I don’t think this “hiding out” thing is going to work. I have to be in too many places, and if I’m gone, there’s no one to look after Mum. The movers are done and Kenny’s gone back to LA to torture all his other teen idols. (What’s a manager for?) Todd’s sticking around until tomorrow and then I’m on my own, but I don’t think I need a bodyguard out in the middle of nowheresville.
We turned Bryan loose today as “Trent.” He wants to hang out with Gwen at the ranch and I said that would be all right. Good decision? Who knows? It could sink both me and Gwen. But if it means it’ll look like I’m “taken,” I’ll go along with it. Why not? I don’t want girls wanting stuff from me—Gwen, Randi, anybody.
Papa called last night. Mum talked to him and now she’s been in bed all day. Screw him; I don’t know what his problem is. He’s back in Illinois and no one seems to have figured it out yet. Everyone thinks he’s still in France, which is all right with me. I could kill Kenny for that circus at the airport. “A tearful Trent bids a fond farewell to his asshole father.” I don’t know why I went along with it. Kenny thought it would be good for people to see him go to France—might even generate some American interest in Le Petit Chose. Yeah, right. Americans are so interested in French literature! It was a stupid idea from the beginning.
Papa’s been pissed about Le Petit Chose since it tanked. Everyone thought I did it for him, and maybe I did. François got the rights for a remake of Au Revoir Les Enfants and wants me to do it, but I’m not interested. I’m too old for the part anyway. It’s not like I can play 12-year-olds now. Finally.
I have to fly out to NY for Letterman over the 4th. Mum’s friend John’s letting us use his plane and pilot. No time even for fireworks.
I have a headache that won’t quit; I’m bored out of my mind and there’s nothing to do and no one for miles. Makes me want to drink. Not! But I don’t want to be in Malibu, having people chased out of my yard.