Likely Story!

by David Levithan

“Sometimes you have to betray the people who are close to you,” Richard told me. Then he added, as an afterthought, “For their own good.”

  I didn’t know what to do.

  I was finding it hard to breathe. When I left Richard’s office, I went to the little lounge room to take some deep breaths and calm down. Then I headed to the Good As Gold set.

  I needed to talk to Gina.

  Gina, however, wasn’t in the mood to talk. She was, in fact, quite upset—which was not something I’d seen very often. Usually it took somebody’s death to get her really upset.

  “Oh, honey,” she said sadly. “Everything’s wrong.”

  I asked her what she meant, and she told me that all of the Good As Gold rumors were true—everyone at the network was telling her that the ax was soon going to fall.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  I tried to imagine Gina outside of this dressing room, working somewhere else. It was really hard to do. She had made a home here. Everyone had made a home here. It made me realize how important work can be. A job, if it’s the right job, can also be a home.

  “We’ll do something,” I assured her. “Whatever we need to do. I promise you’ll be okay. I would never let anything bad happen to you.”

  It was so strange for me to be saying these things to her, after she’d spent what seemed like my whole life saying them to me.

  “Where’s my mother?” I asked her now. “Does she know?”

  “She’s home. And I think she does know. She hasn’t been herself for weeks—you must have noticed.”

  I felt embarrassed to admit to Gina how little I saw my mother. And how little I knew about her. So I pretended that I had noticed.

  “Don’t you worry,” Gina said, moving in for a hug. “Your mother always has a few tricks up her sleeve. I’m sure she’ll be okay. I just hope she takes me with her!”

  “She will,” I said. “She’s nothing without you.”

  Gina chuckled at that. I was glad I’d made her smile.

  But I couldn’t smile. There was too much going on. And suddenly I found myself asking Gina what I really needed to know.

  “Gina,” I said, “should the show always come first? I mean, if you had to choose between a friend and the show, what would you do?”

  “You should try to make sure you’re never in the position where you have to choose,” she said. Then, looking at my face, she said, “That’s not enough, is it?”

  So I told her a short version of everything.

  “Oh, sweetie,” she said. “I can’t tell you what to do there … but I’ll bet you already know.”

  Yes, I wanted to say. But the already knowing is killing me.

  When I got home, my mother was in her normal spot on the couch, watching herself on TV.

  “Where were you?” she asked, not able to look away from the screen.

  “At the studio,” I said. “I just saw Gina.”

  “That’s nice.”

  This could only be a cutting comment—my mother didn’t believe in nice.

  I tried for a moment to put myself in her shoes. A middle-aged actress on a low-rated soap opera facing unemployment for the first time in her adult life. I’d be scared. Or at least worried. This explained the sleepless nights. This explained the edge in her voice, and even her movements.

  “Mom,” I said, “are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay,” she answered stiffly. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  It was like I’d offended her.

  “No reason,” I quickly replied. “Just asking.”

  She glared at me for a second. The meaning was clear: What do you know?

  “Is Good As Gold okay?” I ventured.

  “Don’t worry about that,” my mother said, wiping the question away. “It’ll all be fine.”

  I sat down next to her on the couch. Even at home, she had makeup on. But it wasn’t as neat as it was for the outside world. I could see the bags under her eyes. The worry wrinkles. The line on her neck where the makeup stopped and the real skin began.

  She paused the program on the screen.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It’s okay if you’re worried,” I said.

  This made her laugh.

  “Oh, that’s rich. Thank you for telling me it’s okay.”

  “God!” I yelled, standing back up. “I don’t get you at all. Why can’t you just fall apart like a normal person? Why do you have to hold yourself together by attacking me?”

  She laughed again. “For someone who doesn’t get me at all, you certainly have some theories.”

  “Mom. Your show is about to be canceled. That’s what everyone’s saying. I hear you up at night. I see you’re only acting like everything’s okay. Why can’t you just admit it—you’re scared.”

  This time the laughter was vacuumed up. Instead I got the chilliest of icy glares.

  “I am. NOT. Scared,” she said. “You don’t have—and have never had—any appreciation for what it takes to be in this game. Which is why they’re going to eat you alive. You see, Mallory, there are two types of people in television: the eaters and the eaten. I have always been an eater. You might not like that. You might hate it. But you know what? It’s paid for your life so far, and it’s going to continue to pay for your life. If you had any idea the things I’ve done for you, you would never treat me this way.”

  “What have you done? Tell me! I want to know!”

  Mom shook her head. “No. You see, part of being a mother is not exposing you to such ugliness.”

  But I want to know you, I wanted to scream. Don’t you get that?

  She leaned back into the couch and picked up the remote.

  “Don’t worry,” she told me. “I have everything under control.”

  “You’re going to save Good As Gold?” I asked, thinking of Gina and everyone else on the set.

  “If I don’t save Good As Gold, I’m definitely going to save myself,” she replied. “You can write that in platinum!”

  “I get it,” I said. “You’re a fighter. I know that.”

  “Don’t belittle me, Mallory. It won’t get you anywhere.”

  “I wasn’t belittling you,” I mumbled.

  “What? Speak up if you’re going to say something to me.”

  I enunciated my next words very clearly: “NEV-ER MIND.”

  Mom shrugged—Have it your way—and unpaused her program. Geneva was back on-screen, wondering aloud if her experiments in voodoo had accidentally caused her lover’s impotence.

  “We never get anywhere, do we?” I asked.

  Did she not hear me … or did she not have an answer?

  I couldn’t tell.

  I started to walk up to my room.

  “Casting is important!” she called after me.

  I turned back around.

  “What?”

  “I just wanted to tell you: Casting is important. Remember that.”

  “How do you know we’re casting?”

  “Mallory, I know everything.”

  “So who should I cast?” I challenged.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you already know?”

  “I’m not really sure,” I admitted.

  “Well, if you don’t trust yourself, ask someone you trust.”

  I wondered if she’d seen the casting tape. But did I really trust her? My gut told me she’d only pick the ugliest, most boring girls to be on the rival soaps, to make sure the competition was low.

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said.

  “Anytime,” she replied. Then she turned back to the TV.

  My time was up.

  As much as I hated to admit it, when I got back to my room, I realized she was right about one thing:

  I had to talk to someone I trusted.

  I debated it for a few hours. Then I called information and found out there was only one Dallas Grant in all of New York City. And his number was listed.

  I thought about hanging up abou
t two million times during the five times the phone rang.

  “Hello?” he answered, his voice narcoleptic.

  “Oh god, I’m sorry,” I said. “I forgot about the time difference.”

  “Who is this?”

  He didn’t recognize my voice.

  “Mallory. Mallory Hayden.”

  “Oh, hey, Mallory!” I could hear him sitting up in bed. “What’s up?”

  “I’m really sorry. I can call back—”

  “No—it’s cool. I was just, um, resting.”

  You know it’s bad when the other person can’t even make up an excuse.

  “I just have a question. About Sarah. I mean, about the actress who should play Sarah.”

  “Um … have you guys decided?”

  “No. So I was asking …”

  “Well, it’s not up to me.”

  “I know. I’m not entirely sure it’s up to me, either. But you were there. You acted with all of them. Didn’t you, um, have a preference? Take Amelia, for example….”

  “What are you doing?” Dallas asked, confused.

  What answer could I possibly give him?

  The truth wasn’t an option….

  Or was it?

  “Okay,” I said. “Here’s the thing. Amelia’s my best friend. I promised her Sarah’s part. But I don’t think anyone else … wants that. So I need to talk to someone who I can … trust. Like you.”

  “How do you know you can trust me? I mean, I could do the same thing for Francesca that you’re doing for Amelia.”

  “But you’re not going to, are you?”

  “No. I’m not.”

  I almost wanted to ask if Francesca was in the room with him. Like, sharing the bed. But I didn’t think she was. That wasn’t the picture I had. The picture I had was so clear: Dallas all sleepy-haired in an old T-shirt and pajama pants, listening to me as his eyes got used to the dark.

  “So what should I do?” I asked.

  “Alexis was the best,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted, feeling like the worst friend in the world for saying it out loud. “She was pretty fantastic.”

  “Then that’s your answer.”

  “It isn’t that simple,” I protested.

  “Actually, Mallory, sometimes it is. I mean, if your boyfriend had auditioned for Ryan, I hope I still would’ve gotten the role.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said. Why was he saying I had a boyfriend?

  “Hypothetically, then. Your hypothetical boyfriend.”

  This, from the best possible hypothetical boyfriend I could think of at the moment.

  “I hate this,” I said.

  “Amelia will understand,” Dallas told me.

  “You think?”

  “Maybe not right away. But eventually. Believe me, you don’t want the pressure if you can’t handle it.”

  “And you don’t think Amelia could handle it?”

  “Not now, at least. But that’s just my opinion.”

  “I trust your opinion.”

  “Thanks. I mean, that actually means a lot.”

  Yes, I thought, it does mean a lot. Even if you don’t really realize what it means exactly.

  “I should let you go,” I said.

  “Well, call back anytime. Nobody ever calls the house phone anymore. It can be like the red phone in the White House. It’ll ring and I’ll know it’s you.”

  “Is the phone red?”

  “What?”

  “Your phone. Is it red?”

  “No,” he said sleepily, “but I promise I’ll paint it tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Dallas.”

  “Good night, Mallory. You’re good to care.”

  In that short second before we hung up, my heart was full of such a Wish you were here that I almost said it. Then I was glad that I didn’t. And sad.

  Finally, as I headed to bed, I realized:

  He would be here soon enough.

  Assuming the show went on.

  I knew I had to tell Amelia myself.

  But I also knew I couldn’t do it in school.

  By the time we got to her house after school, it was three.

  My meeting with the network brass was at four.

  Which gave me about a half hour, considering transportation time.

  I spent the whole day in school feeling awful. It was clear that Amelia had already told a lot of her friends that she’d gotten the part. She was so happy about it.

  In Holistic Spanish class, I felt like the walls were closing in on me.

  In Unnatural Sciences, I seriously considered the fact that I’d probably have to switch schools to avoid seeing Amelia ever again, because the guilt would just kill me even if Amelia didn’t do it with her own hands.

  I felt like there was a tattoo across my forehead: I AM THE WORST FRIEND IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.

  Amelia was close enough to see it. But she didn’t. She couldn’t read any of the signs.

  She was too happy to notice. She just thought I was stressed about the meeting. About the changes the network was going to make.

  She didn’t realize she was one of those changes.

  She didn’t realize we were no longer going to be in this together.

  I hadn’t called Richard. I knew I should, just to get his guarantee that Amelia could get another, smaller role on the show. But I didn’t want Richard (or anyone else besides Dallas) to know about my change of heart before Amelia did. I was already doing one unforgivable thing; I didn’t want to make it worse by adding a few more.

  There was always the chance that Amelia would be fine with it, that she’d admit she was overwhelmed by the idea of Sarah, that she was sure Alexis had to be the better actress if I was willing to choose her over Amelia. There was a chance she’d understand.

  But I didn’t really believe that.

  To make matters worse, I saw Keith in the hallway near the end of the day. He saw me and started to come over, as if he had something to say to me. I couldn’t take that—not now—so I ran away, just like I had at the mall. Only this time he was watching me run.

  The final straw came when Scooter found me and asked me how my mom was doing with all the Good As Gold gossip flying around.

  “She’s fine,” I snapped. “We’re all fine.”

  Then I thought: My God, I sound just like her.

  No matter how many times I apologized to Scooter, I couldn’t erase that.

  Finally, the school day was over. Amelia and I met up at her locker, and she spent the next fifteen minutes telling me about the fact that maybe, just maybe, this guy Doug on the swim team might want her to Marco his Polo. There was no natural way to switch the conversation to Hey, I’m not giving you the part!—so I just let it happen. Amelia’s cluelessness made me even sadder.

  We got to her house and received a grunted hello from Jake, who was playing some video game that seemed to require mass dismemberment. Charming.

  “Let’s go to the pool,” Amelia suggested.

  So I followed her back to the pool. It wasn’t really swimming weather, but Amelia’s family always kept the pool area prepped just in case it got too hot.

  Amelia was about to start off on another topic when the decisive moment arrived in a text from Richard:

  REMINDER: MTG IN 45 MIN. BE ON

  TIME OR YOU WON’T BE A PART OF

  THE DECISION MAKING.

  “The decision making?” Amelia asked, reading over my shoulder. “So it’ll be final today?”

  “Yes,” I said, putting my phone back in my bag and putting my bag down on one of the pool chairs.

  “That’s so exciting!” Amelia bubbled.

  How can I do this to her? I thought.

  Then I remembered:

  You have to.

  “Amelia …”

  “I know I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I couldn’t help it, and, I swear, the minute it’s official I’m going to throw the biggest party—”

  “Ameli
a.”

  “God, do you even know when we’re going to start? I mean, they want it to be soon, right? Will I have any say in what Sarah wears? I mean, I know there’s a costume person. But I have some ideas—”

  “Amelia!”

  “What?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “I know, I know—I shouldn’t have told everyone. But—”

  “No. It’s not that.”

  Finally, Amelia’s mind seemed to switch gears from thinking about the future to thinking about the present.

  “What is it, then?” She looked at me, and what I’m sure wasn’t the most carefree of expressions crossed my face. “Are you okay?”

  I should’ve rehearsed this part in my head. I should’ve searched for exactly the right words. I could have at least tried to find the easier way of doing this.

  But no. Instead I just blurted, “You’re not going to be Sarah.”

  She heard me. There’s no way she couldn’t have. But still she acted like I’d only mimed the words.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You didn’t get the part. Alexis did.”

  “WHAT?!? They can’t do that! Not to us. Not to you. This is your show.”

  “I know. But everyone agreed—”

  “Threaten to quit! Threaten to take the show back!”

  “I can’t,” I said. “I can’t.”

  “Tell me it isn’t true!” Amelia sobbed. “Please, tell me it isn’t true.”

  I had no idea what to say. Instead I had the most awful thought: that even now, when Amelia was genuinely falling apart, it seemed like bad acting.

  “You said everyone agreed,” she sobbed. “You didn’t agree, did you?”

  I was going to lie. I was just trying to find the right way of phrasing the lie.

  But I took too long.

  “Oh no,” Amelia said after I didn’t respond immediately. “You couldn’t. You didn’t.”

  “I didn’t!” I insisted. “I fought for you. But Richard and Annie and everyone else said Alexis was the best.”

  “And was she?”

  “Yes. But I was going to make them cast you anyway.”

  Somehow when this was a thought, it seemed like the words of a good friend. It didn’t sound that way out in the air, though.

  “Oh, thanks, “Amelia said, practically spitting the words out. “Clearly, you really fought it.”