Ethan had to watch The Real Family Stone of Portland, Oregon three times to believe what he was seeing. Jackie Stone wasn’t working alone. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. Smart little bitch, he thought.
He listened to the final plea, to “free Jackie Stone,” over and over again, and he wondered if he’d been playing this all wrong. He had unwittingly turned a high school kid into a martyr, and if the world had learned one thing over the years, people loved martyrs. From Jesus to Gandhi, martyrs were the shit. Maybe it was time to back off.
That thought rolled around Ethan’s mind, but it couldn’t find purchase. It was too late for him and Jackie to find some accommodation. Besides, his tactic was working. Ethan knew that the two million people who had watched the YouTube video paled in comparison to the tens of millions watching the TV show. The numbers bore that out: the network focus testing showed that Jackie’s approval rating had dropped a full ten points after the last episode. He needed to stay the course.
By the time he picked up the phone to call Roger Stern back, he had the confidence he needed to convince his boss that everything was in hand. Roger’s phone rang five times before going to voice mail. Ethan was just opening his mouth to leave a message when the door to his office flew open with a bang, rattling the framed photographs of Ethan posed with an array of the network’s most important stars. He jumped.
Roger walked deliberately into the room with an unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. His massive frame cast a shadow over Ethan like the flaming Hindenburg on the panicked rescue workers on the ground. He stopped at the edge of Ethan’s desk and looked directly into his eyes. Ethan was inexplicably immobilized.
“Overbee,” Roger began, “I just got off the phone with the CEOs of McDonald’s and Apple.” Ethan worked hard to keep the panic off his face as he waited for Roger to continue. “Do you know what they told me?”
“Listen, Roger,” Ethan began. “I know about that video. The kid has been working with other people. But she wasn’t even in it. She really has been neutrali—”
“They told me,” Roger interrupted, ignoring Ethan completely, “that they’re pulling their support for the show, effective immediately.”
“They can’t do that,” Ethan said. “They signed contracts.”
Roger heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Right,” he said. “Let’s tell two of the biggest sponsors we have across all our shows that we’re going to take them to court. Good thinking. It took every last cent of political capital I had to stop Apple from suing us.”
“Suing us? For what?”
“For infringing on that brat’s First Amendment rights by confiscating her goddam iPhone. Did you even run any of this by legal?”
Ethan had not. “Let me call my contacts at both companies, Roger. Maybe I can find a way to—”
“It’s too late. Variety and Entertainment Weekly have already blogged about it. PR will spin it that advertisers come and go from television shows all the time, but the damage is done.”
“Okay, so what do you want me to do?” Ethan asked.
“Do? I want you to get that house and that family in order. I don’t care how you do it. I want to see a grieving, cohesive family unit gathered around their father’s bed, and I want to see them talking to your producers again in twenty-four hours. Or else.”
With that, Roger pushed himself back to an upright position and turned to leave the room.
Ethan, perhaps surprised that his boss had given voice to the threat, and in one of the greatest miscalculations of his nearly perfectly calculated career, asked, “Or else what?”
Roger paused for a beat without turning around. Then he kept on walking.
***
From the moment Life and Death first aired and Deirdre saw the volume of fan mail arriving at her house—including no dearth of mail from perverts and pedophiles addressed to her daughters—she shielded her girls from the outside world. She or one of the producers took Jackie and Megan to and from school, and to any other destination beyond the borders of the house. The longer the show ran, the fewer extracurricular trips they made.
Since all the madness started, Deirdre, Jackie, and Megan hadn’t been to the mall, to the post office, to the supermarket, or even out to lunch.
But the scales had tipped. The danger inside the house was now greater than the danger outside.
When Deirdre pulled out of her driveway, three cars—one also in the driveway and two parked across the street—pulled out and followed her.
“Girls,” she said, “are your seat belts on?” Both answered that they were. “Okay, good. Then hold on tight.”
“Mom?” Jackie asked, wondering just what her mother was going to do.
“We’re being followed, Jackie. And I’m tired of it.”
“What does it matter,” Jackie asked, her voice flat and resigned. “They’re listening to us right now, anyway.”
“Right, I forgot. Look around until you see the camera.”
“What?”