by Paul Rudnick
Heller paused and I could see her mentally counting to three and keeping herself in check, a system that I approved of. “Well, Tally,” she finally said sweetly, “first of all, I completely understand why so many people of all ages love the Angel Wars books, because I love them. When something’s precious to you, you don’t want to see it changed or betrayed or destroyed. I would just like to assure everyone, but especially all of the Angel Warriors, that we have made this movie with only love and respect. I’d like everyone to know how honored I feel, and humbled, to have been allowed to play such a memorable and exciting character. All I’m asking, all I’m hoping for, is that audiences will give me, and this amazing movie, a chance.”
“Yes,” Wyatt murmured, “perfect. Every bullet point, on the nose.”
“That’s a great answer,” said Tally. She put her fingertips together and her face got harder looking, as if playtime was over. “But there’s something else I need to ask you, something that’s been burning up the Internet.”
Heller sat up straighter and her smile stayed in place.
“After you shot the movie a year ago, your personal life went off the rails. I’ve heard well-substantiated stories of substance abuse, sexual misbehavior, a criminal arrest and more. I’m told that you’ve just spent several months in court-ordered rehab at a private facility in Arizona. And you’re still just a teenager! While you’re here promoting this potential blockbuster in your pretty designer clothes, do you intend to address these stories?”
“You can do it,” Wyatt whispered, “you can handle it, stay on point …”
“Tally,” said Heller, and I knew that whenever Heller used Tally’s first name she was trying to keep the conversation friendly and down-to-earth. “I’m seventeen years old. I’ve been working in this business since I was a kid and I’ve been working hard. I’m incredibly grateful for all of the opportunities I’ve had. As for my private life, well, I think that I’m just gonna say this …”
Heller grinned strategically.
“My name is Heller. But now I’m playing an angel. Let’s just leave it at that.”
“Good girl!” said Wyatt, as we grabbed each other’s forearms because we were both so nervous.
“That’s all very charming,” said Tally, “and really fun, but you still haven’t answered my questions. You were Anna Banana and now you’re Lynnea. Which makes you a role model for young people and especially for young girls everywhere. Do you sincerely believe that those girls should follow the example of someone who’s twisted her life into a sad and disturbing Hollywood catastrophe?”
Heller’s face got very tense and her eyes narrowed. She was such a good actress that anyone watching her could instantly tell what she was going through. Heller had been monitoring herself and following a game plan, but now she was furious and gripping the arm of the couch while taking short, sharp breaths, like a tiger about to leap onto a jeep filled with giggling tourists who’d snapped one photo too many.
“You know something, Tally,” said Heller, “before we get into my life, which I’m happy to do, let’s talk about yours. Is it true that right before your divorce, your husband, who I think was your fourth husband, came home unexpectedly and caught you in bed with a pair of—”
“Oh, shit … ,” Wyatt muttered, digging his nails into my arm.
I started panicking, only the weird thing was, for maybe the first time ever I wasn’t panicking about me, but about Heller. At first I thought, don’t try and save her. Whatever Heller had been through, including all of the sex and drugs and felonies, was her own fault. She’d wanted to be a big star and answering tricky questions was part of her job. Four years ago Heller had teased and bullied and coaxed me until I’d almost died, so I certainly didn’t owe her anything. Watching Heller getting ripped to pieces on national TV might be satisfying and a kind of justice.
But Heller was getting picked on in front of millions of people. I stopped thinking and I stopped panicking and I jumped, I literally jumped in front of the cameras as if I’d ricocheted off a trampoline, and I sat beside Heller.
“Hi there, Tally!” I blurted out. “I’m Heller’s cousin, Caitlin Singleberry. I’m one of the Singing Singleberries and we’re a fun, wholesome, all-American Christian family. I’d just like to say something and I am so excited and downright thrilled to be here on … on this program, which I love even though I haven’t ever technically really seen it. But I think you’re so pretty and so … super-pretty and you’re, like … a super-pretty blonde … pretty person and Heller has been telling me about how much she admires you as a journalist and a powerful woman and … and because you’re so creepy thin.”
One of the cameramen made a little choking noise but pretended it was a cough.
“What I’d really like to say is … that I’m just a regular girl from Parsippany, New Jersey—hey, Parsippany! Of course I love Heller because we’re related so my mom says I have to, but more than anything I love Angel Wars. I’m probably the number one Angel Wars fan in the whole world, even more than my mom, who I once caught kissing an apple and saying, ‘Tallwen, we musn’t.’ When I heard Heller was going to be Lynnea, at first I was really upset because I didn’t know if Heller was the right choice for the role. I was so upset that I, like, vomited. I hate vomiting. I hate it worse than farting. Oh my Lord I can’t believe I just said the word ‘farting’ because doesn’t just saying the word ‘farting’ sound like farting? Please pretend I didn’t just say farting. Can we erase the part where I said farting? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if scientists developed a way to erase farting forever? Like we could have fund-raising triathlons and bake sales and carnivals to find a cure for farting?”
I could see Wyatt behind the camera with his eyes popping out and his mouth hanging open.
“I mean, I know that Heller has quite a reputation,” I said because I knew that I had to keep talking and I also knew that I desperately needed to stop saying the word “farting.” “Because Heller has gone to parties where there was most likely the kind of wild premarital dancing that can lead to the worst sort of deep-kissing and maybe she’s even drunk an entire beer and I’m not talking about lite beer or root beer, and I wish I didn’t have to say this but I bet Heller drank that beer right from the bottle like … like a hyena. But do you know what, Tally? By the way, I love your name, is Tally short for something like Tallyho or Talleyrand, the French diplomat who obtained peace with Austria in the 1801 Treaty of Luneville? I learned about Talleyrand because I’m homeschooled and I know that some people think that homeschooling is weird but it’s not weird at all I mean look at me I’m not one little bit weird am I? AM I?”
I could tell that everyone in the room, including Tally and Heller, was staring at me as if my hair was on fire but I knew that I had to keep going, only I had no idea where I was headed.
“Okay, let’s get back to Heller being Lynnea,” I said because I knew I was supposed to be promoting the movie. “Lynnea had a rough life too, just like Heller. People made fun of her because she wanted to be a forest ranger and … and her back ached because her wings were growing in and she had trouble finding a comfortable position to study in although personally I like to study while sitting on a straight-backed chair at the kitchen table. Plus Lynnea found out that the people who she thought were her parents weren’t her parents at all plus she found out that she was the Chosen Winglet and that she had to save the world, which sometimes made her afraid and even downright grumpy, which I completely understand because I’m sure that having to save the world would make a person extra, extra anxious, don’t you think? I’m so glad that I don’t have to save the world although shouldn’t we all be trying every day to save the world in our own little ways, maybe by, for example, using our old shoelaces to tie up flattened cardboard boxes for recycling because when you recycle you can save a river or an ocelot or a hungry dolphin from disappearing forever? When you see a hungry dolphin don’t you just want to hug it and buy it a sandwich, unless a sandwich wou
ld kill the dolphin?”
I knew I was sounding certifiable and that I had to either finish talking or yell “Save the hungry dolphins!” and jump out the window. I tried to pull everything together by saying, “So all of this means that Heller is in fact the perfect person to understand Lynnea because Heller is Lynnea. Tally, just wait until you see the movie because after I saw it I … I had to pray to our Lord so that he would let me see it at least ten more times as a form of daily worship. I’d just like to say to everyone out there who’s watching this show and I bet that you’re all the most wonderful people …”
I faced one of the cameras, the one with the glowing red light on top.
“When you see this movie with my cousin Heller in it you’re going to fly right up to heaven! Oh no, not because you’ll be dead but because you’re going to be blessed and saved and washed in the holy spirit of … of … Angel Wars the best movie ever! Yay!!! Yay vase meir!!! Amen and shalom and whatever Mormons or Muslims or Seventh-Day Adventists like to say! YAY!!!”
I stopped because I’d run out of things to say so I hugged Heller to show how supportive I was and then I put my hands in my lap and smiled like an idiot.
“Well!” said Tally. “There we have it, the very first exclusive rave review for Angel Wars, straight from Heller Harrigan’s cute-as-a-bug cousin, Camden! What an unexpected treat from a girl who sounds like she might’ve had one cup of coffee too many! She must be telling the truth because just look at those kneesocks! That’s all the time we have!”
“Cut and out!” said someone from behind the cameras, and then the lights got less blinding and Tally stood up, smoothed her skirt, flipped her hair and held out her hand, not to Heller, but to me. “Thank you, young lady,” she said. “You’ve just given us a completely fresh, up-close-and-personal take on your famous cousin, which I bet America is going to eat up with a spoon. Well played, Heller.”
“Thank you, Tally, and it’s so great to see you,” said Heller, “and thank you so much for having us on the show.”
You are out of your mind,” Wyatt told me once he’d dragged Heller and me off into a corner while the crew was setting up the room for Heller’s next interview. “I can’t believe you did that and I can’t believe Tally went for it!”
“What … the … hell … were … you … doing?” said Heller, in a tight, quiet, dangerous voice.
“I was helping you. I was healing you. I was getting you back on track,” I said, feeling proud of myself.
“I was handling it!” Heller exploded. “I was doing fine and I didn’t need you to chime in and start babbling like a chimpanzee on crystal meth!”
I was baffled. Why didn’t Heller understand that I’d only been trying to help, because she’d been in trouble? That I wasn’t the enemy?
“But … but … ,” I said. “You were about to ruin everything!”
“I was not! I’ve been practicing for months! You’re an amateur!”
“I saved you! You should be grateful! You should thank me!”
“I should thank you? For what? For horning in on my interview? For hogging the camera? For talking about hungry dolphins? You’re just like everyone else. Are you that jealous?”
“I am not jealous! I was doing my job!”
“You don’t have a job! Wearing kneesocks so you don’t have to shave your legs doesn’t count as a job!”
“Ladies, children, people, interviewees,” said Wyatt. “Reel it in a few hundred miles. Heller, you were doing fine, but there was a moment when you let Tally rile you. You let her provoke you. Which is why Catey stepped in. Catey, thank you for lending a hand, but in the future maybe you should consult with me before you—take action. I think we can all agree that the interview was a success and we’re all on the same page and we don’t need to keep attacking each other in a manner that could seriously affect our professionally applied hair and makeup. Agreed?”
“Just keep her off camera,” said Heller. “Where she belongs.”
“Fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling. “For the rest of the weekend I’ll … I’ll just let you keep destroying yourself.”
“Why, look,” said Wyatt. “Here’s Tom Farling from Entertainment Edition, our very next delightful interview. Heller, you know Tom …”
The rest of the morning stayed tense, but Wyatt had me stand out of camera range so Heller couldn’t see me. I was really angry at her for being so ungrateful, although I have to admit, I was buzzing from my moment on camera.
I’d never been interviewed before and I’d certainly never appeared on TV and the whole experience had made me dizzy and off-balance and excited. It was like the aftermath of a panic attack when I’m still out of breath but the danger has passed. I couldn’t believe I’d acted so recklessly and saved the day or at least the interview. That’s why Heller was so upset: because I’d acted like her. She was trying to be poised and polite and good-girly while I’d taken a huge risk. Heller was the jealous one.
As I watched, Heller was interviewed by grown-ups from newspapers and magazines and entertainment TV shows, by teenagers from all of the Angel Wars websites, blogs and Twitter feeds, by eight-year-olds who had their own YouTube channels and by so many other people that I lost count and the faces began to blur, especially because everyone asked Heller the exact same questions: “What was it like to grow up as Anna Banana?” “Did you ever dream that you’d be playing Lynnea?” “What do you have to say to all the Heller haters?” “Are you married?” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Are you dating anyone special?” “How did you get in shape to play an angel?” “Are you a Hollywood bad girl?” “What music do you listen to?” “Can I take a selfie with you?” and “Why is that girl over there wearing kneesocks—did she burn her legs?”
Even though Heller was doing all the smiling and answering the same questions over and over again, just watching her do it was exhausting, especially because with every interviewer Heller had to keep pretending she was being asked each question for the very first time, which she did by pausing and pretending to think about whether she liked working out or whether she was a strict vegan or whether Meryl Streep was her idol. “People wonder why movie stars get paid so much,” Wyatt told me. “It’s not for acting. It’s for doing this.”
We were almost down to the last scheduled interview when an assistant rushed over to Wyatt and said, “We’ve just had a request from someone called Henry Firenze, who says that he has over eight million Twitter followers and he’s a huge Heller fan. He wants to know if we can squeeze him in.”
“Who?” said Wyatt. “Henry what? I’ve never heard of him and we’re booked down to the last second. It sounds suspicious—Henry Firenze? Call security.”
“I’ll talk to him,” said Heller. For the first time all morning, she seemed genuinely happy. “It’s okay.”
A guy only a few years older than Heller and me came into the room. He was Asian American and really handsome, with great cheekbones and an easy way of moving, as if he was comfortable in his own body and not at all daunted by entering a suite filled with strangers. He had a white streak in his otherwise dark hair and at first I thought it was one of those trendy touches that would grow out if he didn’t keep bleaching it but the streak looked real and I remembered reading once that a white forelock can be a genetic trait.
“Henry Firenze,” said the guy, right to Heller. “Thanks so much for seeing me. I’ll be quick. Big fan.”
“No problem, Henry,” said Heller, and by the way she said the guy’s name I could tell that something was up.
“Two minutes, Henry,” said Wyatt. “That’s all the time we’ve got.”
“I understand,” said Henry. “So, Ms. Harrigan, this is a very stressful time for you because people must be asking you all sorts of questions. How are you holding up?”
“I’m … doing okay,” said Heller, and from her voice I knew that she’d considered her answer instead of being automatically cheerful and dutiful like with all of the oth
er interviews.
“Have you seen the movie?” asked Henry.
“Not yet,” said Heller, which was odd because up until right now Heller had been telling people she’d seen the movie countless times and that it was amazing and completely faithful to the book and she loved it.
“I know the movie is going to be great,” Henry told Heller. “I know how much it means to you and how hard you’ve worked. Don’t drive yourself crazy, okay?”
“Um, do you have any actual questions, Henry?” asked Wyatt.
“Just one,” said Henry. “But first I’ve been wondering—who’s that?” He was pointing at me.
“No one knows,” said Heller. “She just showed up and she keeps scarfing mini muffins from the buffet and she shoved three crullers down her shirt and she won’t leave.”
For the record I’d only eaten two mini muffins and I’d wrapped a cruller inside a napkin in case of an emergency.
“Heller?” said Henry.
“She’s my cousin,” Heller admitted. “From New Jersey. She’s here to make sure that I don’t get drunk or high or steal a car and drive it right into a busload of Angel Warriors. She’s an Olympic-level buzzkill. If I even think about having a cigarette or dropping an f-bomb, her head splits open and this nasty humpbacked lizard wearing an apron pops out. See, there it is.”
“That’s not true!” I said. “I’m just here as … as … a volunteer! I’m a devoted family member and a sacred sounding board!”
“She’s … she’s helping,” said Heller. She looked at me and then looked away.
“It sounds like you’re both doing just fine,” said Henry, smiling and nodding at me, and that was when I knew: Once they’d met Henry for even ten seconds, guys like my brothers, and Mills and Billy, would think that Henry was the coolest guy on earth and they’d try to imitate his loping walk and his crooked smile and probably his white forelock, only they’d end up looking like dopey teenage zebras. Henry was cool in a completely offhand way and he was cool because he seemed to truly care about Heller, something he’d proved by not asking any pushy or disgusting questions. He looked like he wanted to put his arms around Heller and tell her that everything was going to be okay.