Debacle, if that’s what you call it. Some rich heir got kidnapped, and the falling out was getting his assistant pregnant. They’re married now, but for a hot minute, it was on everyone’s lips.
“Pleased to meet you, Jenna.” I take her hard, admiring the purple sparkle polish painted on her nails.
“I’ve been up all night analyzing this situation from all angles,” she starts, walking towards an empty seat, “and I think what we’re gonna have to do is lean into an accountability mode of talking. Instead of getting on talk shows, do a daily Instagram story, telling people about your struggles. Hiding’s just not gonna work anymore.”
“While I appreciate your input, Jenna, we have this covered,” Caleb says in a condescending tone.
Jenna blinks in confusion. “Then why am I even here?”
“Maxwell Stryder gave us a call, said you were bored representing two unproblematic people, and you wanted to take on a challenge. You can just sit off to the side and be happy with the professional boost we are about to give you.”
“Are you meaning to tell me that I got my ass on a plane from New York to Los Angeles to sit on the sidelines?”
“I wanna hear what she has to say,” I interject.
Jenna smirks and casts me a wink while Ted groans, pushing his portfolio to the center of the table like a toddler. Caleb is at least professional enough to realize that I’m the reason he’s getting paid.
“Well then, let’s hear it.” Caleb focuses his attention on Jenna.
“Like I said, we stay away from the major players in the industry. They were all too quick to report on Ali the moment she had a misstep. We need to make more of a grassroots effort. Sit her down on her own Instagram, make it look natural. Post a video a day. Yes, we address the issue, but we don’t linger. We focus on giving the public a real look at Ali.”
“So, we make her a reality star?” Caleb chides.
Ted is red-faced and looking like he’s about to burst. “Ali’s supposed to be the girl next door—America’s Sweetheart. She’s not supposed to be a train wreck—”
“That was before,” Jenna interrupts, “now, we make her human. We bring in that Might Be Meghan chick—”
“Now that I like!” Ted enthuses, his eyes growing wide. “She’s been associated with Remi Icor, Fiona Fables, Sadie Precillo, that journalist…can’t remember her name…”
“That could work,” Caleb says with a nod. “Not bad, Jenna. Glad you made it out of the dugout.”
“There’s a problem, though,” Jenna says.
“What’s that?” Ted asks.
“Might Be Meghan has been associating herself with some of the most influential women in the world, as of late. She’s focusing her efforts on being taken as a professional, and not someone that shows you how to apply glitter eyeliner—”
“Isn’t that what made her famous?” Caleb snickers.
“She had quite the following back then, but Remi brought her to the next level. We have to make Ali appealing as a professional.”
Caleb leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ali Kat Carter is a household name and box office gold. Any journalist uninterested in interviewing Ali is making some bad career decisions.”
“Actually, I get it,” Ted says. “She doesn’t want to be seen as a tabloid rag. She doesn’t need us, not when she has the Icors. If we’re going to approach her, it has to be with substance. She’s never going to interview Ali if she thinks it’s just to get Ali’s side of the story on air. Maybe we don’t mention her side, or at least not right away. We present Ali in a stable manner, offering Meghan a never-before-seen look into Ali’s, or rather, Tammy’s life on the farm. It’s not a fluff piece, and it’s something good that Meghan can sink her teeth into.”
It takes me a moment to realize what exactly they want from me. “No way! My parents would never allow anyone from Hollywood back on the farm. I don’t even think they’d allow me back,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
“It might be the only way to salvage your career,” Ted says.
“I’ll do porn before I bring a camera crew back home.”
Caleb takes out his phone. “I’ll make some phone calls.”
“Absolutely not!” Ted yells at Caleb.
“She could bring in a lot of money. I’m talking…seven figures a pop. Then, there’s merchandising. If we can get her into—”
“It’s off the table!” Ted snaps.
I get up from my seat and turn one last time toward the table.
“Well, whatever it is you’re gonna have me do, my family is off-limits. And that’s final!”
