder how celebrities know about the hottest hangouts or have invites to the coolest restaurant openings? They could have an amazing publicist (like mine, who tells me about all the best bashes), or they could have well-connected celeb friends. But chances are, some of those stars turned up because they’ve been paid. Sometimes when a club wants their opening splashed across all the papers they pay a big star to “host” the event or make an appearance. And when I say pay, I mean dough to appear plus an all-expenses paid trip to get there if the club is out of town. Stars can be paid for other outings too — like singing at a girl’s bat mitzvah. Stars don’t do those things out of the kindness of their hearts. They do it to fatten their already bulging wallets.

  “Okay, we’re here,” I say to Sky. “How’s this place supposed to help us?”

  “You’ll see,” Sky says as she sashays up to the bar to talk to the lone person in the place. He’s a cute bartender with ringlets of brown curls. “Hey, Cody,” she coos.

  “Sky, my love,” he says in a thick British accent. He’s busy drying martini glasses, but he smiles at her and you can see the dimples in his cheeks. “You know we don’t open till much later.”

  “I know,” Sky whines in a baby voice I’ve never heard, “but my, uh, friend and I are having one of those days. Can you help me out again? Please?”

  Again? What is she talking about? Rodney and I look on at the odd exchange in silence. I watch Cody. His curls are bouncing all around as he shakes his head. He’s definitely going to say no.

  “You look hot in that shirt,” Sky adds.

  Cody laughs and puts down the glass in his hand. “Okay. But this is the last time.” Sky crosses her heart. “Don’t tell anyone I did this.”

  Sky pulls herself up on the bar and leans over to give him a kiss on the check. “Love you, Codykins,” she coos.

  “You’re lucky I love you too,” Cody says as he walks inside a door behind the bar and disappears.

  “Are you two . . . ?” I start to ask, but Sky shakes her head.

  “He thinks I’m too young for him.” Sky shrugs. “And that’s the end of the story.”

  I can take a hint. “Where’s he going?” I ask instead. Within seconds I have my answer. Cody appears out of a door behind the DJ booth. He turns on the speakers and the sound system comes to life. I watch as he plugs in two microphones and places them on top of the turntable. Then he reaches underneath the booth and pulls out a tattered black binder overflowing with white pages and vinyl CD covers. Wait a minute. That’s not a . . .

  Sky runs over and grabs the karaoke book. “Come look,” Sky encourages me. I walk slowly over. “Pick a song,” she suggests.

  I look at her like she’s nuts. “This is your idea of fixing things?” I ask, getting angry. “This is why we had to leave the studio? To do karaoke? I was stupid enough to believe you had a master plan to keep us from getting fired!” I’m frantic and it’s not just because I can’t sing. I’ve never sung in public and I’m not about to start now in front of Sky, Rodney, and Cody. I need oxygen fast. Why did I leave that paper bag in my dressing room? “Cody, do you have any paper bags behind the bar?” I ask. He shakes his head.

  “K, what are you getting so wound up about?” Sky asks in a baby voice, which only makes me madder.

  “Is this some sort of game to you, Skylar?” I say. “I walked off set with you because I thought you had a valid point back there. I thought we really needed each other to get through this. But here we are, in a bar, in the middle of the afternoon, and you want me to sing! How is that supposed to help us?”

  Sky rolls her eyes. “You really don’t know anything about me, do you?”

  I don’t answer. I listen to the nonstop ringing of our cell phones.

  “Well, since we’ve called a temporary truce, I’m going to let you in on a little Skylar Mackenzie secret.” Her dark eyes light up. “When I’m upset, I sing. I thought if we could get our mind off what happened till we hear from Tom, maybe you’d chill enough for us to come up with a game plan. From what I can tell, K, you’re more tightly wound than the thread from my old pashminas.”

  “I know how to relax,” I reply defensively.

  “Oh yeah?” Sky replies. “That’s one of your biggest problems, K. In all the years I’ve known you, you’re always worried about something, and I sure as hell haven’t caused all of your problems.”

  “You’ve caused plenty,” Rodney pipes up from the bar area.

  “What are you getting at?” I ask, waiting for Sky to strike again. She’s like a python, and they never leave a prey whe
n they’re vulnerable.

  “You’ve got to chill and just let life happen sometimes.” Sky shrugs. “You can’t control everything. Do you think I love being paparazzi bait all the time? Or seeing my latest boy failure trampled through the mags? My mom can be just as demanding as yours, maybe more, but you don’t see me sobbing about it at crafty.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I spit, angry because she’s partially right. “Nor do you care. Don’t pretend to start now.”

  “Calm down,” Sky says with another eye roll. “I’m just suggesting you take up some sort of hobby that’s yours alone. It’s made it easier for me to handle some of Hollywood’s less flattering moments.” Sky picks up the nearest microphone and tosses it gently from hand to hand. “I sing. I sing in the shower, in my car, and I come here on Tuesday nights for karaoke. A lot of stars show up. Just last week Ashley, Vanessa, and I did ‘Lady Marmalade’ and brought down the house. Kiki Dunst couldn’t stop clapping. Neither could Cody.”

  “She’s really good,” Cody yells. He’s behind the bar, cleaning the highballs.

  “I’ve never read about star karaoke night before,” I admit, feeling my shoulders begin to ease up as Sky stops analyzing me.

  “That’s because it’s pretty low-key.” Sky flips through the binder and finds the CD she’s looking for. “No one talks about it and we’ve only been written up in TV Tome once. Cody told them it was a one-night charity thing so the press hasn’t come back.”

  Sky puts the disc in the system and offers me a microphone. “Want to give it a whirl?” she asks.

  “No way,” I reply nervously.

  Sky rolls her eyes again. “K, don’t be a baby.”

  “You didn’t even let me pick a song,” I point out. “How do I know you picked one that I know?”

  Sky sighs. “We’ll do the first one together, okay? The lyrics are up on the screen so you can’t mess up.” She adds with a sly smile, “That is, if you can actually belt out a tune.”

  I know a challenge when I hear one. I take the microphone and step up on the platform next to the DJ booth. I can feel my body shaking, but I try to breathe deeply and focus on the flat screen TV where the lyrics will scroll. God, I really can’t sing. Rodney sips a soda as he watches me. I think I may hurl.

  “What are we singing?” I ask with a squeak.

  Sky smiles. “‘I Will Survive,’” she says.

  The hokey instrumental version kicks in and I recognize the classic Gloria Gaynor song immediately. Sky nudges me in the ribs to join her, but I’m frozen.

  I. Can’t. Sing. In. Front. Of. People.

  Sky doesn’t seem to care that I’ve given her a solo. She gets more into the song by the line and I find myself riveted. Her Lip Venom–injected lips are turned up into a complete smile, her eyes are closed, and her whole body is swaying as she sings. Not only is she good, she’s having fun and I’m a little envious.

  Hearing Sky sing reminds me how much I like this song. Sky stares back at me as she belts it out and nudges my ribs again. At the bar, Cody and Rodney are clapping to the beat. My heart is beating rapidly and I’m sweating under these glaring strobe lights, but I’m feeling an itch as I watch Sky get into the lyrics as she reaches the chorus. All of a sudden I find myself singing with her in a small voice.

  Okay, I don’t sound too bad. At least I know this song by heart. Lizzie and I used to sing it during our sleepovers. Sky grins and signals me to speak up. Within seconds, I’m practically yelling. We face each other, mic to mic, and sing so loud that I can barely recognize my own voice. I don’t know if I sound good or if I stink like expired milk, but I don’t care. Sky is right. This is fun.

  “I will surviiiiiiiiive!” we holler on the last chorus, and I hear my voice crack as I hold the long note at the end. Oops.

  Cody and Rodney applaud loudly and Sky takes a bow. I join her, feeling giddy.

  “Wow, that was actually okay,” I manage to get out. I’m out of breath.

  “You were great,” Sky enthuses.

  I look at her. “You’re just saying that.”

  “No, K, I swear. You have a decent voice,” she says, and from Sky, I take it as a compliment. “So how do you feel?”

  “Like a survivor,” I joke. “Seriously, you were right. This feels great. It feels like my birthday.” Sky purses her lips. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to say you feel relaxed enough to find a solution to our problem,” Sky admonishes. She pauses. “And that I was ten times better than you.” We both laugh.

  “I do feel great. And I’m not just saying this because you asked me to, but you sounded awesome.” Sky’s face turns pink. Who knew Sky got embarrassed?

  “Thanks,” she says, moving the microphone away from her lips. “I love it up here.”

  “Have you ever thought of doing an album?” I ask. “I bet labels would jump at the chance to produce you.”

  “We’ve had talks with lots of labels, actually, but I don’t know if I want to be just another actor who sings,” Sky says. “We all know how well that worked out for Lindsay.”

  “True,” I admit, “but having her first single be about hating the paparazzi probably wasn’t the best move either.”

  “I just . . .” Sky hesitates. Her voice is serious. “I couldn’t handle having an album out and being number two, you know? Knowing the public liked someone else more than me would kill me. I play to win and I haven’t been winning many battles lately.”

  I look down. That was definitely about me even if it wasn’t intentional. Now I feel guilty, because I’m obviously the reason Sky is afraid to try something new and fail. It’s probably the same reason I’m worried about Liz going off to college. I’m not sure I want to go myself, but I don’t want to feel left behind or rejected either.

  “Now I feel depressed,” Sky says, almost as if she’s read my thoughts. “Cheer me up with a solo so I can make fun of you.” She flashes me a wicked smile.

  “No way,” I say in alarm. “I couldn’t.” Behind us, our cellphone rings seem to have gone up a notch. “Rodney, has Tom called us yet?” I try to stall.

  Rodney looks at our cell phone screens and shakes his head. “A lot of Amandas for Sky, and Kates, your mom, and Laney won’t let up. Kates, don’t be mad, but I told . . .”

  “Maybe we should go,” I cut him off, but Sky shakes her head. “I have told you more about myself in this one afternoon than I have in over twelve years. You owe me, K. Sing.”

  “I don’t owe you anything.” Still, I reluctantly take the microphone and walk over to the binder to pick a song. I know what I’m looking for, even if I’m not sure I can pull it off. I flip the page. There it is. My theme song if there ever was one. Not that I’ve ever told anyone that before. Even Austin.

  “Kelly Clarkson’s ‘Breakaway’?” Sky complains after I pop the disc in the system and the title screen comes up. “I thought you were cooler than that, K.”

  I take a final swig of the soda Cody brought me and clear my throat. I take a deep breath, wait for my cue, and close my eyes. I sing with all of my might, feeling the words rock me as I repeat the lyrics my massaging showerhead knows I sing so well. Breaking away from the world is one thing I can emote with no problem.

  Sky’s right. Singing is really freeing! My hands have stopped shaking and I’m feeling the music. I’m enjoying myself up here, more than I could have imagined. I know the words by heart so I close my eyes and belt them out, trying to shut out the image of Cody, Rodney, and Sky watching me.

  When I let go of the final note, all I hear is silence.

  No applause. I have to admit, I’m a little disappointed. I actually thought I sounded pretty good. “Was I that bad?” I ask as I open my eyes. I look out at the dance floor and see Laney, Nadine, and Mom. They don’t look happy.

  OH GOD. Behind them, Sky’s publicist, Amanda, is whispering angrily in her ear. Sky looks up at me, smiles, and mouths what I think is “You rocked.” Either that
or “Your socks,” but that wouldn’t make sense. I smile back. Then I look at Rodney, who seems nervous. “I tried to tell you,” he says. “I had to call Nadine and tell her you were okay and where we were.”

  “Kates, you sounded amazing,” Nadine gushes.

  “Nadine, that’s not important right now,” Laney snaps. “Although you were quite good.”

  “LANEY,” Mom yells. I’ve rarely seen her so flustered. “Kaitlin, get off that stage this instant. Nadine told us everything. We’re going over to see Tom Pullman.”

  “But, Mom,” I hesitate, “he’s not taking calls . . .”

  “Melli reached him and he’s furious,” Mom says.

  I hang my head. So it’s true. We’re toast.

  “The script pages were fake. Someone purposely tried to get you guys to film a bogus scene and waste even more of the network’s money.”

  Really? Our hunch was right? But why would someone do that? I look from Nadine to Laney. Oh my God. Sky and I were right! “You mean, you mean, we’re not being written off the show?”

  “Not yet anyway,” Laney says with pursed lips. “But Tom isn’t happy. With anyone, it seems. He’s tired of all the fighting and the stories in the press and the tension between you two and Alexis. And now this bogus script . . . a few people could lose their jobs. It’s not a good time to stage a walkout,” Laney says flatly.

  “But we . . .” I begin.

  “You two made things worse for yourselves by disappearing,” Amanda interrupts. Amanda has a short black bob, tanned skin, and the body of a dancer. She’s dressed in pro per publicist wear just like Laney — Rock and Republic jeans and a simple baby blue cashmere sweater with small heels. “Tom is so upset that he’s ready to cut his losses and fire the problem people.”

  “Are we the problem people?” Sky asks. She looks worried. “This couldn’t be helped. Phil said we had to tape.”

  “You should have demanded to wait,” Amanda says. “Alexis looks like a team player while you two look bad for causing more delays.”