I pretend to be fascinated by the shiny Mercedes and Porsches whizzing by the window.
Nadine eyes me suspiciously. "Seriously, Kaitlin. Tell this Zara chick you don't want to talk about Sky or Trevor."
"That's all she's going to want to talk about," I protest.
"We went over this with Laney," she recites smoothly. "You and Trevor are friends. You're happy for him and Sky. Whatever you do, don't ramble on about the whole thing. You think every reporter is your friend, Kaitlin, but they're not. They just want the story."
"I can't help it." I look over at Rodney. I can tell he's trying not to laugh. "They get me going about Sky, and I find myself coming up with excuses about why we don't hang together. I mean, I can't tell them she's positively evil, right? That would make me look bad. And the Trevor thing -- I don't like him! Not that way. I feel bad he's been hypnotized by Sky, but..."
"You're doing it again." Nadine wags a finger at me. "You're rambling."
"Sky's a sore subject with me." I fold my tanned arms across my chest.
"When you're nervous, you ramble," Nadine says sternly. "I don't care if Zara claims to be president of the Kaitlin Burke fan club. Don't say anything negative. Let Sky bury herself."
"Okay," I agree wearily.
"Well, whatever you plan to say, figure it out quick," announces Rodney as we pull into the tiny parking lot at Fred Segal on Melrose. "We're here."
Two: Schmoozing at Fred Segal
When Teen People told me they wanted to shoot my cover story at my favorite store, I immediately thought of this sci-fi shop on La Cienega where I buy Star Wars memorabilia. I know it borders on geekdom, but I'm obsessed with Star Wars. Not only is it the best good vs. evil story ever, with the cutest heroes (don't even get me started on my "it boy," the charmingly cocky Han Solo), but it also has a butt-kicking heroine. What I wouldn't give to play Princess Leia, with my hair in wacky bun braids....
But we won't be talking about my love of all things Star Wars today. Laney nixed the idea. "It's nerdy. Pick Fred Segal. That store is hip."
Even if you've never been to Fred Segal, you've probably heard of this celeb magnet. The two-story shopping mecca on Melrose (there's another larger location in Santa Monica) houses a maze of mini boutiques that are filled with trendy threads boasting high pricetags. I'm partial to their jean bar, where they shorten all my favorite brands (I'm only 5'3") free of charge.
Rodney, Nadine, and I grab our things and walk up to the vine-covered gray stone storefront at exactly 8:58 AM, where a security guard is waiting for us.
"We actually made it." Nadine breathes a sigh of relief.
The guard unlocks the doors to the closed building and ushers us inside. It's weird being here when music isn't pounding over the stereo speakers and the Fred Segal Beauty boutique isn't packed. As we pass the shoe department, I hear someone call my name. I turn and see a petite blonde with a tape recorder strutting towards me.
"It's so nice to meet you," she gushes. "I'm Zara Connors from Teen People."
"It's great to be here." I snap to attention and give her a big smile. "I love Teen People."
"We love to hear that. So you know why we're here then? We want to capture the real you on a shopping excursion. Laney said Fred Segal is your favorite."
"Yes, I shop here all the time," I tell her cheerily.
"You have an hour for hair and makeup before the store opens, then we'll shoot you pointing out your favorite things." Zara consults the schedule in her hand. "At the end, we'll go over some other questions. Sound good?" I nod.
Zara leads the way to the small crew. I quickly say hello to the photo editor, the assistants, and the photographer, Marc Bennet -- making sure to compliment him on the last shoot we did together, a cover for Lucky -- then I head over to my hair and makeup artists, Paul and Shelly. They've been my team on FA ever since I can remember, and I adore them. So does Mom. She makes sure they're hired for all my photo shoots.
"Doll, we've got to stop meeting like this," Paul wails dramatically as I approach the makeshift station of beauty supplies they've set up on a Fred Segal counter. "These nine AM call times after a heinous night on Affair are not good for my beauty rest. And let's just forget about Jacques's reaction. He was beyond bitter when I told him I couldn't meet him for breakfast at Joan's on Third this morning." Jacques, a fellow hair designer (Word of warning: Never call Paul a "hairdresser"), is Paul's latest crush. They've gone on two dates and already Paul is smitten.
"Oh please, you saw him yesterday!" Shelly punches him on the arm.
"Yeah, but that was more than twenty-four hours ago," he sniffs.
I swear Paul and Shelly would make a great reality show. He's a handsome California boy from Venice Beach and she's a loud-mouthed Southern broad with an imposing chest. They're complete opposites, and yet they fit great (unlike Sky and me). While Paul only wears designer duds, Shelly is a bargain shopper. She hits all the sales and only buys things if they're marked down sixty percent off or more. This horrifies Paul, who wouldn't be caught dead in last season's anything.
"Okay, Kates, what's it going to be today?" Shelly asks, giving my face a once-over with toner, then dabbing concealer under my eyes. "How about some sparkly eye shadow to bring out those green eyes of yours? Or maybe some body glitter?"
"Do you think glitter is a bit much?" I wonder. "Real people go to the mall in sweats."
"Oh, not the real people thing again," Paul laments, spritzing my hair and pulling it into a low chignon, the way I like it. "Honey, let's get one thing straight. You're not real. You're Hollywood. You're supposed to look better than those people." Paul peers into my mirror, checks his curly brown hair for frizz, and gives me a wink.
I swat his face away. Everyone thinks I'm crazy to be so fascinated with "the real world"-- a.k.a anything beyond the borders of greater Los Angeles. "People would kill to have enough money to fly their friends to Turks and Caicos for their sweet sixteen," Liz always reminds me. Yeah, but real people don't have to worry about someone like Sky talking trash about them on the nightly news either.
As soon as Paul gives me a final spritz of hairspray, Zara appears at my side, ready to start the interview. Our first stop is the perfume counter. ( "I love anything with a hint of lavender," I repeat, just as Laney instructed. She said lavender traditionally evokes luck and trust or something, so Zara will be impressed.) Marc follows, snapping pictures of me posing with various products. Picking up the rear are Nadine and Rodney. Now that the store is officially open, Rodney's got his "Don't mess with us" face on. That plus his large frame, shiny bald head, and dark black sunglasses are enough to scare anyone away. Anyone but Fred Segal's PR woman.
"Kaitlin Burke! Not sure if you remember me; I'm Kathy Sutherland, public relations director for Fred Segal and Fred Segal Beauty." The tall, thin brunette in a killer tweed pant-suit holds her perfectly manicured hand out.
"Of course." I smile, shaking her hand. "Thanks for the spa day last month."
"No problem." She flashes her perfect pearly whites at me. "Fred Segal is all about taking care of their special customers. And this, by the way, is for you." She holds out several white Fred Segal shopping bags stuffed with products. "There's one for you and Nadine, of course, and I packed some of your mom's favorites as well."
"Thank you." I take the bags slowly. "That's so nice." If Kathy could only see my bathroom. It's exploding with free products. I could run a small spa out of my house.
HOLLYWOOD SECRET NUMBER THREE: Big stars get a lot of free stuff. Small stars get zippo. Okay, maybe they get a small discount or a free handbag now and then, but not often. This secret has no logic, I know. Once you can afford things, free stuff starts showing up at your publicist's office on a daily basis. Mention that you can't live without a certain moisturizer on Live with Regis and Kelly and they'll ship a box out the next day.
Kathy joins our posse as we hit the jeans bar. Marc has me pose with several pairs of denim while Zara fires off questions
like, "What's your favorite thing to wear on your day off?"( "My Princess Leia t-shirt with cut-off green sweatpants. I find green soothing.") "What did you spend your first paycheck on?"( "When I was seven, I bought a massive trampoline for our backyard.") "How much is your current handbag?"( "I splurged on thousand-dollar cream canvas and green leather Prada bowler bags for my friend Liz and me -- but I had to ask my mom's permission first.")
As we make our way to the shoe department, I notice our group has grown. A lot. Several girls are following us, even though they're trying not to make it obvious. "Isn't this cute?" one pipes up, holding up a pink sequined top and showing it to her giggling friend. Another tries to take a picture with her camera phone, but Rodney puts the kibosh on that. "Can Kaitlin take a picture?" she begs. Rodney takes another bite of his Almond Bar and says "after the shoot."
By eleven-thirty we've hit every department in the store. For the final shot, Marc gets the group of girls following us to pose for a picture of me "leaving" with dozens of Fred Segal bags. Most of the bags were actually mine since Kathy kept trying to give me anything I said was cute, including a pair of funky banana-yellow pumps.
Once I've signed autographs and posed for pictures, I finish my interview with Zara. After a few softballs (I told her my most embarrassing moment was when I accidentally spat food on Julia Roberts at a party), Zara wants to know the real dirt.
"Everyone in our office is obsessed with Trevor Wainright." She sighs. "We love his character, Ryan. What's it like to kiss him?"
"He's a great kisser. He has really soft lips," I giggle. Hey, it's true. Not that I have so many guys to compare him to.
"I'm sure it's awkward though," Zara comments, "since Sky has a thing for Trevor."
"You'd have to ask her about that." I calmly dodge the ticking time bomb.
"So there's no guy in your life right now?" Zara prods. I watch as she slides her tape recorder across the perfume counter where we're standing and closer to me.
I shake my head and smile. "Sadly, no. Between FA and my homework and charity obligations, I don't have a lot of free time."
"You seemed to make room last year, when you were spotted around town with Drew Thomas."
"We didn't date," I explain firmly. "We just had a few dinners. We were in talks to do a movie together." What I want to say is that Drew is an egotistical muscle head who is more concerned with how his famous dates can advance his career than having an actual relationship. I found that out the hard way, and I've had no desire to date anyone since. Of course, I truly haven't had the time to either.
"This week's TV Tome has a story about you and Sky fighting over Trevor," continues Zara. "Want to comment?" I look at Nadine, who motions for me to wrap things up.
"I think someone on set must be drinking too many lattes." I laugh. "They're hallucinating if they think we're fighting over Trevor. It couldn't be further from the truth. He's Sky's if she wants him. Trevor's a great guy, but he's a bit quiet for me. I like more assertive guys, you know? Trev's better suited for someone like Sky, who can walk ..."
"TIME'S UP!" Nadine blurts out. Zara jumps. "Sorry," Na-dine apologizes efficiently. "We've got to go." I look at my watch. It's 1:55. I had hoped to run into Mauro's Café & Ristorante, which is inside Fred Segal, to grab a strawberry smoothie, but there's no time. My stomach rumbles in protest. Sorry, buddy. Let's hope the So Chic store has a yummy Chinese takeout menu handy.
Three: A Slice of Heaven
Liz is waiting in our usual rickety wooden booth in the back of A Slice of Heaven when Rodney and I arrive at 4:15. As we weave through the crowded tables, I pull my Dodgers cap down low so that no one recognizes me. Not that I don't stick out like a sore thumb with an intimidating dude trailing me everywhere I go. Liz sees us coming and taps her watch.
"Sorry." I cringe as I slide into the booth. "Rodney and I got stuck on Robertson."
"Autographs?" Liz asks knowingly.
"Camera guys," Rodney explains through a mouthful of pepperoni. Hey, how'd he get that already? "They were like a swarm of wasps."
"It's no wonder. You're big news this week, Kates," Liz offers, her long-lashed brown eyes sparkling. "You've been spotted all over town crying over losing Trevor Wainright to Sky." She grabs my worn hat and yanks it up to examine my annoyed expression. "I don't see any tears though." She laughs, her curly dark brown hair swinging.
"Cute," I comment sarcastically. "Real cute. Can we order? I'm starving."
"Sorry. I couldn't resist. Dad had the new Hollywood Nation in the bathroom."
"Did you use it as toilet paper?" Rodney takes another large bite oozing with cheese.
"I'll have to try that." Liz grins, then spies something behind us and whistles loudly. "Now that's what I call service!"
I turn to look. A Slice of Heaven's owner, Antonio, shuffles towards us, carrying our usual -- a Sicilian pie with extra cheese, peppers, and broccoli and three Sprites. "Here you go," he announces gruffly. "Anything for my favorite girls -- and Mr. Rodney, of course." He places the steaming pie down, and we scramble to get a slice.
There's no comparing other pizza to A Slice of Heaven's. It's the best pizza in Los Angeles, maybe the entire West Coast. (Antonio says the key is the water he uses to make the pie dough. He has tap water bottled and shipped from New York.)
There's another reason Liz and I are fond of this place: No one bothers me here. The restaurant is this totally no-frills pizza joint with almost vintage booths and unfashionable checkerboard tablecloths, in a strip mall in the Studio City section of L.A. Celebrities, and the paparazzi for that matter, would never think to come here. Most stars dine at other star-owned hot spots or hang at security-tight clubs like Star. I spend too much time in that circle as it is, which is why I favor A Slice of Heaven. When Liz and I sit in the back booth nursing our pie and Sprite refills, no one notices. It really is heaven.
I jump up and plant a kiss on Antonio's cheek. "Thanks, Tony. I've been dying for this all day. And today was pretty hectic -- even for me."
He blushes. "You're lucky Liz told me you were coming. We were almost out of broccoli. I saved it for you."
"You're the best," I mumble, taking a big, juicy bite.
Antonio motions to Rodney. "Come on back. Rambo: First Blood Part II is on TV."
"You think you could whip up some meatballs while we're back there?" Rodney gets up quickly, knocking over the napkin holder. "Holler if you need me, Kates," he says before following Tony away.
"So how was the shoot?" Liz asks. I nod up and down, since my mouth is full. "And lunch the other day with Laney and your parents?" She grins slyly. I stop chewing and look down at my greasy plate.
"You've been dodging that question for days now! You haven't told me what happened when you brought up taking the hiatus off." I blink rapidly and stifle a sigh. Liz takes a monstrous bite of pizza, the oil dripping down her chin, and shakes her head.
"Let's just say I didn't make much progress," I answer slowly before filling her in on my ill-fated convo at the Ivy.
Between my parents' long-winded speech about my future acting plans, Matty being signed by Laney, and Laney's signature name-dropping stories about her other clients ( "I spent all morning with Reese and the kids," she'd drawled as my family listened intently. "She wanted my help picking out a dress for the Erase MS event this weekend"), I could barely get a word in. And when I did meekly suggest taking a vacation this hiatus, instead of doing the Kaitlin Goodwill press tour they were suggesting, my parents, Matt, and Laney acted as though I was certifiably insane.
"Take ... the ... hiatus ... off?" Laney repeated slowly, tapping her long French-manicured nails nervously. "That's NOT a very good idea." She trained her almost-black heavily lined eyes on me. "The tabloids are devouring stories of you and Sky. If you disappear for a few months, she'll win."
"It's time to get in gear!" Dad gushed like a cheerleader. "Work, work, work, Kaitie-kins. It will pay off."
Matty was the only one on my side
. Well, sort of.
"Laney, I could go on Ellen for Kaitlin." Matt flipped his blond mop top, green eyes glowing with excitement. "I don't need media training like Kaitlin does. I could be her cute younger brother who sticks up for her. And talk about my next project, of course ... once I get one."
Matt's still never gotten over the fact that I could only get him a walk-on role on FA. He was so mad about it that he barged into the writers' room one afternoon and demanded a bigger part. I'm lucky the writers were good sports about my 13-year-old brother's outburst. They could have shipped Sam off to Cambodia to build schoolhouses out of mud.
"This is your career we're talking about, Kate-Kate." Mom smiled sweetly, sealing my fate to a hiatus full of TV appearances, interviews, and social events from the day FA shooting ends next week till I arrive back on set in August. "If we want your career to be a long one, we have to protect your image and squash these rumors pronto. You can take a weekend off, but then it's back to work. Understood?" She raised her right eyebrow at me scarily. Again, that's never a good sign.
"Understood," I had agreed quietly.
What I should have said is that I'm exhausted. Completely and utterly flattened from the gossip hounding, fights with Sky, and nonstop schedule. And if I don't take a break from all things Hollywood, I might wind up having a breakdown that prompts me to dye my hair a scary shade of platinum blond, stop consuming anything but Jamba Juice, and begin partying till four AM like some other young stars I know, but am too discreet to name.
"So I'm taking it you didn't bring up Cabo?" Liz jokes. The two of us were hoping to jet down to Cabo San Lucas for a little sun while I'm off from work, but I don't think that's part of Laney's schedule.
"Not even close," I say, eyeing another slice of pizza. Liz catches me.
"Go on." She grabs a second slice for herself. "It won't kill you."
I look around, almost thinking Mom will swoop in at any moment and have a fit, and pull another piece from the tray.
"Thatta girl," she encourages me. "First step is pizza, second is reminding your entourage who is actually in charge of your career."