by Jen Calonita
“I do like acting, but forget Hollywood!” I tell Austin as we sway back and forth in the backseat. “My life controls me and I hate it! If this is what happens—someone makes all the decisions and the artist loses all control—then I don’t want it. Who wants to be followed twenty-four/seven by Larry the Liar or photographed eating French fries when I’m supposed to be a size four to fit in my new costume?”
“Kates, you don’t mean that,” Austin says while he keeps his eyes on the driver.
“I do,” I insist. “If this is what a life in Hollywood is like, then I don’t want it.”
SCREECH!
I press my arm against the back of the seat to steady myself as the car veers right with a jerk.
“Hey, buddy, slow down!” Austin says gruffly.
“It’s them!” the driver yells. “They’re alongside of us.”
I look over and the paparazzi are pulling up to us and taking pictures from the window. God, they’ve never done that to me before.
“See? This is why I have to get away from Hollywood. I have to get away from craziness like this!”
“I hear ya!” the driver agrees. “Don’t worry, I’ll lose them.”
He starts driving even faster and we pull away from the paparazzi, almost hitting the car in the left lane. Whoa. He starts going even faster, and yet the paparazzi are still close behind us. Now I’m starting to get scared.
“Just slow down,” I beg the driver. “It’s okay. I take it back. Let them get a picture.”
“No way!” he says. “You’re right about this Hollywood machine. They’re not getting a single shot if I can help it!”
The driver just blew a red light! I hear tires screech as we come inches from hitting a car going in the other direction. I grab Austin’s hand. My heart is pounding again. I want my life to change, but not like this.
“I don’t care,” I say shakily. “Just slow down. It’s not worth getting into an accident.” This guy is nuts.
“Did you hear her? Slow down!” Austin yells at him, banging on the back of his seat to get his attention.
The driver ignores us. I look at Austin again and out the window behind his head. We’re going so fast that we’re passing blocks without even stopping at stop signs. He’s veering in and out of traffic. He’s going to get us killed. I start yelling and Austin does too. I see him pull out his cell phone to dial 911. We’re both yelling and it feels like we’re in a tunnel.
And that’s when I see it happen, even if I’m not a trained driver myself yet. The driver goes onto the off-ramp of the freeway instead of the on-ramp.
“LOOK OUT!” I scream.
But it’s too late.
You know how in movies when something monumental happens, things sort of slow down and the screen goes slow-mo? Usually it’s in war films where the shrapnel flies slowly through the air like it’s confetti. That’s what a car crash feels like. It’s as if time slows down and I’m watching the whole thing happen from the safe confines of my living room couch. I turn just in time to see an SUV plow into the front of the car, and Austin’s body swings sideways. The car rattles and screeches and starts to spin. My body lurches forward, then to the left, and I hear a very unsettling crunching sound. Glass begins to shatter all around me, almost in slow motion. The shards begin to hit me like tiny pellets. I hear myself scream, but it sounds like it’s coming from outside my body. Then the car comes to a deafening stop that is followed by an eerie silence.
I don’t really remember much after that. There was the sound of sirens, and an ambulance and a lot of voices. Lots of voices giving various reports that I vaguely remember.
“The boy’s right leg is messed up real bad.…He won’t leave the girl, though. Her left side is pretty bruised. Could be internal bleeding. Both kids need surgery. Taking them to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center…”
And then some voices I do know (which sort of make me wince all the same).
“Kate-Kate! Kate-Kate! Oh God. Is my daughter going to be okay? What do you mean she needs surgery right away? She has a taping tomorrow night, and they can’t film without her!”
“NO press! I’m in charge of press! None until I say so,” Laney demands.
“What about a tweet? Should I tweet her condition to her fans?” I hear Mom ask. “HEY! Let go of my BlackBerry! You broke it! You’re going to pay for that!”
“No tweeting!” Seth says.
“Will both of you stay focused here?” Laney snaps. “I’m working overtime to control the media situation, and I’m not even sure I’m getting paid since I think—if I’m not mistaken, Meg—you fired Seth and me this morning.”
Mom hesitates. “Well, I—”
“Never mind!” Laney huffs, and I vaguely hear an irritating clapping sound. “People! Yoo-hoo! Nurse folk! Everyone on this floor needs to sign a confidentiality agreement. And get me some Purell. Stat!”
And then, whether I’m just too tired or too tired to deal, everything goes dark.
FA1112 “After the Fire Comes the Rain”
FADE IN:
BUCHANAN MANOR—LIVING ROOM
The walls are torched, ashes cover the floor, and most of the furniture is covered in soot. In the center of the room, there is a huge burn mark going up the fireplace and through the Buchanan family portrait. DENNIS, PAIGE, SARA, and SAMANTHA search for anything they can salvage. SAMANTHA is sobbing.
SAMANTHA
Mom, our family portrait! (She pulls it off the wall and the others gather around.)
DENNIS
It’s okay. We can commission another one. It will be even better than the first.
SAMANTHA
(weepy) I liked the first one.
SARA
(sobs) Me too.
PAIGE
Me three. But that’s okay. I’ll track down the artist, and I’m sure he can do another one. This one isn’t in such bad shape that he can’t recognize who we are. (her voice grows low) Or who we were before… (she looks around) all this.
KRYSTAL
Guys? The police are here to take statements. Are you up to it, or should I tell Daddy to tell them you’ll come down to the station later?
DENNIS
Tell them we’ll be right there, Krystal. And thank you, for everything.
PAIGE
Dennis, I’m not sure I can do this. (sobs) It’s too soon. Too much has happened. If I hadn’t… if Sam and Sara hadn’t heard me, we might not have made it out of here. What if? What if…
DENNIS
But that didn’t happen! (grabs his wife by the shoulders) You made it out of that fire, and you got the girls out too! You’re a hero, Paige.
PAIGE
(crying) I feel like this is my fault. I wanted to move. I wanted something different, a fresh start, something new, but seeing this, I miss the old one.
SAMANTHA
(sobbing) It’s my fault too, Mom! I’ve been thinking the same thing. This place is too big, too cold, too drafty. I hated this house. I made this happen, not you.
SARA
Oh please! Would you two quit it? I have bad thoughts every day of the week, and no one bursts into flames. You guys didn’t cause this.
DENNIS
Sara is right, girls. This fire just happened.
We don’t know how or why yet, but we will. We will get to the bottom of this. Do you want to know why? The Buchanans never say die! The Buchanans are a family that fights together and stays together despite the difficulties our adversaries thrust our way. I know the road ahead may look dark and bleak, and we’re not sure which way is up from down, but when life throws the Buchanans a curveball we face it head on and find the solution together.
SARA
(clapping) Nice pep talk! Dad, you know
we’ve got your back, right? Even me, and that’s saying something because I’m supposed to go out with Tommy Davies tonight.
SAMANTHA
What Sara meant to say is, we love who we are and we are who we are because of you,
Dad. And you, Mom. Whatever it takes, we’ll get the Buchanans back to where they’re supposed to be. Home isn’t these four walls. Home is wherever we are together.
(The family embraces around the fireplace.)
FADE OUT.
NINE: Welcome to the Flip Side
“Mom?”
I’m talking, but my voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s froggy and it hurts to say anything. I’m in desperate need of some Smartwater. I feel very dry and… WHOA. Is the room spinning? My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. Things are blurry, but I can see images moving, and every sound is magnified as if I have my iPod turned up at full volume.
“I’m right here, honey,” Mom says. I know I’m sort of out of it, but I think she’s stroking my wet forehead. I must have really gotten banged up for her to do that.
“Austin. Is Austin okay?” I ask anxiously, fighting to get the words out. “What about the driver?” I need to say everything as quickly as I can because my head feels like Play-Doh and all I want to do is sleep.
“Shh… shh… everyone is okay.” Mom’s voice is so reassuring. “Daddy and Matty are on their way.”
“Where are Seth and Laney? Did they go home?” I ask. It’s awfully quiet wherever I am. Just whispers, some machines beeping, and nurses asking questions like “Would you like another package of crackers?”
“Don’t worry about anything, honey,” Mom tells me, sounding a bit choked up.
Wow, what happened to me? I must look awful. I try to lift my right arm to take a look. I see some small gashes and red marks, but without a mirror I can’t find out what I really need to know—is my face okay? That’s an actor’s most important asset!
“They’re going to be wheeling you to recovery in a few hours,” Mom adds. “Right now I just want you to drink this juice and eat some saltines.” I hear her pour a glass of juice, and she puts the straw to my lips. The juice is cold and I feel a little better when I swallow. I wonder why Nadine isn’t doing nurse duty for me. I half expected to wake up and find out Mom had flown to the Hamptons to recover from the stress I put her through. But then again, Mom did try to fire Nadine and my whole team this morning. I should be mad right now, but I’m just glad to have my mom nearby.
“The car—is it totaled? Is Austin’s leg all right? I heard someone say it looked bad. When can I go back to work? Will I miss the taping tomorrow night?”
I can’t stop asking questions. I need to know what happened. I said such awful things to my friends in front of the paparazzi. There are pictures of me behaving that badly! I jumped into a car with someone I don’t know! Am I crazy? Any bumps and bruises I have are secondary to the mountain of guilt I feel about putting Austin in harm’s way. There’s only one bright spot to this disaster: At least I didn’t get injured on set. I wouldn’t want the show to get bad press for my poor choices.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER NINE: We all know movies aren’t real, but making fiction feel like reality takes a lot of work. There can be hundreds of people involved in a single production. They can dot every i and cross every t before a pyrotechnic shot, a chase scene, or a helicopter rescue, and use stunt people for everything but close-ups, but actors still get hurt sometimes. Shia LaBeouf got a hip injury while making Indiana Jones. And Robert Pattinson supposedly tore a muscle while shooting New Moon. Those two incidents were thankfully not life-threatening, but an accident on the set of a movie called The Twilight Zone, which was made in 1982, killed two child actors and an adult in a stunt scene gone bad. What happened on that set is part of the reason Matty falls under tougher child labor laws that protect him (and drive him nuts) today.
“Kaitlin, what are—just rest, okay? I’ll answer all your questions later,” Mom says. “I promise. Everything is going to be fine, sweetheart. Just close your eyes.”
Mom being maternal, which is even rarer than seeing a starlet eat a Krispy Kreme donut, is enough to make me listen. I fall fast asleep.
When I wake up, my head feels only slightly heavy, compared to the two-ton block that was resting on my forehead earlier. The room has stopped spinning, and I can finally get a look around. I’ve been moved to a regular hospital room, and the curtain is drawn around me. A TV is on, and I have a roommate. I can’t believe Mom didn’t stomp her feet till we got a private room befitting a queen! On my bedside table is a small, sort of scary-looking floral arrangement full of carnations. I’m too weak to grab the card and see who they’re from. My eyes drift over to Mom. She’s asleep in the vinyl chair next to my bed and she’s wearing—WAIT.
It can’t be. Is that a plum-colored PB&J Couture tracksuit? It is! That wouldn’t be a fashion faux pas for most people, but in Mom’s book, PB&J is so three years ago. And what happened to her hair? Instead of the warm, caramel hue she pays hundreds of dollars for so that it looks just like mine (she likes to claim it is her natural color), her hair is a mousy brown. I puzzle over this info for a while until I hit on a possible solution. Mom must be in disguise. Clever. Maybe the paparazzi are swarming outside. I should really call Laney, but first I have to reach Austin.
I’m sure they took my bag from the car when they brought me here, but I don’t see it anywhere. My iPhone is probably still tucked inside. Hmm…I’m achy, but I sit up slowly. I pull back my covers, and that’s when I see the cast. My right ankle is covered in hard, white plastic from my foot to my knee. Oh God. How are the writers going to explain this one? I’m going to have to order a Coffee Bean coffee cart for a month to make up for this. I slowly drop my legs over the side of the bed, being careful not to bang my cast. I step down on the cold tile and try to steady myself on one foot to hobble around. The only bag I see is a Coach knockoff on the shelf across from me. Where is my yellow leather hobo? Where is Mom’s Birkin bag?
“Kaitlin! You shouldn’t be walking around!” Mom jumps up and grabs me by the shoulders, steering me back to the bed. She helps me up and then lifts my legs so that I’m sitting. Her expression is stony. This expression I know.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I was looking for my phone,” I tell her. “Do you have it? I don’t see my bag anywhere.”
“I have your phone,” Mom says, and she crosses the room and stops at the bookshelf. I watch as she reaches into the Coach knockoff and pulls out a flip phone. “It was thrown from your bag, but it seems to work fine.” She holds it out to me and I stare at it.
“That’s not my phone. I have the iPhone, remember? And why are you using that bag?”
Mom looks very confused. “An iPhone? This is your phone, Kaitlin.”
“Mom, I know my head is hazy, but that is not my phone. Mine is the…forget it. Can I borrow your BlackBerry?”
“Even all bandaged, you’re a riot. BlackBerry!” She chuckles to herself and pulls another flip phone out of her bag. “That new school is giving you delusions of grandeur!”
Instead of arguing, I take the phone from her and dial Austin’s cell. It goes right to voicemail. What am I thinking? Austin may not even have his phone if he’s in the hospital too.
“Mom, do you know what room Austin is in?” I ask. “I have to see him.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know where they took the others. I’ll have the nurse find out.” She ducks into the hall.
Austin must hate me. Okay, I won’t think about that. Right now I’ll concentrate on doing something else. I’ll call Laney.
Laney’s newest assistant, Paula, answers on the first ring. “Laney Peters’s office.”
“Hi, Paula, it’s Kaitlin. Can you put Laney on?”
“Kaitlin?”
I cut her off before she can ask. “I’m fine. I’m banged up and my ankle is broken, but I’m okay. Is Laney back at the office or should I try her cell?”
“I’m sorry, you said you were who?”
Geez, how could Paula not know it’s me? “Kaitlin,” I say pleasantly.
“Kaitlin who?”
“Kaitlin Burke!” I snap. Mom walks back in and looks at me worriedly. “Look, Paul
a, this isn’t funny. The paparazzi are probably swarming outside, and I need to talk to Laney!”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” she says slowly. “I just…I’m sorry…I don’t know who you are.”
WHAT?
I’m so flustered I hang up. Wait till Laney hears what Paula pulled on me. She’ll be lucky she lasts the day!
“Kaitlin, sweetie, is your head throbbing?” Mom touches my forehead. “Should I call Dr. Lowe?”
I pull Mom’s hand away. I see what’s going on. I should have known not to fall for Mom’s nice-mom act! “You fired Laney, didn’t you? That’s why Paula acted like she didn’t know me.”
“Who is Laney?” Mom’s expression is bewildered. “Sweetie, you’re not making any sense.”
Dad and Matty walk in just in time because I’m about to flip out on Mom. But when I see Matty, I’m almost too stunned to speak. Instead of a stylish pair of jeans and some new designer button-down shirt, Matty is in Old Navy sweats. Full sweats. Like, a sweat suit! In red. His hair is a mess, like it hasn’t been cut in a month. It must be a wig. There is no other explanation. Dad looks the same—rumpled button-down shirt, khaki pants—but he’s wearing a navy zip-up jacket that says Jeep in capital letters.
“Why are you guys all in disguise?” I ask. “Is Larry the Liar outside? He’s going to find out eventually that I’m here. I’ve been trying to reach Laney, but Paula is pretending not to know who I am. It’s all Mom’s fault! Dad, do something.”
“How long has she been like this?” Dad asks Mom.
“Since she woke up,” Mom says quietly, not looking at me. “I’m going to page Dr. Lowe.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you rehire Laney.” I slap my hand on the bed. Ouch. Forgot about that whiplash. I lower my voice. “And, um, did you find out what room Austin is in?”
Mom shakes her head. “The nurse says he doesn’t have a room.”
“Is he still in surgery?” I worry.
“I don’t know,” Mom admits, looking nervous herself. That makes me really freaked out.