12. Jake
Chapter 12
Jake
Dear Jake:
I’m beginning to worry that you’ve forgotten who I am. I’m hearing from you less and less, and you keep telling me to “forget” about the Fansees and move on. You’ve punished them, you’ve told me, over and over.
Only, it really sounds like you’re forgetting who you are.
Everyone on earth’s either a mark or they’re a grifter. You don’t get to opt out, because there’s nothing in between. I left you to be fostered by the Fansees because they proved themselves to be somewhat canny for do-gooders.
It never occurred to me you might drink the lemonade.
Snap out of it, boy. Right this moment. Remember who you are. Remember that there’s only one true north in this world, and it’s not your stupid, sappy, holier-than-thou foster family.
I’m your true north.
I’m the only person who really knows you.
And I’m the only person you can trust to have your back when things get bad. Don’t ever forget that. I may be locked away, but I still have your back, even from here. If you go check behind the flowering bush that’s a little overgrown right behind the signage for their stupid hotel, you’ll find a little reminder of that.
-Dad
W hen I was fifteen years old, I stopped writing my dad letters. I should’ve tapered them off, maybe, or written perfunctory ones, telling him I was busy.
I was a teenager.
It would’ve been believable.
But the truth was, I was embarrassed that he was my dad.
He was in prison.
He had taught me to make my way as a liar and a thief. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be a cowbird. I didn’t want to bump anyone out of their nest and take their food. I wanted to be the kind of bird the other birds could rely on.
I wanted to be a part of the nest, with parent birds who loved me.
So I stopped writing my real dad.
He saw right through my reasons immediately, of course, and he delivered to my door the very thing I imagine he plans to use to destroy the Fansee family at his leisure. When he finally does get out, whenever that day comes, I’m sure I’ll see exactly how he uses the information he managed to dig up on my seemingly perfect foster parents while he was in prison.
But whenever I have a weak moment, whenever I think that maybe, just maybe, good people exist. When I think that maybe the world isn’t all swindlers and suckers, I look at the photos Dad left in that manila envelope.
I’ve told myself all kinds of things about them.
Maybe they were doctored.
Maybe they aren’t real at all.
Maybe it was a one-time mistake and Dave didn’t tell Seren about it because he didn’t want to hurt her.
I’ve hoped all those things might be true.
But at the end of the day, I know people. I know people in a way most people never do. I’ve peeked underneath the curtain of humanity and seen that we’re all pretty lousy underneath our shiny and bright veneers. We all have our most base desires, and we all have our essential flaws, and no matter how hard we try, we all let down the people we love at some point. Usually we let them down regularly. Right now, I really want to be a good person—I want to be what I thought the Fansees were.
I feel like Octavia deserves someone shiny and bright and good.
She’s the shiniest, brightest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.
But I’m not the right person for her, even if I can fool her for a little while. After all, my dad’s in prison for theft and my foster father’s the kind of person who gets caught in bed with a woman who’s most decidedly not his wife Seren.
In the photos, Dave’s smiling like it’s Christmas morning, and every time I see them, I want to punch him until his face caves in.
Which is why I’m flipping through the screenshots I took of the photos on my phone. I’m trying to prepare for the worst. In the next few days, something’s going to happen. I can feel it. Either Octavia’s going to realize that I suck and dump me, or I’m going to find out something about her that breaks my heart. It’s important that I prepare myself.
No matter how great someone seems, they’re either being lied to, like Seren, or they’re doing the lying, like Dave. When you know that in advance, it doesn’t hurt as hard when the disappointment slaps you in the face.
At first, Dad’s pictures hurt me.
It felt like he was attacking me and the family I’d come to see as my own. But with a little time, I realized that he was actually trying to help me. The Fansees weren’t the paragons I thought. They were just like the rest of us, making mistakes, hurting people, and covering up their lies. I was better off not idolizing anyone and trusting my dad, because then I’d be able to take whatever I could so no one else took anything from me.
Even from prison, Dad was trying to protect me.
That’s why, when Octavia said the Fansees’ way was the better way. . .I wished I could believe it. I want to believe in a world like the one she sees. Even with all the people saying ugly things about one of the most beautiful souls I’ve seen, she believes in that world.
But I know it doesn’t exist.
I have Dad to thank for that, and Dave too, I guess.
When I first found out, I hated him, but I came to understand that he’s just a normal guy. Every normal guy in the world falls short. They all let their families down. They all ruin things. The key’s not appreciating only perfect people. It’s assuming that everyone’s imperfect and seeing their good things so the bad won’t wreck you when you uncover it.
Sometimes I momentarily forget that everyone’s flawed.
I always remind myself the same way. After looking at the bad photos of Dave, I swipe through more recent ones, marveling at the disconnect between the man in these bright and cheery photos with his arm around Seren and the cheating philanderer I know him to be.
I only have time to work on these reminders because the scene that was supposed to be filmed this morning was canceled. Since coming to terms with Morgan, they’re now working furiously to find a replacement for Precious Patty that America won’t hate.
I wouldn’t like to be Patty’s agent right now.
But I kind of love that Morgan lady. What kind of person is able to, with the posting of just a few videos, effect the total and complete annihilation of someone else’s career? I mean, Morgan burned it to the ground as effectively as if she’d lit a funeral pyre, and no one I’ve met deserved it more.
A lot of people may be awful about Octavia’s face, but none of them are supposed to be America’s little darling. America’s darling shouldn’t be the jealous, rude, petty person Patty has proven herself to be.
Good riddance.
I do sort of wish that Octavia had jumped at the chance to be my costar, but she clearly hated the idea. I’d never try to push her into something she didn’t want. Or at least, not unless it was really good for her in some way she didn’t understand.
When my phone bings, I swipe and see the text’s from Jane.
Get here in an hour. We have women for you to screen test.
I hate screen tests. It’s like doing a bunch of speed dates, but worse because everyone I’m force-dating’s a megalomaniac. I wish I could refuse any involvement and just make them pick someone—it’s not like there’s going to be a good choice—but it’s in my contract. Begrudgingly, I shower, brush my teeth, and then I finally go in.
So what if some of the people reading for the part have to wait?
Hopefully they’ll find someone who’s a little better than Patrice. I’m about to walk into the conference room when I get another text. It’s from Octavia.
Good luck today. I hear they’re re-casting. I hope it goes well.
You sure you don’t want to read for the role? I’d push for them to pick you.
Ha.
I’m serious. You’d be amazing.
They’d have to rewrite the entire thing to address my face. Pass.
Think of the good that could come of it—how many people you could reach.
No after-school specials for me, thanks.
Fine, but for the record, I vote Octavia.
Checked the ballots. You were the only one.
I’m smiling when I walk into the room, and I hope on the other side of the phone, she is too. As predicted, the next few hours are pretty brutal. I read with a half dozen women I’ve met before, and two new faces.
They’re all terrible.
Some of them are decent actors, and that’s what matters. It is, at the end of the day, a job. That’s why they pay us. I grit my teeth, and I tell each of them in turn how lovely it would be to work with them. I nod in agreement when they say how horrible it was to discover what a bad person Patrice Jouveau was, as if it was a surprise to any of us.
But then, the last screen test walks in.
It’s May Markson.
She’s literally the girl-next-door in my favorite sitcom. I’m honestly bummed to see her here. I like to at least pretend, with the few shows I watch, that the person in them is decent. Kind. Funny. Smart.
I know it’s unlikely, but I can hope.
And all my hopes are about to be dashed.
“Hey,” she says. “I’m May, and you can call me May.” She shrugs, and with a half-grin says, “Plus, it’s my actual name, and May’s better than April, right?”
It’s a little corny, but there’s not enough of innocent humor in Hollywood. After we read our lines, the producer, director, and their finance team disappear to talk, leaving me with May.
“I really enjoy Just Three Neighbors ,” I say. “It’s refreshingly honest and still upbeat.”
“Oh, thanks.” She beams. “I hardly have to say that I would be honored to work with you. Stepping up to movies—I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”
Is it possible I’ve just met the only non-arrogant actress in LA? “Well, they don’t really let me vote, but I’d vote for you for sure.”
“Honestly, I’d vote for Octavia Rothschild,” she says. “After seeing those videos, it seems like a movie role is the least of what she should get after dealing with Patrice.” Her lip curls. “Who knew she was such a jerk?”
“Everyone,” I say. “But as it happens, I agree with you.”
“So you’re really dating her, then?” May’s eyes widen. “She’s really pretty, and her voice.” She whistles. “I’ve been listening to the soundtrack raw cuts on repeat since they called me about the role. I can’t get enough of it.”
“Those raw cuts aren’t?—”
“Supposed to be on the internet?” She shrugs. “I know, but they leave them to build hype, and I think it’s working. They weren’t even hard to find. I think YouTube’s pushing them, to be honest.”
Probably. People always do whatever they can if it’s in their interest. Dad got that right. “Well, it’s nice to hear that you appreciate her, and yes, we’re dating.”
May closes her eyes and exhales. “You didn’t hear this from me, but my boyfriend will be all kinds of relieved.”
“You have a boyfriend?” I lean closer. “I haven’t seen a whiff of that on social.”
“Posting about your normal-guy boyfriend is really more of an ‘established actress’ kind of move,” she says. “My agent says I can’t let anyone know I’m serious with someone until I’ve gotten a few movie deals. So far… none.” She shrugs. “I think all the secrecy makes Stuart nervous, so he’ll be so happy to hear you’re dating Octavia.”
I imagine Octavia will like that May’s not pursuing me, either. A moment later, I stand up. “Restroom.” I point.
That was a lie. I sneak around the back and barge in on the meeting. “It’s May, hands down,” I say. “You have to pick her. She’s as great as Patrice was lousy.”
“Oh, good,” Stu says. “Someone smart.” He points at me. “Listen to him.”
“But she brings no star power,” Adam says. “And when you’re replacing someone high profile, you don’t bring in a nobody?—”
“Unless you’re doing it to clear out the stench that high profile person left. Then you do bring in a breath of fresh air,” I say. “That’s what May is. What little notoriety she has, and it’s growing, is all good. And out there, did you actually listen to her? She’s as nice as she is wholesome. She’s perfect. She fits the description of the role to a tee.”
“She’s a blond,” Adam says.
“Then dye her hair,” I say. “And stop being an idiot.”
“I agree with him,” Stu says. “Except not the idiot part, of course.”
Jane covers her mouth, but it’s clear she’s laughing. “I vote for May, too.”
“So do all of you want her?” Adam looks around.
Everyone’s nodding.
“Oh, good.” He beams. “Then it’s unanimous. I was just playing devil’s advocate to see how much you’d fight me.”
We’ve just shared the news with May, who’s giddy enough to be jumping up and down, when Bradley calls. “Two calls from my agent in two days?” I ask. “What is it now?”
“I thought you deserved a warning,” he says. “I just got a call from someone with the state of New York, and they said?—”
In that moment, I know what the call was about without Bradley saying the words. I hang up the phone and stand up to prepare. Like most of the biggest moments in my life, I’m not sure whether to shout or cry.
When the door to our tiny meeting room opens, my hunch is confirmed.
“Excuse me,” Adam says, “but this is a closed set. You can’t just barge in here?—”
My father’s smile spreads slowly. “But I’m Jake Priest’s new manager.” He bobs his head at Adam. “I assume you’re Adam Forrest.”
“His manager?” Adam frowns. “Last I heard, he didn’t want a manager assigned.”
“That’s because Jake was holding the position for me,” Dad says. “I’m his father.” He holds out his hand. “And it’s so nice to finally meet you.”