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Scheduled for Friday
by Anton M.

61: The Coast Is Clear

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Friday, February 24 (cont.)

"Sweetie, do you remember our interviews with the four PR professionals on Sunday morning?" Mom asked in Vietnamese, typing an email. "Do you still want to join?"

It was seven PM. Riley and I lay on the living room carpet. Riley was watching the animal videos my parents permitted on Fridays and Sundays, and I was enjoying Jake on top of my back, and doing absolutely nothing.

I couldn't remember the last time I did absolutely nothing.

"Sure."

"Whoever we choose, Garrett and Tanya wanted to make sure you'd get media training next week."

"Okay."

"Do you want to go through our questions for them?"

"Yeah whatever."

Mom stopped typing and looked at me sprawled on the floor. It was dark enough that her phone lit up the ceiling every time it rang, which was always. I hadn't realized it in the morning because mom had put her phone on silent, but it was ringing off the hook. It was madness. As my manager, my mom's phone number was public. People had to go through my parents to get to me, except they couldn't get to me. My parents had stopped answering calls even before Edward and I had returned in the morning.

"Honey?" mom asked, concerned, twisting her hair in her hand. "Say the word and we'll cancel the interviews."

"S'fine," I repeated, worried I'd start crying again if I spoke more than two words.

After Edward left, I locked myself in my bedroom to pretend I wasn't bawling. Dad sat behind my door and talked to me until I unlocked it, and a new wave of embarrassingly choking sobs overpowered me when he opened his arms for me. He didn't say a word. Eventually, I was capable of semi-coherent speech, but even so, it took me until dinner to realize that my parents thought that Edward had broken up with me.

When I told them that he hadn't (not officially, not yet), they were both so reassuring of his return that I asked them to stop talking. I was already hanging by a thread, I didn't need false hope added to it.

I did need Riley's plastic toy monoclonius that he gave me for my sadness. He even allowed me to keep it overnight.

What a mad lad.

Oh, are you scared? Dinosaurs. Sad? Dinosaurs. Ready to go to bed? Dinosaurs.

It was an intriguing philosophy: if you had a problem in life, it was probably because of the lack of dinosaurs.

I was considering adopting his approach given that I'd been staring at his little monoclonius for the past half an hour.

Riley didn't understand the paparazzi, though. They freaked him out. We showed Riley the teaser video (his jaw dropped in comic fashion when he realized I voiced Yamamï), we explained, we tried our hardest to keep his routine the same, but his mind just could not wrap around someone wanting to camp outside our gates to catch a photo of me, and even in the absence of famous people in our living room, those crowds just wouldn't decrease. The opposite happened.

Mike believed that the paparazzi were specifically flying to Atlanta to get a sight of me, which was surreal on a wholly different level.

After our teaser became the fastest non-music YouTube video to reach fifty million views (in six hours), I nervously peeked into my social media accounts. People finding out about my relation to Garrett hadn't even put a dent on the numbers I was looking at: my email had capped at eight million (most of them Instagram follower requests), and my Instagram revealed that the real number was closer to fifteen million. I'd gained fifteen million followers in twelve hours, a record for the platform.

It was exhilarating and absolutely terrifying. I needed way more dinosaurs to chill out about that.

I also felt like a total imposter. They didn't follow me, they followed Nala. They would've followed any actress who got the role.

It was a sobering thought.

My TikTok didn't break any records because my account wasn't under my own name, but 2. 3 million followers was nothing to sneeze at. Definitely worth a few dinosaurs.

My heart skipped a beat when I couldn't find Edward's accounts until I realized that he'd removed his profile picture from his TikTok (before it had reached seven thousand followers). He'd turned his name into E. Hasenauer on Instagram, choosing not even his mother's O'Leary but his grandmother's maiden name. He'd made his account private and replaced the black-and-white profile of his face with a photo of a clutch cover. I blinked to lose the sting in my eyes.

He'd made himself virtually untraceable to the world while ensuring that I'd still be able to recognize his account. I felt awash with longing.

"Honey, Tanya's been invited to a talk show tomorrow morning and she's asking if you'd like to join her."

Blood drained from my face.

"Why didn't she call me?"

"She did. You didn't pick up."

I probably wouldn't have even if I'd seen it. Frankly, I was amazed mom had been able to filter out Tanya's call, but her message must've come through some other app or maybe dad's number, which wasn't public.

Mom walked around the kitchen island and crouched next to me, putting her laptop on the carpet next to my dinosaur before she petted Jake who was purring on my back. Like a kid, I walked my dinosaur on top of mom's laptop.

"Is it okay if I say no?"

"Of course." Mom gave me a bittersweet smile. "Let me just check your contract if we have to pay a penalty for refusing her."

Shit. I forgot. A leak meant that some parts of my contract kicked into action, and I had my mandatory share of marketing to be done.

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"I know, honey. I'll talk to her. She might even waive the requirement, if there is one."

"You think she'd do that?"

"I think you can get away with almost anything before she has your signature for the second season."

I scoffed a laugh. "Wait, how are we talking about just one talk show?"

Mom played with my hair. "Do you want me to tell you that we could call up any news network and they'd bend over backwards to change their schedule to fit yours? Because it's true. This show is just one that Tanya agreed to. It's a host she trusts. She just wanted to give you an opportunity to have a safe environment for your first interview for UM."

"Where is it?"

"New York."

"Wow," I whispered, knowing we would've probably been preparing to get on a plane had I said yes. I pursed my lips in a sad smile. I felt overwhelmed, torn, excited and terrified. I couldn't make sense of today. "Not this weekend. Not before— I just… I don't know how to do this, mom."

She slid my dinosaur off her laptop, closed the lid, and lay down next to me in her white slacks and silky top. She propped herself up on her elbow and squeezed my shoulder, assessing my red eyes.

"I understand, honey. We understand. If you want someone to talk to, just tell us."

"I'm talking to you."

"I mean a professional. A therapist. Your dad and I, we try our best, but this is just as new for us as it is for you. How are we supposed to protect you when the entire world is dying to get to you? Or maybe Rose or Mike or—Garrett, maybe you could talk to them. They'd be thrilled to help you. Your dad and I may disagree with Garrett in many ways, but… he might be the right person, here. Mike and Rose both got famous slowly and early and grew up with it, Garrett's fame was near-overnight. He might go about things the wrong way sometimes but I think he's sincere in wanting to get to know you. He'd be over the moon to get a call from you. Don't lock yourself out, honey."

Eyes prickling, I twirled my new toy between my fingers. "I'll think about it. But I don't even know what to ask them. It's just, like, the knowledge that I could take a photo of this little dinosaur, post it on my Instagram, and get millions of people to like it and inspire entire conspiracy theories about why I posted a picture of a toy and what's the meaning of that… it's too much power for one person."

Mom laughed.

"If a photo of a toy dinosaur with no caption is the worst scandal we suffer, I say we've gotten off easy." Mom petted my hair instead of Jake. "I don't know what the right words are to console you, honey, but we're here for you. We love you. We'll help you figure it out."

"I love you, too." I pressed my lips together, barely keeping my voice level. "I just want Edward to be here."

Mom kissed my temple. "I know, honey. Just give him time."

Riley and I played with his dinosaur collection. Riley had the time of his life while I just pushed my monoclonius over the obstacles he built: cardboard boxes, cutlery, wrapping papers—nothing was safe from our army of dinosaurs. Mom brought vegetables for snacks, and I made Yamamï sounds every time Riley ate them.

He was stuffed pretty soon.

Mom had to negotiate with Alice's mom Linda for Alice to be allowed to visit me, but mom succeeded. When Alice arrived, I left my parents to Riley's bedtime routine and listened to Alice talk about all the crazy Nala-obsession at school: the bewilderment, the trailer-watching, the infinite curiosity. I shared our day: Edward's reaction, my colleagues waiting for us in the living room (Alice wanted lick our living room carpet because Mike had sat on it, which was… disturbing), Edward taking off to his gramps's place, and the social media records I'd broken.

Alice, like my parents, was convinced that Edward would be back, but I didn't want to hear it, so instead, we slid under the covers and read the social media comments about UM, I answered all of Alice's burning questions I hadn't been allowed to talk about before, and we watched Gossip Girl into the wee hours of the night.

…

A five-minute clip of Tanya told the story of how she almost hadn't hired me as Nala (because of my age and because my voice acting skills leaned toward wanting to hire me for voice roles), and how, just like the rest of the world, she hadn't had a single clue of me being Garrett's daughter up until last week. The video went viral and broke its own records on multiple platforms. Tanya's cursing in Portuguese and her lively delivery of my casting, along with clips of all my Nala auditions, were so funny and convincing they killed all accusations of nepo babies.

I sent her a heartfelt message of gratitude to which she answered, 'Thank Garrett. He told me to emphasize this angle.'

It felt awkward to thank Garrett for recognizing that I didn't like being known solely through him, so instead, I asked him about what his first few days of celebrity life had been like. Instead of texting, he called me (like the ancient millennial he was), relieved and thrilled I'd approached him. He told me how he regretted having bought a home in a rush within days of becoming famous, ("Nobody wants advice, Bella, but—it's like mourning a loved one. Don't make any major life decisions within six months of becoming famous,") and how his mother chewed him out when she woke up to an article about him being an asshole ("If you choose the wrong people, you will not recognize when it happens… one day you just wake up on the other side.")

He told me stories of other celebrities, people I'd heard about, their struggles and advice. I listened. I felt guilty, understanding now how much—behind his presumptuous, and yes, sometimes arrogant behavior—he'd really just been waiting for me to reach out to him. I asked him if he wanted to set up a call (ugh) maybe twice a week, and his voice sounded almost gentle when he said he'd love that. I hugged Jake extra hard when we ended the call.

Alice's parents picked her up.

I was initially supposed to be on set but Tanya had cancelled the filming, so instead, I received a fancey new phone in the mail (and transferred my data into it), studied with Mrs. Haisley (who was here by special request by my parents), spent time with my family and sewed patches on two more hoodies for Edward. It would've felt like any other day had swarms of paparazzi not been buzzing behind our gates.

In the evening, Jasper sent me a video of Edward lying on his living room couch, reading what I recognized as the third Underground Memories book, The Mirrored Abyss. His frown got gradually more distinct until he looked downright murderous and threw his book against the wall.

"Something not to your liking?" Jasper taunted.

"Fuck you."

Jasper laughed and turned his phone to record himself. "Our homeboy may be a wee bit jealous of the, ah, knocking of boots scene you're gonna film with the sexiest man alive."

"Are you filming?!"

"Of course not," Jasper replied with the most shit-eating grin before the video showed the ceiling and cut off. He had, apparently, won whatever fight ensued because I did receive the video with the tag, 'Hang in there. Our boy's practically the Terminator. He'll be back.'

I laughed as I hearted his video, pausing it where I could see Edward's face. Judging by the shadows under his eyes and the fact that he was reading the third UM book, he must've been up all night reading. I longed to be in his arms as he read them, to hear his thoughts and emotions, to discuss which parts he loved and hated and whether his favorite parts matched mine. But it was not to be.

Sunday passed in a blur of interviews for the spot of my PR agency, and it was my first time to talking to strangers after the teaser leaked on Friday. The first two people were so PR-ish I couldn't tell if there was an actual human hiding under their perfectly moderated words praising my talent and Underground Memories and the teaser and our home.

The third man came off so incredibly patronizing I couldn't believe he worked in PR and hoped to score us as his clients, all, "You will not understand this yet but what you post in your social media has an impact on how people see you," (No shit, Sherlock, why the fuck do you think we're interviewing you?), "You don't understand this, being so young, but I didn't have internet or social media as a kid and you will not believe—" (A boomer who'd solved poverty! Because, of course, every family had the money to buy iPhones for their two-year-olds. Would've blown his mind to know that I got my first internet-accessible device, a shitty used laptop, at thirteen, and only because of corona), but nothing beat my personal favorite, "It is crucial for black young women to be conscious of how they dress so as not to attract unwanted attention in the media—"

I'll continue to wear whatever the fuck I love in my mom's closet, fuck you very much.

Mom and I couldn't take him to our front door quick enough.

The fourth PR professional we interviewed was a gorgeous black woman in her fifties, a Mrs. LaTonya Glover, who had three streaks of gray in her 4C hair and spoke with a sweet, soft voice. Her first words to us were, "I cannot imagine what these past few days must've been like for you. Tell me where you need most support and I'll tell you if I consider us to be a good fit for each other."

LaTonya was born and raised in Columbus, Georgia, she owned her PR agency, and had three grown daughters. She didn't patronize me when I asked stupid questions, she didn't presume to take over my social media, and when I told her I wasn't sure how much control I wanted over my accounts, she told me we could test out different approaches and see what worked best for my schedule and preferences. She could offer media training on Wednesday (the soonest) and made no secret of me being her biggest client should we proceed.

She won my heart.

…

I was starting to lose hope of hearing from Edward until he sent me the most adorable sleepy-looking selfie with the caption, 'Miss you, Feather-heart. Can you come over? The coast is clear.'

My heart could've leapt out of my chest. I put on black jeans, mom's light blue jacket on top of my gray hoodie and walked downstairs only to hear Riley's loud wailing as he fought not to brush his teeth. He had the wildest meltdowns on days when he behaved the best in public (he and my parents had gone to the aquarium after our PR agency interviews).

I reconsidered mentioning my intentions to my parents. Even without Edward's dad there, my parents wouldn't have been wild to allow me to go to his home, and I didn't want to have an audience for our discussions, nor did I want to make Edward fight off paparazzi to get here.

I returned upstairs and shut off the lights to check for the paparazzi on the street. Six cars parked on the sides of the roads. Cameramen sat inside them.

Feeling guilty, I jotted a note for my parents.

'I'm going to Edward's place—he's alone. I took my phone (location on) and will text you if I stay overnight. Please don't be too mad. Love you.'

I put on a black beanie, sneaked out from the backdoor and climbed over our fence. It was chilly, cloudy, and dark, and I cursed as I ran through the patch of forest. I ordered an Uber to pick me up in front of the second-nearest subdivision and breathed a sigh of relief when the driver didn't recognize me.

I tipped her after seeing Edward's motorcycle in the driveway, and she waved as she left.

I felt uneasy, but I couldn't pinpoint why.

It was windy. Dogs were barking, a neighbor was vacuuming, and someone in a nearby subdivision was using heavy machinery.

My nerves kicked up a notch as I walked up to Edward's front door.

The screen door flew open before I'd pressed the doorbell. My blood ran cold when Victoria stood on the doorway with Carl and an unknown man standing behind her.

Heart skipping a beat, I stumbled a step back. I didn't know she'd been released.

Not wanting to assume the worst, I cleared my throat. "I'm only here to see—"

"Oh, we know, darling," Victoria slurred, holding up Edward's phone. Blood drained from my face. I stepped back, turning, starting to run. I was knocked down. A hand muffled my scream.

"We're not going to hurt you," Victoria said, breath reeking of alcohol. "Calm down."

I elbowed her in the stomach, hoping to hit her liver. Keeling over, she released me, but I could only take a few steps before a lanky but tenacious grip caught me. I screamed.

"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" The man I hadn't met before tied a scarf around my head, filling my mouth with it, and I couldn't see him much in the dark but he must've been Peter's dad.

Holy shit.

I kicked him in his balls as hard as I could. He toppled to the ground. I wrestled with Victoria before someone managed to twist my arms and cuff my hands on my back. Full of adrenaline, I turned and threw my leg up in the air, aiming at her stomach. I nearly fell when I missed.

"We're not going to hurt you," the unknown man repeated, hauling me up on his shoulder as he limped to a car parked on the side of the road. A whiny, muffled moan escaped me as I tried to grab the attention of the neighbors. Jesus fuck, it was dark.

Second location.

Never let them take you to a second location.

Panic arose. I wriggled free from the man's arms but only hit my head against the side of the car.

Ow, ow, ow. Fucking ow.

The distant, echoey dizziness that ruined my vision distracted me for so long that they'd tied my feet by the time my confusion cleared. Heat rose in my throat. I banged my feet against any hard surface, any parts of their body, attempting to make the most amount of sound, screaming even if the scarf muffled my voice.

This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't. It wasn't possible.

But the car trunk lid shut above me, the engine started, and the car took off.

…

A/N: So… having fun?

Thank you all so much for being here :) you're a joy to write for!