t w e n t y - s e v e n
“You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.”
—Friedrich Nietzsche
It’s early Saturday and Dad is knocking on my bedroom door.
My champagne hangover pounds brain against skull.
“Olivia? Are you awake?”
“Yeah,” I say, looking at the time on my phone.
“Olivia...”
“Dad,” I grunt. “I hear you. I need a shower.”
I try to sit up. My head spins. I just want to sleep, but know I won’t be able to even if I have the time. There’s a bottle of water next to the bed. I drink most of it.
The shower is hot and washes away the grime from the night before. As it pours over me, my mind goes wild with a collage of visions. Along with the effects of the champagne, the imagery from the night before blossoms through my head. Lights. Bells. Fiber optics. The fallen angel. Wings. LeFeber, talking to me about his art as if I were his confidant. I’m so mesmerized, thinking of the fallen angel with wings that looked like they were made of thousands of real bird feathers, breathing life into the form.
I pull on sweatpants and a shirt, then walk downstairs to Dad’s study, where Rich is pacing back and forth with his eyes trained on me.
“Please sit,” Dad says.
“Out late last night?” Rich asks.
“I was at an art show,” I say without going into further detail.
“I know,” Rich says. He crosses his hands together. “That’s why we’re here.”
“Dad gave me permission,” I say, looking up at him for support.
His face is like stone.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Rich walks over to Dad’s computer and pulls up a YouTube video, then presses Play. It’s a clip from Extra. The woman hosting the show sits at a table in front of a screen. Flashing on the screen with her is a picture of Zach and I talking inside his car outside the art gallery.
“Zach Park,” the host says, “actor from the hit series Sisters & Mothers, was spotted getting cozy with political royalty, Olivia Blakely, the daughter of Representative and California gubernatorial candidate Colin Blakely. They were attending a gallery opening for Geoff LeFeber, the New York artist well-known for his large installations.”
The screen flashes a short video of Zach and I walking into the gallery together, holding hands. Then the host reappears on the screen. I let out a deep breath of air. At least they didn’t get a photo of me drinking all that champagne inside the venue.
“Another attendee was Park’s ex, Cristina Rossi, a model for Calvin Klein. The two have been one of Hollywood’s favorite couples. Until now. Is Olivia Blakely a true-love wrecker? Or will Cristina and Zach get back together? Only time—and Extra!—will tell.”
I’m speechless. This is horrible. I’m the complete opposite of a true-love wrecker. They had already broken up before I started dating Zach. Not that I’m exactly happy with him right now. Even though I found him after LeFeber left, Zach kept acting irritated to be there. I needled him to tell me what was wrong, but he wouldn’t say why.
“This isn’t something we can’t get out ahead of,” Rich says, moving on. He runs his hand over his bald head like he’s trying to remember whether he still has hair. “But I want to talk about what people you should or shouldn’t be seen with and what you should or shouldn’t be doing. No more flashy events from now on.”
I lean in the chair. “You can’t be serious.”
Dad finally looks up from his phone and speaks. “If you’re going to be dating a celebrity, then you have to know how to handle these kinds of situations.”
Rich opens a file that was lying in front of him.
He pulls out a photo of Zach.
“What, are you in the CIA now?” I say.
“I keep files so I can be better organized. This is a highly intense campaign. Order helps you to stay focused on the important things.”
“Rich has a lot of experience,” Dad says. “This is good training for you. If you want to be an artist, you’re going to have to learn how to deal with PR too.”
Rich continues in his monotone voice. “This wasn’t exactly your fault, of course, but you have to be more careful with your boyfriend. With your father’s permission, I’ve drawn up a plan about how you two could best be seen in public, perhaps stage a few photo opportunities, maybe even an interview. Impromptu of course. We don’t want it to look planned. Forget the true-love wrecker stuff. People will forget the Calvin Klein model fast enough. This could work in your father’s favor. Bring in a younger voting base. Update his image a little.”
“This seems a bit overboard,” I say.
“I don’t want to make you miserable, Liv,” Dad says, leaning back in his chair. “This boy obviously makes you happy. But I need you to be more conscientious.”
Rich looks at me and puts Zach’s photo back in the file. “You were at a show last night for Geoff LeFeber. He’s quite the controversial artist.”
Even though I feel like hell right now, I try to put up a fight. “Controversial? That’s what people who want to control art call it.”
Ignoring me, Rich pushes up his glasses. “I’m a little concerned about you going to art shows. It’s too flashy. The focus should be on your father. Museums are fine. But not gallery openings.”
“But I’m pursuing art,” I say. “How am I supposed to become an artist if I can’t even—”
“Yes. I know you have an interest in that. Perhaps we can delay that announcement. Could you maybe have an interest in being a business major for the next few months? There are conferences we could have you attend. You could be seen with some important corporate presidents. Major American products appeal to many constituents.”
I push back my chair a little too hard, causing the legs to scrape against the floor. “You want me to fake an interest in business because voters like certain products?”
“Yes. Of course,” Rich says. He seems to barely even register that I’m upset. Is this what business as usual is for him? “It’s been proven through research.”
I can’t handle this discussion anymore. My head is pounding. I want to throw up the rest of the champagne sloshing at the bottom of my stomach.
“This is psycho. You know that, right?” I turn my attention to Dad as I walk out the door. “I said I would help the campaign, but I won’t be, like, some puppet.”
I run into Mom in the front room. She’s working on a finance spreadsheet for her literacy organization. “Liv,” she says distractedly. “Morning, sweetie.”
“Mom. Rich is insane.”
“Can we talk about that later?” She looks down at her watch. “I have therapy in fifteen minutes. You’re coming, right?”
“No. But Rich should. He needs a huge dose. Maybe a sedative too.”
She ignores my jab at Dad’s campaign manager. “I thought you said you were going with me. I asked you on Thursday. You can support me by getting some extra counseling. We’re dealing with so much campaign stress already. This is a normal thing. We took Royce and Mason to a children’s therapist the first time Dad ran for Congress. You can talk about these campaign manager concerns too. It’s only an hour.”
“Are you serious, Mom?”
“One hour.”
I hear Rich coming down the hall, looking for me again.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, ducking out of the room. “Meet you in the car.”