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CHAPTERONE
Kenya
“Oh no oh no oh no. This isn’t happening,” I mutter while running around my room in my bestie, Jazzy’s, amazing new digs and blindly throwing everything I brought for my long weekend visit haphazardly into my bags.
I just returned from the biggest gamble of my life and must now wait until the small production company reaches out to either green light all my hopes and dreams or dash my life’s work and eradicate my purpose for being.
I got this. Standby and I are best buds. So many times, I’ve felt my entire life has been a series of standby moments. And this one will end in success. It must. Ever since I put crayons to construction paper and drew my favorite Arthur cartoon character, drawing and I have been inseparable.
I wanted to be here when the call from Studio Z97 comes in. Whereas people aspire to work for Disney and Pixar, the smaller studio cranking out innovative animations has been my dream and I’m so close to fulfilling it. At least, that’s my hope. But before I can soak in the out-of-this-world feeling, I have to handle business back home.
“What exactly isn’t happening?” Jazzy’s head bounces left and right, imitating the spectators of a tennis match who follow the ball. In this case, I’m the ball bouncing between my bags and everywhere else. Her thick, curly tresses spring with the slightest movement of her head. The overhead light adds an extra sheen to her warm brown skin that lotion companies would envy.
She sits on the bed hugging my cat, Jackpot, in her arms. Jackpot goes everywhere with me, but the feline’s presence was a requirement to gain entry into Jazzy’s house while I pitched my dream project. I can’t blame her. My cat is a Birman, loves playing as a substitute for teddy bears, and her silky fur begs to be petted.
You know who else’s silky fur loves to be petted?
I silence the voice in my head. I’m not committable, I swear. Although for the last couple years at work, my alter ego has gotten lippy with me where I almost never used to hear from her. I call her Keating because Annalise is already my middle name—thank you Ms. Rhimes for that. Ever sinceHow to Get Away with Murder, I swear Keating has taken on Annalise’s persona but I’m the only one that catches her zingers, side-eyes, and twisted lips.
Thank God for Jazzy, my cheerleader. She saved me from a complete breakdown the night before my big presentation. She is also the reason for an unprecedented experience that brought out a side of myself that has shocked me back into my shell.
Speechless from my glamma’s audacity, I shove my phone into Jazzy’s hands, the screen already on the text from Glamma Onyx. She is the only grandmother I know who insists everyone knows she is glamorous first and a grandmother second.
“Your grandmother found you a temporary boarder? I’m not seeing the issue here. Your parents left you that huge property and if you aren’t going to sell it, the least you can do is invite people to help you live in it.”
I spear her with a disgruntled scowl. “Check again who sent the message.”
“Glammy? Well, oh shit.”
“Exactly. And another thing, she rented out the bungalow with my studio. Where am I supposed to work? I’m beginning to doubt all the years she professed to love and want the best for me. A saboteur does less damage than Glamma Onyx.” I slump my shoulders and shuffle into Jazzy’s commiserating embrace.
Onyx, as much as I love her, has two gears, borderline sexual harassment for attractive young men half her age and matchmaker mania. Currently, her focus is on Mayor Pedro Salas for the former and me for the latter.
Why didn’t I keep my tuckus in Rhode Island?
“There, there. You can stay here for as long as you need. Maybe you’ll run into your mystery man again.” Jazzy winks, reminding me of the other person I wan—needto avoid.
Jazzy caught me sneaking back into her house with my disheveled clothes and hair, swollen lips, and eyes dazed from the most intense experience an inexperienced person wasn’t supposed to have.
One wild night and it should never have happened. I’m a good girl, dammit.
Yeah, you are! That freckled adonis told you repeatedly how good you are and you know you want to hear his sultry tenor tell you one more time. Or thirty.
At least I’ve always tried to be the proper girl, following rules, speaking only the truth, and not taking risks since…I shake my head, not willing to rehash the night that changed everything.
“No, thanks,” I say to Jazzy and Keating while shaking my head free of the embarrassing thought and stepping away to continue packing my things. Before the hours Jazzy and I spent together, I rarely had time for men. I spent my precious hours working on my popular online animated series. Why would I have time to look for male companionship? Shoot, I’m lucky Jazzy latched onto me in design school like I was a rare Pokémon collectible. She hasn’t let go since.
I’m a relic that shouldn’t exist. A thirty-year-old virgin who foolhardily enacted a failed robbery to retrieve her big pitch and ended up administering and receiving her first blow job. But Jazzy doesn’t need to know how far I’ve fallen, and neither do my grandmothers. Especially Glamma Onyx who thinks my virginal state is an affront to her free-loving lifestyle.
“Seriously, Kiwi. When will you ever experience another place like Covo del Peccato?” She returns my phone and helps me repack my bags to fit my belongings.
Jackpot plays tag with the loose sleeves poking over the sides, but I have no time for her diverting antics.
“I wasn’t supposed to experience that depraved se—place people fornicate in public the first time around. Had you told me you were taking me to an s-e-x club and ripped my innocence from me, I wouldn’t have joined you. I definitely wouldn’t have brought my important proposal to work on and then leave behind in a panic. Not even Glamma Onyx was that bold with her slew of lovers.”
Jazzy bends over in laughter.
“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” I push my glasses higher on the bridge of my nose and glare at her over the lenses.
