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“No, actually, it went very well. And . . . Reece Carras himself was there,” I sing at her and prepare for her reaction.
She shrieks, her grip on my shoulders tightening to a near choke hold. “Mon Dieu! Reece “Sexiest Man in The World” Carras was there? You were in the same room with him?” She jumps to her feet and looks down at me, eyes narrowed. “What in the world are you doing here and not in his bed? I can’t imagine he looked at you and didn’t come on to you.”
“He definitely didn’t come on to me. He was there to try to get a deal done.” I try to sound nonchalant. I know all that intensity and focus I felt from him today was about the book and not me. I look down at my right hand and remember the current of energy that traveled up my arm when we shook hands.
I grimace at my calloused palms. I got my first manicure this morning, but no amount of pampering can disguise the fact that I’ve worked with my hands most of my life. The women in his world are beautiful, dressed in couture and perfectly made up. My clothes come from secondhand stores, though these days, they’re upscale consignment ones. And the only makeup I wear is my red lipstick, and that’s only because it reminds me of my mother. At least, what she was like when we were young.
She rolls her eyes at my lack of enthusiasm and pouts. “You don’t even care. Such an experience is wasted on a person like you. You met the sexiest man in the world and you’re acting like it’s nothing. Did you at least take a picture?” She sits back down and puts her elbows on her knees and cups her chin with her hands. She looks at me with a mixture of pity and disgust.
I laugh. She’s obsessed with celebrity gossip. She watches E! religiously and knows more about celebrities than she knows about me. She told me that she’s waiting for Tom Cruise to discover her store. Her more famous clients never come to the store themselves. They send in personal assistants and drivers instead. She’s dying for a celebrity encounter.
Reece is one of her favorites. Last year, he went through a very public, very ugly divorce. He and his ex-wife Fabienne had been together for ten years when they split. They married young, right after he won his Olympic Gold. She’s a world famous supermodel from Brazil and he was the dashing young athlete who was going to inherit a huge movie empire. They were tabloid darlings and their split was major news.
Jessica read me daily updates on his divorce proceedings. His ex-wife accused him of cheating on her. He never responded publicly. They had a prenup and apparently, she made a mint off him. Once the divorce was finalized, he disappeared from the public eye, only making appearances in relation to his immigration activism.
?
??Did you at least tell him you have a roommate who adores him?” Jessica asks, still pouting.
I roll my eyes back at her. “I was there for a meeting, Jess. Which by the way, went very well. I think it’s going to happen; he really wants the option rights.”
“Of course it’s going to happen, my little brioche bun,” she says with a small, sad smile. “When it does, I hope it will take some of that sadness out of your eyes. I know you think you hide it well, but my heart aches at the emotions you wear plainly on your face. Especially when you think no one’s watching.” She pats me on the knee, stands up and heads for the door.
“I’m grilling portobellos for dinner tonight!” she calls over her shoulder as she opens the door.
I groan and call after her, “I’ll never become a vegetarian and I’m not on a diet! Stop trying to convert and starve me.” She laughs that tinkling laugh and disappears inside.
I laugh, too, but her parting words stay with me and sober me. She’s right, I don’t remember a day in more than fifteen years that I haven’t felt sad. Because at the end of the day, my brother is still dead. My heart has a permanent hole in it.
I’ve lost a lot. I’ve given up even more. But, in writing this book, in telling my brother’s story, I feel like I’ve started to get some of it back.
Today, I sat across from one of the most powerful men in this town and made demands. And he took me seriously. But even if he hadn’t, I would have been fine. It feels good to have what I need; to not feel desperate, for once.
I stand up to walk inside and take a deep breath, letting myself absorb the sound of Los Feliz at dusk. It’s quiet, but there is a hum of contentment in the air. The sounds of people going about their lives in total peace.
I grew up in a neighborhood where everyone looked over their shoulders. They didn’t loiter outside talking to their neighbors. They didn’t cook on their back decks and play music that they sang along to. They didn’t speed down the freeway with their tops down, not caring if it meant you might get a ticket. Living in the shadows meant you didn’t do things to draw attention to yourself.
I want to live free. Just like my neighbors in Los Feliz; enjoying the small pleasures of life without worrying that doing so would mean my undocumented status could be discovered. I’ve been considering how to make that a reality. One option is to voluntarily depart. It would mean waiting three years before I could apply to return. But, if I’m deported before I can leave on my own, part of the penalty would be a ten-year wait before I could apply.
I’m not sure if I’m ready to leave the country I call home. But, for the chance to become a real member of the orchestra that gives Los Feliz the sound of freedom, I’m willing to try.
3
Reece
It’s Sunday night and my father is on a tear. He just finished reading Lucía’s contract and he’s livid.
“Reece, this makes no fucking sense. Why are you giving her so much control? She’s written one book. One!”
His palm slaps the table and I stifle a sigh. I expected this. Prepared for it, even. But that doesn’t make it any less aggravating. He wouldn’t talk to Zev like this. But he’s my boss and my father, and I’ve just learned that conversations like these come with the territory.
“It’s one of the most important books I’ve ever read,” I say simply.
“Important?” he sputters like the word tastes terrible on his tongue. “It doesn’t have any action. It doesn’t have any sex. It’s fucking Young Adult fiction, Reece,” he says.
My father is the most powerful man in this business. He’s the head of the world’s largest entertainment conglomerate. He hasn’t gotten there because he has bad instincts. But, even he doesn’t understand the motion picture industry the way I do.
He knows it; it’s why he made me President of Artemis Film.
