Authors: Allison Rushby
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Jake makes it all sound so sensible that everyone winds up nodding along with his words and wondering how doing anything else could even have been considered. For a moment or two, when he’s outlining how the portraits of Ned will be involved, I get excited and even forget to be ner vous. It just all sounds so workable. Finally, he starts to sum up . . .
“What Ned’s asking you to do is to work with him.” He turns directly to the two reps now. “After all, he’s doing really well. There’s no reason to think that he won’t be able to make public appearances now that he’s getting help.” The reps remain silent and my eyes fl ick from one person to another as I start to wonder if they can hear my stomach. I haven’t eaten anything much today because I’ve been so worried, and this, combined with the stress of fi nally being here, is making my stomach do a washing machine impersonation. I’m so glad it’s Jake doing all the talking, because it’s pretty much all I can do to sit here, listen, and wait for my turn to help out, which will come later.
“Look, I understand that you’re hesitant to sign him up right now. I would be, too. But think of it this way— you were set to sign him up with all of his problems lurking under the surface. Now that they’ve come to the fore and he’s getting treatment, he’s in a more secure place and better able to abide by the terms of a contract than he was before.” More silence.
“And let’s not forget that it would be amazing publicity.
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Your company will receive a lot more media attention if you move forward with this than if you opt for another star with a cleaner slate.”
This gets the reps’ attention all right. They both turn and look at Mitchell now, who shrugs slightly. Come on, Mitchell, I think to myself. Hit it home for them.
“What can I say?” Mitchell replies, looking at the two reps.
“It’s true. It’s a much better angle than you were originally looking at. You’ve signed up plenty of stars before, but not one who’s actively in a bit of trouble or who needs help. Usually the news we’re reporting is that a star’s been dropped from his or her contract when something about their past comes to light. But signing up a star with issues? This is big news, there’s no denying it.”
Phew. I try not to breathe my sigh of relief out loud. Nice one, Mitch.
The reps look at each other again. “We might need a few minutes to talk it over,” one of them says.
“Of course,” Jake nods. “Take your time.” With this, both the reps get up from the table and make their way across the grass and over to the shade of another one of the large trees. Their backs to us, all Jake and I can do is hold our breath and look for meaning in their hand gestures and occasional glances back toward us.
When we’re sure they’re not listening, Jake turns to me.
“How do you think it went?”
“You were brilliant!” I gush, my words tumbling out. It’s 246
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only then that I remember that Mitchell is still with us and I sit up a bit, trying to contain myself and all my different emotions.
“This is quite the plan you two have concocted here,” Mitchell says, his gaze settling on Jake. “At what point are you going to tell your dad about it?”
Jake groans. “When it’s completely, utterly, and totally about to work, he realizes it’s the only option left, and we just need his signature on everything.”
Mitchell laughs at this. “I’d say that would be just about the right time.”
Jake shakes his head. “You know, sometimes I wonder if there’s anyone in LA who doesn’t know and love my dad.
He’s such an easy guy to work with.”
Mitchell and I say nothing.
“You don’t all have to agree with me at once,” Jake says with a laugh.
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” I tell Jake. “I’m sure Mitchell’s had more than a few encounters with my own dad in his time. Probably demanding more money.”
“Um . . . ,” Mitchell replies.
“Don’t worry.” I wave a hand. “Jake and I have already formed a Bad Dads club. Most people would be thrilled their kid wants to go to school and is desperate to study. Mine?
He wants me to be a paparazzo when I grow up!” Mitchell chuckles at this. “Well, I might just join that club.
My dad packed me off to military school at fi fteen.” 247
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“Military school?” Jake and I both say. I have to admit it feels good to have a distraction going on. I peel my eyes away from the reps and focus in on Mitchell.
He laughs at us. “I know it’s hard to believe, but once upon a time, I was a bit of a wild child. At least it was good training to be a newspaper editor. I can hurl a stapler across the room with great accuracy and take down an errant journalist with just two fi ngers if I have to, thanks to military school.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, as I notice movement in the distance. The reps look like they’re fi nishing up. Jake and I shoot each other a look, which Mitchell notices.
“You’ve both got a lot riding on this, don’t you?” he says matter- of- factly.
We nod.
“You know it’s something I’m interested in because I have to be,” Mitchell continues. “But, for what it’s worth, I think you’re both doing a good thing here. For Ned, I mean. It’s not every day I get to be a part of something like this.”
“Thanks, Mitchell,” Jake ends up replying for both of us. “It’s nice of you to say that.” He stands up as the reps approach our bench once more.
There’s a pause, in which I have to remind myself to breathe. What will it be? Yes or no?
“Jake,” one of the reps says, “I think we can make this happen.”
Seriously, I almost jump up on the bench and yell
“Yee- ha!”
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“But . . .”
Uh- oh. I freeze. I should have known there’d be a “but.”
“There’ll have to be a few provisos in the contract, of course.”
Jake nods, signaling them to go on.
“Ned will need to make those appearances. We’ll cut the scheduled ones back a bit, but he has to make at least half of the ones we’ve already discussed. That’s nonnegotiable.”
“That sounds more than reasonable,” Jake says.
The reps glance at each other. “There’s something else, as well.”
“Yes?”
“We were wondering if you’d consider coming along. As a kind of stand- in for Ned. You’d need to drop a few pounds of course, but we have to say— the resemblance is remark-able.”
Jake glances at me, and in my messy state of angst and joy I stifl e a laugh and mouth the words “bacon bits” at him.
His mouth twists as he also tries not to laugh. When his attention turns back to the reps, he holds up one hand at their suggestion. “Sorry, but that’s not possible. And even if it were possible, it wouldn’t be necessary. Ned can do this. I know he can, and I know him better than anyone.” Just as Jake is saying this, we all turn to see Ned himself walking down the grassy slope toward us. We all stand up from the bench. And, as my eyes take Ned in, I can’t believe I mistook Jake for him. They’re so different. Sure, they 249
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might look similar, but really there are more differences than similarities now that I’m looking more closely. Ned walks differently. His expressions are different. His mannerisms are different. And while Jake isn’t really that much heavier than his brother, there’s this leaner, rangy quality to Ned. How could I not have realized this before that moment in the pool?
It was my job to notice and I’d brushed away those thoughts that he seemed different. I should have listened to my gut. It had been trying to tell me something all along.
“Hey, bro.” Ned walks over to Jake fi rst and gives him a quick hug. “Thanks for or ga niz ing this. I really owe you.”
“No, you don’t.” Jake shakes his head. He introduces Ned to Mitchell, but the two reps Ned has already met before.
“And this is Jo. I told you all about her, remember?” I give Jake a “did you now?” look and he grins.
“She’ll be taking some shots today,” Jake continues.
One of the cola reps looks a bit confused at this. “Wait.
The shots you’re talking about. The ones that we’ll want to run internationally with the story about what’s really been going on with Ned for years. They’re going to be taken now?
By you?” He turns to me at the last second and shakes his head. “I mean, no offense, sweetheart . . .” He shrugs as he trails off.
Both Jake and Mitchell laugh.
“For a start, Jo is nobody’s sweetheart,” Mitchell begins.
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“I’ve worked with her a lot over the past eigh teen months, and she is good. No doubt about it.”
“If Jo
can’t take these shots, no one can,” Jake says, backing me up.
The rep still doesn’t look convinced. “And we’d be seeing the pictures fi rst?”
“Of course,” I say, trying to sound supremely confi dent.
“And you’ll love them.”
As we talk, Ned tilts his head to one side as he looks at me. “Hang on . . . now that I see you . . . I’ve heard about you before. You’re Zo Jo, right? The paparazzo who runs around getting into places the others can’t go?” My eyes move to Jake’s before I answer Ned’s question.
“Well, I used to be. Not anymore. Now it’s just Jo, I guess.” Ned shrugs. “Well, nice to meet you, Just Jo.” I smile as I grab my camera from my backpack.
Just Jo.
My smile gets wider again.
I like it. I like it a lot. Just Jo. I could really get used to a name like that.
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21
After all the wheeling and dealing has been done, it’s my turn to take over for the day. I lead both Jake and Ned across the grass until we’re in a sheltered area, beneath a tree and surrounded from anyone’s view by some high shrubs. Then I stop and give Ned a good once- over. I stand back and really take him in from head to toe.
“Careful,” he ends up telling me, with a grin that matches Jake’s. “I don’t want to make my brother jealous.”
“That
wouldn’t be so terrible,” I mumble, hoping my cheeks aren’t turning too red and reminding myself to try to keep things professional. “I need you to get changed,” I say to Ned. “Keep the jeans, but lose the shirt. Just the white T-shirt 252
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you’ve got on underneath would be great. And ditch the watch, too. Oh, and the shoes and socks.” I want this shoot to be pure Ned— no trappings.
In front of Jake and me, Ned starts stripping down. “Always a good look to be losing your clothes on the front lawn of a psychiatric hospital,” he says, laughing. Jake and I look at each other for a second and then laugh as well. We’ve both got to admit it’s kind of funny.
As Ned continues getting himself ready, I’m reminded again of something I’d been thinking about last night— that fi rst day at the retreat when I’d opened up the door to room 20 and that light had showered down over Jake. It was an amazing look, and I’m hoping to get some equally dramatic shots today, if I can. It’s going to be diffi cult, though, because the hospital has only allowed us a couple of locations to take photos in— out here on the lawn and in Ned’s room— and a set amount of time as well.
“All done,” Ned tells me as he hands his watch to Jake, as well as his clothes.
“Since when do I pick up after you?” Jake scoffs.
“Since today,” his brother tells him with a grin.
I take a look around me as they bicker. The day is very blue, with only a few patches of clouds. It’s not really the look I’m going for. “How about we head inside to your room, fi rst?” I suggest.
★ ★ ★
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“Okay, if you can just put your right arm a bit farther up . . .
yep, that’s it.” I take a few more shots, then check them to see how things are going. “That’s good.” I nod. “I like it.” We’ve already spent the past forty minutes or so in Ned’s room taking various shots of him— a few sitting very simply, cross- legged, on the plain blond wood desk, a couple staring pensively out the window, and now this sort of con-strained shot in which I have him precariously standing on his bed, one arm on the wall and the other on the ceiling. It’s a bit Alice in Wonderland— like he’s suddenly grown too big for the room and is trying to get out. I like it, though. It’s different. And from what Jake told me on the plane, it was a lot like Ned’s life has been for the past few years.
I take another series of shots and then check the time.
“Um, we’d better get moving. We’ve only got another half hour or so.” Ned has an appointment with his psychiatrist this afternoon that I need to make sure he doesn’t miss. I glance around the room quickly, looking for a fi nal opportunity.
“Maybe one last thing,” I say to both Ned and Jake. “You can come down now, Ned.” I wave him from the bed and grab the simple wooden chair from beneath the desk. I get the two guys to help me pull the bed out and then do some quick furniture rearranging so we end up with an expanse of plain white wall. Then I put the chair in the middle of the space. “Take a seat,” I tell Ned. “Just get comfortable.” At fi rst, Ned starts out sitting with one leg crossed on top of the other. Then, after a while, he switches to both feet on 254