The Summer I Really Didn't Kidnap Lance Hardwood

Take 1 - The Best Laid Plans

In my defense, the whole thing was his idea. It was his intention to slip away from his bodyguard, agent and PR representative and set it up to look as if I'd kidnapped him! I'd thought him incapable of complex thought processes and paying careful attention to detail – making incorrect assumptions, as Nina would say. His irresistible good looks notwithstanding, I wanted to either kill him or ravish him – I couldn't decide which. But all this happened later. Let's start, as Julie Andrews sings, 'at the very beginning.'

The summer I really didn't kidnap Lance Hardwood did not go exactly as I'd carefully planned. New York City traffic didn't cooperate in seeing that I arrived exactly 3 hours early at JFK airport. It was bumper-to-bumper the whole way from midtown.

The mother with five children in line at the luggage check-in couldn't find all their tickets and dumped the contents of her suitcase-sized handbag onto the counter, prompting me to tell her all about the virtues of (1) packing light, (2) keeping important documents together in a 9x12 manila envelope and (3) leaving her eldest in charge of the smaller kids and making sure they weren't running wild.

She totally ignored me and didn't even thank me for my good advice. Some people, you know, don't plan ahead for anything. Thankfully I'm not one of them. Her eldest – maybe 7 years old – threw his not-quite-empty ice cream waffle cone at me. And I wasted another 8 minutes trying to get the chocolate stain out of my white oxford button-down shirt. I made it worse, of course and made a mental note to always carry a stain stick – you know, those things that look like lip balm - while travelling.

The TSA was in one of their 'alert' modes. They opened everything but repacked nothing, adding an additional 15-to-20-minute repacking time to anyone who had a carry-on. And nowadays, everyone has a carry-on. Then there was the interminable distance to walk from security check to the departure gate. But if it's one thing New Yorkers can do better than any other Americans, it's walk fast. As soon as I got there, there was just enough time to get into the correct line to board the plane.

Forgive me. I'm Peter Fisk, recent graduate of one of Manhattan's many private schools. My parents are divorced. Mom lives in the city and is one of the top real estate agents on the island. My father lives in London. To their great disappointment, I'd been bitten by the acting bug at an early age and set my sights on debuting on Broadway sometime around 2030. That gives me enough time after graduation to grab experience doing road shows and regional theatre to establish a good resume that will make me irresistible to any NYC agent.

Or I could stay in Los Angeles after graduating from CalArts and become a movie star. No rush, though. I have a few hundred days to decide upon an appropriate career trajectory. Yes, I got into CalArts! The comment that was most used in their review of my audition piece was 'intense.'

In 2019, when I'd decided I would be an actor and attend CalArts, I knew that it might help me get started if I became familiar with Los Angeles before I moved there. Which meant I'd need to start saving money immediately. My parents might be wealthy, but things often weren't handed to me for free.

My Dad owns a big, exclusive health club for men in midtown, and I had the looks and brains to get hired. I knew as soon as I started high school that I was more attracted to men than to women – because my body's response to seeing my fellow male students in the locker room showers proved it – not to mention my subsequent dreams.

Yes, it's that kind of 'health' club. My job as towel boy had very detailed instructions on what was acceptable behavior, and boundaries that had to be respected. I'm told I look a bit like Channing Tatum and Chris Pratt if they had a child. I may turn heads but I'm still a virgin. I wasn't on the school soccer team, but I trained with them. I was, in a word, untouchable. Members knew not to mess with me. I did accept the occasional tip towards my college fund. If the member hoped for more than a clean towel or two, then I gave them their money back.

For two years I saved up, and at the end I did my research, planned my itineraries and prebooked my flight and hotel. It was the hotel that proved problematic. Even the bad hotels were outrageously overpriced. Then I decided that I should check out the counties above Los Angeles – Ventura and Santa Barbara. After all, I would not always spend my free time in L.A., would I? My hotel was the Hyatt Regency in Thousand Oaks, and I booked it for four weeks at a very reasonable rate.

I'm a planner. I can't help it – show me chaos, and I have to impose order on it. My older sister Jolie calls me a control freak, among other less flattering things. Which will give you a really good idea of just how annoyed I got when my plane circled LAX for 90 minutes, waiting for a terminal to become available.

I had packed efficiently and sparingly, so I was able to skip the crowded masses making their way to Baggage Claim. There was a mob of camera men snapping photos of a rather annoyed Timothy Chalamet, reminding me that I was in the land of movie stars, gossip mongers and scandals. I hope I encounter as few as possible. Unless, of course, it was Nicholas Galitzine. Or Taylor Perez. Or both! It was humanizing to be reminded that they had to retrieve their own luggage.

At the car rental desk, the clerk handed me an envelope. She sighed and twirled her hair idly around her left index finger, which partly explained the many split ends. She sighed again and looked me in the eyes.

"I wish I had a mom like yours. Sign here, here and here. Here are the keys. Have a nice stay in California, honey. I'm off on the weekends, if you get my drift," and she winked at me.

Ugh. I took a deep breath, and said, "Thanks. If I ever want to date a girl, I know just where to find one."

She looked hurt, and made me feel terrible, so I added, "I play on a different team, that's all!" Still, she didn't seem to understand. "How is it you know my mother?"

Her face brightened at that. "She called with a request, and we just started gabbing, like women do, you know? She made me promise not to say anything. It's all in that note."

I was not in the mood to read the note right then and turned on my charm. "You can give me a hint, can't you?" I laid my hand on hers. I have big hands. Which she carefully, deliberately removed.

"All you're gonna get from me is that she's changed your vehicle. Make, model, everything. It is one sweet ride, sweetie."

I began walking towards the lot when a female voice called out, "Oh, Mr. Fisk?" I turned back and saw the car rental lady. Her hair was different, gone were the glasses and coquettish demeanor. And the voice was at least a full octave deeper.

"Your mother and I chatted for quite a while. I'm an actor as well. And every night I come to work with a different persona. Makes this mindless job tolerable. This is Hollywood, kid. I'll give you three good pieces of advice for free. First, don't judge a book by its cover. Second, you never know who's going to get or give you your next gig. And lastly, don't make assumptions about people and then make comments based upon those assumptions. You'll have fewer friends. And in this town, you need as many as you can get. If you have any questions that your laptop can't answer, call me."

She handed me a card. It read 'Nina C. Moen, Actress. Private Acting Coach, Certified Tour Guide, Caterer' [Member, AEA, SAG/AFTRA and IATSE] which was followed by several phone numbers and addresses and/or links to every social media site you can think of. I had to admit, she'd had me fooled. I used to think I couldn't be fooled.

Little did I know that I was going to play someone's fool that summer.