Page 34 of Jacob Michaels Is Not Jacob Michaels

“JACOB!”

“JACOB!”

“JACOB!”

“Over here, Jacob!”

The screams and flashes were coming from every direction. Lucas vapor locked in the doorway as the cameras went off and paparazzi screamed at me. Immediately, a friendly smile came to my face, and I affected my best “Friendly, Accessible Jacob Michaels” look I’d used with the paparazzi a million times before. Since I hadn’t stepped outside yet, I nudged Lucas away from the door and let the door swing shut. Then I locked the deadbolt and turned to my boyfriend as he stood in shock beside the now closed door.

Estimating from the crowd I saw outside of Oma’s door there had to have been at least twenty people waiting to scream a question at me or snap a photo. Automatically, I went into assessment mode, going through my head what happened from the time I opened the door until I had closed it. Lucas and I had been holding hands. No big deal there, everyone knew I was gay. They didn’t know I had a boyfriend, but that wasn’t that big of a deal, either. Unlike my heterosexual counterparts, the consensus was that if a celebrity was gay, people actually liked them more when they were in relationships, so it was a good thing that Lucas and I had been holding hands. I had smiled and had “twinkly, friendly eyes” for at least half of the photos, showing that once I was surprised by the paps, I had taken it in stride. Then I had shut the door without saying a word, so any made up quote could easily be fought by my team. Things had gone better than they should have.

“Babe?” Lucas peeped.

“Yeah?” I turned to him, chewing at my lip.

“What…the actual fuck?”

“I guess Sarah Jean phoned a friend.” I shrugged.

I shook my head, kicking Jacob Michaels out of my brain. In Point Worth, especially at Oma’s house, I was Robert Wagner. Robert Wagner did not stand in the foyer assessing a situation with the paparazzi. That was a Jacob Michaels activity, and I wanted no part of it.

“What the fuck is goin’ on out there?” Oma stomped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel.

“The reporters found Rob.” Lucas groaned.

“Paparazzi.” I corrected him. “Reporters don’t behave like that.”

“What?” Oma’s expression changed from angry with me to concerned for me. “Who found you?”

“You have a porch full of photographers.” I sighed. “I guess people finally found out that Jacob Michaels is in Point Worth visiting his grandmother.”

“Well, shit.” She slung the towel onto her shoulder and put her hands on her hips. “It was goddamn Sarah Jean Dennard. She’s like a Christmas Goose with a bell up her ass. Makin’ noise is all she does.”

“That was my assumption.” I nodded. “None of us are getting out of this house without them harassing us now.”

Lucas looked ashen but was slowly coming back to himself.

“Want to be my date to my next premiere?” I teased.

He turned green.

I took that as an outright rejection of my invitation.

“Sonsofbitches,” Oma grumbled as she stomped over to the closet stairs and nearly ripped the door off of its hinges. “I’ll be damned if a bunch of papa-whatevers are gonna park themselves on my porch rent free!”

“What are you gonna do?” I snorted. “Go out there and charge ‘em twenty fucks a gander?”

Oma turned her head to gawk at me.

“You think they’d pay that?” She asked.

“Of course not.” I laughed. “How did you not know that they were there anyway? Didn’t they knock or ring the bell or make enough noise to make you suspicious?”

“Someone’s been knockin’ every now and again for the last thirty minutes.” Oma went back to rummaging around in the closet. “Thought it was them damn Kelly kids—ugly assholes—or Wesley Dennard’s tubbly ass. I didn’t have time for none of that.”

Oma pulled her arms out of the closet, her shotgun in hand.

“Whoa, Mrs. Wanger!” Lucas put his hands up.