Page 67 of Show Off

CONFESSIONAL 1151.5

Judson, Lana (Public Relations Director: Juniper Ridge)

Being a Judson in Hollywood came with all kinds of crazy pressures, but here? It’s different, I guess.

There’s still pressure, still the expectation to act a certain way. To live like there’s cameras rolling twenty-four seven, and guess what? They are.

But it’s a different kind of pressure.

Maybe it took moving here to feel more like myself. Work on becoming who I’m meant to be. The best possible version of Lana.

[glares]

I said working, okay? As in work in progress.

I’m getting there.

* * *

Mari squeezes my knee outside the video frame. Her eyes stay fixed on my laptop, but I feel tension in her fingers.

In other words, a normal video brunch with our mother.

“When will you be back in the States, Mom?”

I side-eye Lauren, who’s working hard to look excited. Mostly, she looks like she’s hoping the answer is “next year.”

“Soon.” Mom speaks to someone off-screen, then looks back at the camera. “Was everything to your liking at Maison de la Mer?”

She’s talking to me, since that’s the snobby name she gave their Cherry Blossom Lake place. I’m the only one to visit lately, so that’s my cue.

“Very nice, thank you.” Please, Lord Jesus, say she doesn’t have video cameras in the kitchen. “Cassidy was a gracious hostess, and the chowder at O’Brien’s was outstanding.”

“Delighted to hear it.” She purses her lips. “And your companion?”

“Excellent,” I say. My sisters shift on the couch beside me, but I refuse to squirm. “Chef Yang said to thank you again for your hospitality.”

Mom studies my face like I’m nine years old and fibbing about finishing my homework. “Did the two of you stay in the Driftwood Suite or the Azure Studio?”

She knows damn well we didn’t share a room, but I feel my sisters’ eyes on me. “Dal took the room at the end of the hall, and I stayed in the one with the blue duvet and the big metal sculpture that looks like a penis.”

“Lana Jean.” Our mother attempts to scowl, but Botox has other ideas. “You don’t need to be crass.”

I kinda do. Because see how we’ve shifted the subject?

“Hey, Mom,” Lauren says, jumping to save me. A nice gesture, though I was doing fine by myself. “Did you see there’s an opportunity for a cameo next month?”

Our mother preens, always placated by an offer of screen time. “My agent’s reviewing the terms,” she says. “We’d like to time it to maximize promotion ofLemon Light.”

“Of course,” Lauren says, not bothering to hide her eyeroll. “We’ll have our people call your people.”

If our mother picks up Lauren’s sarcasm, she opts to ignore it. She’s got bigger fish to fry. “Your father asked that I remind you we’re hosting an anniversary dinner at Maison de la Mer in September,” she says. “We’re doing it on the sixteenth instead of the seventeenth.”

“Whose anniversary?” That’s Lauren, poking the bear.

Our mother huffs and opens her mouth, but Mari jumps in.

“We know you’re celebrating forty-two years, and we’ll be there.” She catches baby Sawyer’s chubby hand and holds it up to wave. “We need to run. Say bye-bye to Grandma.”

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