can pull shit over them, I’m usually the one enforcing his punishments from across the country.
“They noticed, and you’re still grounded from last time,” I say. “That means no surfing. Not even before school. Definitely not during school.”
Jesse considers this for a second before setting his phone in a car holder. “You’d think differently if you were here, Kuya. The swells are—”
“Sick,” I smile. “You already told me.”
His eyes soften, almost sadly. I know he misses me.
I miss him every day.
I sigh heavily. “I have a new project—”
He perks up. “Can I help? Please. I beg of you, Jesus Christ on a cracker, Kuya, I’d do anything.” He makes a praying motion with his hands.
My brother wants to attend college for photography. To the University of Pennsylvania. My alma mater. But he doesn’t have the grades for Penn, so he’s been trying to build his resume. I’ve let him help me here and there on smaller projects I was hired to produce. Like music videos and commercials.
Never have I let him twenty feet near a We Are Calloway production. I trust him, but maybe not with that much responsibility. He’s still just seventeen.
“I’m going to have to think about it,” I tell him. “It involves a Cobalt.” I don’t give him more information than that.
“I won’t make a peep. I’ll just do grip work. Please. It’s the summer before my senior year. I might not get this chance again.”
I haven’t filled the grip position yet. Fuck, I haven’t picked out any of my crew for the pilot, which is the test episode and will usually become the first episode of a series if it goes to network. It’s still so early.
It feels like two seconds ago I was just in my apartment with Charlie having the first meeting. I haven’t even slept since then, and he still needs to sign the contract.
And I still need to talk to security about the show. His bodyguard.
Oscar.
Strange heat blankets my skin. Nerves? Anticipation? I hate not knowing the name to this feeling.
I push it away and concentrate on the details. How I have an experienced, trustworthy group of people that work with me on my production team for We Are Calloway. How the plan was to grab some of them to work on this pilot.
“You have summer school,” I remind Jesse.
“I can do the class remotely…probably.”
“Let me think about it,” I say again. “It’s a big deal. It’s not a small project.”
He nods and pulls his SUV out of the parking lot, heading home. “How mad are they?”
“You’re definitely gonna get the look.”
“The one that’s followed with, halika nga rito.” He says come here in Tagalog, his voice light-hearted.
“That’s the one.”
I feel his smile. “I know that look well.”
While we’re both driving, we stare at the phone screen less, and it’s not long before we say our goodbyes.
Jesse always ends the call with, “Talk later, Kuya.”
I hit green light after green light, and it feels like I’m flying towards Hell’s Kitchen, towards Oscar. I shift in my seat, glance out my rearview mirror. Tendons pull taut in my shoulders, making me sit more tensely than normal.
I feel most comfortable being approachable, being a positive energy when the world clouds and darkens. But for the first time, I’m…
I’m confused.
So confused that positivity feels like a fucking farce, and my mind can’t stop spinning between my personal feelings and my professional life.
And I knew this project with Charlie would be chaotic on multiple fronts. But adding Jesse to the mix brings it to a new level.
Chaos Factor #1: Filming Charlie Cobalt. It’s like trying to catch a firefly on a normal production day, and this show will be anything but routine.
Chaos Factor #2: Being around Oscar Oliveira. At all. For any period of time.
My pulse pounds hard in my neck.
I don’t have time to sort out my feelings.
I’m here.
5
JACK HIGHLAND
New York.
Residence to 4 of 5 Cobalt brothers, and in effect, their personal bodyguards. I practically know everything about the Hales, Meadows, and Cobalts. Comes with my job title. I’m a treasure trove of their secrets that I’ll always keep locked away, and yet, I can’t name a single secret of Oscar’s that I have.
Nothing man-to-man, person-to-person he’s told me that he’s never told anyone else. Human connections are usually so easy for me, but after our awkward fallout in Anacapri, I wonder if that’s even true.
21st floor of a luxury apartment complex, the deep walls are painted red, and industrial lights hang along the wide