13. Octavia
Chapter 13
Octavia
I ’ve always wondered whether my mother liked acting so much because she never felt happy with who she was. Not that the same principle applies to everyone. Perhaps I hated it because it made my mom angry when I took attention from her. Or maybe I just wanted to be happy with who I was—I didn’t ever want to pretend I was someone else entirely.
That’s why Morgan’s proclamation isn’t very exciting to me.
“I got them to agree to exactly what I wanted.” It’s eight-thirty in the morning, and she’s shrieking, waving a paper in my face.
“You—what?” I glance at Bea, hoping she has some idea what’s going on.
“They’re eliminating Patrice , for one.” Morgan makes a retching sound. “But for another, they’ve officially offered you her position. I told them you have past acting experience, and they agreed that the video of Jake kissing you?—”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “I won’t take it.”
“Why not?” She steps closer. “Look at the contract. They’re keeping your pay the same as it was for Patrice, and?—”
I shove both the paper and Morgan back a full body length. “I appreciate you caring enough to do this for me, but it’s still a hearty ‘no thank you’ from me. I want nothing to do with any of this.”
“They tried to offer her that part when they first accused her,” Bea says. “She turned them down then, too.”
Morgan’s shoulders slump. “But if you don’t want it, then?—”
“They’ll find someone else,” Bea says. “You can’t throw a rock in this town without hitting a wannabe actress.”
“None of them would be as good as Octavia,” Morgan mutters.
“What else are you going to ask for then?” Q asks. “If you had to negotiate for this and she doesn’t want it, then what?”
“I’m not sure.” Morgan frowns. “But something. They want to control my content, which is ridiculous. I post the truth.”
“A truth that was stolen from their security feeds through use of an undeclared relationship,” I say. “Aren’t you worried they’ll fire your boyfriend?”
She snorts. “My boyfriend? As if. Have you met AJ? He’s a total dork.”
“But you said?—”
“I could tell you were calling with an agenda,” she says. “Geez.”
I don’t want to think about what that means. It might lower my opinion of Morgan, and right now I like thinking she’s a warrior. “Let’s get to work,” I say. “We have songs to finish.”
Good songs, thanks to Bea.
“This movie soundtrack’s going to be amazing,” Everett says when we finish.
All of us exchange a glance.
He frowns. “I do talk, when I have something to say.”
“I guess you just haven’t had anything to say for weeks,” Q says.
“Never had much space to talk in this room.” Everett shrugs. “Then it kind of became my thing, so I leaned in.”
I think about that while they get machinery and instruments put away. How often do our perceptions of other people shape people’s future action? How often do our preconceptions become reality because we made assumptions and they get boxed in?
We all go to lunch to celebrate, and then we help Morgan read through the agreement the studio wants her to sign.
“It’s basically just a right of refusal for your posts,” I say. “And for that, they’re doubling your royalty share for the songs.” I shrug. “I think it’s fair.”
“I’d be making the same thing as you and Bea. Doesn’t that upset you? I’m just hired talent.” Morgan’s frowning.
“It’s not coming out of our cut, though,” I say. “And you kind of saved our involvement in the project. Patrice was demanding that she take over the vocals. We’d have been out, except for behind the scenes.”
“Ooh.” Morgan beams. “Maybe I should insist that all of us get to make a cameo on one of the music videos.”
“All of them,” Q says.
“Count me out.” Everett grimaces. “I don’t do video.”
“Video killed the radio star,” I sing. “But you have a nice face, Everett.”
He smiles, his white teeth bright against his dark brown skin. “That’s the problem. I have too many ladies after me as it is.”
We’re all laughing when Bea gets a call. “Hey, Mom,” she says. “We just finished recording.”
There’s a pause.
Everyone quiets down, like we’re all listening. I can’t tell whether we’re being quiet in a rude way, to try and eavesdrop, or a polite one, to keep from distracting her.
“Yeah, I guess we’ll probably be coming home pretty soon. We may be in a music video, though.” She winks at me. “And we have some promotional footage to record and some photos for the album to take, but probably in a few more days or a week.”
Another pause.
“I’m not sure about Jake—I think they have to start over on all the filming, which is a huge drag.”
When she pauses again, I poke Morgan. “What did they say about the music video?” She was texting Eddy right as Seren called.
Morgan shakes her head, presses her finger over her lips, and points at Bea. So it’s clearly snooping. I’m just not sure why they care what Seren thinks about Bea or Jake.
“But Mom, I think Octavia may want to stick around, to see more of Jake.” Her whispering’s pointless. We can still hear her.
Morgan actually leans closer—she’s that obvious.
“No, I mean, I know birthdays are a big deal, but. . .” She sighs. “Fine. I’ll talk to Jake and see if he can come back for a weekend. I’m sure they have some breaks in the filming schedule. They just aren’t very long ones.” After a very short pause, she almost shouts, “No, don’t book tickets to come here. I’m sure he won’t want you walking all over the set.”
I’m laughing when she finally hangs up. “Whose birthday is it?”
“Jake refused to tell us his birthday at first—he had so many falsified papers, no one was quite sure when it really was—so we celebrated the day he joined our family every year. That date is this weekend—Saturday. Dave and Seren take birthdays seriously.”
“But more importantly, it seems like the two of you are still dating.” Morgan rounds on me so fast it makes my head spin.
“I thought we were spying on Bea’s conversation,” I say.
Q rolls his eyes. “Only because of the off-chance she might let something spill about the two of you.” He crosses his arms. “You’ve told us nothing about your date.”
After I finally give them enough information that they’re satisfied, Bea and I go shopping for a new outfit for the album cover. I’ve never cared much about my clothes, opting for classy and boring business casual stuff mostly, but now that I’m supposed to be on an album cover. . .
“What look are we going for?” Bea asks.
“I’d have said opera for my first album,” I say. “But your stuff is more pop meets soul.”
She laughs. “Which means Doc Martens, argyle socks, and mini skirts?”
I groan. “I hope not. That was bad enough in the nineties.”
“I hear it’s come back.”
I hope she’s kidding.
We look all afternoon, checking out store after store, but don’t find anything that feels quite right. Or at least, nothing that costs less than five grand and feels quite right.
“Man, everything here’s so expensive,” I say.
“Yeah, and not like, ‘Whole Foods’ expensive. It’s like ‘sell a kidney’ expensive,” Bea says.
I chuckle. “I doubt my kidneys are worth as much as some of those purses.”
“Right?” She holds one hand out. “Here, sir, how much for a slightly used and possibly not very pretty kidney? Half of the price of that tiny pink coin purse?” She ponders for a moment and then nods her head. “Deal.”
“Who buys this crap?” I ask.
“People with more money than sense.”
“I wish that was me,” I say. “But I think you lose a little bit of your soul when you have that kind of money. Like, how do you justify buying a ten thousand dollar handbag when people, hardworking people, can’t pay their rent?”
“Or when some kids don’t have dinner?” Bea asks. “Did I tell you that Easton’s putting me in charge of charitable giving, or he said he will, once his new startup goes public?”
“Wait, he has a new startup already?” I blink. “I thought he just got out of the other thing?”
“It’s early stages,” Bea says. “But he knows what he’s doing now, so he thinks he’ll get there faster.” Bea stops walking. “Ooh, what do you want to eat for dinner? I’m thinking sushi.”
For some reason, that bums me out, and I can’t help glancing at my phone. Not that I’m expecting anything. There’ve been no messages all day. Not even my mother’s calling.
“What’s up?” Bea peers closer to my face.
“Nothing.” I slide my phone into my pocket.
“My stupid brother hasn’t texted you all day, has he?”
I shrug. “He’s busy. I’m sure they’re trying to find a replacement for the great disappointment.”
She snorts. “I sure hope so, but how long does a text take?” She grabs my hand. “It’s not the nineteen fifties. You should message him .”
Duh.
I whip out my phone.
Find anyone to replace P yet?
What does P stand for?
Poopy?
Pathetic?
Pimple Popper?
I chuckle.
“Oh, good. He’s doing something right at least,” Bea mutters. “I told him if he makes you cry, I’m going to castrate him.”
That makes me stumble. “You’re sure violent—it feels strange from someone so small.”
“You have to be very clear with Jake. Vague threats do nothing, and I always go a level or two higher than I really mean, to make sure he knows I’m serious.”
“You go nuclear,” I say.
Bea kicks a rock, and it skitters a dozen sidewalk squares down. “Look, there’s a lot of angry shoved into this tiny package. You can thank my parents for that one.” Her head whips up. “Not Dave and Seren. My bio parents.”
“I figured,” I say.
Jake texts again, even though I hadn’t replied yet.
Putrefic? Presumptuous?
Patrice is already the worst name that starts with P. Speaking of, did you find a new actress to take over for her yet? Or are you still looking?
Morgan said you refused the offer they made to you. I thought you might reconsider. You’re sure?
Yeah, that’s not for me.
I get it. We did just find someone, though. May Markson. Have you seen Just Three Neighbors? It’s a great show. I really like her in it. I think you will, too.
Bea and I are thinking of grabbing dinner. You busy?
I’m glad you have Bea—I’m busy. Something just came up. I’ll text you later with my filming schedule tomorrow once they confirm May can start right away.
“Whoa.” Bea’s reading over my shoulder. “So they hired the cutest actress I’ve ever seen, someone he likes too, and now he’s busy?”
I hate that she’s seeing the same thing I am.
“He didn’t say he’s busy with her,” I say. “Maybe it’s something else that’s come up, and?—”
“Jake’s really simple,” Bea says. “Think of him like a river. It flows downward. If he said they chose her and then he said he’s busy, it’s with her.” She looks ready to rip something—or someone—in half. “I swear, I should have warned you off from the start. I’m going to have to kill him, and. . .” She turns toward me and meets my eyes. “I’m going to miss that jerk after he’s dead.”
She’s such a crazy person. “You aren’t killing Jake, even if he moves on. I always knew we were unlikely to be a long-lasting love connection.”
Bea grabs my hands. “But you were excited. I could tell. You liked him, and you’re a hundred times better than he deserves, and just. . .ahhh!” Bea’s shouting on the sidewalk, and people are starting to stare.
“Let’s order some delivery and change into pajamas and watch another romantic comedy.”
“Yes!” Bea’s nodding with some real energy. “Any movie you want.”
“Great,” I say. “Let’s do How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. ”
“I love Kate Hudson,” Bea says. “Let’s do it.”
“You love Kate Hudson?” I snort. “I like Matthew McConaughey.”
“I mean, yeah, but saying that now that I’m engaged sounds weird.”
“You don’t have to say, ‘I like staring at his pecs,’” I say. “You can just think he’s funny, cute, and a little strange.”
“He actually is a pretty odd guy.” Bea’s eyes widen. “Or so Jake says.”
“But he’s a movie star. Aren’t they all a little strange?”
Bea laughs. “I guess so.”
On the way home, she tells me stories about Jake as a kid, most of them involving some strange behaviors for a kid his age. Or, anyone, really.
“He ironed his underwear?” I can barely believe that.
“I know he seems like he’d be messy,” Bea says. “And he does take up way too much space, but he’s actually really fastidious with clothing and stuff. He only did that for a year, but he likes things to be crisp and clean.”
“Better than him being a disgusting slob, I guess,” I say.
“Like you?” She’s grinning, though, so I know she’s kidding.
By the time we get back to the hotel, and our takeout arrives, and we’ve got the movie queued up, I can’t keep myself. My finger’s hovering over the keyboard of the laptop, but instead of hitting play, I ask, “Do you think Jake likes May? He said her show was great.”
“Oh.” She drops her chopsticks and meets my gaze. “Well, he watches it sometimes,” Bea says. “He does like it, and her too, I think. But I don’t think he likes her like that .”
It’s easy for Bea to say that.
Her boyfriend isn’t out right now with his new costar, who happens to be cute, kind, and accessible, while still having flawless skin, shiny white teeth, and a proportioned figure that would make Angelina Jolie jealous.
I have a really hard time focusing on the movie, even though I really like it. I just keep thinking that as cute as Kate Hudson is, May Markson’s even cuter. And as pouty and flirty as Kate is, May’s even more enticing.
Ugh.
I always felt like Dad had some culpability in my parents’ break up. Yes, Mom shouldn’t have gotten carried away with her role in the play or whatever, but Dad blew it out of proportion, too. He could have done more to make her feel seen and special. He could have tried harder to make her happy.
I resolve not to do what my dad did. I won’t assume the worst about Jake. I mean, we’ve been on one date so it’s not like he owes me anything, but I’ll assume he likes me until I see that’s wrong. I won’t ruin this with my own insecurity.
That night, it gets harder and harder to stick to my guns as I toss and turn. I dream, when I finally do sleep, of Jake kissing May, over and over.
Ugh.
What a horrible night.
The sound of Bea’s phone alarm going off over and over wakes me up the next day. I rub my eyes and force myself upright, then I notice the time. It’s five-eleven in the morning.
“Bea,” I croak. “Bea, your phone.”
She mumbles something.
I realize it’s a phone call, not an alarm, just as it goes to voicemail. Oh well. I flop back down on the bed. But when it starts ringing again, I drag myself over and pick it up. It says “Mom,” on the phone. I’m assuming it’s Seren, but I’m not totally sure as I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
“Bea?” It’s definitely Seren. “Bea, is that you?”
“It’s Octavia,” I say. “Sorry, it’s really early here.”
“No, I know, and I’m so sorry to be calling this early, but it’s really urgent. Can you put Bea on the phone?”
My whole body freezes up. A lot of horrible possibilities run through me, like Easton dying or Dave having a heart attack. When I shake Bea awake and hand her the phone, I do it with the knowledge that I have the phone volume turned up to max.
I’m dying to hear what’s going on, and I’m praying it’s not as bad as I’ve already imagined.
“Bea?”
“Mhhmph.” Bea’s rubbing her eyes. “Wha?”
“Wake up, Bea,” Seren says. “You’re my boots on the ground.”
She straightens. “What’s going on?”
“Jake’s dad got out of prison.”
Bea’s eyes fly open. She swears loudly under her breath. “No way.”
“They sent us a letter—or rather, the letter for Jake came here to our place. But I guess it got put in the stack of bills, and you know I only pay those twice a month, but when the water line?—”
“Mom, focus.”
“We didn’t see it until this morning, so here we are.”
“When did he get out?” Bea asks, yawning. “Today?”
“Three days ago,” Seren says. “Have you seen him yet?”
“I’m sure he’s on parole,” Bea says. “He won’t be allowed to travel, right? Won’t he be stuck in New York?”
“Yes,” Seren says. “Because he strikes me as someone who follows all the rules.” I barely know her and I can hear her eye-roll through the tinny speaker of Bea’s phone.
“Okay, so he’ll show up here, and then. . .what do I do? What do we expect?”
“His dad’s not a good person,” Seren says. “First and foremost, he’ll be demanding money from Jake, I’m sure. And then beyond that. . .I was hoping you could tell me what happens. We’ll have to kind of make decisions as things happen.”
They talk about options for a few more minutes, but eventually, they hang up. I expect Bea to collapse back into a gently snoring heap, but instead, she rounds on me. “What did he say last night? Did he say he was with May?”
I shake my head. “He said. . .” I whip out my phone so I can read the text. “He said, ‘I’m busy. Something just came up. I’ll text you later with my filming schedule, once they confirm May can start right away.’”
Bea sighs. “So maybe he went out with her, and maybe his dad showed up. He didn’t give us any clues at all. I can see why you were a mess.”
My shoulders square. “Hey, I wasn’t a mess.”
Bea rolls her eyes. “Well, it’s too early to do anything but plan. Today, we have the videos they want us to film for social, and then tomorrow we have the endorsement meetings.”
“Okay,” I say. “But what does that?—”
Bea holds up one hand, like she’s a mob boss, or an officious mean girl. It makes me smile. When I peer over her shoulder, she’s typing out a text to Jake.
Seren just told me your dad’s out of prison? Have you seen him? Heard from him? Text me back when you get this, or I’ll come over to your apartment and refuse to leave.
Of course there’s no response. It’s barely five-thirty in the morning.
“Hey, this is good.” Bea looks up at me. “He told me two days ago that he’s filming this morning starting at eight a.m. Let’s get ready, and we can stop by on our way to our filming or whatever.”
I have no idea what we might possibly do if his dad is here, but I suppose Bea’s just desperate to know. She seems utterly convinced that his dad will hunt him down now that he’s out, but I’m not so sure. On the way to the set, I ask, “Is it possible his dad might ignore him? I got the impression they haven’t been talking much.”
Bea’s brow furrows. “That would be nice, but I doubt very much if he’d really be able to leave Jake alone.”
“He was an embezzler, right? That’s what he did?”
Bea’s frown deepens. “What did Jake tell you?”
“Not much,” I admit. “But he said that when his dad was supposed to get out, he got caught stealing money and got stuck in there even longer.”
She sighs. “That’s true.” She glances at our driver and drops her voice. “But the reason he went in the first time is that he tried to pull a con on the principal at our school the same time Jake was pulling one on Mom and Dad, and the principal was talking to Mom about something, and Mom put two and two together, and they managed to convict Jake’s dad—with my mom’s testimony.”
Shoot.
He didn’t tell me that part. “Wait, and then Jake was fostered by your parents? Isn’t that weird, since they sent his dad to prison?”
Bea shrugs. “His dad apparently encouraged it, but I always felt like it was a ‘know your enemies’ kind of thing. I don’t think Jake’s dad is a good person, and I doubt he’s gotten much better. I’m worried what he may do now that he’s out. Or more specifically, I’m worried what he might convince Jake to do.”
Now I am, too.
It can’t be easy for Jake. I’d have thought living with Dave and Seren would’ve been hard on him, too. “Could they not find him another placement?”
Bea leans her face against the window, so her voice is a little muffled. “I mean, they could have, but. . .” She sighs, her breath fogging up the glass. “Everyone loved Jake, even then, but once the truth came out, he didn’t really have any friends.”
“Except for you.”
She nods. “I think, or I’ve always thought, that he stayed with Dave and Seren because of me, but I know he grew to care about them, too.”
Jake was right. It’s complicated. “Alright, so we’ll be at the studio soon, and if his dad has reached out, what do we say?”
Bea shrugs. “I guess I’ll do what I always do. Ask him what he’s going to do and then tell him that he’s being an idiot.” She turns back to face me. “Prepare yourself for that, if you do like him. He usually makes the wrong decision before he makes the right one.”
I do try.
But nothing can really prepare me for Jake’s dad.