Mine Are Spectacular! (26 page)

“Oh right,” she says, sarcasm dripping. “If you want me to baby-sit for Dylan, it's not happening. I don't care what you pay me.”

“Actually I want you to come with me to L.A. and meet Tobey Maguire. You know, the cute one from
Spider-Man.
”

“Don't make fun of me,” she grumbles.

“I'm not. I need your help. I don't know a thing about him, and I just found out that Kirk and I are flying out to shoot an episode of our show in his kitchen. He's going to teach us how to make hot fudge sundaes. Though maybe I should cancel it because I probably make better sundaes than he does.”

“Don't cancel!” Skylar screams. “Tobey Maguire's the hottest! Are you dense?”

I grin at her and Skylar suddenly realizes that I was teasing about calling it off—but serious about the trip. She jumps up and throws her arms around me.

“Could I really come with you?” she asks exuberantly. “I have the prettiest yellow Versace skirt I could wear.”

I guess the ketchup stain on the Dolce wasn't the end of the world after all.

“Having you there will be the best part of the whole trip,” I say, playing affectionately with her hair.

“I can't believe it!” Skylar gloats. “Nobody's even going to care about Delia's stupid party and her stupid DJ. I'm going to have the best stories in school on Monday. The best stories for the whole year.”

“You can be my official assistant on the trip,” I say. “We'll even put your name on the credits.”

“Sara, you're the best,” Skylar gushes, hugging me again. “You're so cool. Nobody's cooler. I hope my dad's still marrying you.”

I grin, completely thrilled. Skylar actually wants her dad to marry me. And I'm even more delighted by something else. A fourteen-year-old girl thinks I'm cool.

Chapter SIXTEEN

OUR CALIFORNIA TRIP TURNS OUT
even better than I could have hoped. Skylar spends the entire six-hour flight to the west coast chatting, and I'm thrilled to be her confidante. In L.A., we check into the Regent Beverly Wilshire and have a first-night pajama party, complete with room service snacks and a Julia Roberts movie marathon.

“Are you sure I can come with you to the shoot tomorrow?” Skylar keeps asking me.

“You're my official assistant,” I tell her.

And I've never had such a good assistant. In fact, I've never had an assistant before at all. The next day, Skylar hands me a carefully thought-out list of interview questions I can ask Tobey Maguire.

“These are really good,” I say, surprised as I read through them.

“You don't have to use them,” she says modestly. But she's obviously pleased.

At the shoot, Skylar is poised and helpful. And over-the-top delighted when I end up using three of her questions verbatim. At the end of the interview, Tobey Maguire gives her a signed picture and a kiss on the cheek, and Skylar looks at me—not Tobey—like I'm the most amazing person in the world.

Right after we get back, I tell Berni all about the trip.

“Congratulations. Your first big celebrity interview,” she says.

“Even better. My first real connection with Skylar.”

“That's great,” says Berni. “And did you hear that your show in Spiderman's kitchen got the highest ratings the network's ever had? Ken Chablis's so thrilled he's sending you and Kirk each a hundred dollar gift certificate for dinner at the new Per Se.”

“Terrific,” I say.

“Not really,” Berni admits. “Prix fixe there is three hundred dollars.”

“Then I can't thank him enough,” I laugh. “By the way, you deserve some congratulations, too.”

While I was away, Berni had her first online sale for her Celebrity Kids' Clothes project and netted an unbelievable forty-five thousand dollars for underprivileged tots. One of the tabloids had a two-page spread of pictures of the star-studded items Berni had for sale, including Gwyneth Paltrow's old diaper bag and her baby Apple's old diapers. Cloth, of course.

And Berni's just getting started. There's not a new celebrity mother in town who's safe from Berni's zeal. If her target's not a former client, a current friend or the second cousin twice removed of somebody she once met at a party, Berni still finds a way to hunt her down. Her latest prey is Teri Ann Thomas, nickname “TAT,” the rising young movie star who was almost nominated for a Golden Globe last year.

“Teri brought in a ten-pounder three weeks ago,” Berni says as if she's reporting on a fly-fishing contest. “That's one big baby.” She shakes her head. “Bad news is she must have had a helluva labor. Good news is the baby's probably outgrown plenty of things by now.”

Preparing to ambush the ambitious actress, Berni drags me to the Equinox Fitness Club on the Upper West Side. Reports are that having delivered her baby, Teri is now delivering on her promise to be hard-body ready for a new action flick. She's coming to the gym three times a day and working her tush off. Literally.

We change quickly in the locker room, and as I pull on my mesh shorts and T-shirt, I realize that I no longer have to go to a chic New York restaurant to feel unfashionable. I can look oh-so-last-season right here in the gym. All these other women must be training for the Olympics, because they're decked out in the latest performance-enhancing apparel that takes twenty minutes to haul on.

“Amazing that I ever exercised in plain old Lycra,” I hear one slim woman telling another, as she squeezes into her new breed of workout wear. “You really should try this. The corrugated panels compress the joints and relax the hamstrings. I only wear the muscle-hugging Italian brand.”

I wouldn't mind a muscle-hugging Italian. But I don't have twenty minutes to get into one. And as far as relaxing my hamstrings, I'd rather do that in a hammock.

We spot Teri Ann in the locker room and follow her as she strolls into the gym toward a room marked “Hard-core Training.” Berni starts pushing forward but I'm reluctant. I don't even go into the hard-core room at Blockbuster. Could be why I've never seen any of Teri Ann's early movies.

The well-built instructor in the front of the room bounds over to Berni and me and looks us up and down dubiously.

“Newbies,” he says, sounding like a gleeful Marine drill sergeant facing virgin recruits. “You've picked the toughest class, but you've picked right. I call this Cardio Combat. We'll get your heart rate up, your stress down, your aggressions out. You'll want to kill me while we're doing it, but you'll kiss me afterwards, because your endorphins will be flying.”

I look around at the intimidating kick-ass cardio machines and the unbudgeably heavy weights. The instructor comes over and clamps his strong hands around my breasts.

“Heart rate monitor,” he says, as I realize it's not his hands, but a black, stretchy strap that's now embracing me. “Get started on the exercise bike over there and remember, max heart rate for you,” he pauses, barely missing a beat, “one hundred forty-three.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“Simple formula. Two hundred twenty minus your age. Then you work at eighty percent of that. I figure your age for forty-one.”

“You do?” I say, surprised. “I thought I looked younger.”

He motions me toward a machine. “Everyone thinks they look younger,” he says dismissively.

As I head toward the bike I realize he's right. Who doesn't have a picture in her head of what forty looks like? But it's a black-and-white image left over from an earlier era of women with aprons, aging skin and bouffant hairdos. When I look in the mirror now, I'm proud that somehow I've escaped. And I feel superior until I realize the whole generation has escaped. It would be much more satisfying if everyone else looked matronly—and Michelle Pfeiffer and I were the only ones still supple and sexy.

Teri Ann climbs on a bike and Berni scrambles to grab the one next to her. She directs me to the bike on Teri's other side, so we can surround her—but I'm busy adjusting my heart rate monitor and a moment too slow. Before I can grab the empty seat, somebody else does. It takes me just a moment to realize that the woman speed pedaling away is Berni's former arch rival agent, Olivia.

“O-LIV-EE-AH! Imagine seeing you here!” Berni calls out to her.

“What a surprise!” Olivia intones insincerely, feigning delight at encountering her longtime nemesis. “Wonderful to see you. I'm glad you're here.”

“You are?” asks Berni.

“Absolutely. We've all felt so bad about your awful saddlebags for so long. And if the lipo didn't work, maybe the gym will. Worth a try, anyway.”

Berni purses her lips and pedals harder. “I like to be in shape,” Berni says.

“Oh come on, darling. It doesn't matter what you look like anymore. No clients and I'm sure those little rug rats of yours don't care. Though they might drown in those huge breasts.”

“At least they're all natural,” Berni says.

Teri Ann Thomas has no reaction, even though rumors were a year ago she was having breast implants. Or as the
Star
headlined, “Tits for TAT?” Now she just looks straight ahead, pedaling hard and ignoring the barbs being lobbed over her head. Which isn't unusual for her, because from what I've heard, most things go over her head.

“Anyway, those babies won't be embarrassed by you until preschool,” Olivia says, panting on her bike as her heart rate soars toward a measly hundred. “If they get accepted anywhere. You looking like you do and all.”

“I'm thinking of homeschooling,” Berni says, even though I know she's not. “If you ever have a baby, darling, I wouldn't recommend you try it. Only for smart people.”

I shake my head and try not to giggle. Love these two. Berni might not be fighting Olivia tooth and nail for clients anymore, but their competitive spirit lives on. Though Olivia can't be having as much fun as a Hollywood agent now that Berni's not there to one-up.

“Oh my goodness!” Olivia says, pretending to suddenly notice the star sitting next to her. “Is that the beautiful and famous Teri Ann Thomas?”

Now I get it. Berni's here to procure Teri Ann's baby clothes and Olivia's trying to sign up a new client. And I thought the only approaches attractive women had to deflect in gyms were from sweaty men hitting them up for dates.

But before TAT can acknowledge Olivia's greeting, the instructor comes over, taps Teri Ann on the shoulder and leads her over to the free weights area. He hands her a bar with a hundred pounds and spots her as she starts hauling it over her head.

“More! Faster! Harder!” he directs.

Berni and I exchange a look and try not to laugh. “Usually you hear those orders in bed,” she whispers to me. Then quickly adds, “At least as far as I remember.”

The drill sergeant now turns to the three of us, who are standing around watching.

“Get moving!” he barks. “You don't keep your heart rates up by yapping!”

I guess he's never heard Berni talking to Olivia.

Succumbing to pressure, Olivia grabs the forty-pound bar next to Teri Ann's and after lifting an inch, immediately drops it at her feet.

“Ouch, my back!” she exclaims, rubbing her gluteus muscle. But pain is no match for professional goals, so Olivia reaches for the bar again and pushes it closer to the star she's trying to impress. I wouldn't be surprised to see Olivia throw Teri Ann to the floor and wrestle her into a half nelson. Anything to get what she wants.

But what she wants isn't what I'd expected.

“Look, Teri Ann,” Olivia says, struggling with ten-pound weights now and too tired to be anything but direct. “I have a new charity or something. I don't remember the details, but I'm collecting baby clothes. Then I sell them. And it's all really good. So I need all yours.”

“WHAT?” Berni's startled cry echoes across the room. Olivia looks up happily and watches in satisfaction as her opponent gets off the bike and walks determinedly toward her.

“What are you talking about?” Berni asks. “I'm the one who collects baby clothes. Me. Not you.”

“Anything you can do, I can do better,” Olivia says slyly.

“Since when did you become charitable?” Berni asks.

“Yesterday,” Olivia says. “When I found out what you were up to. Why should you get all the glory? I could always beat you at getting clients. I can beat you at getting their clothes.”

Berni stands in front of Olivia, hands on hips, fuming for a long moment.

“So you're doing exactly the same thing I am?” Berni asks. “Selling stars' baby clothes to raise money for poor children?”

“Yup,” says Olivia, making a mental note of the actual plan. “If you're doing it, I'm doing it.”

Berni takes her hands off her hips. I'd expect her to explode about now, but instead her anger disappears. “Well, good,” she says. And she actually seems pleased.

“Good?” asks Olivia. “You must be furious at me. Don't you understand I'm beating you at your own game yet again?”

Berni just smiles. “I'm not playing a game anymore. I'm trying to help people. And the more of us helping, the better.”

Olivia opens her mouth and then closes it again. The whole point of her project was obviously to get a rise out of Berni. If that's not in the cards, helping people is about as high on her list as trading in her Mercedes for a minivan.

“If you're going to have such a fit about it, maybe I'll just let you do it all by yourself,” Olivia says, trying to wriggle out of the whole thing now. “Gotta go. I'll just be off to sign Jude Law up for another movie. You collect your little booties. We'll do lunch.”

Olivia scurries from the gym and when she's gone, I notice the instructor giving a thumbs up to Teri Ann. She grins and pulls out her earplugs. No wonder she was so unruffled: she didn't hear a single word.

Finally finished focusing on her intense exercise, Teri Ann starts to reach for her bottle of Poland Spring and notices us gawking at her. Probably not an unusual occurrence. But now she looks excited.

“Aren't you Berni Davis, the famous philanthropist?” she asks, now pumping Berni's hand instead of her own body. “I've been meaning to call you. You may not have heard, but I had a baby. I have some things to donate to you already.”

“That's marvelous,” Berni says, oozing agent charm. “But I can't believe you just had a baby. I never would have dreamed, not the way you look!”

“Thanks,” says Teri Ann, pleased, and probably preparing to double her donation.

They exchange a few more words and when they part, Berni's careful not to catch my eye. She knows exactly what I'm thinking. She may be done with the business, but she's not done giving stars the business. At least now it's for a good cause.

When we're finished exercising, Berni wants me to come with her to check out a storage warehouse. Her basement is overflowing with baby goods and she's scouring Long Island City for space. But I've crossed enough bridges in my life, and I don't need to go over another one. Especially to an outer borough.

Still, the whole project has Berni so reinvigorated that the whole world looks rosy to her again.

“Aidan and I are going out for a romantic evening, just the two of us,” she giggles. “A real date! And you know what happens after a date!”

I rack my brain to remember. Ah, that's right—he kisses you. And then? The rest is becoming a dim memory.

“Have fun,” I tell her.

“I'm finally starting to again,” she says gleefully.

We're just saying our good-byes when I get a call on my cell phone from Skylar.

“My mom's going out tonight. Can I stay at your house?” she asks.