“Reece,” Mr. Phan admonishes. “How about you try swallowing?”
Angel ignores him. “Anjon, Zuben … Save Saturday is a hashtag now. Chorus is trending, too! Mind you, they’re probably enjoying the publicity boost…”
“Who are Anjon and Zuben?” Laura asks.
Zach turns bright red. “They’re our ship names.”
“And what’s a ship name?”
“Aren’t ship names usually female?” Mr. Phan asks.
“No, Dad, that would be a literal ship,” Angel says. “I feel like if you thought on that for more than a second, logic would tell you that Twitter is not collectively discussing a literal ship.”
“Reece, don’t talk to your father like that,” Mrs. Phan chides. “And tone down the sass, please, we adults don’t speak your nonsense Internet talk, remember?”
“It’s short for relationship, I believe,” Mrs. Braxton says sweetly. “Jonathan, would you like to tell me more about ‘Anjon’?”
“Actually, there is nothing I would like less in the world than to talk about Anjon with you, Mom,” Jon says. “All you need to know about Anjon is that it doesn’t exist.”
“It exists in people’s hearts,” Angel says, placing a hand over his chest. “So, you could argue—”
“It doesn’t exist,” Jon practically screeches.
“We believe you, Jon,” Mr. Phan says. “Although, rest assured, if you had ended up as our son-in-law, we would’ve been thrilled to have you.”
Angel holds his hand up for a high-five. His father leaves him hanging.
“So,” Mrs. Braxton says pointedly. “Good news on the Internet front, then, Angel?”
Angel’s smile fades and he turns serious as he scrolls through the hashtags. “I mean … yeah. It looks promising. Oh, shit, ‘End of Everything’ is trending, now, too.”
“I’ve always known there to be truth in the phrase ‘no publicity is bad publicity,’” Mom says.
I glance at Zach, who’s barely able to hide his lip curling at her about-face from the “don’t look bad in the press” stance she’s taken for the last … oh, eighteen years.
Laura’s watching Zach, too, and she jumps in to change the subject. “So, Shantelle,” she says, turning to Mrs. Braxton. “You said something about a lawyer on the phone?”
Mrs. Braxton smiles grimly. “Not just one. Several.”
Laura stands. “That tone calls for wine. I brought sparkling and red.”
“Great idea,” Angel deadpans.
His mom snorts. “Nice try. You’re underage again.”
Angel rolls his eyes until only the whites show. “This country sucks.”
Not in spite of his joking, but because of it, I’m suddenly all too aware of how uncomfortable this must be for him. How every time he’s around people drinking socially, he’s going to have to make a choice a large part of him won’t want to make. Again and again. It’s not over for him because he’s out. It’ll never really be over.
If it weren’t for Chorus.
If it weren’t for fucking Chorus.
Mom places a hand on my arm. “Sweetie, would you like some wine?” she asks. She probably wants it to appear like she’s making a point about wine at the dinner table being part of Spanish culture, but, more likely, her real point is something much crueler. Either she’s trying to prove that she’s way more relaxed than the other parents in the room, or she’s trying to highlight the fact that her son hasn’t got a substance abuse problem. Whichever it is, I’m pretty certain the underlying vibe here is that my mom is, most of the time, still the absolute worst.
My smile doesn’t meet my eyes. “No, thank you.”
Zach’s holding his head up with both hands, his fingers outstretched so they’re spanning across his face. His fingertips are digging into his cheekbones so hard they’ve formed dents in the skin. He’s doing a valiant job at keeping his opinion to himself. Verbally.
Mrs. Braxton accepts a glass of sparkling white and leans back in her chair. “My husband might be their manager for now, but don’t think I have no hand in Chorus Management. Everything he thinks he can throw at this, I can do one better. Our payrolled lawyers are good, but there are better ones out there. I can think of at least three who would be happy to represent us, and I have verbal confirmation from one already. Jane Sanchez?”
The name doesn’t seem to ring a bell to anyone in the room but Mom. Her noise of approval tells me all I need to know, though. Mom still has her ear to the ground when it comes to the entertainment industry.
Up until now, our lawyers were Chorus’s lawyers. Geoff recommended them to us when we signed with him, and everyone we asked at camp said they were pretty sure that was normal. It’s only a bad thing to share lawyers during disputes.
For example, if one party sues the ass off the other.
“Do we have a leg to stand on?” Mrs. Phan asks as she takes her glass between two hands.
“The defamation claim is a load of crap,” Mom says. “Ruben wouldn’t have said a single untrue word on that stage.”
“Oh, I believe it,” Laura says, sitting back down and placing a second bottle of wine on the coffee table. “Zach’s told me plenty since he got back. In fact, it sounds to me like they were often held against their will. Is that kidnapping? Because I think it’s kidnapping.” Mom and Mrs. Braxton make similar “eh” motions with their hands. Laura takes a defiant sip of wine. “Doesn’t sound legal to me.”
“I’d like to have Jane review the morality clauses in the original contract,” Mrs. Braxton goes on. “I had a look last night and there were some extra lines put in about speaking against management or revealing insider information. Lines I know for a fact aren’t in Geoff’s boilerplate contracts. I want to know exactly what that’s all about.”
“And there’s always the discrimination angle,” Mom says. Lucky me, to be an angle.
“And what about duty of care?” Mr. Phan asks. “My son almost died thanks to their incompetence.”