Grin and Beard It(85)

Sienna: You have no selfies on your phone? Seriously? None at all?

Jethro: Nope.

Sienna: You are the only human in the world with a smart phone and no selfies.

Jethro: I’m pretty sure Drew has none on his phone either.

Sienna: Drew doesn’t count. Ashley said he reads poetry to her. He gets a free pass.

Jethro: Is this your way of telling me to read poetry to you?

Sienna: No! Not at all!

Sienna: I want you to read poetry to me. this is my way of telling you to read poetry to me.



“Who are you texting?” Marta asked from behind the couch, startling me.

I glanced over the back of the sofa where I was sitting. She was at my shoulder reading my screen. I immediately pressed the phone to my chest.

“Marta. Don’t read my text messages.”

“Why can’t I see? Who is it?”

“You can’t see because it’s an invasion of privacy, you weirdo.”

She gave me a patronizing look. “You know you have no privacy.”

Marta was referring to my Cloud backup account being hacked three years ago and how hundreds of my pictures had been made public. Unfortunately for the gossip pages, the most risqué image they found was me in a two-piece bathing suit one of my college friends had taken and texted to me. The media—we’re talking CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, et. al.—had spent months debating whether or not my waistline was healthy or attractive.

Meanwhile, I was turning down dicks—both figurative and literal dicks—left and right. I should note that some of the literal dicks weren’t attached to figurative dicks, which was nice. I went on a number of promising dates, but work always got in the way, and then my movies were hitting records. Finding dates with non-figurative dicks became increasingly difficult after that.

I don’t know what the media ultimately decided about my chances of dying alone and sexually starved because my tummy lacked a six-pack. I was too busy being happy with my body and making blockbusters.

You know, crying myself to sleep on my big pile of money.

“Just because it’s happened in the past,” I continued to clutch the phone to my chest, “invasion of privacy is never okay. Would you want me looking at your personal messages?”

“No. But I’m not a household name. You can’t expect the same level of privacy as everyone else. People are interested in you. If you want to maintain this level of success, you have to expect some invasion of privacy. You know this.”

We’d had this conversation one hundred times, but it had never started with her being the one spying.

“Yes. I understand that. But you’re not just my manager. You’re my sister, and I expect more from you.”

Marta had the decency to look mildly ashamed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked. Now, are you going to tell me who you’ve been texting?”

I smiled, unable to stop myself, because I’d been texting Jethro.

Too happy to think about how Marta might react, I announced, “I met someone.”

Marta’s eyebrows bounced high on her forehead. “In Tennessee?”

“Yes!”

She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes losing focus like she was going through a file drawer inside her brain. “Is it Tom? Are you two back together?”

“No. No, no, no.”

“Ken? Because that could work, especially with the promotional tour for the film coming up.”

“No, Marta. My guy isn’t an actor.”

“Is it Joe?”

“Who?”

“The junior executive producer. You met him at the casting event.”

“No.” I had no idea who she was talking about. I knew the producing team, because they’d stopped by the set last week, and none of them were named Joe. “I don’t even. No. It’s nothing like that. He’s a park ranger.”

“Who is?”

“My guy. He’s a wildlife ranger. He works at the national park.” I scrolled through my text messages until I found the picture of him next to the cage and showed it to my sister.

She stared at the image like it confused her, and then suddenly she laughed.

I watched her loss of composure for a full minute, because now I was confused. I even checked the picture to make sure I hadn’t zoomed in on the bear. Nope. The screen displayed Jethro’s handsomest face.

“Oh, Sienna. You’re hilarious.” She was holding her stomach, shaking her head.

“What? Why is this funny?” For once I didn’t like the sound of someone laughing.

Marta wiped her eyes, her laughter becoming short bursts of chuckles. “What?”

“I said, why is this funny?”

My sister blinked at me, waited, like she expected me to deliver a punchline. When I didn’t, all humor fled from her features. “Oh my God, you’re serious.” She grabbed the phone and looked at the screen again, her face grimacing in horror. “You’ve got to be kidding me with this. Oh . . . Oh my God. What is this picture?”