Chapter 29 Maximoff Hale
MAXIMOFF HALE
Is there anything specific you want to talk about?
Jack always pitches this question first. My mind reels through various issues I could possibly discuss. Everything circumnavigates to one.
One topic, one plight, one goddamn annoyance.
“Yeah.” I set my cup on the table. “I want to talk about my uncle.”
The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing in Avengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.
Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which uncle?”
“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’ to mine. I don’t even say fuck as often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.
I sense Farrow and his at ease nature, and you know the weirdest thing? It calms me. Makes me feel like I have someone prepared to jump on my side. Right now. This moment. Any moment.
He’s with me.
My bound shoulders unwind.
Jack isn’t the type of person to just say no. He tries to hear people out, but he reminds me, “You talked about this last season, Moffy.”
“It’s been worse this year.”
“But it’s not going to change with this show,” Jack says.
“You’ve discussed the topic at length three times.
We’ve reached the max. One more time, and the public will believe you’re overcompensating for something.
As a producer, I’d tell you to just go ahead and talk about it.
It’ll bring us ratings. But as your friend, I’m telling you not to bring it up. ”
Goddammit. “What about if I talk about my dad?”
“It depends.” Jack twists off a cap to Ziff, a sports drink. “If you’re going to just tell the audience how great of a father he is—no.”
I rub my aching shoulder. I need to stretch. “Just tell me what I should be talking about then.”
“Sex,” Jack says. “It’s what people want to know most about you, especially with those photos.” The bite marks. “Who are you seeing? What kind of pressures do you deal with being the son of a sex addict? Are you more careful? Do you have insecurities?” He lists the questions rapidly.
I’ve heard them all before. Jack broaches the topic of sex almost every production meeting.
“Are you ready to talk about this stuff?” he asks.
“No,” I say firmly. “Not this season. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”
“This is a no apology zone, remember? Whatever content you want to share, good. Whatever you don’t, that’s good too. It’s all up to you.” Jack already jumps to a new topic. “What about your relationship with Luna? She’ll be eighteen and be on her own for the first time. It’d be a great arc.”
Out of my siblings, Luna is the only one who’s on We Are Calloway with me. We’ve bonded a bit while filming together, and I already know she’d love a whole arc about our relationship.
So I agree.
“Jane?” Jack asks. “Any personal topics?”
Janie and I already scooted closer to one another. I stare down at my best friend who wears a cheetah-print sweater, pale yellow pants, and sequined high heels. Whatever she’s about to say, she hasn’t brought up with me yet.
“I’d like to discuss my weight,” she says assuredly.
Our bodyguards have no idea how to react to these issues if it doesn’t involve security. Even Farrow, I think. They just keep eating and drinking. Doing their best not to appear concerned. It’s not their job to be emotionally invested in us.
But a lot of them care, I’ve fucking realized.
Obviously.
One is my boyfriend. Don’t look at him. I’m trying. Christ, I’ve been trying for the past fifteen minutes.
“More specifically?” Jack asks my best friend while jotting notes. He bites into his muffin.
I wrap my arm around Janie when she says, “That I love my body the way it is. I have tiny boobs, no ass, love-handles and a bigger belly. How chubby isn’t a nasty word. And their hatred won’t change me.”
Farrow and Quinn start clapping in genuine appreciation.
Can we do take-backs?
Our bodyguards actually do know how to react. They’re our friends.
I know. I know.
I squeeze Jane around the shoulders and kiss her freckled cheek. “Je t'aime, ma moitié.” I love you, my other half.
Janie smiles warmly. “Je t'aime aussi.” I love you too.
Jack scribbles and nods. “That’ll be great. Also, you’re looking lovely as ever, Jane.”
“Merci.”
Farrow rolls his eyes, not at Janie’s comment but the producer’s.
“What?” Jack asks him. “I can’t give compliments to this group anymore?”
“You’re almost maxed out,” Farrow says.
“Then you’re all ugly,” Jack says with a wide grin. “How’s that?”
Quinn starts a slow-clap for Jack, and Farrow, Jane, and I join in. The exec producer’s smile expands.
The bell to the front door dings open. Akara has a key. Janie and I straighten up and exchange a look that says, protect Sulli if it gets intense.
The actual process of the docuseries is pretty fucking raw.
Round 1 of the Gauntlet of Over-sharing: dump your personal story onto Jack and a hoard of bodyguards.
Round 2: allow production teams to invade your life for specific chunks of time.
Round 3: let the world watch you be vulnerable.
Right now, I’m just fixated on round one for Sul. She’ll want to complete what she starts—no matter what—but if round one makes her uncomfortable, I’ll pull the fucking plug and call it off.
“Jack,” I whisper as footsteps sound on the iron staircase. “Since this is Sulli’s first meeting, can you just ease her in?”
“Sure,” Jack nods, and he stands to greet my cousin. The rest of us turn and watch.
“Here, Sul.” Akara takes her motorcycle helmet, already holding his.
“Thanks, Kits.” Sulli unbuttons her denim jacket, dressed in denim jeans and a plain white tee. Her dark hair falls long on her chest.
Jack approaches and catches her gaze.
“You must be Jack.” Sulli holds out her hand.
Akara sidesteps around them, and I spot this long warning look that he shoots Jack. It pretty much says, careful with this one, or you’re dead.
Jack falters for a brief second. “Um…” He frowns and then brushes off the moment. Shaking Sulli’s hand. “I’m Jack.”
“Jack Highland,” Sulli adds, their handshake lasting a long beat.
Janie nudges my shoulder and her brows wag as she picks apart a croissant.
I don’t know what the fuck that means.
All I know is that Jack is acting weird. I can’t discern whether it’s because I warned him about Sulli, Akara shot him a look, or we’ve all been joking about his compliments.
Akara takes a seat on a beanbag between Farrow and Quinn. Security claiming their side of the low table. Alright, there are sides. They all observe Sulli and Jack more intently than they do most casual encounters.
“And you’re Sullivan Meadows.” Jack finally breaks from the handshake.
“You can call me Sulli.” Then her gaze flits to Jane.
Jane waves her over and makes room for her to sit in between us. I grab a teal beanbag and set it down in the free space.
When Jack and Sulli join us at the table, he sits on his own side and picks up his notepad. Now there are three metaphorical and literal sides: the famous, the security, the production.
I get it.
And I watch Jack watching Sulli. My cousin squishes between me and Jane, and she edges up to the table. Making a plate of food.
Jack twirls his pen. “Do you want to be introduced in the show as Sulli?”
Sulli piles two waffles on a plate. “Ummm…yeah, that’d be good, right?” She looks to me, then Jane. “Fuck, I don’t know. What do you two go by?”
“Jane.”
“Maximoff.”
She glances at Jack. “I’ll go with Sullivan.”
He nods.
Sulli towers three chocolate donuts on top of the waffles. She finds the whipped cream canister and strawberry syrup that Janie brought and squirts the waffle-donut mound.
Jack can’t stop staring at her breakfast, his pen frozen on the notepad. “Would you want to talk about that?”
“About what?” She looks up, confused. “My donuts? I haven’t eaten them yet. How am I supposed to talk about them?”
Farrow tilts his head at Sulli. “Green, the shade of newbies. It’s a cute color on you.”
She blushes and glances to Akara. He already throws a pillow at Farrow’s chest, who rolls his eyes. I can’t take in the joke or even add in a sarcastic remark. I just stay on guard for whatever’s coming.
“On the show,” Jack says, ignoring my bodyguard…boyfriend. Focus. I blink a few times. He clarifies further, “Do you want to talk about your eating habits?”
“Oh. Fuck, really?” She frowns deeply. “People would want to know about that?” Press has photographed my cousin at restaurants.
She only orders desserts. It’s not like that’s her breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But she’s not following any nutritional food pyramid either. I only ever saw her eat healthy during intense training periods. She’d plug her nose and chug protein shakes.
“First, foremost,” Jack says to Sulli, “the show is about what you want to do. The public would love to know everything about you. So don’t feel pressured to speak about a topic that makes you uncomfortable.”
Sulli nods heartily, cutting into her waffle-donuts. “I like it.”
Jane flashes me a thumbs-up.
I’m not ready to rest easy. I tell Sulli, “Jack has a good perception of how the public will react to what you want to share.”
“Whoa, really?” Sulli starts smiling. It’s not often we find people who can ground our lives and trust. “So what would the public think about my breakfast?”
Security hawk-eyes Jack.
“They’ll label you a picky-eater to start,” Jack says, “and some will find it endearing. Other people will shit on you for it. That’s a huge part of the show—you share your story and then you take the good with the bad.”
Jane chimes in, “It’s nice being able to have your voice out there.”
Sulli stuffs her mouth and chews slowly, contemplating.
“Are you positive you want to do this?” I ask. “No one’s forcing you on We Are Calloway. You can back out now, Sulli.”
Jack studies her closely. “He’s right. We’d love to have you on, but this is your choice.”