“April, this is a huge decision. Becoming involved with something like this . . . it’s going to completely take over. People will hate you for no reason, or for bad reasons, or even for good reasons. People are torn apart by fame, and this is far beyond what most of them deal with. You’re talking about yourself like you’re a tool, but you’re a person too. And an evolving one. This will affect your life forever.”
Putnam addressed me, not Andy’s dad. “These are concerns that I absolutely share. You will never know what this is going to be like until you do it, and fame is not something that should be sought for its own sake. That being said, I think there are safe ways to approach this, and it is very good that you are here. We need to talk about a lot of things, and you should know that you can back out at any time.”
“That’s not exactly true, Jennifer,” said Mr. Skampt. “Once they’re in this, there’s only so much that they’ll be able to withdraw.”
The sea of dopamine and adrenaline enveloping my brain was converting my exhaustion to giddiness. “How can we say no? We’re in.” I turned to Andy, who hadn’t spoken since we walked into the office.
He looked down at his feet for a second before he said, “What she said, no one gets this opportunity, we need to take it.”
“OK, we need to do quite a lot of work very fast. How are you two feeling?” Putnam asked.
“Terrible!” I said.
“Like I got fucked by a demon!” Andy added. His dad looked displeased.
Jennifer Putnam did not. “Well, I guess that’s what we’re working with!” she said.
* * *
—
Over the next couple of hours Robin and Mrs. Putnam built contracts, made phone calls, and quizzed Andy and me. Mr. Skampt made it clear that, in this situation, he was representing the clients, not the company, and argued with Putnam on a number of points that I was far too exhausted to understand. We had absolutely lucked out to have Mr. Skampt fighting like a dog for us. He probably saved our butts (and our dollars) in fifty different ways in the course of fifteen minutes.
The weirdest bit was when they separated Andy and me for one-on-one discussions. They wanted to make sure that one of us wasn’t influencing the other, and they asked us about that, and about the deal we’d brokered and about our relationship. I mean, I presume they asked Andy about all the same stuff; if they asked him something different, he never told me. I was as open as I could be. Andy and I were on good standing and it looked as if there was more than enough money to go around and what did I need more than $20,000 a month for anyway?
Then there was the bit I really wasn’t expecting.
“Is there anything we should know about you?” Putnam asked.
“Um, I’m a Libra?”
Mr. Skampt chimed in. “April, it’s important that if there’s anything that might come to light under scrutiny, we know about it now.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about this. “Yeah, um, nothing I can think of?”
“OK, well, we have some prompts.” And then he rifled off dozens of terrible things I might have done . . . just in case they’d slipped my mind. Had I ever hit a dog with my car? A person? Had I had a relationship with someone who was much younger than me? Much older than me? Had I ever hired a prostitute? Been a prostitute? Sold drugs? Done drugs? Seen drugs? Killed with my bare hands? Collected the teeth of my vanquished enemies? Carved the bones of children into weapons with which I killed yet more children?
And, if it’s not too much to ask, could you please write down the name of every single person you’ve ever been to first base with?
I answered these questions and did these things, and it was extremely uncomfortable, but I had the feeling that it was a test as well as a practical exercise.
“April, I can’t help but notice that there are a lot of names of both genders on this list,” Putnam said in a way that both was and was not a question.
“Well, a LOT? I wouldn’t say a lot,” I said, completely comfortable and not at all embarrassed by this line of questioning. (That’s sarcasm, by the way.)
“Jennifer,” Andy’s dad said, “I don’t know that that’s any of our business.”
She replied like he was a child. “Marshall, you know as well as I do that it could soon be everyone’s business.” Mr. Skampt looked cowed.
“April,” Putnam continued, “are you dating anyone at the moment?”
“Yeah, Maya. We were roommates first. It’s a little weird, but we have a great relationship.” As I said this, I felt a huge wave of guilt wash over me as I realized I still hadn’t texted her since she sent that What’s up hun text.
“So,” she continued, “would it be OK if you were just gay? Like, you’ve had relationships with guys in the past but were gay the whole time?”
“But I happen to not be . . . just gay. I’m gay and straight? It’s great, I don’t even know what it would be like to not be attracted to a person because of their gender. To me, you’re the weird one.”
It’s hard not to be immediately defensive when people challenge you on your sexuality no matter what it is. Some people just can’t seem to believe that I feel the way I do, and so suddenly they’re off explaining me to themselves with me sitting right there. Is it that I’m greedy, or sex-crazed, or can’t make up my mind, or I’m a lesbian but I can’t admit it, or that I’m just doing it to get guys’ attention because they think it’s hot? And if not that, then . . . “Oh, by the way, my girlfriend’s bi too, maybe we can [MEANINGFUL PAUSE] hang out some time.”
“April, I absolutely understand. But not everybody will. I’m just saying that it would be simpler if you were either straight or gay. I have no issue with bisexuality, and I want very much for the rest of the world to feel that way too, but it would distract from your message. Some people will latch onto this as a way to make you less human. We’re looking at this through not just a New York City lens but all of America. Really, all of the world. Your sexual orientation will be a weakness through which you can be attacked.”
I looked down at the floor and stayed silent for a full ten seconds. I mean, yeah, it made some sense. We’re dealing with fucking space aliens—who gives a shit if I’m gay or bi?
I looked up at Mr. Skampt, who just shrugged.
“I mean, it’s not like I’m currently thinking about hooking up with any dudes,” I said, sort of lying, since I had just been thinking about hooking up with Robin. But Mr. Skampt’s silence sounded like agreement to me, so I caved. “Sure, uh. Yeah, I can just be gay.”
That was the first time I got a glimpse of the ways in which Jennifer Putnam sucked as a human being and I didn’t even notice it in the moment. I know I’m blaming her when I could just as easily blame myself, but I was confused and out of my depth and she seemed so competent. For her, it was easier to sell a quirky lesbian than a quirky bi girl, so I became a quirky lesbian for her.
Though I’m not sure I’m one to talk, what with the whole staying up until 10 A.M. very intentionally converting myself into a brand. Our goals, most of the time, would align.
After everyone was satisfied that I had never eaten even a single baby, I was released for a coffee break, which I had with Andy at a café across the street. We debriefed and talked war stories. I kept the bi thing from him, and I’m sure he kept some stuff from me. Whatever, neither of us had ever done anything terrible, that was the important thing.
I’d been texting Miranda on and off throughout the day. She had left Berkeley and was on her way to Los Angeles now. We were going to meet her at the CVS (not a Walmart, alas) that was closest to the Carl in Los Angeles (Hollywood Carl). Of course, LA traffic was conspiring against her, but this meeting with Putnam was taking way more time than we’d expected anyway, so it was working out pretty perfectly.