A/N: Thank you so much for reading,
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…
Scheduled for Friday
by Anton M.
55: Chemistry Read
…
Friday, February 17
It didn't work.
Dead tired, I shut off my alarm five minutes before it was supposed to go off and snuggled closer to Edward. His hard-on poked my stomach. It felt exhilarating and a little bit daunting. I knew guys got morning wood but I hadn't realized they got it during sleep, too, and I smiled against his chest. I briefly considered waking him up for a little morning make-out session, but I didn't think I'd ever leave my bed if my adorable, intimidating boyfriend pinned me against the bed right now.
Instead, I kissed him (he hummed) and got up.
Yawning, I finished my morning routine, tucked a black henley shirt into my favorite (mom's) blue jeans, and stumbled into the kitchen. It was dark outside. Mom looked impeccable (as always), almost certainly having hidden the blue circles under her eyes with make-up, while my dad—
—put his arm straight in front of me to stop me from walking to the coffee machine.
"What the—?"
"There's two strange cars near our driveway with a straight view to—" dad pointed at the coffee machine while holding his phone to his ear with the other. "I'm calling the cops."
Mom had donated our old kitchen curtains a week ago.
"Did they get a view of you?"
Dad wore comfy pajama bottoms and no shirt.
"If they did I'm not the person they care about," dad replied in a surprisingly severe tone.
I waited for mom to contradict him but she silently shook her head. My stomach twisted.
"How do you know they're not out of their cars, taking photos from other angles?"
Ignoring me, dad began to summarize the situation to the police. I shut off the overhead lights. Grumpy that paparazzi was already ruining my morning coffee, I filled a thermal cup with cold water (I couldn't wait for the articles about my weird morning habits) and went to tell Edward to continue sleeping in my parents' bed until dad returned from the chemistry read. Obliging, Edward stole a sleepy kiss before disappearing into my parents' bedroom.
Feeling paranoid, I peeked in to make sure the curtains were properly drawn. They were.
Dad cut his call when I returned to the kitchen.
"Be ready to leave in ten because that's when the police gets here."
Mom stifled her smile. "We're not the ones you should worry about."
Looking down, dad groaned and left to change. Fifteen minutes later, the police did get rid of the strange cars, but dad didn't trust the situation and offered to drive our car by himself to make sure the paparazzi wouldn't tail me to the chemistry read. I ordered mom and myself an Uber.
Dad left so close to Emmett's arrival that the two waved at each other from their vehicles. As if we were starring in some insane car chasing movie, mom agreed to take Emmett's truck while Emmett was to take an Uber with me. Having set our temporary security alarm (oh yes, my parents had gotten one on Monday because clearly we needed more reasons to delay our move), an angry-looking Emmett and I sat in the backseat of a Honda before the Uber took off.
Our dead-end street started from Hickory Log Road, which merged with Ivy Log Drive SW on both sides. Although the entire subdivision had five ways to get to Oak Ridge or Blair Bridge Road, Hickory Log Road's two entrances meant that if the paparazzi was determined, they could've waited to tail (one of) us.
They tailed dad.
Both paparazzi cars chose the less likely northern entrance to Hickory Log Road to wait for our old Chevrolet. Now dad was driving to a random 24/7 parking garage to leave our car and (hopefully) sit into a random cab before the paparazzi had realized I wasn't with him.
Mom didn't think she was being followed but she still had Emmett's instructions to leave his truck in a paid parking lot with surveillance, and switch to Uber, Lyft or a cab—whichever was easiest or closest.
All to avoid to a few paparazzi cars who had the potential to reveal my role as Nala.
If all else failed and both of my parents were still being followed, they'd have to skip the chemistry read and pre-date a form to show that our Child Labor Coordinator James had been fully approved to act in their stead today morning.
"I'd like to have a word with your sperm donor," Emmett grumbled between calls to both of my parents.
(Emmett was incredibly pissed at Garrett for launching a nuclear strike on my life without warning. He did not disagree with the notion that evidence had had to be gathered regarding Edward's aunt and Peter's parents, but his grumpy, scoffing, "He should've fucking warned us. I'm your security guard and you're an actress. You could've acted normal around Edward's aunt. It's almost insulting that he didn't consult us." Which, when you think about it, was kind of sweet of him to say.)
"By all means," I replied, biting my fingernails. "Just don't do it in front of everyone. For the people on set, including Tanya and Mike, we are a team with Garrett and have been in contact with him my entire life. You'll have to act like you know him."
Emmett grunted.
"Shit." My stomach dropped. "I forgot to warn Edward that paparazzi might gather near the driveway."
Picking up another call from dad, Emmett motioned with his hand as if to say, 'What are you waiting for?'
I swiped a message to Edward.
'Dad discovered two paparazzi cars in front of our driveway. They might come again, or there might be others. Dad will return home to take Riley to kindergarten but feel free to call the cops again if you want to get rid of them. Also don't forget that the security alarm is on when you go out. I'm sorry. 3 you.'
"You're taking things remarkably well," Emmett said after dad had put him on hold.
I gave him a weak smile. "I didn't sleep a wink. I feel like I'm in a surreal dream."
"Regardless." He sighed. "Nobody's ever prepared for this shit. You're doing well."
"Thanks, Emmett."
City lights passed us. Nervous about my dad but unable to help, I distracted myself with the one thing all celebrities adamantly denied doing: googling myself. With our post on Instagram having reached 1.3 million likes (and over 12 thousand comments), I needed to see how big the situation had blown.
And it was… not small.
From TMZ and BuzzFeed to CNN and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution (and the Namibian Sun), everyone was getting in on the action. The headlines were hilariously clickbait-y, from 'G-Kam's Shocking Secret' and 'You Will Not Believe Which Celebrity's Kid Goes to a Public Schoolin Atlanta' to 'Garrett Kamwanga's Daughter's Dress Sells Out in an Hour.' Some even called my existence BREAKING NEWS, which was frankly insulting to all the countries at war at the moment.
Not many websites had better photos of me than the one we'd shared in Instagram or me walking in the throng of students in front of Willie W. Smith, which made me quite happy as it would've (hopefully) made me less recognizable. But my brown acne spots were super visible, and I forced myself not to look at the comments.
But my dress sold out in an hour? Just because I'd worn it?
Surreal.
Surreal, surreal, surreal.
I wasn't even sure which brand had originally made it because mom had almost certainly thrifted it.
I peeked into my DMs (now reaching a thousand), and read some messages praising Garrett, supporting me, asking me to accept their follow request, or shitting on me for daring to oversaturate the news. A few were so overtly racist I deleted the DMs, blocked the users and shut my Instagram.
"I might need a PR team. I'm not sure I can stomach all of this."
Emmett gave me a small smile. "Nobody will blame you."
We both breathed a sigh of relief when dad messaged that he'd lost the paparazzi and he was on his way in the second cab he'd taken. Mom, having confirmed that nobody had followed her, spoke to Emmett and ended up driving to Highland Walk Apartments in Emmett's truck after all.
I paid and tipped our driver while Emmett hesitated. "You're sure this is the right place?"
"Positive."
I could understand his confusion because a gated apartment complex in Old Fourth Ward was an odd place for an audition (our chemistry read was technically Garrett's audition), but I'd been to enough auditions before corona to know that some took place in the most unexpected places. If I had to guess, I'd say that they switched to using our director's or producer's second home for this.
The black gates opened after I entered the pin. Mom, having arrived through a different gate, was already parking Emmett's truck near one of the buildings when we got there. Ten minutes later, dad, too, was dropped off by his cab. Together, we entered the building, and I hadn't realized how nervous I was until dad pulled my fingers from my mouth and squeezed my wrist in the hallway.
"You've nothing to worry about, sweetie."
Smiling, I leaned my cheek against his shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to run from the paparazzi."
"Don't mention it."
Heart beating out of my chest, I rung the bell behind a gray door on the third floor. Our casting director Bree appeared, pretending like nothing of significance had happened as she chattered, took our jackets and asked us to keep our shoes on (I could practically sense a part of mom's soul die). The apartment was beautifully kept with curated furniture and the kind of open kitchen that seemed to be used more for coffee than cooking.
A (proper) camera was set up in the corner next to the couch in the living room. An unlit key and fill light faced the empty space in front of a rich-people TV, the one that pretended to be a picture frame (because everyone knew that only the poor dared to own TVs that looked like TVs)
Our entrance tore Tanya and Mike from a heated debate. James looked up from his coffee, and Rose, having faced the rest of them, swiveled an office chair around.
Their silent, unnerving attention sucked all words out of the room.
"Welcome to my family reunion," I joked, giving them a small bow. "So sweet of you to make sure all my dads are accounted for."
Mike's laughter failed to break the tension, and the inquisition in Tanya's eyes might as well have set us on fire.
My parents, looking impressively undisturbed, pulled chairs from the dining table and faced the empty front of the room. Dad held mom's hand in his lap, and the two talked about something mindlessly irrelevant like the living room carpet mom had ordered for our new house. Emmett, studiously avoiding looking at our producer, took a third seat beside my parents and fought with a small tic.
I felt for him. I couldn't imagine what it must've felt like to have your body reveal you like that.
Unaware of my bodyguard's pretend inattention, Rose squinted at mom, evaluating her, possibly recounting our conversation from weeks ago, but before I could hear what was on her mind, Mike walked up to me with way too much energy for six AM.
"Are you for real?" he asked, incredulous. "You're pulling our leg, right?"
"The entire world's, yes."
"I thought we were friends," Mike continued, lowering his voice and turning his back to my parents. "How the fuck did you keep this under wraps? How? How could I not tell?! Why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you even answer my calls?"
"You know me, Mike. I just love it when people call me. It's my favorite."
He huffed, but the flabbergasted expression didn't fade. "Tanya knew, right? Right? She's saying she didn't but I don't believe her."
I locked eyes with our impressively stone-faced director whose eyes were full of emotion I didn't dare interpret.
"Nobody knew," I said under my breath, but my tone didn't matter. Everyone was listening.
"I'm just— we're just—" Mike nudged my shoulder with his own. "Fuck. How did you—? When did you—? I have so many questions. I'm not the only one, either."
I grinned. "Get me a cup of coffee with the same enthusiasm and I might tell you more."
Mike scoffed. "You spend one day as Garrett Kamwanga's daughter and you think you can boss me around already?"
"I've always bossed you around, Mike," I quipped, ignoring the sting of being known as Garrett's daughter and hoping dad wasn't listening. "Glad you wised up to it."
Mike chuckled.
"I'll get it," I whispered with an exhausted smile. "I didn't mean to go all diva on you. I'm just… God, I'm so tired."
Ignoring the eyes on us, I turned toward the kitchen corner but Bree was already specifying my coffee preferences when Mike grabbed my forearm.
"Hey," he said, quieter, leaning closer, his blue eyes searching mine. "You alright?"
A tight coil released in my chest when I realized that Mike and I, we were friends. Proper friends.
"I am," I replied with an emotional, placating smile. "Thank you. We just had some… paparazzi this morning and I—I'm getting some hate mail and I'm not built for this kind of attention."
"Nobody's built for this kind of attention." Mike gave me a tight, empathetic smile. "But you know this is a dry run, right?"
"I know."
He shifted and nudged my elbow. "Hey, if you need any… advice or whatever, just ask, okay?"
I wanted to ask him how he did it—did he use a social media manager to take a first hit on the internet chaos? Did he use his PR team? Did he even use his official accounts for anything? He followed me on his private, boring Instagram account that limited people knew about, but I wasn't sure how much work a famous actor was supposed to put into his official social media himself.
I was just about to ask him when Rose rolled two feet closer to mom and squinted. "Were you not ridiculously young when you had Bella?"
"Hi hi, everyone," Garrett interrupted, saving my mom from answering. Garrett put a green, disgusting-looking protein shake on the table as he casually shook my parents' hands. "Charlie. Renée. Emmett. Glad to see you all here. Any trouble in the morning?"
"Nothing of consequence," dad replied a tad defensively, as if he hadn't just spent way too much money on cabs just to lose his paparazzi tail.
"Did the social worker make sure Riley stays with you?"
"She did," mom answered with the perfect smile. "Thanks for your help, Garrett."
"No problem." Garrett smiled as if we weren't under the microscope of the entire room. He embraced me. "Good morning, Bella. Ready to convince the world I'm your father?"
Hugging him, I scoffed a laugh. "One of them, Garrett. One of them."
"But of course," he replied smoothly before he kissed Rose on her cheeks (Emmett's tic worsened) and introduced himself to James and Bree. He hugged Tanya but she looked tense and pulled back quickly.
Narrowing her eyes, Tanya began speaking in fast, passionate-sounding Brazilian Portuguese, but even then, her expression revealed her anger more than her tone of voice. Nodding along, Garrett picked up his protein shake and waited for Tanya to finish before he replied in calm Angolan Portuguese.
I stared.
I'd never thought of it, but of course they both spoke Portuguese.
The entire room watched, fascinated, as Garrett slowly responded to whatever Tanya was asking or telling him. I caught a few of Tanya's curse words but the rest flew over my head.
"I didn't know Garrett Kamwanga spoke Portuguese," Mike half-whispered, amazed.
He'd picked it up in prison but he didn't use it often. Not many people knew he spoke it.
Tanya began gesturing with her hands. Garrett stood, perfectly balanced on both feet, staring into his cup. Finally, after a particularly fast-paced monologue, Garrett took a sip of his green concoction and crossed his arms. Quietly, he said, "You can say it in English, Tanya. They'll figure it out soon enough."
"Figure what out?" Bree asked, half-sitting against the armrest of the couch, but Rose was already back to staring at mom.
"You were underage when Bella was conceived," Rose whispered.
"Not just underage," Tanya said in a clipped voice. "She was under the age of consent. She was fifteen. Fifteen, Garrett? Fifteen!"
"Congratulations, Tanya. You asked me why we kept it under wraps… there you go."
"What the fuck, Garrett? What's wrong with you?! Do you understand what a shitstorm this will be when people find out?!"
Eyes following the two like watching a tennis ball, Mike looked just about ready to pass out. James, gaping at the fight, had spilled coffee on the couch, and Bree held her palm against her open mouth.
"How haven't they figured it out already?" Rose asked.
I locked eyes with mom and, seeing her expression, I understood.
She had not dyed her hair gray on a whim. She'd dyed it to make sure she'd look older.
She had not put her date of birth on her website. I could've bet she had not put her date of birth anywhere public since I was born.
While I was busy being Nala, my mother was busy muddying tracks of her age.
That's how. That's how the world hadn't figured it out in one night. Mom had probably always been careful not to reveal her age if she could help it. It wouldn't last long because Tanya knew, this room knew, but she'd made a good effort.
"I didn't know."
"What do you mean, you didn't know? Fifteen, Garrett! How could you not know?!"
"I didn't tell him," mom confirmed, backing Garrett up without revealing that she'd lied. Garrett gave her a single nod before turning back to Tanya.
"Are you worried about what this will mean to me personally or what this could mean for your project?"
Tanya pressed her knuckles against her uneven upper lip as she shifted on her feet, eyes shooting daggers up at Garrett. Assessing me, she cursed in Portuguese before she switched back to English.
"What the fuck, Garrett. What the fuck. You're putting me in an untenable position."
"It'll be bad, no doubt," Garrett replied, calmly. "I'll get horrendous press. A few of my contracts might get cancelled. But I'm no Harvey Weinstein. I'm no James Franco. There's no mountain of skeletons falling out of my closet after this. Giving in to blackmail would've only postponed the truth, and I saw no reason to cower in the face of it. Bella doesn't deserve to be ashamed of, and it'll be a relief to us all to leave this media circus behind us."
All eyes shifted to me.
"Blackmail?" Rose repeated.
Garrett summarized his extortion, leaving out the fact that he had not known I existed up until November last year or that the blackmailers knew me personally. He shut down questions about who the blackmailers were or how they found out, but even so, the crease between Tanya's brows grew more prominent as Garrett mentioned being in my life on the sidelines since I was born.
"That makes no sense. You're notoriously generous with your family and colleagues. If you've always been in Bella's life, why in the world would you allow her to live in a trailer park?! On food stamps? What's wrong with you?"
My parents shared a panicked look but all attention was on Garrett.
I crossed my arms.
"You've met my parents, Tanya. They haven't even fully agreed to allow you to rent us a moving truck." I made eye contact with dad and then Garrett, knowing this would've been the truth had Garrett actually known about me. "They're too proud to take his money."
Recognizing the truth in my words, Tanya observed dad's pursed-lipped smile and mom's unapologetic gaze. Still, Tanya was not pleased.
"And I hate to rush things along but dad has to take Riley to kindergarten in an hour."
"Who's Riley?" Mike asked.
"My new foster brother. My boyfriend's cousin." I nudged his arm when I saw his eyes glint with a likely incest joke. "Shut up and I won't hurt you."
He laughed.
"Bella?" Tanya stepped next to us even if her eyes were on my parents. "Can I have a word with you?"
Mom began to get up before Tanya said, "Alone?"
Now, technically, on location, it was illegal for me to go anywhere without my "representatives". Tanya knew that. My parents knew that. James definitely knew that.
Did this audition count as being "on location", though? Either way, it was a huge hassle to be a minor among adults and have to have a baby-sitter to talk with your director.
Seeing James ready to argue (as was his job) and understanding that too many celebrities had witnessed this request, I asked, "Can James replace my parents for this?" I looked over at mom. "With your permission, obviously."
I couldn't decipher the guarded emotion in her eyes but when mom spoke, her tone was almost casual. "Go ahead, honey. We're right here."
Bree excused herself to (probably) speed-clean her bedroom, but she must've been a fellow floordrobe sufferer because when we entered the room, it was near-impeccable. Pushing up his glasses, James leaned against a dresser and took out his phone while Tanya motioned for me to sit on the bed. She closed the door and crossed her arms.
"Say the word and we'll cancel the whole thing."
I blinked at her.
"I don't understand."
"Say the word and we'll cancel the whole thing."
"Are you second-guessing his involvement for the PR nightmare in his future or… do you need my permission explicitly to refuse him the opportunity to audition?"
Tanya swiped her palm over her one-sided braid before she sat next to me, clearly agitated.
"Are you okay with his involvement?"
"I have no problem with it."
"Even if his career blows up in his face when the headlines are filled with stories of his statutory rape?"
I had an inkling suspicion that she wanted me to deny Garrett so that she wouldn't have to, and excluding my parents from this conversation meant excluding their pride rather than their opinion.
"I'm not the right person to talk to about this," I replied, carefully. "If you think involving him is a bad idea for the project, don't blame the decision on me. If you are torn about the decision because he's your friend, again, that's not my decision. If you now have issues working with him, knowing this, that's unrelated to me. Why did you want to talk to me, Tanya?"
Oh my God she was going to fire me. Being tired made me audacious.
"He's your biological father."
Jesus was she ever going to fire me but I was too exhausted for this discussion.
"I've known he was my biological father my entire life, Tanya. This is only a surprise for you and the rest of the world. Mistakes were made, but he did not force himself on my mom, and, like he said, he doesn't have a rumored history of doing so. I think you're getting ahead of yourself even contemplating refusing him an audition—you don't know that the response wouldn't be positive for the second season, with his involvement. He brings an enormous, dedicated fan-base with him who might only consider UM because he's in it. Plus, the audience seeing us together might soften the blow of his history with my mom. Let his audition speak for itself. If we don't fit, you have your answer. If we work well, you still have time to contemplate these decisions."
I rubbed my face, suppressing a yawn, wishing I'd taken my coffee with me, but Tanya was scratching the overgrown pixie-cut side of her hair, her torn eyes assessing me. I was worried she'd threaten to fire me for my tired bluntness, but instead, Tanya adjusted the sleeves of her flowy top.
"Are you sure you're fifteen?"
I smiled. "Sixteen, now."
She got up but kept watching me for a few moments, and I knew I'd given her whatever she needed.
"You've grown up a lot in the past year," she said with quiet appreciation. "I still don't agree with getting an NDA for your boyfriend but I'm pushing it along. I should have it ready by Friday."
"Thank you, Tanya."
Two minutes later, as Bree and Tanya were adjusting the direction and the intensity of lights, I took advantage of most people's distraction, crouched and hugged dad.
"I love you, dad," I whispered straight into his ear.
I pulled away before he could answer. Eyes shining with emotion, he patted his heart and mouthed, "Love you, too," from across the room.
Mike put away his phone before the room grew quiet.
Bree motioned for us to start. Garrett and I locked eyes.
Channeling the nerves and the anxiety of performing this particular scene with my biological father, I slumped in front of him, shimmering eyes wide, recognizing him as Ọbatole, remembering all the near-death experiences he'd had to go through that allowed Nala to recognize him as her long-lost father, now a powerful politician with his own family.
"What?!" he thundered, leaning forward. "What are you staring at? Know your place!"
Pursing my lips in a wobbly, hopeful smile, I felt my throat tighten and used excited, frustrated sign language to make the man realize I was his daughter.
"Is there a problem, Your Grace?" Bree asked from behind the camera, reading someone else's lines.
"Whose slave is this?!" Garrett shouted, slapping my arm away from his sleeve as I desperately tried to explain the situation to him with my trembling hands.
"The Baroness, Your Grace."
"Lady Cyrionis wishes to stain my ceremony with a dirty pife. See that the beggar is out of here before I charge her with treason."
Pleading, shimmering eyes wide, I shook my head, touching his elbow and messing up my sign language as I desperately tried to convince him of my relation to him. I winced as he gripped my shirt from the back.
"Never mind, Alistair. Invite Lady Cyrionis to The Great Hall in the left wing. I shall take care of this matter myself."
Garrett took a few steps toward the door before releasing me. Holding back sobs, I stared at him with wide, teary eyes, forming a slow, 'But you are my father,' with my fingers as I slumped to the floor.
"Remember my generosity in not having you hanged today, pife," he spat before he walked away.
Staring at his back, I suppressed a silent sob.
Tanya cut the scene. Garrett turned, walking back to me before he crouched, squeezing my upper arm.
"Did I hurt you?"
"Not at all." I grinned, wiped my tears against my sleeve and accepted his hand. He helped me up.
"Jesus Christ," Garrett whispered, letting out a breath. His eyes were glassy. "That was—"
Mike whooped, Rose whistled, and the rest clapped through their shimmering eyes. Except for mom, not one person in the room had dry eyes. Bree was blowing her nose, Mike chuckled at having to press his palm against his eyes, and I quite nearly returned to sobbing when I saw the teary-eyed smile dad gave me.
"Still dead inside, Renée?" Garrett quipped with a shit-eating grin.
And my beautiful, wonderful, brilliant mom narrowed her eyes and crossed her fingers in front of her, telling him to fuck off in our secret language.
I laughed so hard I had to muffle it against my palm.
"Am I supposed to understand what that means?" Garrett asked, confused.
"No," I replied, still grinning.
Sniffing, Tanya observed our interactions, shaking her head, probably unable to deny that Garrett fit the role of Nala's father pretty perfectly.
…
A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Your thoughts mean the world to me :)