Famous Page 9

  AUGUST AFTER NINTH GRADE, NYC

  SUMMER IN THE CITY. SO HOT AND HUMID I SOMETIMES TOOK TWO or three showers a day to get the sticky grime off my skin. Nasim had gone to Iran to visit cousins, and Avy spent July living in a college dorm in LA attending some superfancy summer performing arts program. I think it was his parents’ way of trying to make up for not letting him take the role on Rich and Poor.

  I was so happy to hear his voice when he called and said he wanted to meet for dinner at El Caribe, our favorite cheapo Cuban-Chinese hole-in-the-wall. We ordered shredded beef, some fried plantains, and a heaping plate of black beans and yellow rice. Avy was tanned and glowing with good health. His curly brown hair had been lightened by the California sun. Something else looked different as well.

  “Is it my imagination, or have you gotten taller and thinner?” I asked.

  He grinned with delight. Was it also my imagination that his teeth looked whiter?

  “Grew one and one-quarter inches this year,” he said. “Doctor says I might actually reach five ten before I’m done.”

  “How was the program? How long have you been back from LA?”

  “It was great. Got back a week ago.”

  I felt a frown emerge. “A week? Why didn’t you call sooner?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, how’s the job?”

  “Okay,” I answered with an unenthusiastic shrug. I was interning for the summer at a photography studio, mostly airbrushing pimples off newlyweds’ faces, making double chins disappear, and thinning plump arms.

  “Gone on any stakeouts?” Avy asked.

  “Not many. The rich and famous are away for the summer. It’s been really hot, grimy, and slow. I haven’t sold a shot in months.”

  “What about that Alicia Howard exclusive?”

  “Nothing came of it,” I answered with disappointment. The memory of that experience still stung. I’d been so excited, and I’d had to argue so hard to get Mom to let me take the days off from school. I think she only relented because I wore her down until she was too tired to say no. But in the end it turned out to be a great big nothing. I took the two and a half days off from school and shot a zillion pictures. Alicia was always nice to me, but also sort of distant, and it quickly became obvious that even though I was fifteen too and she’d specifically asked for me to do the shoot, she was going to treat me the way she would any other photographer.

  “They paid you, didn’t they?” Avy asked.

  “Yes, but you know what?” I said. “That’s almost beside the point. I really wanted them to use those pictures.”

  “Did they ever tell you why they didn’t?”

  I shook my head. “Carla said it was Alicia’s money and she could do whatever she wanted with those shots. Maybe her plans changed, or maybe she just felt ugly that week.” I knew I sounded glum, so I added, “Hey, it’s all part of the business, you know? It’ll get better in the fall when everyone comes back.”

  Avy nodded and leaned his elbows on the worn gray Formica table. His eyes were shining. It was obvious that he was excited about something. “I’m going back to LA.”

  “For August?” I asked.

  “For . . . ever.”

  “You got a role?” I asked excitedly. “On a series or something?”

  “Not yet.”

  The excitement drained away. “Then . . . why?”

  “Because LA’s where it’s happening, Jamie. It’s where I’ve got to be.”

  “But you live here. What about school?”

  He took out some tickets for trains from New York to LA. I gave him a puzzled look.

  “It’s real, Wonder Girl,” he said. “The reason you haven’t heard from me is, I’ve been busy all week selling stuff on eBay and finding an apartment on Craigslist.”

  I stared at him uncertainly. “Avy, you’re fifteen.”

  “No one has to know that. Look, it’s a done deal. I’m going.”

  You could have scraped me off the greasy linoleum floor. I was stunned. “Why?”

  He talked about how certain he was that he could make it in Hollywood. Acting was all he’d ever wanted to do and was all he would ever want to do. He talked about how scared and excited he was, and how deep down he really, truly believed he could make it on his own. He talked and talked, as if he needed to convince himself as much as he did me.

  The shredded beef, yellow rice, and black beans sat half-finished on the table between us. Finally there didn’t seem to be anything more to say, which was strange when it came to Avy and me. Usually we could talk forever. We paid the bill and stepped out into the noisy, humid New York night. Cabs and buses trundled past and we stood on the sidewalk hugging tearfully and promising each other we’d text a hundred times a day.

  “The next time I come back here,” he said, “it’ll be either first class or private jet. And I’ll tell them the only photographer I want taking my picture is you. And that’s the way it’s going to be, Wonder Girl. You and me. We’re going all the way to the top together.”

  He gave me one last hug, then squeezed my arms and stared intently into my eyes. “You’ll see. It’s gonna be great.” He turned and strode away down the sidewalk like someone determined to go somewhere. Like someone who knew where he was going.

  But to tell you the truth, I thought he’d be back in time to start tenth grade at Herrin with the rest of us.

  I never even thought about celebrity stalkers until that Chapman kid shot John Lennon. What a terrible, senseless tragedy. I mean, I might not have agreed with Lennon’s politics, but there’s no denying the enormous contribution he made to music.

  But the one that really got me was when that actress Rebecca Schaeffer from that show My Sister Sam was murdered. I used to watch it with my kids. Here’s this cute young woman, twenty-two years old, who everyone agreed was on her way to really big things, and this nut gets her address from the Department of Motor Vehicles, then goes over to her house and shoots her. My kids were devastated. They’d say, “Daddy, why did that man do that to her?” And what could I say? How do you explain to kids that there are some things in life that make no sense?

  And then there was that tennis player, Monica Seles, one of the top players in the world, and during a tennis match this obsessed fan jumps on the courts and stabs her in the back with a nine-inch knife. Again, just the utter senselessness of it.

  And the thing is, these attackers know they’re going to be caught. Most of the time they don’t even resist. They want the world to know they did it. As if it’s the only way people will ever know they existed.

  Some people say that if you want to become famous, that’s a risk you have to face, but I disagree. People shouldn’t have to fear for their lives on a daily basis just because they’ve accomplished something extraordinary. And that’s especially true here in Los Angeles, where there are so many stars. The LAPD created the Threat Management Unit because we all know how important it is that stars feel safe. This town depends on the movie business, and if the stars can’t feel comfortable here, we’re in trouble.

  But for me personally, it goes beyond that. These stars get so much publicity. So many people—especially young people—follow their lives. These days life is difficult and frightening enough for kids. They don’t need to be exposed to random acts of murderous insanity.

  JUNE OF TENTH GRADE, NYC

  ON THE MACBOOK SCREEN, AVY WILL GROW PENSIVE AGAIN, PLACING his elbow on his thigh then making a fist and pressing his lips against it. You can almost feel the mood darkening inside him as he returns to the subject of his parents and says, “But you’ve said in other interviews that they actually tried to stop you from becoming an actor.”

  Puzzled, you will pause the video. Other interviews? You’re not aware of Avy having done any other interviews. Is it possible that he did and didn’t tell you? But who would have interviewed him? And why?

  Once again you will start the video. “They did,” Avy will reply to his own question. “They trie
d to stop me. Maybe that’s why I worked so hard to succeed. Maybe that’s why I made it. I just had to prove them wrong.”

  On the screen, Avy will smirk and shake his head, rise from the chair, and come toward the camera. The video will become blurry and wobbly and then go black. This is where the interview will end. You will stare at the MacBook screen, replaying Avy’s last words in your head. “Maybe that’s why I worked so hard to succeed. Maybe that’s why I made it. I just had to prove them wrong.”

  It will make no sense. Avy wasn’t a success. He never “made it.” Except for the few commercials he did here in New York before he went to LA, he never even came close.

  And then it will hit you. Avy made this up. The whole thing. This wasn’t an interview he was preparing to give. This is the interview . . . he only dreamed of giving.

  Your insides will wrench, and new tears will blur your vision. Feeling wretched, you will close the computer and let it rest on your lap. Poor Avy. Your parents—at least, your mother—may have given you a hard time about what you wanted to do too. But at least you had the feeling that they cared.

  Tears will fall against the MacBook’s white plastic cover as a rush of regret and self-recrimination floods over you. In the end, Avy had no one. He was all alone, giving interviews to himself because no one else cared. And where were you, Jamie Gordon? You could have made a much bigger effort to stay in touch with him after he ran off to LA. Avy was your closest friend. Lots of girls had female best friends, but for you it was Avy as far back as you can remember. He was always such a good friend to you. Were you such a good friend to him?

  No.

  You were so busy thinking about yourself, yourself, yourself, and your career.

  MARCH OF TENTH GRADE, FOURTH DAY OF SPRING VACATION IN LA

  N,

  Just that one short e-mail is all I get? I wish you’d write again. It’s spring vacation. Are you really that busy?

  Anyway, out here it just gets crazier and crazier. I was waiting in the guesthouse to find out what the plans for the day were when guess who knocked on the French doors? Willow!

  She asked, did I have a moment?

  “No, Willow, I’m really busy. Can you come back later?” (JOKE!)

  We sat on the porch, and she smiled impishly and said, “Pretty wild about Rex coming back, huh? I really don’t know what to do about him. He said all that stuff about him and Dominika Bartoli is just hype. I want to believe him, but I just don’t know.”

  I couldn’t believe she, the super star, was confiding in me. It was definitely one of those “this can’t be real” moments, and I considered pinching myself to see if I was dreaming. I mean, Willow Twine was asking me for relationship advice?

  So, N, what could I say? I told her to take it slow. I mean, is that the ultimate piece of generic relationship advice or what? But Willow looked at me like I was Moses on the mountain.

  “You’re so right!” she said. “Like, what’s the rush?”

  Know what I think? Maybe someone like Willow is so used to getting everything she wants exactly when she wants it that she just isn’t used to the idea of waiting for anything.

  But there you have it, N. I had a with Willow Twine!

  I only wish I could have a with you! XOXOXOXOXO

  SEPTEMBER OF TENTH GRADE, NYC

  SEPTEMBER ARRIVED AND AVY DIDN’T. HE’D KEPT HIS WORD ABOUT going back to LA and staying there. It was hard to imagine being at Herrin without him. We’d been together since kindergarten, and the thought of school without my best friend and confidant was a lonely prospect. The night before classes started, I called him.

  “Hey, s’up, Wonder Girl?” he answered.

  “Know what tomorrow is?” I asked.

  “Uh . . . first day of the rest of our lives?”

  “First day of school.”

  The line went silent for a moment. Then Avy said almost gleefully, “I told you I wasn’t coming back. You didn’t believe me, right?”

  It was true. Although now it struck me that the prospect of school without Avy was so uninviting that maybe I hadn’t wanted to believe him. “What do your parents say?”

  “You’ll love this. Know how they’ve been totally crazed about me being out here? Like, even threatening to hire a private detective to bring me home? Well, all of a sudden they’ve decided to become supportive. They want me to enroll in the Professional Children’s Academy and find a better place to live. Can you believe it?”

  “That’s . . . great! I guess,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment that he really, truly wasn’t coming back.

  “We’ll see,” Avy said with cautious optimism. “Could be the old reverse psychology trick. Like, they think if they go along with what I want I’ll be more likely to get it out of my system and come home.”

  “I don’t know, Avy. Enrolling you in the Professional Children’s Academy doesn’t sound like reverse psychology. It sounds like maybe you’ve convinced them that you’re serious.”

  “Yeah, right.” He suddenly sounded bitter. “Too bad they didn’t feel that way when I was offered that role on Rich and Poor.”

  “Anything new on the acting front?” I asked.

  “I’ve got some things cooking, but August was slow. Everyone says it always picks up in the fall. So, what about you? Sell any shots lately?”

  “The scene still hasn’t kicked into gear here, either,” I said. “But it will. I’m not worried.”

  “How’s Nasim? How was his trip to Iran?”

  This was another irksome and distressing part of my life. I told him that Nasim had come home from Iran the week before and hadn’t called. I’d waited two days and then called him. “He acted like nothing was wrong, but I could tell something was. Remember I told you about what happened last spring? When he was practicing for his recital and I got that call from Carla? It’s like he’s never really forgiven me for that.”

  “And you’ve talked to him about it, right?”

  “A bunch of times. He keeps saying it’s all right and he’s gotten past it, but he doesn’t act like it’s all right.”

  Avy was silent. Then he said, “I wish I knew what to say, Jamie. It sucks when you know someone you really care about is holding back. ’Cause there’s no way you can make them talk. So every time you see him you feel like it’s hovering there between you. The proverbial albatross around your neck.”

  Tears threatened to well up in my eyes. Avy was so great. How many people do you know who really listen and think about you like that? He was special, and that only made me miss him more. “Your parents aren’t the only ones who want you to come back, Avy. I miss you too.”

  “Yeah, I miss you,” he said, his tone changing. “You know, seriously, Wonder Girl, it’s not all fun and games out here. It gets lonely a lot. And there are so many people who can’t be bothered with you. You never feel more like a nobody than when you’re trying to be somebody and everyone’s closing doors in your face. Tell you the truth, I really am glad my parents want me to go to the Professional Children’s Academy. At least I’ll be with people like myself.”

  “Or you could just come back,” I said hopefully.

  “There’s no point. This is where I have to be. I mean, I know it’s gonna be hard, but I have to do it. And I will do it. Know how I know? Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I mean . . .” He paused, and I got the feeling he was debating whether to tell me something. “Guess where I’m going next week. Tijuana.”

  “Why?”

  “To have some work done.”

  “What kind of work?” I asked, not understanding.

  “Nose and chin.”

  I nearly dropped my cell phone. “Oh, Avy, you’re not serious!”

  He was quiet for a moment, as if that wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped for. Then he said, “You don’t understand, Jamie. It’s different out here.”

  “Your nose and chin are fine,” I said.

  “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

  �
��It’s mutilation, Avy.”

  “If that’s true, then just about everyone out here is mutilated,” he said.

  I was glad he couldn’t see the brief smile that came and went from my lips. But just because he could make a joke about it didn’t make it any less serious. I wanted him to know how extremely opposed I was to someone our age having cosmetic work done. We talked for a while longer, but nothing I said could make him change his mind. Avy clung to the idea like it was a life preserver . . . or a magic bullet that would alter the trajectory of his career.

  From there the conversation moved on to the safe and comfortable zone of celebrity gossip, a place where Avy and I could have easily dwelled for hours were it not for the limitations of our cell phone batteries. But deep inside I couldn’t help thinking that something was seriously wrong.

  FEBRUARY OF TENTH GRADE, NYC

  I WAS HYPER. CARLA HAD CALLED AND SAID SHE HAD SOMETHING HUGE, and now I was sitting in the waiting area of her office, hands pressed between my knees, feet tapping nervously. My career had been stalled for nearly a year. She’d said on the phone that this wouldn’t be like the Alicia Howard thing. It would be better. Whatever “it” was, I needed it badly.

  Carla skipped out of her office practically hyperventilating, plunked herself down on the couch, took my hands in hers and patted them. “You, my darling, are about to have your dreams come true.”

  My heart beat harder. I already knew that Willow Twine’s manager, Aaron Ives, and her publicist, Heather Taylor, were in Carla’s office, waiting to speak to me. What I didn’t know was why. A month earlier a fresh-faced Willow had emerged happy and smiling from rehab with a planned concert tour, dozens of interviews and TV appearances. Rex Dobro had been photographed with a strictly B-role actress named Dominika Bartoli. When asked about him, Willow said they were out of touch. It was as if he’d never happened.