15. Jake
Chapter 15
Jake
M y favorite food as a kid—hands down, no contest—was Pop-tarts. I could eat an entire box, and my dad was fine with it. He called people who ‘hated’ on sugar ‘Mary Andrews,’ not that I knew what it meant. I found out in high school that the phrase was supposed to be Merry Andrew, meaning someone who makes a lot of jokes.
But to my dad, it was an officious idiot.
When I got to Dave and Seren’s, they didn’t agree with his breakfast policy. They thought Pop-tarts were empty calories that added nothing to my nutrition and would lead to an unhealthy diet that might stunt the growth of a growing boy.
Their refusal to buy me Pop-tarts downright pissed me off back then.
Of course, they didn’t slow my consumption much. There was a never-ending parade of chumps at school who were happy to bring me Pop-tarts over the years. But somewhere around high school, I kind of stopped eating them. That was about the time my desire to be cool overpowered my nostalgia about my favorite childhood food.
On the very first movie I ever made, they had Pop-tarts in the break area one morning. Not having had one for years, I snatched a silvery package right up. Imagine my surprise when my beloved Pop-tart was dry, over-sugared, and downright crumbly around the edges. After a few bites, I tossed what was left in the trash.
I’m realizing now that I’ve grown in more areas than my palate.
I’ve put up with a lot from my dad over the years, though much less than I would have endured had he never been locked up, I’m sure. But even knowing that he wasn’t quite perfect, I’ve held on to a lot of gratitude for what he did teach me. I love Dave and Seren, but they’re starry-eyed optimists most of the time, and the world’s a lot darker than they wish it was. I always credited my dad with preparing me for the reality of life.
I didn’t realize he was so toxic.
Hearing him echo Patty’s rude ignorance about Octavia. . .hearing him say that I must be acting and that I couldn’t genuinely like her filled me with an unspeakable rage. Not just because the world is so ugly, and people care about all the wrong things, but because my own dad’s part of the problem. I knew he was a con man. I knew his whole life has been based on stealing from others.
But I always told myself he stole from people who probably deserved it. People who hadn’t worked hard for what they had. People too stupid to hang onto what they’d been given. His comment about Octavia was mean, predatory, and low. It was indefensible.
I feel terrible to be related to him.
And to make everything worse, Octavia clearly heard what he said. After laying Dad out cold, I stomped off. I probably only have a minute of my five-minute break left, which means they can start dinging my pay at any point for breach, but I don’t care. I can’t go film, not right now.
“You didn’t need to punch him,” Octavia says. “He doesn’t know me.”
“Or me.” I stop and pivot, finally facing Octavia, who’s been trailing after me. “He doesn’t know me at all. I’m not like him.” I’m shaking my head, and I’m pacing, and I’m still so mad that I can’t seem to stop.
“Jake.” When Octavia tilts her head, her eyes are soft. Kind. They’re so her.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Sorry you heard that, sorry he said it, and sorry that’s my dad.”
She hugs me then, her arms snaking underneath mine and wrapping around my body. A wave of her scent—honeysuckle and something else. Citrus?—washes over me and the twitching stops. The anger recedes a little. “I know you don’t agree with any of what he said.”
“I’m really sorry you had to hear it.”
“You didn’t have to knock him out cold, though. The poor man’s only been out of prison for what? A few days?” When she lifts her face upward toward mine, her lip’s twitching.
“I wish he were still stuck in there,” I mutter.
“You don’t.” Her hand brushes my cheek. “I know it’s hard, but people can only change for the better when they’re around people who can help them.”
I realize, as she says it, that she might be talking about me. I changed, thanks to Dave and Seren, and they may not be perfect, but they’re trying. She might also be talking about my dad, though, and I’ve never met someone less interested in changing. “He’s not the kind of person who—he won’t change. He doesn’t even want to.”
“No one really wants to change.” She shrugs. “And he may not substantially improve, but at least in small ways, you could be a good influence on him.”
That makes me laugh.
“What’s funny?” She frowns.
“I’m not sure anyone has ever called me a good influence,” I say. “But aside from that irony, my dad’s the last person in the world who would ever be influenced by me. He teaches me, end of story.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” she says. “First of all, he’s your dad, so he must care what you think, at least a little. But secondly, try to imagine how proud of you he must be, and how potentially embarrassed that might make him.” She smiles. “His son, a handsome and well-known movie star, making loads of money. . .the right way?” She shrugs. “Let comments like the one he made go, or just gently tell him that it’s too much, and then try to show him how much better he could have handled the situation with what you do.”
She does not know my dad at all.
“Try to remember that he hasn’t seen you for as long as you haven’t seen him. Maybe he won’t be what you remember.”
“I guess.” I’m honestly worried he might be worse.
“Aren’t you supposed to be filming right now?” She glances behind her. “I thought I saw May, all dressed and make-upped and?—”
“Shoot.” I sigh. “Yeah, I’m probably holding them all up.”
“Let’s head back,” she says. “The last thing you want to do when there’s a new co-star you want to impress is make her wait.” She ducks her head as she starts back toward the set, and I’m not sure how I can tell, but something’s still off.
“Hey.” I grab her hand. “Wait.”
She stops and turns, but her eyes are shuttered. “What?”
“Come here.”
She swallows, and then she looks around. “Come where ?”
I tug on her, and then I step toward her myself. “Closer.” I lean over and press a soft kiss to her mouth before she can stop me. “I’ve missed you. Our date got cut off, and then I spent yesterday helping find a replacement for the ‘rank one,’ and then my dad showed up uninvited, telling everyone he’s my new manager.” I shake my head. “It was a terrible, long day. I needed to see and touch and hear you.” I smile, and then I press another kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t call last night. I was too tired, and my dad was hovering and snooping, and I just couldn’t.”
She ducks her head. “I thought you were with May.”
“With May Markson?” I release her. “Why would I have been with?—”
Then it hits me.
She was jealous.
And now I’m grinning from ear to ear. “You thought I was with another woman, and you were upset about it.”
She’s shaking her head, and she’s walking back toward the set. “No, I mean, I wasn’t upset.”
I jog ahead of her and trot along backward so I can see her expression. “You were.”
She finally stops walking and drops her hands on her hips. “Bea said you love her, and now you’re working with her, and she’s really cute, and?—”
I grab her arms, and I yank her right up close, and I really kiss her this time. I kiss her until I can’t think. I kiss her until I can’t breathe , and then I kiss her until I can tell she’s gone weak in the knees, and only then do I let her go.
“When I kiss May, it’ll be because someone’s paying me. The only person I want to kiss is you , Miss Rothschild. Besides, May knows we’re together, and she said she has a boyfriend who feels the same way. She seems to be just as nice in person as she acts on her show, and that’s why I was happy they chose her.” I lower my head until we’re eye-to-eye. “Capiche?”
She’s smiling. “Yes. Aye, aye, sir.”
I turn back around, slide my hand down her willowy arm, and then lace my fingers through hers, tugging her along with me all the way back to the filming location. “I have to go work now, but I hope you’ll come back for a late lunch. After that we have a sunset scene, so I should have loads of time before I have to report back.” I lift my eyebrows. “Yes?”
She shrugs and nods.
“Good. Because I’ll miss you this morning.”
There are people watching, and I’m glad. Maybe it’ll keep them from saying anything stupid. I lean closer. “And if anyone ever implies that I’m a good actor because I look happy when I’m with you, I’ll lay them out cold, even if it’s the President himself.”
“Maybe especially if it’s the president,” she says. “He can be a little annoying.”
“It’s actually because everyone knows I’m not a good actor at all.” I wink. “That’s why they can see just how I feel when I’m with you and know it’s true.”
I watch sideways as Bea circles around, grabs Octavia, and they leave. Then it’s time to focus on getting through these scenes quickly—not that it’s too hard. I’m great at memorizing lines, and we’re filming scenes I’ve already done with Patrice. Even so, the first few scenes with a new actor are always the most critical. You have to find your stride.
It’s easy with May, so easy.
She knows her lines. She has a natural cadence, and she’s genuinely funny. This isn’t a comedy, but I almost wish it was. She makes things that aren’t even supposed to be jokes mildly comical.
Before I know it, we’re filming the very last scene. Our third cut felt great, but now we have to wait to see if they want us to run it again, or if we’re done until four.
“Heard you have lunch plans,” May says.
I nod. “I should, yeah. She has some filming for something today, or that’s what my sister said.”
“So you’re dating your sister’s best friend?” May’s eyebrows rise. “Is that complicated?”
“I guess I am.” I hadn’t thought about it like that, but Octavia has basically transformed Bea since meeting her. “You know, they haven’t even been friends too long, but Bea has grown so much with Octavia to push her.”
“The best friends are like that. It’s easy, it’s just right , and they make us better.”
“That’s exactly it,” I say. “I’d known Bea for a really long time, maybe too long. I didn’t realize she needed a push. I had let her become complacent, but Octavia saw the problem right away.” I can’t help smiling. “I hated her at first—she personally ruined Bea’s chance of winning this jingle competition. My sister was so upset.”
“I bet.” May’s smile is just like it is when the camera’s rolling.
“Anyway, now they’re almost inseparable. I think Bea said they should be done around one or so.”
“I can see why you like her,” May says. “She’s really, really pretty.”
“You haven’t even heard her sing in person yet.”
“Still,” she says. “Even in recordings, it’s really something, her voice.”
“It fits her,” I say. “All of it.”
Jane waves our direction. “We’re done.”
“Nice,” I say. “That was way faster than with Patrice the first time.”
“When it’s right, it’s right,” May says. “See you later.” She’s already on her phone, probably with her boyfriend.
When I call Octavia, she says, “Hey! Are you done already?”
“Yep, so much easier with May. Wrapped up early.”
“Awesome. We have a few things left—wanna text me a place? We can meet you there?”
“Hand the phone to Bea, would you?”
“Oh, uh, sure. Hang on.”
“Hey, stranger,” Bea says.
“Why are you crashing my date?”
“Do you not remember how obnoxious you were when I was dating Easton?”
“The difference is I was doing it because I didn’t want to lose you,” I say. “And you’re doing it because Seren wants to make sure I’m fine.”
“I can’t believe you would?—”
“Can it, Hornet. We both know it’s true.”
“Fine.” She huffs. “So I’ll tell her you’re fine?”
“Maybe don’t tell her I punched him.”
She laughs. “Too late. She sent me the ‘100’ emoji, so I think that’s old person code for ‘no problem. More punching, good.’”
“I figured she’d worry more about the prospect of me joining his cabal.”
“Exactly,” Bea says. “Have fun at lunch. . .without me.” She sniffs.
“Hand the phone back to Octavia.”
“Oh, fine.” She doesn’t even sound like she’s really annoyed.
“Hey.”
“I don’t actually have anything else to say,” I admit. “But I didn’t want to hang up without hearing your voice one more time.”
“It’s my best feature.”
I can’t argue with her, because her voice is amazing, but that feels like a trap. “Your voice is obvious, but I’d actually say it’s your eyes.” As I say that, I realize I do think that. Everyone can hear her voice, but only I get to study the flecks in her eyes up close.
“Aww, well, thanks.” Someone’s calling to her in the background.
“Alright, go. I’ll find a good spot and text you.”
“See you soon!”
I search for a new, hot place for a minute, but I’m not great at this stuff. I decide to just go with what I know and text her the address of the Clark Street Diner.
I’m happy to come pick you up if that’s easier. Send me an address. I’ll even bring the nice car this time. :P
She doesn’t text back for more than forty-five minutes, but then she’s pretty curt.
They’ll drop me off—I can be there in twenty.
Since I’m a solid twenty-five minutes away, maybe more, I race to my car and take off. Thanks to LA traffic, I can’t even speed to pare down the time. When I finally find a valet parking attendant, I fling my keys at him. Even so, Octavia’s standing in the corner, waiting, when I arrive.
“Sorry,” I say.
“They don’t have any tables,” she says. “Did you see my text?”
“Jake!” The manager, Philippe, rushes over. “Corner?”
I nod.
“Oh, right.” Octavia rolls her eyes.
“It’s my favorite place for a patty melt,” I say.
Octavia frowns as we follow Philippe. “That’s not on the menu. I’m pretty sure?—”
“No, it’s not.” Philippe gestures to a table with a smile. “But it was, and we’ve always got one ready for Jake.” He turns to Octavia. “He’s been so good about choosing us for ordering in on movie sets. We try to give him anything he wants.”
“Plus, Philippe’s daughter’s a little obsessed with me, and I’ve come to two birthday parties,” I say.
“She’ll want a photo,” Philippe says.
“With or without Octavia?” I ask.
“I think with.” Philippe smiles. “My little Georgina isn’t delusional. She knows she’s not going to marry Jake. She just likes knowing the handsomest guy on the movie screen.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, slinging an arm around Octavia and dragging her over. “Snap away.” I can’t help noticing that Octavia still turns what she thinks is her good side forward. I guess I can’t blame her, but it bugs me to see it.
“Can I get a California club?” Octavia asks.
And then we’re finally alone. I reach across the table and grab both her hands. “So good to see you.”
She smiles. “You don’t look so bad either, ‘handsomest man on the big screen.’”
I roll my eyes. “She’s thirteen. She also loves Timothée Chalamet and Tom Holland.”
“At least you’re in good company.”
“Well, I am right now too,” I say.
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m worried they might pop out of her head. “No corny lines, please.”
“Look, I don’t have someone here to write them, so you get what you get. Beauty and smarts like yours don’t often coincide. Sometimes you have to settle for just beauty.”
She’s still chuckling when our food comes out, and her eyes widen until they’re enormous. “We placed our order like two minutes ago!”
“Maybe I picked this place for that reason—they really do love me.”
“Wow,” she says, as the waiter walks off, “you may have to hide in grocery stores, but being famous has some perks.”
“Unless you like spending food prep time chatting with someone,” I say. “Then I guess it’s a little annoying.”
She blushes again, and I realize that I really like making her do that. She looks almost like an errant child. It gives me an idea of how young Octavia must have been. She was every bit as adorable as she is now. “Well, after a morning like you had, I’m sure it’s nice to have some things go right.”
“You can say that again.”
“Did your dad come back to yell at you?”
“I’m assuming he’s at my apartment,” I say. “He has the code, and he disappeared after he stood up, or so the crew told me. Maybe he’s slashing my pillows and scrawling lewd words across my walls at this very moment.”
Octavia can’t tell whether I’m serious.
“Don’t worry about my boring walls. That’s not really his style. He’s more likely to steal all the money from my accounts and leave me with a pile of debt.”
“Shoot,” she says. “Would he really do that?”
“I’m his son,” I say. “I don’t leave any papers that would let him do something like that lying around, and my passwords would be hard for the Pentagon to crack.”
“At least there are some advantages to having a dad like him—you learn a lot.”
“You can say that again,” I say. “But it has plenty of disadvantages, too.”
“Like?”
I could tell her about the times I risked criminal incarceration as a child. I could talk about the times we were thrown out of apartments and hotels. Or I could share the feeling a kid gets when he walks away from his friends after stealing from them, knowing they’ll soon hate him, but instead, I shock myself by saying, “He stole the one thing that mattered to me when I was in high school.”
“What?” Her brow furrows. “Wasn’t he locked up? What do you mean he stole from you in high school?”
And now I’m stuck. I’ve never said a word to anyone about the photos Dad sent, but for some reason, I suddenly want to. Maybe it’s because I want someone to tell me that Dave’s not a bad guy, someone whose opinion I might believe. Even if a miracle’s unlikely, I want my dad to have been wrong. I want my faith back, in Dave, in life, and in the existence of goodness in the world.
Not that Octavia’s a miracle worker, but she’s a good person. I’m hoping that somehow, Dave might be, too.
“Well, it’s a little complicated.” I take a bite so I can use chewing my food as an excuse to think about how to tell her this.
She sets her sandwich down on the plate and stares, waiting.
Chewing time didn’t help. There isn’t a great way to broach this topic. “So, when I was in high school, my dad got upset. He swore when Seren’s testimony sent him away, that he’d get his revenge. At first, I thought that was fine. I was keen to help him. But then, as I spent more time with them, when I saw that the Fansees genuinely liked me and weren’t trying to punish me, I wanted to spare them.”
“That’s good,” Octavia says. “You were growing.”
“Maybe, but I guess my ham-handed attempts at getting my dad to let go of his anger were a little obvious. Dad sent me a message with. . .” I cough. “Some damaging stuff about Dave. He told me my foster parents weren’t perfect, and that I shouldn’t even be trying to protect them. He threatened to share what he sent me with my foster mom, so that they’d break up and I’d have nowhere to live.”
“And now that he is out, you’re worried he’ll take whatever he sent and use it against them.”
Shoot. Why wasn’t I worried about that? “Well, Dad’s usually more of a blackmail kind of person than an outright aggressor,” I say. “I guess I’m more worried, well. Two things. First, I’m worried about whether what my dad said and sent is true, and what it means about my foster parents. And second, I’m worried he’ll finally take his revenge—maybe even in a way that’s totally different than spreading the information he’s shared with me.”
“Tell me what he knows about Dave that’s so bad,” Octavia says. “I don’t really know him, so I won’t be as emotional about it.”
I grimace. “I mean, it’s not great.”
“So, what? He bribed someone? He stole something? Or did he, like, have an affair?”
I’m not sure what she sees. I usually have a pretty good poker face, but I definitely give something away, because she gasps. “No. Dave ?”
I nod slowly. “Well, at least, I think so.”
“Why do you think that? He just said he had an affair?”
I sigh, and I pull out my phone. “Not exactly.” I have to tap on a few things, but then I swivel it around.
At first she leans closer, and then she gasps louder, and then her eyes widen like saucers. “And that’s for sure him?” She bites her lip. “Could it have been photoshopped?”
“One of my friends from before is pretty good at photo analysis. I mean, I can’t trust him one hundred percent, because I knew him through my dad, right? But he said this had no hallmarks of being fake. He thinks it’s totally real.”
Octavia nods slowly, and then she drops a hand over mine. “You just found out people you thought were really good weren’t.”
I swallow.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That must have been really hard for you.”
I shrug. “Look, I’m a big boy, but the thing is. . .”
“You can’t trust your dad either,” she says. “It might be fake. You just want to know whether it’s true.” She leans a little closer. “And maybe, even if it is true, Dave could have some explanation.”
“Like what?” I ask. “They were ‘on a break?’”
She frowns.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good.”
“What if,” Octavia says, “this was from before they met? It’s not like he was a nun before they got married.”
I blink. I feel like a complete moron for not thinking about that before.
“I mean—how would they be able to prove that?” I ask.
She tilts her head. “He could just say if it was, right?”
Duh. Because when people are honest, when they trust each other, they believe what the other person says.
“You should ask him about it,” Octavia says. “You don’t have to tell Seren. If it’s really something as awful as you’ve thought for all this time, maybe this will be the impetus he needs to come clean to her. But it’s possible there’s an explanation that won’t hurt anyone.”
“I guess.”
“My parents got divorced when I was young, because of infidelity,” she says. “I think it was actually better for them and me than it would have been if they’d just lied to each other.”
“I can’t think of anything I could do that would be worse than breaking them up,” I say.
“I can,” she says softly. “How about not trusting that they’re who you think they are? Not giving them a chance to explain and do the right thing?”
Maybe she’s right.
“Because, Jake? Even good people make mistakes sometimes. You know, it’s possible your dad was right and Dave’s already confessed and been forgiven. People are complicated, but not knowing is hurting you, and it’s within your control to put a stop to that.”
I can’t believe she thinks that, just like that, I could ask him.
“It would probably have to be an in-person conversation.” I frown. I won’t be back home for weeks yet.
“I may have overheard a conversation with Bea where Seren was saying something about a birthday or anniversary or. . .” She lifts both eyebrows.
Not this again. “Look, we never celebrated birthdays growing up. Dad said they were a manipulation by society that forced us to celebrate mediocrity at an arbitrary time. So when this new do-gooder family wanted to celebrate the day I joined them, which also happened to be the day my dad went to prison?” I’m not sure what to say. “It felt contrived. I wasn’t really their kid. They didn’t really care when I was born. They didn’t even know I existed when I was born. I didn’t have a ‘real’ family, so I tried to stop them from throwing me a party.”
“Then you don’t want to go back to celebrate your birthday-slash-anniversary of joining the Fansee family?”
I wish I didn’t sound so angsty. “I would actually like to go back. I tolerated it for years, but it has grown on me. It’s just that if I tried to leave now, especially after the re-casting, I doubt it would go over well. Catching up again means working long days, even on weekends.”
Octavia drops a hand over mine again, and a nice, warm feeling suffuses my whole body. “Jake, I support whatever you really want, but I disagree with one thing.” She pauses.
I like her holding my hand, so I don’t rush her.
Finally, she says, “Everyone, born into a family or not, feels like they don’t quite fit in at some point. No family is perfectly homogenous. Talking to people when you don’t want to, squeezing in when you don’t quite fit, and asking them the questions that are hard and being open to their answers. . .” She taps her pointer finger on the top of my hand. “That’s what family is. ” She scrunches her nose. “That’s their job. They do it because they love you, and you have to meet them halfway, or in this case, find a day to fly home.”
“Then do you like birthday parties?”
“Not even a little bit,” she admits. “But I’m an introvert—not as bad as Bea, but I prefer to spend my nights in—and my family isn’t harmonious. When I was a kid, I liked them.” She squeezes my hand. “But that’s because I felt safe, then. Maybe you could like them now.”
The real reason I should go home is to ask Dave whether the pictures have some explanation. The risk is that my questions might blow things up.
“Some risks are worth taking,” Octavia says.
When she answers a question I didn’t even ask, it makes me genuinely wonder whether she can read minds. “You might be right.”
“About this?” The corner of her mouth turns up. “I am.”
After we finish our food, we talk a little while longer. I ask her about her birthday parties as a kid. She asks what my real birthday is, and I evade. But then, I give her a ride back to her hotel and prepare to head back to the set.
“Don’t go yet.” Bea races out. “I got you a ticket home.”
“Oh, come on,” I say. “I’m not five. I can get my own plane tickets.”
“But you wouldn’t do it,” she says. “And with all the drama, you need to go home.” She hugs me. “So do I,” she whispers in my ear.
“Are you coming?” I glance over Bea’s shoulder at Octavia. “I know you guys have some stuff left next week, but I hope you can.”
“I figure the flight and this hotel cost about the same,” Octavia says. “I may as well come for the day.”
“But the label’s paying for our hotel,” Bea says.
Octavia rolls her eyes. “Not the point.”
“You’re flying in Friday night,” Bea says. “You can fly back Sunday morning. They can spare you for one day , and trust me. The filming crew will thank you for forcing a short break.”
Thanks to Octavia, for the first time, maybe I’ll get some answers. It’s partially because of what she said—I need to trust him enough to ask—but partially because. . .if I do blow things up, at least I’d still have her. For the first time in my life, I have something other than just the Fansees. Risking that relationship doesn’t feel quite as terrifying.
But when I start to walk away, Octavia standing in the doorway and waving, I’m suddenly struck with a moment of panic. “You should know that I’m going back to the set, but there are no kiss scenes today, and I’ll be wishing I was here.” I can’t help smiling when I see her looking sheepish.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says.
I walk back her direction, and I grab her waist, and I kiss her right on the mouth. Her little sigh, the way she leans into me, and her delicious smell all lighten my heart. “I’m sad to be leaving you.”
“Mhm,” she says.
“It’s hard to leave your girlfriend, I guess,” I whisper.
The corners of her mouth both rise exactly the same, the burned side and the smooth. Her eyes light up, and she goes up on her tiptoes. I think she’s going to kiss me back, but her head turns and she whispers in my ear instead. “I guess now I have to go back home that weekend. My boyfriend needs some support if he’s finally going to talk to Dave.”
For the first time, that prospect doesn’t seem quite so daunting.
When I do force myself to walk away, glancing back at Octavia two more times, I’m not quite as scared. Everything’s better with Octavia.
She had to define family for me, but I think I can define girlfriend for her now. It’s the person you’re happier and safer and more light-hearted with. It’s the person you want around all the time.
And I’ve finally found mine.