Impossibly Tongue-Tied (20 page)

The blood, sweat, and tears that came with the journey.

The fun of being part of a family—whether that be in an acting class, or one of the multitude of plays rehearsing on any given night in town, or, for that matter, on a film set—

—In none of which a superstar, like Kat, was ever included.

Most of all, what was missing was any thirst for that elusive role of a lifetime.

Because once you were a star, there was no more blood, sweat, and tears, or community.

Or elusive roles, for that matter.

At least, from watching Kat, that's what Nathan deduced.

Yep, the phones were ringing off the hook—Sam's, with directors begging to work with her; Fiona's, for this photo opp; that media interview, or another one of a million promotional events; and Rain's, who was in charge of funneling all this to Kat, who then, depending on her mood or whimsy, picked and chose the projects she wanted to do. More than likely, however, she chose the ones that fit her already-set-in-stone image. Afterward, Rain would memorialize the choice on the Official Kat Kalendar, which was scheduled down to the minute and two years out, and no less detailed than a Pentagon war room battle plan.

How different would it have been, he wondered, if Kat weren't already a star, but just another starlet grasping for the next rung on the Tinseltown ladder, a “working actor” who was still schlepping from one casting agent's office to another, or from one audition to another—or from one acting class to another, for that matter? Would she have held the same appeal for him? Would he have left Nina for her?

Would the public that now watched Kat 'n' Nat's every move still give a damn whether it was a “match made in heaven”?

No, not at all.

Her attraction—to him, and to her adoring public—was the fact that she
was
a star.

The way Katerina McPherson played the star game (or, as she explained during one of her too few prescheduled moments to luxuriate out by the Olympic-size pool, how
everyone who was anyone
played the game) was to keep to the playbook created for her unique publicly perfected persona—her
brand
, as it were.

That way, all the nail-gnashing guesswork magically disappeared.

Sure, it was okay to tweak your brand now and then, to stay fresh in the public's mind. But seriously, what was the advantage in striving—and most likely, unsuccessfully—to be some film-to-film chameleon,
à la
Meryl or Cate?

After all, very few were
that
.

Hell no, warned Kat. Messing with the formula was asking for trouble. If some of the other A-list ladies wanted to be “actors,” well then, more power to them. She, on the other hand, would settle for being a mere star.

Either way, she'd get her hour of glory on
The Actor's Studio
, thank you very much. And so would he, she reassured Nathan while giving him a massage. With her at his side—or straddling his back, as she was now—it was only a matter of time.

It was remarks like that one that kept Nathan up at night long after Kat—finally sexually sated, her face slathered with the wrinkle-reducing miracle serum
du nuit
—fell into a gently snoring slumber. Frankly, he
enjoyed
the struggle inherent to his profession. He
wanted
to compete for the meaty, offbeat roles. Nathan
lived
for the subconscious nod, that thoughtful contemplation, and, finally, that phrase every director says when you've nailed the role: “That's it! I think we've got our guy…”

…Because he loved being an actor.

He just wasn't that crazy about being a star.

 

As Sam had warned Nina, within forty-eight hours of Nathan's divorce filing, the imminent demise of her marriage was bannered on the cover of every celebrity magazine, becoming fodder for public speculation and (in her mind, at least) pity.

“Kat Nips New Lover's Marriage in the Bud” gushed
Us Weekly
, while
People
heralded, “A Harte to Harte with Kat,” and
In Touch
screamed, “Kat to Nat: No More Nina!” as
Star
asked, “Nina Who? Nat Prefers Kat!”

Page Six was a lot less coy: “Hot Hunk Kisses Kat Hello and Wife Good-bye” ran alongside a photo of Nathan's infamous Oscar kiss with Katerina, while Rush & Molloy proclaimed: “Nat to Nina: It's Kat, and That's That!” and Defamer.com mused: “Kat's Li'l Kittens? Vegas Oddsmakers Say So…”

“‘
Kittens'?
” Kat fairly howled at that one. “Pray tell, why would Vegas bookies think that
those
odds would work?”

“Because I told them it would,” retorted Fiona. “I'd rather see you come off as a madonna than a wicked stepmother to Nathan's kid.”

“Madonna? Who said anything about me being like Madonna? My fans don't think Nathan is
that
much younger than me, do they?” Panic-stricken, Kat picked up a mirror and perused her face for any telltale signs of natural aging.

“No—I didn't mean Madonna, as in the star, I meant
a
madonna, as in angelic mother icon.”

“Oh.” Kat put down the mirror. “
Hmmm
…Yeah, I think
I could get into that. Kids are, like, so
in
right now. Everyone's got a cute one but me!”

She frowned. This Fiona knew, not because Kat's forehead was creased (as if it could anymore, what with all the Botox she'd had) but because the star's inflated lips had turned down somewhat at the corners. “I mean, hell, I missed out on that whole chihuahua thing, and now I'm getting passed over on the kid thing, too! I never get invited to those hip baby showers, and none of those cute baby boutiques have me on their swag lists…Yeah, I could totally see having a kid around. But not if I have to do that whole
childbirth
thing. I'd rather pull a Nicole. You know, avoid stretch marks, or even, God forbid, a C-section.”

“Well, since, Nathan's already got a kid, you could get away with that if you just adopted his.”

“Omigod! Fiona, you are a
genius!
” Kat ran up to her and gave her the one thing she assumed all of Team Kat coveted most from her: an air kiss.

Fiona pretended to be honored, then added cautiously, “Of course, his wife might not like that idea.”

“Bull! Who wouldn't want their kid raised in the lap of luxury? She'll fold eventually. What's the brat's name, Jason?…
Jake
? Damn! It's just too bad he's not a girl! Their clothes are so much more fun to shop for…”

 

While Fiona was force-feeding the celebrity press corps, Rain was given the task of dishing the minute-by-minute scoops of Kat poop into Serenity's ear, who in turn wrote public sympathy notes to the star, something to the effect that “Despite having to deal with the trauma of all this nerve-wracking di
vorce brouhaha while filming what she's told those nearest and dearest to her is ‘the role of my career,' she is being a real trouper on the set, to the awe of the rest of her cast and crewmembers…”

At the same time, Riley was smearing Nina as much as he could to Baxter, whose next column began, “How nuts is Nina, Nathan's soon-to-be-ex? Let me tell you, readers: Neighbors say she's as fruity as they come! Seems that her crying jags are what drove our man Nat into the arms of his gal Kat in the first place…”

Within a week's time, it was an all-out war between the two gossip gadflies. Day after day the public was barraged with late-breaking “Kat 'n' Nat News Alerts”—both in print and online—as each columnist tried to one-up the other. At the same time, both were wondering
where in the hell
the other had found the so-called exclusive dirt that had just been flung.

The biggest scoop that week came in on the night of Sage Oak Academy's sold-out production of
My Fair Lady
. Unfortunately the Hartes had reserved only two seats, and these were adjacent, as requested: a
big
mistake, considering that Nina and Nathan were now separated—
and
Kat insisted on taking one of those seats, too. Or, as she exclaimed to Nathan, she was just dying to see “our little boy.” (Unbeknownst to Nathan, that was what she called Jake whenever she'd forgotten the child's name—at least it was her nickname for the kid when Nathan was in hearing distance. Otherwise, “little brat” was preferred).

After a long, hard day at work, Nina rushed into the mobbed school auditorium with her front-row-center ticket in hand—only to find Kat sitting in her reserved seat.

A hush fell over the milling crowd. Everyone pretended to look in other directions, but all ears (not to mention a few camera phones, including one that just so happened to be carried by the ubiquitous Rain) awaited Nina's reaction. Stunned and trembling, Nina purposefully ignored Kat as she growled at Nathan. “
What the hell is
she
doing here?
”

Of course, he hadn't meant to hurt Nina. He'd just forgotten the seating situation. In fact, he had hoped that he and Kat would be able to slip in and out of the play without too much fuss being made over them—

Before he could say a word, Kat smiled graciously and leaned in slightly so that her whispered response could only be heard by Nina: “I'm not leaving, so live with it—unless you want to make a scene and embarrass that brat kid of yours. Of course, if you do,
Nathan will hate you forever.
”

Later, half of those who were there—at least, those who knew Kat, aspired to know her, or believed everything they read in the fanzines—would claim that, if looks could kill, the actress would have been buried right there on the spot by the glare emanating from Nathan's half-crazed soon-to-be ex. The other half—those who knew Nina, if only to exchange a few friendly remarks at the monthly SOA PTA soiree—would insist that she looked as if her heart had snapped in two, right then and there.

Both sides were right. And both sides would have been in agreement that what Nina did next was pure class. Taking a deep breath and holding her head up high, she walked slowly to the back of the auditorium, where she stood throughout the two-hour performance, ignoring the pitying glances cast her way.

Of course, to read Baxter's column the next day, you would have assumed that Nina had threatened Kat's life before running home to slash her wrists. Then again, who wouldn't, after seeing the accompanying photo (courtesy of Rain and six other “anonymous sources”) of an angry Nina standing over a sweet, smiling Kat?

No doubt about it, Jake hated Balloon Lips, which was what he secretly called Daddy's new girlfriend.

He knew it was because of Balloon Lips that Daddy never came home anymore. She was also why Daddy had forgotten to pick up Jake for their last two Team Harte catch-and-throw dates. And worst of all, since his parents' separation, Jake now had to spend every other weekend at Balloon Lips's house, where he was forbidden to go into any room other than the one with the gigantic TV, or the room designated as his bedroom, which was all the way on the other side of the house from where Daddy slept.

With Balloon Lips.

Even when Jake was in the TV room, he wasn't allowed to sit on the furniture, just on the floor. And not with any food or drink, either, because, as Balloon Lips once said to him out of earshot of Daddy: “This Oriental carpet is worth more than you'll ever be, kid, so just suck it up.”

One Saturday, he took her words to heart and sucked up the only thing she allowed him to drink—that horrible fizzy water she bought by the case. Then, when he couldn't hold any more liquids, Jake did what any little boy with a full bladder would do: He peed—although not in a toilet (heck, not one of the many adults floating around with those blue knobs crammed in their ears had even
bothered
to show him where the bathroom was!) but into one of the potted plants that filled the humongous TV room.

Being bad never felt so great.

So great, in fact, that the next time he had to go pee, he didn't even bother to run to the plant. He just stood up and did it right there on Balloon Lips's damn Oriental carpet.

Soon, discovering new places to pee became a game. The house had lots of nooks and crannies, so finding a nice, quiet corner wasn't a problem at all. As the weekend went on and on (without Daddy, since Balloon Lips always pouted whenever Daddy left their bedroom to check up on Jake), he got bolder, choosing spots right out in the open, like the formal dining room, or by the back door.

That night, Daddy came to tell the little boy that he had to take Balloon Lips to some party, so to go to bed when that girl Rain told him to. Oh, Jake went to bed, all right: to Daddy and Balloon Lips's bed—where he took a poo, right after peeing in some fancy shoes (named after some little boy's train, “Jimmy Choo-Choo,” he thought) in her closet.

When they got home at dawn, Balloon Lips's screams could be heard even as far away as Jake's bedroom. It sent a chill through him. The four-year-old hovered in the dark under the
blanket, not knowing just what to expect. But he could hear her coming, cursing and ranting each step of the way.

He prayed he was invisible, that when she flipped on the light he might vanish into thin air. At first he thought his prayers were answered when all he could hear was the sound of his own asthmatic breathing. But he was wrong. This he knew when she peeled back his covers, jerked him up by his pajama shirt, and slapped his face.

Just once,
but hard
.

His whimpers didn't stop, even when Daddy picked him up, cuddled him, and drove off with him, far away from Balloon Lips's evil castle.

Only when Jake saw Mommy's face did he stop crying, because he knew he was making her cry, too.

Daddy didn't cry, though, because he was too big of a boy for that. But Jake could tell he wanted to, because of the tears in Daddy's eyes.

And that was the only reason the little boy would finally forgive him.

 

Usually the Sunday crowd at the original Urth Caffé on Melrose was too hip to stare at this celeb gulping down his Old Grandpa, or that starlet sipping her Spanish latte, even when such luminaries were practically sitting in one's lap, which was most likely the case, considering how the tiny bistro tables were crammed onto the private patio.

Still, it was hard not to stare at Nina, whose old Honda Civic barely screeched to a stop curbside before she jumped out and stalked angrily through the cafe.

Spotting her prey—Kat, trying to look inconspicuous in oversize Prada shades (if that were even possible) as she and Nathan leisurely perused the Sunday
Los Angeles Times
—Nina strolled over to their table, picked up the actress's very large mug of Manhattan Mudd, and tossed it onto Kat's ostrich feather–trimmed Betsey Johnson cropped cardigan.

The actress's earth-shattering screech was hard to ignore, as were the large, dark wet spots on her sweater, which was now clinging damply to her, giving her adoring public two more reasons to further contemplate her upper anatomy.

It was later reported by Serenity that Nina's parting words were: “If you ever touch my son again, I'll punch you so hard you'll need at least three plastic surgeries to fix your ugly puss…” or something to that effect. Then she casually purchased a cappuccino on the way out while the actress very loudly berated her boyfriend for his choice in exes.

 

Kat's payback was devious: She sent Nathan to pick up Jake under the pretense that she wanted to apologize to the little boy. Hoping that such a big move on Kat's part would assuage some of Nina's anger, he did as he was told.

As Kat suspected, just being in proximity to his father's girlfriend brought the little boy to tears. That was exactly the look she wanted from him. After the so-called apology, Rain took Jake to the kitchen under the pretext of getting him some ice cream, when in truth her mission, as ordered by her devious mistress, was to take a close-up picture of the bruise Kat's slap had created on Jake's face—which she was then immediately to hand deliver to Riley, who would then promptly pass it on to Baxter, who led with it in the next morning's column.

Because Nina's new philosophy on the tabloids was based on that old adage “ignorance is bliss,” she wasn't even aware that, once again, mud had been slung her way.

Besides, she was much too busy breaking up a fight between Mr. Baxter and Ms. Hannigan, the imperious attorney whose standing order of Beluga caviar was one of Nina's many responsibilities, as both laid claim to the last of the sea bass.

So, when Tori whispered fervently into Nina's ear that Sage Oak Academy was calling to inform her that Ylva had pointedly abandoned Jake at the school, which, now that it was six o'clock, was closing for the evening, Nina was thrown for a loop.

“If you'll excuse me,” she murmured to the bickering customers before racing up the aisle to grab the phone. Frantically, she punched in Ylva's cell number.

“Ja?” The Swedish au pair's boredom was obvious, even with
Elmo's Happy Tapping
playing in the background.

“Ylva! The school just called,” Nina hissed into the phone. “They say you've left Jake there. Why didn't you take him home with you and Plum?”

“Because Vecca say you are child veeter. No more carpool, she say.”

“What? She called me a—a
what?
” Between Ylva's accent and all the tap dancing in the background, Nina couldn't grasp what words the au pair had mangled.

“I say ‘child
veeter'!
You hurt Yake, ja? So now Vecca feel Ploom is not safe. Now
I
must drive
every day
.” Her tone clearly indicated that Nina was at fault for that unpleasant change in her circumstances.

Tears rose in Nina's eyes. “How dare she say—why, I've never hit Jake!”

“The papers, they have the pictures. Brat Ploom calling. Bye-bye now!” Plum's petulant appeal was silenced with a click from Ylva's handset.

Pictures? In the newspapers? Nina grabbed a
Daily Times-News
from the newsstand. Scanning the lifestyle articles, she came across
Baxter Quinn's Hollywood Exxxposé
column.

There it was, under the headline: “Battered Up: Nat's Nina Is Slap-Happy with Son!” Alongside the photo of the bruised and tearful Jake was Quinn's exclusive interview with Kat in which she tearfully recounted the two incidents in which her life was “threatened” by Nina—at the school play, at Urth Caffe—and then claimed that she now feared for the lives of “the two guys she loved most.” And herself, of course. “That woman is dangerous, and I have the photos to prove it!”

A smaller inset photo showed a close-up of Kat's low-cut, coffee-stained cardigan. Her pose did little to call readers' attention to anything other than her breasts.

Obviously, that was the point.

Omigod
, thought Nina.
So now everyone in the world thinks that I beat Jake?

Of course they did. There it was in black and white. It was all the proof they needed.

Heck, it had even persuaded the starstruck Becca (whose role as the Hartes' carpool partner had finally paid off by allowing her to bask in Nathan's newfound fame, too, albeit vicariously) to dump Jake in SOA's after-school day care, without even a courtesy call to Nina.

The bitch.

She had to get out of there! She had to go,
now
, to Jake, so that he wouldn't feel as if he'd been abandoned.

By a mommy whom the whole world thought beat him.

Tears streamed down her face. She looked around for Tori so that she could tell her she was clocking out. Then she remembered where Tori was:

Refereeing the brawl between Mr. Baxter and Ms. Hannigan, who now could be heard throughout the store threatening to sue Tommaso's for breach of sea bass.

Nina ran back down to the fish department. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Please—please, stop it!”

They ignored her, as did Tori, whose high-pitched screeches weren't helping the situation.

I have to get out of here…I have to get out of here…

Nina grabbed a cleaver from the fish counter, raised it, and hacked the bass in two. Picking up both pieces, she slapped one into Mr. Baxter's open hand, and the other in Ms. Hannigan's.

“There! Are you satisfied?” she roared at them. “Now…now
you can both have the damn thing!
”

All three of them stared at her, as if they'd seen a ghost. One thing was for sure: Whoever this person was, standing in front of them with a fish cleaver in her hand, she certainly wasn't the sweet, quiet Tommaso's concierge they'd come to know all these years.

No, I'm not that woman anymore,
thought Nina.
I'm a bitch who supposedly beats my son.

It was that thought, coupled with the realization that Nathan hadn't cared enough to stop Kat, that took her breath away.

She fainted.

When she came to, Mr. Baxter was fanning her face with a
fish recipe card, while Ms. Hannigan was yelling at the 911 operator to “get an ambulance here
tout sweet
, or baby, I'll have you tied up in court until it's time to meet your Maker…” while Tori was repeating the store's address to her, over and over again, like a mantra—

It felt nice to know that a few people actually cared about her.

Nina tried to sit up. “Mr. Baxter, I didn't mean to—” She couldn't help it. The tears started streaming down her face again.

“Hush!” He whispered. “It's okay, doll face. Just a little too much excitement.” He grinned down at her. “That Escada-wearing battle-ax didn't know what a hissy fit was until
you
showed her how it's done right—”

I've never seen him smile like that before, ever
, she thought. The notion that Mr. Baxter
could
smile made her laugh tearfully.

Seeing her reaction, he chuckled, too. “Now that's
much
better, babycakes.” He helped her to her feet. “So, give, sweet thing: What took your breath away? Surely not
this
little tiff.”

By now the others had realized that Nina had come to, and were anxious to hear the same.

“Oh…no! God, no…I—I just found out that—that people are saying I beat my son!”

“What, little Jake?” Tori was horrified. “Why, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!”

“Yes, I know!” Nina picked up the paper she'd tossed down on the fish counter when she grabbed the cleaver, and handed it to Tori. “But there it is, in
Hollywood Exxxposé
. They're calling me an—an abuser!”

Mr. Baxter glanced down at Nina's nametag.

Suddenly he put two and two together. Unconsciously he dropped his precious sea bass on the floor.

“You…you're
that
Nina?” Both Mr. Baxter and Ms. Hannigan exclaimed at the same time. For some reason, they both looked uncomfortable.

“I'm Nina Harte, yes,” she said proudly. She didn't flinch at all under their sudden scrutiny. “My husband left me for—for Katerina McPherson.” Nina couldn't help it. She started sobbing again. “Now she wants my child, too…even after she
hit him!
”

“There, there,” Ms. Hannigan patted her hand helplessly. “We can't let that happen. We
won't
let that happen! I will personally—I'll sue that bastard who wrote that crap—”

“Nina, I'm sorry,” said Mr. Baxter sadly. “Please forgive me.
I'm
the one who—who wrote that awful crap…about you.”

“
You?
But how…” She didn't get it.

“Nina, what I'm trying to tell you is that
I'm Baxter Quinn
.”

“Omigod,” murmured Nina, “You're
that
Baxter? Baxter
Quinn
? But…I thought…Why are you saying all those awful things about me?”

The tears were streaming down her face again, but she looked him straight in the eye as she declared, “I would never hit my child.
Ever.
”

Why of course she wouldn't. He could see that in her eyes.

Suddenly he realized what a fool he'd been. Both Riley and Katerina had been playing him like a fiddle!