“What does ‘because I’m me’ mean?” I ask further.
He shrugs with one shoulder. “I’m a genius who doesn’t give a shit.” His yellow-green eyes flash to me. “I’ll edit her tentacle smut without batting an eye, and I don’t think the same thing can be said for her older brother.”
I’ve been filming Maximoff Hale long enough onWe Are Callowayto know he isn’t judgmental. He’s empathetic to a fault. But he does get in his head a lot. So if Charlie is saying his cousin would over-analyze everything his sister writes, then he’s probably right.
But I don’t know if that’s what Charlie is saying.
And I don’t know how to ask him to clarify without a leading question. So I stop asking. We’re not shooting right now, anyway.
Charlie sticks his cigarette between his lips. “Car’s here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You’ll see.”
“It’d be better if I knew the location,” I say, hoping to havesomeidea. I can hear my crew complaining and griping already.
“I never said I’d be easy to work with.”
“Butmefilming you is also helpingyousomehow, right?” I say lightly, trying to be friendly about this. “So let’s help each other, Charlie.”
He relents. Partially. And just tells me, “We’re going out of the country.”
Shit.
Fuck, I didn’t even pack a bag.
“Bye, Jack!” Luna calls from the stage. She waves with Tom, who yells goodbye to Oscar.
I make the shaka brah hand gesture, and then Oscar and I turn to each other.
Oscar adjusts his earpiece. “Told you to grab a toothbrush before we left, Long Beach.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Some days, I wish I were.”
It’s beginning to be clear that diving into Charlie’s life means I’ve just put myself in the passenger seat to Oscar Oliveira’s.
8
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
After talkingwith the flight crew, I gather enough information about the spontaneous trip.
Destination:Paris.
Me:Unshocked.
The small private jet hums, and I pass Jack a Gatorade from the cooler on the wall. We sit across from each other at one of the tables. I glimpse over my shoulder to check on my client. Charlie sleeps three rows back, a Cobalt Diamonds-branded mask covers his eyes and bright pink earplugs cancel out all noise.
Jack follows my gaze, and I meet his eyes when I turn back to him. “He’s got the right idea,” I say. “You should get some sleep now, if you can.” He couldn’t have slept that much after Charlie and I left his apartment. He had to meet me at my studio in New York like two seconds later this morning. And since then, we’ve been on-the-go chasing Charlie’s shadow.
He uncaps the Gatorade and takes a swig. “It doesn’t annoy you that he keeps you in the dark?”
I rarely talk about Charlie. With anyone. It feels too personal.
My reservations must be written all over my face because Jack winces. “I’m not asking as a producer of a show,” he clarifies. “I’m just…asking as a friend.”
