Jenna hated to admit that she believed her. Airika may be a conniving, backstabbing, atrocious friend, but she never out and out lied. This assumption was not based on Airika’s innate integrity, it was based on the fact that Airika was a terrible actress.
“Why did you pretend to be my friend all those years?” Jenna asked, surprised at how calm she sounded.
“I wasn’t pretending. You’re my best friend.” Airika said.
“Then why did you try to steal my boyfriend and then lie to me and then do it again all these years later?” she asked, surprised by the lack of anger in her tone.
“I … I wanted to know what it was like.”
“What it was like to kiss Alex? You found that out in high school.” There may have been a little venom in that one.
“No, I wanted to know what it was like to be you.”
In a million years, Jenna could not have been more flabbergasted by any single response.
“So you don’t have feelings for Alex, you were just jealous of me?” Jenna asked.
“No, I do have feelings for Alex. I’m in love with him. I just … I’ve always envied you. Especially after you started dating the only guy I’d ever had feelings for,” Airika said.
Jenna fell silent. Airika breathed on the other side of the phone. Jenna’s mind swirled with years of memories rewinding and replaying, as if shot from an entirely new angle. She couldn’t decide if this revelation angered or depressed her. Suddenly, as if hit by the biggest “aha!” moment of her life, Jenna felt a new emotion on the matter: sympathy.
Their friendship hadn’t been a farce. The emotions were real. The perspective just got skewed. Airika was born to have it all. But her parents split up. Her dad disgraced the family. And despite finding professional success, romantic love, and most importantly, happiness, eluded her. Jenna had the things Airika wanted most in the world-—not Alex, per se—but a loving family and a husband who was her best friend and partner. All this time Jenna envied Airika’s style and self-confidence while she envied Jenna for her own reasons. Jenna felt … free. Free of anger and hurt. Free from the conspiracy she thought formed against her.
“Thank you.”
“What?” Airika squeaked.
“Thank you for showing me how lucky I am,” she said without a trace of irony.
Airika let out a garbled noise, choking on her instinctive retort, uncertain how to proceed.
“I forgive you,” Jenna said, hanging up the phone. She felt light as air. The switch, now flipped, couldn’t go back. She was a new woman.
Chapter 40
Airika held the phone in her hand, mouth agape. Many minutes later, she couldn’t come up with a cohesive thought. Jenna sounded sincere. But she couldn’t have been. How could anyone forgive her for what she’d done? Terror gripped her heart as she thought about what Jenna might be planning.
If Jenna was that shrewd, however unlikely it seemed, Airika knew she had to take an offensive strategy. She called Rose.
“What did you do?”
“Hey Air,” Rose said, sounding bored.
“Did you fake an interview with me?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s what Jenna thinks. Why does she think that?” Airika said. Rose smiled over the phone.
“You gave me an interview.” Rose said. Airika could practically hear her filing her nails and rolling her eyes.
“No I didn’t.” Even as she said it, Airika knew it was pointless. She knew that Rose considered everything “on the record.” Like everything else in her life, she expected those rules didn’t apply to her. Suddenly every conversation she’d had with Rose about Alex flashed back through her memory. She wouldn’t! Airika felt the walls closing in on her remembering their conversation from Alex and Jenna’s driveway … after The Incident.
“She knew she was trapping him!” Airika had vented. “Jenna was so selfish to keep the baby. Denying him his right to adolescence—what was she thinking?” Airika’s stomach twisted as she heard herself go on and on about Jenna’s wrongdoings and misdeeds. The memory of her words spewed back at her, unrelenting. “He was always checking me out. You know, like he was looking back at what could have been if it weren’t for her selfishness. It was only a matter of time before the tension grew too much and we had to see it through. In the end, love always wins.”
Airika hung up, feeling sick. She had turned into her father. She had turned the personal into a professional catastrophe. There wasn’t anyone she could blame but herself. She was alone. Unlovable, wretched, and utterly alone in the world.
Chapter 41
“Thanks, Min.” Alex said, hanging up the phone, taking his first full breath since this whole thing started. He couldn’t get over how different Jenna seemed. Whatever caused this shift in her, it was sexy. He couldn’t admit it to her, of course. He’d followed her directions and two hours later, crisis averted. “Rose has been taken care of,” he was told. It turned out to have been a mock-up that hadn’t even been approved for print. He lucked out.
He should have felt emasculated by his estranged wife telling him what to do, giving him orders. He didn’t. He felt … grateful. Grateful and loved. And a little guilty. Guilty that whatever changed her, made her this new empowered woman, wasn’t him. That after all their years together, he not only hadn’t noticed those strengths, he’d prevented them from surfacing. He hadn’t understood her anger about not working before, but now it was clear that his insecurities about his own manhood affected her too. And she’d never held it against him. He felt a sudden awe for her devotion to him over the years. He didn’t deserve her. And now she knew it too—or would soon.
The thought was more than he could stand. He knew he needed to tell her about his anonymous backer and everything he’d discovered, but first, he would try one last thing to fix it on his own. Jenna had enough to deal with and he didn’t want to burden her with another one of his stupid mistakes. Not if he didn’t have to.
Chapter 42
“Cici?” Anya called from downstairs. Felicity grabbed her backpack, checked her reflection in the mirror, changed shirts, and sprinted down to the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed when she reached it and Anya looked her over, eyes narrowed.
“What have you been up to?”
“Nothing,” Felicity said, trying and failing to stop smiling.
Anya raised a brow, but let it go. She handed Felicity a bowl of cereal and motioned for her to sit. Felicity poured a glass of orange juice and tried to sip without smudging her lip-gloss.
“I got a call from Grandpa’s agent today, saying they found someone to play the part of the young me in his biopic.”
“Really, who?” Felicity asked, twisting her hair around her finger.
“You.” Anya looked at her, disapproval spelled all over her face. Felicity felt a tightening of her insides. She hated lying to her grandmother. She especially hated getting caught.
“I … Airika said I should just audition. It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t think I’d get it,” she said, knowing it was a flimsy excuse. Hearing herself say Airika’s name—knowing she’d betrayed her mom—made her feel so much worse. She looked down at her bowl of untouched cereal and pushed the soggy flakes around.
Anya didn’t say anything for a long time. Finally, she stood up from the table and fixed her eyes on Felicity. “You’ll tell your mom today.”
“Okay,” Felicity said.
Excitement usurped her guilt as she lingered by her locker, waiting for Trey, hoping he’d make it before the first bell rang. She ran out of legitimate things to do so she re-organized her books for the third time, hearing the bell blare through the halls.
She jumped as he edged next to her, a giant smile spread across her face. He grinned back, leaning in to give her a little kiss. It was nice but it lacked the passion of last night’s kiss. She scolded herself for wishing for more when they were in the middle of the hall, surrounded by classmates hurrying along. Not that she cared what anyone
else thought. He walked her to her first class, their hands entwined, not letting go until she was across the threshold.
All day she struggled to pay attention, waiting for the bell to ring, for Trey to hold her hand, and sneak in a kiss between classes. They fell into an easy pattern of him picking her up from her class, holding hands to her locker, walking together to her next class. She was sure he’d been late to every period today. By last bell, she knew she’d find him outside her classroom, his hand ready for her to take, like this was how it had always been.
She hopped on his motorcycle, grabbing his waist, enjoying the contact all the way home. She handed him her helmet, making small talk as they loitered in front of her grandparent’s house. She desperately wanted to invite him inside but hadn’t told her grandmother about their kiss and after this morning she didn’t want to be thought an even bigger liar.
She wanted to keep him separate from everything else happening in her family. He was the one good and reliable thing in her life at the moment and he made her happy.
He tangled his fingers in hers as she stood facing him, their hips close.
“So … ” he said.
“So … ”
“You gonna invite me in?” He smiled.
She looked into his brilliant turquoise eyes, hungry for more time with him. She flipped her hair over her shoulders. “Yeah, just give me a minute. Kay?” She bounded up the steps to the house.
“Grandmother? Grandpa?” she shouted. No answer. She ran into the kitchen to find a foil wrapped plate with a sticky note on it that read, “Cic, Grandpa and I will be back by dinner. Here’s a snack. Call your mom. Love, Grandmother”.
She couldn’t believe her luck. She ran back out, flinging the front door open, waving Trey inside. He walked up the steps and she gently pushed her lips to his, closing the door with her foot. They headed up the steps to her room, where they’d gone a million times before, but not with butterflies like this. She walked in front of him, holding his hand, pulling him through the doorway. She spun around, wrapping her arms around his neck.
His lips met hers, their tongues dancing around one another, exploring. The intensity deepened, her mouth red and raw from his patchy stubble. She’d never noticed his facial hair before, or his muscular shoulders. Their bodies melded into one, leaning back onto her bed, arms and hands venturing into new territory. They didn’t speak, their mouths learning this new form of communication. The few times they came up for air, they gazed into each other’s eyes in a way that, a week ago, would have made her want to hurl. Now she couldn’t imagine feeling any other way. She needed him next to her, kissing her, maybe more.
As if on cue, her cell phone’s shrill ring pierced the air. It was her mom, interrupting them from afar. She sat herself upright on the bed, fixed her hair, and took a deep breath. Trey sat across from her, their legs entangled, panting.
“Hi Mom!”
“Felicity? Where are you?” her mom asked, in what Felicity took as a suspicious tone.
“In my r-room,” she said. “Doing homework.”
“Is Grandmother there?”
“No.”
“Oh. When you see her, will you tell her I need to talk her?”
“Sure,” Felicity said. Her earlier conversation with her grandmother came back, along with the memory of the magazine and Airika. She disentangled her legs from Trey’s and stood up.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Is everything okay?”
“It will be. Don’t worry about it, okay. Your Dad and I are going to work it out.”
By the end of the conversation, Felicity felt conflicted on so many levels. She felt bad about lying. She was scared in equal parts that her Mom knew and didn’t know about the magazine. She worried it might be true. And she wondered if her Mom could ever forgive her for going behind her back and auditioning, not to mention how she’d react when she found out about the biopic via Airika.
Felicity was thrilled to find out she got the part of the young Anya. But now it felt tainted, punishment for being such a heartless daughter. She was mad at her dad for letting it get to this point, while another part of her was doing a happy dance because of how happy she was with Trey. Does that make me a bad person: being happy when everything else is such a mess?
“Cici?” Anya called from the living room.
“In here!” She called, double-checking buttons and zippers. Trey zoomed across the room to sit on the dressing stool in the corner, hands visible on his knees.
“Oh, hi Trey. Are you staying for dinner?” Anya said, appearing in the doorway.
“No, I should go home,” he said.
“Nonsense. Your mom’s at work, right? You can’t live on pizza. Stay. I insist. Just call your mom.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jax. I will.”
Anya appreciated the chivalry, but couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her “Mrs. Jax.”
Chapter 43
Despite the win on the publicity front, Alex couldn’t relax. He needed to get out of his contract now more than ever, but didn’t see how he could pull it off. Just because his boss turned out to be a porn mogul it didn’t negate the contract. He needed to find someone—a lawyer—exceptionally skilled at finding and exploiting loopholes. Someone without scruples. One name came to mind, but that meant confronting his jealousy. When he’d exhausted his mental search for another option, he made the call.
“Hey bro,” Zach said.
After what-upping back and forth, Alex got to the point.
“Can you get me your dad’s lawyer’s number? I need some help with a contract.”
“Don’t you have a lawyer?” Zach asked.
“Yeah but he’s too … moral.”
“Your lawyer is too moral? You should put him in a fuckin’ museum.” Zach laughed. “But if you need amoral, then yeah, Dad’s is the best of the best. I’ll shoot you a text.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. I gotta ask, is everything alright?”
“It will be,” Alex said.
“Good luck, man. You’ve got an amazing … family,” Zach said.
Seconds after they hung up, as promised, Alex received a text with Ira Stearn’s contact info. Despite his earlier misgivings about Zach’s motives for helping Jenna get out of town, Alex knew his friend well enough to know he’d never cross that line. And now, all he could do was find out if he had any legal-ish way of walking away from his contract unscathed. It was a long shot, but worth a try. If not, he needed a plan B. Quick.
Ira Stearn, Esq. was not surprised to hear from Alex Anders, not because he expected to, but because nothing surprised him. He didn’t see himself as jaded, just realistic. The rich were often more desperate than the poor, paranoid someone would take their money, distrustful of everyone’s motives. He made a fortune off encouraging their paranoia and convincing them that yes, someone was trying to rip them off, and that only he could save them from destitution.
They were so gullible. They all thought he was their best friend. And he enjoyed the perks. He couldn’t lie (about that). His ideal day started off with a thick black espresso on the green of an oceanfront golf course from which he conducted his day’s business: schmoozing clients, barking orders into his phone, relaxing at the end of the day in an exclusive men’s-only clubhouse where he could put up his feet, light up a Cuban indoors, and let a smoky scotch slide down his throat, enjoying its peaty aftertaste.
His ideal day occurred at least three times a week. How many people could say they loved their job? Ira Stearn could.
So when Alex Anders called to talk about retaining his services for review of a contract, he didn’t concern himself with petty questions about things like conflict of interest. Not representing one party simply because he represented their opposition didn’t flutter the needle on his ethical compass. Ira’s only conflict lay in checks not clearing. Ethics were for mere mortals.
Chapter 44
Jackson Jones kept his mo
st prized possession in his Las Vegas office, where he spent the most time. He picked it up, fingers squeaking across the fret board, noodling around with a complicated Phazee Crux rock solo to clear his head before the start of business. The pearly white pick guard gleamed in the morning light, accentuating the Stratocaster’s classic sunburst coloring. The Shawn Jax signature guitar was his one big splurge after making his first million. He bought it at a Sotheby’s auction for $15,000, a sum equal to his previous year’s income. Playing it was the closest to meditation he’d ever come. It represented the sole vestige of his sixteen year-old self. If not for that, Alexander Deshevka—son, brother, Russian immigrant—would cease to exist, replaced on all levels by his alter ego, Jackson Jones, CEO of Flesh, Inc.: fearfully respected business mogul.
His idea of a religious experience was watching the orange pink haze of the desert sun rise below him, sitting atop his empire, looking out on the world famous Strip. The Strip, deserted and lonely at this hour, reminded him of St. Basil’s basilica after the Cold War. All these years later, he still thought about his homeland. He had no intention of returning, however. The pain his own people inflicted on him and his family was enough to squelch even the strongest bouts of nostalgia for what his life could have been if they never came to America. His father’s funeral hadn’t been enough to bring him back, and he doubted anything else would come close. So it existed, like his birth name, only at this early hour, preserved inside a glass case high up on a shelf in his memory, untouchable.
The phone on his desk rang, signaling that his workday had commenced. Flesh, Inc. was his life’s work, his baby, and he reveled in its daily challenges. He’d always been a problem solver, never shying from confrontation. It kept his mind sharp and his instincts honed.
His empire began with a simple producer’s credit in the film, “Pussy Police Academy” in which he’d discovered its star, Pussy Willows. He rescued her from a couple of drunks outside a strip joint. From there, he and Ms. Willows completed a nine part series, parlaying his role from producer to running his own production company. The age of VHS opened a new market for distribution, which he quickly exploited. Then came DVD, followed by the bane of his existence and source of his fortune: the internet.
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