Trouble Me (14 page)

C
OMING
B
ACK
O
N
S
ET
S
UCKS
. It’s been three days. I’m not scared—more anxious. But the big issue is the fuss everyone will make over me.

It’s bad enough, the way people kiss my ass when we make a movie. Everybody, from the set dresser to the PA for the cinematographer, treats me like I walk on water. And it’s such transparently suck-up-ish behavior I could smack somebody. The second I cool off on the STARmeter on IMDb, all of these people will evaporate into thin air.

But injured? Oh lord, people here don’t know the meaning of “too much drama.” What an opportunity to win my approval: by kissing up to my injured ass.

It’s too much to bear.

Jeremy, though? Jeremy is a godsend. He’s in the car when I get to it in the garage, on his phone. Tucker gets the door for me, and I climb in gingerly.

“Hey, pussy,” Jeremy says.

“I have sixty-seven stitches. Sorry I didn’t hop in the car.”

“Okay, baby. Next time you want to play in traffic, pay better attention.”

See, that may seem cold, but I love it. Jeremy treats me like crap no matter what. I don’t think he even comprehends how to kiss up to me. He calls it like he sees it. If I’m being a jackass, I know Jeremy will tell me straight up.

Tucker rolls the car out of the garage and slides into traffic. Today we’re shooting in Battery Park. It’s been locked down. Jordan and his Apotheosis crew spent serious dime to accomplish that, but he also had to promise the folks insuring the production that I wouldn’t get my ass killed, so no expense will be spared to make things airtight today.

I don’t mind, to be honest. Whoever gave me that shove into traffic has some serious issues. I’d rather not run into them without backup.

But it’s not my job to think about that. In fact, it’s my job to shoot five to seven scenes, and right now I’m hoping my head is clear enough to recall the forty-odd pages of dialogue I’m supposed to have committed to memory for today.

I’m usually really good at that. I have a pretty sharp memory. But the crescent moon cut into my back has made it hard to sleep, and lack of sleep makes recall pretty damn hard. And, yes, I’ve had a couple nightmares. Maybe more than a couple. Maybe the one with the broken glass and the pistol again.

Plus, Kelly won’t come near me. She’s terrified she’s going to hurt me, open my stitches up. What I want to do is forget, and my hands and mouth all over her always seems to make me feel better about everything. A private moment to have my way with her has been damn hard to come by, though, since the condo’s been crawling with security and producers and doctors and everybody else in the world who wants to keep me safe because I am part of their earnings ratio on their retirement plan.

Sandy the publicist was by yesterday, trying to convince me to do an interview with
60 Minutes
or
Dateline
about the car thing.

No one but Tucker and I knows there was a push. A shove. I don’t want to talk about it at all. Someone wanted me road pizza and failed. I’d rather not go on national television and tell them, “Hey, bastard, you blew it. Wanna try to kill me again?”

I think poking the homicidal bear with a stick seems like a bad idea.

Thank God Tucker bent Jeremy’s ear about it already. He put the kibosh on Sandy’s idea and sent her on her way.

When I got up this morning to try to shower before I left, all I could think of was pulling Kelly in there with me, letting all the fear and pain wash away, cleansing my soul with a little time close to her skin.

But she was sleeping so soundly. She finally looked relaxed. She’s looked so exhausted since the accident, and I just couldn’t bear it.

The car stops at the entrance to the parking lot of Battery Park, and all of a sudden, Jeremy has his phone to his ear. “Give me five minutes, that’s all. Then the rest of the day is yours.” He ends the call.

“What was that?”

He loosens his tie. “I want to talk with Jordan the dick. Before your day starts. Before I turn you over to these leeches.”

Do I detect a hint of a protective streak? “I can handle him myself, Jeremy. I’m a big boy.”

“Look, Andy, you pay me a nice cut of your earnings to do things for you. This one is all mine. I expect you to make it to the end of this shoot in one piece. Jordan only needs you for this movie. I need you to keep working for a long, long time.”

I nod grimly. “Teslas don’t pay for themselves, after all.” I don’t like talking about my own longevity.

“You’re my friend. Everything aside, he can’t screw you over with this. It’s not your fault this happened, and I don’t want you exhausted. We know how getting overworked wrecked you last time.”

He’s referring to the beginning of my long slide into rehab—a media tour and an anniversary I don’t like to revisit resulted in pneumonia and all hell breaking loose. I don’t like to remember it. I almost lost Kelly forever because of it.

“Fine. Do your thang, Jeremy.”

Tucker chimes in. “Go get ’em, Tiger.”

“Shut it, Tucker.” Jeremy gets out and motions for the both of us to stay put.

Tucker goes over the shooting schedule for the day, and I check my phone. I’d text Kelly, but it would wake her up.

A few minutes pass. Jeremy jumps back in the car. “On to makeup. You’re golden. I’ll stay close today, make sure they treat you right.”

I nod, and Tucker gives me the signal. High alert today means I don’t make a move until he tells me to. I step out of the car to him waiting by the door, and he provides close coverage until I’m in the makeup trailer. There’s another security guy covering the door, Janus again. Tucker stands just inside, talking into the cuff of his shirt from time to time.

Mallory, my lovely makeup artist, looks over at him. “No chit-chat today, huh?”

I shake my head. “Tucker’s all business until he can see that no one’s planning to lay me out flat again.” I reach for a stick of gum.

Mallory ushers me to the chair. “We’re all glad you’re okay. How’s it going to be to sit back?”

“It’s going to hurt.” My back protests the feeling of pressure as I say this.

“Tell you what—let’s try it another way.” She looks around the trailer. “Tucker, can you grab that stool?”

He comes over with it and plunks it down, returns to his station. Tucker post-accident is absolutely no fun.

I sit on the stool and thank Mallory profusely. It still hurts, but it’s not agony.

My phone buzzes just about the same time Amanda sashays into the trailer.

“Yes?” I say to the phone—not Amanda.

“Hey, it’s me.” Kelly sounds sleepy.

“Hey, beautiful! How’d you sleep?”

“Until you left, okay. I don’t like not knowing where you are.”

“You knew I was going back to set today. Time to get back up on the proverbial horse.” Amanda waves at me, sits down in the chair next to me, and pulls off her sweatshirt. She’s in a bra. “I have to go. Mallory’s improvising a bit. She needs to use the trowel on me. Even out the fatigue and wrinkles, you know.”

“Love you.”

I look right at Amanda. “Love you too. Go back to sleep, baby mama.”

“Okay.”

Amanda can’t leave it alone. “You are simply adorable, you know that?”

She runs a finger under the strap of her bra, readjusting. Bullshit. She’s trying to get some attention. I have zero patience for her games right now.

“Cut it out, Amanda. This is a big day. Let’s try to stay focused, you know?”

“Oh, I get it, Andy. You’re brave to even be here. I’d be so rattled. You look like you haven’t slept. Good thing Mallory’s a whiz, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.” I close my eyes and try to find my happy place. The Coast: walking on the beach with the boys and Kelly.

“How’s Kelly taking all this? She’s so new to all of it; she’s not used to it like you and me. Bet it’s hard on her. Wonder if she can hold up under the reality of your life, you know?”

“Uh-huh.” I have an idea—that house, the one Kelly was staring at last time we were in Oregon.

Mallory taps me gently on the shoulder. “Andy, I’m so sorry. I need to go find Justine. She’s got the wardrobe for the scenes today. Two-minute break, is that okay?”

“Sure.” I’m grateful for the chance to stand up and give the shoulder blade a minute to rest.

Mallory scoots past Tucker. Amanda is out of her chair too and comes over to me. “Can we have a word?”

I nod. “Sure.”

She takes me by the elbow. “Over here. I want a private minute.”

We stand in the corner. “What, Amanda?”

She puts her hands on my forearms, comes close, whispers, “I was so scared.”

“What?”

“So scared for you. I thought,
what if I’d lost him?
and it shook me to the bone.”

“What?” I look over her head at Tucker. He’s talking into his cuff again. He really needs to get over here and deal with this crazy woman.

“I want to try again, with you.” She touches my hand. I resist the urge to snatch it away from her. “I think you feel it too. We both want each other. Remember the sex, Andy? We were amazing. We could be again.”

“Amanda, are you on drugs? I mean, right at this moment, are you high?” I take a step back.

“What do you mean?”

“At what point in the weeks we’ve been shooting have I given even one tiny indication to you that I am interested in anyone but Kelly?”

“Well, I just thought, with your near-death experience, you’d be done humoring her. You’d want to get back to living the life you want, with your kind of people…”

“Kelly’s my kind of people. She’s having my baby. I love her.”

Mallory comes back. Thank Jesus. I walk away from Amanda before she can even respond.

I expected people sucking up to my wounded self. I did not expect that.

I pick up my cell and call Jeremy. “Jeremy, there’s a piece of property I want you to check out in Oregon.”

Amanda almost looks upset. I close my eyes. Lord, get me through this day. Tucker can protect me from the danger of the street, but who knew I’d need someone to hold Amanda at bay.

D
AY
F
OUR
P
OST
-A
CCIDENT
, I get up early. Really early. I want to run alone. I need it. This morning when I woke up, I felt something that had been gone since Andrew and I have been together. It’s the anvil, the one that was formerly camped out, pressing down on my chest from the moment my sweet husband Peter died until the moment Andrew and I kissed in the rain on the condo steps a year ago last June.

I don’t know exactly why it’s back, but it scares me. Depression is my Achilles heel. I can’t go back to it; I just can’t.

When the boys were born, I was fine. I count myself lucky that postpartum depression didn’t visit me. But the depression of losing a loved one, and the time I sent Andrew away while he suffered through getting sober alone—those times were terrible. I hate the feeling.

And it seems to want to creep up on me.

So, I’m going to run away from it. I’m going to push my body and feel my lungs burn and breathe in. I will fight back, and I will say, “No, I won’t go away like this. I have people who want me here.”

I have a baby who wants me here.

Andrew’s accident has thrown me for a loop. I know logically that I should chalk this melancholy up to the scare. But I thought, for just a second, that I could be stronger than that, that I could move forward and be fine, be grateful and live in the moment.

The anvil weight on my chest tells me it’s not working.

I slip out of the bedroom to the kitchen with running shoes in hand. The sun is just starting to peek into the tall windows of the condo. Down in the concrete narrows, it’s probably still pretty dark. I think I can get out of the building without paparazzi. They do actually go to bed sometimes too. I won’t put my headphones in on the street. I will stay alert and hustle to the High Line. Then the sun will touch me, and I will run this funk out of me.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Tucker sips a Frappuccino. Not only is he already up, he’s already been out and back. There’s a green iced tea on the kitchen island for me and one for Andrew.

“What are you doing up? You all aren’t shooting until late tonight I thought.” I pick up the tea and sip it. Oh, it tastes so good. “I love you for many things, Tucker, but right now I love you for this tea.”

“I’m up because I get up this early almost every day. I can’t help it.”

“Night shoots and nights out with movie stars necessitate sleeping in sometimes, don’t they?”

“Sometimes. Most times, no. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to run.”

“Good for you. I’ll go get my shoes.” Tucker points down the hall. Jeremy’s practically living in the media room too, but he goes out places at night and stays who knows where. He’s put his other clients on with junior agents at his agency, turning all of his attentions to his star. Which means he’s here. All the time. I feel sometimes like the dorm mother. I like having them all here, though. Might as well have every important person in my New York world in one place.

“I was going to go out on my own. I’ll be fine.”
I need the time alone
, I add silently.

“Nope. Andrew wouldn’t forgive me if something happened to you and Hiccup. You get an escort.”

“I could see if Mari wanted to come with me. She’s probably running early this morning anyway.”

“I’m going. End of story.” He trots off after patting my head.

I sip my tea and get my sneakers on. So much for alone time.

Tucker’s back. “I can do the official bodyguard thing and run behind you. I do that for a lot of my female clients. They get nervous with me running next to them. Say I’m too fit.”

“I don’t care about that. I’ve been in a funk, and I need to shake it off. I don’t want to slip into depression. It’s not a pretty place for me to be.”

“Let’s go whip up some endorphins, shall we?” Tucker smiles and jogs a little in place.

“Let’s.”

We get out of the building without incident, but almost immediately I’m happy Tucker came along. The street is relatively quiet. It’s also awfully shadowy. Dumpsters and parked vans and construction scaffolds throw large, dark squares on to the sidewalk.

We jog along next to each other and don’t say anything.

I feel okay, but it’s getting more and more uncomfortable to run. The baby is tucked in his safe little floating fortress, but his palace and all the extra cushion around it are getting awkward to tote around.

Then we get to the stairs to the High Line. I don’t even try to jog them. I just want to climb, slow and steady. Every time I step up, the pain stabs behind my kneecap. The clicking is back too.

“Kelly Jo, is that your knee making that sound?” Tucker looks at me.

I stop. I have to stop. It hurts too bad. “Yes. It hurts, Tuck.”

“So, don’t climb up any more stairs. Let’s just go back to street level.”

“I want to get up there, though. It’s what I need.” I start to cry.

“Why are you crying? It’s okay. Things change while you’re pregnant. The ligaments are probably off. Pulls your kneecap too far to one side. No big deal.”

“I need this. I have to run. I can’t be that sad again. I’m supposed to be strong for Andrew right now.”

I sit on the step and just let it go. This verges on the infamous ugly cry.

Tucker stands next to me. He rubs my back for a minute. “There, there, Kells. Just breathe.”

I suck in a deep breath and stand up.

“There’s an elevator two blocks over. Let’s go do that.” Tucker points down the block. “Less pain, same pretty view.”

“Tucker…” I can’t finish.

“Hey. You have my word. I will help you through this. No one else has to know. Not even Andrew if you’re worried about worrying him. I swear, the two of you spend so much time simultaneously trying to protect each other, it’s exhausting to watch.”

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “I know a guy who can check out the knee too. That part Andrew is going to want to know about. But again, no big deal. We can do this. Okay?”

“Okay.” I wipe my face on my sleeve and edge back down the few stairs I’ve made it up. The kneecap clicks with every step.

This sucks. I don’t do well without running. We’re about to find out how poorly it’s going to go this time.

The next morning, Tucker announces our visit to the doctor as we eat scrambled eggs around the kitchen island. His voice is so neutral, I almost miss it.

“So, Kelly and I are going to swing by NYSMI today.” His look tells me to go with it.

Andrew raises an eyebrow over
The New York Times
. “What?”

“Columbia Orthopedics. Her knee’s bugging her a little, so we’re going to get it checked out. We should be back in time for me to take you to set.” Andrew can’t drive with his shoulder all torn up. He rarely drives in New York, anyway. Tucker handles it. Janus rides shotgun for backup. Tucker says he’s the one decent guy on Apotheosis’s payroll, and I think he’s including Jordan Aaronson, the dick.

“When did this happen?” Andrew looks at me.

“It’s been clicking for a while, when I go up and down stairs especially. Since we got to New York. It’s starting to hurt more just lately.” I leave out
it’s more of a deal now that I have to run to survive the way I feel after your accident
.

Hunter shovels eggs into his mouth, holding the plate level with his face. “You need to lift, Mom. Strengthen the muscles around the knee.”

Tucker speaks up. “Nothing to worry about. The guys will take a peek at it and may tee up some PT too. Don’t want the little mama hobbling along with the waddling.”

I smile. Tucker is a saint. “I’ll go get my stuff.”

We leave the parking garage in a nondescript Camry. Our car changes almost every day, now that the paparazzi have camped out since Andrew’s accident. Tucker’s taken to driving a different rig when it’s just me or just the kids. Before, if Andrew hadn’t been spotted in it, the car didn’t draw much attention, and we could actually keep it for a week or two. But after the accident, each one of us seems to be a heightened target.

No one follows us from the building this morning, thankfully. The orthopedist’s office is by MOMA, south of the park. We park in the adjacent parking garage.

Ironically, there are steps. Tucker walks next to me down the long parking garage stairwell. “There couldn’t be an elevator working. Of course.” His voice is sympathetic. He pats me on the shoulder.

By the time we get to the office, my knee screams in protest. The receptionist ushers us into an examination room right away. Tucker insists upon it, for the privacy. He still gives people too much credit. I really don’t think I’m recognizable on my own. I don’t get approached in stores or on the street. Unless I’ve been in Andrew’s immediate company, I’m still luckily anonymous.

I sit on the exam table and fill out paperwork. “Tucker, you don’t need to be in here with me. Despite the disaster I’ve been lately, I do normally take care of myself. I did it for quite a long time before I met Andrew, you know.”

“I know. But isn’t it nice to not have to? Just once in a while?”

The man is a psychic. The ability to abdicate, on a few things, feels nice. It feels nice to be taken care of. Maybe not the most “I am woman, hear me roar” attitude, but I had to roar for myself, lonely and afraid, for two long years. I know I can do it, and I’ve proven to myself and everyone else I am strong and I can handle the big, bad world all by myself. It’s not a terrible thing to let it go and let someone else handle it. Not a bad thing at all.

“Just once in a while,” I tell him. “You’re right. And I want you to know how lucky Andrew and I both are to have you in our lives. I’m sure you know, but you’re so much more than a bodyguard. I mean it, Tucker.”

“Don’t get me all verklempt in the doctor’s office. Rudy will come in, and I’ll be embarrassed.”

“Rudy?”

“He’s my bud. Your new doctor. I know he’s no best-friend’s-husband Joe, but he’s the best at knees on the East Coast. He fixed me up almost ten years ago.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing big. I got tackled by a crazy fan onstage at a client’s concert. The dude took me out sideways, at the knees. Tore my right meniscus all to hell. Man, did it hurt.”

“You weren’t covering Andrew.”

“No. This was back when Andrew was a normal famous guy, not a nuclear famous guy. He had some soap opera fan club crazies, but they usually just wanted him to sign underwear. I didn’t have to do crowd control everywhere he went. It was usually just appearances or movie premieres. I had other clients then.”

“Do you miss that?”

“Not a bit. I’ve worked for some other sweet people, but there are a lot of celebrities who need the most protection from themselves. I could tell you stories.”

I don’t get a chance to ask. The door to the room opens, and Rudy appears.

Rudy apparently was a wide receiver in a former life. He’s as tall and wide as Tucker. I feel puny next to them. I may even feel compelled to go lift some heavy things just to fit in.

“Good morning! How is everyone today?” Rudy gives Tucker a hearty hug.

“My man, my man. Long time no see!” Tucker glows. Clearly these men are made for each other. I wonder if Rudy’s interested. Tucker should have a boyfriend. He never lets me set him up. Part of that could be that I don’t really know anyone to set him up with, not anywhere except Boise.