Carnival-goers pass in front of the camera. Obscuring Ernest and his friend. Sound quality is really poor but still audible.
“I didn’t want to push any closer,” Jesse defends the footage. “I have before, and he’ll stop talking and make me shut off my camera.”
I rest a hand on his head. “This is good, Jess. It’s impressive you can hear anything at all with the music.”
His lips begin to rise.
We look back at the TV.
No concussion, the hospital ruled—so I’m clear-headed as we watch Ernest loiter around the Tunnel of Love and run his mouth.
“…he should’ve just left Ripley in the petting zoo. Yeah…yeah someone attach a sign to him that says ‘pet me, I’m a meth-head baby’.” He laughs again.
No one speaks.
Our silence deadens the room.
My muscles tense, sick to my stomach. I shake my head and meet Oscar’s heated eyes. I tell him, “I’ve heard some weird, malicious things said ‘in jest’ behind their backs before, but nothing on that level, nothing from the inner-circle.”
“It’s disturbing,” Oscar says, “and I’m sadly not disturbed by much anymore.” We’ve seen it all.
The footage cuts to black a few seconds after that, and Oscar looks more concerned at me than anyone else.
I’m almost numb. Being hit with too many emotions at once. Fury at the douchebag CEO. Hurt for my friends, the famous families. Frustration at a project that I stuffed way too many hopes inside.
And more, so much more that I’m only starting to process.
We’re standing entrenched in Charlie’s main motive for the show. He was using the docuseries to capture evidence of Ernest’s behavior. Charlie is outnumbered on the H.M.C. Philanthropies board, so this was the way he decided to unseat the CEO.
I wish his motive for the show were something else.
Something like he wanted to be the center of attention for once. A star among the gods. Egocentric. Anything that’d make Born into Fame feel long-term and not a blip that’ll end once Charlie claims his prize.
Jesse looks between Oscar, Charlie, and me. He’s tearing off a piece of funnel cake. My brother brought back tubs of carnival food while Charlie and I were at the hospital getting checked out, and he scored long-lasting points with Oscar when he tossed him a bag of kettle corn.
The scent of cotton candy and fried dough surrounds us as I power off the TV. “So you think he’ll be fired for this?” Jesse asks.
“Unequivocally,” Charlie says, eyes still on the black screen. I’m glad he’ll be sacked. Maximoff never should’ve been kicked off to begin with, but I’m processing.
And processing.
“I have a question,” I say what I always say, but this one contains so much more of my personal emotion. So much hurt. Yeah, I’m fucking hurt. I catch Charlie’s yellow-green eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
My dream is crumbling beneath me and everything is turning to dust.
Oscar has asked me before, why this one?
What’s so special about this project? Why did I put my heart into it, knowing it was a risk? Like Charlie’s answer for everything, mine wasn’t that simple.
I put my heart in everything I do.
An opportunity to create my own show is one-in-a-million.
I love making art that speaks to the human condition.
To produce a documentary series about the most misunderstood Cobalt and make him understood…that feels more than rewarding.
Even thinking about how much I’ve invested emotionally into this project churns my stomach. Charlie’s gaze washes over me. “Why didn’t I tell you?” he repeats the question.
“Yeah,” I say, hot anger fueling me for a second. “I understand you were upfront about the reason being a selfish one, and I appreciate that, but why not just tell me you needed footage of that asshole’s behavior? We could have all made a plan together to take him down.”
Oscar chimes in, “You know I would have helped you, bro.”
Charlie blinks, his eyes on me. “I wasn’t sure you’d do the show, if you knew I was using the footage to get a man fired. I couldn’t take the risk.”
My muscles stiffen. “Then why not just film Ernest yourself? Why go through this whole docuseries, Charlie?” I keep my voice steady, but I can even hear the thread of heat.
“I already told you why,” Charlie’s eyes soften, almost in hurt. “What benefit would me filming Ernest give Oscar? None.”
Selfish and selfless. The room sobers for a second.
And I remember.
Working on the pilot to Born into Fame gave me the biggest opportunity of my life. I found love. Not just momentary love