The star glared at Sonnet as if tempted to eat her alive.
Sonnet waited, determined not to be intimidated. Just because Jezebel was a
giant—physically, and in the music world—and just because she’d done time in
prison and had a reputation for violence, Sonnet intended to hold her ground,
even though she wanted to run and hide. Something told her that if she did that,
Jezebel would run roughshod over her throughout this whole process.
“Are you coming?” she asked, then turned and walked to the
van.
To her relief, Jezebel followed and climbed in the passenger
side, while luggage was loaded into the back. Zach and an assistant joined them,
camera rolling. Sonnet hadn’t been expecting that. Actually, she had no idea
what to expect, but now that she thought about it, the whole point of this
production was to document Jezebel’s every move, so it made sense.
Jezebel pulled a seat belt around her considerable girth. “You
in trouble, girl,” she said, cracking open a bottle of BluMania, a new energy
drink on the market.
“Me?” Sonnet started the engine. “Why?”
“I was about to have a shit fit about the ride.”
“Look, it wasn’t anyone’s fault they forgot to figure out your
ride in advance. Everyone just got here, and we’re still getting organized.”
Jezebel snorted. “No, I was
supposed
to have a shit fit. Hell, I was just getting warmed
up.”
“Why were you— Oh. I get it. They like tantrums.”
“Uh-huh.”
Sonnet kept her eyes on the road, though she couldn’t resist
glancing at Zach in the rearview mirror. “I’ve always thought so. Sorry. But I’m
sure you’ll find lots of stuff to make a fuss about.”
“Make a fuss about?” She snorted again. “Who are you, anyway,
Creampuff? Who talks like that?”
“I’m Sonnet Romano.” She didn’t much care for the nickname
Creampuff. “Born and raised here.”
“Sonnet. What the hell kinda name is Sonnet?”
“My mom was into Shakespeare when she had me—a May birthday.
I’m named after Sonnet number 18. Do you know it?”
“‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,’” Jezebel quoted, her
voice taking on the cadence and tone of the syncopated sound that had made her
famous. “‘Thou are more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the
darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath too short a date. Sometimes too hot
the eye of heaven shines…’ You mean that one?”
Sonnet was surprised and charmed by the recitation, which took
on unexpected life with Jezebel’s delivery. “Exactly.”
Jezebel offered a regal sniff. “Don’t be acting so
shocked.”
“I’m not shocked. But impressed, for sure. I studied
Shakespeare in school but I can hardly remember any of it.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t learn it in school.”
“On your own, then?”
Jezebel’s laugh sounded like a crack of thunder. “Right. The
Bedford Hills School For Young Ladies, that’s where.”
“Oh. Uh. Well, it’s very impressive and I hope I get to hear
more.” Bedford Hills was a maximum-security prison for women in Westchester
County. It was amazing to Sonnet that Jezebel had memorized Shakespeare’s
sonnets while behind bars. Maybe that was where she had also learned to hold up
her attitude like a riot shield, and where her anger had hardened into a shell
of toughness.
“Born and raised here?” Jezebel repeated, staring out the
window as they passed through the tiny downtown area of Avalon. Old brickfront
buildings, window boxes spilling flowers, colorful awnings shading the shops and
restaurants. On a sunny day like today, the town was sweetly pretty, with an air
of days gone by. Jezebel’s lip formed a curl of contempt.
“That’s right,” Sonnet replied. “There’s not a lot of
excitement here, but that’s what some people like about it.” Personally, she
loved visiting new places. It was a wonderful feeling, stepping out of a taxi or
train and finding a whole new, unexplored world. The thought triggered a pang of
regret. If she’d accepted the fellowship, she’d be arriving in a foreign country
this week. She quickly suppressed the pang. She was here for her mother, and for
the time being, nothing was more important than that.
“You live here now?” Jezebel asked.
“I’ve been living in New York, and just moved back.”
“Did you work in the business in New York?” asked Jezebel.
“Not even close,” Sonnet admitted. “I worked for UNESCO, an
agency of the UN.”
“And you gave that up to be a damn PA?”
“For the time being, yes.”
“Why?”
Sonnet steered toward the lakeshore road. “Personal reasons,”
she said.
“Huh. Just tell me it’s none of my damn business.” Jezebel gave
another sniff.
“It’s not, but…” Sonnet paused, uncomfortably aware that they
were being taped. “I’m back because my mom is pregnant. She’s, um, older than
most expecting moms, so it’s a high-risk pregnancy.”
“I got a half sister who’s half my age,” Jezebel said. “It’s
fun, but it’s not like having a sister.”
Sonnet kept her eyes on the road as she wondered how much more
to say. There always seemed to be an element of shame when it came to cancer.
People lowered their voices and whispered the truth: Her mom has
cancer
. Like it was something to be hidden away. And
it wasn’t, she told herself. “And there’s another complication,” she told
Jezebel. “My mom just found out she has cancer. So I want to be nearby for her
sake.”
“Hoooo.” Jezebel made a musical sound. “That’s some bad shit,
there.”
“Right,” Sonnet agreed. “It’s some bad shit.”
“She gonna be okay,” Jezebel said. It wasn’t a question.
Sonnet glanced over. The surly expression was gone from
Jezebel’s face. “That’s the idea. I’m here to do what I can.”
“You can do a lot,” Jezebel said. “Believe me, I know.”
“Know what?”
“Family’s important. It would have saved me.”
She spoke softly, sounding so unlike the angry hip-hop star
that Sonnet glanced over at her. “Saved you from what?”
“From a lot of the shit I did. A lot of the shit I let people
do to me. Maybe I wouldn’t have done the stuff I did to get me this.” She
indicated the ankle bracelet. Then she indicated the scenery out the window,
clearly ready to drop the subject. “That Willow Lake?” she asked, studying the
view of the water, sparkling in the midday sun. The graceful trees that gave the
lake its name dipped their fronds at the shoreline around the town dock.
“Yes. We’re headed for the north end, to Camp Kioga.” According
to the production notes, Jezebel was to stay in one of the cabins and a good
portion of the show would be shot there. The producers had made a deal with
Olivia Bellamy Davis, who ran the resort. In exchange for filming at the
location, Mickey Flick Productions would fund the entire summer at camp for
twenty-four inner-city kids.
“Camp Kioga.” Jezebel snorted. “I never been to a summer
camp.”
“It’s really beautiful up there,” she said. “You’ll see.”
“So you went there, Creampuff?”
“No. It was closed when I was a kid. The Bellamy family
reopened it a few years back and turned it into a destination resort.” Growing
up, Sonnet had taken the mythic beauty of the locale for granted. When you
passed paradise on your way to school every day, it didn’t seem so special. Yet
for a kid who had never known anything but the bustle of city life, and maybe
for Jezebel, it was going to seem like a magical world.
“I’m gonna be so damn bored my head’ll explode,” Jezebel
warned.
Maybe not so magical, Sonnet thought. She glanced in the
rearview mirror to see what Zach thought of this, and was startled to see he was
still filming. Scowling, she turned her eyes back to the road. It was his job,
she reminded herself. And it was hers to support the process. Still, it was
unsettling to realize how easy it was to forget she was being recorded.
Jezebel took another sip of the energy drink and grimaced.
“Ooh, that’s nasty.”
“There’s bottled water in the back,” Sonnet said.
“I gotta drink this stuff,” Jezebel explained. “For the
cameras, at least, on account of them being a sponsor.”
“Oh, right.” Sonnet was way out of her element, and she knew
it. This could not be more different from a typical day at the UNESCO Liaison
Office at the UN. However, at the end of the day, she was going home to her mom,
and that was everything.
Just the thought of her mom made her palms sweat. She was still
adjusting to the idea that her mother was facing a life-threatening situation.
The news had made Sonnet feel panicky and vulnerable, like a little girl again
in many ways. She realized that no matter how old she got or how far she
traveled, she would never stop needing her mom. Now, staring her in the face,
was the possibility of a loss so devastating Sonnet didn’t see how she could
survive it.
So far, Nina was being a stoic, but Sonnet knew her mom, maybe
even better than Greg did. Nina had a habit of compressing her worries into a
little parcel and shoving it deep down inside her. Sonnet knew this because she
caught herself doing it as well. While that seemed admirable, it was probably
not healthy. And if ever Nina needed to be healthy, now was the time.
She turned down the narrow private lane that led through the
deep woods to Camp Kioga. Ancient elms and sugar maples flanked the drive, and
the forest floor was bright green with ferns and blueberry plants. There was an
archway at the end of the drive with Camp Kioga spelled out in Adirondack twig
lettering. A flagpole circle brought them around to the main pavilion.
Ordinarily, guests would stop here and check in, but this wasn’t ordinary,
Sonnet reminded herself. This was reality TV.
An auxiliary crew of three awaited them, no doubt to capture
Jezebel’s reaction as she looked around Camp Kioga for the first time. Sonnet
was seeing it for the zillionth time, but now the breath caught in her throat.
She found herself staring at the broad lawn where it reached to the lakeshore,
and she thought, that’s where he took my hand. And the boathouse: that’s where
he kissed me, and where we made love. The thoughts streamed through her head,
out of control, impossible to rein in. It had happened only once, she reminded
herself. It had been a mistake. A big, sweet, delicious mistake. She should have
moved past it months ago, letting it fade into the realm of things better
forgotten.
They all got out of the van, and she jerked herself back into
the present. Jezebel scanned the area, with its beautiful wooded trails, the
rustic cabins and outbuildings and docks, set against the sparkling backdrop of
Willow Lake. Glancing sideways at Jezebel, Sonnet tried to read her mood. She
was complicated, that was obvious. Sonnet had never met anyone like her—crude,
smart, angry, soulful, surprising.
“What the hell is this place?” Jezebel asked of no one in
particular.
For some reason, Sonnet felt the need to explain. “It’s been
around since the 1920s. Started out as a summer retreat for people from the
city. A local family runs it as a resort now. I know it’s pretty remote, but
there’s plenty to do, once you get used to the solitude.”
“It’s the bomb,” Jezebel said, momentarily slipping out of her
angry mode. “So this is where I’m staying.”
“That’s right.” Sonnet checked her notes on the clipboard.
“You’re going to be in Saratoga Cabin with the kids. You’ll have the counselor’s
room in the back. That’ll give you a bit more privacy.” She noticed Zach’s
camera capturing her explanation. “Do you mind? I’m just getting organized
here.”
“Keep going,” he said, not missing a beat. “You’re doing
great.”
“Listen, I’m not supposed to be on camera, so I’d appreciate it
if—”
“Check your contract, babe. I bet you signed a release.” He was
still filming.
“Did you just call me ‘babe’? I hope I misheard you.”
“Nope. You heard me right.”
“Zach—”
“Listen to you two,” Jezebel said with a chuckle. “I guess
you’ve worked together before?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“So you just, what, like to bicker?” She didn’t wait for a
reply, but tossed her braids and walked toward the cabin. “It’s a form of
foreplay, you know.”
Sonnet glowered at Zach, who acted as if he didn’t see her. She
was already questioning her decision to work for the production while she was in
town. Yet there was a terrible, traitorous part of her that forced her to admit
there was something crazy and fun about this.
Her phone vibrated. She checked the message. To her surprise,
Orlando was on his way. To Willow Lake.
“Bad news?” asked Zach, peering over her shoulder.
“Why do you say that?”
“You look like you just ate something sour.”
“I do not. And aren’t you supposed to be following your subject
around?”
“We’re wrapping for the day.”
“Fine, then. I’ll see you here tomorrow. That’s when the
campers arrive.” She tried to figure out what Orlando intended, coming here in
person. In her wildest dreams, he was making a sweeping romantic gesture, racing
to see her because he missed her terribly.
But she and Orlando were not romantic. They were…compatible.
That was more important in the long run, anyway.
Yet sometimes the truth niggled its way into her consciousness.
She did want to fall in love with Orlando, but every once in a while, usually
when she was lying awake at night, staring into the darkness, she forced herself
to ponder some very hard questions. Did she even know what love felt like? Did
he? Or was he just the means of keeping her father’s attention, something she’d
always craved? Was he her safe place to hide?
It was a terrible thing for her to think about herself—that her
father included her in his inner circle because of her relationship with
Orlando. And that this was what made Orlando irresistible to her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered when Zach was out of
earshot. “He’s your damn boyfriend, not the holy grail.”