What do you do when a teenage movie star makes it seem as if you've kidnapped him? After working two summers at his father's health club as a towel boy, Peter Fisk saved enough money to visit California. He literally runs into Lance Hardwood in his...
"Oh My God," Tucker shouted – I mean roared - "Oh My God! Everyone – I'm sitting with Richard Handler, the new cast member of Young Tesla!" He'd stood up while pointing at me, then grabbed his two meals-to-go and disappeared into the restaurant. Like bees to honey, the paparazzi and reporters swarmed me.
Flash bulbs were going off and blinding me as the Host helped me stumble to the front reception area and as I started to take out my credit card informed me that someone had already paid for everything and I was being asked by about 3 dozen people how long was my contract for and was I a recurring character, how big was my role and where was I from or would I like to go out with him/her/xem this weekend and what was it like working with Lance and damn I'm hot would I donate my sperm so she could have a beautiful baby, where did I get my training and who did he need to talk to for an audition and what was the season finale going to be, did they really have polo shirts in the 1890s or were they taking artistic license with what constitutes period costumes, oh that's so Disney isn't it, I hear they're making a feature length Young Tesla cartoon was that true?
As soon as I was within 5 feet of the 'Stang its alarms gave off an ear-splitting siren that drove everyone but me away as the door simply opened and I fell inside. The door shut itself, the engine started and before I knew it we were cruising north on Highway one and I had never in my life been so glad to be inside a car with an AI named James Dean doing the driving. Then again, didn't the guy die in a car accident? Someone please shut down my nervous system.
Ten minutes later, I was still shaking. "Peter, while you were leaving Gladstones, your mother left a message on your cell. Obviously, you did not hear it. Would you like me to play it back?"
"Yes. No. Wait! How did you know what to do back there? That I needed help?"
"Peter, I have the very best in security services looking after you. He can see what is happening outside through my cameras. He guided me while helping you. Is that all right? If you consider that an invasion of your privacy, I will..."
"No, James. I'm grateful. If I ever want privacy, I will request it. Now, the message."
She sounded ecstatic. "Pookie, Gladstone's was one of your mystery destinations. How lucky that you stumbled onto it all on your own! I hope you had an unforgettable time."
Oh, Mom. You have no idea. "James, begin playlist 'Peaceful.' And wake me four minutes before we are to exit the highway for the hotel." I drifted off to sleep halfway through Chanticleer's divine rendering of Franz Biebl's Ave Maria.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
We arrived – I mean, I arrived at the hotel around 9:00 p.m. Kudos to Ms. Suarez at the front desk for a check-in that was fast, thorough and hassle-free. Mom had somehow upgraded my room to the top floor, where I had a decent view of the mountains.
After my suitcase was brought to my room, and the bellhop left, I threw myself onto the bed and closed my eyes. Slowly I replayed the scene in Gladstone's and tried to make sense of it all. I so wanted one of Mom's rum-and-coke 'lites' but the legal drinking age in the U.S. is twenty-one. At eighteen, Congress thinks we're old enough to vote, old enough to die for our country and old enough to own a gun – but alcohol consumption is something we can't be trusted with. Go figure.
I reached into my shirt pocket and removed a business card that someone had stuck under the car's windshield wipers. I did a double-take when I read the name. It was from Katy Gray, whose YouTube show entitled "You Don't Say!" was one of the top 3 Hollywood gossip shows in the world. I put it away in my wallet, because you never know, right?
My cell rang - the ring tone was Ethel Merman belting out "There's No Business Like Show Business." I know, it's corny. Every now and then, you've got to indulge in a bit of goofiness, right? Hold it in, and it very well might invite some Chaos to burst forth. It was my big sister Jolie, calling from Paris.
"Bon jour, Jolie!" I sang, in my best French accent.
"Don't say another word in French, Mon Cher petit frere. Somewhere, Edith Piaf is weeping at your aural butchery! Did you survive the flight? Were there hunky flight attendants? Were you overcome with passion and join the mile-high club?"
"Jolie!" I scolded.
"I can only hope, I know. You know, one of the models on my shoot seemed to me to be your type. Can I give him your..."
"JOLIE!" My sister is a fashion photographer for all the big-name French designers, and a realtor like our mother. Her lack of subtlety is made up for by her exuberance and sheer joie de vivre. I adore her, but I wish she'd stop bugging me about my virginity. She, and my grandmother both. I told her about the flights, but when I reached the whole fiasco at Gladstones, she was giggling with glee.
"My little brother will be in the trades! And the tabloids! Aren't you thrilled! I must tell Grand-mere - she will be so happy! It is 8 a.m. here, so it's 11 p.m. where you are, you must be so exhausted! Fame and scandal already! I'm so proud. Next - you must find a nice boy or man! Bon soir, Pookie!" And she hung up. I began thinking about her comments, and anxiety curled its cold fingers around my brain. What the hell had really happened tonight?
Tucker Chang's exit was a mystery. And why the whole lie about my getting cast in Young Tesla? What was the pattern? If there was one thing I'd learned when working with my high school compatriots in the drama department, it was that even Chaos has a pattern it follows. It's often the way into a character's mind. Think, Pete, think.
Wait – an elusive star with a secret, who needed extraction from a group of stalkers...that's it! He'd just spoken to someone on his cell phone before he went crazy. He'd ordered two entrees to go. It must have been the friend who called, and he was drawing attention away from the restaurant's entrance to allow them to escape. I was the distraction. He might have asked me first, you know? None of that really mattered. I'd probably never see the guy again.
But what if there was fallout from the whole Gladstone's incident? Surely those reporters would fact-check their stories before printing anything? What if...dear God, what if Disney decided to press charges or sue? And the pictures, oh crap, what if anyone who knows me saw those pictures? Please, don't let anyone from CalArts see anything!
I had scheduled a tour of the school campus in the morning and a walk-through of the neighborhood in Santa Clarita. Oh, and whatever 'mystery destination' Mom had chosen. Maybe, I'd thought, maybe I should cancel everything tomorrow and see if things blow over? Sleep, when it finally claimed me, was restless.
My phone rang at 7:00 a.m. I'd picked it up, expecting to hear the standard 'This is your morning wake-up call.' What I heard instead was a distorted, young girl's voice that said:
"We know he's with you. And there's no escaping us this time." Then, silence.
