AWKWARD IN PRINT
An Awkward Novel
RACHEL RHODES
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Also by RACHEL RHODES
About the Author
Awkward in Print
Rachel Rhodes
First published 2019
Copyright text ©
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover design by Canva
Edited by The Writer’s Block
1
George’s office is so big that I feel like I’ve been marooned in an ancient leather chair on an island of mahogany hardwood. Citrus and Old Spice wage an aromatic war with the lingering cigar smoke in the air. I find myself flicking my foot so that my sandal flaps against my heel. Flap, flap, flap, a steady beat counting the seconds.
“Jojo.” George peers at me over his glasses. An impatient smile, a small gesture toward my feet. “Would you mind?”
“Sorry.” I stop flapping and start to bite the edge of my thumbnail instead. I should have known not to arrive on time. George never runs to schedule and so, thanks to the ingrained punctuality my father drummed into me from my first day at kindergarten, I have spent the last ten minutes trying not to fidget while he reads the final pages of my manuscript. I’m not a writer. If I were, I would probably feel a sense of pride instead of this crippling sense of anxiety. I can even pinpoint its source. It’s tucked between pages 243 and 244.
George wheezes out a chuckle, a combination of thirty Marlboro a day, and what I hope is the joke I made in the final paragraph. He removes his glasses and fixes me with a watery-eyed smile. “Fabulous!” he announces, dropping the manuscript on the desk before him with a hefty thud. I can’t help but think that if we’d stuck to the cold hard facts, it would be significantly less effective – possibly a single sheet of paper wafting gracefully down onto the broad surface. “Poignant, endearing and sincere,” George continues, and I can practically see the dollar signs reflected in his pupils. “We’ll release in six months, to coincide with the film premiere.”
F u u u u u u u c k.
George presses a pudgy thumb onto the PA system resting on his desk. The button is worn, greyed in the center where it was once black.
“Yes, Mr. Beresford?” Sally’s switchboard-smooth voice purrs through the intercom. I try not to remember the time I walked past her unattended desk and into George’s office to find her servicing George rather than the copier. I’ve not been able to look George’s saint-like wife, Susan, in the eye since.
“Sal,” George booms. I wonder why he bothers with the intercom when she can clearly hear him through the door. “Approve Jojo’s proofs, the polish is perfect. I want a bound print proof on my desk next week.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Beresford.”
I suck in a breath that doesn’t reach my chest.
“George,” I begin tentatively, “I’m not sure if we’re one hundred percent ready. Some of the stuff in this book has been exaggerated, and—”
George cuts me dead. “Of course it has. Nobody wants to read the memoir of a celebrity who hasn’t done anything wild or crazy. Everybody does it.” At the word ‘everybody’ he opens his arm to indicate the framed photographs behind him. Gina D, Lucy Cale, Harrison Wentz, all boldly emblazoned with signatures and messages of thanks. George Beresford: Agent to the Stars. Paula Power addressed hers to ‘Big George’. I shudder to think what that means and make a mental note to send Susan a fruit basket the second I leave this office.
I take another deep breath and try again. “But say someone had to discover that the truth has been… tweaked. Wouldn’t that be grounds for a lawsuit?”
“A lawsuit? Jojo, you’ve been watching too many movies.” He bellows at his own joke and then flips to page two of the preliminary pages. He jabs at the text midway down the page. “This,” he tells me, “is a disclaimer. It indemnifies you against any such claims. It also,” he lowers his voice conspiratorially, “allows us to blend as much fiction into the memoir as we please, without consequence.”
“Okay, but legal consequence aside, I have my reputation to consider.”
“Reputation? Jojo, that’s my job. Besides, there’s nothing like a scandal to ensure a meteoric rise to stardom. Not that you need it,” he adds quickly. He’s right, I don’t. Right now, I can command more money than Julia Laurence, a fact she pointed out when we lunched last week. I’m officially the highest paid actress in Hollywood, surreal as that is. George didn’t choose me, I chose George. Because, in the shark-infested waters of Hollywood agents, George is a nurse shark. Still…
“I don’t know if I’m quite comfortable with that…” I begin, but he cuts me off again.
“There’s only one thing in this book that matters. We even built the title around it, for God’s sake. Jojo, you are a virgin. A real-life, twenty-six-year-old, celebrity virgin, living in L.A. You’re as rare as it gets. In fact, if someone discovered a living, breathing dinosaur, we’d still outsell them.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not true. I wonder if I could actually find a real-life dinosaur, while George continues. “The rest doesn’t mean shit. So, unless you’ve gone and dropped your panties for someone between writing the first draft and getting engaged to Alex, we have hit pay dirt.”
There’s a pause as George waits for this to sink in.
“I haven’t,” I say truthfully. Then I flick my foot.
2
It’s been six months since my last visit and Sally has put on weight. She’s also put on a perpetual smirk, and she barely bothers with discretion when it comes to placing her perfectly-manicured hands all over George. I’m back in his office, marooned, terrified, and holding a copy of my book in my hands. It’s gorgeous – all gold foil and embossed font. Hollywood Virgin: the dazzling autobiography of Jojo Hudson. George came up with the title. I wasn’t so sure about the word ‘dazzling’. There’s a silhouetted photograph of me in the background. I’m looking over my shoulder, straight at the camera. The word ‘Print’ is reflected in my eye.
“I love it,” I tell George, truthfully. I do love it – the cover especially. It looks like a book I would buy. That doesn’t make me feel any better about it, though. For the thousandth time, I wish I’d never told George I was writing this damned book. He seized upon that announcement like it was the Academy Award of his professional life. Within a week, he’d found a publisher. Three days later I’d signed a contract. I’ve had nightmares ever since.
“I’m having two thousand copies delivered this afternoon. We’re all set for the launch next week.”
“Wonderful,” I lie. “I can’t wait.” An air kiss later and I’m out the door. I step out onto the street and take a few gulps of fresh air. The tightness in my chest eases, but only marginally. Right on cue, my driver pulls up, double parking, to a cacophony of angry hoots. I rush forward as he opens his door.
“I’m going for a walk, Phillip, I’ll call if I need you.”
“Yes, Miss Hudson.” Phillip slides back onto the cream leather and signals. He pulls out into the traffic without missing a beat, but narrowly
missing a red Mercedes.
I keep my head down. It’s become a habit but today more than any I need to be alone with my thoughts. I’ve managed to sweep my anxiety under the rug for the past six months, but now it’s returned, with a vengeance.
“Oh my God.” A low voice to my left draws my attention from the cracked sidewalk, and I turn to find a young woman behind me, hanging onto a neon-blue dog leash. I follow the line of the leash to find a squirming golden spaniel tying himself into knots.
“Are you…?” The woman frowns at me and cocks her head to one side. I wait for the moment that I know will come. Her eyes widen, and her lips part as her head snaps upright. “Oh my God, you are!”
I smile, having learned the hard way that to deny it will only lead to a scene. “I am.” I keep my voice down, hoping she will follow suit. Unfortunately, today is not my lucky day.
“I can’t believe it! Oh my God, I’m such a fan. Your biggest fan. Could you…” she trails off, digging inside her oversized handbag and practically throttling the spaniel in the process. “Aha!” she whips out her phone in triumph. “Would you mind if I took a selfie?”
I nod. Grit my teeth. Step forward. By the time she jabs the photo button, I’m leaning into her, a picture-perfect smile on my face.
“I’m Donna, by the way,” she says, as she checks the photo.
“Hi, Donna.” The smile is still plastered on my lips. I can hold it for hours; my cheeks don’t even cramp anymore. “I’m Jojo.”
She laughs at that. A manic, over-the-top laugh that implies my joke is the funniest thing she’s ever heard. The spaniel whimpers.
“I think your puppy is in a bit of trouble,” I say. Donna glances down, gives a start, and bends to untangle the puppy before it loses consciousness. I take the opportunity to slip into the crowd of pedestrian traffic walking down the street. I feel a bit bad for pulling a vanishing act on Donna, but I’ve learned from experience that it’s easier to cut and run. At least she’ll always have that photograph. As I walk, I tie back my hair with the elastic band around my wrist and pull a pair of enormous Prada glasses from my bag. I walk three blocks without a single person recognizing me. Dark glasses and messy buns have saved my sanity more times than I can count.
I’m almost at The Office when my phone rings. My smile is genuine as I answer.
“Hey, babe!”
“Good morning beautiful.” It’s his I-just-woke-up-and-I’m-horny voice, not to be confused with his I-just-woke-up-and-I-want-to-cuddle voice. Alex and I had been dating for two years when he proposed. We’ve been engaged for just over a month, and some days I still have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Only just turned thirty, handsome as the devil and one of the youngest people ever to make the Forbes World’s Billionaires List, Alex Masters is quite easily Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor. That is, he was, until he met me. Automatically, I glance at my ring finger, where a five-carat diamond flashes brightly in the sunlight.
“How did the meeting go?” Alex yawns down the phone. Up all night working again, I think fondly.
“It went well. George is happy with the final edits.”
“So, you’re still on for the launch?”
I fake an enthusiasm I can’t bring myself to feel. “We are!”
A pause. Alex is nothing if not intuitive. I catch my bottom lip between my teeth.
“Well that’s good news,” Alex says eventually. “I’m proud of you, angel.”
That familiar warm feeling washes over me. “Thank you.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m just popping in to see Jude.”
“It’s a bit early for a drink, don’t you think? Must have been one hell of a meeting,” he teases. “Don’t fall in love with him.” It’s his standard response whenever I visit my oldest friend in L.A.
“I’ll try.”
“I’ll see you later. I should be done by seven or so.”
“Perfect, I can’t wait.”
I disconnect the call and step inside The Office, a singularly inappropriate name for the small, low-lit bar. At this time of the morning, it’s completely empty.
“Well, as I live and breathe, if it isn’t Miss Josie Hudson!” Jude’s familiar grin flashes in my direction from behind the bar. Jude can’t resist calling me by my real name, even though almost everyone else has adopted my stage name. Everyone but Jude, my sister, Teddy, and my parents. He’s wiping down the counter, his blond bed-head sticking up in all directions. I dump my bag on top of the counter he’s just cleaned.
“What can I get for you, Miss?” Jude asks. My chest relaxes completely at the sight of the familiar devilish glint in his eye.
“Don’t you start.” I whip off the dark glasses. “I need coffee.”
“You know where everything is,” he says, but I’m already moving behind the counter, toward the coffee machine.
“You want one?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Make it a double. I had a hens party in here last night which just wouldn’t leave.”
Jude goes back to his cleaning while I whip up two coffees with the skill and ease of someone who spent three years working behind this bar.
I carry the two chipped mugs back to the counter, slip back around it and take a seat on one of the well-worn bar stools. Jude drops the cloth to take the seat opposite me.
“So, how did it go with King George?”
I take a sip of my coffee. “We’re all set.”
“Nice. You must be excited.”
“Mmmm,” I mumble, non-committal.
“Do I get to come to this fancy launch party you’re having, or will George have a shit fit if you bring in the help?”
“Of course you’re invited! You are coming, aren’t you?” I fix him with a hard look, daring him to say otherwise, and he holds up his hands in mock surrender.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”
“Good.”
Jude doesn’t let me off that easy. “I don’t really have anything to wear.”
I throw the cloth at him.
We settle into a comfortable silence. The Office hasn’t changed much in the three years since I stopped working here. When I first arrived in Los Angeles, Jude was the only person who’d give me a job. He’d treated me kindly, kept my chin up when I failed to land any roles, encouraged me to keep auditioning when I was ready to give up, and advanced my pay-check when I couldn’t make my rent. Without him, I probably would’ve scuttled back to Bridgeport, Connecticut with my tail between my legs before the first year was up. As it turns out, it was a good thing I didn’t. My breakthrough role was a small part in an indie film that went on to win two Independent Spirit Awards. One for Best Feature. The other for Best Supporting Female. The first was our debut director’s first award. The second was mine.
Within six months I landed the role of a lifetime. Primera Pictures were looking for a female lead to play the role of Hollywood legend Greta Garbo, in a feature film based loosely on her life. I got the part. I also got myself an agent – George.
“Oh, before I forget,” Jude breaks the pensive silence and rummages beneath the counter. He withdraws a magazine and slaps it onto the counter before me, narrowly avoiding upending my mug. “I saved you this. I’m sure you’ll want as many copies as you can get,” he adds.
Alex’s handsome face stares out at me from the cover. It’s not the first time he’s been featured in Times magazine, but it is the first time he’s made the cover. The black and white photograph doesn’t capture the hazel of his eyes, or the lighter streaks in his dark hair, but there’s no denying the hard line of his jaw or the bold chin.
“You’re going to drool on it,” Jude teases, sliding it away from me. I slap my hand on the cover, hindering his progress and he lets out a low chuckle. “Take it, please. If I catch sight of him staring up at me one more time when I’m digging around under the bar, I’m going to throw up. He’s like the fucking Mona Lisa, those eyes follow me everywhere.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, stop it. You know you love him.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But so long as he’s making you happy, he’s got my vote.”
I finish my coffee and make to carry the cup around to the back, but Jude stays me with a hand. “Leave it, I’ve got it.”
“You sure?”
“You don’t work here anymore, remember?”
“You know, sometimes I wish I did. It’s true!” I insist as he laughs out loud. “I had fun here. It was like spending every day with family.”
“Speaking of family – how are your folks?”
“Good. Dad just upgraded his truck.”
“He didn’t!” I laugh along with him. Jude knows as well as anybody that my father is frugal to a fault.
“Mom broke down at the store, and he finally caved.”
“And Teddy?” his voice changes when he asks after my sister and I give him a knowing smile.
“Teddy just broke up with Scott number 2, so if ever there was a good time to call her…” I let the suggestion hang between us, but Jude shakes his head.
“I’ve told you a thousand times. It’s too complicated.”
“And I’ve told you a thousand times that I have no problem with you dating my sister. God knows she could do with a good man in her life.”
My sister’s full name is Theodora. Mine is Josephine. Our parents are as traditional as they come, but fortunately, in an act of extraordinary kindness, our extended family intervened and never called us anything but Josie and Teddy. Teddy has spent the past five years dating two men named Scott. Not at the same time, obviously. Scott 1 lasted three years, Scott 2 only two. Neither deserved even a second date, but Teddy is nothing if not determined. Jude has had a thumping crush on her since the first night they met, but he refuses to act on it.
Awkward in Print (Awkward #1) Page 1
