Max was quiet while he processed that. Jackie had shot some footage that morning (though she hadn’t been able to capture Andersona’s outburst), and she tethered her phone to download it.
She and Max spent a few more minutes chatting, talking mostly about the shots he wanted her to get for the next episode of their YouTube show, and then bid each other good-bye. It was the middle of the night in Russia, and Max needed sleep. Not knowing what else to do, Jackie lay down on her bed, where she dozed off.
Then came the knock on the door.
She propped herself up on her elbows. “Who is it?” she said.
Ethan opened the door and peeked around its edge. “May I come in?”
Jackie shrugged.
Ethan entered the room and sat down on the lone chair. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He nodded at the Mean Girls poster.
“Great movie,” Ethan said.
“I know why you’re here, Mr. Overbee,” Jackie answered.
“I don’t think you do.” He locked his eyes on Jackie’s face, making her squirm.
“You’re not here to yell at me? About The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon?”
“Would it do any good?”
Jackie didn’t answer. She wasn’t really sure where this was going, and there was something in Ethan’s demeanor that made her even more uneasy than usual.
“Maybe my parents should be here,” Jackie said.
“Maybe, but they’re not home, are they.”
Again, Jackie didn’t answer.
“You know,” Ethan began, “you’ve probably ruined Jo Garvin’s career. She’s got two kids. Did you know that?”
Jackie didn’t know that, but she thought that if Jo really loved her kids, she might have at least mentioned them during dinner.
“There never was any school project for your videos, was there?”
Jackie stared at her hands.
“Want to play it quiet? Okay, we can do that, too. What I don’t understand, though, is how you managed to so successfully shield the identity of your YouTube account.”
He didn’t know about Max. Jackie felt a jolt of adrenaline; she controlled a piece of information that this man, who seemed to know everything, didn’t have.
“No matter,” Ethan said, standing up. “YouTube account or not, you can’t make movies without this.”
Ethan reached onto her desk, unplugged her iPhone, and pocketed it.
“Hey!” Jackie yelled, alarmed.
“Sorry, kiddo, you lost the privilege.”
“That’s my phone.”
“It was your phone, Jackie,” Ethan said, opening the door, “but now, everything in this house, everything on this set, belongs to me. And, Jackie?” He waited a beat to make sure he had her full attention. “One more episode of your show goes live, and I’ll do a lot worse than take away your phone.”
With that, he turned and exited.
***
Later that night, Jackie told Deirdre what had happened. Her mother went through the roof. She screamed at the director until he agreed to get Ethan on the phone.
“Now, now, Deirdre,” Ethan said, trying to stop her from shouting, “Jackie is overreacting. It’s true, I did take her phone away, but I’m sure you understand why the network can’t have any more unauthorized behind-the-scenes escapades. It would be good for you, her mother, to remind her of that.”
“Mr. Overbee,” Deirdre began, her bear claws fully extended and ready to protect the interests of her cub, “I assure you—”
“And, Deirdre,” Ethan interrupted as if he hadn’t heard her at all, “one more thing.”
Deirdre had a sick feeling in her stomach.
“Beginning tomorrow, the American Television Network, pursuant to the terms of your husband’s contract and in coordination with the Saint Ignatius Hospital of Portland, will assume the responsibility for Jared’s medical care.”
“What? You can’t—”
“Good night, Deirdre. I’ll be on the set this week if you want to talk about it further.”
The line went dead.
***
Sister Benedict Joan entered the Stone house as if she had lived there all her life. She was amazed to see how much of the space had been converted to a television set. The images projected on-screen made it seem like any other house, but such was the lie of the medium. Over the years, the Sister had caught glimpses of other reality shows—usually clips from Real World, or Big Brother, or The Amazing Race, shown by guests on The Duke Hamblin Show—and now she wondered if anything on television was real.
“Who are you?”
The Sister turned around and saw an angelic teenage girl staring at her, rosy cheeks, strawberry-blond pigtails, and the widest, bluest eyes she had ever seen. Having watched every episode of Life and Death, the Sister knew this to be Megan Stone.
“I am Sister Benedict Joan, young lady, but you may call me Sister.”
“Okay, Sister, what are you doing in my house?”
Sister Benedict had hoped the Stone family would have been briefed. “Is your mother or father at home?”