by Lola West
One afternoon, that’s all I needed to get through. And if I played the part, acted like the cocky, privileged descendant of the senator, then she’d hate me, which was exactly what she needed to do. Whatever that moment was at Bonnaroo, I could poison it for her. I could make her think she should never look at me like she did in the hotel's lobby, that she shouldn’t seek me out and she should never ever leave herself open to me. No matter how much I wanted to talk to her. I couldn’t be nice to her. I was playing the role, and I had to be like the senator, kindness for cameras only.
She never looked back at me after I failed to thank her for saving my sunglasses, and I never turned to face her, but out of the corner of my eye, I watched her. In some ways I felt lucky that the images of me doped at Bonnaroo went viral because even though I couldn’t touch her, get to know her, or make her laugh, I got to see her again in the light of day. I sat next to her. I rode through Manhattan with her. She was seething at my behavior. Her whole body looked tense and tight, and she was so actively looking away from me.
At a stoplight, I caught a glimpse of her expression in the rearview mirror. She was angry on the surface, but she was also genuinely involved in the endless bustle of the city. It didn’t seem like she had never been here before; it seemed like she was in love with it all, like the city delighted her. The way she was watching the city was like her dancing. When I saw her dance, the thing that was so clear was that she danced for her own pleasure. She people-watched like that too, like the people who were passing our car were organic expressions of art that she could draw beauty from. It was fascinating to watch. I tried to make it look like I was checking my emails or some other stupid shit on my phone, but I constantly found myself peeking at the rearview mirror. I wondered what it was like to live like that, to feel like you have every right to enjoy your life.
When we got to the studio, a young woman who looked mousy, like her glasses were too big for her face, was waiting for us at the stage door entrance; she smiled as we approached and introduced herself as an assistant to the producer or something. She told us she would escort us to the greenroom.
Knowing the role I needed to play, I wasted no time before being a dick. “I’m sorry, can you please explain why we were brought here in the same car? Is The Kelsey Jennings Show too cheap to spring for individualized treatment for your guests?”
The assistant looked a little stunned.
Lua shook her head and smiled at her. “Ignore him. He’s as sour as lemons.”
I looked at her, feigning irritation. “Really?” I smirked flirtatiously. “And how would you know my sour from my sweet?”
She curled her lip in disgust and strode in front of me, wrapping her arm around the assistant’s and patting the girl’s hand. “I for one am thankful for your help. Lead the way.”
From behind them, I asked, “Do we have to share a greenroom, too?”
They both stopped, and I saw Lua flinch ever so subtly. Then she took a deep breath and blew it out her nose. For a moment I allowed my chest to burn with the reality that she was going to hate me, and then I forged ahead. “Because honestly, a man can only deal with watching a woman drool over him for so long.” It was a low blow, considering how the last time we were together it was me drooling all over her.
Before Lua could lash out, the little mouse turned.
“No, Mr. Scott. We have prepared a private space for you.” She paused for a second, like she was trying to bite her tongue, but in the end, feisty won out. “And I should think that Ms. Steinbeck is quite thankful that we did.”
Lua laughed, and I did my best to look offended while I gripped tightly to Lua’s green bandana, which was, as always, stuffed in my front pocket.
8
Lua
The lights on the set were hella bright. And honestly, the entire environment was unnerving. Being a commune brat, I found a television sound stage was more weird than exciting. It’s basically a staged sitting room that’s fooling no one. The floors were wood, and there was a cream-colored area rug and on top of that, a large subtly curved cream couch with turquoise throw pillows. In front of the couch was a wood coffee table topped with an expensive-looking flower arrangement. Behind the sitting room was more sitting room, raised up a step. There was a faux fireplace and on its mantle were plants in turquoise pots and books bound in shades of turquoise leather. There were also frames filled with the stock photos hung on half walls beyond the fireplace and when you looked up, there were wood rafters, only they were hung on cables from the actual ceiling which was super high and painted black. To the right of the couch, there was a huge sign hanging from the ceiling that featured The Kelsey Jennings Show logo in turquoise, of course. Kelsey, Drew, and I were all sitting on the couch together, me on the end, Drew in the middle. We all had coffee cups resting on the coffee table in front of us, like we were old friends reconnecting after never.
As soon as they walked me onto the set, it occurred to me I should have googled Kelsey Jennings before going on her show, maybe watched a YouTube video or something. Perhaps then I would have been prepared for the amount of makeup she was wearing. I don’t mean to imply that Kelsey Jennings was unattractive; she wasn’t. She was a tall, big-haired blond, maybe forty-five, in a stylish coral skirt suit. She looked like television. But it was also very possible that she idolized Tammy Faye Bakker or maybe clowns. All jokes aside, Kelsey seemed professional. She sat down with us before we went on camera and made it very clear that her show was a happy, uplifting space and that the goal here was not to embarrass either of us, but rather to show the American people that voices from our generation could be smart and interesting, even with opposing political views. I was not an idiot. The story here was Drew versus Lua, but I felt like she was trying to present us as civilized intelligent beings, and I appreciated the effort even if a meltdown was more probable than possible.
I based my theory of impending meltdown on the fact that Drew was reprehensible. True, I had been drawn in by his arguably handsome exterior, but he was also quite possibly the most egotistical, narcissistic idiot I had ever encountered in my life. I did not know who I exchanged words with at Bonnaroo, but whoever that was, he wasn’t here. The guy sitting next to me on Kelsey’s couch was the kind of person I knew I didn’t like. I never would have let this guy touch me. I never would have hugged him or chased after him to try to wipe the “dickhead” from his face. Never. Maybe he was right. Maybe you do reap what you sow.
Dammit, I was so angry.
I had to calm down, or I was going to look like a real jerk on camera. Spitting hatred at Drew was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to look calm, cool, and collected. I wanted people to see that what I was saying about music festivals made sense. In an attempt to relax myself, I took a deep breath.
Drew must have interpreted my deep breathing as nerves because he turned to me and under his breath whispered, “You’re good. You got this.” Then his face screwed up a little, and he followed what seemed like a rare moment of kindness with, “And if you bomb, at least they can say you were hot. And really, what’s better than a hot chick, right?”
To be clear, that comment did not calm my nerves or ease my anger. But there wasn’t really much that I could do about it because seconds later a cameraman was counting down, out loud, and then he went silent and counted with his fingers; four, three, two, one, and we were filming.
“Good afternoon, I’m Kelsey Jennings and this is The Kelsey Jennings Show,” she said, looking directly into the camera. “Today, I am here with Drew Scott Jr., son of republican Senator Scott. Drew’s claims about being slipped drugs during the summer music festival Bonnaroo, have triggered a rich debate about whether drug use at environments like Bonnaroo are issue enough to cancel or even outlaw events of this nature. Also here today is Lua Steinbeck, an outspoken advocate for the continued legality of music festivals, who just happens to be the young woman who found and cared for Drew when he was in his inebriated state at Bonnaroo.”
Kelsey turned to face us. “You two make strange bedfellows, don’t you, Drew?”
The camera turned to him, and a new Drew was born. He smiled, a big genuine smile, followed by a little saccharine sweet chuckle. “Well, Kelsey, yes and no. I mean, Lua’s an amazing girl. Right?” He looked to Kelsey for confirmation and once her smile-plastered face confirmed my amazingness, he continued. “She’s smart; she has clear opinions; she’s dedicated to her friends and family, and she’s kind enough that when she saw me struggling that night at Bonnaroo, she stepped up. This is a quality human being, this is a good American. No doubt. Obviously, Lua and I often fall on opposite sides of the coin when it comes to big picture politics, but we are both good young Americans, so strange bedfellows? Maybe. I like to think of us more like friends with differing opinions.”
Friends? Really? I thought I was going to hyperventilate. And then Kelsey turned her sights on me.
“What about you, Lua, do you consider Drew a friend?”
How did the tables turn on me so quickly? It wasn’t a complicated question. The answer was yes or no, but each option had consequences. “No” was the truth, and I genuinely believed in the whole honesty is the best policy thing, but if I answered “No,” then he would come off as a good and kind person who was open to communicating with his enemies, and I would be the closed-minded asshole. “Yes,” was a lie, but it preserved the identity that had already been attached to me, gentle kind Lua, sweet liberal Lua, smart, pretty Lua from the hippie commune. Preserving my persona meant having a chance to make my point.
I kept my voice smiley. “I usually spend more than twenty minutes with people before I call them my friends. I mean, I know most of my friends since they were in utero, but sure, I’m happy to think of us as friends.” So, yeah, I lied on national television and covered it up with a grew-up-on-a-commune joke. Good job, Lua.
Kelsey looked overjoyed, like she had brokered world peace before the war had even begun. “You two are such a breath of fresh air. No wonder America is so fascinated by your story. Two kids, from different sides of the aisle, doing what the grown-ups can’t seem to figure out!” She turned back to the camera. “When we return, Drew and Lua will recount their versions of what happened that night at Bonnaroo. Stay tuned.”
The show wasn’t actually live. So, we didn’t really have to break for commercials. Kelsey just had to pretend we were breaking. Basically, she just kept talking, and then every now and then she’d stop, look into the camera and tell viewers to “Stay tuned,” followed by a pause and then a hearty, “Welcome back.” The middle segment of the show was the same old stuff that Drew and I had been rehashing to the press since day one. Drew’s story about getting drugged at Bonnaroo. My story about finding him and trying to help him. Once the facts were relayed, Kelsey turned to me and said, “In response to what happened to Drew on the night of June fourteenth, Drew’s father has thrown some pretty hard punches at Bonnaroo and other music festivals that take place here in the United States. Lua, you think this is overkill. Am I right?”
“Yes, that’s right, Kelsey. I think that music festivals, like Bonnaroo, are amazing, creative, and fun spaces. I think that spaces of this nature are not for everyone, but silencing them is an infringement on our personal freedom. Calling for the demise of music festivals is like saying we should burn books because we disagree with them. You don’t have to burn or ban books you don’t like; you can just not read them. The solution that is in line with American ideals like liberty and freedom of expression is not to destroy the thing you don’t like; it’s to raise your voice and say I don’t like this thing, so we should boycott it. If you don’t think you’re safe at a music festival, then you shouldn’t go. Honestly, I’m pulling an argument from what one might think of as right-side thinking, but why not let the marketplace decide? If no one buys tickets, then Bonnaroo goes away, although honestly, I wouldn’t guess that will be the most likely outcome.”
“Drew?” Kelsey asked, seeking his rebuttal.
“To be honest here, I agree.”
Um… What? I whipped my head in his direction; he was calm, sitting tall, looking so casually attractive and poised. This was planned. I had no doubt about it. Agreeing with me was his plan all along. He came on this show to agree with me. He came on this show to let the air out of my balloon, to deflate me, so that my voice would become powerless. My teeth ached, which was something that happened before I cried. Shit. No crying. No blinking, even.
“Really?” Kelsey asked, her voice resonating both surprise and an intense sense of accomplishment.
Drew continued. “I mean, I think that’s exactly what my father has done. He spoke his mind. If it were up to him, there wouldn’t be music festivals, where kids could get hurt, but of course he understands his desires are not and will never be exactly what everyone in the populous wants. Let’s be honest, politics is a game of compromise and at the end of the day, politicians work to fulfill the will of the people. What happened to me shook my father to the core, as it would any parent, so of course he had to say something. He had to tell the world that he thought it could make sense to ban Bonnaroo. After extensive polling and lengthy discussions, the general consensus is that the people agree with him that Bonnaroo is dangerous, but they aren’t ready to abandon the idea of outdoor concerts, so as we speak, he is working on an incredible solution to this problem.”
Kelsey leaned in toward Drew just a touch. He was giving her a story, letting her have the exclusive, and she was eating it up. She teased, “Oh, Drew, do tell.”
“Well, Kelsey, as you can imagine, I am not at liberty to make my father’s announcements. But I’ll tell you this. Bonnaroo, the American Cancer Society, and Truth, the anti-smoking campaign directed at high school kids and college-aged adults, are partnered with my father to make sure that next year no one will have to suffer like I did.”
I was stunned. And angrier than ever. They had used me. They had brought me on this show to be the shiny lights that made Drew look pretty. They wanted this announcement to be made with my voice right there to confirm their actions were sound and that, like me, Drew was worth liking. I was bleach for Christ’s sake. I was making him stain-free. People were going to buy this crap, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Kelsey was clapping. I thought she might hug him. “Wow. I am just in awe, Drew. You are such a smart, savvy young man. So insightful. Don’t you think so, Lua?”
I smiled a tight-lipped smile. “He’s something.” I had to relax. Bonnaroo wasn’t canceled. The witch hunt was over. It didn’t matter how we got there, right?
With the “problem” solved, Kelsey switched gears. She had to fill the airtime, after all. “Well, I’ll be. Turns out the two of you might actually be friends. Tell us, Lua. Can we look forward to more from you two?”
And there it was, a tiny little opening. I knew something that Drew didn't, something that certainly wasn’t in his plans. And I wasn’t just going to throw it out there. I was going to take aim and fire.
I smiled first. Shook my head a little, let my eyes drift down bashfully, and then I looked at Kelsey and made a kind of awkward cutesy face in conjunction with raising my shoulders a little bit. It was a look that said look out, awkward secret ahead. “Maybe… Kelsey. Considering that we are both juniors at Hamilton College, I should think we will most likely be butting heads again in the future.” Big smile.
I swear to God, Kelsey was more excited than before. She made a sound akin to a squeal, clapped only the fingertips of her hands, and bounced a little in her seat.
I glanced in Drew’s direction, expecting flared nostrils. But he didn’t look angry. He looked panicked. All the color was gone from his lips. It looked like I could tap him with a hammer, and he would shatter into a thousand little pieces. My instinct was to reach out for him, but I kept my hands in my lap.
Kelsey twittered on like a canary. “Isn’t that ah-mazing Drew? What a coincidence. You two will have to come back on
the show, or maybe The Kelsey Jennings Show will take a road trip and come to you. I mean two birds, one stone, right?” She giggled at her own joke.
Drew still looked shaken, but some color was returning to his features. The movement of his right hand, the one closest to me, caught my attention. I didn’t turn to look, but I was watching as his hand slowly drifted down toward his pocket. He pulled at something with his fingers—fabric. He was rubbing a piece of fabric between his thumb and his index finger. It was green. The fabric was forest green with some kind of white and black design on it. It was a bandana. A forest-green bandana. And then it dawned on me. I’d scared him. I’d scared him and to calm himself, he’d reached into his pocket and coddled my forest-green bandana, the one I gave him on June fourteenth in the dusky morning afterglow of Bonnaroo.
9
Drew
I was on autopilot. I smiled and shook hands, thanked Kelsey for a lovely interview, collected my things, found my way from the greenroom to the revolving front door with Mousy’s directions, and then I was standing outside on the curb in the rain. The Kelsey Jennings Show provided a ride to the show, but not a ride back to the hotel. Gloria had suggested having a car waiting for me, but I said it was New York, I could just grab a cab. Yeah, sure. Getting a cab in New York when it’s raining wasn’t the world’s easiest task. Plus, hailing cabs was impossible because I hardly had the energy to lift my damn arms.
