Remember When 2 (11 page)

Me: Meaning?

TW: Meaning I’d already had my first job by chance as an extra on a
Mighty Ducks
movie and I guess I’d been bitten by the acting bug. I finally moved out to L.A. in March of ninety-four under the guise of attending college in the fall. But I knew why I was really there.

Me: You managed to get work right away?

TW: (laugh) Oh, sure. I “auditioned” for and landed a couple “parts” in a bunch of different... “projects”.

Me: Off-screen productions, am I to assume?

TW: About as far off-screen as a person can get.

Me: What were some of your early jobs?

TW: Well, let’s see. I was a counselor at an indoor ice rink, teaching kids how to play hockey. That was pretty cool. No pun intended.

Me: (something unintelligible)

TW: I’m an actor, not a comedian, remember?

Me: Obviously. (pause) So, you were telling me about your pre-stardom jobs.

TW: Yes. Well, I had to quit the Ice House in order to keep my days free for auditions. I took a job as a waiter after that.

Me: How very... typical.

TW: Tell me about it. But there’s a reason so many actors take those kinds of jobs. It’s mostly night work and you can always rearrange your schedule should the need arise.

Me: Understood.

TW: Besides, it was great training for my first official appearance on the big screen.

Me: Which was?

TW: A little movie no one ever saw called
Failing to Fly
. I played a waiter for about ten seconds onscreen.

Me: (pause)
I
saw it.

TW: (pause) So, you were the one. (laugh)

Me: It would seem so.

TW: (something unintelligible)

Me: Let’s just get back to your resume, Trip.

TM: (laugh) Sure. Oh! Here’s a good one. After I was fired from the waiter gig-

Me: Wait, hold on. Fired?

TW: I dumped a plate of carbonara in Harvey Weinstein’s lap. Anyway-

Me: Trip, hold on. Harvey Weinstein, the producer? Please tell me it wasn’t on purpose.

TW: It wasn’t on purpose.

Me: (pause)

TW: What? You
told
me to say that! But I did manage to get his attention. Next thing I know, I’m auditioning for
Bonded
, so you do the math.

Me: Your breakout role.

TW: Yes.

Me: Acquired by accosting the biggest producer in the world with a plate of pasta.

TW: I plead the fifth.

Me: (pause) So, after your waiter job, you started landing regular acting roles?

TW: No. I’d already filmed
Bonded
, but it hadn’t hit the screens yet and no one knew who I was. I still had to make rent, so I took a job with the city.

Me: Care to elaborate?

TW: I had a few responsibilities, but my main job was to scrape dead animals off the road with a spatula truck.

Me: Eww.

TW: Yeah. Eww.

Me: So, after
Bonded
came out...

TW: After
Bonded
, Quentin called me in to do
The Bank Vault
. It was an amazing experience. We all knew it was going to be big.

Me: Nominated for eight different academy awards, including Trip Wiley for best supporting actor... It would seem you were right.

TW: Yes.

Me: (something unintelligible)

TW: Aw, Lay. I don’t want to talk about awards and crap.

Me: Okay... Tell me what life was like once
The Bank Vault
was released.

TW: Oh, you can’t even believe it. Suddenly, my phone was ringing off the hook, producers and directors alike calling my
listed
number because I didn’t even have a new agent yet. I scrambled around until I got hooked up with David at C.A.A., and well, you and I kind of already covered the rest from there.

Me: Overnight stardom?

TW: Hardly. I spent four years in Hollywood before I even got my first speaking role in
The Fairways
. My part in
Bonded
, I was only onscreen for about ten minutes total. But it was a huge film and I happened to be a part of it. It led to
The Bank Vault
, which, let’s face it, opened a lot of doors. I know I got lucky, but trust me, it wasn’t overnight.

Me: Speaking of “getting lucky”, is the word around town true that you’re quite the ladies’ man?

TW: (laugh) Layla, did you seriously just ask me that?

Me: (laugh)

TW: Oh, Jesus. Fine. Okay. Yes, I’ve been fortunate enough to meet a few lovely, beautiful women out on the west coast. They’re not Jersey girls, of course, but then again, few women are.

Me: Yes, few of us can be so blessed.

TW: (pause) (something unintelligible) (laugh)

Me: Well, I’m glad you’re proud of your Catholic upbringing. Let’s get back to your dating history. I’m sure the female readers of
Now!
are interested to know if there’s a special someone in Trip Wiley’s life.

TW: (pause) Actually, uh, I just recently became engaged.

Me: (huge pause) You’re engaged?

TW: Jenna Barnes.

Me: (pause)

TW: Victoria’s Secret.

Me: Ah. Yes. I remember now.

TW: But she’s been doing a little acting these days, too.

Me: (pause)

TW: Our relationship’s going on almost a year now. God, she’d probably kill me for not remembering the exact date we started seeing each other. You’ll edit this part out, right?

Chapter 11

WHAT WOMEN WANT

   I turned off the tape recorder and stared at Trip, flabbergasted. “You’re
engaged
.”

   Trip confirmed, again. “Yes.”

   I was stunned to the core and doing a damned awful job of concealing it. “Wow. That’s... That’s some big news. Congratulations!”

   He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”

   I knew who his fiancée was. I’d seen her pictures in my monthly Victoria’s Secret catalogs along with the occasional movie magazine. She was a leggy blonde bombshell with those razor-sharp hip bones that defined an inevitable career in modeling. I hadn’t been witness to any of her acting however, so I assumed her films weren’t quite yet breaking any box office records. She was not only sickeningly beautiful, but apparently brilliant as well. I’d seen her on Letterman one night talking about her days at Yale University.
Yale!
 

   And Trip was going to marry her.

   I had a flash of some pictures I’d seen in
Entertainment Weekly
a few months prior. Trip had escorted Sonja Keating to a charity dinner for the Make-A-Wish foundation, but was snapped hours later leaving that same event with Hallie Simone. And who was that young blonde tart on his arm at The Viper Room in
STAR
over the summer? The question was out of my mouth before I had time to filter it. “You’ve been together a year? What about all those pictures of you with other women?”

   I realized I’d probably just insulted him, but Trip only smirked in defense. “Well, Jenna and I were only
dating
back then. We just got
engaged
last month.”

   “So, are you trying to tell me that it wasn’t really serious until a few weeks ago?” Saying the words aloud made me realize what I hypocrite I was, criticizing him when I was practically in the same situation.

   He swiped a hand over his face before answering. “Pretty much, yeah. Jenna was all flipped out about those pictures, which is kinda what forced me to pop the question. But it’s also the reason why we haven’t made any official announcements about it yet. She wants people to see us being exclusive for a while before we bother with a press release. You know, so they take us seriously. So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t write anything about it in your article.”

   Was he serious? “Trip, you do realize that you just confessed that groundbreaking little tidbit to a
reporter
, right?”

   “I thought I was confiding in a
friend
.”

   I’d heard about these conundrums during my journalism classes in college. We’d been warned that there would come a time when we’d be forced to choose between nabbing an exclusive and protecting someone we knew. While most general wisdom leaned toward printing the truth no matter what, I already knew that I wasn’t going to sell Trip out.

   So, I cut him a deal. “Okay, fine. I will give you my word not to print anything about your engagement in this article.”

   Trip looked relieved and started to say “Thank you”, but I cut him off with, “
But
, you have to promise that you will call me the second you guys are ready to make an official announcement. I still have the exclusive on this, got it?”

   He leaned forward again, wringing his hands over his knees. “Uh, actually, Layla, that might be a problem.”

   “How so?”

   “Well, Jenna wants to tell everyone on-camera at the Oscars next March. Beforehand, during the red carpet interviews.”

   I looked at him in disbelief. “
Six months
from now? You can’t be serious.”

   I was pissed. My first real scoop as a legitimate reporter (sort of) and it was slated to be given to
Joan Rivers
.

   Trip looked duly chastened by my words, but made a final plea. “Look, Layla. I can only ask that you don’t print the story. Jenna and I... well, we’ve had our problems. Letting something like this slip to the press could mean the end of us.”

   Sounded like a solid relationship. Not.

   I could only look at him tongue-tied and annoyed because I already knew I wasn’t going to print the story. I’d accepted that the information Trip had shared was meant for my ears only, and I wasn’t about to betray my friend’s trust. The fact that I was a “reporter” was secondary.

   But he must have mistaken my silence to mean I was mulling it over. “Can I beg you? Darling? Please?” Trip asked as he slid off the couch, pushed the coffee table aside, and dropped to the floor in front of me. He was grinning like a madman, clasping his fists in front of my legs and laughing out, “Look at me. Look what I’m doing for you, Layla. You’ve literally got me on my knees here.”

   In spite of my anger, I started cracking up. “If you start singing, I think I’ll have to kill you. Get up, you mook. You don’t need to beg.”

   Trip squished my face between his hands and planted a huge, smiling smooch right on my lips. “Thank you! I knew I could count on you.”

   “Don’t go thanking me yet, Chester. You owe me a replacement exclusive, something that’s not only never been written before, but something that no one but you even
knows
. And you’d better come up with it quick.”

   He sat back down on the sofa, scratching the stubble at his chin as he thought. I saw the lightbulb go off over his head, so I pressed record on the digital as Trip offered, “Well, back before she was a world-renowned reporter, I did nail this one girl in a tent...”

    I practically jumped across the table to hit the stop button. “Trip!”

   He started laughing, gave my knee a good squeeze. “Oh, please. Let’s just acknowledge the elephant in the room, shall we? Damn, that was a good night.”

   Of course he was right, and I was flattered that our night still ranked in his memory, even after the gazillions of other girls he’d been with since. But I still felt like I was crossing some imaginary line when I acquiesced, “Yes. Yes, it was.”

   He looked at me for way too long, the memory of our one amazing night together passing between us.

   He slowly cocked a brow and admitted, “You know... I
use
it sometimes,” the smirk on his lips telling me more than I had any right to know.

   “Trip! For godsakes!”

   That caused him to bust out laughing, and caused
me
to turn the most embarrassing shade of crimson. But I said, “You’re so bad,” as I shook my head and gave his leg a smack, trying to regain our casual banter.

   Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Trip was the one to jump up and answer it. Sandy was there, expressing her apologies for interrupting, but explaining that Trip had another interview to get to. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he closed the door and came back over to the
couch. “I was able to buy us five more minutes.” He flopped down on the sofa like he owned the place, which, I guess, in a way, he sort of did.

   I had a million more questions for him. I wanted to ask about his family, find out how things were going between him and his father. I wanted to know more about what he did in the years between dropping contact with me and striking it big in Los Angeles. I wanted to convince him that he was making a huge mistake with the underwear model, and to ask him if I’d get to see him again before he left New York.