Secrets of My Hollywood Life: There’s No Place Like Home (11 page)

“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, Paula, 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.

“You have to find out,” I beg. I have to get out of this room and find him myself. But how? I’ll never make it past the three
of them. But I have to. I have to know Austin is okay. “And then you have to rehire Laney!”

Dad looks confused. “Who is Laney?”

“Laney Peters?” I gripe, and Dad still looks at me strangely. “The biggest publicist in Hollywood? The one I’ve had since
I was a kid? Dad, stop pretending not to know who she is! Is Mom putting you up to this to try to make me forget Laney?”

Mom is aghast. “Honey, why would I make Daddy pretend to forget this friend of yours?”

“She’s not a friend, she’s my publicist!” I say, frustrated, and I lay my head on the uncomfortable pillow.

“Are you talking about Alexis Holden’s publicity person?” Matty asks and blushes when Dad looks at him funny. “I read a lot
of
Hollywood Nation
, okay? She’s always quoted in there.”

“Laney took on Alexis as a client?” I flip. “Since when? When I was under anesthesia? Mom, do you see what you’ve done?” I
glare at her. “Next you’re going to tell me Sky hired her too!”

“Sky Mackenzie?” Matty questions, running a hand through his messy hair. “She is such a train wreck. I love it. Did you see
this week’s
Hollywood Nation
? I was reading it in the waiting room. She is in serious need of rehab.”

“No, she’s not,” I huff. “Sky is completely sober, Matty, and you know it! That’s not nice to say. And you know what else
isn’t nice?” I glance at Mom, who is clutching that Coach knockoff for dear life. “Firing my people behind my back. I’m eighteen
now, and I get to make my own decisions. I want Seth and Laney back. And Nadine too! Or else I’ll…” I can’t stop staring at
Mom. “Or else I’ll…”

Forget it. I still can’t threaten to fire my own mother.

“Who is Nadine again?” my dad asks and scratches his head. “Do I know a Nadine?” Mom shrugs.

Cough
.

I’m staring at my family, but none of them have coughed. Who just coughed? I pull back the curtain and stare at the thirtysomething
blond woman in the next bed. Both of her legs are in traction, but her hands are free and she appears to be taking notes on
a notepad. She must be preparing to tell
Hollywood Nation
all about my fight with my family! If it wasn’t so hard to get up, I’d pull that pad right out of her nail-bitten hands.
Instead I say calmly: “If you even
think
of calling the
Hollywood Nation
tip line and telling them what you just heard, I will slap you with a defamation lawsuit faster than a nurse can bring you
Jell-O.”

“I’m so sorry,” Mom apologizes to the woman and tries to close the curtain again. “She’s had quite a day.”

But that didn’t happen! You made it out of that fire, and you got the girls out too! You’re a hero, Paige.

I look at the TV mounted on the wall and cheer up instantly. “Hey, they’re playing a
Family Affair
rerun!” That’s Spencer talking. He played my dad. He’s standing in what remains of the family’s living room, and he’s giving
the famous speech he made when part of the Buchanan mansion burned down (we find out later it was arson).

“Ooh, honey, I forgot what night it was,” Mom says to Dad as we continue to play Peeping Tom on my roommate. “Did you remember
to set the DVR?”

“Do you guys mind?” the woman complains, holding her bedsheet higher on her chest.

“Sorry,” Mom apologizes and pulls the curtain out of my hands as I continue to telepathically convey what will happen if she
calls the tabloids. “Honey, put on Kaitlin’s TV!”

Dad flips to the channel and uses the remote on my bed to turn the volume up.

“God, I loved this scene,” I tell my family, feeling nostalgic and a tad weepy. It must be the anesthesia. My years on
FA
were crazy, but no more so than life has been lately. I still miss everyone in the cast so much. “Remember? Tom filmed Spencer’s
big speech and it was so passionate, he wound up using the first take.”

“And you know this how?” Matty asks.

“I was in that scene.” I shrug and look up at the TV screen again. “Don’t you remember? It was eleven o’clock at night when
we finished filming. It took all day to shoot this five-minute clip because there are so many of us in this one part. I love
Sky’s and my lines. Especially Sky’s. ‘Oh please. Would you two quit it? I have bad thoughts every day of the week and no
one bursts into flames.’” I laugh.