Clickbait (Off the Record Book 1)

by Garett Groves

  “Shit, move!” I shouted and ran across the lobby to the front door. “Kile, wait!” I called as he made to close the door behind himself. He leaned outside of it, his trademark smile on his face, and winked at me.

  “Come on, Jeff, did you really think I’d leave you?”

  “I have no idea what you’re going to do,” I wheezed. I hadn’t run like that in years.

  “Good. That’s how it should be. I like to keep people guessing, makes things more interesting.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Scoot over,” I said as I climbed up into the car with Ross right behind me. The car darted down the street seconds later toward the university. What the hell am I getting myself into? I wondered.

  “Love is bullshit,” Avery said from the podium at the front of the small auditorium-style room we’d packed into and I couldn’t help laughing. What a great way to start a speech, I thought. Still, it seemed to work because the audience laughed, the noise bouncing off the walls of the crowded room.

  To my surprise, Avery’s speaking slot was fully attended—and there weren’t any signs of the “security concerns” Avery had alluded to. There also wasn’t an empty seat in the auditorium, which meant Ross and I had to stand off to the side or in the back. Ross bounced back and forth between the two but I stayed put on the left-hand side of the makeshift stage with my pad and pen ready for whatever other ridiculous things came out of Avery’s mouth.

  “You laugh, but it’s true. And you’re laughing because you know it’s true, even if you don’t want to admit it,” he said as he tapped the podium and stepped out from behind it. He’d buttoned his suit and he rested his hands on the button now as he spoke, looking from left to right out at the audience.

  “I don’t blame you for being afraid, though. I was in your shoes once. I spent my whole life being told that in order to be happy I had to grow up, graduate from college, get a good job, meet a lovely woman, marry her, and have kids. I’ve done precisely one of those things,” he said to more laughter and a smile appeared on Avery’s face, too. Though I tried to remain objective and read through the lines of what he was saying, I found it hard to do. He was such a good speaker and the things he was saying would’ve made anyone’s ears perk up.

  “I never grew up. I went to college but didn’t graduate. I have met lots of lovely women but none of them were lovely enough to sway me to the other side of the fence. No offense, ladies,” he said as a round of jestful boos went through the audience. “I did manage to find a pretty damn good job though, which I’m more and more thankful for every day.

  “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to talk about this yet but I’m gonna do it anyway. I’m sure you’ve noticed the guy standing behind me who looks suspiciously like Jeff Taylor and the cameraman running back and forth, so there’s no sense in trying to deny it. I’m shooting a documentary right now,” he said and the audience looked at each other.

  “I know, it’s crazy given what’s gone on between us over the last week or so,” he said. “But it’s important. I wanted to do this because I wanted to show it’s possible for even the most polar opposite of people to come together despite their differences. There’s no wrong that can’t be forgiven, right, Mr. Taylor?” Avery asked as he turned and the spotlight fell on me, literally. Nervous, I nodded and waved.

  “Aww, that’s cute. The former face of cable news has stage fright,” he said and the crowd laughed again. “But seriously, folks, that’s what I came to talk about. We need to change the rest of society’s minds to get on our level but we can’t do that without the support of people who aren’t necessarily on our side,” he continued. This guy should run for office some day, I thought as I watched and listened. He had just the right cadence, a laser-focused message, and the perfectly warm and friendly voice with which to deliver it. Many in the audience were nodding their heads in agreement.

  “I think once the general public hears what we have to say, they’ll see we’re not really as different as they think we are. They might sing the praises of love and marriage publicly but it’s because it’s all they’ve ever known. And you know what else they know?” he asked, holding his hands out to the audience from the front of the stage. The audience shook their heads.

  “They know pain. They know the pain love can cause. So do I,” he said and the shaking of heads turned to nods of agreement as he paused again. His words immediately caught my ear.

  “Now, a ton of people ask me, ‘Kile, what is it with you and your anti-love crusade? Were you not held enough as a child?’” he said and again the crowd laughed. “I assure you, I got plenty of attention from my parents, probably too much. So, no, the hurt from love I know didn’t come from them. The hurt I know came from being in love,” he said and the room went so quiet that I heard the buzzing of the lights overhead.

  “Shocking, right?” he asked. “But it’s true. Spoiler: I’m not an android, I’m capable of having feelings, too,” he said and the audience laughed. “As crazy as it sounds, I was in love once. His name was Brandon and he rocked my world, but he rocked it most when he cheated on me,” he said and a hush ripped through the audience. I nearly dropped my pad of paper. Why the hell would he admit something like that in front of a crowd? I couldn’t wrap my head around it but I scribbled down what he’d said because this was it, the vulnerability I’d picked up on with him.

  “People have this misconception about me where they think I just want to live in a Dionysian-style orgy fantasy but that’s not true at all. I want to protect people by opening up the borders of relationships. I’m arguing for open exploration, so to speak, so that when and if cheating happens, it never hurts people the way it’s hurt me and so many others,” he continued and suddenly something clicked for me.

  Avery was afraid of being hurt.

  For the rest of his speech I found myself unable to concentrate on anything else he had to say. One sentence kept repeating in my head: The hurt I know came from being in love. It was as if all of the various, scattered pieces in the abstract puzzle that was Kile Avery fell into place around that one statement.

  I tried to scribble down all of the thoughts and questions that whipped through my head but as soon as I wrote one down at least five more took its place until the roar of applause shook me back into reality and I realized Avery had just wrapped up his speech. I tucked my pad under one arm and clapped along with the rest of them, though for a very different reason. As hard as it was for me to believe, I respected him for saying what he’d said in front of so many people. I could never have done something like that.

  Maybe I was wrong about him, I thought as I watched him wave and step off the stage toward me. Maybe he doesn’t want to watch the world burn—maybe he just wants to pay it back for all of the burning it’s done to him. Everything about him seemed to tie back to the admission he’d made on stage. The success he chased and had found for himself all came from a deep drive to get back at those who’d hurt him.

  “What did you think?” Avery asked with a smile.

  “Great job,” I said, still clapping.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. Have you thought about running for office some day?” I asked and Avery laughed.

  “It’s crossed my mind.”

  “You should consider it, seriously. People love you and you’ve got the persona for it. I had no idea you were such a good public speaker.”

  “Yet another perk of studying theater,” he said.

  “If that was you acting, you had me fooled. I’ve never seen you more real,” I said, surprised at the words that came from my mouth. He eyed me suspiciously.

  “Thanks, I guess?” he said.

  “Yeah, it was definitely a compliment,” I said and I wanted to say more, to tell him that I felt like I’d gotten to know him more in the last hour than I had in all of the time we’d spent in each other’s orbit. And then there it was again, the feeling of fascination I’d felt about him several times, the odd tingle in the pit of my stomach…


  “How long were you and Brandon together?”

  “About a year. Look, this isn’t going into the documentary, is it?”

  “Do you see me writing anything down or any cameras?” I asked, my pulse suddenly racing. If I didn’t know any better I’d swear that I was feeling nervous around him. No one made me nervous, not after being on TV and in the public eye for so many years. I wanted to know more, wanted to know who and what had hurt him to make him into the man he was today and not because I wanted to write about it. I wanted to know for my own reasons.

  “Look, I don’t really want to talk about this. Can I draw the line here?” he asked.

  “You make the rules but whatever you say about this is off the record. I won’t include it anywhere, won’t tell anyone.”

  “Right. My arch-enemy the journalist tells me I can trust him with my deepest secrets and I’m supposed to just lay it all out?” he laughed.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Why do you want to know, anyway?”

  “Just curious. I’ve been there myself so I know what it’s like.”

  “I’ve got some hands to shake and posters to sign, so if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said not wanting to push my luck. I watched him walk back to the front of the stage where a line of people had formed waiting to meet him.

  Be careful, Jeff, I thought, leaning against the wall and turning over everything I’d learned in this hour-long speech. Don’t forget, Avery’s a master of manipulation. For all I know what he just said was total bullshit, a part of the act he uses to seduce people—including me.

  As cynical as I’d become, even I found that hard to believe.

  9

  Kile

  I woke Monday morning with one of the worst hangovers I’d had in years. Jeff and his crew of trained monkeys had decided to give me the weekend off, which I was more than grateful for after our first week of filming. Even after five days with him I’d felt drained and knocked dangerously off-kilter.

  The week had gone well enough, and nothing had happened to make me feel the way that I did, but something had just taken the energy out of me. At first, I thought it might have been because I had to concentrate way harder on what I did and said before doing it, since I was almost always on camera. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was Jeff Taylor.

  I’d spent the weekend watching grainy cell phone footage of myself at the lecture the previous Tuesday giving that stupid speech and telling the world I was some sort of sap still moping around about the fact I’d been cheated on. But it wasn’t the rest of the world knowing that made me uncomfortable—it was Taylor knowing that did it. I had no idea what he’d do with that information or what he’d try to extrapolate from it, and I hoped against hope he wouldn’t start to try and pity or protect me because that’s what people always did when they found out.

  The worst part was that I didn’t need his or anyone else’s pity but I kind of wanted it from him. When he pushed me for details on Brandon I’d turned into a cocktail of different feelings. Part of me felt annoyed and violated, another part of me felt angry at the thought of Brandon, and yet another part of me hoped Taylor might put his arms around me and tell me it was all going to be OK.

  But that urge, along with what I’d shared with the crowd during the lecture, was a momentary lapse in judgment, something I wouldn’t let happen again, and now I was paying the price for it—hence the hangover.

  Now it was Monday, and in a matter of minutes, Taylor and his crew would be invading my space again. More than once I’d considered picking up my phone to call Lee and tell him I was bailing out, but each time I lifted my phone from the coffee table, I thought of the publicity and status I’d be giving up and let the phone fall right back down.

  Get it together, Kile, I thought as I rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes. I had less than an hour to get ready before Taylor showed up, and now more than ever I needed to present a put-together image. He’d already seen a crack in my armor and if I knew him like I thought I did, he wouldn’t relent now; he’d keep prying at the crevice to try to learn more about it the same way a kid tongued at the wound after having a tooth pulled.

  I stumbled into my ensuite bathroom and tore off the same underwear I’d had on all weekend before stepping into the shower. The hot water was a small blessing that felt incredible against my skin, snaking over my shoulders and down my back like a strong pair of hands, the way Taylor’s hands might feel on my hips as he held me down and…

  “Stop,” I said out loud, my head pounding. It wasn’t just from the hangover, either. Blood pumped in my ears, funneling down to my growing cock. “This isn’t happening. You’re just mixed up because he showed a small bit of sympathy toward you. He doesn’t actually care, he couldn’t possibly. He hates you,” I told myself. “And you hate him, too. Don’t get it twisted.”

  I turned the water as cold as it would go to shock my system and force my erection to go away. The water was like icy needles on my skin, but it did the job and forced me to shower faster than I normally would’ve. Once I got cleaned up, I put on a touch of makeup in the bathroom mirror and slipped into the first outfit I could find in my closet, a tastefully torn pair of stone-washed jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I wasn’t really in the mood to wear anything bolder.

  I’d just sat down with a cup of coffee when Taylor knocked on the door. Sighing and promising myself I wouldn’t say or do anything stupid in front of him again, I went to it and let him in.

  “Morning,” he said, wearing a bright smile.

  “How are you always so cheery and peppy in the morning?” I asked. The tone of his voice annoyed me—along with pretty much everything else about him.

  “After 20 years in this business, I don’t sleep past 4 AM anymore,” he said as he stepped past me and took what had become his usual seat.

  “Are you sure that’s not just from getting old?”

  “You’re not too far behind me, you know. Before long you’ll be making ten trips a night to the bathroom, too,” he said, pulling his pad and pen from the messenger bag he’d brought with him.

  “Where’s the rest of the crew?” I asked, scanning the hall for more bodies and finding none.

  “I decided to go it alone today, or at least for a little while. Is that OK?” he asked without turning to face me. No, it’s most definitely not OK, I thought, my pulse quickening. After what happened on Friday at the university, the very last thing I wanted was to be alone with Taylor. I knew what he was up to, knew he wanted to badger me for more details—and I didn’t want to give them to him, not now, not ever.

  “I guess it’s gonna have to be,” I said and let the door swing shut before walking back to the sofa and sinking down onto it. Truthfully, part of me was glad not to have to stare down cameras and bright-ass lights for a day. The pounding headache I was fighting would certainly appreciate it.

  “Long weekend? You look rough,” Taylor said.

  “Yeah, something like that. Celebratory partying with the guys from The Flame,” I lied.

  “Understandable. This must be a really big deal for them, too.”

  “They’re more excited about it than I am, honestly.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “That makes two of us,” I said. I didn’t mean to lie to Taylor but I couldn’t tell him I’d spent the entire weekend holed up in my condo. I was nervous about being alone with him but I couldn’t let it show.

  “So, what’s on the agenda today?” he asked, thankfully changing the subject.

  “Not much, honestly. I don’t have any appearances or anything scheduled. I’m just kind of taking it easy.”

  “Everyone needs a break now and then,” he said. “And it looks like you really need one.”

  “That’s the price you pay for success, right?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Speaking of The Flame, are you ever going to take us i
nto the office?”

  “This is only day two, I’m sure there will be time to make that happen,” I said.

  “Fair enough. I’d love to see what you’ve got going on in there.”

  “You won’t think that once you see it. The place is kind of a dump.”

  “Maybe so but it’s part of your story and that makes it interesting. I’m sure viewers would want to see it, too,” he said.

  “What’s interesting about it?”

  “It’s your baby. For all intents and purposes, it is you,” he said. “Or at the least it’s a very intimate part of you.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Are you OK?” he asked. Truthfully, my head was spinning, all crowded with conflicting thoughts and feelings.

  “I’ve been better. I’m fighting a pretty killer hangover.”

  “You should probably slow down. Living hard and fast like that will catch up with you. Bad habits have a way of doing that,” he said and I looked up to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d sat down. He stared at me intensely, his eyes darting up and down over me like he was looking for a sign or like he was trying to say something more than what he’d actually said. My pulse took off again.

  “I can take care of myself,” I said, looking away.

  “I know you can, just thought I’d offer some advice as someone who’s been in your shoes. If you push it too hard you’ll end up a tired old man like me,” he said.

  “Heaven forbid,” I said and he smirked.

  “Kile, can I ask you something?” he asked and immediately my entire body tensed.

  “I’m an open book,” I lied, praying he wasn’t about to ask what I thought he was.