Something to Talk About(30)

Emma swallowed. Jo wondered if she imagined the disappointment on her assistant’s face.

“Sounds good,” Emma said with a tight smile. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

Evelyn texted then, letting Jo know she was waiting outside, and Jo started toward the elevators. She paused and looked back at Emma.

“Make sure you have your inhaler in your carry-on,” she said.

Emma’s smile went genuine. “Yes, boss.”



* * *



—

Jo was supposed to have dinner with Evelyn the previous night, but at drinks Ev wouldn’t stop giving her trouble about Emma. Apparently her asthma attack and Jo’s reaction to it had made the internet. Evelyn had taken great pleasure in teasing Jo about it. It was the first time Jo had seen her best friend in six months, but it was annoying, made worse by the fact that Jo was still worried about Emma, wondering if she was recovering okay.

So Jo had bailed on dinner with an offer to buy Evelyn breakfast the next morning, provided she weren’t as obnoxious then. Evelyn smirked and promised nothing.

But at breakfast, Ev did mostly behave. They talked about the GLAADs, how the panel went, and how Evelyn’s work was going.

It wasn’t until breakfast was almost over that Evelyn said, “So when do I get to meet her?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “She’ll be in the car coming to pick me up in a few minutes if you want to come out and say hi.”

Evelyn grinned so wide Jo recanted. “No, no, I was joking.” She could tell Evelyn was still considering it, so she changed tactics. “Come out and visit me sometime. You can meet her then.”

“I really do have to visit,” Evelyn said. “It’s been too long.”

Evelyn had been in New York since she graduated from law school. When her parents moved cross-country to be closer to her, she stopped visiting the West Coast so often. Jo was glad to have heard from her so much this year, a strange windfall of the rumors. Even though Evelyn primarily called to tease, Jo didn’t mind, happy to hear her best friend’s voice.

Breakfast ended with Evelyn promising to visit no later than Thanksgiving. Jo was surprised she didn’t follow her to the car to meet Emma.

“Have a good breakfast, boss?” Emma asked as Jo settled beside her in the back seat.

“I did,” Jo said.

She spent the drive to the airport staring out the window, relaxed. With upfronts behind them, it was officially the least stressful time of year. Her half-finished Agent Silver document beckoned, reminding her there was still a large source of stress, but she pushed it aside for the time being.



* * *



—

Jo’s nephew’s first baseball game was the next week. She got there early and climbed to the top corner of the bleachers. Her sunglasses went all the way to where her baseball cap sat, hiding as much of her face as she could.

She didn’t get recognized that often, but today was a day she absolutely did not want to be. It wasn’t something that usually bothered her, but family days were off-limits, in her mind.

She used to not be able to go out for dinner without giving autographs and posing for pictures. When Jo was thirteen, she was cast as Amanda Johnson, the adopted Chinese daughter of a typical white family in the suburbs. The Johnson Dynasty ran for seven seasons. Jo grew up in living rooms across the nation. She was a household name—world famous, even.

Every other series regular was white.

Jo never mentioned it. No one ever mentioned it. Jo had never known if people were ignoring it or simply didn’t notice. She said nothing, and had her pick of scripts when the show ended. Her transition to film went smoothly; she did four movies, all blockbuster hits.

On the ten-year anniversary of The Johnson Dynasty’s premiere, Jo published a column.

She wrote about what it was like being a Chinese American in Hollywood. What it was like to be the butt of racist jokes on her own television show. About casting notices asking for white actresses only.

She stopped being offered scripts.

It was five years later that she wrote her own. The network billed it as a Cinderella story, made themselves seem like they were doing a good deed, giving a disgraced actress a chance at writing. Jo won four Emmys in a row.

She’d stuck to writing and producing ever since, so she wasn’t usually recognized in public, or at least not bothered.

But of course today, the day she wanted to just sit in the bleachers and cheer for her nephew, a set of parents climbed toward her, and even though she was looking at her phone and hoping they weren’t talkative, the wife said, “Oh my God, Amanda?”

Jo cringed. Being called by a character’s name was awful. She thought she’d be done with it now that it had been twenty years. She tried to plaster a smile on her face.

When she turned to look at the woman, though, she recognized her.

Avery Kaplan, smirking.

“The sister,” Jo said.

“The fake girlfriend,” Avery said.

Jo rolled her eyes.

Avery set her bag down, not right beside Jo, but closer than Jo would have liked. “Who do you know out there?” she asked, elbow gesturing toward the field as she set up her bleacher cushion.

“Ethan Cheung,” Jo said. “Nephew.”

“Ah, the new kid on the team,” Avery said. “You get to come to your nephew’s game but Emma’s not allowed to?”