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)
My dream is crumbling beneath me and everything is turning to dust.
Oscar has asked me before, why this one?
What’s so special about this project? Why did I put my heart into it, knowing it was a risk? Like Charlie’s answer for everything, mine wasn’t that simple.
I put my heart in everything I do.
An opportunity to create my own show is one-in-a-million.
I love making art that speaks to the human condition.
To produce a documentary series about the most misunderstood Cobalt and make him understood…that feels more than rewarding.
Even thinking about how much I’ve invested emotionally into this project churns my stomach. Charlie’s gaze washes over me. “Why didn’t I tell you?” he repeats the question.
“Yeah,” I say, hot anger fueling me for a second. “I understand you were upfront about the reason being a selfish one, and I appreciate that, but why not just tell me you needed footage of that asshole’s behavior? We could have all made a plan together to take him down.”
Oscar chimes in, “You know I would have helped you, bro.”
Charlie blinks, his eyes on me. “I wasn’t sure you’d do the show, if you knew I was using the footage to get a man fired. I couldn’t take the risk.”
My muscles stiffen. “Then why not just film Ernest yourself? Why go through this whole docuseries, Charlie?” I keep my voice steady, but I can even hear the thread of heat.
“I already told you why,” Charlie’s eyes soften, almost in hurt. “What benefit would me filming Ernest give Oscar? None.”
Selfish and selfless. The room sobers for a second.
And I remember.
Working on the pilot to Born into Fame gave me the biggest opportunity of my life. I found love. Not just momentary love that passes like the seasons.
I found love that lasts even when the screen fades to black.
Charlie’s docuseries put me on a collision course with Oscar Oliveira. It made me confront feelings and confusion about my sexuality that I let fester for too long.
Leaning more on his crutches, Charlie tells me, “And that’s even if I could accomplish the task. Ernest is foul, but he’s not a complete moron. He stifles his worst behavior whenever he sees me.” He softens his gaze, and I know he’s being sincere.
Charlie doesn’t put on a facade for anyone.
“I still want to do the show, Jack,” he expresses. “That hasn’t changed.”
I still want to do the show.
It should make me feel better, but all the walls are closing in on me. “The only reason you’re agreeing to continue filming is for me. This no longer feels like a partnership, Charlie. It feels like I’m exploiting you.”
“I’m letting you.”
I run a hand through my hair. That definitely doesn’t make me feel better. Charlie lets people beat the shit out of him. He’ll surrender himself to pain because he doesn’t care about his own life. I don’t want to be the kind of producer that’d use that to my advantage. I care. Maybe I care enough for him.
Empathy. Don’t lose it. Use it.
I don’t want to lose it. I just don’t.
Charlie must see me boarding up this project. Shipping it off to the land of unfinished and scrapped pilots. He quickly says, “Please don’t make a decision now. At least think about it.”
“I agree with Charlie,” Oscar says. “Highland, it’s been a long night. You literally hit your head and knocked yourself out. Just take a day. Maybe a couple more.”
I hear his fear. For me. My dreams.
What does it all mean if it comes crashing down? I haven’t pieced together that answer yet. All I know is that this might have been my one-and-only opportunity to have my own show. To have a subject as interesting and compelling as Charlie.
Charlie agrees to stay in my apartment while I steal a moment with his bodyguard.
Side by side, our legs dangle off the metal grates of my building’s fire escape outside my living room window. Oscar and I share a bag of kettle corn and watch Philadelphia below.
“I know,” I start out, “you think you’re not a good brother, Os.” Our eyes lock for a strong beat. “But you were right to take care of yourself and go to Yale. You were right to figure out what you wanted and who you are, and Quinn is right to feel how he feels. And I hope now that he’s opened up and you know he was bullied, therapy will be better for you both.” I flash a warm smile. “I believe in the Oliveira brothers.”
Oscar sniffs, then says, “Do me a favor, Highland.” He grabs a water bottle. “Next time you give me a pep talk, warn me so I don’t choke on popcorn.”
We laugh.
He wipes his mouth with his bicep and nods. “I believe in the Oliveira brothers too.”
I slide an arm around his waist. His ankle brushes mine as they hang in the nighttime air, and it’s calming. Being with Oscar in a city. Even after a chaotic night—no, especially after a chaotic night.