Zhen drops his gaze to gather his words. “I’m not embarrassed. I’m…shocked.”
“Oh.” I haven’t seen him really surprised before? At least maybe not concerning me. “What is it…?” My eyes start welling again. I thought the tears had ended.
He pushes back his black hair. “In New York, you were caught having sex with Luka. Nothing with cocaine.”
I’m stunned silent. Brenden is assuring me that he didn’t tell, but I never doubted him. I think…Luka must’ve told someone.
Zhen lists off a few more things: the contracts we signed, the threat of the no minors policy, and Luka being forced into quitting by Geoffrey. Basically, everything.
It’s all out in the open with the whole company. Blood drains out of my head, cold biting me.
I’d feel more at risk of being fired if this day didn’t start out weird. But I just realize—there are young kids, no older than ten or twelve, crying by Viva’s trapeze.
And I caused their grief. With the no minors policy. “Is it already enforced?” I stare off, a chill snaking down my spine. Brenden wraps his arm around my shoulders, but I’m as stiff as a board.
“It’s all just talk right now,” Zhen says. “I don’t think anything official has happened.”
Brenden’s phone buzzes.
I lean over and read the text.
Brenden sent: is something going on? Baylee is freaked.
Things are up in the air – Luka
Another text comes in fast.
She’s staying in Infini no matter what. It’s boiling down to the policy & our old contracts – Luka
Brenden asks me, “What? You keep shaking your head.”
“Who has that much sway in Aerial Ethereal to override a contract written by the company’s creator?”
Not long after I say it, artists start collecting their bags. With quick glances at their cells, they leave the gym. Brenden checks his phone for any cancellations, but he shakes his head.
The hallway starts emptying, but no one rushes into the gym. Everyone seems to be headed for the elevators. Like they’re going home to their suites.
Viva has an early-afternoon show soon. Most of the cast should be warming up. I look again at someone who may have answers.
Dimitri catches my questioning expression this time, and he nods heartily at me. Like stay strong, Baybay. We’re fixing this.
We’re helping you.
I blow back, my lips parting in recognition of what this all may mean. That they’re not giving up on Luka. On us.
For the first time, we may actually have people on our side.
Act Forty-Three Luka Kotova
One hour to 8:00 p.m. show-times and no decision has been made yet. I’ve been held in Antoine Perrot’s office since this morning. He’s the Director of Infini. In Corporate hierarchy, he’s above Geoffrey Lesage. Beneath Marc Duval.
(Everyone is beneath Marc.)
The glass door is shaded with blinds. I can’t even peer into the hallway. Trying not to stress, I kick back on a chair and I toy with a wooden puzzle from his desk. Also, I eavesdrop on his Corporate phone call.
“There’s nothing more I can do on this end.” Perrot (he goes by last name) perches his phone to his ear, anxious hand on his short silver hair. In his early fifties, he looks a lot like John Slattery, the actor from Mad Men. (Yeah, I looked him up on IMDB.) I listen intently.
“Marc, I know. I’ve had the creative staff try to reason with the artists, but they aren’t budging just like New York and Montreal.”
My lips gradually lift. About three hours ago, Perrot shot out of his seat when he learned the cast of Nova Vega and Celeste were nowhere to be found. All taking the day off. It’s now 10:00 p.m. in their respective cities, and the artists missed their openings.
To avoid local media coverage, Aerial Ethereal cancelled their shows five minutes before curtain-call, citing illness within the cast.
Like they all have the flu.
But the cast abandoned their shows to make a change. It’s not all about me or Bay. Most refuse to perform until Marc agrees that the no minors policy will never be implemented.
Still, my huge family and the Wrights have been seeking a dissolution to the contracts we signed five years ago. Brenden is advocating for Bay. Her aunt has even hired a lawyer, her husband’s colleague.
I eavesdropped on all the lawyer-talk. AE’s representatives harp on one thing: the contracts we signed were an opportunity. A so-called gift that no other minors—at least the ones caught having underage sex—received. They were fired. We kept our jobs.
And we had a choice. We could’ve not signed the contracts, quit AE, and then we would’ve been a couple. Maybe we would’ve went to high school together.
Had a semi-normal teenage life. Been happy or sad. Who can really know what our lives would’ve been like?
All I know is what happened. Where we are now.
Our lawyers have been combating AE, calling the terms of the contracts “grossly extreme” and an “abuse” of power. I don’t know if we really have a chance.
It could be wishful thinking, but to have her family, my family, fight for us this time—it’s validation I didn’t even realize I needed. Five years ago, we were just kids in their eyes, and nothing we said would’ve made a difference. We couldn’t change their minds.
We couldn’t make them see what we felt, and I really didn’t think we could change them now. But somehow, someway, they see Bay and me as more than young love. Maybe they pity us—for all that we went through—or maybe they sympathize and finally understand our pain.
I don’t know.
I don’t need to know their motivations. It doesn’t matter to me.
Just knowing their voices aren’t rivaling ours, that they’re shouting in certainty and solidarity—it’s enough. Our families finally believe we’re worth the fight.
Perrot has his hand to his forehead. “No. Marc, it’s almost eight p.m. here. Viva already missed their show—I know. I also heard that Seraphine’s cast is missing.” He checks his watch. “It’s almost one p.m. in Tokyo, so there’s time…wait.” He rolls forward on his chair, eyes widening at the computer screen. “Dammit. The artists for oceanic touring shows are leaving—dammit.”
Perrot catches me smiling, and I can’t suppress this one. Not even if I tried. Because I’ve never been on this side of power.
By banding together, individuals can be mightier than the hands that encase us. That control us. I’ve been witnessing artists across the globe tear at red tape and snip the strings that force us every which way.
It seems unbelievable. I smile more. Unbelievable. Just like the circus. Where the impossible becomes possible.
Perrot cups the speaker with his hand, anxiety wrinkling his forehead. “You’ll know the outcome with everyone else,” he says to me. “You’re free to leave.”
I immediately spring up. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I head to the glass door.
“Wait.”
I stop.
“My puzzle.”
It’s in my pocket. I lick my dry lips and then casually return the unsolved, wooden puzzle to his desk. “Sorry.” (I am sorry.) He swivels in his chair, phone pressed to his ear again, and before I reach the doorknob, he exclaims, “Wait.”
“I didn’t take anything else.”
Perrot raises a finger at me to wait and speaks to Marc in fluent French. I understand only a few words. Billets (tickets) is one of them. Then he gestures me to sit again.
My lungs are heavy, and I return to the chair and lean back on its wooden legs. Pretending I’m not stressed when so much weighs on me. I still hear Timo and Kat’s screams…and I haven’t seen or talked to them since.
Nik has texted me they’re okay and sent me pictures of his suite. A lot of my cousins are drinking and playing cards. Eating takeout. Chilling.
Bay is there.
Nikolai said that Dimitri has been annoying her during their card game—his attempt at distracting her from everything.
I hope I made the right choice in letting Nikolai corral our family and confront Corporate. I hope I didn’t fuck it all up for no reason.