A twenty-something, scrawny girl that I’d one day protect. And she looked powerfully in the camera and said, “I’m always going to be a sex addict, but I’m more than just sex.”
Every raw frame of the show struck a cord with me, and by the end, my father sat in silence and uttered one awed word. Wow.
After all these years, the families still film season after season. To humanize themselves, but also for the hundreds of people that relate to them.
Recently, the docuseries has been on a short hiatus, but it starts again next year. I only have one issue with the show.
It makes security harder.
Maximoff breaks his scone in half. “We have early production meetings because we need to talk to Jack before we do anything.”
Quinn nearly chokes on his coffee. “Jack? Like the Jack.”
I say, “The one and only Jack Highland. Take note: remember whose side you’re on. One too many have fallen for his charm.”
Maximoff gives me a tough look. “There are no sides.”
“There are definitely sides, wolf scout.” I motion to Quinn and myself. “We’re in charge of protecting your private lives. And then Jack is in charge of protecting your public lives.”
Still, we have to align at the end of the day and find common ground together. And almost everyone likes Jack Highland. He’s hard to hate. That used to make me a little bit wary of him, but I have no real beef with Jack. He’s the youngest executive producer on We Are Calloway, and he has an enormous amount of contact with security.
He has to. Production and security are intertwined on filming days. These meetings set up most of the prep work.
Someone knocks on the locked entrance downstairs. I stand and peer over the balcony railing. Speaking of Jack… “Go meet him first, Quinn.”
He bites into his bagel and then jogs down the twisting iron stairs.
Maximoff has pushed aside his food and tea. He somehow sits like a board on a slouchy red beanbag, and he cracks his knuckles.
Jane shifts her bag of peas, but I see how uptight she sits too.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them. Staying standing, I lean on the silver wall with a lightning bolt decal.
“It’s Sulli’s first production meeting,” Maximoff tells me.
“It needs to go well,” Jane adds.
Right.
Their cousin has never been on We Are Calloway. By joining the docuseries, Sulli is opening herself up to new criticism from the public.
But Maximoff and Jane have been on the show since they were little kids. Before I even met him, I watched Maximoff Hale on-screen profess his undying love for Power Rangers and excitedly say, “I hope that if I have a brother or a sister, they’ll like Power Rangers too.”
Public fact: Xander is a Power Ranger every year for Halloween.
Jane abandons her frozen peas to flip open another pastry box. “What do you want, Jack?”
Jack Highland ascends the twisting staircase. He has a quintessential “jock” look: broad, cut muscles visible through his tight black button-down, shoulder span as wide as a linebacker, and the charisma and popularity of a letter-jacket quarterback.
In any teen comedy, my “type” should hate his “type” but real people are more than just “rebel” versus “jock.” Plus, we’re both adults.
What I know about Jack: he wasn’t a football player. He did swim in college. He’s twenty-five, Filipino-American, biracial, and he has short dark brown hair, honey-brown eyes, and he’s a good inch taller than me.
“Give me the blueberry muffin,” he tells Jane, and she passes the baked good before gently sitting back down. Quinn slumps onto his beanbag.
Unwrapping his muffin, Jack turns to me first. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”
Maximoff’s brows knit. “What offer?”
I cross my arms loosely. “Jack wants me on the show. So fucking badly.” I emphasize those words. “How long have you been asking me?”
“Three years.” He bites into the blueberry muffin. “The more you keep turning me down, I’m going to start believing it’s personal.”
“Wait.” Maximoff stands. He hates sitting when other people are standing, I swear. “You want Farrow, this Farrow”—he points at me—“on the show?”
I give Maximoff a once-over. “How many Farrows do you know?”
Maximoff shoots me a middle finger.
Jack is used to exchanges like these, not fazed. “I’ve always wanted to showcase a bodyguard on We Are Calloway. Farrow has a good look, there’s a gif of you two…” Using one hand he scrolls on his phone and flashes me the gif first.
We’ve seen that one.
A Tumblr user made a gif from the footage when the court suspended Moffy’s license. In the gif: Maximoff and I push through the courthouse doors, exiting with sunglasses, side-by-side, cameras flashing repeatedly.
We look hot together.
“And Farrow is good looking enough to be a model,” Jack tells my boyfriend.
I raise my brows in a self-satisfied wave at Maximoff. He tries not to stare at me again. He almost has fuck me eyes.
By the way, Jack is straight. And I’d agree, I’m a 10 out of 10, but coming from Jack…
“That loses its meaning when I’ve heard you use the same compliment for forty-two different people,” I say, being precise on the number because I have a great memory. So I can be precise and accurate.
See, Jack has a way of making people feel good. It’s his job to ensure everyone in the room is comfortable. Then they can share information with him.
Even now, his eyes soften on me. “You’re a gorgeous guy. Better?”
“We’re getting slightly more original. But not by much,” I say and return to my beanbag beside Quinn.
In a matter of seconds, we’re all seated around the low table again.
Maximoff refills his tea and says to Jack, “It still doesn’t make sense. If you put Farrow in the show, he’d become famous. He wouldn’t be able to be my bodyguard.”
“Exactly.” I pick up my croissant sandwich. “Jack wants me in the show acting like a bodyguard. What he hasn’t grasped yet is that I like my job as a real bodyguard.”
Maximoff makes a concentrated effort not to look at me and draw attention. But he knows the fuller truth: I love my job because I’m around him.
Jack opens his notepad, slouched coolly on a yellow beanbag. “All I’m saying is one day you may want a change.” He flips a page. “Before Sullivan arrives, we can start with the two of you.” Pen between his fingers, he motions to Maximoff and Jane. “Next season is about big topics. Is there anything specific you want to talk about?”
29
MAXIMOFF HALE
IS THERE ANYTHING specific you want to talk about?
Jack always pitches this question first. My mind reels through various issues I could possibly discuss. Everything circumnavigates to one.
One topic, one plight, one goddamn annoyance.
“Yeah.” I set my cup on the table. “I want to talk about my uncle.”
The Superheroes & Scones loft deadens. My eyes flit to a war scene playing in Avengers, the Hulk smashing buildings to smithereens.
Jack skirts over the silence like it never existed. “Which
uncle?”
“Ryke. Yesterday, an article compared his ‘f-bombs’ to mine. I don’t even say fuck as often as him. Sulli does way more than me.” I didn’t plan to come in this hot and aggravated.
I sense Farrow and his at ease nature, and you know the weirdest thing? It calms me. Makes me feel like I have someone prepared to jump on my side. Right now. This moment. Any moment.
He’s with me.
My bound shoulders unwind.
Jack isn’t the type of person to just say no. He tries to hear people out, but he reminds me, “You talked about this last season, Moffy.”
“It’s been worse this year.”
“But it’s not going to change with this show,” Jack says. “You’ve discussed the topic at length three times. We’ve reached the max. One more time, and the public will believe you’re overcompensating for something. As a producer, I’d tell you to just go ahead and talk about it. It’ll bring us ratings. But as your friend, I’m telling you not to bring it up.”
Goddammit. “What about if I talk about my dad?”
“It depends.” Jack twists off a cap to Ziff, a sports drink. “If you’re going to just tell the audience how great of a father he is—no.”
I rub my aching shoulder. I need to stretch. “Just tell me what I should be talking about then.”
“Sex,” Jack says. “It’s what people want to know most about you, especially with those photos.” The bite marks. “Who are you seeing? What kind of pressures do you deal with being the son of a sex addict? Are you more careful? Do you have insecurities?” He lists the questions rapidly.
I’ve heard them all before. Jack broaches the topic of sex almost every production meeting.
“Are you ready to talk about this stuff?” he asks.
“No,” I say firmly. “Not this season. Maybe not ever. I’m sorry.”
“This is a no apology zone, remember? Whatever content you want to share, good. Whatever you don’t, that’s good too. It’s all up to you.” Jack already jumps to a new topic. “What about your relationship with Luna? She’ll be eighteen and be on her own for the first time. It’d be a great arc.”
Out of my siblings, Luna is the only one who’s on We Are Calloway with me. We’ve bonded a bit while filming together, and I already know she’d love a whole arc about our relationship.