Page 4 of Sleeper: The Palisades Edition

“Yes,” Summer says, “but I don’t like her pants.”

“Well, I guess you can’t take her to class, then. What else can you find that’s red? Should I get out and grab that stop sign?”

Summer crosses her arms in front of her chest, having none of this. “It has to be all red.”

“Are you sure? Because strawberries aren’t all red. Neither are tomatoes or apples.”

I can see her rolling her eyes through the rearview mirror. I swear, she’s been rolling her eyes at me since she was a newborn. “Okay, mostly red.”

I start digging through the glove compartment.Car title, auto insurance, rolled-up script, green juice box, white and orange smashed-up packet of goldfish crackers, red condom packet—what’s that doing in there? I shove that to the back of the pile before my kids can see it.

Red pen!

By the time I pull up to the curb in front of the school on San Vicente, we’ve got a minute to spare and my twins will be painting their feelings about a red pen and a pair of sandy, mostly-red boardshorts that have probably been in the armrest console since last summer.

Their friend Abby and her nanny Maria are hustling down the sidewalk—thank fuck we aren’t the only ones running late today.

“Abby Abby Abby!” Summer yells out.

“No yelling at school,” I remind her. “Hey, Maria,” I say while helping Lucky get his backpack on and his shoes into his backpack. “Would you mind walking them to the door too?”

“Of course, Mr. Miller. Hello.” She smiles at me warmly, notices that my T-shirt’s on inside out, and nods politely, looking away. “Come on, kids. We’re late, we’re late!”

“See you at pickup!” I say, waving.

So that’s done.

I got them to school alive and on time.

Now that the adrenaline rush has subsided, I amso fucking tired, I’m considering parking on a side street to take a nap.

I don’t think I’m gonna make it through to Tuesday, much less another three months of this.

I start the engine and pull out onto the street, slowing down as I check out the pair of women who jog by. One of them catches sight of me through the windshield, her eyes widen, and she stops in her tracks to elbow her friend and wave at me. They look like they’re in their early twenties. They were probably fans of my Disney Channel sitcomThat’s So Wizardwhen they were preteens, or maybe the ABC Family one, or the CW show. They don’t look like feature comedy fans. They just look hot. My fans are hot. They both start blowing kisses my way. I give them the nod and the grin they’re looking for, salute them, and drive off.

Fuck, I need to get laid.

Maybe I should go for a run on the beach.

Fuck that—as soon as I get home, I’m going to call every parent I know to ask for a nanny reference, and if Margo doesn’t like it, she can kiss my exhausted ass.

I can’t take care of our kids if my basic needs aren’t being met.

Shit, did I eat?

I need to eat.

I need to sleep.

I need to buy more groceries.

I need to clean up the mess in the kitchen because Consuelo doesn’t come until tomorrow.

I need to call my agent back and tell him to stop sending me scripts unless the projects start at least four months from now.

I need to find out why bananas get brown spots.

I need to hear my name screamed out loud when I’m balls deep in a beautiful woman, but my Dad Dick has been deprioritized, so that goes to the bottom of an ever-growing list.