by Sarah Gagnon
“Maybe we shouldn’t sit here,” I whisper as he kneels by my leg.
“Hmm?”
“The white upholstery. I don’t want to ruin it.”
“Who the hell cares about the upholstery? I think we’re going to need to cut the jeans off.”
“No!” They’re my silk weave denim jeans. “I can patch the leg. We don’t need to make the tear any bigger.”
He looks at me in question.
“I didn’t pack enough clothes,” I say.
Mel clarifies the conversation for me. “She’s poor.” I bet she wants to add more. Give him a few opinions about how unworthy I am of his time and attention. I can deal with being poor, but I hate being judged. I just wish Jeremy could see me as an equal without our differences being pointed out by the other contestants.
Jeremy still seems more concerned about my injury than anything we’re talking about. “I’ll get you more pants…if you want.”
“Thank you, but these are fine.”
He quirks his half smile at my stubbornness and helps me roll the material away from the gash. Thankfully he’s no longer focused on rushing down the street to see if those guys are still there. Let the cops do their job.
“They must have had a razor wire line stretched across the entire sidewalk,” I say. I’m still in disbelief that the incident happened at all. Statistically, I know the crime rate is high almost everywhere in the world, and I should’ve taken more steps to be safe.
“I hope you can give the police a good description,” Jeremy says. He supports the underside of my leg and stares up at me. I love his concerned expression. It’s one I’ve never seen on TV before.
I told the guys who attacked me that I wouldn’t say anything, but it’s not like I’m going to be sticking around for them to retaliate. “I’ll try and remember every detail I can, but it just happened so fast. I was running back, hoping to catch you before you left this evening, and then I was down on the ground with a knee digging into my back.”
Jeremy’s jaw stands out as he clenches his teeth, but his hands are still gentle on my leg. “I can’t believe they did this to you. I am so sorry.”
Mel bumps up against Jeremy’s arm, asking whether he wants to go get a drink. He completely ignores her. I gaze down at Jeremy, who still cradles my calf in his hands. My heart is beating so fast from the contact I’m probably bleeding even more, but I don’t care. I’m the one he’s so worried about.
“We’ve got to get ice on your cheek. You’re already bruising.”
A woman from behind the check-in station comes over with a thin case of first aid equipment. She takes out a can of Spray All. Jeremy lets go of my leg to give her room to work. She gives me a two-second blast. The sting fades after an instant of intense pain, and then a barrier of new skin spreads over the slice. “Thank you,” I tell her.
“She needs something to keep the swelling down on her face,” Jeremy says. Ah, crap. My face is swelling? I need a mirror. Besides what I look like to him, those viewers have to pick me, too.
“Sorry, I don’t have anything with me, but there’s an ice machine at the end of the hall.” Jeremy glares. She packs up the case and hurries off. She must not know who he is, or maybe she just isn’t a fan, otherwise she’d try harder to make a good impression.
Derek taps him on the shoulder. “I’ll get the ice. Unless you want to just carry her upstairs with us.” Jeremy nods like that’s a good idea and my heart does a happy flip. He examines my leg one more time and then stands up. “We need to talk to the police first before we can go anywhere.”
“Don’t get mobbed while I’m gone.” Derek jogs down the hall.
I look past Jeremy to see Mel standing with her hand on her hip. “Sorry you got hurt,” she says. “At least you already had your date. You’ll have enough time to heal up before the finale.” She sits on the couch to prevent Jeremy from sitting next to me. I hope she’s not going to pretend to be my friend.
Johnson runs across the lobby to us. He lets out a deep breath when he sees the cut is healed. “I hate to break this up, but Jeremy, you need to get ready for this evening. You’re having dinner at the Ming Kingsty and the attire is formal.”
Jeremy sighs and drives his hands through his hair. The ends curl even more when he pulls his hands back. He is cute even when he’s exasperated.
“I’ll stay with her until the police arrive to take her statement.”
My nose tingles with emotion and I pray my eyes won’t water again. I need a nap. I can’t control Jeremy’s dating schedule and I have no say about who he spends time with. But I wish I did. I need to shake off this hopeless feeling and get back into the game. “I’ll be okay, if you need to go.”
“I’ve got time.” He settles on my other side so that I’m sandwiched between him and Mel. I can’t help grinning. What a slam to her. Not that I moved over to give him room to sit in the middle, but he certainly didn’t try.
Derek comes back with ice wrapped in a towel. The whole side of my face feels like it’s on fire, but the cold doesn’t help. We sit quietly. Jeremy’s body presses against the length of mine. I feel shy all of a sudden. I should say something clever, but I just want to curl up against him and go to sleep. I tip my head to his shoulder and his fingers brush my hair. His lips press a kiss onto the top of my head and his voice is very low. “It’ll be okay.”
I start to nod off, but he nudges my arm. “No sleeping. You might have a concussion.”
I yawn. “Okay.” I let my eyes go blurry while I relax into Jeremy’s warmth.
He brushes my hair back. “The officer is here.”
I straighten up, wishing I could spend the rest of the day snuggled up.
“You okay?” He brushes my hair again.
“I’m good.” Johnson and Eleanor are yelling at each other a few feet away. “Jeremy, do you need to go?”
He sighs. “No.”
He’s so lying, which is totally sweet. “I’ll be fine.” I shove him up as the police officer approaches.
“Will you be okay by yourself?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll check on you later, okay?”
I nod and sit straighter. He hesitates, staring at me, trying to judge if I really am better. The officer has out a tablet and speaks the date and time into the receiver. He asks me a question that I hardly hear as I watch Jeremy walking away.
FIFTEEN
MY ATTACKERS DIDN’T have any distinguishing characteristics. Four guys of medium build, medium height. No facial hair, no scars. The officer asks me questions like they’re from a memorized list. I think the mood stabilizers they’ve got law enforcement on are making them into robots. His voice borders on monotone.
“Hold out your arm.” He positions a handheld scanner over my wrist. “The one holding you left skin residue, no prints. Fifty percent match rate with that type of data.” He puts the scanner away. “Are you staying at the hotel for a while?”
“As long as the show is in town.”
He nods once. “I’ll contact you if we apprehend any suspects for you to identify.” The lack of inflection in his voice makes me doubt they’ll find anyone. Which is irritating. The guys had a razor wire on the street. How smart can they be? That’s not exactly a low profile crime.
“You’re free to go.”
Honestly, I’m surprised the officer even came out to the hotel. The assistant show coordinator must have told him I was bleeding to death. I walk down the familiar hotel hallway, stepping in between the geometric square patterns in the carpet. Hypnotic. Jeremy is on another date with another girl. Life sucks.
Jasmine is lying in wait by the elevator. “I saw you trying to interrupt Mel’s date.”
Great. Just what I need, more of her shit. “I was attacked outside of the hotel. I wasn’t intentionally interrupting anything.”
“More of your lies.”
Maybe this is a good day to punch her. “I’m not lying. I just finished giving my statement to
the police. Notice my face and my leg.” I point down to the bloody rip in my jeans.
She purses her lips together. “I don’t like you.”
A laugh bursts out of me. Jasmine is just so…vile. “Yeah, well, feeling’s mutual. Have a great day.” I lean around her to push the elevator button and scan my hand. She latches onto me, nails practically piercing my skin. I tense my whole body. “Today is not a good day to mess with me.” I pronounce the words very slowly in my kill voice.
She drops her hand. “Your show’s airing tonight.”
“Yeah, so what?”
“I just can’t wait to see what secrets you have to hide.”
The elevator door slides open and I leave her in the hall. I signed up for Jeremy, not for all this other shit. And now I have to go to the fake living room to watch the studio try to make me look bad. If Jeremy hadn’t held me, this day would be the worst ever.
I sit on the big, fat couch in my green dress and chew my nails. Five more minutes. Five minutes until millions of people are sitting at home, watching me.
Jasmine and her clones take turns glaring at me from one of the other couches. No one wants to sit next to me. Afraid of what will be revealed, like I might be contagious—which, technically, I am. Shelley Anne finally takes the seat next to me and I’m almost relieved not to be alone, even though I know she hates me, too.
Who will win a date with a rockstar and thirty thousand dollars? flashes across the screen to the opening song from Jeremy’s ocean collection. Rod Bing is back behind his desk. He’s wearing a purple scarf. I wonder if he was trying to match my bikini. I feel like puking.
“This week, contestant number two vies for Jeremy Bane’s attention, but you will decide whether she deserves him or not.” Drums crescendo in the background. I can’t believe Rod Bing is talking about me.
They show the line footage again and then the camera cuts to me entering the interview room. My face fills half the wall. I look nervous, meek. Wet hair tangles around my shoulders and I appear washed out from all the rain.
I shiver, remembering the three days in line. What misery. It’s hard to judge myself. Shelley Anne called me pretty. But what will the TV audience think?
The interviewer asks the question about Jeremy’s music—probably the only answer I gave that makes me seem somewhat intelligent. I’m staring at the one-way glass, but the camera must have been right below because it seems like I’m staring directly into the camera. My eyes meet my own on the screen and the sensation brings a wave of nausea. Creepy. They only show my answer to the one question. I let out my breath in relief. After the Claire exposé I wouldn’t have been surprised to find they filmed me puking in the bathroom.
Rod Bing leans over the desk and raises his eyebrows. “Now, before we get to the juicy details, let’s take a look at their date.”
Juicy details? I’m pretty sure my life doesn’t have any of those, unless they fabricated something. Did I sign anything giving them the right to lie about me? There’s no way they could know about Fluxem. I shift around on the couch. My legs bounce continuously. Shelley Anne narrows her eyes and I try to sit still. I have no control and I hate it.
On screen, I step out of the limo and the camera slides up my leg and over my T-shirt. How the hell did they get that angle? I would’ve had to have been standing on top of the cameraman. Maybe there were lenses on the limo door. Jeremy climbs out after me and brushes against my arm. Our heads tip together. I remember the conversation, the feel of him next to me. I want to go back to the beach all over again. Well, without the cameras.
When the show gets to the part where we wade out into the water, I hold my breath, praying my mark won’t be visible. Jeremy blocks the view and once we hit deep water the footage turns boring. Our heads bob up and down in the distance for a few seconds, then they cut back to us walking out. They missed all the romantic stuff when Jeremy was teaching me how to swim. Instead, they zoom in on the front of my dripping wet body. I’m so embarrassed. But at least my breasts are keeping the attention off my back.
Crystal makes a guttural noise from the other couch. I catch Claire’s attention and she smiles sympathetically. She and I are now in the already-traumatized-on-TV club.
Rod Bing comes back on the screen. “Stick around. After this commercial break we’ll find out what contestant number two has to hide.” They montage tribal drums over song eight of Jeremy’s new release, building a sense of doom. I’m offended on his behalf that they messed with his work and pissed that they’re not showing more of our date. I guess since we didn’t wear our microphones during lunch they’re not showing any of that footage. Still, they could’ve showed a few clips of us walking in the woods.
I gnaw the end of my fingernail. I guess there’s no chance the juicy details about me will be positive. I think I’d rather be jumped again than watch whatever they are going to reveal. I prepare myself for slams about my lack of direction in life, my inability to get a good job, maybe a few panoramas of my shitty apartment building.
The show’s back on. Here we go. Okay. How bad will it be?
Mom sits on our tiny couch. An interviewer squeezes in next to her. The close proximity looks silly, but I know there’s nowhere else in our apartment to sit.
“Why did you choose to have a female child, Ms. O’Neal?”
The question surprises me.
Mom sits up straight and she looks both beautiful and frazzled. “Monet has always been the biggest joy in my life.”
He taps a pen on the tablet in his lap. “Yes, of course. But why did you choose to have a girl rather than a boy?”
“That’s a very personal question, sir. I’m not sure I feel comfortable answering.” She holds her head high and I’m so proud of her.
“Actually, according to your fertility records, you and your husband did in fact choose to have a boy.”
WHAT? Husband? This is all news to me. My mother was married when she conceived? My father. I have a father? Not just a DNA donor. I’ve never even seen pictures. I’ve never received birthday presents. As long as I can remember it’s only been Mom and me. My head spins.
“How did you get that information?” Mom is pissed.
“Your daughter has given us full rights to explore her background. Now, let’s get back to the question. Isn’t it true that you were supposed to be inseminated with a male embryo?”
“I have never regretted a single second that Monet has been my daughter.”
“But the initial procedure?” he prompts.
“Yes, we selected to have a male.” My heart drops through my stomach. She wanted a boy? I never knew.
Mom presses her lips in a tight line. From the way she leans forward and clenches her fists, I think she’s close to violence.
“A technician made an error and we got a girl. Honestly, I’m surprised there aren’t more errors.”
The asshole on our couch raises his eyebrow and shrugs. Like maybe I’m a girl or maybe my mom is lying. “What I’m interested in,” he pauses dramatically, “is whether or not your husband left you because of the error.
“We managed to track down your ex-husband. Do you want to hear what he had to say?”
Mom looks grim. She should have told me. When we were on the phone, she should’ve told me. Tears glint in the corners of her eyes as a man’s body fills the screen.
Oh my God! He’s fiftyish. Graying hair, slightly overweight. Strong jaw, expensive suit. I’m taking in as many details as I can before I pass out. I’m sure my brain can’t handle the strain.
Then he speaks. Perfect white teeth. The man has money. “Of course for my one child I selected to have a boy to carry on the family business.” His title scrawls along the bottom of the screen. Walter O’Neal, CEO of Fission Cooperative.
“And when the female result was reported?”
“I told Katherine to have the fetus removed.” A commercial pops up on the screen. I glance at Jasmine and she’s smiling. My teeth clack together as I fight th
e urge to mess her up. Praline grimaces when I look at her. I need to call Mom. I need to throw up. I need to hear the rest of what my father has to say immediately. How can they screw with my life like this?
The show comes back on. The interviewer does another intro, then my father…holy shit…my father… is back on the screen.
“She refused, claiming some attachment already, and I left her. No law against me having another child with a different woman.”
I have a father and he’s an asshole. This is why Mom never told me. He didn’t want me. The screen switches back to Mom.
“Monet, if you’re watching this, I just want you to know that I love you and I have absolutely no regrets in my life.” Oh, Mom. I love you, too.
“Really?” The interviewer taunts. “Even if your choice means living in poverty?” Now they do the pan of our apartment building. Then they show the full hundred square feet of our apartment. “Monet doesn’t have a lot of options for her future.”
“Sir, my daughter is brilliant and she will succeed in anything she sets out to do in this life.” Tears roll down my face.
The screen switches back to showing me in my bikini. I hope it’s my imagination and they’re not intentionally zeroing in on my crotch. I’m speechless over the fact that they actually tried to cast doubt as to whether or not I’m a girl. That’s insulting. I think I’d rather be labeled a slut like Claire. I hope Jeremy never sees this. He’s on his date now, but I’m probably doomed to be immortalized in reruns. Hell, Jasmine will probably be hanging out by the elevator, waiting to tell him as soon as he comes back from his date tonight.
Rod Bing rubs his chin. “Remember, voting won’t begin until all the contestants have had a chance.” A still image of me fills the screen. My one breast says “Key” and the other says “West.” Better that than the sore on my back. After finding out I have a living father who never wanted me, the words on my chest are nothing.
