“Just wait. May I present Chain Links now?”
It took twenty minutes to go through the slides that told the story of how a poor Black boy, from a small town in Florida, became the keeper of one of America’s oldest, most common liaisons, so common it lurked within many a family tree. The story wove the web among Jasper’s grandfather, Telescope, and the St. Johns. It told of two men’s obsession with Kitty, and how his grandfather’s quest to protect her secret jeopardized his marriage. The show ended with a photo of Kitty and Jasper’s grandmother, on the night Kitty came to explain the photos her husband had of her. It was a powerful picture, full of juxtapositions among race, class, and societal taboos, reconciling under one roof.
“I love it.” Elise was impressed by Jasper’s storytelling. She momentarily forgot about Kitty’s side of it and found herself feeling bad for the position it put his grandfather in.
“I have your permission?”
“The FBI came to see us yesterday.”
Jasper stiffened. “You should have led with that. What did they want? Do they know about Kitty?”
“No, but I’m thinking that’s pertinent information.”
Jasper started to pace. “This story has legs … Every time I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of it, another surprise appears.”
“If your grandfather was following Kitty, some of his photos could be evidence.”
“Of what?”
Elise shrugged. “They had questions about a charity. Did he ever say anything about Kitty’s social life?”
“Not specifically, but she was out all the time. She was a movie star.”
“I need to see everything.” Having just categorized Kitty’s photos, Elise thought she might recognize the younger versions of her friends and associates.
“They’re in storage.”
“After the shoot tomorrow, then.” Taking this as her opportunity to leave, she stood. “Thanks for the wine.”
“You can’t go now! I have so many questions.”
She gave him a regretful look. “I’m shooting the cover of Vogue tomorrow, and it’s already midnight.”
He laughed, embarrassed. “Good excuse.”
She held out her arms for a hug, and he wrapped his around her waist, pulling her close until her head had no option but to tilt upward at him.
“Tomorrow, I’ll show you whatever it is you want to see.”
“Thank you for waiting to do anything with your book.”
“I wasn’t ever just going to release it without telling you. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Now I want to trash the whole thing.”
She pointed at him. “Don’t do that. But I get it.”
His chestnut brown eyes settled on her. It would have taken just one kiss for her to end up in his bed. Tempted by the undertow, she lingered, relishing in how her body felt against his, how good it felt to be close. But before she liked it too much and stayed, she patted his back. “Unhand me,” she said and, smiling, pulled open his door.
* * *
As planned, Elise told Vogue anecdotes about her family’s neighborly relationship with Kitty. She applauded her strides for women and race relations and gave them the exclusive story about Hanes Austen, the reputed writer of Down South. The writer was satisfied, and their conversation flowed into chatter about Drag On and Kitty’s opinion about it being her best yet.
“How special, if you were to win the Oscar!”
Hearing the interviewer say it, it rang true in a way Elise hadn’t wanted to admit. Winning would keep her in the news cycle, but so would the charitable donation of Kitty’s estate. She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t.
“I don’t want to jinx it. Kitty’s validation of my talent was enough.”
“How do you plan to carry on her legacy?”
Elise appreciated the classy reference to her inheritance. “Help people.”
Jasper shot her in a rented downtown penthouse, in the bright natural light of the snowy November morning, with slicked-back hair and an even, dewy, bare face to show her eyes. That was key. The magazine insisted on a white dress, which Elise spun into an angel reference instead of a bride. Looking into Jasper’s lens made her want to perform for him. She wanted to impress him and found strength, under his gaze, against the strangers occupying the space. Underneath their professional demeanor were opinions about her life; she could see both wonder and contempt in their eyes. She realized then it was their judgment that kept her controlled: either quiet, to avoid mention, or anxious about the coming commentary. Apathy was a defense mechanism. She caught herself about to allow what strangers might say to change her feelings about the family legacy she was on the verge of sealing. It may have been all ego, but it was then that Elise decided that she did care. She cared very much about winning and obtaining her status as a serious actress.
Feeling claustrophobic under the spotlight, she tore the netted neck of her dress down over her shoulders, apologizing in mid-rip to the horrified stylist and promising that she’d cover the cost. She hated turtlenecks and said she preferred the simple, A-line spaghetti-strap dress that hung on the rack. She kicked off the pink kitten heels and asked for a wipe to remove the red lipstick. Already feeling more like herself, she began her own dance with Jasper as she moved about the apartment, ignoring the ten other people there. However things turned out, she was shooting the cover of Vogue—something Kitty had never done—and she was going to do them both proud.
* * *
“Great job today.” Jasper opened his door before she knocked. “Want a preview?”
“I wait until they pick, so I’m not disappointed if I liked another one better.” She followed him to his kitchen, where he handed her a bowl of pesto pasta.
“Smart.” He pointed to the black metal table against the wall, where a few boxes sat. “That’s everything.” He was confused about what his grandfather’s photos could possibly reveal.
“I don’t think Kitty was the only one passing in her circle,” Elise explained.
“Others at Telescope?”
“All over, maybe. I need your help fact-checking.” She sat on a countertop stool. Jasper opened his refrigerator and produced Parmesan cheese.
“Do we need to go digging?”
“You did!”
“That was before … honestly, I don’t want my name anywhere near any of this anymore. The FBI doesn’t just show up to fish for information.” He sprinkled cheese into two bowls in front of her.
“That’s why I need to know everything,” Elise said. “I need to know what to protect.”
“This is what I meant by your privilege.” He rounded the corner and handed her a bowl. “The FBI comes, and I lose interest; the FBI comes, and you want to dive in.”
“You don’t think it means something, her leaving all this in my lap?”
“I’ve said so, but at this point, I think you should let it go.” Jasper twirled linguine on his fork and held it over to her. “Eat, woman.”
Elise did as she was told. He gave her a second bite from his bowl before feeding himself.
As she suspected, there was a pattern in the photos: the same group of women, this one house. Even Rebecca’s grandmother made an appearance in a few shots at the Gramling Hotel. Mrs. Pew was easily recognizable. As the founder of the publicity firm Rebecca and her mother now ran, a picture of her in her early thirties had hung in the office entryway for decades.
“How’s your mom taking things?”
“She’s fine.”
“Hopefully this can improve things between you two.”
Elise looked at him squarely. “Things are fine with us.”
“I’m not trying to pry. I want to get to know you, personally.”
“Me being slightly paranoid about your intentions is common sense—”
“Even now? I told you, forget that book.”
“Did you know about Kitty in March when we met?”
Jasper nodded. “So meeting you felt like a sign.”
“Or slightly opportunistic?”