Pinch Hit (5 page)

“I had no idea,” Sam said.

“I know.” She spoke lightly, and her face was pleasant. “That's why I'm telling you, not to make you feel bad. Trevor doesn't know what it's like to be a normal kid, but I grew up in Seattle. This whole thing is only a couple years old to me. He was born into it.”

Sam glanced in the direction Trevor had disappeared. “I only wanted to help my dad, you know?”

“
I
know,” she said. “Don't worry. Just let it be for a while. I thought I heard him ask you to play Xbox, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good, when we break for lunch, I'll be there and get everything back to normal. Just don't bring up your dad's script again and it'll all be fine. We'll be here all summer. Who knows, by the end, maybe
I
can bring it up indirectly, and then maybe he'll help.”

“You? That's awesome. But you don't even know me.”

“I like your face.”

Sam blushed.

“Well, I better get to makeup myself,” McKenna said. “Good luck.”

“I don't really have to do anything.”

“I know,” she said. “You'll be bored out of your mind, and your back will ache from standing in one spot all day. That's why I say good luck.”

“How do you know about the backache?” Sam asked.

McKenna cocked her head at him. “Don't you know? I started out like you. I was a stand-in, then they ‘discovered' me. Don't get your hopes up, though. They've already got one of you. Trevor Goldman.”

Sam knew by her tone that McKenna wasn't being mean; she was just saying the facts. “I'm a baseball player. I want to play at USC. My team's in USC's big tournament this summer. If we get to the finals like everyone thinks we will, and I win the MVP, I get to go to their Elite Training Center and I'm on my way.”

“USC? Wow. That would be hot.”

“Then to the pros.” Sam spoke almost under his breath, and he looked away. “You know, if I get lucky.”

“Maybe you will.”

There was a commotion at the entrance to the soundstage. A woman shouted, cursing and barging through a cluster of people until she stood at the bottom of the set, staring up at Sam and McKenna. The woman wore a white robe and a turban and he knew she was someone famous, but Sam couldn't quite say who.

“You!” the woman screamed, pointing at the set so that Sam looked around him at the men working there. “Out!”

A man in a bomber jacket and baseball cap who Sam recognized as the director, Pierce Everette, approached the crazed woman and put two gentle hands on her shoulders. “Diana, please. What's wrong? What are you doing?”

“
Him!
I want him off this set! I want him a million miles away from my son. Don't you ever let him back! Ever! Do you hear me?”

“Diana,” the director said calmly. “Who are you talking about? What's the problem?”

The woman trembled, but seemed to gain some composure as she lowered her voice. “Pierce, I'm sorry to barge in here like this, but you know me, and you know my husband, and you know that if I want something, it
will
happen. So please, just remove him from the set. I don't want to go into it. It's not important. I have my reasons. Just make him leave. Now.”

Sam's mouth fell open because he realized as all eyes turned his way that the crazy woman was talking about
him
.

With the dressing room door open, Trevor could hear his mother's shouting from where he sat. He started to remove the cape and get up out of the makeup chair, then paused, not wanting to get in the way of her anger. He'd done that before and knew it was to be avoided at all costs. While his mother was kind and caring, she could also be equally wicked and vicious. When she was in a rant, his father always said you had to watch out for friendly fire.

When the shouting subsided, Trevor signaled the makeup artist to stop. He swept away the cape and got up, walked along the back of the set, and peeked around into the orange light. His mother spoke in a low tone to the director. Everyone else gave them a wide space. McKenna rounded the corner and almost knocked him down.

“What happened?” he asked her in a hushed voice.

McKenna bit into her lower lip and shook her head. “Nothing. Your mom fired the stand-in.”

“Sam?”

McKenna nodded and pointed to the hairnet Sam had dropped on the set.

“Why?”

“You weren't very nice to him, now you care?”

“McKenna, he started asking me about my dad. You know I hate that.”

“Helping people?” McKenna made a face.

“People need to help themselves, too.”

“People helped me.”

“McKenna, I don't mean you.”

“I'm just saying, Trevor. He seemed nice and now he just got run off the set. From the way your mom sounded, I doubt he'll get a spot in a crowd scene.”

“Well, I didn't say anything to her. I don't even know why she came.”

“In her bathrobe.”

“Her bathrobe?” Trevor looked out over the set. He now saw Gabriel in the shadows, watching Trevor's mother, but staying clear. “Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?”

“He acted really weird when he saw Sam. He freaked out. He must have called her and she came without even bothering to get dressed, but
why
?”

“You two look exactly alike, you know.”

“Why would that make him call my mom?”

McKenna looked like she was about to say something.

“What?” Trevor asked.

“No, nothing,” she said.

“McKenna, come on.”

McKenna hesitated. “He looks
exactly
like you, Trevor. Exactly. And get this: he's really into baseball. Sounds like he's good, too. He's on some team going for the city title this summer. Something about USC scouting him.”

“Scouting him for baseball?” Trevor couldn't keep the envy out of his voice.

“That's what he said.”

“You think Sam and I are related or something?”

“Trevor … what if you and Sam are twins?”

Trevor grabbed McKenna by the arm and dragged her back into his dressing room, closing the door behind them and locking it.

“What are you talking about?” Trevor felt a knot in his stomach. He backed up, feeling for a stool to sit down on. “How?”

“Well, you were adopted, right?”

The knot turned into a wave of nausea. Trevor was adopted. He'd known about it ever since he could remember, but he and his parents never discussed it. It was like the knowledge that he had a grandfather who had committed suicide: He knew it, they knew it, everyone knew it, but no one mentioned it because it didn't seem polite.

McKenna just waited.

“Yes,” he said under his breath.

“Well? Why couldn't there have been two of you?” McKenna wrinkled her face. “I don't mean two of
you
. That didn't come out right. I just mean, twins. Why couldn't that be possible?”

“Because, don't you think I would have known? Don't you think they would have told me that? Isn't that something pretty important? Something special?” Trevor clenched his hands. “Who would do that?”

“Relax,” McKenna said. “Maybe they didn't know.”

“Or maybe that's why Gabriel freaked when he saw Trevor. Maybe
he
knew. He was working for my father back then. Maybe they all know, and he called my mom and she raced down here in her bathrobe because they don't want me to figure this out.”

McKenna stared at him. “What are you going to do?”

Trevor thought, then said, “Nothing. I'm going to play stupid. If my mom doesn't want me to know, I'll pretend I don't.”

“But then what are you going to do?” McKenna asked.

“Then? Then, I'm going to find him.”

Sam sat in Donald Fuller's office, staring at the carpet. The door opened and his father spilled into the room.

“What happened? What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything,” Sam said.

Sam's father rarely got mad, but when he did, his nose turned red. “You don't just do nothing and end up getting thrown off a set.”

The door opened again and Fuller sat down behind his desk, making a steeple with his fingertips and planting it beneath his chin.

“I'd like to know, too,” Fuller said. “This whole thing is a mess.”

Sam shook his head. “The only thing I did was talk to Trevor Goldman and I mentioned
Dark Cellar
. When I asked him if he could maybe get his dad to look at it, he got kind of weird, but it wasn't a big deal.”

“
Dark Cellar
?” Fuller rumpled his brow.

“My script.” Sam's dad spoke softly.

Fuller slapped a hand flat on his polished desk. “That's it. Why in the world would you bother Trevor Goldman? You're the stand-in. You stand there and say nothing. Didn't anyone tell you that?”

“They told me, but
he
started talking to
me
.”

“What, to ask you to step aside?” Fuller said, knitting his brows. “You broke the cardinal rule. You're a stand-in. You don't bother the star. Now it all makes sense. Well, at least I don't feel so bad about you two being blackballed from the studio. I mean, I'm sorry, but I'm not that sorry. We can't have extras and stand-ins taking advantage of their contact with the stars.”

“Blackballed?” Sam's dad muttered the word and stared at his own hands.

“I didn't take advantage,” Sam said, growing angry himself. “He asked me to play Xbox. He gave me his cell number to text him!”

Sam held up his phone.

“Give me that phone.” Fuller's voice grew heated. “You can't have his cell number.”

“I do have it. He gave it to me.”

“Let me see.” Fuller snapped his fingers and held out a hand.

“No.” Sam stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

Fuller pointed a finger at him. “If you know what's good for you, you'll never use it. You'll get rid of it. You and your dad are blackballed from Paramount, but if this gets nasty, Gerry Goldman is not a guy you want out there saying bad things about you. You could be blackballed across this entire town. Cut your losses, kid. Nice try, but that's not how the business works. That's what agents are for.”

“Blackballed?” Sam's dad spoke louder this time and looked like someone had doused him with cold water. “I've got a deal pending on my
Dark Cellar
script. So far, they love it. I'm waiting for an option deal and it looks like a green light is just around the corner. That's how we ended up here in the first place. I can't be blackballed.”

“You are.” Fuller stood up. “Neither of you are allowed onto the Paramount lot again. They asked me to escort you out.”

“I'm not going,” Sam's dad said. “I've got a deal pending. This guy gets it. He believes in this script. We're going to get a
deal
any day now. Any day.”

“Come on. Don't make me call security,” Fuller said. “Don't make this ugly.”

“It already is ugly. My son didn't do anything wrong. You people are crazy.”

“You said you're in the business.” Fuller spoke more quietly now, reasoning with Sam's dad. “You know how it goes. You can't harass one of the stars on a set. It's fatal. You know that.”

Sam felt sick when his father dropped his head and stood up to go. “I know. Come on, Sam.”

“Dad, this isn't fair. I'm telling you.”

“I know. That's life, Son. Things are never fair. Let's go.”

Fuller admired the Ferrari as they climbed inside, and he had the decency to wish them luck. Sam kept quiet, resting his head against the car window as they left the cool blue shade of the palm trees in Hollywood for the waffling heat of a million cars and a billion homes sweltering under a brown sky, heavy with smog.

Sam could smell the landfill well before it appeared like a giant dung heap, swirling with seagulls instead of flies. Sam's dad settled the Ferrari into its spot and cut the engine. He put his hands on the wheel and sighed.

That's when Sam's phone buzzed.

He took it from his pocket, expecting the text to be from one of his teammates but finding something completely different.

“Dad,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement, “it's a text … it's from Trevor Goldman.”

Trevor's phone buzzed. He read Sam's reply and showed it to McKenna.