An Absolutely Remarkable Thing

by Hank Green

  I knew all this, but I let him finish because I thought it was nice that he didn’t just bark at me for standing in a hallway like a dolt. I figured they made everyone learn a bit about the art so that the whole thing could seem more impressive. Did I mention it was working?

  “Thanks,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to say. We turned from the photo and started walking.

  “The agency has a large collection, some works given to us by clients, others collected by leaders of the company and loaned to us to display. The Sherman, I believe, was provided by Mrs. Putnam.”

  As we walked, we passed a number of other extraordinary pieces of art. The walls were gallery white, and every twenty feet or so there was a photograph or painting or mixed-media piece. I estimate that we walked by at least two million dollars’ worth of art on the way to Jennifer Putnam’s office.

  All around us while we walked, the business of contemporary show business was happening. This, apparently, meant mostly phone calls. There was also a fair amount of bustling about keyboards and remarkably little chitchat. We walked by a young woman whom I did not recognize but who was very clearly rich and famous. It’s funny how you can just tell, even if you’ve never seen them before. High fashion is astoundingly different from regular clothes, but I mostly knew because the three people walking behind her had a very clear air of “Don’t you dare even think about asking for a selfie.”

  And that was the state I was in when I walked into the office of one of the most high-powered agents in the world.

  “Robin! You found her! Welcome, April.” Her voice was not loud exactly, just . . . strong. Surprisingly forceful. She was physically nondescript. Short gray hair, average height, in good shape. Her voice was her most particular characteristic. This was a woman who could cast spells on people.

  Her office wasn’t huge, but it had a nice view. The shelves were full of books, video games, DVDs, even board games. It read more like a gallery of achievements than a place to store things she liked. Every one of those things was a deal she’d made, and the shelves were full. There was enough room for the four of us to sit comfortably, but a fifth would have been stretching it.

  Robin was standing by the door. “She was admiring the Sherman.”

  “I see you’ve got good taste! I bought that at auction just a few months ago. Managed to get it a nice place on the walls here, despite the fact that most people couldn’t care less about Sherman anymore.” I found this to be an odd thing to say considering that she probably paid over $50,000 for that photo, but I didn’t say anything. “Anyhow, it’s been quite a week for you! I’ve been following every moment of it. Fascinating, and you’re handling it so well! Last night was fantastic—you’re viral all over again!”

  I was confused for a moment, but then remembered the late-night show we had been on. It felt like remembering high school English class.

  “Thanks, um . . .” It occurred to me that I had no idea what the game plan was, and I was way too tired to pretend, so I just said it: “So what are we doing here?”

  “Well, Marshall”—she indicated Andy’s dad—“has been telling me about the two of you and we all just thought it made sense to get you in here and talk about where you want to go from here. There are going to be a number of opportunities, and we want to make sure we go through those doors while they’re open.”

  She talked faster than anyone I’ve ever heard in real life. Staccato, almost like a slam poem. It was pleasantly peculiar. It was not lost on me that she’d already switched from “you” to “we.”

  “Well . . .” I looked at Andy, who gave me a little shrug. I interpreted that as “Play it how you want to play it, girl.”

  So I played it wide-open.

  “Last night some information came to light that might change all of this. According to a report that I received from a credible source, it may not be long before people in positions of power publicly confirm that the Carls are not from Earth.”

  The words hung in the air for a while. Jennifer Putnam looked at Andy’s dad, who looked worriedly at Andy, who looked at me. I also would have looked at me if I had been capable of it, but I couldn’t because I was me. My impulse was to look down at my hands, but I knew that that was wrong, so I just looked at Putnam, who was, by this time, looking back at me.

  “Robin, I’m going to need you to cancel all my calls for the next two hours.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Putnam.” If this was unusual, they made no sign that it was. The door closed quietly behind Robin.

  “And what information is this?”

  “A materials scientist from UC Berkeley that I’ve been in correspondence with says that the properties of the Carls are impossible. Not weird or expensive or new, but according to everything we know, simply not possible.”

  “And you trust her?”

  “She seems trust- . . . able?” I said, feeling a little bit like maybe I was a complete idiot. But if Putnam was skeptical, she didn’t show it. “But also, I have not told you the whole story. I need you to assure me, 100 percent, that you will not tell anyone what I am about to tell you.”

  “I can have Robin work up a quick NDA if you would like, but if my word is enough, you have it,” Putnam said.

  So I told her about the Freddie Mercury Sequence, and what Miranda had figured out, and that we were planning to make a video about it. I did not tell her that we thought the sequence was a request for physical material and that we were planning on providing it. Frankly, I knew deep in my heart that that was a selfish and foolish thing to do, and I didn’t want them to talk me out of it.

  I’m not much older now than I was then, but in a lot of ways, obviously, I’m a different person. So it is easy for me to recognize that I made some good decisions and some bad ones. But it’s telling that, with this, I knew it was a bad idea even then but I still couldn’t control myself. Knowing something is a bad idea does not always decrease the odds that you will do it. If I had examined my motivations on this one, I probably wouldn’t have liked what I found, so I didn’t.

  After I’d finished telling her about the sequence and that we’d figured it out, Jennifer Putnam said, “Well, then the situation has changed, but the question has not. April, Andy, what do you want out of this? You can, if you’re right, have anything.”

  You hear about Hollywood agents promising young stars everything—the sun, the moon, the stars, whatever you want, if you only sign right here! But the way it came out of Jennifer Putnam’s mouth, I believed it. The power of the whole thing flooded into me. The Sherman photograph, the confidence on national TV, the knowing of things no one else knew. It was candy, Christmas morning, and a first kiss all rolled into one.

  So I gave her the elevator pitch.

  “We have already created a strategy. We want the idea of April May to be a counterbalance to the idea of the Carls. Where they’re powerful, I will be weak. Where they’re terrifying, I’ll be cute. Where they’re otherworldly, I’ll be human. We would like to build the idea of April May to help people deal with the reality of Carl. And, once I have that platform, use it to bring people together and promote simple change and a better world.”

  I didn’t really know what simple change I wanted to promote, exactly—that seemed like the kind of thing I’d figure out once I had the power.

  In any case, Putnam loved every second of that, but Mr. Skampt did not. I sometimes imagine what it would have been like if he hadn’t been in the room. The thing about getting famous is that, often, the only people who are in a position to be honest with you about the realities of celebrity are the people who will make gobs of money if you go all in. They have no incentive to tell you the dirty truth, which Mr. Skampt attempted to tell me then.

  “April, this is a huge decision. Becoming involved with something like this . . . it’s going to completely take over. People will hate you for no reason, or for bad reasons, or even
for good reasons. People are torn apart by fame, and this is far beyond what most of them deal with. You’re talking about yourself like you’re a tool, but you’re a person too. And an evolving one. This will affect your life forever.”

  Putnam addressed me, not Andy’s dad. “These are concerns that I absolutely share. You will never know what this is going to be like until you do it, and fame is not something that should be sought for its own sake. That being said, I think there are safe ways to approach this, and it is very good that you are here. We need to talk about a lot of things, and you should know that you can back out at any time.”

  “That’s not exactly true, Jennifer,” said Mr. Skampt. “Once they’re in this, there’s only so much that they’ll be able to withdraw.”

  The sea of dopamine and adrenaline enveloping my brain was converting my exhaustion to giddiness. “How can we say no? We’re in.” I turned to Andy, who hadn’t spoken since we walked into the office.

  He looked down at his feet for a second before he said, “What she said, no one gets this opportunity, we need to take it.”

  “OK, we need to do quite a lot of work very fast. How are you two feeling?” Putnam asked.

  “Terrible!” I said.

  “Like I got fucked by a demon!” Andy added. His dad looked displeased.

  Jennifer Putnam did not. “Well, I guess that’s what we’re working with!” she said.

  * * *

  —

  Over the next couple of hours Robin and Mrs. Putnam built contracts, made phone calls, and quizzed Andy and me. Mr. Skampt made it clear that, in this situation, he was representing the clients, not the company, and argued with Putnam on a number of points that I was far too exhausted to understand. We had absolutely lucked out to have Mr. Skampt fighting like a dog for us. He probably saved our butts (and our dollars) in fifty different ways in the course of fifteen minutes.

  The weirdest bit was when they separated Andy and me for one-on-one discussions. They wanted to make sure that one of us wasn’t influencing the other, and they asked us about that, and about the deal we’d brokered and about our relationship. I mean, I presume they asked Andy about all the same stuff; if they asked him something different, he never told me. I was as open as I could be. Andy and I were on good standing and it looked as if there was more than enough money to go around and what did I need more than $20,000 a month for anyway?

  Then there was the bit I really wasn’t expecting.

  “Is there anything we should know about you?” Putnam asked.

  “Um, I’m a Libra?”

  Mr. Skampt chimed in. “April, it’s important that if there’s anything that might come to light under scrutiny, we know about it now.”

  “Oh.” I hadn’t thought about this. “Yeah, um, nothing I can think of?”

  “OK, well, we have some prompts.” And then he rifled off dozens of terrible things I might have done . . . just in case they’d slipped my mind. Had I ever hit a dog with my car? A person? Had I had a relationship with someone who was much younger than me? Much older than me? Had I ever hired a prostitute? Been a prostitute? Sold drugs? Done drugs? Seen drugs? Killed with my bare hands? Collected the teeth of my vanquished enemies? Carved the bones of children into weapons with which I killed yet more children?

  And, if it’s not too much to ask, could you please write down the name of every single person you’ve ever been to first base with?

  I answered these questions and did these things, and it was extremely uncomfortable, but I had the feeling that it was a test as well as a practical exercise.

  “April, I can’t help but notice that there are a lot of names of both genders on this list,” Putnam said in a way that both was and was not a question.

  “Well, a LOT? I wouldn’t say a lot,” I said, completely comfortable and not at all embarrassed by this line of questioning. (That’s sarcasm, by the way.)

  “Jennifer,” Andy’s dad said, “I don’t know that that’s any of our business.”

  She replied like he was a child. “Marshall, you know as well as I do that it could soon be everyone’s business.” Mr. Skampt looked cowed.

  “April,” Putnam continued, “are you dating anyone at the moment?”

  “Yeah, Maya. We were roommates first. It’s a little weird, but we have a great relationship.” As I said this, I felt a huge wave of guilt wash over me as I realized I still hadn’t texted her since she sent that What’s up hun text.

  “So,” she continued, “would it be OK if you were just gay? Like, you’ve had relationships with guys in the past but were gay the whole time?”

  “But I happen to not be . . . just gay. I’m gay and straight? It’s great, I don’t even know what it would be like to not be attracted to a person because of their gender. To me, you’re the weird one.”

  It’s hard not to be immediately defensive when people challenge you on your sexuality no matter what it is. Some people just can’t seem to believe that I feel the way I do, and so suddenly they’re off explaining me to themselves with me sitting right there. Is it that I’m greedy, or sex-crazed, or can’t make up my mind, or I’m a lesbian but I can’t admit it, or that I’m just doing it to get guys’ attention because they think it’s hot? And if not that, then . . . “Oh, by the way, my girlfriend’s bi too, maybe we can [MEANINGFUL PAUSE] hang out some time.”

  “April, I absolutely understand. But not everybody will. I’m just saying that it would be simpler if you were either straight or gay. I have no issue with bisexuality, and I want very much for the rest of the world to feel that way too, but it would distract from your message. Some people will latch onto this as a way to make you less human. We’re looking at this through not just a New York City lens but all of America. Really, all of the world. Your sexual orientation will be a weakness through which you can be attacked.”

  I looked down at the floor and stayed silent for a full ten seconds. I mean, yeah, it made some sense. We’re dealing with fucking space aliens—who gives a shit if I’m gay or bi?

  I looked up at Mr. Skampt, who just shrugged.

  “I mean, it’s not like I’m currently thinking about hooking up with any dudes,” I said, sort of lying, since I had just been thinking about hooking up with Robin. But Mr. Skampt’s silence sounded like agreement to me, so I caved. “Sure, uh. Yeah, I can just be gay.”

  That was the first time I got a glimpse of the ways in which Jennifer Putnam sucked as a human being and I didn’t even notice it in the moment. I know I’m blaming her when I could just as easily blame myself, but I was confused and out of my depth and she seemed so competent. For her, it was easier to sell a quirky lesbian than a quirky bi girl, so I became a quirky lesbian for her.

  Though I’m not sure I’m one to talk, what with the whole staying up until 10 A.M. very intentionally converting myself into a brand. Our goals, most of the time, would align.

  After everyone was satisfied that I had never eaten even a single baby, I was released for a coffee break, which I had with Andy at a café across the street. We debriefed and talked war stories. I kept the bi thing from him, and I’m sure he kept some stuff from me. Whatever, neither of us had ever done anything terrible, that was the important thing.

  I’d been texting Miranda on and off throughout the day. She had left Berkeley and was on her way to Los Angeles now. We were going to meet her at the CVS (not a Walmart, alas) that was closest to the Carl in Los Angeles (Hollywood Carl). Of course, LA traffic was conspiring against her, but this meeting with Putnam was taking way more time than we’d expected anyway, so it was working out pretty perfectly.

  I still hadn’t texted Maya. I couldn’t figure out how. There was so much to say and so much to do and, honestly, I was afraid of how she’d respond to the day’s events. In my mind, I could only hear her on the spectrum from disappointed to livid. I didn’t feel like there would be excitement or support o
n the other side of that conversation, so I just kept not having it.

  “Hey, April.” Andy had been looking at his phone. “More Carl weirdness. Nobody’s saying he’s a space alien, but they tried to move the one in Oakland to a slightly more convenient spot because he was causing traffic problems and they couldn’t. He broke their crane. The story reads like it was inept city management or crane operators or something. I’m guessing it’s more than that.”

  I stared into my coffee as the magnitude of it all crashed down on me once again. This just kept happening. I’d be living my normal life, being me inside of me the way I’d always been, and then I’d remember. It was a little like how I felt a couple of years before when our cat Spotlight died. You keep forgetting that life is never going to be the same again. But you can only go so long without thinking, “Where’s Spotlight? I haven’t seen him all . . . oh . . . fuck.”

  “Oh god, Andy, this is really happening, isn’t it?”

  “Jennifer Putnam sure seems to think so,” he said as I dosed myself with another sip of coffee.

  Now, with a better understanding of her business (and of her), I realize that Jennifer Putnam didn’t need to be sure Carl was a space alien to go full war room; she only needed there to be a chance. She needed to look like she was all in even if she believed there was only a 5 percent chance we were right, because even a 5 percent chance of making tens of millions of dollars was more than worth her while. In the end, if Carl wasn’t an alien, we would still be her client, and she could point to her faith and belief in us. It was a win-win for her.

  When we walked back into her office after our coffee break, she said, quickly and carefully, “April, I’m giving you Robin. You need a full-time assistant right now and it’s much easier for me to get a replacement than for you to find someone trustworthy. He’s fantastic, a little soft-spoken but ridiculously effective. We’ll continue paying him, but he’ll work for you. He’ll be in your email, if that’s all right, and possibly doing some social media. We’re going to make it clear to him that he works for you, not me.”