Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home

by Jen Calonita

  At least the real Nadine came here. But what if I’m wrong about this Nadine? What if she’s not in Boston? What if she’s still in Chicago, or her family moved? What if she doesn’t exist at all? My mind is spinning, my hands are cold from being outside for so long, and my heart is beating out of my chest.

  If Nadine doesn’t exist, what does that say about my other life? Does that mean it doesn’t exist either? How could I have made all that stuff up?

  Celebs lie all the time, I know, but no one makes up a lie this big. This is a Madonna-level lie. You’ve heard of a Madonna-level lie, right? HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER SIXTEEN: Stars lie. It’s a plain and simple fact. We do. Just like you. And there are many reasons for it, especially if you’re Madonna. She told the press she was not getting married to Guy Ritchie. Then she hopped on a plane to go marry him (not that the marriage lasted, but still). A secret wedding you can kind of understand. Getting drunk—or worse—and appearing on a talk show, and then totally denying it like so many stars I know have done? Not really understandable. Own up to your mistakes, I say. But stars won’t. Many think they’re the victims in this tabloid-loving world. They feel like they give their all to their careers and that some part of their life should still be private. I’m all for it, I just don’t know if it’s possible.

  “Kates?” Liz butts into my thoughts. “Did you hear what I said? When was the last time you talked to Nadine? Are you sure she’s still in Cambridge?”

  “I heard you.” I’m feeling too blue to actually make conversation or give her an answer. I couldn’t have made my whole fabulous Hollywood life up.

  Could I?

  “What if she went home for Christmas break?” Liz blows a chunk of whipped cream off the top of her confection. “It is just a week away.”

  Bah! Humbug!

  “Yes,” I snap, and Liz looks taken back. “Sorry. I’m just frustrated. Nadine has to be here!” How do I explain how I know this? “Back when she, um, lived in L.A. she always talked about going here and how she was going to enroll right away.”

  “Are you sure she had the money for tuition?” Liz frowns. “Harvard looks pretty expensive, even to me.”

  I stare out the window and watch the people walk by with bags and wrapped packages that are probably meant for the holidays. I haven’t even thought of Christmas till today. Is it almost Christmas at home too? What if I miss it? What if no one misses me?

  What if… what if I never get back?

  “KATES.” Liz’s voice is louder now. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself, ” she scolds. “You’re going to find Nadine. I don’t know why she’s so important, but I know you’re going to find her. You can’t give up now.”

  I feel sort of teary, and Liz is making me more so. “Thanks. That sounded very best friend–ish.”

  Liz smiles triumphantly. “I knew it did. Just like it was best friend–ish when I lent you my favorite Marc Jacobs dress a few weeks ago for the Family Affair DVD party without even wearing it first, remember? What friend would let you do that, huh?”

  Family Affair DVD party? How does she know about that? That final season party happened in my world, not here. And come to think of it, I did wear Liz’s dress.

  “How do you know about the FA DVD party?”

  Liz looks up from her drink. “What’s FA?”

  “You just said—” I stop when Liz looks confused.

  “I said you have to keep thinking of places Nadine could be,” Liz reiterates. “We came all the way here, and we’re going to find her.” This is just like my Liz to be this stubborn. “Now think of the other things she told you about Harvard.”

  “Well…” I take a long sip of my drink. “She’s wanted to go since she was twelve. She said that Boston was one of the epicenters of politics, so she’d be in the right place for her future work.” I smile. “She wore the Harvard sweatshirt she got for her fifteenth birthday so much it fell apart. Her parents didn’t have the money to pay for all her tuition, which is why she got a job to help cover the costs.” I don’t say that job was working for me. “Nadine wanted to make the money on her own and stop their fighting. She said her mom would rather be poor than let Nadine pay for college, but her dad argued they would be poor if they took out a second mortgage to do it.”

  “Sounds like something my mom would say.” Liz taps her long, purple nails on the table. “She said she’d rather be poor than live in an empty mansion that Dad was never home to enjoy anyway.” Liz says it bravely, but I know the divorce is a sore subject. Her mom lives in Maine now, and Liz hardly ever sees her. Liz’s expression changes. “Hey. Do you think Nadine’s parents got divorced?”

  I shake my head. “They’re happily married.”

  “When was the last time you talked to Nadine? Maybe they got divorced right before she came to Harvard.” Liz is jumping out of her seat now.

  “I guess they could have.” I stir the drink around and around, watching the whipped cream melt and fade away. “But that doesn’t change things. She’d still be here, and she’s not. There is no Nadine Holbrook at Harvard.”

  “That’s right.” Liz is practically gloating now and I don’t get why. “There wouldn’t be a Nadine Holbrook here because she’s not Nadine Holbrook anymore.”

  I stop stirring. “I don’t get it.”

  “When my parents got divorced, my mom hated my dad so much that she changed her name legally back to Rosenfeld,” Liz says animatedly. “I kept Mendes because I’m closer with my dad, but who would Nadine have sided with if her parents’ split got nasty?”

  I give her a look. “This is a stretch, Liz.”

  “Think, Kates,” Liz pushes. “If they went through a messy divorce, whose name would Nadine have kept? What was her mom’s maiden name? Do you know?”

  I actually do know. Nadine uses it to check me in to hotels because the name is so funny, no one would ever suspect it was me staying there. “It’s Funkhouse.” I giggle at the thought of it. “She would have been Nadine Funkhouse.”

  “You’re looking for Nadine Funkhouse?” the guy behind the counter interrupts. He’s cleaning the countertops with a scary-looking rag. “She comes in at three.”

  Liz and I look at each other in shock. I feel shivers go up my spine.

  “I should be on CSI.” Liz is beaming. “I have good instincts.”

  I look at the clock on the wall. It’s a quarter to three.

  Oh. My. God.

  I’m going to throw up. Could it really be her? Now she’s Nadine Funkhouse? But why? How? Okay, concentrate.

  “Are you friends of hers?” the guy asks as he continues to scrub down the countertop with that grimy cloth.

  “Cousins,” I say, and I give Liz a look to keep quiet. “Long-lost cousins. My mom said she worked here.” I grab my crutches and walk toward the counter with Liz right behind me. “I just want to make sure we have the right Nadine Funkhouse. Longish red hair, petite, fiery temper, loves to preach to people?”

  He laughs. “That’s Funky Funkhouse. But her hair isn’t long. It’s super short. I keep teasing her that she looks like a guy. She says she can’t afford to grow it long and use all those styling products. She has to save her coffee money for rent.”

  Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod! It’s Nadine!

  “Okay, now you really have to tell me why we’re here.” Liz has her hands on her hips, and from her expression I know she’s not going to take “I can’t” for an answer.

  My Liz is in there. Somewhere.

  “I’ll explain everything,” I say, even though I’m not sure I mean it. “Later.”

  “She should be here any second if you two want to wait for her,” the guy adds.

  I think I might pass out now. What am I going to say? How am I going to convince her to help me if she doesn’t recognize me? Liz reaches for my elbow to steady me and leads me to a nearby table. “Are you all right? Why are you so nervous?”

  But I don’t hear anything else. I hear the tiny bell above the Pe
et’s Coffee door ping and the door open. Almost in slow motion, for me at least, in walks Nadine.

  “Gary, get the latte machine whirring because I need a double shot of espresso in my no-fat, no-foam latte,” she tells the guy behind the counter. “I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  It’s my Nadine, all right. Aside from the hair, it looks just like her. She’s wearing a black long-sleeve tee and worn-in jeans, and she is carrying a Peet’s Coffee apron that she ties with one hand while she removes a dingy green puffer coat with the other. She sees me and grins. For a split second I think she’s going to walk over and hug me. Instead she makes her way to Gary.

  Nadine has no clue who I am.

  She was my last hope, and she looked at me like I was a stranger. Nadine is never going to help a total stranger find her way back to another plane/dimension, or wake up from a coma. I know Nadine—she’d never believe any of those things.

  Would she?

  Gary nods to us as he refills a coffee grinder. “Your cousins have been waiting for you, Funky Funkhouse.”

  “My what?” Nadine looks us up and down skeptically. “I don’t have cousins.”

  “How could you not have cousins?” Liz asks, without skipping a beat. Liz whispers to me, “Why did we say we were cousins again? Why didn’t you just say who you were?”

  This is getting dicey.

  “My parents are only children,” Nadine tells Liz and puts her apron on over her head. “No cousins. So who are you? Are you selling Girl Scout Cookies? Candy bars to raise money for your school? Either way, I can’t help you. The only fund I give to is the Nadine Funkhouse fund for Harvard tuition.” Gary chuckles, and they turn their attention to two customers who just walked in.

  “Why doesn’t she recognize you?” Liz asks me.

  “It’s been a long time.” I stall for time. “She was always, um, bad with faces.”

  I wonder if I can get Liz out of here and talk to Nadine alone. I look at Liz again. She’s so curious she’ll never leave.

  “We don’t want money.” I hobble back to Nadine’s side of the counter. “We just want to talk to you for a few minutes. We’re doing a high school paper on coffee shops and working through grad school, and someone recommended interviewing you. Right, Liz?”

  “Sure, whatever she said,” Liz agrees and sits down at our table again to take another swig of her drink.

  Nadine looks at me. What was I thinking? Nadine is not going to believe that. Nadine is skeptical about everything. She questions authority, is type A, and says what’s on her mind. She’ll never listen to us.

  “I go on break at four,” Nadine says as she works a latte into a frothy foam.

  “Fine, we’ll wait,” I say cheerily, and take a seat next to Liz, who is staring at me expectantly. “Please don’t ask me to explain all this right now.”

  For some reason, Liz doesn’t. Instead she fills the time chatting about benign stuff like Christmas gifts, holiday movies, and her latest celeb crush (Taylor Lautner—which means she’s got the same crush as the rest of the world). I tune her out and think of Nadine. What can I say to make her believe me? If she’s here, then I must have a chance to make this happen. Right?

  At four on the dot—Nadine is always punctual— Nadine slides into the chair across from me. She tosses a bag on the table. “Cookies. I thought you guys might be hungry. Gary says you’ve been sitting here for hours.” She takes a sip of coffee. “I only have fifteen minutes, so fire away.”

  “Kates? Want to start?” Liz prods and rests her chin on her elbows as if to say, “This is going to be good.”

  I don’t know how to do this any other way. “Obviously we’re not your cousins,” I say. “But we do know each other. My mom and your mom go way back. You used to babysit for me when you lived in Chicago.”

  Nadine looks ready to bolt already. “Where did I live?”

  I know the answer to this one. “In Northampton, 1918 Park Drive West.”

  “What’s your name?” Nadine asks, still looking unsure.

  “Kaitlin Burke. We lived around the block from you, remember?” I’m sweating I’m so nervous.

  “You’re lying,” Nadine says and takes a bite of a cookie. “There was a library around the block from me.” She starts getting up, and I know I’m losing her. I don’t have a choice. I have to tell the truth, the whole crazy truth and nothing but the truth.

  “I need your help,” I say and Nadine turns around. “I traveled three thousand miles to find you, and my friend Liz paid for the tickets. Can you please just give me ten minutes?”

  “She really doesn’t know you?” Liz asks incredulously. “Then how do you know her?”

  “Yeah, how do you know who I am?” Nadine crosses her arms.

  “I know everything about you,” I explain. “I know you make judgments about people in the first five minutes, so you already don’t trust me, but sometimes your judgments are wrong. Remember Carol Barker? You thought she was going to give you an F on your tenth-grade science project because she looked at you funny, but then you found out she had a corn dog for lunch and her stomach was acting up.”

  Nadine’s jaw drops. “How do you know that?”

  “Yeah, how do you know that?” Liz wants to know.

  “Because I know you,” I say softly. “Not here, not now, but I know you. We work together, actually.”

  After I give Liz strict instructions not to interrupt even if she thinks I need a one-way ticket to crazy town, Nadine lets me talk. And talk. I talk for her full break, telling her everything about the accident, my family, my friends, Austin, Sky, Family Affair, what’s changed for the better, and what’s worse. I pepper the conversation with anecdotes about Nadine herself—advice she’s given me over the years, what she’s told me about her life, why she became my personal assistant, and finally, why she left.

  “I quit?” Nadine looks astonished. I’m not sure whether she believes me or just thinks this is a good story, but I keep answering her questions. Liz thinks I’m nuts, I can tell, but I keep talking.

  “You realized that you wanted more,” I explain and hold one of my crutches in my hand for support, in more ways than one. “You were beyond picking up dry cleaning, going to Crumbs bakery for my cupcake fix, and doing my schedule. Even I knew that. I just loved you too much to let you go. You’re opening your own celebrity management company, and your first client is Sky Mackenzie.”

  Liz and Nadine chuckle to each other.

  “That train wreck?” Liz says.

  “I can’t stand that girl,” Nadine agrees and takes another sip of her coffee.

  “She’s not like that there,” I insist. “Sky’s got it together. We’re friends, actually. Good friends,” I add. “And she’s your first client.”

  “Why would I want to work with celebrities?” Nadine sounds flip, which she is SO not. “You couldn’t pay me to live in Los Angeles. It’s so plastic, and I hate tabloids and those TMZ people.”

  “You do hate those things!” Though you have gotten over it somewhat, but I don’t add that. “You were making money to go to Harvard,” I explain. “You knew you could make the money fast if you came to L.A. You had a friend who did the same thing. Caroline,” I remember, and Nadine’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly. “She did well as an assistant, so you decided to go out for a few years, make money, and then go back to business school.”

  Nadine stands up and picks up her coffee. “I can’t listen to any more of this. Your story is compelling, I give you that. And you sound like you know what you’re talking about, but this is crazy! People don’t time travel or dream travel or whatever you think you’ve done.” She waves her hands, and her coffee begins to slosh over the sides of the paper cup. “I would never move to Los Angeles. Ever. And fetch someone’s dry cleaning? I don’t think so. You have the wrong girl, and I don’t think you’re going to find the right one.” She looks at Liz. “You need to take her to a doctor. She needs help.”

  Nadine starts to wal
k away, and Liz grabs my hand. “I think she’s right, Kaitlin. I’m going to call your parents, and we’ll get you home,” she says soothingly. She looks a little frightened, actually. “Your story was incredible—so detailed—but it’s not real. Maybe that accident caused more trauma than anyone realized.”

  Liz calling my parents, Nadine walking away from me? No, no, no. This is all wrong. I need Nadine! She can help me, I know it.

  “Mark Howards!” I yell.

  Nadine stops but doesn’t turn around.

  “You moved because of Mark Howards.” I lower my voice. “He was your first love. He was going to go to Harvard with you. He had the money to go and you didn’t. He said he’d wait a year and then reapply again with you, but he lied. He went without you, and you didn’t forgive him. You broke up. He came out to Los Angeles to apologize once, but you wouldn’t see him and you haven’t dated anyone seriously since. You always said he was your one big regret.”

  Nadine stares at me. “Mark and I broke up last year.”

  “He didn’t go to Harvard with you?” Liz asks, intrigued.

  Nadine’s smile is sort of sad. “He did go. We both did, and then we broke up anyway. He transferred and I’m still here.” She looks around and sighs. “Making life plans with a guy instead of making life plans for yourself is a big mistake. So was coming here,” she adds and walks back over.

  “But it’s all you ever talk about!” I tell her. “‘When I go to Harvard,’ ‘this would never happen at Harvard,’ ‘I’m too smart to hear you say something that dumb, Kaitlin.’”

  Nadine laughs. “I would say those things.” She looks at me wistfully. “But if I could talk to your Nadine—if one actually exists—I would tell her that business school isn’t what I thought it would be. Neither is politics.” She scrunches her nose like she just sniffed expired milk. “I worked on a local campaign last year and hated it.” She shrugs and runs a hand through her short red hair. “But I can’t not see school through to the end. It has cost my family too much. Even if I’m not happy. Not that I know what would make me happy, except…” She looks at me. “Your Nadine sounds content in a way I’ve never been living here. Maybe not getting what she wanted gave her everything she wanted after all.”