“That’s not true,” Gabe says as his mother and sister turn to glare at him.
“Trust me,” I say, “I’ve heard far worse. One time I was signing someone’s book for them and they told me I was overrated. A reviewer once wrote that I wasn’t pretty enough to be so angry. My favorite, however, was the ten-paragraph email I got that broke down everything that was wrong with the first essay in my first collection and informed me that I should expect more of the same type of criticism for each following chapter. He had also attached an invoice for the work he’d done and an address where I could send the check.”
Gabe coughs back a laugh.
Lena’s eyes are round, surprised.
“You can’t hurt my feelings,” I tell her. “And it’s okay if you didn’t like it.”
“It wasn’t terrible,” she says, her face red. “Just, like, whatever, okay?”
She pushes away from the table and her chair falls back on the floor. Teddy is immediately on her feet, tail between her legs.
Lena is out of the room before anyone can say anything.
I feel terrible.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s not you,” Lauren says. “After her dad died, people were calling the house all the time. Lots of reporters. Not all of them were nice.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
Lauren shrugs. “It’s part of the trade-off, I guess. Gabe gets paid a bunch of money to do very little and people want to know about him and his life.”
“Excuse me,” Gabe says. “I do not get paid a bunch of money to do very little. I get paid a ridiculous amount of money to do very little.”
Lauren reaches over and puts her hand on his.
She looks tired.
There’s a buzz and both siblings check their phones.
I watch as Lauren reads the screen, her cheeks growing pink.
Gabe stabs his dinner as she shoves her phone back into her pocket.
“Again?” he asks.
“It’s fine,” she says.
“I’ll tell him to stop.”
But she shakes her head.
“I don’t…mind,” she says.
I can tell this surprises Gabe, but he doesn’t say anything—he just sits back, arms crossed.
“Gabe,” she says. “I can handle this. I am older than you, remember?”
“And he’s younger than you,” Gabe says. “Younger than me. Probably younger than Chani.”
Now I’m very, very curious.
“Who is this?” I dare to ask.
The siblings exchange a look, before Gabe makes a “tell her” gesture.
Lauren lowers her head and her eyes.
“Ben Walsh,” she says.
My eyebrows go way up.
“Ben Walsh,” I say. “Benjamin Walsh?”
Lauren’s cheeks have gone bright red.
“He’s…” I struggle to find the words.
“A decent actor,” Gabe offers.
“Very handsome,” I say. “Like, painfully handsome. The kind of handsome where you can’t even look at him directly without feeling a little light-headed.”
Lauren lets out a choking little laugh.
“I’m right here,” Gabe says.
This time it’s Elizabeth who reaches out and pats his hand.
“You’re very handsome too,” his mother says.
“So, Ben Walsh…?” I prompt, unable to help myself.
I also kind of like seeing this faux-jealous version of Gabe.
“He’s been sniffing around Lauren ever since she came to visit The Philadelphia Story set,” he says.
“Sniffing around?” she says. “I’m a person, not a lost steak. Don’t be a macho asshole.”
Gabe looks appropriately cowed.
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just…”
“You don’t like him, I know,” she says. “You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
The humor has been sucked right out of the room. Lauren gets up from the table.
“Excuse me,” she says. “I’m going to go check on Lena.”
Once she’s gone, Elizabeth shoots Gabe a look.
“What?” he asks. “She said she wasn’t interested.”
His mother shakes her head and disappears into the kitchen.
“Benjamin Walsh?” I ask, now whispering for some reason. “Really?”
Gabe sighs. “Yeah.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Let me guess, you loved him in Mighty Kennedy.”
“No, I mean, yes, of course,” I say, because who hadn’t loved Benjamin Walsh in Mighty Kennedy?
Benjamin Walsh is the Irish Hawaiian version of Gabe. At least, Gabe from ten years ago—with all the drinking and carousing included. Handsome, talented, and a modern-day surfer bro. His casting as Mike Connor in The Philadelphia Story had been against type, just like Gabe had been as Bond.
He’s also thirty-two if he’s a day.
Gabe’s sister is over forty.
She has the famous Parker family looks, but not in the way that would disguise her age. She looks like a handsome mother of a teen, not a dewy thirty-something. She’s clearly smart and interesting and funny, but that’s just not how things are done in Hollywood.
Suddenly I have a lot more respect for Benjamin Walsh.
“Of course,” Gabe says, looking wary.
“He’s been texting your sister?”
Gabe nods. “Thinks she’s amazing—which she is—but I know his type.”
“Oh?” I ask.
“Models,” Gabe says. “Young actresses. He was flirting with Lauren when she came to visit, but hooking up with Jeanine the rest of the time.”
Jeanine Watterson was the actress who had played Liz. She was probably twenty-five.
“I know,” Gabe says. “It’s none of my business.”
“I suppose you know better than anyone how us everyday folk need to be protected from the big, bad movie stars,” I say.
“If anyone in this room needs protecting,” Gabe says, “I don’t think it’s you.”
I give him a look. He gives it right back.
We sit there, in the quiet dining room, listening to the muffled sound of conversation coming from upstairs, or the other side of the house. It’s hard to tell. Grandmother. Mother. Daughter.
“Well,” Gabe says. “You do know how to clear a room.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“I think dinner is over,” he says.
“I think you’re right,” I say.
THE JAM—NEWSLETTER
EXPAT