Chapter 247: After the Oscar

I was having breakfast while reading the newspaper. On the front page of the LA Times: 

"Sean 'Diddy' Combs Scandal Overshadows Oscar Night." And right below: "From Glory to Chaos: Hollywood Night Marked by Halle Berry’s Win and Criminal Headlines."

Scarlett walked into the kitchen. "Morning, Lettie," I greeted her as she kissed my cheek. "Morning, Oscar’s winner," she smirked.

"It is still kinda unbelievable," Paige said while cutting a piece of bread.

Soon after, Rachel showed up, clearly hungover. 

"Let me guess," I looked at her, "you’re never drinking again." 

"It was the Vanity Fair, and I had to support Joey," she tried to defend herself.

Yep, Joey, as expected, didn’t win. But Bill Murray surprised everyone and won the Oscar for Best Actor.

"I can’t believe Diddy is a piece of sh*t," Scarlett said, holding the newspaper, "and to think I liked his songs," she added, disgusted.

He was arrested earlier this morning (he might need the baby oil in prison...)

"Well, there’s always that old debate about separating art from the artist. Two examples are Knut Hamsun, a Nobel Prize winner and a brilliant writer, but also a Hitler supporter. Pablo Neruda as well, incredible poems, but a ra*pist," I reflected thoughtfully. 

"In literature, I think I can separate it—the author being vermin, but the book still a masterpiece."

"I don’t think I can separate it. Especially because in his case, it’s music," Scarlett crossed her arms.

I pulled her into a hug.

"From what I heard at the party, people were more restrained because of this scandal," Rachel commented while taking some pills. "Yeah, even some private parties got canceled," I agreed. "Not mine, though."

I had gathered the usual group to celebrate my win (not that I cared too much).

"Morning," Mom greeted us, also looking almost as wrecked as Rachel. 

"Rough night, Mom?" I faked a judgmental tone. 

"Worth it. Cam, Mitchell, and a friend of Pepper’s I met—we celebrated Brokeback Mountain’s win," she smiled.

"A symbolic victory, winning Best Adapted Screenplay," Scarlett read aloud from an article and continued with a few more parts.

"Heyy, what about my winning??" I whinned. "You know? Your only son?"

Mom rolled her eyes but hugged me again

"I know Diddy, Halle, and Brokeback Mountain were historic moments, but your case shouldn’t have been minimized so much," Scarlett said, puzzled as she flipped through a third newspaper. "Basically, you’re only mentioned in a footnote, and just as ‘young writer.’"

"I told them I still valued my privacy," I shrugged. It wasn’t going to last much longer anyway, since my friends were getting more and more famous.

Scarlett looked at me really astonished. No wonder—it’s not like newspapers would just minimize me out of goodwill. 

You need to know how to ask.

I gave a sly smile and pulled her in for a deep kiss.

"We are still here!" Rachel spread her arms like I had just done something outrageous. 

"Forget it, Rachel," Paige said dryly. "After saying, ‘thank you, that was my childhood dream,’" Paige sweetly placed her hand on her heart, quoting part of my speech, "Jake lost all his shame."

"I don’t remember him having much to begin with," Mom remarked.

I made a face at them and pulled Scarlett into the living room. 

---

After a few days, I had come back from a party at Cher’s house.

The world outside is burning, with part of the conservative media criticizing Hip Hop and calling it a bad influence (because of another big name that got involved).

"Well, it looks like Beyoncé will have to go solo after all," I murmured as I walked to the front door.

Since no names are connected to me, I don’t really care. At least, I’ll lend a hand to make sure justice is served.

"Hi guys!" I greeted the four present: Herb, Robby, Alan, and Charlie.

"By the way, happy birthday, Robby!" I went up to him and shook his hand.

"Thank you, Jake," he said, then turned to my dad, "you have a better son than mine."

"That I have!" Alan raised the glass he was drinking.

"Let me guess, they forgot your birthday?" I asked, already imagining what had happened.

Robby nodded, a bit sulky.

"How did you figure that out right away?" Uncle Charlie asked weirdly.

I got closer to him and whispered, "because Robby is celebrating his 40th birthday here with you, while Miley and Jackson were at the party I was at."

"Oh, and thank you for the wine," Robby thanked me, "your father said it was you who sent it, even though it was under the Harpers’ name."

"You’re welcome."

"How did you know I love that wine?" he asked me curiously

"I didn’t," I denied. "I hired someone just for that. I give her the list of names, and she manages the congratulatory letters and gifts. She even sends out Christmas cards and the like."

I only get involved in the gifts for the people really close to me, otherwise it would take too much time. 

The main reason for hiring her is to handle the major networking contacts, like Gordon Moore, Murdoch, Henry, Ralph, now Spielberg and Williams, and others.

But she also manages other friends who are not part of the inner circle, like Parker, Terrance, Spencer, Sheldon, and even our neighbors, like Robby and Jerome.

Obviously, Jennifer is a trusted person and someone who signed a few solid NDAs. 

"Sometimes she is overly eager to do her job well," I sighed. "By any chance, do you like toy trains, Herb?"

"I love it," he replied in his goofy style.

Yep, she is a little stalker just to do her job well...