Chapter 3 – Pookie #3
Jules snaps her fingers in my face, and I snap my attention to her, having forgotten she was even there. "You're not supposed to meet the boys—not officially until the cameras are rolling."
I stare at her blankly.
"That means get your ass up," she scowls.
I follow Jules down the hallway that never ends.
Before I explain how fast she's moving, I need to take a detour to talk about the gay walk.
See, straight people know that their destination is a twenty-minute walk, so they leave twenty-five minutes before they're supposed to be somewhere.
Us gays leave ten minutes before and still beat the straights to our destination.
It's not a myth.
It's a fact.
And somehow, I can't keep up with Jules as her heels click and clack down the hall. I have to run to catch up to her, joining her at her side. I think back to Braxton and his plethora of suitors on his phone. "How many of those guys are straight?"
She comes to an abrupt halt, grabs me by the wrist, and steadies me in place. "Mr. Pink doesn't have many rules, but he is absolutely adamant that there is absolutely no fraternization. That being said, it's a rule everyone breaks. So I'm begging you to break it. Which one do you want to—"
"Not like that." I shake my head. "I'm just wondering because I kind of figured this was a job for gay men, you know? But I saw Braxton, I think that's his name—"
"Poor Braxton," Her lips drop into a pout at the same time her hands drop to her sides. "He's nursing a broken heart."
"His girlfriend broke up with him?"
"He dumped her this morning." She leans in to whisper, "A little birdie on the street told him his girlfriend cheated on him while she was in Vegas."
I think we're talking about two different people. "He doesn't look like he's nursing his wounds."
"That's a great point." She latches a hand on my back and violently juts me forward. "You should bring that up. Ask him how he's doing." She points a finger in my face. "Just make sure the cameras are rolling when you do it."
Yeah, I don't think I'll be doing that.
Jules leads me into Mr. Pink's office where there's a stack of documents waiting for me.
My best guess is there are about a hundred pages to sign.
I grumble as I take a seat in the pink velvet chair across from the Stonewall legend himself.
Jules drags another chair across the floor and sits down beside me, practically hovering over my shoulder as I flip through the first few pages.
I cock my eyes sideways, hoping she'll get the polite hint to back up just a bit. She leans in closer and points to an 'X' highlighted in yellow at the bottom of a page. "Your signature goes there."
"Thank you," I think to myself with an audible groan. "I never would have guessed that the part of the document that says "signature" requires a signature."
I'm about halfway down the page before she taps her finger on the signature line again.
"Look," she grumbles, "we don't have time for Bible study, so let me give you the Cliff Notes.
By signing these thirty-seven documents, you consent to your likeness being used in all forms of advertising and marketing; you consent that we own all footage and can edit that footage however we want.
However, please sleep peacefully knowing we're not monsters and won't make you look bad.
You consent that you will not sue any camera-facing peers for anything that might be considered slanderous, libelous, or anything of the sort. You—"
I interrupt her with a raised hand. "I'd really like to read the fine print before I sign my life away."
"And I'd really like you to join this production." She cocks her head sideways and smiles like that chick in that horror film. "But unfortunately, if these documents aren't signed in the next five minutes, I'm afraid the offer will be revoked."
A battle echoes in my mind, like a war-torn battlefield filled with cannons aimed on either side.
If I've learned anything in the last few years, it's that when my back is pushed against a wall, it's best not to fight back.
I don't have the luxury of disobeying. It's either do as she tells me or go back to the streets.
Jules holds all the power here, so I consent by signing my life away.
Page after page.
Yellow 'X' after yellow 'X'.
When the deed is done and all of the paperwork is signed, Mr. Pink lifts his gaze from his computer screen. He looks at me, really looks at me. "Are you sure you're ready for this, kid?"
And the way those words roll off his lips sends a chill down my spine.
It sounds as much like a warning as it is a question.
The truth is that I'm not ready for whatever is waiting for me outside this office, but it's also true that I don't have a choice.
This is my ticket to a better life, or at least a life where I can sleep in my own bed, a life where I don't have to find a new home in a new person every single night.
I force a smile, but for someone like Mr. Pink—someone who pinpointed my desperation—I'm sure he can read right through me. "I've never been so ready for anything in my life."