"Ready, kids?" Rodney asks as we pull up to Morton's Steakhouse.
Matty and I look at each other. "Are you ready?" I ask.
"Yeah." He blots the sweat from his brow. "Just don't leave me, okay?"
Aww. "I won't. We'll stick together."
I don't tell Matty this, but I need him as much as he needs me tonight. As exciting as all this is, and as much as I've been looking forward to it, I also feel strangely alone in this world. My costars are at different parties, and my TV star pal Gina is in Europe. Lauren and Ava are going to be here, but we're not close enough that I felt comfortable suggesting we go together.
The car door opens and Rodney is there to help us out. I hear the click of the cameras and photographers yelling things like "Look over here!" Now I'm getting nervous.
Matty steps out first and I'm right behind him. Morton's restaurant has been transformed into a Vanity Fair ad. The magazine's logo is up in yellow lights above the white building and there is also a thirty-foot high myrtle topiary sculpture. People dressed in black are everywhere, and I can see the magazine's editor-in-chief, Graydon Carter, way up ahead near the door, situated next to someone with a clipboard checking off names. Before we can even get to the door, we have to do the long red carpet.
"KAITLIN! KAITLIN, LOOK OVER HERE!"
"HEY, KAITLIN, IS THAT YOUR BOYFRIEND?"
"THAT'S HER BROTHER!"
"IS THAT KAITLIN'S BRO? YO, LOOK THIS WAY!"
"KAITLIN BURKE! TURN THIS WAY! NOW OVER HERE!"
"LET'S GET ONE OF YOU TOGETHER!"
"NOW KAITLIN ALONE!"
"Wow, that was intense," Matty whispers after we've made it through the line, greeted Vanity Fair's editor-in-chief and the magazine's owner, and slipped inside.
Morton's in West Hollywood has been home to the Vanity Fair party for over a decade now (well, except for that year there was a writer's strike, but there was no bash that year anyway). Matty and I are attending the dinner party, which about 150 people are invited to and starts at 5 PM. It takes place during the awards, which you can watch on large screens. After the show wraps, the major mingling begins. The after-party is in a large tent behind the restaurant. It can hold up to 800 revelers. With a Hollywood crowd that big, I'm told you can run into almost anyone your heart can imagine -- from old Hollywood, like Martin Landau, to politicians, athletes, and rock stars. You might find Kid Rock in a corner talking to Larry King. How weird is that?
A cluster of tables is set up with table numbers and Matty and I nervously make our way to ours. I know the guests have been carefully arranged to avoid any major drama. In years past, there have been a few scuffles, drinks thrown, and people tossed. The last thing I want is to get into a melee and get bounced from VF on my first year in. I've heard there's actually a list of major stars that have never been asked back to the party because they've behaved badly or been rude to the wait staff. Yikes.
I look around. The tables are sparsely decorated with white cloths, tiny lamps, and cherry brandy roses. Cookies stenciled with the image of VF's annual Young Hollywood cover are on the table, as well as covers dating back to the 1920s. My one publicity goal is to make the Young Hollywood cover. It's a who's who of hotness. They've had the occasional TV star, but it's usually girls with major up-and-coming film careers that are featured.
With FA ending, now might be my chance to do just that. That is, if I stop feeling guilty and panicked long enough to pick a project and stick with it. But what happens if Manolos doesn't work out? What if I don't like any of the other pilots? What if the people from that play hate me? Could I be washed up at seventeen? Could my first year at the VF party also be my last?
"Check out the lighters," Matty interrupts my thoughts. I pick one up. They're custom-made Zippos engraved with the quote, I've been to a marvelous party. "I've got to take one of those," he adds. I give him a look. I'm not sure if we get to swipe these.
Dinner itself and the four-plus-hour award ceremony go by in a blip. It doesn't hurt that each course, prepared by Morton's chef, is more delicious than the last -- burrata with a red and yellow tomato salad, New York strip steak with spinach and French fries, thyme-encrusted tuna with a fondue of leeks and rice, butternut squash ravioli with sage sauce, and apple tart with caramel sauce and vanilla ice cream.
The company is even better. Whoever did this seating chart must have read one of my interviews -- I just spent four hours sitting next to Carrie Fisher. THE Princess Leia!
I'm sure she thought I was crazy because I kept staring at her. I wanted to ask her to say a line from Star Wars or something, but I was too embarrassed. I couldn't wait to steal away from the table and tell Austin. I even took a picture of us together with my Canon Sure Shot (the perfect camera for a tiny metallic purse). I'm going to have to blow it up wall-size for my room.
But you know what was even better than getting that photo? Carrie Fisher knew who I was! She loves Family Affair. My show! I could have died right then and there. The two of us started chatting about storylines and the next thing I knew she said the ten little words that make my heart start beating like an athlete after four Red Bulls:
"I can't believe Family Affair is going off the air."
And even worse:
"What are you planning to do when the show ends?"
Even on Oscar night, when everyone is focused on someone else's body of work and who's going to win the little gold man, I can't escape my career anxieties. Even sitting next to Princess Leia can't make me forget about that. I give her my stock answer that I've perfected by now: "I'm excited about the future and am exploring my options."
"Kates, can I talk to you?" Matty asks me after dessert, when everyone has moved to the 7,000 square foot tent for the after-party. It looks like a giant living room. It's quiet now, but it won't be for long. Throngs of famous faces are filing in behind us, air-kissing, congratulating one another on films recently released and quietly making business deals. I'm in awe of the string of A-listers walking past me. I keep a smile plastered on my face the whole time. I've never seen so many of my favorite stars in one room before. Matty's right -- this is kind of nerve-wracking. Thank God I'm not alone.
"Hang on to my arm so we don't get separated," I whisper.
"Um, that's the thing," Matty explains. "I was kind of wondering if you'd be all right on your own for a while."
"What?" I'm surprised. "Where are you going?"
"A few actors from the Scooby-Doo pilot are here and they asked me to sit with them." Matty looks desperate. "I really want to make a good impression since we're shooting it next week." Tom is the show's director and he and Matty have cleared part of their days to shoot the other show. Since Scooby is all about monster-chasing, they're shooting a large part of the pilot at night anyway.
"I'll come with you," I tell him. I don't want to say I don't want to be left alone, but I'm starting to get freaked out. Orlando Bloom just winked at me. And, yes, I've met Rihanna, who is standing two feet away, but we've never said more than three words to each other. What would we talk about?
"I guess so," Matty says, but his face tells a different story. "It's just that if you come over, all anyone will want to talk about is you and Family Affair ending. If I go alone, I won't be Kaitlin Burke's little brother, you know?" His eyes plead with me.
I know.
"You go," I reassure him. "I'll mingle and we can meet up when you're done."
Matt kisses my check. "I won't be more than ten minutes."
Forty-five minutes later, I've met Shakira, had chicken skewers with Kelly Clarkson, and begged Hayden Panettiere to give me the scoop on what's going to happen on Heroes. I haven't seen Sky yet, who was invited to the after-party ("I didn't want to go to their dinner anyway. Who wants to eat in front of other people?" she told me), but that doesn't mean she's not here. This tent is packed and it's so dark in here, I can barely see past the next Cream-of-Wheat-colored sofa. The room is softly lit and really pretty. The tent's walls are made up of two
layers of jute that have lighting in between them. Two-foot-long triangles are suspended from the ceiling high above the sofas and ottomans sitting on the bamboo-covered floor.
I glance at the crowded table where Matty is holding court and stare at it longingly. If I thought I felt lonely before, now I feel ten times worse. If things were different, Austin would be on my arm or Liz would be standing next to me.
Liz and I would have had the best time daring each other to approach Pam Anderson or Bono. She'd be the one telling me to ignore all the people talking about Family Affair's ending and just focus on tonight. We would have cooed over everyone's dresses and worried whether we'd been photographed eating. Suddenly, I really miss my best friend. This is silly. So we had a little spat. We've been friends forever! I'm going to call her.
I make my way through the crowd to the bathrooms and move to a quiet(er) corner outside the entrance. The line is long, but I don't think anyone is paying attention to my call. I dial Liz's number. She picks up on the second ring.
"Hello?" The phone is full of static and I can't tell if it's my connection or hers.
"Liz, it's me," I tell her. "Listen, I'm at the Vanity Fair party and you'll never guess who I just met." The static is getting louder. "I really wish ..."
"Can't. Hear." Liz's words are all jumbled and she hangs up.
". . . you were here," I finish the sentence out loud to myself and wait for her to call me back. I'm sure my number came up on her caller ID so she knows it was me. If she's out of range she'll just find someplace with good reception to call me from. She knows where I am tonight so I'm sure she'll call me back. Suddenly I wish I could call Austin but he's in the middle of his scrimmage. I'd give anything to hear his voice right now; I miss him so much. But instead I wait for Liz to call me. And I wait. And wait.
But Liz doesn't call. I stand there for fifteen minutes, but my phone doesn't ring at all and I have four bars so I know I have a full signal.
I try to fight back my tears. I cannot cry in front of all these people. But that's all I want to do: cry. I want to forget about my fight with Lizzie. Forget about Family Affair ending. Forget about Mom and Dad and Laney and Nadine and Seth putting pressure on me to find my next big thing. I'm sick of hearing it all. And now I'm not just stressed, I'm getting angry. I don't know how much more of this I can take.
"Kaitlin? Are you okay?"
I look up. Ava is standing in front of me clutching a gold purse. She looks pretty in a turquoise Dina Bar-El gown that is fitted to her tiny frame. Her long blond hair is super curly and she's got on so much bling my eyes hurt staring at it. Lauren is with her, and she looks incredible in a short gold mini dress with her hair piled high on her head.
"What happened?" Lauren asks and puts an arm around me. "We've been looking for you everywhere."
"I have a headache and I just want to go home," I say tearfully.
"Hey," Ava says sternly. "Be real. You said yourself you've been dying to get an invite to this party. You're not going home. What gives?"
"You can talk to us," Lauren says gently. "We're your friends."
Friends. I like the sound of that. I really need friends right now. "Do you really want to know what's going on?" I ask doubtfully. This is usually the point where everyone else I know cuts me off.
"We wouldn't ask if we didn't," Ava says simply.
Click. Click. Click.
I look up. Gary and Larry the Liar are taking pictures of us.
"Get away from here!" Ava shrieks.
Gary looks alarmed. "But you said you wanted us to take your picture."
"Can't you see our friend is upset?" Lauren complains. "Go away. We'll see you on the dance floor."
I smile gratefully at Lauren as she hands me a crumpled tissue. "I'm really glad you two are here." I can feel my cellphone buzzing in my purse, but I don't stop to look. If it's Matty, we'll find each other eventually.
"Let's find a quiet table so we can talk," Ava suggests. She and Lauren both put an arm around me and we make our way to a small, candlelit booth in the back. People try to stop us along the way, but Ava and Lauren actually ignore them. "Tell us what's going on," Ava says once we're settled.
Once I start talking, I can't stop. Ava and Lauren really listen. They don't interrupt me at all except for an occasional "shut up!" or "they're crazy!" I vent about my parents, Seth, Nadine's nagging, my fight with Liz, how much I miss my boyfriend, and my equal fear and procrastination about finding another project. I don't hold anything back. It feels good to get it all out on the table. When I'm finished, Ava is the first to speak.
"You have to get rid of these people!" she declares. "They're dragging you down. Well, except for that hottie boyfriend of yours. He sounds okay."
I smirk. "He's a keeper, for sure, but, well, I can't disown my parents. But it's good to know whose side you're on."
"Of course we're on yours," Lauren says. "I think everyone is bullying you around. Who cares if you have a new show or movie to do this spring? Ava and I haven't shot anything since last year and the press still adores us. You don't have to toil away at work to get the perks of being a celebrity, you know."
I nod. But I don't want to be a celebrity. I want to be an actress. And the truth is, I like working. I think I'd be pretty bored if I was sitting home every day. I used to fantasize about time off, but a few months during hiatus is all I really seem to need. "I'm glad you guys understand. No one else seems to get what I'm going through," I complain.
"You know what you need?" Ava asks. "You need to take control of your own destiny. It's like I keep telling you -- no one is going to give you the respect you deserve unless you take it for yourself. I can't believe they made you do a music demo! Stop letting them boss you around and make you do stupid things. You have to make the decisions. What do they know anyway?"
"Well, Seth is a well-respected agent," I admit. "And Laney is one of the best publicists around."
Lauren coughs. "You could get a publicist for half the price who would do the same thing. I don't even have a publicist right now and look at me. I'm doing okay."
"Your last publicist dropped you," Ava reminds her. They both giggle. "For good reason."
"Why?" I ask.
"It doesn't matter," Ava says dismissively. "Right now we're worried about you. You're a mess! It's time for Kaitlin Burke to take some me time. Stop letting everyone else call the shots."
I feel the anger start to bubble over. "You're right!" I tell them. "I do deserve me time." I feel stronger just saying the words out loud.
"Thatta girl," Lauren commends me. "Be free." Suddenly she gasps and grabs my hand. "I love this song!"
It's a Ne-Yo tune and I know the lyrics by heart. The three of us start singing at the top of our lungs and I don't care if people are staring. It feels good to let loose.
"Ooh! Let's go dance," Ava suggests. "We can dance and make fun of people at the same time."
Lauren giggles. "Seriously, this is one of our favorite pastimes," she says conspiratorially. "Did you see what some of these people are wearing?" My face must look surprised because then she adds, "We do it all in good fun. We're not really being mean, you know. Everyone does it." I nod.
The two of them drag me away from our small corner after nearly an hour of chatting and we go dance. The party has an awesome DJ. We shimmy in a little circle, holding hands and singing to all the lyrics. We stop every so often so that Ava or Lauren can drool over some star that tries to break into our little group. I swear they must know everyone here. I'm having such a good time, I don't look at the time. It's not until Matty joins us that I realize how late it is.
"Rodney is waiting out front with the car," Matty yells over the thumping music. "It's one thirty."
One thirty? "Guys, I have to go," I tell Ava and Lauren sadly. They both groan.
"Nooooooo," Ava whines. "Do you have to go now? There's this awesome after-after-party happening in the Valley after this."
"I have to be at work to
morrow at seven," I tell them apologetically.
"Call in sick," Lauren suggests. "Fight the power!"
I laugh. "I can't call in tomorrow. Thanks again for tonight though. It felt good to vent."
"We're glad you did," Ava says as Matty begins tugging me. "We'll call you tomorrow."
It's not till we're finally in the car and I'm looking at Carrie Fisher's number on my Sidekick that I see I missed a call on my cellphone. It was from Liz. She called about twenty minutes ago. For a moment, I'm excited. If she's on the east coast it's not too late to call her and tell her all about tonight. But then again, why should I call? Liz didn't try too hard to reach me earlier. She could have left me a voicemail, but she didn't. Liz wasn't there for me when I needed her. Ava and Lauren were. I turn off the phone and replay my magical first VF party in my mind.
Sunday, February 8
NOTE TO SELF:
Monday calltime: 7 AM
Private Hollywood Eyes.com
Hollywood Can't Make a Move Without Us Watching
BLOGS SIGHTINGS BIOS ARCHIEVE
Oscar Night Sightings Continued . . .
February 9
Sky Mackenzie talking Elton John's ear off at the In Style bash. Guess Sky didn't have much company to keep. Her object of affection, Trevor Wainright, basically ignored her. Instead, he spent the night nestled between two unidentified blondes. Was Sky mad. Tee hee ...
Rejected Family Affair costar Alexis Holden being turned away at the door to the Entertainment Weekly party. We're sure the bad buzz on her upcoming film, Paris Is Burning (which had already been recast once), had a lot to do with it ...
Drew Thomas, holding court with the latest Hollywood "It" Girl, Piper Long, at the Governor's Ball. Hmm ... was Drew actually into Piper, or just on her arm for the publicity? He was all love and affection in front of the cameras, but when the glare was off the pair, he looked beyond bored to us ...
Mac Murdoch and his celebrity band taking the stage at the Hollywood Nation party. The guys were so awful that the room cleared in minutes. Do us a favor and stick to rockin' action films, Mac. Mwah!