Chapter 43
The next morning, I knock on Mike’s Dutch door.
“It’s open,” he says, but he comes over and unlatches the bottom half of the door.
“How are you?” I set my file on the coffee table and take a seat on the couch. “You look like you haven’t slept…”
“In two days.” He rubs the stubble on his jaw.
“I brought you a Pellegrino.”
“Can I have your ginger ale?” Mike reaches for my bottle. “It goes better with licorice.”
Okay, so we’re living off of sugar and adrenaline. No big. “I’ve reviewed your case. Well, cases, I should say.”
“And?”
“I can represent you.” I pull the first folder out of my file and hand it to Mike.
“Artificial intelligence may be the Wild West, but copyright law hasn’t changed much.
They didn’t use your voice in any transformational way.
They stole it and used it for the audio of all their Shakespeare productions that they’ve splashed across the front page of their website, along with your image and Instagram handle, instead of paying you to perform them.
The use of your image and likeness is also a breach of contract.
Nowhere in your contract or emails did you agree to being filmed. ”
“Thank heavens. Do you have any idea how mortifying it is for them to be using my sonnet's voice for a reading of A Midsummer Night’s Dream or Hamlet, let alone King Lear? No one in their right mind would book me. So what’s next? What do we do?”
“You sign the contract giving me permission to represent you, and I write up the cease-and-desist letters and have them delivered via FedEx. I’ll file the lawsuit Monday morning.”
Mike flips through the contract. “Five million in damages?”
“It’s a place to start, but if you look at their downloads and subscribers, it’s not unreasonable. I know it stings, but being fired from the play is exactly the kind of proof we need to shut this down for good. They’ve damaged your livelihood—clear as day.”
“How do I finance a lawsuit? I’m broke. I’ve got barely enough money to keep the lights on.”
“If you flip to page seven, you’ll see the terms of my payment.”
“‘One volume of annotated Shakespeare sonnets?’”
“I’d do it for free, but I really can’t live without that book.”
Mike doesn’t look up from the contract. “It’s my heart on a page.”
“I know. The next best thing to the man himself.”
He stares at me.
I hand him another file. “I’ll send digital copies later today for your records.” But I know from experience that holding physical documents is comforting.
He flips through them before setting the folder on the coffee table.
“Admittedly, I’m out of my depth when it comes to wills and estate planning,” I say, “but on my dad’s recommendation, I took the liberty of consulting with Lorraine Sharp.
She’s the best estate planning attorney on the West Coast—and a fan of chocolate cake and espresso, it turns out.
She walked me through the particulars and says your uncle’s ex-wife has no leg to stand on.
Grandma knew what she was doing when she wrote her will.
If they want a fight, we’ll legal up, but the house and property are yours.
No court or judge can change that. Grandma Evie made certain. ”
Mike holds his head in his hands.
“Do you need a minute?” I may need a minute myself.
I remember this feeling from the pro bono work I did before I joined my dad’s firm.
Providing relief and protection from the unfair, unjust, bad-faith sources that threatened clients’ homes, livelihoods, and safety was emotional work.
I’d kept it together, leaned into my professionalism, but I’d cry in my car on the way home.
Overwhelmed by their suffering, upset that me doing my job and telling them that they had rights under the law was all the comfort or support they had to cling to.
It was uncomfortable. And if I wasn’t careful, helping someone with their legal troubles would mean I’d be faced with case after case of human tragedy.
I’d be up against greedy, exploitive, cruel, bad actors.
What would happen when clients had a case that wasn’t as defensible as they hoped?
I became too burned out to feel anything but overwhelmed and scared.
Switching to corporate law kept me safe and sheltered from the emotional high stakes.
But at what cost? I helped companies, not people, and that work sucked the life out of me without giving anything back.
At least helping people felt good, even if it ate me up at the same time.
The thing is, I think I’ve found a way to help people without that pain.
“When you’re ready, we have one more document to review today.” I slide a third folder over to Mike.
He straightens with a shaky sigh. His eyes aren’t wet, but he looks exhausted.
Relief is a strange emotion. It crashes like a wave, and we can breathe again.
It recedes and drags with it a bit of our armor, some of the walls we built.
And when our internal shore is quiet, some of whatever we held back seeps out.
Anger, sadness, shame, fear, and hope. But mostly we realize the effort of containing and defending was exhausting.
It was a battle. We survived. Hope is restored, but oof, if we aren’t bone-weary and tired.
Mike opens the folder and stares at the document inside. “Why am I looking at a contract for Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre?”
I can’t help but wince. “Entertainment law is surprisingly multifaceted.” I’m talking faster now. “Did you know lawyers often represent clients in place of agents?”
“Bea?”
“I sent them an audition tape and your CV last week. After you got cagey about the boyfriend label and endgames.”
“You don’t have my audition tape.”
“I sorta”—I rub the back of my neck—“made a highlight reel after I watched all your undergrad plays. Just my favorite parts. I added some other recordings—the sonnet reading from Warwick’s that you posted, the Shaw you didn’t know I filmed, your Titus Andronicus monologue—along with some contraband recordings from Macbeth and Much Ado. ”
Mike is blinking rapidly.
“They want you to play Romeo in their production this summer. I think there is room for improvement with this contract, but I haven’t been negotiating on your behalf, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m too old to play Romeo.”
I beg to differ but stop short of snorting.
“You can turn them down and live your couch-surfing dream. Or…” I have to take a deep breath, or else I’m going to fall apart.
Professionalism, Beatrice. Come on. “We could find a new dream. Together. I love you. I want you to be happy. I don’t want anyone I love to give up what makes him happy to make me happy.
But I think you’ve been selling yourself short.
You told me that it was a deal breaker—someone who can’t support your dream.
Well, you were aiming too low. Your work matters.
It’s important. It’s a solid investment.
I needed proof, so I set out to collect some evidence.
” I tap the contract. “Your dream of acting onstage doesn’t have to be small.
It can be big, global. It can lead to other opportunities that may excite you down the road—teaching, research, writing. ”
“Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre…in London?” Mike holds the contract with slightly shaking hands.
“On the Thames,” I smile.
“Romeo.”
“'Wherefore art thou.'”
Mike drops the contract on top of the others on the coffee table. “What about you?”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“But let’s say I do. Because I, too, don’t want anyone I love to give up what makes her happy or fulfilled for my dreams.”
I melt just a little more for this man. “One, representing clients in the entertainment industry would be the right blend of stakes and purpose for me. Two, working remotely when it isn’t for soulless, spineless corporations, but for passionate artists who want to share their talent with the world, is something that will definitely get me out of bed in the morning. Three, contract law is lucrative.”
“Oh?” Mike sips my ginger ale.
“Not corporate-law lucrative. Not I-own-a-charming-beachfront-Airbnb-in-La-Jolla lucrative. But definitely I-can-rent-an-apartment-in-London lucrative and spend the weekends seeing shows in the West End with my boyfriend.”
Mike twists the bottle in his hand. “Am I hearing this right? You’re retiring from FroggoDoggo? Hanging up the leash for good?”
“Oh, I’m totally keeping dog walker on my business cards. Right after entertainment, intellectual property, and international law. Makes me stand out from the pack.”
“You’ve always been a standout.”
I blush, but I’m a professional lawyer right now. Even if I am dressed in a gauzy skirt and lacy blouse instead of a pantsuit. “I reviewed their offer. There’s room to negotiate. Particularly if we want to spend January here at home.” I pull a second contract from the file.
“What’s this?”
“Sign if you want me to represent you. I totally understand not wanting to mix your professional and personal life, but in the interests of the time-sensitive nature of this opportunity, I’d advise you to hold your nose and go for it.
” I flip to the third page. “I do have a very generous termination clause for if/when you want out.”
Mike examines the contract.
“Incidentally, I leveraged your Princess Kitty moment when I sent over your audition packet. So something good came from going viral.”
He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “And payment?” He flips to the compensation section. “One reserved seat for every show in perpetuity… Heirs… What does this mean in plain English?”
“I’d like a seat saved for me at every one of your shows. And should any of your heirs continue in the family legacy, I want a seat at their shows.”
“My heirs.”
“It’s not a prenup. I thought these contracts were overwhelming enough as it is. But if you want, I’ll call Julie, and she’ll start drafting one now.”
“Are you proposing to me?”
“Not yet.” I mean it as a joke, but he’s staring at me with such intensity I have to clarify. “You’re vulnerable right now, Mike. I don’t want you making any decisions about our future because you feel beholden or grateful.”
He cradles my head in his hands. I rest my hands on his wrists.
“I don’t want to jeopardize our relationship just as it is getting off the ground.”
“Bea… Beatrice Hero McKinney… I don’t know what to say.”
“‘Peace. I’ll stop your mouth’ with a kiss?” We could start there? Or you could start reciting a sonnet. Number 128 is a sexy one.”
“‘Since saucy jacks so happy are in this’? No.” Mike laughs. “That’s a terrible sonnet. It doesn’t even sound like Shakespeare.” He tears off a strip of blank paper from the margin of the contract and balls it up like he’s going to throw it at me.
“Because he was so freaking in love and fixated on his Dark Lady’s lips.
” The alarm on my phone goes off. “Whatever you decide, Mike, is cool. But you were right. I do have ideas about what I want my life to look like. I’m not going to settle or wait thirty-five years like my mom did.
And I’m done vibing. My community needs my talents.
Time to make it happen.” I watch as he fidgets with the bit of paper he tore from the contract, folding and twisting it.
“I think we’re good together. I think I’ve made my feelings for you clear.
If you want to throw it in, sell the house, and spend the rest of your life hiding in my brother’s escape room, I get it.
You do you.” I kiss his cheek before rising. “I gotta dash.”
“Dogs don’t walk themselves.” He looks up long enough from the bit of paper to catch my eye.
“Actually, I have a lunch date with some lawyers from Halifax Studios. They’re in town for the opening of Adam’s new escape room, and I thought I’d meet some of my new colleagues. Hear their thoughts on AI. But I may need to run to FedEx first.”
“Right, then I’ll make this fast.” Mike scrawls his signature across the necessary documents before he rises and pulls me in for a kiss.
My knees go weak. “I love you, Bea. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I can’t read Shakespeare without thinking of you, and it’s been that way since the night I met you in April.
You inspire me, and push me, and you believe in me, and now you’ve saved me, my career, and this house. ”
“Mike—”
“I have only this to say…” He smiles and presses the ball of paper he’s been fiddling with into my hand.
Except it isn’t a ball anymore. It’s a paper ring.
“Turnabout is fair play.” He kisses me breathless before I can speak.
“I don’t know what turnabout for this will look like, but marry me and let me spend the rest of our life together trying to figure it out. ”
Mike kneels and slides the paper ring onto my finger and kisses my hand before rising. I stare at the paper circle and feel the joy of a summer day, a morning waking up to the sound of the ocean, and the excitement of an opening night.
“How about it, Bea? What do you say?”
“Deal.” I smile before taking Mike’s hand. “I say deal.”