Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
I prefer one-on-one shoots, but I love the huge group ones too. More than anything, I’m hanging onto tonight. This could be my last shoot with We Are Calloway.
I’m still an exec producer, but after this charity event, I’m scheduled for a serious meeting at the WAC offices. A sit-down with the other execs.
To talk about “my future” with the docuseries.
Anxiety is a four-thousand-pound seal on my chest. Heavier than the Steadicam. But I inhale, exhale—trying to breathe the animal off.
The bright side is Oscar. He said he’d drive me to the meeting. I actually look forward to the car ride alone with my boyfriend.
He’s not getting off-duty tonight, dude. That thought blows, but I’m trying to lower my expectations. Mitigate my hopes so I’m not crushed or disappointed when he says, I can’t anymore. I have to follow Charlie.
Oscar assured me, “I’m going with you to the meeting—I’ll be there,” but he also sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
Anyway, I have more pressing matters in the present than worrying about a few hours from now. I keep jogging across Hole 5. That thought almost makes me laugh.
Dangling twinkle lights brighten the first nine holes. The H.M.C. Philanthropies annual charity golf tournament has turned into a charity golf soiree.
Men in suits. Women in ballgowns. Fancy tables and pop-up bars dot the course, and golf carts decorated in green garland leisurely ride from one stop to the next.
Oscar told me Banks Moretti called it, “Bougie bar-hopping.” That was before Oscar and I split apart—not stoked about that but we’re both busy working.
I sprint up to a golf cart, familiar faces in the front seat. Akara slows to a stop for me, and next to him, Sullivan balances her bare feet on the dash.
“Hey,” I greet with a pant. “Have you seen Charlie anywhere? I need to get some footage of him quickly.” Before it looks like I’m favoring the Born into Fame pilot.
I also add, “And apparently some boss of some badass security company pulled Oscar onto Hole 3 for paparazzi control. So I can’t even ask my boyfriend for Charlie’s location.”
Oscar isn’t around Charlie right now.
Akara smiles. “That’s because your boyfriend is one of the most senior security guys among both firms. I had to shift him and then put temps on Charlie. Paparazzi were invading the course from the bushes.”
“It was fucking creepy,” Sulli says.
I bump her fist, then Akara’s in more of a greeting.
A Secret about Akara Kitsuwon: my college-friend raved about Akara for four weeks after they hooked up. He restrained her to a headboard with rope and made her come five times.
Akara confirmed her retelling. He made me swear not to gossip to production.
Of course I kept the secret.
“I can find Charlie,” Akara tells me. “Hold on.”
I wait while he switches a knob on his radio, attached to his slacks. Bodyguards are in designer suits to blend among guests, so he literally looks like a million-dollars, and I’m sweating over here in workout clothes.
Production can’t blend with camera equipment.
Since Sulli also wears formalwear—a green sequined romper—the two of them almost look like a couple next to each other. I’ve always thought Akara was into her, but he’s adamantly said, no.
Lately, from what I’ve seen, they’re slightly awkward together. Sulli slips him a look now, then he slips her one. She whips her head away, staring up at the stars.
He keeps his eyes on her while he speaks in comms. “Akara to Security, anyone have eyes on Charlie?” He waits for a response, his gaze back on me. He laughs at the walkie in my hand. “Is that little dinky thing not working for you, Jack?”
Security ribbing production. One status quo still intact.
I dangle the walkie by the antennae. “This little dinky thing is doing just fine.”
He laughs again, the noise more in his chest.
I smile back, but my lips downturn.
Because I actually could ask the PAs on the walkie if they’ve seen Charlie. Thing is, I’d rather not advertise to the crew that I’m hunting for Charlie specifically. Do not need them thinking my priorities are set on this side project.
Which is why I need to move fast. Sweat drips down my temples, and I wipe my face with my wrist.
“Thank you. Roger that.” Akara eyes me. “He’s at Hole 2.”
Jesus, shit.
That’s a far run.
“Hop on,” Sulli gestures to the backseat. “We can take you there.”
I immediately seize the offer. “Thanks, Sulli.” I climb onto the backseat, a little stiffly with the Steadicam, and Akara presses on the gas, swerving the electric golf cart towards Hole 2.
“Where’s your brother?” Akara wonders.
“I told him to go grab as much footage as possible. So he’s around here somewhere.” I trust Jesse. He’s been doing excellent work. My brother is talented with a camera and landscape shots.
We bump along the course, and Sulli starts twisting her hair in a high-bun—Akara hits the brake. “Sulli, down!”