Chapter 11
When I wake up the next morning, Mom and Dad have already left to meet with Mr. Ahn, and Gavin is at the observatory for a tour.
Taking advantage of the empty home, I don’t waste a second.
I grab the corded phone and dial the number I know by heart with renewed determination.
Once the appeal is over, the first thing I’m going to do is ensure that I don’t have to live under the same roof as my family again.
That means I have to make sure I’ll have enough paid public appearances to support my independent lifestyle.
If anyone can get me back in the public eye, it’s Kiki Klineman, manager to the biggest names splashed across the society pages and tabloids.
I’m sure she’ll know how to keep me relevant during my media hiatus. If only I could get through to her.
As the phone rings, my heartbeat races. I begin to worry Kiki won’t pick up because I’m calling from an unknown number. Just as I’m thinking this, however, she surprises me by picking up the call.
“Kiki Klineman,” she answers in her signature no-nonsense way. As a lifelong Manhattanite, she’s direct, cuts to the chase, and has one goal in mind: to maximize her clients’ earning potential.
“Thank God you picked up,” I say breathlessly. I was beginning to lose hope.
“Elena?” The disappointment in her tone is notable. “I was going to call you.”
“You were? Because I left you a bunch of messages. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” I let out a nervous laugh. Kiki doesn’t laugh.
“Elena, sweetie,” she says icily. “I’m not avoiding you. I no longer represent you.”
“You’re dropping me?” The words come out like a shriek.
“Hon, I’m not dropping you, but the payment for your last invoice was declined.”
“Invoice?” I don’t recall paying her for her services directly. “Aren’t you paid on commission?”
“That’s correct. I get fifteen percent of all earnings from events booked through me.
But with all your bookings canceled this month, fifteen percent of nothing is nothing.
And as the contract states, if the commission fails to cover my fee, I need a minimum of twenty-five hundred dollars a month to retain my services.
Bottom line: If I don’t get paid, then I can no longer work for you. ”
A sound like a dying animal escapes my lips. I know she doesn’t mince her words, but her tough love feels extra hurtful today. Then again, I’ve never failed to make a payment on anything before. So maybe this is warranted.
“Look, I’m sympathetic. You’re not the first client to fall on hard times. But I’m not a charity. You get it, right? It’s not personal; it’s business.”
No, she did not just give me the business equivalent of the breakup line It’s not you, it’s me, did she? “Kiki,” I say with renewed vigor, “don’t believe everything you read. It’s all one big misunderstanding.”
“Really?” Her voice falters slightly. Kiki never falters.
“Really,” I say confidently. Even though I don’t know exactly how we’re going to be cleared, I am relying on the assurance of my dad, who is, if nothing else, confident to the core.
“We have an appeal in a few days, and our lawyer says if all goes well, everything will go back to normal in as early as two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” she repeats skeptically. “Then why don’t you call me when the appeal is finalized, and we can resume where we left off?”
“But you know as well as I do, a day out of the media is like years. If I wait it out, I’ll be vilified to the point of no return. Or worse, I’ll be forgotten about entirely.” I shiver as I say this; a film of cold sweat lines my forehead. “Isn’t there anything I can do now?”
“As much as I’d like to help, I don’t run on credit. Maybe you could start a GoFundMe?”
Virtual panhandling? As bad as things are at the moment, I am not at the point where I need to start begging for support, financial or otherwise.
“The funds are there,” I reassure her. “Or at least they will be there after we win the appeal.”
“Then as soon as your payment clears, I can start booking you for events. There are a couple gigs I could line up for you. One is for unwanted animals. I’m sure they’re desperate enough to have anyone come. Will you be in LA anytime soon?”
As appealing as that sounds (honestly she may as well have described it as a charity event for me, not the sad, unwanted animals), I realize I don’t have many options.
“Look, Elena,” she says, probably sensing my defeat. “This isn’t my first time strategizing a comeback. Many of my clients have successfully revived themselves from financial ruin. And two weeks isn’t going to do irreparable damage.”
I don’t love her phrasing. Financial ruin has such a negative connotation. But I’ll admit she’s got me curious. “How?”
“Look at Martha after her incarceration. Kim K. after her sex tape. And Woody Allen after, well, all the times he got canceled. Every one of them was able to come back and rebrand themselves to become bigger than they were pre-fall. Netflix documentaries. Celebrity collaborations. Hosting gigs. If it worked for them, it can certainly work for you.”
“I’m listening,” I say. This new plan to rejuvenate my brand into a better one is an idea I can get behind.
“Use this time to think of content you can use to rebrand yourself. A charity, a noble cause—anything that gets you back in the good graces of the public.”
“What do you mean? I don’t create my own content; you know that. The press does that for me. They’re everywhere I go.”
“That was before It’s Ok! became the bad guy. Any connection to the Madoff 2.0 Scandal is considered social leprosy. No one wants to be associated with the scandal, and that includes It’s Ok! From now on, the media is not your friend.”
“No, you have that wrong. People like me for me,” I say adamantly.
“Sure, I initially got media attention because of It’s Ok!
, but people stuck around for me. I’m endearing, and charming, and—have you seen me?
My lifestyle is aspirational, and I work hard to uphold that image.
” Although it may seem contrary to vignettes you see online or in the media, turning ridicule into a monetizable catchphrase, paid partnerships with products that sell themselves, cross-promoting product placement at paid events—that takes work!
“Still, your name is synonymous with your family’s business.
You need to distance yourself from the company,” Kiki says.
“My advice? Don’t do anything desperate to try to make yourself relevant.
No one likes a clingy ex-girlfriend, and there’s real power in making yourself obscure.
Eat, pray, love your way through this time.
People love that stuff. And when this all blows over and you’re ready to come back in a couple weeks, we’ll find some way to drum up the anticipation for your reappearance. ”
“Okay, I can do that,” I say, thinking out loud.
“Great,” she deadpans. “That one’s on the house.”
“Thanks, Kiki.” I feel instant relief from hearing her plan, which reminds me of why I hired her in the first place. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“I don’t either,” she says without a hint of irony.
She hangs up without saying bye. I would have read into the way she abruptly ended the call if I wasn’t so sure Kiki said what she meant and meant what she said.
Besides, she’s given me a lot to think about.
As long as people think I’m spending my time eat-pray-loving and not living in squalor, maybe I can ride this out and still end up on top.
And, bonus, this town might be the thing I need to come up with an angle to separate me from our family’s name, which is synonymous with the fashion industry, since I can’t imagine there being anything remotely fashionable here.
Best of all, if it works the way Kiki said it would, I’ll be back to making the steady income I need to move out on my own as soon as this nightmare is over.