Trouble Me (6 page)

He sighs. “I’ll take your word for it. Hopefully I don’t have to witness the ugliness that is Kelly Reynolds, stir-crazy pregnant lady.” I hear a voice in the background. “I have to go. McDougal needs me on set.”

He hangs up. I nurse the end of my tea and try not to drown in all the new things to consider. This could get complicated.

Since meeting my neighbor and almost-friend out running almost a week ago, I haven’t had too much more time to dwell on new things. I had arrivals to prepare for. The rest of my brood will be here tonight.

Andrew’s gone to get Tucker and the boys, a role reversal for once. He’s picking them up at JFK and has promised to text before they arrive back at the condo.

I’m so psyched, it’s embarrassing. I can’t wait to see them. They’ll probably be two inches taller and need new shoes.

And I missed Tucker too. Yes, I know he’s an employee of Andrew, but really, he’s my friend. He proved that to me in Malibu the night things went south for Andrew and me. He came to get me, he helped Andrew, and he stuck by both of us through the toughest of it.

I know Andrew’s safe with him, and for that, I’m grateful. I don’t worry. I know Tucker makes it his job to be vigilant.

So, yes, I love this guy. All six foot four inches of him, the big lug. While Andrew may be tall, he’s lanky. Tucker is a tank.

But I can’t wait to see how he reacts when I tell him I’m pregnant. I suspect he’ll be a big gooey mess.

I’m preparing for their arrival and for the announcement.

I add another balloon to the bazillion all over the kitchen.

This was Andrew’s idea. All the balloons have a message tied to the end of their ribbons. Most of them say “Happy Birthday, Kelly.” One of them has a copy of our very first ultrasound photo tied to it and a “Here Comes Baby” message.

But it doesn’t stand out very much from all the other balloons. Yes, it’s tied to the chair Tucker’s supposed to sit in, but when I do stuff like this it never works.

“We’ll probably have to tell him straight out,” I say out loud, to the baby. Maybe I’m a doofus, but I talk to the baby. He can hear me. No one else is here to tease me. I like it.

My phone buzzes. Andrew texts that they’re in the building. I dim the lights. I hear the key in the door in the foyer. I can hear Andrew chatting with Tucker as they come into the condo.

Hunter calls for me. “Mom, we’re here!”

They all come in the kitchen. I turn on the lights.

“Surprise!”

“I thought it was your birthday? Why are you surprising us?” Beau giggles and comes to hug me.

Tucker stands there, towering over everyone, bags slung over both shoulders. As big as he is, his face is lit up like a little kid’s. He looks at the balloons everywhere. “Happy birthday, Kelly!” He comes over and gives me a peck on the cheek.

Andrew laughs. “Typical Kelly to throw her own party.” He comes to kiss me hello, and Hunter is not far behind. I hug him tight.

“Hunter, you did grow. I told you not to grow while you were gone.”

Beau points to the door. “Can I go look around the rest of the condo? Where’s my room?”

Andrew shakes his head. “Slow down, big guy. We’re doing a little birthday celebration for your mom first.”

Andrew pulls Tucker’s chair out, the one with the news tied to the balloon.

Tucker raises an eyebrow. “What is this?”

Andrew shows him to the chair. “Have a seat.” He plucks the balloon from the air and hands it to Tucker.

Tucker examines it, looks at the different message, looks at the ultrasound picture. Then he looks up at me, then at Andrew.

Andrew comes up behind him, puts a hand on his shoulder. “Well?”

Tucker gets up and hugs him. “Andrew’s gonna be a dad. Wow. I think I might cry.” Tucker comes over and gives me a huge squeeze. “You’ve been keeping a mighty big secret, Miss Kelly. Congratulations.” He pats my belly gently and hugs me again.

“So, we haven’t told anyone, really. Our folks, and the boys, obviously, and Jeremy—” Andrew begins.

“Unfortunately,” I add. I wasn’t thrilled for him to know so early, but he needs to know to protect Andrew’s interests.

“You two, you’re gonna be so cute!” Tucker pulls both of us close for a group hug. “And you have an advantage because Kelly actually knows what she’s doing. Good thing too. Andrew’s allergic to babies.”

“What?” I haven’t heard this before.

“Oh, yeah, he hasn’t told you about him and babies?”

Beau wants in. “What, what is it? Tell us!”

Tucker grins. “On the soap opera, even before I met him, and every time he’s worked with a baby since, he makes them cry.”

Tucker sits back down at the island with Hunter. Andrew hands him a bottled water.

“They shriek in terror, actually.” Andrew puts an arm around me. “I’m baby repellant.”

“That should be fun to watch.” Hunter sips his drink and smiles at the thought.

I have to come to his defense. “It’ll be different than that. Babies know the sound of their families’ voices. He’s eavesdropping right now, you know. He’ll already know Andrew before he even meets him.” I can’t wait to see Andrew with the baby. It’s going to be amazing. There’s no sexier sight than a man holding his own child.

Tucker points at me. “That’s a lot of
he
s in there. Do we know it’s a boy?”

“No, but the smart money’s on a boy.” I wink at Andrew. “Gender aside, though, Andrew’ll be great.”

Andrew smiles at me. “This is why I love you. Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He waves Beau to the kitchen island. “Come have a seat, guys. We have birthday cake for your mom.”

Everyone sits at the island, and Andrew serves up the cake. I’m about to get up to get the boys some milk when he puts a hand on my shoulder.

“You missed a balloon.” He smiles and hands me a purple balloon.

“What?”

“You missed one. It’s got something attached to it too.”

I read the message:
Kelly, will you marry me? Happy Birthday. Love, Andrew.

Tucker’s curious. “What’s it say?”

“It’s another sneak-attack proposal.”

Tucker tilts his head, confused. “Another? What?”

Beau perks up. “A proposal for what?”

Andrew pats him on the shoulder. “A marriage proposal. I want to marry your mom.”

Beau’s not impressed. “Where’s the ring, then?”

Andrew grabs hold of the purple balloon and shakes it. It rattles. He arches an eyebrow. “Hmm. Sounds like there’s something in there.” Beau rolls his eyes, but Andrew’s not done. “Cover your ears, young man.” He picks up a fork and pops the balloon. He hands me the contents and the shredded latex. It’s a plastic container from a gumball machine.

I open it. Inside is a plastic ring, with a pink sparkly “diamond.”

Hunter looks skeptical. “Really?”

I get up and kiss Andrew, put the ring on, and set the golf marker aside. “I love it. Yes.”

Andrew nods. “Awesome. I’m three for three. This proposal stuff is a piece of cake.”

Tucker stands up, water in hand, and slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’ve missed a lot, clearly. Congrats, you two, on your confusing pending engagement, I think, and on your baby on the way.” He kisses my hand, admires the plastic ring. “I’m sure the little tyke will learn to love, not fear, the baby-frightening Andrew. And now I’m going to go wash the airplane grime off of me.” He gives me one more kiss on the cheek before leaving the kitchen. “Andrew Pettigrew, engaged. Andrew Pettigrew, family man. So many words I never thought would be spoken together!”

T
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, Tucker’s ready to leave with me at five a.m. for the first day of location shoots. We’re going all the way the first day: closing down Wall Street proper for a fourteen-hour shoot. I didn’t get much sleep. Kelly tossed and turned most of the night. She kept having charley horses in her calves—she was crying in her sleep at one point, they hurt so bad. It killed me. I do not like hearing her whimper. Morning sickness is one thing, and I sure am sympathetic, but I hope this new problem isn’t a preview of more coming attractions. I worry about her, and the last thing I want is her health in jeopardy or the baby’s.

And I had a nightmare. Ironic, I know. Kelly had terrible nightmares when she and I first met. The shoe’s on the other foot now, I guess.

The dream started out innocently enough. I was walking down Wall Street, toward the Charging Bull sculpture. The street was quiet, but that’s what it’ll be like today: closed for shooting, no traffic.

But then I noticed in the dream that I was barefoot. Which was fine, but I saw a figure standing by the bull, and my heart started beating faster. The figure had a box in one hand and a pistol in the other. I came closer. I couldn’t make myself turn around. I kept walking toward the person. It was a woman with a black veil over her face, and she was dressed in black, head to toe.

Suddenly I felt sharp, searing pain in my feet, and I looked down. There were shards of glass strewn over the street, everywhere, all different kinds: broken mirrors, broken light bulbs, broken wine glasses.

I looked up at the woman again, and she turned the box over, showing me that it was empty. Like she was the one who put the broken glass all over the road. I still couldn’t turn around; I still walked toward her. I left a trail of wet, bloody footprints.

She dropped the empty box and raised the pistol, pointing it at my head.

And that’s when I woke up.

Yeah, I didn’t sleep so great. But today’s a big day, nightmare or no.

So, I hurry to get ready, and then I hustle out the door with Tucker to the waiting limo. No press. No photographers. This is a good sign. They’ll figure out where we’re staying; it’s gonna be in the next couple of days, so I’ll take every moment of peace I still have. I’ve tried to warn Kelly. She hasn’t really experienced it. I’m over the fricking moon to have her here with me, but I hope she’s ready for the full-on fame game. It can get pretty damn old.

“Tuck, did you get me a tea at least?” He’s not driving today. He’s riding shotgun to someone from the production company’s security detail named Janus. Janus is a large Filipino mountain of a man. He wears shades and a tight fade haircut.

“When have I not gotten you tea? I got in last night, all tired from the flight, and where was I this morning? That’s right, out getting you tea so you can survive your movie star facial and makeup and manicure and what not, you poor, poor thing.”

I can see Janus grin in the rearview mirror.

“Kelly mentioned taking you shopping sometime.”

Tucker loves Kelly. Kelly loves Tucker. It’s a good thing he’s gay, because otherwise I might be threatened. She hasn’t seemed to notice other men, but the two of them really get along. I guess it’s good. They might be my two most important people.

“I would love to take her shopping. Has anyone figured out where you two are staying yet? Do they tail her?” His tone is a bit different. Protective, maybe.

“Nobody’s found the building yet. And I don’t know if the tabloid guys recognize her unless she’s with me. They sure will, though.”

“When will she start showing?”

“I don’t know. Soon. She’s thirteen weeks along. So far, the doctor says all is well. But pretty soon somebody will get wind of all of this. And Tucker?” I look at the rearview mirror. I kind of wish Janus wasn’t here. This is an important and not-consistent-with-the-production-company’s-policy conversation we’re about to have.

“Yeah?”

“When they go after her, I want you with her.”

“I know. She’ll want me with you.”

“I know. But you know what my priority is. Her.”

“And the passenger.” He makes the baby sound like an alien. I like his discretion, though, even though Janus has been briefed.

“Is that his codename?”

“So, you really believe he’s a he?” His tone rises, just barely. Is that excitement I hear?

“Well, Kelly thinks yes. Calls it mother’s intuition.” I notice a glance up at me from Janus in the rearview. Time to end this conversation. I cough, clear my throat.

Tucker is a keen one. He changes the subject. “We need to go over logistics. Are you awake enough for that?”

“Go for it. I will feign concern.” I hate talking security. The undercurrent here is that some jackass wants to kill me or wants my picture badly enough to kill me by accident or that some crazy middle-aged guy who lives with his mom wants a lock of my hair and is wandering the streets of New York with a sharp pair of scissors. I try very hard not to think about any of these people. The dream I had last night doesn’t help.

Fear is a weird thing. FDR called it on this one. The unknown is what’s terrifying. When I first experienced the frenzy of a red carpet, the eighteen hundred possible unknowns who wanted my autograph or my left pinkie finger as a souvenir melted my spine into jelly.

And I could live my life that way. There are all sorts of possibilities out there. But guess what? I could be a CPA in Kansas and get killed by a F5 twister or a bad case of sepsis from a nasty infected paper cut. Any person can stall out thinking about his eventual death. It’s a waste of time.

Tucker makes it his job to think about my eventual death, though, and how to prevent it from happening on his watch. I like it that way. He keeps most of it to himself. He trains on active-shooter scenarios while I watch reruns of
Storage Wars
. My only job is to follow his directions when it comes to my safety.

“Andrew?”

I think I’m supposed to be following his directions right now. “Go ahead. I’m with you.”

“Streets of New York. Chaos. You know what this is going to be like. Pretty soon every soul south of Houston Street will know we’re shooting today. So, what I need from you is predictability.”

“I am the very model of predictability. I don’t even know how to zig or zag.”

“Trailer, makeup trailer, set, trailer. No autographs unless I vet them. Let me put them in a bullpen. It’s not some field in Alabama. It’s New York.”

“Got it. Janus helping on this?”

Janus sits up a little straighter. “Yes, sir. Apotheosis put me and two other guys on you for the outside locations. Under Tucker’s direction, of course.”

Apotheosis is the baby of Chase McDougal’s boss, Jordan Aaronson. Apotheosis is the production company backing this movie, with the most pretentious company name I’ve heard in a long time. A lot of men in the film industry spend a whole lot of their efforts and energy compensating for overbearing mothers and inadequate anatomy. No lie. Not me, of course.

Jordan is a world-class dick. While McDougal irritates the living hell out of me, he at least wants to make a good movie. I can stand a little verb-er-izing if his heart is in the right place. Jordan just uses his money to yank people around. He’d like to have more money, and that’s what we—the people actually making the movie—have to capitalize on if we hope to get the movie made.

The only relief we get from his general dick attitude is that he brought on a whole boatload of overseas investors to finance this movie. Shady characters in Eastern European leather coats and gel-slicked hair show up on set, and he is occupied. Or sheiks from Dubai Skype him to get progress reports, and he disappears into a conference room or a trailer.

But I am his investment, and so Janus and assorted people like Janus will be here to help Tucker protect his potential profit.

Not that Janus is a problem. He seems like he’s trying.

The limo slows, and Janus leans out of the window to a guy manning the gate to the parking lot we’ve commandeered. They yell at each other, and the guy swings the gate open.

“Remember, you’re Mr. Predictable.” Tucker gives me his mom look. I roll my eyes.

“Fine. Show me to the makeup trailer.”

Tucker comes around to the door of the car and opens it. I get out, and there’s a weird, far-off roar. It’s a large group of people, down the block, and apparently the back of my unwashed head at almost six in the morning is cause for great celebration and gnashing of teeth.

“Ugh.” I can’t help it.

“Oh, come on now, Ebenezer. They’re just happy to see you.”

“I know, I know. But it’s so damn early. No one should be enthusiastic about anything until nine.”

“Mallory awaits. Let’s get you inside.” Tucker walks with me to the large RV marked with the Apotheosis logo and a sign that reads “Makeup.”

“I wish I still smoked.” I miss that part of my morning routine. I could sit tight in a makeup chair if I had nicotine in my system.

“No, you don’t.” Tucker nudges me, scolding.

“Yes, I do.” I feel like being grumpy.

“The baby doesn’t want you to smoke.” He lifts an eyebrow.

“Oh God. You win. Are you going to do that a lot, bring him into arguments as the secret weapon?”

“Just getting you used to it. I think it might happen when you and the mother of your child fight too. Thought I’d get you started early.”

“Tucker, you’ll give me a panic attack. Thanks.”

“And I think I’m going to assume that the passenger is a girl. Just to give equal billing.”

“Ten bucks it’s a boy.”

“You’re on. But make it twenty and a round of golf wherever I want.”

“Done.”

Mallory pushes the door open now. “Are you girls going to stand out here all day?”

I smile at her and go inside.