by Sarah Gagnon
I wish I could go to the museum. Jeremy holds open the door while I slide in. He sits next to me, tracing the lines on the palm of his hand. I want his good mood to come back.
“I don’t mind about the autograph scene. I know that’s part of your job.” I nudge him with my shoulder.
He looks over at me. “It’s just that I have no control over shit like that. We were talking, and those girls didn’t even realize they were being rude.”
I set my hand on his arm. I’m shaking with nerves. “I know you’re more than just a guy on stage.”
He covers my hand with his. “Yeah?”
“Of course. I mean, you’re putting up with a dating show to help cancer patients. I’ve only known you for a little while, but I think even without the fame, you’d be a pretty awesome guy.”
“Thanks.” He breathes deep and gives me a partial smile. On stage he always seems so confident; sitting here next to me he’s still gorgeous, but I know the other Jeremy is just a show.
He traces my knuckles with his finger and tingles dance up my arm. I want to say more, but the silence feels right. Comfortable.
We arrive at the hotel entrance all too quickly.
“Thanks for the day,” I say, not letting my sadness show in my words. My date is over. I climb out of the limo, reluctantly letting go of his hand. He slides out after me and closes the door. “And thank you for almost teaching me to swim.”
“Hey, anytime. Just as long as you don’t sit down next time.” His eyes tip down to mine for a second and he pauses like he might say something. He looks at my lips and I tuck them in.
“I had a great time. Thank you,” I say.
His hand brushes mine and then he squeezes gently. Not a handshake, but not holding hands, either. My fingers flex toward his as he pulls back. He gives me his crooked half-smile before Derek and the production crew step in between us. They start filling him in on his schedule for the rest of the night while I walk into the hotel.
I stand in the hotel lobby for a minute, glancing out the window, waiting for another smile, but I know he’s busy. I go back to my room to change.
Shelley Anne waits on her bed in a meditative pose. “How did the date go?”
“You were watching, what did you think?” I kick my shoes off and sink my toes into the plush carpet.
“Honestly, it was kinda hard to tell. Maybe if we’d had the dialogue—”
“Oh.” She’s not even crying, so my date must not have been too heart-wrenching. I hope that doesn’t mean the viewers at home aren’t going to like me.
Shelley picks a lock of hair off her shoulder and runs it across her lips. “Your bathing suit really stood out, though.” Is she being mean? Did she see my back? “I forgot to tell you last night how funny it was for your boobs to say ‘Key West.’ It’s really nice of you to advertise the location. Did the studio talk you into it? ‘Cause I sure don’t want to wear a swimsuit they pick. I shopped forever to find mine. Oh, and what’s that nasty mark on your back?”
My heart stops. Blood rushes up my neck and fills my head like a sewer. My brain throbs.
“Uh, what mark?”
“Looks like you got attacked by a jelly fish.” The throbbing intensifies. She knows I’m diseased. She’ll tell everyone. Maybe the other girls saw the mark, too, and know what it is. Shit. Keep it together.
“Oh, I didn’t notice. That sucks.” My voice stays level like I’m not concerned, but I feel my face turning red.
“Well, for your sake I hope it goes away fast. ‘Cause…ew, gross.”
I blink my eyes rapidly. Come on, don’t cry. Hold it together. I straighten the blanket on my bed, then fluff my pillow. Anything to keep my face turned away from Shelley. If I don’t make a big deal about the mark, she’ll forget. I just have to not let her see me react.
Did Jeremy see the Fluxem spot, too? Or the producers? Would they take me off the show or find a way to expose me on air? Great, the whole world will probably know I’m contagious. For the rest of my life I’ll be branded as the diseased girl that tried to win a date with a rockstar, because most people won’t think about the fact that someone on TV might not have enough money to get the cure. I’ve seen it on other shows: the stereotype that Fluxem’s a dirty poverty thing is everywhere. Never mind that people are dying, or that I could potentially be developing life-threatening complications this very second. I muddle through my thoughts enough to find a sentence for Shelley Anne that doesn’t make me sound upset. “You must be really excited about your date. You’re up next, right?”
“Yeah, he’s going out with the short girl tonight and then it’s me and him.”
“He’s really nice in person. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.” I keep my tone optimistic and she appears vaguely disappointed that her comments didn’t hurt me.
“Yeah, well, since we’ll be canoeing we’ll be very close together.” She stands up off her bed, straightening the front of her sundress. “I’m heading to the restaurant before the viewing room, do you want to come?”
“Sure, why not?” I change out of my swimsuit and back into my regular pair of jeans. I clench my fists once and roll my fingers. I’m still shaky. I thought I could get through this show without anyone knowing about Fluxem, but now there may be video evidence of the mark on my back. If it’s not that noticeable, I’m okay, but if the other contestants figure it out…
We walk down the hall together. Shelley talks about a designer I’ve never heard of while I nod along, watching my feet. At the restaurant, we sit in silence and wait for the food to arrive. I need a new plan. I can’t count on a win. If I told Jeremy, would he give me the money?
Shelley picks at her food, only eating a few leaves at the edge of her salad plate. I eat mechanically as I analyze everything I said and did. There are seven more dates and no way to know if I did enough. After Shelley Anne’s comments, who knows how they’ll edit the footage together for TV? I need the viewers to like me. I’d been so focused on Jeremy that I wasn’t playing it up for the screen. I should’ve smiled at the camera more, showed more cleavage, or acted more confident. Too late now. I massage my temples. I’m being stupid. I finish my fajita. I’m not going to waste food, no matter how insane this contest makes me.
Shelley Anne and I are the first ones to arrive in the viewing room. I’m done talking to her for the night. If she wants to be competitive, that’s fine by me. Jasmine and the others file in. Claire keeps her head lifted higher than mine, like an invisible string pulls her chin up to the ceiling. I don’t know why she thinks her date was so much better than mine. Oh, right, because Jeremy kissed her.
One of the Jasmine clones focuses in on me. “It looked like you had a fun date.” No hint of sarcasm.
“Thanks, Brie.”
Jasmine shakes her head and turns toward her. “You thought that about the other one, too.”
Brie lifts a shoulder and swivels her chair around. “I’m just surprised Jeremy’s so generous with his time. He even took Monet to lunch after, and that wasn’t scheduled.”
Claire stares at me. “I would’ve liked more time with Jeremy, too.” I wait for more accusations, but she lets the conversation go.
Brie turns away from Jasmine to address me again. “So, what did you think? What’s the man behind the music like?”
“He’s a good guy.”
Crystal sighs and drops her chin onto her cupped hand. “I wish we could have more dates.”
Claire doesn’t say anything. I wonder what her impression of Jeremy was. It’s possible one of us might not want to win after spending time with him. Ha. Yeah, right. I drop my head into my hands, letting the weight off my neck. What am I doing? Have I lost my mind? This whole thing is supposed to be about me getting treatment for Fluxem.
The wall flickers on and Praline’s door swings open. My jaw drops. She’s wearing a dress that looks like it’s made from black diamonds. The fit and cut are perfect for her body. Breasts accentuated, hips minimized, bell s
leeves conservatively cupping her arms. She twists slightly coming out of the door and the camera shows a slit up the side of her knee-length skirt. The gap reaches all the way up to her panty line, and as she walks the play of black diamonds against tan thigh is captivating. The camera stays pinned on her, and so does Jeremy’s gaze.
“That’s a very pretty dress,” I say. A few murmurs of agreement meet my statement. I want to cry. Jeremy opens the limo door for her and she flashes the camera again as she climbs in. Inside the limo, he pulls a small gift box out of his pocket.
“What the hell?” Claire slams back into her seat. “I didn’t get a gift.”
“Me, neither.” A souvenir would’ve been nice. I might have been able to sell it.
Brie shrugs. “I’m sure it’s just product placement, but we can ask Eleanor about it.”
Jeremy’s mouth moves and Praline puts her hand over her heart before taking the box. The camera zooms in as she unwraps the gift. A black bracelet to match her dress.
Shelley Anne’s lip quivers, and then the sobbing starts. I’m so overloaded from my date and the thought of being discovered, I just want to cry, too. Instead I leave the room.
NINE
I STARE OUT the hotel room window. I’m part of a competition. A performance for ratings. Studio execs with money are taking advantage of obsessive girls to make more money. And I have to play this game to win, which is just twisted logic all around.
And I’m stupid because I think the date was worth it—that a moment with Jeremy is worth an incomparable amount of money. I shake my head, disgusted with my lack of strength. Like in the water, I’m letting everyone push me around.
Enough of that.
I open up my tote bag and take out my best denim jeans, then I stalk into the bathroom. The mark on my back hurts. I ball up tissue and try to seep the pus out of the center. I turn back and forth in the mirror, letting the light hit it from different angles. I feel disgusting. The salt water made some of the redness fade. At least I have that.
I need to tell Jeremy. That’s the new plan. I nod at myself in the mirror. If he doesn’t want to pick me as the winner, maybe he can still figure out a way to help me.
I can’t keep fumbling around with my future just because I have feelings for him. There, I admit it. Feelings or not, there’s no future with Jeremy, and without money there’s no future for me. Maybe he already saw the mark, anyway. I wash the salt out of my hair and spend a long time blow drying the strands into a perfectly smooth mass of dark waves.
When I hear the door to the room open, I know Shelley Anne has returned and Jeremy’s date with the other girl is over. I stay in the bathroom, giving Jeremy enough time to get back to his room, and Shelley Anne enough time to cry herself to sleep.
My black tank top scoops low over my breasts. I think I look good. This is my power outfit. I continue the pep talk in my head as I walk down the hall to Jeremy’s room. I can tell the truth.
Clenching my fist tight, I rap on his door. I wait sixty seconds and then more tentatively knock again. He should be back in the room by now. I gave him half an hour. On my second knock the door opens a crack.
“Monet?” He opens the door wide and I’m struck by his low-hanging pajama bottoms and lack of shirt. His smooth chest is only an arm’s length away. “Do you want to come in?”
I’m so disarmed by his appearance I almost forget my purpose. In? Right? Telling the truth. “I wanted to talk to you off camera for a bit, if that’s okay?”
“Sure, come on in.” A sheen of sweat covers his skin and a small electrode shows on the side of his forehead.
“Did I interrupt something?”
“Combat Junkie.” He drops his head in a slightly embarrassed manner. “Do you play?”
“No, I’ve never been able to afford the system.” I step past him to check out the tiny box next to the projection platform in the corner of the room. “Is it true what the government says about all the precious metal in the console?”
“No. I still can’t believe they actually tried to pass a bill to reclaim video game systems. Like that was ever going to happen. There’s probably the equivalent of a thousandth of a gram of gold inside the CPU. They wanted to sell the systems as a whole to other countries.”
“Wow, you know a lot about metal and video game systems.”
“Eh, it’s a hobby of mine. Actually, that reminds me. What was that little piece that fell out of your bag in the bathroom?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He holds his fingers up in a circle approximating the size. I am so busted. “Oh, just some metallic-looking plastic.”
“Uh, huh.” He grabs a gray T-shirt off the couch and slips it over his head.
“No, really.”
He walks over, waiting for a better answer. “You don’t have to lie to me. I don’t care if you kept a piece of gold rather than turned it in. You’d better believe I wasn’t going to give them anything of mine. It’s not like I decided to borrow all that money from China.”
“Non-conformist?”
He quirks a half-smile. “You’re not answering my question, and don’t you still owe me one from the restaurant?”
“I do not.”
He nudges my arm. I suppose the likelihood of Jeremy turning me in to the Feds is slim, but the idea of talking openly about anything illegal has me looking over my shoulder for the cameras. “All right, yes, it was a piece of metal, but it wasn’t mine.”
“Oh, a criminal enterprise?”
“I keep telling you I’m not that mysterious or interesting.”
“Uh, huh. I’ll ease your fears of incarceration. Have you heard of The Metal Preservation Society?”
My breath huffs out in a big whoosh. “Maybe.”
“You’re not much of a liar. I saw your reaction. Don’t worry. I give them money and commission pieces now and then.”
“How do you know I’m not going to turn you in?” “I could tie you up and keep you hostage in my hotel room.”
Please? I force myself to laugh and not think anything spicy. “The piece you found was actually for the society. I do work for them now and then. Helping them reshape raw materials into jewelry they can resell to patrons. I think the opportunity for artists to still craft jewelry and sculpture with precious metal is important.”
“Absolutely.” He pushes his hair back from his face. “And cool that you donate your time. I’m surprised we’re both members.”
“Totally.” Oh, man, did I just say that? “I still think melting down the Statue of Liberty was a huge mistake.”
“Huge.” He tightens his jaw and presses his lips flat. “Do you still have the piece? From what I recall, it was very detailed.”
“I gave it back before I left home. It’s probably back with the patron who commissioned it already.”
“How did you make it?”
“I scratch into bits of aluminum and then dab adhesive into the grooves and rub gold shavings in.”
“You’ll have to do a secret metal work for me some time.”
“Okay. Anytime.” If there will ever be another time. If I’m chosen. He looks at my face and the moment of silence starts to make me nervous. I’m supposed to be telling him about Fluxem. “So, Combat Junkie? Can I watch a round?”
“Uh. It’s pretty boring if you’re not in the action.”
“Can I anyway?”
He shrugs and steps up to the projection platform in the corner of the room. A holographic image overlays his body, showing his points, areas of weakness, guns and ammo. He taps his foot and the game starts again. Trees and vines spring up around him, and even though they’re semi-transparent, the effect is amazing. A small machine on the floor pumps smells and moist jungle air into the room. He pulls the gun from his shoulder, and I wonder if there is an illusion to make it feel heavy. His muscles are taut as he bobs under a branch, crouches low, and fires at an enemy I didn’t even notice hidden in the canopy.
“I heard the military uses this game for training,” he tells me. “Derek played a similar version in basic training.”
I can believe it with the realistic environment. A green grid of lines overlays his perfect body. I’m fascinated by the way he moves. Weaving up and down, gun ready. He fires again and another enemy falls out of an overhanging tree and hits the ground with a thud before fading out of the projection.
He taps forward and the game pauses. “You want to try a round?”
“I don’t want to ruin your score or anything. I’d probably get killed right away.”
“Here, I have another memory chip you can use.” He steps down from the platform and pushes a button at the back of the device.
A cool girl would play this game and do well, but I have no experience. I don’t want to mess up while he’s watching. But when he motions me forward onto the platform, I take his place. He peels the tiny electrode off his forehead and sticks it on me.
“How do I start?”
“Here, I’ll tap the button for you. Get your gun ready.” I grasp the transparent gun and my brain interprets the object as real. I have no idea how any of this technology works.
“Pay attention,” he says and the game flickers to life.
Branches come at me as I walk. Twigs snap behind me and I run. The floor under my feet moves as I move. As the scenery changes, I believe the landscape. The green grid hits my eyes occasionally, but it’s not blinding. I’m breathing hard, scanning the bushes for attackers. An animal screeches and I take a shot. Just then I feel a dart of pain in my shoulder blade, then the retort of another rifle.
“What the hell was that?” I let the gun swing down on the strap.
Jeremy jumps up. “Sorry, I have the pain setting on. I completely forgot. Are you okay?”
I rub my shoulder, not entirely sure. “The pain setting?”
“Yeah, I keep it on high. I find I play harder if I’m afraid of getting hurt.”
“I don’t doubt it. My shoulder really hurts.” I rub the muscle, trying to understand. “But how can a game make real pain? I don’t get it.”
