by Layne Harper
We’re in Holden’s corner office located in a mid-rise building on a crowded street somewhere between downtown LA and Beverly Hills. If I had to find this place again, I couldn’t.
I’m trying hard to avoid looking out the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk which features a perfect view of a billboard advertising ACE’s world tour and the show tonight. I also do my best to not notice the naked torso of Aaron wearing my necklace and my saying Alis Volat Propriis scrolled in the font Cara designed for me along the bottom of the board. And, of course, my eyes never scan along the tattooed fingers clinching the heart to read my initials. Damn you, Aaron Emerson.
“Please have a seat on the couch.” He gestures at the white leather sofa with chrome metal accents. Much too modern for my taste, but that seems to be the LA aesthetic. “Would you like a drink? Scratch that.” He grabs his phone and hits a button. “Bring Miss Landry a glass of red wine. I think she prefers Cab.”
I do as he says and sit on the very hard couch. It was obviously not purchased for comfort. Holden takes the seat across from me. It looks equally uncomfortable, but I notice that he’s sitting higher than I am. I wonder if it’s some sort of psychology mind trick. Not that I’m a psychologist, but I enjoy playing one. I’ve heard this is a thing people use to feel more important.
No sooner does he take his seat than the door opens and a young man dressed in a grey suit enters with a glass of wine. He hands it me and disappears in a flash. The words, “Thank you,” stumble from my lips, but I’m not entirely sure he heard me.
It’s ten o’clock in the morning, and I’ve just been handed a glass of wine. As I take a sip, I reason that it’s noon in Louisiana, so a glass of wine would be appropriate if I was home.
“So, Miss Landry,” Holden begins. “First of all, happy late birthday. I hope you had a nice celebration.”
He seems insincere, and I sense this is nothing more than a formality statement. Where is the nice guy I chatted with on the phone? The whole vibe of this office is wrong. Taking another sip of wine, “Yes. My birthday was a lovely one.” And just because I can’t help myself, I continue to rattle off details that he doesn’t care about. “My best friend took me out to a three-hour lunch. Then, Grandmother hosted a small party at her house. You wouldn’t believe all the characters she invited because you see, even though it’s my birthday, I don’t get to make the guest list.”
“Good. That’s wonderful to hear.” He crosses his legs and leans back. “Let’s talk about your show in the works—No Pink Caddy?” He raises his eyebrow at the name, I think. “From what I can tell, the entertainment lawyer you hired did a good job negotiating you a very fair contract. I know Cindy and Janet, and they have a great reputation in the industry. Usually we get involved before the client has a show and contract in place, but Vince explained the unique circumstance you find yourself in.”
Resting my glass on the chrome coffee table, I lean forward and turn a bit towards Holden, hoping to relieve the pressure on my tailbone. I think the ground would be softer. “I’m so new at all of this. I’m sorry if I did things out of order. Between my sorority sister and Vince, I think I’m starting to figure out what I don’t know yet.”
“Rebecca?”
“Yes, Rebecca put me in contact with Aiden Montgomery. He visited with Cindy and Janet’s production company, and before I knew it, I had a FedEx envelope on my doorstep.”
Holden doesn’t respond to my statement. “After reviewing the content on your site and looking over the contract, I think my agency can be of use to you.” He leans forward with a glint in his eye. “A book deal seems obvious. Of course, your name-branded cookware will sell well. Probably that will be an exclusive deal with a retailer. Furniture line with a regional company. Maybe we can even swing a clothing deal.” He looks me up and down. “You have a unique style.”
I glance down at my vintage St. John Knit navy suit also borrowed from Grandmother and wonder what he means by unique style. I also laugh in my head at the idea of a furniture deal. I still haven’t replaced the Robin’s egg blue couch, over-stuffed chair, and marble coffee table Aaron sent to a landfill somewhere on the outskirts of New Orleans. But as the saying goes, the cobbler’s kids have the worst shoes. “Umm . . . that’s really great and all, but aren’t we putting the cart before the horse?”
He smiles, but it’s patronizing. This man is not polite at all. “The details will take months to work out. If I’ve read your contract correctly, you’ve already begun preproduction and will start filming in a couple of weeks.”
“Well, yes. The first season—”
“Will focus on getting your store open for business while mixing in segments where you show off your talents,” he finishes.
I nod.
“Air date of January.”
Nodding again, I question why he even had me fly out to LA to meet with him. He seems to know everything and has a clear plan for my career.
He adjusts in his seat so he’s now leaning forward. “I brought you here to discuss changing the name of the show.”
My heart plummets to my stomach as his statement answers the question in my head.
“I noticed in the contract the name of the program is listed as to be determined. My public relations team hates the name No Pink Caddy. It’s shit to brand. It doesn’t make sense to most of the United States, and it says nothing about who you are.”
Now it’s also clear why I’m having a glass of cabernet sauvignon wine at a business meeting in LA at ten o’clock in the morning. I should have brought Shannon. She advised me to let her come, and even stomped her pointed-toe Jimmy Choo, but I told her that I could handle this. “No Pink Caddy has been the name of my blog since it began. See, it’s a play on my name, Mary Kay.”
He crosses his legs. “Yes. I get all of that, but it doesn’t mean it’s good.” Holden gestures as if the name is an annoying butler who brought him champagne instead of wine. “We want the initials MK to become synonymous with living a Southern lifestyle. We want twenty-somethings to run to their local Target to purchase MK’s dishes because they’re turquoise and she uses them on her show. Since Michael Kors has branded MK, we’re thinking of changing your name to MKL. When pronounced fast, it’s Michael.” He adds, “You know, male names for females are all the rage.”
My eyes grow wide with disgust at hearing the name of my ex-boyfriend who I worked for for years. Quitting that horrible job is one of the highlights of my life. I’d rather be called anything than the name of that troll. “No.” I shake my head to further emphasize just how much I hate the idea. “No. My name isn’t Michael. It’s Mary Kay or MK. If that’s the direction you want me to go, this might not be a good fit.” I grab my purse and rest my glass back on the coffee table. Why is everyone trying to make me into something I’m not?
He waves his arms. “Just a suggestion. You seem to focus a lot on the colors aqua and red. Maybe we can do something with that. My marketing team would love to throw some ideas at you. It’s so important that we brand you well from the beginning. Having to make changes when you’re already a household name is costly and confusing to the public.”
I’m a brand? Is this what I want to be? Do I want cookware and books and a clothing line? Do I want to no longer be associated with the name No Pink Caddy? My head is swimming in doubts. I’m being pushed out of my comfort zone by someone who I’m hoping to hire to be on my side.
This is too much, but I’m here. Vince says that Holden is the best in the business. Ughhh . . .
Before I can fully process what’s happening, Holden’s office is transformed into a No Pink Caddy rebranding meeting. A guy in an over-tailored suit is flanked by two young girls who look fresh from the sorority house. It turns into a Monty Python skit. Why didn’t I bring Shannon with me? Stupid, MK. Very stupid.
“What about Southern Sass or Southern Spice?” the overly tailored guy suggests as he slides a piece of modern artwork to the right, revealing a whiteboard. He uses a red m
arker to write down Southern Sass and Southern Spice.
“Ummm . . . but I’m No Pink Caddy.” I still am not understanding why I need to change my name and take another slug of wine. It’s gotten me this far, hasn’t it?
The guy in the tailored suit smiles as if I’m a child who doesn’t understand why I can’t eat the whole tub of ice cream. “Yes. And you can still be No Pink Caddy any time you want. However, for branding, you need a new identity. I think I like Southern Spice.” The two girls nod. “What do you think H-Man?”
“Not bad. What about GRITS? Girl Raised in the South,” Holden throws out.
Tailored Suit adds GRITS to the board.
“Do you make grits?”
I nod as my pointer finger picks away at the tender skin surrounding my thumb. “I do teach viewers how to make an excellent shrimp and grits dish, but let’s back up. I’ve been very successful with No Pink Caddy.” I gesture towards Holden using my left hand. I think I might have drawn blood on my right cuticle. “You couldn’t believe that I landed my show without your assistance. Maybe that’s a sign that we shouldn’t mess with what’s working.”
His smile is patronizing. “Michael, you’re a . . .”
“It’s MK,” I correct.
He drops his chin and rolls his eyes. “MK, you’re a sweet girl who has made your career out of being naïve and having a wee bit of talent.” His fingers demonstrate just how little talent he believes I have. “That’s gotten you a production deal. Let my team carry you to the finish line. We can take that naivety and talent and make you millions. But you just have to trust us.”
I remember my southern manners. “I appreciate all the work you’ve put into this. I can tell you really care about my future.” Smiling at Holden, “I look forward to hearing more name suggestions. For right now though, I’d just like to focus on getting my store opened and my first season in the books. We can talk about the other things at a later date.” I stand to leave. I’m meeting Shannon in an hour to pick out items for the store. That seems like much more fun than discussing how my new agent is going to rebrand me.
“Wonderful. Just a few papers we’ll need you to sign,” Holden smiles. “But your name must be decided before production begins.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as I glance around the room, and then I’m instantly mad at myself for apologizing. I should never apologize for being me. My eyes find Aaron’s across the street and lock with his. An inner strength grips my chest, and I use it to reclaim this meeting. “You see, y’all have thrown me for a loop. Imagine finding out that the name you’ve had your whole life is something different. I wasn’t prepared for this. This is like burning sugar. If you burn it, you can still use it, it just has a different taste, and you make it into something else.” I punctuate my statement with a huge smile. “I was prepared to remain MK Landry and my show to be called No Pink Caddy. Now, you’re telling me . . .”
“That’s it.” Holden jumps to his feet as I cringe. “Your show should be called Burnt Sugar.”
I stare at him. His team is silent.
Holden continues, “That’s what you’ve done. You’ve lived your metaphor. You thought you’d marry your college boyfriend right after college and have a couple of kids.” He snaps, “Your line . . . the life I’m living is not what was promised in the college brochure. Or something like that. You took your life, the sugar. It got burnt, the life you live now. Now it’s burnt sugar that you use to make . . .”
He motions for me to continue. “Umm . . . I use burnt sugar to make pralines.”
He jumps on the couch cushion next to me, and I flinch. “Yes. Pralines are damn good, right?”
“Sure.” I shrug.
“Burnt Sugar. Think about it, MK.”
I glance at Holden’s team. They seem to like it also.
Tailored Suit adds it to the white board.
“I’ll consider it.”
A stack of papers is placed in front of me. I sign them not because I like Holden, his team, or their ideas. Mary Kay Landry scribbles on the dotted line because I have no other choice. Vince talked highly of Holden. He’s supposed to be the best in the industry. As I scan through the pages, I feel as if I’m on a speeding train with no brakes. This out-of-control chaos inside my soul tells me that I’m way out of my comfort zone. Between seeing the billboards for ACE’s tour and the rebranding of MK, I can’t wait until tomorrow when I get on a plane back home.
After I sign my life away, Holden shakes my hand. “I’ll set up a meeting with Janet and Cindy to discuss naming the show Burnt Sugar.”
Do I like Burnt Sugar? I don’t even know anymore. I’ve lost my way, and I need a good night with Bella to help me find myself again. I reach up and grasp for my shark tooth necklace which as always helped me feel grounded. It’s as if I try to touch my leg which is no longer there. Loneliness grips my soul, and it’s all I can do to exit the glass doors before tears spill down my cheeks.
I want to go home, and I know that home is much more than just a destination.
Chapter Eleven
Aaron
September
Jude Emerson @HorseGirl4Life
In LA to visit my dad. Hopefully he realizes I’ve been to the zoo a million times and just want to shop. #DadsRLame
Jude Emerson @HorseGirl4Life
Happy late birthday @NoPinkCaddy. Congrats on your show and store. Can’t wait to visit.
“Oh my God. That’s her.” The words tumble out of my mouth in a whisper, which completely contradicts my nerves. Every hair is at attention as if a bolt of lightning has passed through my body. My heart refuses to beat, and I think Rock sucker-punched me in the gut.
“Who?” Jude asks as she throws herself across my lap to see out of the window. “That’s MK,” she yells, and then taps the driver’s shoulder. “Pull over.”
“No,” I command, this time much louder. I’m not ready to talk to her yet. I don’t know what I would even say.
“Yes,” Jude says with just as much conviction. “This’s stupid and ridiculous. I mean, what are the chances that we would see her in LA?”
Yeah. What are the chances? It’s like fate is kicking my ass.
It’s horrible Los Angeles traffic, and we’re stopped at a light. Like a fool, I click the lock on the town car as if MK is the boogeyman and might open the door and kidnap me. But then again, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. It would force me to talk to her.
She’s walking along the sidewalk dressed in a navy, figure-hugging dress. Her ass looks luscious. Board-straight brown hair touched by the summer sun swishes back and forth along her back as she walks in heels that make her legs look lickable. At the corner, she greets a female leaving a Starbucks. She doesn’t hold a candle to MK. The two continue to cross the street, heading away from me. Again.
“Dad, it’s like some sort of cosmic collision. Maybe even fate.” God, it’s amazing how much we think alike sometimes. “This is the universe telling you that you should dump Life—”
“Viva,” I correct.
She rolls her eyes. “And beg MK to take you back.”
“What’s so wrong with Viva?” I haven’t told Jude that Viva and I ended things a week ago. Never crossed my mind to mention it. It surprises me she even cares enough to bring up her name.
The car begins to roll. I look down, realizing this is the first time I’ve been completely sober in six weeks. I knew I had to dry myself out for Jude’s visit, or she would worry about me. I’m also supposed to see the doctor before my show tonight. I’m not looking forward to a lecture about alcohol.
She leans back against the black leather seat and looks every bit the teenager she still is. Hair the color of straw falls around her face. “Where would you like for me to begin? Her age? Her lack of intelligence? The fact that she’s as tall as you? What do you see in her?”
She was a distraction. “She’s a very nice person, Jude. You shouldn’t be so judgmental.” My dad voice is spot-on.
“I’ll co
nsider it while you consider telling the driver to pull over so you can chase down MK, scoop her up in your arms, and carry her back to your hotel room Pretty Woman style.”
I chuckle, but it isn’t sincere. If only life was so easy. “You’ve watched too many of those shitty romantic movies.”
“You know she’s going to be a reality TV star. I don’t get why you ruined stuff with her, and because of that, I can’t be on her new show, and we can’t be friends?”
Finally, we creep through the light. My eyes sweep along the sidewalk, hoping to catch one more glimpse of her, but she’s gone.
Jude has kept me abreast of everything MK has posted on her site—even when I asked her to quit sharing. I am happy for MK if being a reality star is what she wants. I’m sure the world will fall in love with her just as much I did. She’ll be successful in whatever she does. Her personality draws people to her like lightning bugs on a warm summer night.
Doubling over in the car, I pretend to screw with my shoe while I try to get my breathing under control. I remind myself of the bad things MK has done. She kicked me out of her life when I needed her the most. Loyalty is a damn important trait, and MK doesn’t know the meaning of the word. How many more times can I say that? I sound like Grace.
When we get back to our hotel suite near the Staples Center, I kiss Jude’s cheek. “I have an interview. See you later.” So far, Jude’s made it nineteen years staying relatively out of the public eye. I’m sure it helps that her last name is Emerson and not Knite. She doesn’t give a damn what my profession is, and she seems a bit surprised when others do.
“Great. I think I’m going to find Sam and see if she wants to watch a movie or go shopping in the hotel gift store.”
“Sounds good. Have fun.” I watch my life bounce down the narrow hall.
Grace’s hand catches the edge of the door before it closes. Her brown business suit seems silly and out of place, it’s as if she’s trying too hard to be a businesswoman and the suit somehow gives her credibility. I quit trying to explain this long ago. Clothes don’t make the man. “Mandy Jean will be here in ten. Sasha has approved the list of questions.” Grace picks up a pair of Jude’s sandals, opens the other bedroom door, and tosses them in. She continues tidying up the living room which I don’t think looks out of order. “You’ve been featured in Rolling Stone before, but this is still great publicity for you. It puts the final nail in all the haters’ coffins who said that your career was over after the incident. I know you despise the word comeback, but that’s essentially what it is, and you’re killing it.” She picks a piece of lint off the back of one of the dining chairs and drops it on the floor. “The doctor will meet you in the dressing room at Staples. Sound check went well. I know you like to do it yourself, but I think it was important to spend some time with Jude. She’s really growing up.”