Page 21 of I Think He Knows
I swallow thickly. “Yup.”
Mindy points at me and narrows her eyes. “Explain.”
“He was a body double for the actor who plays the main character for a bit,” I say. “Before he hit the big time.”
What I don’t add is that the famous actor in question—a total Hollywood heartthrob with a huge following of screaming fans—was so insecure about his rear end that he auditioned over two hundred body doubles before Carter was chosen for the role.
“Wait. You’re telling me that Carter freaking Callahan started out his megastar career as… a BUTT double?” Mindy blinks incredulously. “I had no idea there was such a thing.”
“I didn’t know either.”
I still remember the moment I got the call from Carter all those years ago. At the time, he’d just moved out to LA, so that he had a bigger pool of auditions and casting calls to attend. He’d gotten a couple of small roles here and there in Atlanta and found some success with them, so LA was a logical next step.
At that point though, he was nowhere near making the big bucks. Or any bucks at all. Which meant that he was also communal-living in a roach-infested apartment above a bar with a Finnish guy who grew weed in his closet and spent all day astral projecting, and a devout Pastafarian (Yes, pasta with a P) who didn’t believe in showering. Or deodorant. Or toothbrushes.
He always sounded so positive, so upbeat on our calls, but I knew that he was struggling—so I was upbeat and positive too, even though I missed him so much it hurt. It was a weird time (for both of us) but a break, of any kind, seemed like a win for him. Even if it was offering up his body in pretense of it being someone else’s.
“Hollywood seems nutso,” I continue. “They made him stand in the shower with nothing but a cup on his you-know-what so they could see how his butt looked in running water.”
At this, Mindy collapses on the couch, staring at the still-paused screen and cackling like a witch fromMacbeth. “That is literally the best thing I’ve ever heard. I hope I see him the next time he’s in town. I have so many questions.”
“I dunno, Min. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything…” I chew my bottom lip, unsure. Carter’s very relaxed—he’s one of those people who’s super secure in his own skin and is happy to make fun of himself. But then again, I’ve never heard him talk about his butt-doubling days with anyone but me.
“I’ve never understood why you don’t just tap that,” Mindy says suddenly.
“Mindy!” I jerk my head in surprise, both because of her ridiculous comment and the change in direction of the conversation.
Mindy takes a slug of her lemonade, unfazed. “Fine, let me rephrase. I have never understood your relationship with Carter.”
“We’re friends.” Friends who definitely do nottapanything. Except our phone screens, when we’re sending Gordon Ramsay-themed gifs back and forth. Like normal, platonic, non-tappingfriends do.
“Yeah, butwhyare you just friends with the guy?” Mindy frowns. “I don’t get it. You guys are super close, he’s nice, he’s funny—except for those dumb jokes, I tell you—and he’s also, like, stupid hot.”
She’s not wrong. His jokes are dumb, and his hotness level is stupid.
“I dunno… Maybe because we don’t see each other like that?”
“Nuh uh.”
“What?”
“Nuh uh,” Mindy repeats.
“Use real words, Min.”
“That’s not what it is.” She shakes her head at me, sandy hair swishing. “I’ve always been curious about this. Are you into him?”
My cheeks grow warm, and she points at me. “You totally are!”
“Am not!”
Oh good, now I’m six. Maybe I should stick my tongue out, too.
“You are! You can’t even look at his bootylicious little booty up there on TV without getting all hot and bothered.”
“Not true. He’s my best friend, that’s all. Friends don’t look at friends’ butts.”
“I beg to differ!” Mindy sounds almost offended. “I’ll have you know, I look at my friend Tanya’s butt all the time. She does Pilates, and the results are quite spectacular.”