Chapter 5 Emmy
Chapter 5
That’s a lie from the pit of hell.
Emmy
JOSIE brINGS THE champagne, and Peyton and I have all the hors d’oeuvres lined up on trays like prisoners, ready to be devoured. We’re celebrating yet another week of insane book sales. Ever since my appearance on The Terica Show a few weeks ago, #CelebrityCrush has been flying off the shelves.
“Moooom!” Peyton shouts from where she retapes a falling streamer to our trailer’s polymer walls. “Has Jason Connor followed you back yet?” My daughter’s braces glow pink under the thick, black curls she got from her dad. She’s kept the place in celebration mode ever since the show, with dollar store party supplies and balloons. Other than that, it’s dressed in its perennial beach-boho style with surfboard-shaped throw pillows, a sea-glass-studded floor lamp, and 3M hooks securing a string of Japanese lantern lights above the kitchen cabinets. I let her pick the “party candle” for tonight, one of a collection of Bath it’s about spending time with my daughter. It’s about movement and losing yourself in the rhythm, forgetting about all the crushing disappointments of life and grabbing on to something that feels good, at least for the moment. Snap, swoop, offer it, offer it. Hip, hip, wrap, open, then the jump and flourish.
By the final chorus, Josie’s mastered the easy part ( offer it, offer it ), and she adds some step ball changes and a bona fide Charlie Chaplin heel click, which is a feat in my tiny living room. Peyton loses her mind.
“Tía Josie—woooo!” It’s so cute the way Peyton calls her “Tía” instead of “Aunt.” Her arms flail in the way of little girls who haven’t learned to hold it all in yet. She’s twelve, so I know there’s not much of that left, and I gobble up every moment.
“And that’s enough dancing.” Josie sinks back into her chair. She switches gears, putting on her fun face. “So, your Lost Boy called. Jason Connor wants to see you again.”
I’ve been avoiding letting on to Josie just how badly I’ve been obsessing over Jason, but I play along with her game. “Tell him I’m busy.”
“He says you can tell him all about how busy you are… over drinks.”
I nibble a carrot. “Coffee.”
“Breakfast.”
“Josie!” My eyes flick to Peyton, but she’s staring at her phone. I’m about to make her put it away—right after I finish imagining morning-after eggs with Jason Connor, my hair tousled, his gaze sleepy and seductive.
But Peyton misses nothing. “Don’t do it, Mom. He’s a total man-whore.”
I purse my lips at her. “Nobody’s doing anything. And that’s not nice. Why would you say that?”
“He went to jail for a bar fight. Over a woman. Who was married .”
Josie feigns horror, but I know she’s the one who told Peyton, because I’m the one who told Josie. It’s like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, the celebrity gossip version.
I glare at my traitorous friend as I grab my phone. “He’s not like that anymore. He went through a bad time. Look, here he is saving children from cancer!” I pull up an article on the children’s hospital fundraiser to show Peyton. Everyone is smiling and posing with the kids, and Jason Connor is totally into it. In one shot, his face is practically lit from within as he high-fives a kid in a wheelchair. In another, he’s kneeling down to a little girl’s level. It’s sweet and candid. I let out a wistful sigh.
Josie eyes me. “You’re not still pining over him, are you?”
“Yes, I’m still pining,” I admit. “You saw that hug. I’ll be pining over Jason Connor when I’m on my deathbed in a morphine coma!”
“Mmmm, I do remember it,” Josie moans. “But the show’s over, honey. It’s time to get back to real life.”
My phone rings. The illuminated name indicates that it’s my agent, Jill. I exchange a look with Josie. Seven p.m. on a Friday is not a normal time for a work call from a New York agency. I tap the speaker icon. “Hello?”
“Hold on to your britches, girl, I’ve got some news.”
Peyton and Josie have the wide-eyed look of bad anime. I hold the phone out on my palm, like it’s going to beam us all up to a starship. It’s so quiet I can hear the seashell wind chimes outside tapping out their comforting, gentle song.
“Two things,” Jill says. “One, you’re up to number eight on the New York Times bestseller list. Congrats!”
Josie and Peyton bounce silently while I open my mouth in a wordless scream.
“Two… the studio got the funding for the film. Hashtag Celebrity Crush is going to be a movie!”
The aluminum and vinyl chair rattles as I shoot out of it, and I probably look like I’ve just found a snake in the toilet, which, incidentally, has happened more than once in this mobile home park.
“You’ll have to sign off on it, of course, which I imagine you’ll do since they’re looking at Jason Connor to play the starring role.”
“Of… of course,” I stammer. “Sign it! Sign it all! Approved!”
“I thought you’d say that. I already sent the screenplay version you wrote over to the director. It’s Miles Gauthier. He probably won’t use it, though. He’s got his own people, and he insists on complete creative control. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”
I plop back down on my chair, miss the seat entirely, and crash to the floor. “Of course not. Miles Gauthier is great!”
“They want to fast-track this to ride the social media wave you’ve created, so they want to do casting all next week, two to three months of filming over the summer, and get this… they want you to do a kickoff photo shoot with Jason to play up the whole celebrity crush thing.”
I start to stand up but crumple to the floor again. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me, you disgustingly lucky cow. You’re gonna get to do interviews and photo shoots with Jason Sexy-as-Hell Connor. It was all that hugging adorableness on the show. Fans loved it.”
I cough and reach for Peyton’s outstretched hand to help me to my feet. “When is all of this happening?”
“The Vanity Fair photo shoot with you and Jason Connor will be late summer. Then, when the movie comes out at Christmastime, you’ll get to be part of the premiere hype. And, girl, if we play this right, I think we can make all our dreams come true.”
My Fitbit is flashing like crazy. I plop down in my chair, this time successfully. “What do you mean?”
For a moment, I only hear Jill’s breath in the phone. Then her voice gets deep and her New York accent extra thick. “Listen, Emmy, this is a Cinderella story. Small-time author/influencer makes it big, goes on tour with her celebrity crush, turns it into something more… if you know what I mean. With Jason Connor, it shouldn’t be hard. Guy’s a total cad…”
I quickly take her off speaker and cross the trailer to my bedroom. “Please tell me you’re not suggesting I…” I sink onto my bed and lower my voice. “Prostitute myself.”
Jill chuckles. “This is Jason Connor we’re talking about. I’ve asked you to do more painful things already, like cut that one cringey sex scene. Remember that one? With the unicorns?”
“They were horses , and they were running across the beach! It’s romantic! Anyway, back to Jason Connor…”
“Nothing has to actually happen. You just have to make it look like something might have happened. Just like on The Terica Show with that hug. You have to tell a story and make people believe it. It’s called marketing. We’ll do an East Coast book tour this summer while they’re doing the bulk of the filming and tag a West Coast one onto your photo shoot with Mr. Hot Stuff so you have some time to work your magic. Then a reboot in December when the movie comes out. Any questions?”
My head is spinning. “I guess not.”
“Great! Congratulations, Emmy.”
“Oh, wait, yes! There’s something I want to change in the screenpl—” But she’s already hung up.
Josie peeks through the crack of the doorway with two more glasses of champagne in hand. “Whoa!”
“Whoa is right.”
She perches beside me on the bed and hands me a glass so we can toast. “To your upcoming movie and promo tour with Jason Connor. Aaaaaah!”
I toss back my drink, but I don’t cheer with her. My stomach is a twisty mess.
“What’s the matter?” Josie asks. “I expected you to be bouncing off the walls.”
A sigh escapes me. “I’m excited about the movie and the promo tour, of course I am. But Jill’s advice feels… ick .” I pause and wonder if I should say the ridiculous thing I’m thinking. Finally, I just do it. “It’d be different if it was for real.”
Josie scoffs, making me immediately regret my honesty. “Come on, Emmy. You don’t really think that’s in the cards, do you? I mean, Jason Connor? And isn’t he sleeping with that goddess Margarita Ayala?”
I pout. “ A , I don’t even know if they’re together right now, and B , is it really that crazy a thought? I mean, you were the one just giving me a pep talk about following my dreams.”
Plus, she wasn’t on the receiving end of that hug. That extra squeeze.
“Aww, honey.” Josie tilts her head. “I’m not talking you off a ledge of insanity because of you. I’m doing it because of him.”
I throw my phone behind me onto the bed. “I feel like you’re trying to support me, but maybe you accidentally kicked me in the teeth instead?”
She straightens up. “Again? Okay, let me try a different approach. He’s a fool. You’re completely right. The fact that he’s a movie star doesn’t factor in at all. You will have him, you determined little vixen. I have spoken!”
“That’s better.” I nod. “And thank you for quoting The Mandalorian . You know, they’re pretty unfair to Jason in the press. All that partying he did was like three years ago.”
“You’re welcome.” She takes another gulp of champagne. “Now don’t stop me, I’m on a roll supporting you. You’re going to get another crack at Orgasmic Hug Ken at this photo shoot, right, Barbie?”
A little bit of champagne bubbles out of my mouth from laughing, and I lick my lips to catch it.
“That’s perfect! When you see him again, lick your lips just like that, but constantly. Don’t stop. Then speak to him only in Shakespearean quotes. And if he tries to answer you, press your finger to his lips and say in a Russian accent, ‘Hush, my love. The only sound I want to hear from you is your sighs of ecstasy…’”
I roll my eyes and thumb my phone awake. “Never mind. I forgot you were psychotic.”
Josie throws her hands up. “I can’t win with you!”
“I don’t think we’re playing the same game.”
I swipe through Jason Connor’s social media, again. His pinned post is I’m the #CelebrityCrush Yo! followed by tags of the rest of the Lost Star cast. I don’t see anything recent from him. But people are still responding to that old post, tagging him, asking questions. There’s even a comment about us. About me.
“Wait a second…” I pinch my screen and zoom in.
Hey @thefunnyJason, what’s up with your swoony celebrity crusher? Seems like low-hanging fruit, that one.
Josie peers over my shoulder. “What a douche.”
“Eh,” I say dismissively. “People are stupid.”
“Did Jason reply?”
“I doubt it. He never replies to anything. Oh crap, he did!” I tap and read it out loud. “ I prefer my fruit from the top of the tree. What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
But at the same time, something inside my chest cracks open. Jason Connor pretty much just told the whole world I’m not good enough for him.
“He didn’t mean anything by it,” Josie says. “He was just trying to be funny.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“I know.” Josie flings a throw pillow across the room like a weapon. “That’s why I’m going to have to kill him.”
“He didn’t even like the photos I tagged him in!” I whine. “He responds to that nardhead, and he doesn’t even like my photos? He hasn’t followed me back, either! Maybe he is a jerk!”
Another pillow slices the air. “And after I kill him, I’m going to make him apologize to you.”
I ball my hands into fists tight enough for my fingernails to leave marks. How stupid am I? Imagining Jason Connor was flirting with me when he has Margarita Ayala waiting in the wings? What kind of an idiot thinks she has a chance with Jason Connor just because he throws on a smile and gives her a hug? He’s got a closetful of those smiles at home. And for a guy like him, a hug is meaningless, especially when it’s just for some swoony, sappy loser fan like me.
I kick at an abandoned sock on the floor. “At least I don’t have to worry about him finding out about that scene I put in the book, because now I don’t even care!”
“She doesn’t even care,” Josie, my real-life backup singer, echoes.
“He probably doesn’t care, either. He’s probably forgotten it even happened.”
“He’s forgotten completely.”
“You know what? If Jill says I should walk all over Jason Connor to further my career, I’ll walk all over him. I’ll trudge all over him!” I illustrate this by stomping on the sock.
Josie clucks her tongue as she puts an arm around me. “I told you those Jason Connor memes were going to lead you to hell.”
“It’s going to be angry yoga tomorrow,” I mutter.
“Yes! I love angry yoga.”
“It’s not something to be celebrated.”
“Boo! I hate angry yoga.”
“You’re lying. You love it.”
“You know I do. You know what else?”
“What?”
“When you go back to LA, you shouldn’t even pack. You should buy yourself a whole new wardrobe on Rodeo Drive.”
I drop my head on her shoulder. “Finally, some decent advice out of the bossy sidekick.”
She kisses the top of my head. “I love you, too.”