Page 27 of Holiday Star
Caleb’s quiet for a minute and then he says, “You’ve met my mom, so maybe you’ll understand. She’s not like your mom. Your mom is a safety-net mom. Like if you need her, she’ll catch you.” He shifts, scooting his feet over so I have more room. “My mom loves me and all, but she’s more of the push you out of the plane at 30,000 feet type of mom.”
I raise my eyebrows, not sure what his mother has to do with Pip.
He leans on his elbows and directs his gaze to the ceiling. “Did you ever hear the story about how I got my first big break, the commercial?”
I think back. My family has talked about Caleb’s career in front of me, but it’s usually focused on his current projects. How he’s in Africa filming an action-adventure movie or in Cannes at the film festival. I don’t remember them mentioning how he got started. “No, I’ve never heard that one.”
His voice is low. “I was five. It was a commercial for dog food, and the dog bit me. I’ve been scared of them ever since.”
My head jerks toward him so fast I almost topple over. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Yeah.” His chuckle has a hint of bitterness. “Crazy, huh? The dog bit me, and I didn’t cry. I just kept on smiling for the camera. My theory is that they hired me so we wouldn’t sue them, but my mom says it’s because I was such a good actor that I didn’t break character. I got three stitches in my hand.” He holds up his right hand, where I can see the thin white line of a scar along the base of his thumb. “I fainted when they sewed me up that time, too.”
I grimace. “That’s all kinds of messed up.” It makes sense now how he responds to Pip. A piece of his puzzle falls into place.
He rolls slightly onto his side, peering down at me. “Isn’t it? You’d be surprised how many people I tell that story to and they’re only impressed with the part about how I didn’t cry. They totally miss the part about how I was only five years old.” His voice is raised by the end of his tale, laced with an undercurrent of resentment and, maybe, betrayal. “My mom took me out for ice cream afterward, so I guess there’s that.”
Reeling from the awfulness of his story, I say, “I’m sorry. That must feel bad, like you can’t totally trust your own parents.”
“Mom always told me that everything she did was for my own benefit. When she quit her job and moved us to L.A. to pursue my career. When she pulled me out of school so I could spend more time auditioning.” His forehead creases. “I don’t know. My parents sacrificed a lot so I could be successful, but now that I’m an adult, it’s confusing. To sort out which parts they did for me and which parts they did for them.” He gives a tiny shrug, and I can tell that he’s done talking about it. There’s the sense of a door slamming shut. Me on one side of it and him on the other.
I have more things I want to talk about, though. “When we were out tonight, before the thing with those girls, you were singing…” I trail off, hoping he’ll take it from there, but Caleb stays silent, staring at me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. He may be an actor, but he can’t fool me. I swallow and continue, “The thing is, your singing. It was good. Like really, really good.”
I lean toward him, elbows on my knees. “Please don’t tell me you can dance too, because that would make you a triple threat if you can act, sing,anddance. That’s too much talent for one person.” I try to lighten the mood.
“I can’t sing.” He frowns down at Pip in his lap, but I doubt he really sees her. There’s a distant look in his eyes, like he’s looking more inward than out.
“Of course you can,” I argue. “I just heard you. It was amazing.”
A firm shake of his head. “No, I can’t do it.”
“Why not? Is someone stopping you? Who?” I ask, indignant. Maybe his studio contract prohibits him from doing anything outside of acting?
A sly smile. “Don’t you mean whom?” His teasing loosens the tension in my shoulders. I know it means the worst of his anger and sorrow has passed.
“Actually, in that sentence it’s who.” Guess I really am the grammar police.
Caleb sighs. I don’t think he’s aware of it, but this time when he shifts on the couch, he puts his hand over snoozing Pip, holding her steady. He even leaves that hand there once he’s found a more comfortable position. “It’s not anyone stopping me. It’s just me.”
“You’re scared of singing?” I clarify.
He nods and shrugs, all in one motion. “I can maybe do it with a small group of people, like tonight with the caroling. But a large crowd…that terrifies me.”
“You’re an actor. You perform to large groups all the time.”
“I don’t. Not really. There’s not that many people on a set when I act. Plus, it’s usually the same group. The lighting crew, sound engineers, make-up artists. Even when the movies change, a lot of those people stay the same. I’ve grown up with most of them, almost like family. The movie industry is a small community. We’ve been together so long that it’s easy to say my lines in front of them. If I had to do it for an entire concert hall...” He lets the sentence trail off and shudders.
“You’re telling me that one of the most famous actors in the world has…stage fright?”
“Kinda? I guess that’s as good a description as any. It’s why I usually avoid live award ceremonies. If I win, I send in a prerecorded acceptance speech. Sometimes I have to walk the red carpet, but I never enjoy it. Even giving that toast at your mom’s and Seth’s wedding was nerve-wracking. I had a moment there, at the beginning, where my mouth dried up. I had to fight past it.”
I’m silent, struggling to absorb this revelation. “What is itexactlythat scares you about singing in front of a crowd?”
“I’m afraid of disappointing so many people, of letting them and the music down. I’m a good actor. I understand how to do that, but I don’t knowanythingabout being a singer.” He shakes his head. “The music means too much to me to mess it up.” Caleb pins me with a hard stare. “You can’t tell anyone about this, okay? Likeno one.”
I roll my eyes. “Who would I tell?”
“Jenny,” he fires back immediately.
