mixed with the house’s permanent scent of Sazón seasoning, Jasmine gulped the bitter black coffee, wishing it were a glass of wine.
Michelle jerked her head toward the kitchen doorway. “Basement?”
“Basement,” Jasmine agreed. The three of them took their mugs and trooped downstairs.
The finished basement had long been their hideout, their refuge away from the rest of the family, where they could talk about their hopes, dreams, and dumb boys. McIntyre certainly fell into the latter category, although Jasmine had no interest in talking about him ever again. If she could erase him from her memory, she would. No, better yet, she’d erase him from everyone else’s memories. Then he’d no longer be famous and no one would care that she’d dated him.
“Remind me where you’re staying?” Michelle asked once they’d settled onto the old sofa. It had once lived upstairs under plastic, but after surviving twelve grandkids, the plastic had been removed and the couch relegated to the basement.
Jasmine sipped her coffee again. “ScreenFlix is putting me up at the Hutton Court. It’s one of those long-term-stay hotels.”
ScreenFlix, the number one streaming service in the country, had cast Jasmine in the starring role on the remake of La patrona Carmen, a Venezuelan telenovela from the 1990s. After the popularity of American remakes of telenovelas like Ugly Betty, Jane the Virgin, and Queen of the South, ScreenFlix had seen the writing on the wall. Telenovelas were where it was at.
For Jasmine, who’d made a name for herself on English soap operas and received a Daytime Emmy nom, headlining a show on ScreenFlix had the potential to be her big break. If it did well, it could lead to more ScreenFlix projects, or maybe even a big-budget cable show or primetime network program.
Michelle raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, fancy.”
Jasmine shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s in Midtown.”
“East or West?” Ava asked.
“East.”
Michelle wrinkled her nose. “Gross. There’s nothing over there.”
“Tell me about it. If it were any farther east, I’d be sleeping in the middle of the FDR Drive.” Jasmine couldn’t complain too much, though. ScreenFlix had a contract with the hotel company, and her agent had negotiated for her to stay in one of their one-bedroom units with views of the East River. And since it was an easy drive over the Queensboro Bridge to the ScreenFlix Studios production lot, the Hutton Court was where she’d be living for the next three months.
Ava and Michelle exchanged a look, making no move to hide it. Jasmine waited a beat, then caved. “What? What is it?”
“Jas.” Michelle leveled her with a direct stare. “Just move back.”
Jasmine slumped into the sofa. She’d known this was coming. Every time she returned to New York City for a visit or a gig, her cousins launched their campaign to persuade her to move back permanently. The three of them had been born just a few years apart and had been one another’s constant companions, as close as sisters. Certainly closer to Jasmine than her own sister, Jillian.
Jasmine sucked in a breath to argue, but Ava leaped in before she could utter a word.
“Hear us out. There are plenty of shows filming in New York City now, and you’ll be closer to us.”
“Along with everyone else in our family.” Jasmine shook her head. “No thanks.”
Michelle shrugged. “A minor technicality.”
“We’ve been over this. The remaining soaps film in Los Angeles, and there are tons of other opportunities there. I can’t leave.” As much as she might want to. “Anyway, I have a plan.”
Michelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Do tell.”
“I love a good plan.” Ava set down her mug. “Let’s hear it.”
“It’s my Leading Lady Plan.”
Michelle’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s that?”
“My roadmap for staying on track with my career goals.” Jasmine pointed a finger at the ceiling, referencing her picture on the fridge upstairs. “One: Leading Ladies do not end up on tabloid covers.”
“That’s just not true,” Michelle cut in. “Look at Jennifer Aniston. They put that poor lady on magazine covers for all sorts of made-up shit.”
That was a good point. Jasmine didn’t want to turn into the next tabloid favorite, although she’d happily follow in Ms. Aniston’s career footsteps.
“Can you give it a more positive spin?” Ava asked kindly. “Like saying what leading ladies do instead of what they don’t?”
It was such an Ava thing to say, but she was right. They both were.
“Fine.” Jasmine tore a sheet from the memo pad on the coffee table. The paper had beach details printed around the borders—sandals, an umbrella, a kid’s plastic shovel and pail—and