by Mia Sosa
“Nance, this isn’t something you want printed in the Hollywood Reporter. Actors talk. Agents talk. And then it spreads like wildfire. Plus, you’re wrong. And it’s myopic thinking like yours that leads to the whitewashing of movies that would have done loads better had an actor of color been selected for the lead role. Four words: Ghost in the Shell.”
There’s no way Nance isn’t familiar with that flop of a movie. With a $110 million dollar budget, the film barely took in a sixth of that during its opening weekend.
He sighs. “What would you have me do? Hire your client despite my misgivings?”
“Apologize to my client. That’s it. Whether he wants to go for a role is his decision, but I’ll advise him against working with people who can’t see past their own biases.”
“Fine. I’ll call him. I truly didn’t mean anything by it.”
And that’s one of the most fucked-up parts about this. “I’ll tell him to expect your call.”
I hang up, roll my chair back, and stand at the floor-to-ceiling window that looks out onto the building’s courtyard. I’m running on adrenaline, and I don’t know what to do with all the extra energy pulsing through me. I settle on pacing the width of my office.
Focusing on Gabriel’s terrible experience has the added benefit of distracting me from Ashley’s absence. It’s been four days since she left my place, and I miss her more than I could have imagined. She’s out of my life for sharing her honest opinion, one I’m now forced to agree with.
Not even five minutes after my call with Nance, Gabriel rings my cell. I pick up immediately and drop into my chair. “Hey, Gabriel. I was just going to call you to give you a heads-up. Bill Nance should be calling you later today.”
Gabriel laughs. “He already called.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. And he apologized for his comments. Said he’d be more mindful of his prejudices in the future.”
“I’m not so sure I’d believe that.”
“Yeah, I agree. But he tried. And I can’t recall ever having that kind of conversation with anyone in the five years I’ve been hustling in this business. So thank you. For the first time in my career, I feel like someone in this business has my back. My instincts about you were right.”
“And what instincts were those?”
“I’ve read your comments about diversity in Hollywood. About equal pay and representation. Your willingness to speak up and speak out sealed the deal for me. This shit won’t ever change if we can’t even talk about it. There are plenty of agents, but an agent who cares about the issues that could make or break my career, that’s gold.”
I’m stunned into silence. I’ve spent so much time justifying my position to Quinn, I lost sight of the fact that my advocacy could make a difference for actors on the front lines. It makes me want to get on my soapbox and represent them all. And it reminds me once again that Ashley tried to get me to see my value apart from my connection to Carter, but I was unwilling to listen.
“You there?” Gabriel asks on the other end of the line.
“Yeah, I’m still here. Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll make sure you don’t regret it. Look, I can’t pretend to understand how you felt today, but I can relate. And I’m sorry. There will be other auditions. I’ll work my ass off to make sure of that.”
“With you on the case, I’m not worried. Heading off to the J-O-B now.”
“Right. We’ll talk soon.”
The phrase my mother drilled into my head as a kid comes to mind: Don’t just talk about it, be about it. That’s it. If SCM wants to stand out from the crowd and position itself as a player in an already crowded market, why not brand itself as the agency that will take on Hollywood’s diversity problem? Quinn gets publicity, notoriety, and a host of new clients like Gabriel, and I get a career I can be fired up about. But as much as I can imagine the possibilities, the reality of my circumstances tempers my excitement. Quinn would never go for it. He’s made his position on this issue clear, and he’s not interested in being a maverick.
As all these thoughts swirl around in my head, I picture my mother, her hands at her hips and her voice soft and encouraging: Quinn’s not the person to make this happen. You are.
I wish Ashley were here to help me work though my ideas, but I stupidly pushed her away when she told me truths I didn’t want to face. She’s right. I do need to resolve a few issues before I can love her the way she deserves to be loved. And I’m not wasting any more time getting there. I pick up the phone and ring my colleague, who answers immediately.
“Hey, Sooyin, I need your help.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ashley
LISA GIVES ME a brief hug as we prepare for takeoff. “Ready to make your last flight announcement?”
I slam a tray or two before I answer. “God, yes. I’m so ready.”
She grabs the microphone and passes it to me. “Have at it, sweetie.”
Burying any evidence of my glum mood, I paste on a fake smile and address the passengers. “Good morning, everyone. On behalf of the flight crew of AirStar’s flight from New York to LA, I want to welcome you on board. Total flight time is five hours and thirty minutes.” This time, I give them a genuine grin. “Today’s flight is my last one with AirStar, so make it memorable, okay? The cabin crew will be starting drink service as soon as the captain has turned off the fasten–seat belt sign. In the meantime, please direct your attention to the front of the plane, where one of our flight attendants will go through the safety features and procedures for this Boeing 767.”
Lisa grabs an inflatable life jacket and positions herself in the aisle before I continue.
“If you choose to read, sleep, or generally ignore her, you might miss out on valuable information that could save your life or the life of those around you. So one, two, three, eyes on she.”
After Lisa completes the safety instruction, she returns to the galley to help me prepare the drink cart.
“Oh, shoot,” she says in her thick Midwestern accent. “I forgot to announce the in-flight movie. Hang on.”
The crackle of the intercom fills the cabin, followed by Lisa’s chipper voice. “Good morning again, everyone. The in-flight entertainment will begin shortly. The film selection is The Mash Up starring Carter Stone. If you need headphones, a member of the crew will be passing through to provide them free of charge. Enjoy.”
Somehow I resist the urge to crumple the can in my hands. Gah. Lisa only recently discovered Carter was my brother when he showed up at her apartment to check out my temporary digs. I grimace, remembering the flimsy excuse I gave for not mentioning him sooner: “I didn’t think you’d care.” With my eyes shut, I take a deep breath and exhale, annoyed with myself for hiding my brother’s existence from her. It’s obvious I was worried she would compare us. But so what? I’m not in competition with Carter. He has his life, and I have mine. And apart from the gaping hole in my heart now that Julian and I are no longer together, my life is a good one, with friends who are anxious to cheer me up and a possible gig with a band looking for a singer-songwriter to join them.
The gaping hole, though, is a problem. Much as I’d like it to, it’s not shrinking at all, and each day I don’t hear from Julian makes me question whether I should have voiced my concerns so early in our relationship.
Lisa returns, interrupting my thoughts, her innocent expression masking the devil within.
I give her the evil eye. “Traitor.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’ll be fun to listen to what people are saying about your brother. Kind of like our little secret.”
“If someone makes a snide remark and I accidentally spill a Bloody Mary on them, it’ll be on your conscience.”
She gives me a smug smile. “Deal.”
Sure enough, thirty minutes into the flight, I’m getting a passenger her third cup of water when her male companion chuckles.
“Good Lord, this is terrible,” he says. “Where’d they find this guy? I can’t st
and rom-coms anyway.”
I should use discretion here and let the remark go, but the dude is sitting next to the woman with the bottomless bladder who also won’t keep her foot out of the aisle, and together they’re an unpleasant pair. “Actually, he’s very talented. Was nominated for a Best Supporting Actor award for his role in this movie.”
The guy presses his lips together and gives me a condescending smile. “Awww, that’s cute. You’re one of those celebrity watchers, huh?”
“Not at all. He’s my brother.”
“Right,” he says, the snooty tone of his voice underscoring his skepticism.
I can’t help myself, so I pull out my phone and show him one of the photos from the family reunion. “Here we are with my mother in front of the house we grew up in.”
The woman seated next to him leans over and peeks at the photo.
“Wow,” the guy says. “And you’re a flight attendant? Why not rest on his laurels?”
Not long ago, a question like this would have made me defensive, but now I see it for what it is: a rude question posed by a judgmental person who doesn’t deserve my time. “Because they’re not mine, and I’m making my own way.” I dangle a bag of peanuts in front of him. “Nuts?” I pound the bag with my fist. “They might have gotten a little crushed in transit, but they’re still edible.”
The guy pales. “No, thank you.”
When I return to the galley, Lisa asks, “Everything okay?”
I nod. “Everything’s fine.”
Better yet, I’m feeling pretty damn good about where I’m headed. If I can just get Julian to extract his head from his ass, I will be golden.
MY SECOND OPEN mic night at Muddy’s goes more smoothly than the first. I manage to remain calm even as I wait to perform, and although I still don’t know anyone in the audience—both Tori and my new temporary roommate, Lisa, are working—the crowd’s enthusiastic reception last time helps to suppress my stage fright now.
When I finish the song, another original composition, the spectators clap and cheer, and I stop a few times to shake an outstretched hand as I weave my way back to the bar. I claim a stool near the cash register and signal the bartender.
“Water, please.”
A man takes the stool next to me, the collar of his jacket raised to shield the bottom half of his face and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. Oh brother. I pick up the glass the bartender sets in front of me and try to glance at the guy as inconspicuously as possible. He’s not dressed for a June evening in LA, and he hasn’t said a word since he sat down.
I wait and glance. Wait and glance.
“Great performance,” he finally says in a voice I easily recognize.
I twist my body toward him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Carter tilts his head up, revealing his eyes, which are twinkling. “Came to see my baby sis.” He lowers his hat. “But I didn’t want to attract any attention.”
I bark out a laugh. “You are so bad at this. I’m sure the bouncer’s ready to throw you out on your suspicious ass.”
“Just act like you’re having a good time with me and I’ll be fine.”
I motion for the server again. “A Save the Bay IPA for my friend here, please.”
He swings his gaze between Carter and me, widens his eyes a fraction, and nods discreetly. “Sure thing.”
Carter reaches for my glass and takes a sip. “Sorry. This jacket is making me sweat.”
Shaking my head at him as I chuckle, I reclaim my water. “Did Tori tell you I’d be here?”
“Yeah. She felt bad that she couldn’t make it, so I offered to come in her place.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it anyway.”
He swivels in the stool and faces me. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just adjusting to a few changes in my life.” I’m not ready to tell him about Julian, but even if I were ready, I wouldn’t know what to say. Is he in my past? Permanently? Or will we find a way to resolve our differences? I don’t have answers yet.
Carter accepts the bottle from the bartender and takes a long swig. “If the changes mean you’ll be doing more of that”—he gestures to the stage—“I’m happy for you. You’re fantastic up there. I mean it. Truly, truly talented.”
This might be the first time Carter’s done something other than worry about me. It’s refreshing. “Means a lot to me that you think so.” And his honesty prompts me to admit my own shortcomings. “I’m not sure you know this, but I measure myself against you a lot. Been doing it for years. I’m working on changing that, too.”
He nudges me with his shoulder. “There’s no comparison. You’re way more talented than I’ll ever be. Just took you a long time to realize it.”
My jaw drops as I stare at him.
“What?” he asks. “I’m serious. I always knew you were the true star in our family.”
I shake my head at him. “Okay, now you’re just messing with me.”
“Nope. I’m dead serious. You want proof?”
I lean back and fold my arms across my chest. “I do.”
“You have to promise not to kick my ass when I tell you this.”
I laugh. “I will not.”
“Promise.”
Groaning, I raise my head to the ceiling, but I’m secretly eager to hear his confession. “Fine, I promise.”
“Remember when you did that talent show in middle school?”
“Of course I do. Mom and Dad didn’t show up.”
He bares his teeth sheepishly. “Yeah, about that. I was the one who switched the dates on the calendar on the fridge.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “On purpose?”
He drops his head. “Yeah.”
I clip him on the shoulder so hard he stumbles out of his seat. “Why would you do that?”
He recovers and slowly lowers himself back onto the stool. “I didn’t realize it then, but I was jealous of you. I think I was blown away by your voice, and I wanted Mom and Dad to focus on my acting career. I was fifteen and stupid, and everything was about me back then. I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Looking back on it, I can’t say the incident changed the course of my life. My issues about exploring a career in music run deeper than a missed performance. But knowing Carter isn’t immune to sibling envy makes it easier for me to accept this part of my personality. “So the great Carter Stone isn’t perfect, huh?”
He cocks his head at me. “Perfect? Never. I could have told you that a long time ago. Shit, Tori probably has a spreadsheet listing all the ways I screw up.” He rises and throws a few bills on the counter to cover his drink and a hefty tip. “Speaking of which, I need to pick her up at the studio. Want a lift home?”
“No, I’m meeting a band manager about a possible gig. Should be here soon.”
“Okay.” He pulls me up and out of my seat and enfolds me in a tight hug. “You’ve got this, Ashley. I believe in you.”
That means a lot to me. The best part, though, is that now I can confidently say I believe in myself, too.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Julian
THE PAST FEW days of soul-searching revealed yet another truth to me: My father and I need to resolve some issues between us, making a trip home well overdue. Which is why I travel straight from the airport to Hart Consulting’s headquarters in Downtown Atlanta. The building’s new guards have no idea who I am, and an ID showing that my last name is Hart doesn’t gain me entry.
A few minutes after my arrival, Nicole meets me in the lobby, the loud click of her heels warning me of her impatience.
“You could have called,” she says in a brusque tone.
“Good to see you, too, Sis.”
Her shoulders drop, and she holds out her arms for a hug. “Sorry. It feels like the prodigal son is returning, and I’m so exhausted, I almost wish you would take over the reins.”
I put an arm around her shoulde
r, and we walk in step to the bank of elevators. “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t been to a strip club in years, and my finances are sound.”
She sucks her teeth, a hint of a smile lifting the corners of her mouth.
“Seriously,” I continue. “I’m sorry you’re tired, but I’m not here to usurp your role at Hart. I never could.”
She draws back and guides me to the first elevator that arrives. “He still wishes you would, though.”
“He’ll have to deal. And if he’s hell-bent on continuing to be stubborn about it, you could always shave your head and pretend you’re me. It might be a good look for you.”
She considers me in the small car, her eyes tired and puffy, and then she shakes her head and snorts. “My wardrobe can’t compete with yours, and my head isn’t big enough, but thanks for the suggestion.”
I lay my hand against the railing and nudge her shoulder. “He has the best person in the position. We all know it.”
She gives me a reluctant smile. “Thanks.”
“How is he?”
The elevator dings and its doors slide open before she answers. “He’s fine. We’re not even talking about good days and bad days, more like weird moments. It’ll change over time, for sure, but I’m overseeing everything, and Mom’s his rock.”
I guess it’s an inevitable consequence of watching my parents age—talking about my father this way—but knowing this doesn’t make the reality of it any easier to accept. “I promise to be around more to help.”
She links arms with me and steers me through the reception area. “I’m going to hold you to that promise.” When we reach my father’s office door, she knocks twice before ushering me inside.
My father’s sitting at his desk, his thick, black reading glasses perched on his nose. He looks up, cocks his head as though he’s trying to place me, and after a few seconds, drops his jaw. “Well, this is a surprise. A good one, but a surprise nonetheless.”
“I told Mom I was coming.”
“She didn’t say.”
My mother thinks the element of surprise should be part of anyone’s tactical arsenal, and she probably thought I needed any advantage she could give me. “Might have slipped her mind.”