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My own apartment wasn’t that far away. I didn’t like being too far away from the city’s nightlife scene. It was the same condo I’d been posted up in since I was 17, and it still felt as new as the day I’d moved in. Most of the neighbors were the kind of people who owned the offices around town—attorneys, a few docs, that kind of crowd, but most of them young enough that there wasn’t any fuss when we threw ragers up there. Probably because most of them liked using the pool on the roof that I owned. I left my bike in one of the private garages, watching the sunlight glint off its sleek, gunmetal-grey body as the shutter door closed and I headed up to the elevator.
Part of me always wanted to move a few blocks down, just because some of the memories of how I got this place nag at the back of my head when I remember slumping into the elevator for the first time, heart still pounding from the fight I’d had with my dad.
Todd van der Hausen might have been one of the biggest middle-aged stars in Los Angeles, but he couldn’t have been a worse father. He was always out at this dinner or that reception, always leaving us at home to make some new connections at the hippest parties, and more than anything else, always talking to some new squeeze hanging on his arm, hoping for a new lead.
That was probably why Mom walked out on us when I was 16. I couldn’t blame her, either, not with how much he was fooling around away from home. Last I’d heard, she had boarded a plane to Europe and hadn’t made contact with us since then. His place just felt empty after that, and it was all his fault. He yelled at her so much the few times he actually was home, I’m surprised she had as much patience as she did, especially after what happened to Chelsea.
Chelsea was my sister. When she was 10, she was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis, and her health was already taking a sharp turn down at that point. She and I had always been close, going on boat trips with Mom together, playing together on long, overseas plane rides, and even starting to take up horse riding just before she’d gotten ill. She was gone a year later, just before my 14th birthday.
It felt like Dad hardly noticed. Sure, he was there for the funeral, but the next day he was out at another nightclub with some new Brazilian actress who co-starred with him in a blockbuster he’d been shooting the whole time Chelsea was sick.
Mom leaving was just the tip of the iceberg. I’m sure she knew about his affairs, but her actually up and leaving sent the media into a frenzy. For a few weeks, I couldn’t even leave the house, the press was hounding both of us so hard, and the last thing I wanted was to spend another second under the same roof as him. So when I told him that he was going to pay for my new condo in the city or I’d let the paparazzi know about the rest of his dirty laundry, he knew what the right answer was. I’m 21 now, and he hasn’t tried to cut me off yet.
He hadn’t always played ball happily, though. Some days, I could swear he still had people watching for me to slip up, find some kind of dirt on me, but he’d never catch up to everything I had on him. The perk of being a Hollywood actor’s son is that people don’t care about you half as much as they care about the asshole in the limelight.
By the time the elevator hit the top floor and I’d snapped out of my memories, I realized I’d worked myself into a gloomy mood. I checked my phone as I walked through the door, and there was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
“hi! didnt think u could be torn away from Becky at the club, so how about my place later? ;) –Tonya”
I rolled my eyes. It was gonna be a long night. Again.
MacKenzie
I sat on the floor of my soon-to-be old living room, surrounded on all sides by looming stacks of books and knick-knacks to be packed into boxes. In the corner, a pile of hastily-assembled luggage collapsed to the floor, as my mother came swishing into the room. She was petite and curvaceous, with a bottle-blonde and big-breasted look that had landed her numerous roles in soap operas over the past twenty years. In 1991, Julie Mason had transformed into a child star overnight at the age of twelve, and it had been pretty smooth sailing since then. As it turned out, a pretty girl with the ability to cry on cue and make her costars fall in love with her was just the kind of formula which worked in Hollywood.
Today, the 36-year-old Julie lived in a lavish guesthouse in the backyard of a very famous actress friend, with me, her 18-year-old daughter. But the pair of us were packaging up our old lives to move in with her newest beau, an extremely wealthy and notorious actor and producer named Todd van der Hausen.
I had yet to meet the guy, but I knew his face from various tabloids over the years. I only hoped he would treat my mom better than some of the guys she dated before. Julie Mason had a penchant for the bad boys, and it got her into trouble more times than not. And guess who was always there when she came home crying? That’s right: yours truly.
“Could you toss me the tape, Kenzie honey?” she chirped, tucking a loose blonde curl behind her ear. She produced a black marker from her jeans pocket and began to scribble “FRAGILE” on a box of dishes. I pitched the roll of tape across the room and it clattered to her feet. In typical fashion she let out a little shriek and covered her mouth.
“Sorry, Mom!” I said quickly. She waved her hand dismissively and smiled. No harm done. As much as I complained about her taste in men (and in acting roles), I had to admit that she was a cool mom. Apart from the occasional disagreement about her outfits, we got along perfectly. Maybe it was lame, but my mom had always been my closest friend.
At just that moment, the phone in my lap lit up with a text message from my best friend, Jessica. It read: “what r u doing? rooftop party in west hollywood 2nite!!! dress slutty, 4 my sake and urs!”
She was a year older than me, but it was as though she lived in another world completely. So many nights when I sat on my bed watching reruns, she would call me from the back room of a club to gush about some hot new DJ she’d met. Jess was what teen movies would categorize as a “bad girl.” She sneaked cigarettes, cut school, and occasionally shoplifted. Usually I was at home, still watching reruns. But despite our differences, she never treated me like I was the boring friend, even if I was. And it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part; I had spent many a night in the passenger seat of Jessica’s sports car while she tried to pep-talk me into breaking minor laws with her. I often went to the same parties she did, but whereas she would inevitably find the leather-jacketed lead guitarist and make out with him in the bathroom, I would generally end up standing awkwardly near the exit, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I was a wallflower, for sure, and no amount of psyching myself up could cure me. Anyway, I liked being dependable. I liked making good grades and obeying laws. Besides, I figured that between Jess and my mom, someone had to be the responsibl
e one, and it might as well be me.
“Hey Mom,” I piped up suddenly, “is my room gonna be bigger or smaller in the new house?”
She gave me one of her infamous winks and replied smugly, “Oh sweetheart. Just wait and see. Todd’s place is massive. You’re gonna love it!”
I smiled and nodded. “I’m really happy for you, Mom.”
Julie clasped her hands together dramatically, looking just like the cover of a romance novel. Sometimes I wondered if acting from such a young age had taught her to behave like she’s always being filmed. She had a flair for the theatrical, but she always meant well. “Be happy for both of us, Kenzie. This is gonna change our lives, I swear,” she told me, beaming.
I looked back down at my phone to see a second text: “don’t flake out on me, Kenz. this party is gonna be amazing.”
My stomach churned at the thought of walking into a room full of hyper-attractive strangers dressed far more sophisticated than me. I pictured them staring at me, rolling their eyes or muttering to each other under their breath. “It’s all in your head,” Jessica always assured me. And I knew she was at least partly right. I was shy, but I wasn’t hideous. Of course, I would never be the kind of dark, mysterious beauty Jess was, nor could I pull off the bubbly bleached-blonde thing my mom had.
“I’m gonna go in my room for awhile. That okay?” I said.
“Mhmm, yeah, go ahead.”
I got to my feet and headed to my bedroom. It was almost empty by this point: only my bed and my emptied-out dresser remained. I collapsed onto my bed and stared nervously at my phone, trying to think of a way out of going to the party tonight. Jess was very difficult to say no to. She was persuasive and enthusiastic in a way which kind of infected you. “That girl has a contagious energy,” my mom often said about her.
Biting my lip, I typed out, “sorry but I can’t. got to help mom pack.”
