HAPPY FAMOUX FRIDAY!
I write this to you early Friday morning (1 AM). I just got back from a showing of the new film "Yesterday". The company I intern for (Working Title Pictures) made it! You already know I love the Beatles, so naturally, I highly enjoyed this one.
All right. Let's get into today's chapter, shall we?
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray and Cartney got coffee! Woo! Now, they've just learned that they're going to a "family dinner" with all the other Famoux members. What kind of Scooby-Doo adventures could ensue??
emeray
Sometimes I find myself forgetting that I've been Emeray Essence, member of the Famoux, actress and singer and model all in one, for such a small frame of time. Although the world seems to have lifted and shattered a hundred times over, it's only really been around five months since Norax first picked me up out of my little town Red. Not even half of a year.
But it's all too easy to get caught up in the whirl of how fast-paced my world has gotten. Emilee's world used to move like molasses: The same sadness every morning, the same torment at school, the same damn tunnel with no light at the end. There were no new people to meet. There were no new chances to take. There was nothing new or old at all, reallyââjust the present, as present as it was, unchanging and unyielding.
Life in the Famoux dwarfs my past life in every aspect. The sadness around me is masked by smiles for the cameras and the interviewers and the fans outside. The torment is internalized, swallowed up like a pill that won't quite dissolve. The tunnel has so many flashing lights along the way, I can't tell if there's an end to it at all. The sheer amount of stress and dismay and glittering grandeur I've encountered since becoming Emeray seems to be more than enough to encompass a century, if not more.
But for every groundbreaking, centurial instance in my life, there are a thousand little things I forget I've never experienced. For one, it's my first time getting through one of Colburn's famously volatile winters, not to mention my first time ever seeing a winter where it snows. My part of Eldae had been more in the south, so snow was something we spoke of, much like how a child speaks of exotic animals. We were always a little skeptical as to whether or not it actually existed.
By now, at the beginning of March, I have no doubts of snow's existence. I would've assumed the forecast would be much lighter and sunnier, like it used to be around this time in Red, but Colburn has yet to show any signs of slowing down. While Cartney and I dazzled the crowds in Wes Tegg's with our young love and vanilla lattes, Gerald was busy calling in for a car to drive us home after noticing the blizzard that had erupted outside.
"Erupted?" I echoed.
"It's chilled, all right," he said, "but distinctly volcanic."
Despite the snowfall, the crowds were no smaller than they were before we entered the cafe. But I imagine the paparazzi must've be eager to free themselves from the cold, for they worked at a near frightening paceââsnapping their pictures, saying their thank you's, and running off to let us get into the car. And by the time our car had turned the street, they'd already sent off most of their pictures from our rendezvous to a dozen tabloid sites.
I flip through a few of them now as we wait for the heaters to kick in and listen to the weather-induced static on the radio. Cartney shows them to me from a device, remarking on the headlines that grasp for any wow factor they can think of.
"Oh, look. This article here claims we actually weren't in Notness for Onward Train last week." He presses the screen of his device with his index finger to read more, and I watch as his face contorts. "Oh man. This one is really something, Ray."
"You sound thrilled."
"There is a lot to be thrilled about." He leans toward me, putting a hand on my stomach. "So much to be thrilled about."
My jaw drops. "Absolutely not."
"Absolutely, young mother."
I rub my forehead, exhausted. "What does the article say?"
He clears his throat, reading aloud. "Today, Emeray Essence and Cartney Kirk step out for the first time since a month-long trip to Brennan, Notness. Could it be that our charming couple, going on four months now, was in Brennan for much more than Emeray's movie? A source reports that they stopped stopped at many fertility doctors when they weren't on set. Readers, what do you make of this? Could this mean what we think it does?"
"Norax will be so thrilled," I say. "I've got my movie, you've got your album, and now we're having a child."
"Trying to have a child," he corrects, pointing to something on his screen that I can't see. "Apparently your lovely guard Gerald over here told them all about it." He looks up at Gerald, giving him a wink. "If your name keeps coming up in the press like this, pretty soon you're gonna boot me out of my contract."
As Cartney laughs at his own joke, Gerald shakes his head. He shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing." Gerald shrugs, but I can tell he's still bothered. "I guess . . . It's just odd to know people are writing about me. Not really my usual thing."
A pang of guilt shoots through me. "I'm sorry. The other members go through different guards, but I always request you. It's on me that the public recognizes your face."
"It's not your fault," he says. "They could've picked any guard in the lineup."
I go to say more, but Cartney cuts me off, shoving his device in my face. The multitude of bolded words against a white backdrop give me a headache almost immediately. "You've got to see the other things they're saying."
"I'll look later."
"This is a gallery of fine art, Ray."
"I hear all the headlines, all the time," I say. "Whether I like it or not I always know what people are saying about me."
"Wow, I didn't think you'd be one to search yourself."
"I don't. It's . . . a tool we use. It tells us."
"You Famoux members and your tools. Is it something like that gadget that gave you your makeover? The Fissa-something?"
For whatever reason, my stomach drops. Ever since Chapter and I revealed Cartney about how we used to be different people, Roman and Emilee, he's been perplexed by the way we workââthe roaring underground life of the Famoux, and all its gritty details. I don't blame him for being so curiousââeven though I'm a part of it, I still am.
If DEFED hadn't gifted him with the final clue before they took out Foster, I probably wouldn't be so open with things like the Fissarex. Since they chose to get him involved, I think it's only fair he's not completely in the dark about everything. I've had more than enough of my fair share in the dark to know it's not the best place to be.
"It's sort of like the Fissarex, I guess," I answer, my voice suddenly small. "But it doesn't change you. You just hear things."
"Hear things?"
"People talking about you."
"That sounds . . . nice." I watch him grimace at the thought of it. "I don't know about you, but I've got enough voices in my head to go around."
The radio kicks in through the static of the storm, so Cartney and I are silent for a while. We look out the windows at the buildingsââsome tall, some glass, some brick. In a few turns we pass Buchan's main office, which doesn't look much like anything other than a huge apartment complex. I recall Marlon explaining it to me once, how the studios were connected to his place. That way, he could run and record anything the moment he got inspiration.
Just thinking about Marlon gives me a wave of nostalgia. How long has it been since I last saw him? Before the Darkening? Things were so complex when he was around, and yet so much simpler at the same time.
"Haven't heard much from that Marlon York guy lately," Cartney says, as if reading my thoughts. As we make another slow turn, he gestures to the door at the corner of the street. "That door lead to his apartment. You know, back when he was signed to Buchan."
"Yeah," I say. "I used to visit him sometimes in there, for tea. Before this whole dating contract thing happened."
He laughs. "Back when everyone thought you two were gonna be together. Man, those were the days. Buchan was really gunning for it at the beginning."
"They were?"
"Well, I assume so. I mean, remember that time when he ran up and kissed you? Classic Buchan move. Surprised they didn't make me do that."
I shift in my seat. "Well, Marlon wasn't exactly himself that day."
"Yes, because he was acting the hell out of that underdog-gets-the-girl role somebody was giving him."
"No, I mean that he actually wasn't himself."
"And what do you mean by that?"
"It was someone else."
"What?"
But as he asks for elaboration, the car slows down to a stop. Instantly, it's as if I hadn't said anything. Cartney's face fills with panic as he looks out the window at the Metropolix, looming tall and dark just outside.
"I'm not hungry for dinner," he says. He leans forward toward the driver. "Do you think we could swing around the block a few times?"
But it's impossible. The crowd that's gathered outside is so massive, it's overtaken most of the road ahead of us. Fans flank all sides of the vehicle, their hands banging down on the metal and paint almost eerily to the beat of Marlon's song. With so many people surrounding us, the only way out is through the Metropolix doors.
Cartney senses this. He swallows hard. "Here goes nothing."
Getting through the throngs of people is a struggle, but Gerald manages to pave a somewhat clear pathway. In all of five minutes after stepping out, we finally emerge in the mudroom, where Norax is buttoning up her coat. She looks surprised to see us.
"What are you doing here?" she asks.
My brows furrow. "I thought we had family dinner?"
"Of course we do," she says. "Did you think it was going to be here?"
"Where else would it be?"
Norax grins. She moves toward the door we just entered from. "Come on, you two. The other members are well on their way already."
The crowd is thrilled to see us return. As the closest people lunge to grab our hands, Norax looks back at me, beaming. When we get in the car, she beams even brighter.
"You two are a hit," she marvels. "Who could've predicted you'd be such a hit?"
"I presume you did," Cartney says. "You know, given the circumstances."
Norax smiles. Proud of herself. I cross my arms over my chest.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"Somewhere just outside the city," she says. "One of our satellite locations. It's perfect for tonight's dinner. Remote. No crowds."
"Why do you not want crowds?"
She pauses, thinking about her words. "There's some sensitive information we don't want people peeking at."
My stomach twists up into a knot. "What does that mean?"
"You'll see soon enough."
It takes almost thirty minutes to get to where my meeting is. Looking out the window, I watch as the streets begin to change. One moment they're concrete, and the next, cobblestone, creating bumps of turbulence as we go. The further the car drives, the narrower the streets get until soon enough, the car is almost pressed against the curb, moving slow and careful through icy twists and turns. I take in every structure, every signal and sign visible through the window. What confuses me the most is how I've never seen any of it beforeâa whole, entire section of Colburn that I haven't had any chance to explore. With all the walking around it I do with Cartney, I almost thought I knew this city like the back of my hand.
By the time the car finally comes to a stop, the world from outside my door is completely foreign to me. The buildings look industrialââmonochrome and strangely ominous, like warehouses that have long since been abandoned. When I step out onto the bumpy ground, snow sheets down on me so fast and thick, it looks fake. I get a bad feeling instantly.
"What part of Colburn is this?" I ask Gerald, looking around some more. Across the street, it's all the same: Big warehouses. No people. Just snow and silence.
He tugs off his guard-attire cap, placing it over my head to shelf me from the snow. "We're in Outer Colburn, more affectionately known as the Ashes."
"The Ashes?"
"Consider it the midpoint between city and suburbs. Once a thriving area, now past its prime and full of empty space. So if Colburn burns, this is the residue. Get it?"
"Isn't it lovely?" Norax asks. "You don't have to worry about any paparazzi here! What a breath of fresh air for you two!"
Cartney takes in a dramatically deep breath. "Gotta love that fresh air, right, Ray?"
Gerald leads us into the building with a rusting metal door. The area inside is lit solely by the overcast sky outside through the windows, turning my stomach at first glance. In the grey light, broken, corroding tables and chairs are strewn around haphazardly, like the skeleton of something that ended a long time ago. There is no one at the front desk to greet us, only a hoard of Famoux sentries lining the perimeter of the room with their guns at the ready. They're completely motionless except the one at the start of a hallway, who nods to Gerald for us to come her way. As we approach her, I feel the eyes of every single guard on me as we move across the warehouseââfollowing my movements in a way that makes me self conscious. I pull Chapter's coat closer to my chin to cover me more.
Following the long rows of guards, we move down the hallway to another doorââthis one, modernized. It's one of those tell-tale Famoux doors, metal, with the control pad instead of a knob and a dozen different secret codes. The same kind of door blocks the Fissarex. The Analytix. The important objects we don't want being discovered.
A part of me expects some new contraption when Gerald finally gets it open, but all that's inside is a couch and another door. Norax walks right up to the latter, fiddling with yet another combination.
"You two wait here," she orders. "I need to make sure everything is ready. When the green light turns on, you can come in."
"What light?" I ask.
But she's already exited the room, leaving Cartney, Gerald, and I in her wake.
For a moment, it's silent. But then:
"Where the actual hell are we?" asks Cartney.
"The Ashes," says Gerald.
"This much I know." He slumps down onto the couch. "But like, why are there so many guns outside? What are we eating?"
At the mention of the guns, the upset feeling in my stomach deepens. Moving quickly, I join Cartney on the couch, putting my head in my hands.
"Hey," Gerald starts. "Are you alright?"
I look up at him. "Is something going to happen?"
"It's just a dinner."
I shake my head, feeling a bit stupid for having such a dramatic reaction to all of this. But maybe I would've been braver about everything if the way guards lined up the walls didn't remind me of when they were stationed around the Fishbowl, powerless to DEFED's attack. Maybe new places and changes would continue to intrigue me like they used to if things didn't seem to always change for the worst.
"Dinners typically happen in our dining room," I remind him. "We don't drive out to the edge of the city just to talk about the usual stuff. Norax wouldn't do that if she didn't have some alternative plan up her sleeve."
"I know you feel that way, Emeray, butââ"
Gerald stops. In the span of a second, his face changes from sincere, to frustrated, to sincere again. I notice.
"What is it?" I ask.
"I know as much as you do what's going to happen tonight."
"They didn't brief you or something?" Cartney asks.
"I took you guys back to the Metropolix. I had no idea we were going here."
"But you're my personal guard," I say. "They tell you everything."
He shakes his head. "Guards aren't given the details anymore. Nothing more than we absolutely need to hear. It's this new policy they made a few days ago."
"That doesn't make sense," Cartney says. "Why would it ever be better if you didn't know the details?"
"They told us they're being careful."
"But why?"
"We still have that mole in our system we haven't found yet."
Cartney sits up straighter. "Wait a minute, you guys have a mole? A mole from where? DEFED?"
A chill runs down my spine. At this point, I'd forgotten all about that. The worry that there was a mole existed before I'd even joined the Famoux. As Norax affirmed, Bree Arch's death was only possible because of someone on the inside giving DEFED information. And now that Foster has followed in her footsteps, the hunt, it seems, has been revived.
"Since we're not sure who it is who's relayed information back to them, it's better if we're not all-knowing entities anymore," Gerald explains. "So all this to say, I don't know why so many guards are necessary for tonight. I wish I did, but I don't."
At this, a light in the center of the ceiling turns on, shrouding the room with a minty, shadowy glow. Instantly, my heart lurches like it's trying to win a race. There's the green light. And green means go.
As we approach the door, Cartney looks to me, overwhelmed.
"There is way too much to keep up with regarding you guys," he says. "Can't things ever not be clouded with intense mystery?"
"Maybe," Gerald says. "But I guess it wouldn't be the Famoux, then, would it?"
He punches in a combination. The door unlocks.
We step inside.
xxx
AHHHHHASDLF I JUST CAN'T HELP MYSELF! I WANT TO MAKE THE WAIT FOR THIS DINNER SO OVERWHELMING! THE TREPIDATION!
Tell me your thoughts on today's chapter. It was fairly long at 3k words, and I'm sorry if it seemed uneventful, but everything here is set up for the grander picture. I already know that, when I edit for the thousandth time, that these chapters will be less expositional. But right now, since we're all getting back into the swing of the story, I think it's better to sometimes over-explain myself. We all know this is a draft, anyway!
We're actually at around page 40 in my word document right now, which is wild. I have no idea how I manage to ramble on so much. In a film script, I should well be done with act one by now! Could you imagine if I wrote novels like I wrote scripts? They'd go by so fast. Instead of, you know, the first kiss scene for Chapter and Emeray happening on, like, page 300 of Famoux.
Please comment your name! Gonna need a lot coming up! Also, please let me know what your story is so I can read it. I've seen people be weary about commenting their stories, and I just want to affirm to you that I genuinely, truly WANT to read what you're writing. I support you, and want to show you that support as loudly as I can.
Also, what are your weekend plans? I'm planning on relaxing, reading, and of course, perfecting the next chapter to the best of my abilities for your reading pleasure. Let's hope you also get to relax and read!
I hope you have a wonderful weekend, Wattpad. This time next week? Sounds great. Remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.