Jacob watched everything unfold in awe. From the outside, everything appeared so organic and casual, but behind the scenes countless deals and called-in favors greased the wheels. It sobered him to realize much of the entertainment journalism he’d assumed was impartial happened because someone knew someone else and owed them a favor, or had a vested interest in getting on someone’s good side. One afternoon Jacob was in the kitchen, making tea as Rasul and Elizabeth strategized, discussing who they should give exclusives to in exchange for favorable coverage. It all seemed so dirty to Jacob, but apparently it was just how the business worked.
More than once, he walked past the stacks and wondered about the grim stories that could be told about each title he had for sale. How many favors and deals been made for each launch? Which authors he’d assumed had achieved success had done so by merit, and which had ascended on the backs of other people? He was afraid to know the answer. He feared if he did, he’d never read another book again.
Once the actual articles began to appear, both locally in Copper Point and nationally, public sentiment quickly spun their way. Rasul and Jacob’s team kept on the offensive, making screenshots of posts and direct messages available to any outlet who asked for them, and of course everyone took them. Then the machine took over on its own. Someone, somehow, had gotten ahold of Les’s emails, which were horrifying. Les damned himself as a scheming homophobe who used his vulnerable granddaughter to achieve his own petty goals.
The PR team was impressive too. Jacob had wondered why Rasul didn’t press charges regarding the sex tape at first, but Rebecca had understood right away. “The tape’s existence isn’t good for Rasul’s image. They’re going to try to imply, without actually saying so, that perhaps everything is fake, even the sex tape. They’ve done a good job framing the story with Rasul as the victim. If she had a better lawyer, or if Clark were smarter, they could have flipped the script on Rasul, making him the bad guy. Always move first if you can to claim the narrative, and shut up if someone else grabs it first.” Rebecca smiled darkly. “Happily, none of the opposing parties are capable of doing anything but digging themselves deeper and helping our cause.”
Jacob couldn’t take this. “So we’re just going to do the same thing they did?”
Rebecca threaded her fingers over her chest. “No, we’re not. They broke laws and harmed people. We’re just helping them bury themselves, and they’ve made it super easy. Besides, only a few people actually care about what rules were broken. They just want a good story. Everybody wants a motive, but motive doesn’t matter.”
He laughed. “Oh, come on, of course motive matters.”
“Only on TV, honey. In the real world, if you hit my car, it doesn’t matter why you did it. You still damaged my property, and someone needs to pay for it, and that someone won’t be me. Slippery road? You’re still at fault, failure to stop. Your rearview camera blinked out and you backed into me, or the sun hit your eyes and made it hard to drive? Still your fault. The law doesn’t care why you broke it, only that you broke it. Public opinion isn’t the law. It’s entertainment. So always give them a good show.”
Jacob felt queasy. “This is all so cynical and awful.”
“Of course it is. That’s why you pay me to be good at dealing with it. You and Rasul go breathe hope into the world, telling stories and distributing them to others. Leave the bottom feeders to us sharks.”
So Jacob did. He focused on supporting Rasul and selling books and being present in his community while the articles and online battles raged and the lawyers clashed. Public opinion shifted their way, guided by the expert maneuverings of people whose job it was to convince people of whatever truth was on the table. The Clark family lawyers tried to do the same, but they weren’t as good at their jobs. Eventually Les retired from the bank and stepped down from the chamber of commerce. Jodie elected to homeschool for the remainder of the year. Adina was torn to shreds. Her platforms demonetized her. The gossip mags she so longed to be included in only spoke of her as the worst jezebel, as walking poison. And as far as modeling agencies went, she was blacklisted for life.
Just like that, it was done.
Outside of their internal wounds, Jacob and Rasul had never been better received in Copper Point. Local opinion had never been exactly against Rasul, but now everyone embraced him as one of their own who had been deeply wronged, and he was showered in casseroles and baked goods accordingly. Jacob received more approval than sympathy, people stopping by and purchasing books before telling him how wonderful he was, encouraging him to run for whatever public office he could.
Jacob still felt unsettled by it all, and to his shame, eventually Rasul consoled him.
“I get how you feel. It still bothers me, yeah, but it used to really get me down. Because the whole thing is a waste.” They were curled on the couch together, Rasul’s head lying in Jacob’s lap as he stared up at him. “In the end no one gets anything, and no one is happy. Because even if they successfully step on you and get somewhere, once you sip at the dark magic, you can’t stop. If you’ve used one person, you’ll use any person, any thing, any excuse to get what you want. And the truth of the matter is, we only survive with each other. Living for yourself alone means eventually you’re completely alone.”
“It’s just so wrong,” Jacob said, feeling foolish because it seemed a naïve plea, but he couldn’t help it.
Rasul didn’t judge him, only reached up to stroke his face. “I know. Because you’re after justice. Me too, if I’m honest. I want the world to be better, want to believe it can be better. It’s difficult to grasp that some people don’t even want to discuss what’s right and wrong. Only what’s possible.”
Jacob thought about what Rasul had said all night long, unable to sleep a wink. It was true, he did want justice. He believed in justice, that everyone would support it if they could see it clearly. He didn’t like this idea that the world was full of mercenaries ready to sell the truth for a few dollars.
He didn’t understand how Rasul could write such hopeful, wonderful stories in the face of that disappointment.
As even more time passed and the world wove Rasul and Jacob’s drama into its fabric, Jacob couldn’t shake the determination that this story needed a better climax. Something soothing, so he and Rasul could go on believing in things like hope and happy ever after. Something pure, not manipulated. A bit of joy, a fissure of light to propel them forward.
The idea came to him one morning when the cats got him out of bed at five, the thoughts rising out of the mists of his tea as he clamored for proper consciousness. It woke him up completely, bloomed as he stood under the shower, and swelled as he paced the living room, the steady thunk, click of the clock punctuating his steps. At seven he texted Matt and Gus, and at eight Matt called him.
“Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
“Mini Main Street, this afternoon, at your store.” Jacob caught a glance at his reflection in the mirror by the door and touched the collar of his sweater. “We need to bump up the timeline on that suit you’re making for me.”
THE LAST few days of April and first week of May were quiet, giving Rasul a lot of time to think. Perhaps a bit more than he wanted.