An hour after my little freak-out at Blake, I’m still upset. I don’t blame him for the dig against my parents—god knows how many far worse digs he put up with from them until I finally had the guts to tell them that this was the man I was going to marry, and if they couldn’t stop acting like assholes, they didn’t need to be in our lives.
They made the effort, at least. I was pregnant with Ivy at the time, and the thought that they might be cut off from their future grandchildren was strong motivation to get them to cut the passive-aggressive bullshit. But it was clear they were never going to give their full approval to Blake, no matter how good a husband and father he showed himself to be.
I wonder how much of it was because they could never quite forgive me for breaking their rules. Regardless, things were never the same between my parents and me after that, which in some ways was good.They stopped trying to control me in every little thing; I stopped letting them.
To their (dubious) credit, they didn’t rub it in after the divorce. Once, when I was in a particularly deep pit of self-pity, I confessed to my dad that I wasn’t sure Blake had ever loved me. “I may not have liked him much,” my dad said, “but anyone could see that man loved you, Kim.” It made me cry at the time, but that one admission doesn’t mean my parents will be thrilled to see us back together. Hopefully they know that my previous threat still holds—and when I finally bring myself to return their calls and talk to them about getting back together with Blake, I’ll be sure to remind them.
My parents might have had too tight a grip on me, but some aspects of it were good for me.The guidance, the advice, the reminder of how fleeting fame and fortune can be if it’s not properly maintained.
I don’t expect to beTanner’s mom or anything—though he could probably use it, given how awful most showbiz parents are—but I’ve been where he is, and I’ve come out the other side, sane and successful.
Okay.Sanemay be debatable. But compared to most teen stars, I’m a shining beacon of mental health.
I’m determined to talk toTanner and prove Blake wrong about me.
“Hey,Tanner,” I say, finding him sitting in a chair under a portable AC unit, going over the script for his next scene.
That’s good. Responsible.
Or so I think until I get closer and realize he reeks of pot.
“Heeeey,” he says, grinning up at me, the stoned sound to his voice removing any (slim) hopes that he just happened to wander past a few toking extras. “Kim. Good to see you.”
“Yeah. Well. Hey.” I’m suddenly unsure of how to start. Damn it, why don’t I ever take a minute to prepare these things? “So you know I think you’ve got a lot of talent, right? I said that earlier.”
He brushes back that flop of hair that just falls back over his eye again a second later. “Oh yeah.That was the shit.”
“Right. Well—”
He leans forward. “You know, I think you’rewaytoo hot to be my aunt. Aunts aren’t supposed to be hot.”
Ugh. I try to keep from wrinkling my nose. It’s not the first time I’ve been hit on by a co-star young enough to be my son, and not the first time said co-star has been high while doing so.
But even ifTanner is stoned, maybe I can get through to him a little. At least open the conversation.
“Um, thanks,” I say, keeping my tone as friendly and yet unencouraging as possible. “I just wanted to say, I know what it’s like to be a teen star. I was one, too. A loooong time ago.” I try to emphasize that last bit. “I know how easy it is to get swept up in all of this. But it’s important to—”
“You want a smoke?” He pulls a pack of regular cigarettes from his jeans pocket. I’m fairly sure he’d have a joint ready at a moment’s notice, if I seemed so inclined.
“No. I don’t smoke. And when it comes to pot, probably you shouldn’t either, at least not during a shoot, you know? I know lots of people do way worse, but when you’re on set, it’s important to maintain a professional image—let people see that despite your young age, you can be trusted with bigger and more nuanced roles. If that’s what you ultimately want, that is.”
He nods slowly, his blue eyes serious. “Yeah, that makes sense.” He puts the cigarettes back.
I smile, encouraged. He’s listening to me. Should I leave it there for now?
I’ve never been good at leaving things there.
“Because I really think you have the talent to have a lasting career, and if you’re open to some advice—”
He makes a snorting kind of laugh. “Lasting,” he repeats, then gives me a significant look.
I blink. “Um, lastingcareer. Yes. But in addition to not doing drugs before scenes, you definitely want to be careful with how you interact on set with—”
“Hey, speaking of interacting, did you look up that club I told you about? Hustle? It’s the shit,” he reminds me. “They don’t evenopenuntil 1 AM. I’m going tonight, getting super turnt.There’ll be tons of girls.”
He leans back in his chair, staring off into the distance dreamily, like he’s picturing it.
My brief wink of triumph is quickly becoming dismay. “Don’t you have to be on set at six-thirty tomorrow?”
