I hugged Micah goodbye before Miles took him to school. Miles planted a kiss on my lips, "I have to go to the restaurant, but then I'll be back."
"Okay," I felt the baby kick at the sound of its father's voice. I put a hand on my stomach, "remember there's the Rolling Stone interview today."
"Oh, right!" he put the palm of his hand against his forehead, "I forgot that. I don't have to be around, do I?"
"No, they just wanna talk to me. It would be nice to show you off though," I smiled.
He put a hand on the other side of my stomach, "I'll try to make it, babe," then he kissed my cheek and picked up Micah's bag.
"Bye mommy," he said as Miles guided him towards the big wooden front door.
"Bye sweetie, have a nice day at school!"
Miles' sent me a proud smile before he closed the door behind them. Shortly after I heard the engine of his car start and drive out of the driveway. When they were gone I could start cleaning up the house. I hate it when people saw mine or my family's messes. That's private. And that's why I spent a lot of time in the Warehouse cleaning up after myself (both literally and psychologically). The journalists and the photographer from the American magazine Rolling Stone would be here at 12. Miles reads Rolling Stone as his bible, which was the only reason I agreed to do it. Us Weekly and the Sun also wanted interviews - but I would rather eat 10 garlics than that.
So I spent the next couple of hours running around the house, stacking up piles, picking up dirty laundry from the floor and hiding all of Micah's toy cars. On top of that being 8 months pregnant didn't quite speed up the process.
5 minutes to 12 I popped on a pair of heels and a new coat of lip gloss. I straightened my silk shirt and quickly combed my hair with my fingers. Shortly after there was knocking on the door and I welcomed a little overweight guy with glasses in his mid-thirties and a rather beautiful tall red haired woman with a camera.
I took them to our big living room with floor-to-ceiling windows and matching door overlooking our beautiful garden which was the size of a golf course. These days our three apple trees were full of white blossoms and our japanese cherry blossom was lighting up in pink. I suggested that we sat outside in the black woven lounge-set on our terrace since the sun was shining, and it was actually pretty warm out. A stack of Rolling Stone magazines were piled up on the coffee table.
"Oh, I see you like our magazine!" the photographer cheered when she saw it.
I chuckled, "yeah, my boyfriend reads it all the time, so you guys have a solid fan."
So Phoenix," the tiny journalist started and put his iPhone on the table to record our conversation and found pen and paper, "this is far away from New York City - not to mention the reality show that kick-started your career, the Warehouse," when he mentioned the Warehouse a glimpse of condescend appeared across his face, "how did you end up here in the UK?"
I'd already decided that I was going to be honest in this interview. Perhaps that would leave people with a more sympathetic view of me than the one they might have gotten during the Warehouse, and that way I could hope for more serious jobs after I'd given birth, "Miles was opening a restaurant here in London, and since my acting career is sort of on a hold with the baby on the way and all, my son and I decided to go with him. Plus neither of us could live for long without him," I smiled unwillingly at the thought of Miles, "and when Micah is so young still, it couldn't really be at a better time."
"How does your son like it here?"
"He absolutely loves it. He's gotten some new friends, a girlfriend too, I think. He's even adopted some of the British sayings like 'oh, dear' and he calls me darling. It's hilarious," I felt like such a mom-cliché. The photographer was snapping away photos like there was no tomorrow. I'd positioned myself in a corner of the chair, my legs crossed and my left arm resting on my belly.
"How far are you?" he journalist asked, a little more warmth to him this time. He was scribbling away on his tiny little pad.
"8 months, so I only buy jeans with these weird elastic band-things," I lifted up my shirt to reveal the back band covering my bulging stomach. The photographer laughed behind her camera and snapped away photos. "Micah can't wait."
The journalist continued without looking up, "would you want to have more children after this one?"
"I love being pregnant," it flew out of my mouth, so I added, "but not right away. Someday maybe. I don't know. We've already been blessed with one perfect son, and soon a daughter. I grew up in a big family with three siblings myself, so I know how amazing it is to be surrounded by children, but also how stressful it can be. Although there probably isn't a time during my childhood when we weren't supervised by a nanny or an au pair."
"You don't get any help at all yourself? In this huge house?"
"No," I replied haughtiness in my voice, "only a gartner and a cleaning lady that comes on weekdays."
"Well, congrats on that, it looks great. Anyway," he looked up at me again, "let's talk career. You used to do a lot of indie-movies, two with Ang Lee that got pretty good reviews and a porn once, am I right?"
I nodded in silence, until it was broken by footsteps from behind. Both the journalist and the photographer looked at something behind me. I turned around and saw Miles. He walked over to them and shook their hands, "Miles James." The woman's jaw was basically on the floor with saliva all over. He turned to me, "hey babe," and planted a soft kiss on my lips. "Am I interrupting?"
"No, it's fine honey, sit," I padded the free spot beside me for him to sit on. He sat down and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
The journalist looked at the photographer reproachfully before she started snapping photos again, "we were just discussing your girlfriend's career."
"Oh, right," I said and continued, "I've also done quite a lot of dubbing while I was pregnant. Hollywood doesn't wanna use you if you're overweight and honestly, that's what it looks like in the beginning.
Miles laughed, "remember how your mom thought it was holiday-weight?"
I joined in on laughing, "I thought so too!"