by Toby Neal
I cover my eyes with a hand as the world shifts.
Do I really think my pregnant sister Pearl, who by every indication is in love with her husband, was trying to seduce Brandon?
I jumped to conclusions. Of course I did. I am such an idiot. Imbecile is more like it. Shame rolls over me in a damp greasy fog.
“Oh, that’s great,” I say faintly.
“Well, Pearl seemed pretty upset. Wouldn’t tell me what was wrong so I assume the same old shit?” Ruby sounds annoyed. “Because it’s time for you two to bury the hatchet. Speaking of, we’re rolling out of here by noon and taking Mom back up to Eureka. You coming?”
“Thanks, sis, but I’m staying here in LA. I signed with a company, and we start work on a music video today, in fact. Speaking of, I need to get ready.” I roll out of bed.
“Oh really?” Ruby’s voice perks up. “I’m so glad something worked out. It seemed pretty anticlimactic to just have to go straight home. Did you sign with Forbes Talent? I’m hearing Brandon Forbes’s new agency is the hottest thing in town.”
“No. I went with a different outfit. Mummings Video Production.”
“That doesn’t sound like an agency.”
I blow out a breath. “Listen, thanks, Ruby, but I’m making my own decisions now, and I saw a good thing and hopped on it. I’ll be fine. Alex is going to be my roommate, so I won’t be alone. I’ll give you a call when I’m settled. So tell Mom bye and love, will you?” I’m trying to pull on some dance gear one-handed.
“Tell her yourself,” Ruby snaps, and hands the phone to Mom.
“Jade?” Mom’s voice sounds worried. “You okay, honey? I can’t help overhearing—you’ve got some work and you’re staying down here?”
I repeat everything I told Ruby. “And I have to meet the producer down in the lobby at eight a.m., so I have to run, Mom. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have an address. And a phone.”
“Honey. You have to give me a hug goodbye.” Mom’s voice is definite. “I’m coming to your room now.”
I sigh as she hangs up. I’m a terrible daughter and sister, but there’s no time to wallow, especially if I’m going to have time to go by Brandon’s room and apologize for my stupidity before I meet Mummings in the lobby. I crank into gear, brushing and braiding my hair, pulling on dance clothes, zipping up my backpack. “You’re going to start looking for apartments today, right?” I call to Alex.
“Sure am, chica. Way ahead of you.” Alex waves a newspaper with ads circled in red. “Ernesto and I are going by some of these.”
“Ernesto? What? I thought you broke up with him.”
“I did. Doesn’t mean I’m going to turn him down when he offers to help.”
“What’s Ernesto doing now that the show’s over?”
“Well, he and Selina signed with Forbes Talent, like I did. Today all the dancers who signed with Forbes have a meeting with the coordinator, Chad Wicke, to develop portfolios.” Alex folds the newspaper with sharp, precise movements. “I wish you were with us. It seems like a more logical, organized place to start than driving off to get started on a video with no prep or anything.”
“We’ve chosen different paths. And I don’t have time to talk about it. Where’s a number I can reach you?”
“I have a pager.” He rattles off the digits and I write them on the inside of my arm with the hotel’s ballpoint.
“I’ll call you when I’m done, hopefully we can go look at some apartments,” I say. “I have to run.” I give Alex a quick hug.
Mom, along with Rafe, Ruby and Peter, are just getting off the elevator. I glance worriedly at my Swatch—it’s seven twenty. I’ll barely have a half-hour to make up with Brandon before I have to get back to the lobby.
Hugs all around, kisses and well wishes, and the family invites me to have breakfast downstairs in the caf one last time. “Can’t. I have to see someone and then meet my ride downstairs at eight a.m.,” I tell them. “I’ll get a pager today so you guys can contact me. It might be a little while until Alex and I nail down an apartment and get a phone set up.”
“Sounds good. Where’s that contract you signed with Mummings? Let me give it a quick skim,” Ruby says.
“Oh, darn, I left it in the room,” I lie. Actually it’s in my backpack, along with the fat envelope of cash. “I’ll mail you a copy.”
“I insist.” Ruby wags her finger at me. “I would feel so much better if you’d signed with Forbes Talent.”
“Well, I didn’t, and now I have to go.” I hold Mom extra tight. “You going to be okay without me?”
“Sure, honey. Just call me every week or so, okay?” Mom’s hazel eyes look worried, and I touch her cheek.
“Definitely.”
We all get on the elevator and I get off a couple floors down, at Brandon’s level, with a final round of kissing and waving.
My heart is a drumbeat in my ears as I walk the short distance to Brandon’s door, mentally rehearsing my speech. I’m sorry I overreacted. I was an idiot. Clearly I have some issues I have to work on with my sister, and I’m planning to do that...
I stand in front of Brandon’s door and knock.
Knock again.
And again.
No answer.
Maybe he’s sleeping, or went to the studio early. I can leave him a note.
I still have my key. I slip it into the lock, push down on the handle.
No one’s inside.
There’s an empty feeling, like everything that brought life to the room is gone. As I walk to the bedroom I realize there’s no sign of anyone occupying the room—the bathroom counter is bare. The chair where he’d thrown a few shirts is empty. I peek into the closet—empty hangers rattle on the rod.
“He’s checked out,” I murmur. “Oh my God.”
I have no way of getting ahold of him. I know he lives in Boston when he’s not in LA, but I don’t have a phone number, an address, anything.
I find myself counting the furniture as I head for the door.
Down in the lobby, I ask to leave Brandon a message. “That guest has checked out,” the receptionist says.
“Is he coming back?” I look around wildly. Why would he have left so quickly? Doesn’t the show have to wrap up and do post-processing for a few more days?
I spot Stu the cameraman coming off of one of the elevators, his lanky body curved into an apostrophe. “Stu!” I hurry over to him, even as I spot Madalyn, Mummings’s intimidating associate, by the door. “Where’s Brandon?”
“Thought you dumped his ass.” Stu’s eyes are cold. “Dude left for New York.”
“Oh, no.” I cover my mouth with a hand, my stomach plummeting. “It was a misunderstanding!”
“Well, he had urgent biz in the Big Apple, so that’s where he is.”
Madalyn approaches, resentment that she has to pick me up plain on her face. “Time to go.”
“Hey, I was going to check with your outfit. See if you need any camera guys now that this gig wrapped,” Stu says.
“Nope. We’ve got the camera work covered.” Madalyn grabs my arm and tugs me toward the door. Stu narrows his eyes, hands on his hips, as Madalyn tows me through the rotating doors and out into the rest of my life.
Brandon
Mom looks beautiful even with her hazel eyes bare of makeup and trembling lips. She has a death grip on my hand. I pat her soft, springy golden-blonde hair. It’s all going to fall out when she has chemotherapy, up next in the horrors planned after this surgery.
She’s going to hate losing her hair. I feel so helpless to make anything better for her.
“It’s going to be okay, Mom. This is just a lumpectomy—they’re not taking off the whole breast.”
“But they will, if there’s more cancer in there. And they won’t know until they get in there if there is.”
It’s hard for me to see Mom this way: fragile, agitated, her fingers plucking at the patterned hospital gown. Repeating catechisms of reassurance isn’t what she needs rig
ht now. “I love you, Mom. No matter what. I love you.”
She turns her face into my shoulder and squeezes me hard.
Ah. That was what she needed to hear.
Makes me wonder if things might have gone differently if I’d had the courage to say those words to Jade. The cold knife of how things ended with her sticks me in the gut for the hundredth time.
The anesthesiologist arrives. Takes Mom’s blood pressure. Hooks up her already-installed IV to a bag of something clear and dripping. Mom pulls herself together and lies back, queenly and composed.
“I’ll see you on the other side, son.” She smiles, and it feels like a gift, hard-won and precious.
I give that gift back, kissing her hand as I let it go. “I’ll be here.”
The hours while she’s in surgery tick past slowly. I pace the waiting room, looking out the gray glassed-in windows at the jagged teeth of the city’s skyline. I thumb through dog-eared copies of National Geographic and People. Mom’s two close friends, Katya and Bittie, hold down a couch on the other side of the waiting room but I’m too restless to make conversation with them.
Eventually I go find a pay phone and check in with my director, Alan Bowes.
Everything’s on track at the studio. The video team is editing; the dancers have dispersed. A quick call to Chad Wicke tells me he’s building the new dancers’ portfolios and already has interest from some advertising agencies for using them in a campaign.
Every minute of every long distance call that’s going on my gold MasterCard is just a time-filler. The only person I really want to talk to right now, when I’m hurting and sad about Mom, is Jade.
Finally, I call Stu’s pager. I save it for last because I know I’m going to have to find a way to ask about Jade without seeming to.
He calls the pay phone back promptly. “This is Brandon. How’s the wrap from the cameraman end of things?”
“You called to ask me that? More importantly—how’s your mom doing?”
“She’s in surgery. I’m going nuts here.” I blow out a breath and run a hand through my hair.
“And since I know what you’re really calling about—Mummings didn’t hire me. And Jade was looking for you this morning. Said you had a ‘misunderstanding.’ Seemed upset.”
“She did?” Hope, igniting in my chest, feels painful.
“Yeah. Seemed like she wanted to get in touch with you.”
I don’t have a number for Jade if she’s left the hotel, and she doesn’t have my pager number. Besides, she chose this path. Maybe she needs to go down it awhile.
“Thanks for the update, but Jade’s on her own. I’ll be back out in LA in a week or so. Thanks for trying to get in with Mummings.”
I hang up, and I still don’t feel good about the situation.
Chapter 24
Jade
Mummings’s studio is a drafty metal warehouse on the seedy outskirts of Hollywood, well past the boutiques and glitzy lights and deep into wino country. Floodlights are set up on one end, and the air is thick with the smell of marijuana. Mummings is seated in a canvas chair beside the main camera on a big stand near a boom box churning out Top Forty tunes at high volume.
He’s only using half the space. The other half is piled with boxed TVs, microwaves and other appliances that have a look about them of having “fallen off a truck”, as Mom used to describe stolen items. The main set is a red satin bedroom, probably recycled from Mummings’s porn flicks.
Madalyn leads me over to Mummings. “Fetched the kid like you asked.”
“Good.” He rakes my dancewear with a glance. “I’ll send you to wardrobe for the shoot.”
“Tell me about the project, Mr. Mummings,” I say, firming my voice. “I need to know what I’m doing.”
“Jashon. Mr. Mummings is my dad.” He smiles, unexpectedly charming. “Well, in the video Janet’s singing. She’ll be lip-synching and dancing around, and we’re filming her at a more upscale location. Her soundtrack is going through the whole video, and what you’re going to be doing is the cut scenes that we flash in and out of. A sexy love story.”
I stare at the bed. “How sexy?”
Mummings gives a bark of laughter. “Sexy. But like I said, geared for TV. You know your partner for the scene. You two can spend today limbering up with our choreographer.” He barks into a handheld walkie for Wilkins and Ferroe.
My eyes widen as David Wilkins, the blond Adonis I danced with early in the dance competition, appears with a petite black woman in tow. “David! Great to see a familiar face!”
David grins at the sight of me, too. “Great to be working with you again.”
Diana Ferroe, the choreographer, is a powerhouse. She has the script all mapped out and begins working with us intensively. As soon as I’m dancing and moving, rehearsing the scene, my self-consciousness falls away and nervousness about the big red satin bed fades.
This is legit. This is dancing for a Janet Jackson video. I didn’t need to worry about some other agenda.
It’s nine p.m. by the time we’re ready to wrap for the day. I cover up my dance gear with a big sweatshirt and call Alex’s pager from Mummings’s old dial phone plugged into the wall, and he hits me back promptly. “Did you make any progress on finding an apartment?”
“No, but I have a bunch for us to visit. Come back to the hotel and crash with me tonight. I took a cheaper room at the same place.”
“Great.” I’m thrilled to have company and a safe place to go. The barnlike warehouse building has emptied out, and the shadows and echoes are spooky. “I hate to spring for a cab, but I guess I’ll have to.”
“No need for that. I can drop you off. It’s on the way to my crib.” Jashon’s gritty voice, right behind me, makes me jump. I turn with a smile.
“Great. Need to get back to the Marriott. Really appreciate it.”
I hang up with Alex, relieved that the immediate problem of where to sleep is solved, and turn to Jashon. “I really appreciate it. The only money I have is that gift you gave me, and I don’t know when we get paid next, so…”
“So I take it you didn’t read your contract carefully.” Jashon opens the steel door for me, hits the lights. Darkness drops like a cloak over the great dim warehouse. “You really should have.”
I walk just ahead of him toward the dim, bulky shape of a maroon-colored Cadillac parked under the yellow light casting a pool of illumination over the lot. “You saying you tried to pull a fast one on me?” I make my tone light with an effort.
“No. It’s just always good to read the fine print.” He unlocks the Caddy and opens the door for me.
I slide onto the buttery upholstery of the passenger side. It smells like leather and weed inside, a sweet funk emanating from an overflowing ashtray in the dash.
Jashon gets in, adjusting the black leather trench he’s wearing. “We might as well get something to eat on the way.”
My stomach, fed by nothing but cups of coffee and a few energy bars provided by a filming assistant, rumbles loudly in agreement with this. “Maybe just a drive-through,” I murmur. “If you don’t mind. I’m really tired.”
“Yeah, Ferroe’s giving you two a workout.” Jashon seems to be in a good mood, tapping his big gold ring on the steering wheel. The Caddy seems to flow over the road, and I can’t hear anything inside but the mellow, smoky jazz he’s playing. “We should get to actual filming tomorrow.”
“I’m surprised that the love story part of the video is a white girl and guy,” I tell him after we’ve turned into an Arby’s drive through and decimated a couple of roast beef sandwiches, still sitting in the car. “I mean, that sounds wrong...”
“No, that’s a legit question.” Mummings dabs his mouth with a paper napkin. “We’re trying to reach out to all audiences. Make this a really mainstream video. We did some market testing, and the broadest appeal is going to combine the best of both worlds. As it were.” Mummings keeps surprising me with how sophisticated and intelligent he is. His war
m brown eyes flash humor at me. “You’ll see. We’re going to have a hit on our hands.”
“I hope so. David’s good. I’m glad you signed him.”
“He, at least, read his contract,” Mummings pats my leg and squeezes my thigh as he pulls up at the hotel. It’s definitely more intimate than I would have liked, but until this minute he’s been a perfect gentleman so I let it slide. “Be out here at seven thirty tomorrow morning and Madalyn will pick you up.”
“Great. Thanks for the ride.” I hop out of the car and pat the roof as he pulls away.
Alex has left a key for me at the main desk and I find my way to a tiny room overlooking the back alley dumpsters.
“My, how the mighty have fallen.” I wave my hand in front of my nose as I inhale the smell of old cigarettes embedded in the carpet and drapes. “We’ve come down in the world.”
“What do you want for fifty bucks?” Alex is sprawled on one of two double beds, a fashion magazine open before him. “And we have to find something even cheaper than this.”
“I’ll have to ask to leave early tomorrow or something. They worked us every minute.” I tell him about the experience. “Mummings was cool. He brought me back here and bought me Arby’s.”
Alex frowns. “Watch out for that guy.”
“Everyone’s so freaked out about him. So far, it’s great. Dancing with David is terrific.”
We chat for a while and Alex yawns. “I need my beauty sleep.”
“Me too.” A quick shower, then into bed.
I don’t think of Brandon until I’m there. Lying on my back, I remember him sliding up over me, his lips on mine, my hands all over his hard body. I loved the feeling of his solid thigh between mine, the sound of satisfaction he made as he entered me—the incredible feeling of it, such a sweet, hot invasion.
“Sleep well,” Alex says from his side of the room.
“I’ll try.” I sigh, and wrap my pillow around my head. Sleep takes a while.
