Hollywood's Secret Baby

“A milkshake sounds awesome!” Then I look back at Cory while Lizzie and Sarah relive some of the greater moments of her afternoon. Moments I’m sure to hear about on repeat in the coming weeks.

I command Lizzie to run to the bathroom before we get in the car. Then I turn to Cory and hiss, “You lied to me.”

“About what?”

“You said you would tell me everything. No more secrets. Remember that?”

He allows his shoulders to fall. For just a second, he looks smaller. Defeated. Beat down. A rush of regret hits me. I’m kicking him while he’s down, but I can’t help him up without knowing what the problem is.

Sarah glances at the envelope. “It sold? Already?” As usual, she’s more clued in on what’s going on with Cory than I am. “You might as well tell her. This is not something you can hide and pretend is not happening.”

“Can’t hide what?” I ask, desperation coloring my voice like a whiny toddler. I hate not knowing what everyone else does. It’s like dangling a steak in front of a dog, teasing it relentlessly. An if this is one of the reasons Cory couldn’t commit earlier, I need to know.

He looks from Lizzie to me. “I guess you two might as well come along. But I promise you’re going to wish you’d just gone out on the town.”

Five minutes later, we’re stuck in L.A. traffic. He still hasn’t told me where we’re going. The manila envelope that holds the answer is sitting on the backseat next to Lizzie. The temptation to reach back and tear it open is only overpowered by my empathy for Cory who’s acting like we’re in the middle of a funeral procession.

“That’s where they filmed it,” he says and points to a strip of road in the distance. His voice is pure melancholy. “The opening scene for La-La Land. The musical scene with the cars. That’s where they filmed it.”

I don’t know why he’s suddenly on this topic, but I’m sure he’s going somewhere with it. “Really?” I ask. “I loved that movie. I saw it two times in the theater.”

“I thought it was boring,” Lizzie chimes in.

“Did you know La-La Land is a nickname for Los Angeles? Like everyone here is out of touch with reality. Chasing their dreams even though the world is stacked against them. But they keep telling themselves that if they just make it, they won’t have to worry about anything. They see all the big name actors and they want that life. Like it’s perfect. Like nothing can go wrong once you’ve made it here.”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out as a sigh.

“The ending was so stupid,” Lizzie says. “They should have fallen in love.”

“The ending was a great example of the true spirit of this place. They both got what they wanted, but at the price of what they needed. Each other. You can’t gain something without losing something else. But I’m not Ryan Gosling. And this isn’t a movie. I refuse to lose the thing I need. Instead, I’m going to give up what I want and hope it’s enough.”

Cory’s answer might have started out as a reply to Lizzie, but I know the message was for me, cryptic as it may have been.

“Enough for what?” I ask. It’s the only question I ask before we fall back into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by Lizzie playing a game on her phone in the backseat. I want to know what this thing is that he wants, and what it is he needs. If I allow myself to be narcissistic for a moment, I can feel pretty certain I’m one of those things, but I don’t know which.

Thirty minutes later, after navigating the smoggy highway and parking in a nondescript strip mall, I at least find out what he’s giving up.

“They’re willing to pay extra if you can move out within the next three days,” the realtor says. Cory, Lizzie and I are sitting together, looking over the realtor’s large desk. Lizzie’s too busy pointing at the giant map of Los Angeles, asking where we are, to really comprehend why we’re here.

“Sounds good,” Cory says and signs the papers slid over to him. He also hands over the manila envelope, which contains papers he had delivered from the bank he holds a mortgage with.

“Your house? Really?” I whisper. My hand grips at his knee.

All I can do is sit beside him loyally as he finishes up his business, stands and shakes the realtor’s hand, and then we’re out in the Los Angeles sunset. The ocean wind is perfect on my face. For a fleeting moment, I remember where I am. I’m filming a movie in Hollywood. Every breath I take should have that taste of a dream come true. But with everything that’s happened in the past couple of hours, I’m left with an acrid taste on my tongue.

When we get back in the car, Cory doesn’t start it right away. Instead, he sits in the driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel, staring at the yoga studio we’re parked in front of. There’s a blue banner hung up between two posts advertising a special rebate for this month only. The banner is tattered, as though it’s been up for years.

“Sarah offered for all of us to stay at her place, but I still have to keep up appearances. I hope you don’t mind crashing there while I find a hotel to stay in. She said that she really doesn’t mind. Said that it would give you guys a chance to practice your acting a bit too. She’s got a pool, so Lizzie will definitely have fun with that.”

“A pool?” Lizzie exclaims from the backseat. “Cool!”

“Cory,” I say, not sure what else there is for me to say. “I don’t mind, but are you alright?”

He replies, but it's not an answer. “The realtor said three days, but I’d rather not wait to pull the band-aid off. If you don’t mind, let’s pack our suitcases when we get back.” Finally he looks over at me. And I can see it in his eyes. The crack in his armor. “If you’re not back on the East Coast by then, that is.”

The way he’s talking about this—emotionless, like a surgeon who’s performed the same procedure thousands of times—is the polar opposite reflection of the turmoil I’m sure is roiling about in him. I can only imagine what that house meant to him. It was a symbol of his accomplishments. A sign that he belonged here. That he’d made it.

Now it’s gone.