by Megyn Ward
Jonas brings the drink over and hands it to me. I don’t want it but I take a long drag on it, anyway. Maybe I can numb myself.
“I gotta tell you, at first I was pissed. It’s like you threw an interception. Holy shit, you were supposed to be fucking Liesa. That’s what I’m paying you for.” Jonas settles back in his leather chair and pulls a gold coaster from his desk drawer to cradle his sweating crystal. “I thought about firing you outright.”
I wish he would fire me.
Niles and Mom had gotten fed up with my poor behavior and forced me to take this job with Jonas. If I succeed in deflowering the famous Virgin Bitch on TV, I’ll be paid enough money I can probably buy my own island. If I fail, I’ll lose not only the payoff, but forfeit my inheritance. I’ll be penniless, with one year shy of a college degree under my belt. That would leave me working my way from counter help to manager at McDonald’s. Not my idea of a great life.
Bob had his camera trained on Liesa and me that night and Kylie had slipped away unidentified. I’m not sure how I’ll get myself out of this. All I want is to run from this damned office and find Kylie. Maybe I can explain the show and my desperation. She has to believe me.
We’ll go away somewhere together. Other young people start out with nothing and make happy lives. We’re smart and ambitious and together, can conquer the world.
We don’t need money. Not his and not my parents’.
Jonas can go fuck himself.
So can my mom and dad.
And if Kylie won’t forgive me then I’ll slink away knowing that I didn’t let a couple of dickface assholes like my dad and Jonas Knightly get the better of me.
“Look—” I set my glass on his desk and plant my hands on the arms of my chair. “I just came by to tell you that I’m out.” I stand. “I don’t give fuck all about the money. Keep it. Cut me out. Toss me in the gutter—whatever. I’m done.”
Jonas watches me. “But then, I thought, hell, let’s run the interception in for a touchdown.” It’s like I never said a word.
Interceptions? Touchdowns? Does this guy even know how to talk in a straight line? “Did you hear me?” I lean over his desk and glare down at him. “It’s over. I’m out. Get someone else to play Prince Charming in your fucked-up fairytale.”
Glaring up at me, he grabs his drink and rocks back in his chair, thudding his soft leather loafers on the shiny surface. “We get this girl, whatever her name is, to join the cast. I can—”
“No.”
Jonas’s lips turn up in amusement. “Bullseye.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have reacted.
“She’s just some chick.” Jonas smells blood, or ratings, and he’ll go after Kylie. I can’t let that happen. “Not someone we want on the show.”
Jonas sips his drink and studies me. “I think she’s not someone you want on the show.”
I shrug and try to act like it doesn’t matter.
He crosses his ankles propped on the desk. “Who is she?”
“I told you—just some chick.” My heart hammers against my chest. “I don’t know her name. Don’t know anything about her. It was one of those things.” Last week, picking up a girl for a good time was sport. I try to remember how I might have acted then. Casual, no harm, consenting adults, sex means nothing. Just trying to feel good.
A sudden surge of rage brands me. Here I am again, my heart twisted and wrung dry by some girl who doesn’t seem to care about me. First, it was Lexi, a girl I’d started dating when we were in high school. I thought she was the love of my life and we’d be together forever. Then she decided she wanted to date around. I thought I’d never love again. In fact, I was hell-bent on making my life one constant party. Drinking, fucking, waking up hungover, wash, rinse, repeat.
Then I fell into Kylie’s world, fucked it up, and suddenly, my heart came alive again. Then, I hurt her. Did and said some things I’ll never be able to forgive myself for. She won’t give me the chance to talk to her, tell her I’m sorry and explain I was only trying to protect her.
Can you blame her?
All you’ve done since the moment she laid eyes on you is make a mess of her life. And like the fact that you ripped her life apart wasn’t enough, you hurt her. Treated her like a cheap whore. Said she didn’t matter when the truth is she’s the only thing that does.
Jonas drops his feet and sits forward. “I can find out. I’ve got people who do this kind of work.” He starts to tap on his computer keyboard. “I’m sure I can make it worth her while to join the cast.”
“She said that was her last night on the island.” The lie springs easily. “Flying out the next morning.”
Jonas types and watches his screen. “Where does she live?”
“I don’t know. We weren’t much on conversation.” I try for a manly chuckle.
He stops typing and considers me. “You’re lying to me. I’m going to find this girl, with or without your help.”
I probably look like a deer in headlights. I have to protect Kylie from Jonas, no matter what. “Look, what do I have to do for you to leave her alone?”
He leans back, the springs in his chair squealing, and folds his hands on his chest. “My goal here son, is to make some serious bank on this show before the fickle public has enough of Liesa Temple for good. So, here’s the deal.”
I want to throw up.
“You get the ratings up 10% this season, and I’ll leave this little dish out of the mix.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
He raises his eyebrows. “You’ve already agreed to pop Liesa’s cherry, which, I will remind you, you haven’t succeeded in doing. But if you want me to stay away from Shower Girl, you bring the ratings up within the first four episodes in the coming season. How you do that is entirely up to you.”
Liesa returns from the restroom, creating a stir as the famous girl struts across the restaurant. She ignores Bob and Lurch. Instead, she slides into the booth and snuggles next to me. She kisses me, no doubt leaving a smudge of her signature peach lipstick around my lips where she’s mashed hers against me.
Quit wanting Kylie.
She squeezes my thigh, her signal to get me to go full-on Liesa’s Life. I throw my arm around her shoulder and lean into her, pinning her to the back of the booth and planting a Hollywood, tongue attack, kiss on her.
Make this Kylie.
She wriggles against me, little moaning and squeaking noises coming from her, all intended for good TV. Finally, she plants her hands on my shoulders and pushes me back.
In a display of irritation, I sit back and grab my wine. I take a sip and wince from the sweet, although TV viewers might assume the sour look is for Liesa.
She opens her eyes wide and by some magic she’s perfected, they filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Zach. It’s just, well….”
In the give and take and manipulation of viewers, Jeri and Jonas have decided to create sympathy for Liesa this season. Slowly, Liesa is revealing that all her earlier bad behavior was merely a smokescreen for a girl who is too sensitive and insecure.
Now, she’s supposed to fall in love with me. Be vulnerable, and together we’ll slowly make our way to the season finale of me carrying her into her posh, white, luxury bedroom, and close the door on the camera.
But before then, we have to up the drama.
I give her an obviously forced smile. “I understand. I want it to be right for you. It’s just.” Big, dramatic sigh. “It’s tough on me, you know. I want you so much. And I don’t know how long I can wait.” Saying this shit out loud makes me want to gag.
She blinks back tears. And here’s where she winds up to goes all feminist on me. “Are you going to give me all that bullshit about men’s needs? Because I don’t want to hear that crap.”
I look away from her. God, I hate playing this game, but I need to keep it up or Kylie will be the victim. “I’m being patient, Liesa. Because I really care about you. I just want to know you’re in this with me. Don’t play with
me.”
She places a palm against my cheek. “I care about you, too. And I want you to be my first. Maybe my only.”
Oh my god. How do people watch this shit?
I kiss her forehead and practically hear every woman in America let out a collective, swooning sigh. “You’re so beautiful.” Because what else am I going to say? Jonas and Jeri are always riding my ass about not being good at improvisation.
She sparkles. “You know, I’m not hungry after all. Let’s walk along the beach.”
What? Maybe her insistence that we come here for scallops was all for the show, but it’s the one bit of tonight I’m looking forward to. She might not be hungry but my blood sugar is so low I’m one breadstick away from going full-on werewolf.
She slides out of the booth and tugs on my hand. I make sure the cameraman gets a good shot of my eye roll.
Five
Kylie
By the time I plod out to the lobby, Diana and Don are gone. A uniformed hotel security man, with a lilting voice pries Trevor From Boston off the sofa. “Listen, man, you gotta get outta here. You don’ wanna mess wit’ island police.”
I watch the guard wrestle Trevor to standing. Trevor’s head drops to his chin. He mumbles and staggers next to the guard.
The security man catches me watching them. “Does dis man belong to you?”
What did I owe Trevor for a few hours of his obnoxious company and a nice dinner? Not babysitting, that’s for sure—but I can’t just let them toss him into the street either. “His name is Trevor. I think he’s staying here with friends. I don’t know his last name, but he’s from Boston, if that helps.”
The guard hoists Trevor’s arm around his shoulder and starts to drag him out the lobby toward the pool. “If he’s our welcome guest, certainly he can relax by da pool. A short nap will help him feel betta.” He winks at me and I give him a thumbs up.
I exit by another door, skirt the pool and head out to the beach. The tinkering of a steel drum band sounds far off, along with the distant laughter of a drunken party in a beach bar. I walk closer to the ocean, out of the lights from the restaurants and bars, next to the crash of waves. The seafoam glows in the moonlight.
This is my home. The ocean, the sand, the salt air. It’s a passion Mom and I shared. We saved our pennies and took a dive trip somewhere every year. Mom showed me the corals of the Caribbean, the colorful life under the waves of the tropics. I’d come to the Caymans to find my father, but took a job as a dive master. That life, every day underwater, fulfilled me enough I’d put my plans of being Jonas Knightly’s daughter on hold. Then Zach fucked that up for me.
I’d tried to contact Jonas after that, but he’d dismissed me as nothing more than an unwelcome nuisance. That’s when Liesa had stepped in to help me. She’d successfully stolen his toothbrush from his office bathroom so I could test for DNA.
The toothbrush sits in my underwear drawer. I don’t know why I haven’t sent it off. Maybe I don’t want to know if Jonas isn’t my father. I’ve held the possibility out there for so long, the dream that if I show him proof, he’ll accept me and my worries will be over. If he isn’t my father, I’ll lose all of that. I will be truly on my own, and that scares the hell out of me.
I wander down the beach, out of the circle of light from one loud party to the next. Everyone on the island is partnered up or at least having fun with others. I dangle my sandals from my fingers and kick sand, feeling sorry for myself.
Eventually, rocks and jungle crowd the beach and I’m forced to climb to the road for the rest of my walk to the dumpy house I share with Blake and Diana. It takes a long time to walk the winding, narrow roads of our neighborhood. For the most part, locals live here and at this time of night, far removed from the tourist hotels and nightlife, the sound of night insects is about all I hear.
As I walk across the wide-bladed ground cover of grass that makes up our front yard, I’m surprised to hear country music thumping out the screen door. Blake.
Not long ago, Blake, Diana, and I had been family. Blake and I worked for Dive Love as dive masters. Diana slung drinks at The Green Frog, and I picked up a few shifts each week and worked with her. Then Zach dropped into my life.
He’d gotten me from Dive Love. Somehow, though, I couldn’t stay away from Zach. From his arms, his kisses, the incredible sex.
I knew Blake cared for me. Wanted to be more than just roommates. So when Blake and Liesa witnessed the debacle of Zach and me fucking in an outdoor shower after our night dive, it drove a wedge between us I wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to repair.
He moved out for a while and even though he moved back, he didn’t spend a lot of time hanging around the house anymore. I hate country music, but it sounds good because it means Blake is home. I hurry to the screen.
Blake is in the kitchen, visible from the moment I step into the shack. Our house is a cinderblock wonder, painted sky blue and pink. The front door opens into a microscopic living room with tile floor, probably laden with asbestos. Narrow windows with metal slats open near the ceiling. Diana and I share one bedroom, big enough for two twin beds, with a curtain across a dent in the wall to make a small closet. We own a beat up chest of drawers where we each had two narrow drawers. Blake’s room, on the opposite side of the living room, is even smaller, not much bigger than a closet in an American apartment. The one bathroom is next to Blake’s room.
The tiny kitchen takes up the back of the house. It consists of one two-foot counter, a sink, one cupboard and a few rickety open shelves. A small table and two chairs are shoved into the corner. Basically, it’s a slum house. But it’s our home.
Blake, tall, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and wavy dark hair, stands in front of the refrigerator, pulling out a package. He spins around when he realizes someone has entered the house.
I don’t know what to expect. He’s never been mean to me. But I know I’d hurt him and since then, he’s been little more than cordial. “Hey,” I say as casually as I can. “It’s good to see you home.”
He gives me a tentative smile. “It’s good to be home.”
I indicate what he holds in his hand. “Is that what I think it is?”
He looks down as if surprised he holds anything. “If you think it’s shrimp, then yes.”
I walk into the kitchen and look pointedly at the table where two lemons, a bulb of garlic, and a pound of butter wait. “Are you making scampi?”
He wears Hawaiian print board shorts low on his lean hips and a thin Columbia University t-shirt. With a dip of his head and a cute smile he says, “I really miss you guys. I miss us. You and me and Diana. I thought it was time we put the last couple of months behind us.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. I want to hug him, but stop myself. “Oh. Yes. That’s—.” I suddenly burst into tears. No long build up, with heavy clouds moving in, but a violent squall coming out of nowhere.
“Hey.” Blake looks alarmed. “Hey. Kylie.”
I can’t stop the tears and I’m sobbing so hard I can’t speak.
Blake put his arms around me and I bury my face in his Colombia shirt. He holds me, patting my back, for several minutes until I get control of myself.
He turns around and reaches into the fridge for a Red Stripe and hands it to me. The front of his shirt is smeared with mascara and snot.
I take the beer and point at the mess on his shirt. “I’m really sorry. And on your favorite t-shirt.”
He brushes a hand across his chest. “It’s okay. I can get a dozen on campus in the fall.”
He’s leaving again. This time for good. Back to the states for law school. “I hate that you’re going to leave but I’m so damned proud of you for getting in and for getting a free ride!”
Just like that, the awkwardness of the last few months disappears like morning fog on the beach. We sit at the kitchen table sipping our beer and I watch his eyes light up when he tells me about the course catalog he’s been poring over and the
law program.
“I was waiting to start cooking until Diana got home. But The Frog should have closed by now.”
A stone drops to my stomach. “She’s got a date.”
“You don’t look happy about it.”
I think of the Pillsbury Doughboy standing behind her in the lobby of the resort. His fat, pale hand on her shoulder, draping over her collarbone. “Don is a dick.”
Blake raises his eyebrows. “Don? I thought his name was Corbett.”
“Corbett was last week. He went home to his fiancé in Eau Claire.” I peel the label of my Red Stripe. “At least he didn’t drool.”
Blake laughs. “Don can’t be that bad.”
I get up to start peeling the shrimp. “He is about as sharp as a teaspoon. I doubt he could walk a mile without needing oxygen, and he stared at Diana’s boobs like they were a hypnotist’s swinging watch.”
“If he’s such a dreamboat, why is Diana dating him?” Blake joins me at the sink and grabs a shrimp.
This is one of the things I love about Blake. He knows what Diana is but refuses to acknowledge it. He believes the best in everyone. Even me. “He’s loaded. His family has a trucking empire or something like that in southern California. Diana thinks she can hook Don and live a life of leisure.”
Blake frowns. “She’s selling herself short. She doesn’t need a guy like Don to take care of her. That indenture never works out.”
“She thinks that being rich is the most important thing. If she’s got tons of money, she can put up with anything.”
Blake’s pile of shrimp grows as he reaches for another. “I can tell you that a ton of money only brings a ton of problems.”
I wash my hands and pick up a knife to mince the garlic. “And you know this because you’ve fallen into a large inheritance you haven’t told me about?”
He keeps his head down and takes a moment to answer. “I’ve seen what it’s doing to Liesa.”
“Oh.” I should be happy that after I’d introduced Blake and Liesa, they’d hit it off. The horror of them being together when they stumbled on Zach and me in the shower probably solidified their friendship. “You’ve been hanging out with Liesa a lot?”
