The Podcast

Chapter 11

"I mean, that's still no excuse. It was a huge brand event for Podster. Moqué sponsors all of our shows now. I'm sure her partnership deal was as ironclad as mine." Romi polishes off the rest of her bagel, a few errant crumbs falling into the mane of hazelnut curls around her clavicle.

"Well I'll say this, for a mocktail event we sure did get fucked up." Archer lets out a loud yawn, sitting up a bit further. "Although it could've been the Molly that did it. Besides," he rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, "since when do you care about brand event attendance? You're not exactly Miss Reliable."

"I'm just making an observation, okay? It's not like Sumner to miss a major brand event. She's a practical junkie for contract terms." Romi reaches for her orange juice and vodka. "But the PR drinks were definitely spiked. I mean they're not going to get lively, vibey, night-out social content unless we were all actually drunk. It's not like we're actors." Romi says the word like it's something shameful, beneath her. "But that's not the point. The point, Archer, is that she wasn't there."

"So what, dude? Fucking chill. Maybe she was sick or something."

"What if she knows?"

"C'mon, Romi—"

"I'm serious! She might be onto me right at this moment."

"You're ridiculous. You've barely even done anything."

"Apparently there was a cop who came to the studio yesterday," Romi shields her eyes as she rolls her head to face Archer, "like an actual one."

"You mean instead of a fake one?" Archer chuckles before snapping a photo of himself. "Like a stripper?"

"Will you be serious for one fucking minute? Jesus." Romi slaps his arm before turning back toward the pool as a set of French doors open onto the sprawling patio.

"Oh! Good. Akari's here." Romi slips on her sunglasses, sitting up to wave her over.

"Akari Zimmerman? As in Sumner West's agent?" Archer props himself up onto his elbows squinting through the sun. "Damn, you really are doing this. I thought she was loyal to a fault."

"Everyone has a price, Archer. Yours is just embarrassingly low."

"Is not!"

"Whatever, just follow my lead."

Akari skirts around the curved edge of the pool, her slender child-like body making quick, short steps. She smiles curtly as she approaches, taking a tentative seat on the edge of Acher's chaise lounge.

"Hello, Romi." Akari clears her throat before turning to Archer. "You're Archer Reddy? The YouTuber, right?"

"In the flesh, baby." Archer grins wide, crossing his arms behind his head before earning an eye roll from Romi.

"Should we—"

"It's fine," Romi interjects, waving her hand dismissively, "he can stay. He does whatever I tell him to."

"Only when she asks real nice." Archer winks before finally shutting up.

"Anyway," Romi turns fully to face Akari, a glitter coming to her acqua-blue eyes, "I'm assuming you've thought about my proposition?"

"I have." Akari pauses, her gaze sweeping the expanse of the Beverly Hills backyard. The home has been in the Amar family for three generations, originally built by Romi's grandfather, a Hollywood pioneer with a wildly controversial past. A slight chill of excitement breaks out over her skin at the thought. "I do agree that something's been...off about Sumner. Over the last several weeks to be exact. And then yesterday when those Detectives came to the studio—"

"Oh shit, for real?" Archer interjects, his eyebrows shooting up high on his forehead.

"I literally told you that five minutes ago."

"I know but I didn't believe you."

"Why were they there?" Romi tilts her head, studying Akari in a way that's both intimidating and praiseworthy. A professional popular girl.

"I'm not sure exactly. There was some murder they wanted to see if Sumner knew about. Maybe to feature a PSA for tips or something on the podcast." Akari's voice is curt and uninviting like she wants to move on to other topics. "But the numbers...they're slipping. Nothing crazy, but it's there. Brand deals are...wanting to move away from the genre."

"Or just move away from her." Romi pipes in, her eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses. "She rose too fast, Akari. She blew up out of nowhere. That kind of ascent only means one thing. She's hiding secrets. And the same force that brought her up," Romi points her iridescent manicured finger in the air, indicating a rise, "will bring her crashing down. I'd just hate for you to be caught up in that fallout, Akari. You're so talented."

The threat is clear. If the anticipated fall of Sumner doesn't take Akari out of the game, Romi will. She's an Amar. Hollywood is her plaything.

"Thank you." Akari straightens her spine, a slight sweat forming under her arms. She's equal parts scared and excited. If she thought she was in the big leagues before, this could be everything. This could be it. "I also feel that Sumner...well, she won't listen to me in the way a client should." Akari licks her lips, knowing she's stepping into the deep end now. "She's too private, closed off. Never wants to take my advice on when to involve a lawyer, which brand events to attend, who to date. I mean," Akari splutters uncharacteristically, frustration seeping through her steely facade, "that's my job after all, isn't it? To make her. To inform her every move for ultimate optimization. I'm her agent. I've only told her a hundred times to leave true crime behind. To leverage her platform in a new medium. She won't listen."

"Honestly, Akari," Romi leans back, tilting her head languidly toward the sun, "I just think she knows she can't. People don't love Sumner, they love their sick infatuation with girls getting murdered."

"Not my kind of kink." Archer chuckles before earning an annoyed glare from Romi.

"Well then," Akari's voice is crisp, decided, "of course I'll have to talk to Benny first. You know, before we take any further steps."

"Sure, of course," Romi rests her hand on Akari's knee, "as long as you feel you can trust him. His loyalty is to you, right? You're sure he won't say anything about it?"

"I'm sure."

"Well, alright then!" Romi claps her hands together in satisfaction. "Dr. Paul, would you so kindly get us three fresh glasses of boozy orange juice?" The man in white scrubs nods, another staff member Akari hadn't even noticed. The sight of him causes her slender shoulders to jump.

He returns like a ghost, three pulpy orange glasses appearing on a glittering silver tray, the word 'Tiffany's' etched into the bottom.

"Cheers, Akari, to unofficially joining The Half-Jewish team!" They clink their glasses, Romi and Archer taking a quick sip before arguing about the details of an inside joke from last night.

But Akari tilts her slender neck back and drinks it all, the texture of the pulp and the burning of the vodka settling in her stomach.

Surely some part of Sumner will have to understand, she thinks to herself as she dabs a drop of stinging liquid from her bottom lip. After all, who knows what Sumner had been willing to do to get to where she was? If the rumors are true, it was a hell of a lot worse than jumping ship for the competition.