by Sarah Gagnon
Outside of the club Claire hooks her arm inside Jeremy’s. “Thank you for taking me out.” She leans her body tight against him.
“No problem, I had a good time.”
I’m more uncomfortable knowing the kiss is coming now than I was the first time I saw it.
Claire trips herself against him on purpose. I’m sure of it. She whispers in his ear. I can barely understand the words, but I think I get the gist. She’s suggesting he come back to her hotel room. Everyone watching now considers Claire a slut. What a shitty reputation to end up with, all for a couple of hours with Jeremy. As the camera captures the way he strides away to the limo, maybe any amount of time with him is worth national embarrassment.
Jeremy opens the limo door with Claire still clinging to his arm. She sits on the edge of the seat with her legs splayed out.
“I’m taking a different car back to the hotel,” he says.
“Why not come with me?” Claire asks. The cameraman must be hanging over Jeremy’s shoulder, because it looks like Claire is staring directly at the home audience. Is Jeremy bothered by the offer or by being watched?
He tips his head to the side and they share some serious eye contact. What’s he thinking? Does he want to go back to her room? I guess I can’t blame him, she’s an amazing dancer.
Then he kisses her cheek, but lingers a few seconds longer. She turns her head and they kiss. It’s delicate, nothing obscene, no visible tongue. And I’m jealous as hell. Shit.
“What a date!” Rod Bing sits behind a console like a weatherman with a big screen of the date behind him. He straightens his scarf and motions to the live studio audience. The camera follows the direction of his hand and pans over the room. I take in the rows of people chanting Jeremy’s name with growing unease. Tomorrow night these people will be judging me. I feel sick.
“How do you think she did?”
Cheers and boos answer his question. One girl throws herself into the aisle. “It should have been me!” she screams before security escorts her away.
Rod Bing steps closer to the camera and raises his voice to be heard over the noise. “Voting won’t begin until all the dates have been completed, so remember Claire.” They flash the indecent photo again. Assholes. Then a still image of her twirling on the dance floor with Jeremy. “She’ll be number one if you decide she should continue on to the final three. The decision belongs to you…” He points his finger at the crowd and more cheering erupts. A few credits scroll by so fast I can’t even read any names. Then the screen goes black.
I should say something to Claire. I know she’s competition, but damn, that was rough. She’s sitting still as a statue on the other couch. I approach slowly.
“I, uh, thought the backflip you did in the interview was really awesome. I know everyone must have loved it.”
She moves her head a fraction of an inch and I think she’s about to freak out on me, but she doesn’t. I wait for a snarky comment, but her lip trembles. “I guess I blew my chances before I even got on the show.” Her eyes are glossy, but she isn’t crying.
“Hey, you don’t know that. If they’ve done background checks on all of us, who knows what the final selection will come down to?”
She nods a little and discreetly brushes away a sniffle. “Your date is tomorrow, huh? Are you nervous?”
“Yeah. Did you see that bright purple bikini I wore? And now the whole world, well, at least anyone bothering to watch, will see me in next to nothing.”
Her eyes are less watery when she answers. “For your sake, I hope you don’t have anything to hide.”
I cringe. I hope to God they didn’t find out I have Fluxem. “I’m sure they’ll find a few gossip-worthy events,” I tell her. She nods in sympathy.
FOURTEEN
JEREMY IS GOING on another date today. I don’t want to know, but I do. I shuffle my fantasy into the back of my mind. My back itches. I rush to the bathroom and check the mark. I scoot my butt up onto the sink and inch close to the mirror. Another red patch has appeared next to the old one. I can’t believe how quickly the marks change. Are there internal effects that are moving that fast? I scratch the old spot and blood seeps through the skin. Okay, no touching it.
I’m infected. This disease is crawling through my body all the time, ready to announce my contagion to the world. Seriously, the whole world, because I’m on a frigging TV show being watched. How creepy. Like, some guy on the other side of the world might be staring at my butt hard enough to notice the mark tonight. Oh, God. That purple bikini. I’m so cursed. If I asked, could they take me out of the competition and not air my segment tonight? Or do I have enough of a chance with Jeremy to make the public humiliation worth it?
What am I thinking? Like it matters how I look? I could be frigging dying right now! And I don’t even know what might happen if I don’t get the cure soon enough. I wish one of the contestants did sneak a computer in. I really need to research.
I pull on jeans and a T-shirt and leave the room. I scan my hand at the elevator and exit the hotel. I’m not sure if I’m allowed to leave, but I can’t sit in my room any longer.
The air from the hotel whooshes out the door after me, disappearing into the heat. I set off down the sidewalk. I pass people in nice suits with blank gazes as they concentrate on whatever conversations are going on in their ear chips. I doubt I’ll ever have a big name job like them—one with a fancy title like corporate marketing engineer protégé. I’ll never need to listen to ten people talk as I try to enjoy the world around me. And I’ll never have enough money to buy my own flat. I rub my thumb over my bare wrist. If I had money, I’d be in a position to make money.
In history class, I learned the government used to send poor people to college. I can’t imagine the politicians doing anything to help the impoverished now. Even if they wanted to, where would they get the money? How would they choose who deserved to go out of so many? A system like that would never work. Still, I wish I could go to college for free.
I search the ground for a rock to kick, but find only white-washed pavement. Key West is scrubbed clean. Even in the distance the sand cutting between the skyscrapers is pristine and white. I walk until I reach the edge, kicking off my sandals, preparing for the soft heat under my feet.
I step forward and a high-pitched noise echoes in my ear. Another step and the volume intensifies. You’ve got to be kidding me. I back up and test the barrier again. I place my fingers in my ears, but that doesn’t help. It’s like they’ve figured out a way to pipe the warning noise right into my brain. All that beautiful sand, and I can’t touch it. Now that’s sad. Why not just use a hologram?
I circle around the skyscraper and try the sand on the other side. The results are the same. I keep going. Tall buildings stretch into the sky in a long line down the beach. Glimpses of water tease me at every corner. There has to be an opening in the boundary somewhere, because Jeremy and I went swimming. On my fifth attempt, I notice a man in a black uniform approaching. I consider running. I’m good at running. The officer walks directly toward me. I’m not sure which branch of the police force he represents, but the star on his chest glints in the sun. They probably didn’t appreciate me setting off all of those alarms.
I consider my options as I try to gauge by the speed of his walk how much trouble I’m in. I could run. He might be as fast as me. Or he might zap me from a distance.
Time to be smart. I brighten my face as though I’ve just realized an officer is near, and jog toward him, my hand outstretched in a wave. “Sir, oh, thank goodness. I’m here on vacation and I’ve lost my map. I’m trying to find the entrance to the beach, but I keep hearing this weird noise.” I twist my finger in my hair like I’m five.
He keeps his hand on his belt, ready to taze me. “Didn’t you hear the warning signal?” His voice sounds automatic and monotone.
“Oh, is that what the noise was? But then, how do I get to the beach?” I smile warmly and he takes his hand off his belt.
He shakes his head, not hiding his irritation. “The chamber of commerce sells tickets to the beach and has maps.” He points through the buildings. “The water here is kept pure and the city has to maintain that beauty. We can’t allow tourists to infect our natural resources without compensation.”
I flinch at the word infect, but nod along, pretending to agree. “Oh, of course. I just didn’t know where to go.”
He tightens his lips and waits for me to start off in the direction of the chamber of commerce. I wonder what he would’ve done to me if I’d truly been breaking into the beach.
A big glass dome squats on the pavement. Silver-colored letters spell out “Chamber of Commerce.” I veer around the welcoming flags and down another street. Electronic banners overhang the sidewalk, flickering on and off to catch attention. The stores are individual, not clumped together in a mall like I’m used to. I wonder how they keep the area secure without a scan system and an entrance.
Window after window show tourist T-shirts spiraling up and down on racks. How many Key West shirts are sold in this city? Weird. I almost want one, but I do have my local bikini to take home thanks to the studio. If I had more money I might buy Jeremy a present. Though, there isn’t anything I could buy him that he doesn’t already have. I wonder what he’s doing on his date today. I try to remember the words scrawled on the date list, but the image blurs in my mind.
I keep walking for a long time, long enough that the sky tinges to pink. Jeremy is probably back from his date; maybe if I’m fast I can catch him at the bar before he leaves for the next one. I think if I jog to the end of the street, turn the corner and hook around, I’ll be able to get back to the hotel without repeating any of the scenery.
The banners fade at the end of the street and I assume I’m in a residential district. Square glass tiles climb into the sky. There are probably people living behind every single one. I don’t meet anyone else on the street. Maybe the buildings aren’t even in use. I quicken my stride, picturing Jeremy chugging another smoky drink.
I like him so much. Damn it. There’s no pretending I don’t.
A group of guys sits on the front steps of a building up ahead. They’re playing a game I don’t recognize with smooth gray stones. I try not to make eye contact as I jog around them.
A sharp pain slices across the front of my leg. I pitch forward.
It takes about one second to realize what happened as the pavement rips into my palms. I’m about to get robbed. I jump back to my feet, but they’re moving fast. Four of them. I twist away to run, but there’s no time. I’m yanked back by my shirt.
“Hold still, bitch!” His pupils are dilated. Face sunken in like one of those anti-drug posters. I throw my elbow, hitting nothing but air. I use the man’s grip on my shirt to spin momentum into my right hook. I take him high on the cheek and his grip loosens. He yells some remarkably unflattering swears.
Four of them. No point in fighting. But I can’t let it go or stop the adrenaline-fueled response. I rip myself free, trying to get distance from them. Two cut around my backside, while the others approach from the front. No chance.
I rush forward and plant a stomp kick in the groin of the nearest guy. His pal slams into me and we hit the ground. I wrap my leg over his neck, pinning him as I scramble to the top.
Searing pain radiates through my scalp. I’m dragged off by my hair. “Let go of me!”
Then my face is shoved into the street.
“Get her arm, quick!”
I struggle under the weight. One of the guys digs his knee into my backbone. “What the fuck?” I buck my hips off the ground, but I can’t knock them off. Through the veil of my hair I see my arm jerked out straight. The man holds a razor blade between his fingers. He cranks my arm over, baring my wrist.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he yells.
The weight shifts on my back as one of the other guys leans down to check. “How the hell did you get to Key West without even a chip?”
“Sorry to disappoint, no money for you assholes.”
Knuckles hit my upturned face. I blink to clear the tears from my eyes. I start to scream, but it comes out like a wail. Then, all of a sudden, I’m choking out a laugh. I have nothing.
They check my other wrist. My forearms, my ankles.
“Shit, she doesn’t have one.” The knee on my spine releases and I rip my arm free.
“You don’t report this, understand?” One of them grips the back of my hair so hard tears blur my vision.
“Yes,” I manage to spit out. He tightens his grip. I don’t feel like taking another punch to the face.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I repeat.
“Just leave her. Let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah, but the bitch fucking punched me! We should sell her to someone. Get our money that way.”
Shit. I push myself up. If it’s going to be like that, I’ll fight until I’m unconscious and too damaged to be any good to them. One of the guys meets my eyes. He nods like he recognizes my determination. He might even feel sorry for me. That, or I’m having desperate fantasies.
He looks away from me and pats the pissed off guy on the shoulder. “She’s not worth anything. We’ll get another tourist later on a better street.”
He scowls and steps toward me. But one of the others speaks up. “A skinny bitch, and mean, too. Plus she’s probably, like, fifteen. I don’t want to get caught peddling underage shit.” I stand there listening, slowly back-stepping. A few more feet away and I might have enough of a head start to make a run for the hotel.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He spits in my direction. I wonder if his saliva is contagious, too. Their voices are pissed as they walk away.
I wipe my nose as I walk, noting the blood smeared across my arm. Great, now I’ve got my contagious blood leaking all over the place. There’s another red line of blood across the front of my leg. Frigging razor wire. They cut through my best jeans. I start walking again, faster, faster. Before they come back or change their minds. Or…I don’t know. How could this happen? There’s security all over this city. I saw an officer earlier today. I tremble as I sprint down the final street, ignoring the throbbing pain in my leg. The hotel in the distance is safety.
I’m running so fast I trip on the strip of carpet leading into the hotel. I crumble to my knees, shaking, sucking in the air. I made it. I’m safe. I want to cry. That could have been the end of my life.
“Monet? Are you okay?”
For a second, I hope I’ve passed out and I’m having another Jeremy dream, but as I tilt my head up, I see him standing in front of the limo. “Monet.” He strides closer and extends his hand. I blink hard, drilling my panic back down.
Mel climbs out of the limo. Her blue-outlined eyebrows draw closer together in challenge. I want to fall into Jeremy’s arms. I want him to take me back to his room.
“I’m fine, just an attempted robbery.” I hear the words coming out of my mouth and I’m proud of the way my voice doesn’t quiver.
He reaches out his hand to touch my face, and then stops inches from making contact. “The person hit you?”
“Damn, does it look really bad?” I’ve got enough self-image problems to worry about with Fluxem crawling across my back. A black eye would finish me off. Jeremy’s arm shakes as he takes in my injuries. He balls his fist and his anger radiates.
“We need medical attention right now!” he yells over his shoulder. No one does anything. I grab his arm. “Jeremy, I’m fine. Nothing a first aid kit won’t fix.”
“But your nose is bleeding. You could have a concussion.” I follow his gaze down my front to the rapidly spreading blood stain. “What the hell happened to your leg?” He kneels at my feet and the brown curve of his hair hangs forward as he pulls the denim out of the slice in my leg.
“Yeah, that’s how they got me. If I hadn’t gone down, I probably could’ve outrun them.” I shrug. I’ve almost been mugged many times, but in Boston I know how to escape
and keep a low profile better. “Lucky me, no chip to dig out of my arm.” I try to laugh, which comes out more like a sob. Then my façade pops and tears slide down my cheeks.
Jeremy grasps my arms and pulls me tight against his chest. “You’re okay.”
“It was just the stupidest thing. I should’ve stayed on the main road. I tried to fight back, but there were four of them.”
“Four.” He pushes me away enough to stare into my face. There’s a tremor in his jaw. He’s crazy pissed. “Where did this happen? What street were you on?”
“I spent most of the day looking for the beach and then I was on the street with all the T-shirts and I thought if I just kept going, I’d get back to the hotel, but then I—”
“Shh, it’s okay. Now, what street were you attacked on?”
I point back in the direction I came. Jeremy runs his thumb under my eye, wiping away my tears. “I’ll go check it out.”
“No!” I place my hand on his heart, trying to hold him in place.
Mel uses the gap between us to latch onto Jeremy’s arm. I forgot she was in the limo, too. Jeremy’s date. Though from the amount of attention he’s paying her, I’d say Jeremy forgot her as well.
“Those guys need to be taken care of. I can’t just let them hurt you. Don’t worry, I’ll take Derek.” His hands stay on my arms even though Mel is not so subtly yanking him away. He twitches his arm like she’s a fly.
She thrusts her lower lip out. “Hey, our date’s not over.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Another producer’s assistant joins us. He checks his watch. “Officially the date has ended…” He checks his clipboard for her name. “…Mel.”
Jeremy focuses on the assistant. “Johnson, we need to report a crime. Notify the police that we’ll be waiting in the lobby, and get a staff member with a first aid kit down here now.”
Johnson looks sick at the sight of the blood on my jeans and nods his head rapidly. He’s probably aware of how many diseases could be in my blood and hurries back inside to call the police. Jeremy ushers me through the hotel doors and onto a white sofa.
