by Morgan Rae
The look in her eyes now isn’t vengeful. It’s hesitant, it’s pleading for understanding. I saw Nancy at her worst and I ran. The realization sits like a stone on my chest. Perhaps there’s more than one villain in this room.
“What’s your flaw?” Margo pipes up. Her voice jars me from my thoughts.
“What do you mean?” Shayla asks.
“I mean, you said you’ve got good and bad, right? You two are all perfect little lovebirds. So, spill. It can’t all be roses in that marriage bed.”
Darius raises his palm. “I’ll tell you right now,” he says. “While we were dating, she slept like an angel. Soon as I put a ring on it? Suddenly, she starts snoring all through the night.”
Shayla laughs loudly. “It’s true!” she says. “I’m a lawnmower. Oh, but can we mention how this one can’t cook a single thing?” She nudges him playfully with her shoulder. “Fed me all that nice food while we were dating and I come to realize he ordered takeout the whole time, nuked it in the microwave, plated it, and called it dinner. All that muscle and testosterone and he can’t even grill a steak.”
Darius shrugs. “I can grill steak. It’s just got that nice char to it.”
“That’s called burnt, baby.”
“Chase was a control freak,” Auden waves her hand around her head as though swatting a fly. “In everything. If we went out, he’d fix the crooked paintings on the walls, it was that bad.”
“Bryce makes everything into a competition,” Margo huffs.
“What was that, Two Beer Sally?” Bryce challenges her.
“Nancy? Damien?” Shayla says with a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile. “Everyone’s giving pet peeves. Your turn.”
Nancy breathes out a laugh and rubs her bare shoulder awkwardly. “I don’t know…uh. Geez. Oh, I know. He’s very particular about his tea. If there isn’t milk in it, it’s some kind of cardinal sin.”
“Just like ‘ow Mary Poppins made it, ay?” I forgot how horrible Bryce’s attempts at a British accent are, and yet , it earns him a round of laughter.
“Alright, Damien, you’re the only one who hasn’t gone yet,” Shayla announces.
Nancy wiggles her fingers towards herself as though inviting me to hand-to-hand combat. “Come on,” she says. “I know you’ve got a thousand and one complaints about me to air. Let’s just get it out in the open.”
She’s smiling, but there’s pain in the creases of her mouth. She’s bracing herself for the onslaught.
“I don’t have a pet peeve,” I say. “She’s perfect.”
Auden scoffs so audibly that for a moment I think I might have to perform a Heimlich maneuver. “Please,” she groans. “No one’s perfect.”
“She is.” My eyes flicker up to meet Nancy’s. “And I wouldn’t change a thing about her.”
There’s surprise in her expression followed by a small hint of a grateful smile.
Her smile makes me want more, I want to hear her laugh. I want to feel the upward curve of her lips as they press against mine. I break eye contact to adjust my napkin in my lap.
“Well,” Shayla says, breaking the tension in the room. “Should we eat?”
CHAPTER THIRTY: NANCY
You’ve got this, Nan. I keep telling myself that to keep from falling apart in front of millions of viewers.
I’m a slice of meat thrown to the vultures and a scorned ex. The only one who even slightly comes to my defense is Shayla, but it’s unfair to make her play my bodyguard when she’s reeling in freshly married bliss.
The way Damien stares at me when I sit down, as though his jaw is about to hit the floor, helps. I know it’s not technically a competition, but I feel like I’ve won already. He left me hanging upstairs when he took his dexterous fingers away from my swollen nether lips, he can handle a little of this.
But now that the dinner has begun, I’m starting to feel more and more like a minnow in a shark pond.
“Okay, there’s one thing that’s been bugging me,” Bryce says. He’s got a fried tomato stuck on the end of his fork and he’s wielding it like a head on a spike. “Something you said in that little article of yours, Tomlin.”
“Nancy,” half the table corrects him.
“Whatever. Is no one going to talk about how she lied her way onto the show?”
I bite my lip briefly. “I know it was wrong.”
Margo and Auden hiss in disapproval and I’m not surprised.
“So what you’re telling me,” Bryce says, throwing his arms around and growing more animated by the second, “is that we got kicked off ‘cause you cheated?”
I let out a breath of a laugh. His machismo is rising and, considering how slurred his words are getting, that’s a bad sign. “The judges made the call. Not me.”
“Bullshit,” Margo scoffs and lifts a palm. “Bryce and I should’ve been in the finals!”
“Alright, alright!” Shayla throws up her hands and tries to bring calm to the cresting tensions. “It doesn’t matter who came in second place, because Darius and I were going to wipe all y’all off the map anyway.”
“It’s not about winning,” Auden counters as she picks the walnuts out of her salad. “It’s about playing fair.”
My eyes flicker briefly to Damien, who has been unnaturally silent. He’s hunched over, trying to close himself off from the chaos but I can see the tension rolling off him in waves.
“Oh, you’re the last person who should talk about playing fair,” Margo snorts.
Auden’s fork goes still. “What does that mean?”
“C’mon. Sleeping with the competition? Dick move.” Margo’s movements are frantic, like a squirrel’s. She turns her attention on Damien and the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Not that I can blame you. What, did you sleep with Tonya to get on the show, Blaze?” Margo moves her fingers to her already revealing blouse and pops off the top two buttons, revealing the bountiful curves of her breasts. In a terrible British accent, she asks, “What’s a girl gotta do to get in the queue?”
Shayla chokes on a laugh as Bryce moves his hand to cover Margo. My cheeks flush. I’m embarrassed for her, for Damien, and for myself. I tighten my grip on my fork and try not to let it get to me.
Damien, meanwhile, lets out a breath of a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. The queue is closed.”
“That’s not what he said in the dressing room,” Auden says with a secret smile as she dabs the corners of her mouth with the edge of her napkin.
Margo lets out a harsh cackle. Meanwhile, my heart falls into my lap and my molars clench. I glance at the door, I can’t be here and listen to this, it hurts too much. Of course, Damien is on the prowl, it’s been a few months. I don’t own him, he’s not mine. We’re over, both adults, he can be with whomever he wants. Still, to hear about it hurts more than I expected. I feel winded, as though I’ve been punched in the chest.
“Aww, I think we offended sweet Nancy Drew,” Margo sneers, her voice sickly sweet. She tip-toes her fingers up my arm. Her touch feels like spider legs and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight. “Why the long face? You’re probably sleeping with that tall drink of water who came to your family day.”
“I’m not,” I tell her firmly.
“Ooh, you hear that?” Margo gasps. “Kitten’s got claws.”
“I’m here to set the record straight,” I say, “and I’m not about to let some drunk wash-up spread rumors about me.”
“Wash-up!” Margo shrieks.
“Calm your ass, Margo!” Shayla scolds.
“Ain’t no one tells my girl what to do with her ass but me, you prissy bitch,” Bryce growls.
“What’d you just call her?” Darius’s voice seethes with anger.
“Just admit that this is all your fault!” Margo jabs her finger at me and I can feel her hot breath in my face.
“Enough!” Damien’s voice is sharp and it cuts through the noise like a knife, silencing every
one. “We’re telling truths, right? I was only on the show to clean up my reputation. My manager thought it was a good idea. So if you want to get angry at someone, be mad with me.”
Anger and anxiety flutter around my chest like butterflies. The way he’s looking at me does things to my body, and a flush runs through my body, heating me up from the inside out. “I don’t need you to stand up for me,” I murmur.
“Seems to me like you could use someone on your side,” Damien counters.
That just makes my blood boil more. “So you’re, what? My body guard?”
“If that turns you on, darling.” He unleashes his cocky smile and I’m not sure if I want to punch him or kiss him.
Come to think of it, I want to strangle half the people at this table, really. I need to get my temper in check.. “I need a refill.”
I snatch up my glass, turn my back to Damien, and go to the shelf of liquor behind us. If they want to kill our livers tonight fine by me. Maybe trying to do this sober was a bad idea. At least a drink should keep my hands from shaking so much.
You’ve got this, Nan.
I take in a shaky breath and try to muster up all my strength to hold it together, just until the end of the dinner.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: DAMIEN
I watch Nancy storm off to the bar and take a shaky shot.
Reality TV stars are the most vicious women in the business. They didn’t get here on good looks alone; they’ve made it on their ability to tear each other down with sharp, manicured nails. Nancy, to her credit, is handling it with remarkable poise. Truly, the woman deserves a drink.
I watch her mix a new drink and take a slow sip. The voices around the table have fallen to an acceptable volume level again. The cameras are focused on the faces around the table, but my eyes are glued to Nancy. In her small moment of privacy, she looks miserable. To anyone else, she might look pulled together, elegant even, but I can see the pain in her eyes.
It dawns on me how ridiculous it is we’ve subjected ourselves to this den of snakes. We both need to get out of here.
“Shayla,” I murmur and shift over to catch her attention. The rest of the table is engaged in some intense discussion and I hope they stay busy enough for me to pull this off.
She blinks at me, wide-eyed, and says, “What’s up?”
“I need a favor,” I whisper.
She purses her lips together skeptically as she swirls her wine around her glass. “Uh-huh. What kind of favor are we talking about, Prince Charming?”
“I need a distraction.” My eyes flicker between Shayla and Nancy so she catches my drift. “A little privacy so we can disappear without anyone noticing.”
Shayla’s eyes practically haze over with romantic daydreams. “Privacy, huh?” She clicks her tongue.
“It’s not like that.”
“Of course it is.” She reaches over, pinches the scruff of my beard between her fingers, and tugs. “There is an old romantic hiding under all that fur. I knew it.”
I can’t help but grin. “Can you blame me?”
Shayla winks at me. “Go get her, stud.” With that, she leans back in her chair, pokes at her salad, and then announces to the table, casually, “So, Margo, spill. What are these rumors about you being pregnant?”
Chaos erupts around the table. I use the opportunity to slip out of my chair and step around the table, quietly moving out of the view of the camera crew.
Nancy shakily splashes tequila into her glass. She’s clearly not used to mixing her own drinks and I watch as she sips it and scrunches her face up as a mouthful of what must be pure tequila hits her.
“Hey.” I rest my hand at her arm but she slips out of my grasp. “Need help with that?”
“I think I’ve had about enough of your help for one night.”
“I understand. However,” I tilt my head in the direction of the squabbling table. “If we want out, now’s our chance.”
Nancy straightens her back, “I’m not running.”
“Nancy. Look at them. They’re drunk and getting drunker. There’s nothing to salvage here.”
She hesitates until her eyes take in the chaos of the room. She grabs my arm. “Okay. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO: NANCY
All it takes is a couple choice words and Damien sneaks me out of the restaurant. It almost feels like old times, tiptoeing around the cameramen to get a second of privacy. Luckily for us, Shayla and Margo are mid-cat fight and all the camera lens are focused on the girl-on-girl action. Damien and I use the distraction to slip right out the door. We make a beeline down the lobby hall, zip past the concierge, and escape the hotel.
I don’t realize I’m suffocating until we hit the damp fall air. I take a deep breath, allowing the crisp air to open my lungs and clear my head. The world is spinning from a mixture of alcohol and emotions and I find myself sitting on the curb with my head in my lap.
Damien sits beside me and within seconds I feel his hand on the small of my back. We must look like quite a pair, all dressed up for the red carpet and sitting on the curb. I glance over at him in the dark blue light of the post-sunset sky. He looks flushed and I watch the small white wisps of steam crystalizing his breath in the cool air.
I sit up and find the courage to start the conversation. “I always liked this time of night,” I tell him.
He turns to me. He’s never had trouble meeting my gaze. “Why’s that?”
I motion towards the sky. “The color. The stillness. Everyone’s leaving work, going home to their families. It’s nice.”
“It is.”
The dust settles in between us again. Grasshoppers come out and chitter off in the distance. There’s a great view of Hollywood’s hills from here and we watch the swollen landscape slowly flicker with streetlights.
“That was vicious, what they said to you in there,” Damien says.
I shrug. “I can take it. I deserve it.”
His lips press into a disapproving frown at that.
“Come on,” my laugh is devoid of humor. “I know you’re thinking it. I lied to you and broke your heart. I deserve to be punished for it.”
“Shayla was right,” Damien says. “We’ve all told each other little lies.”
“Auden seemed pretty straight forward.” I’m needling and I know it. I’m prying him for information, but I can’t help it.
Damien’s jaw clenches. “She gave me her room key,” he confesses.
His words are like an ice pick through my heart. “When?”
“In the dressing room.”
Hurt tingles up my arms until it wraps around my heart. My throat tightens. I feel stupid for coming all this way and making a fool of myself on TV just for a man who doesn’t even want me anymore. The backs of my eyes sting, but I’m not going to give Damien, or anyone, the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Instead, I tuck my dress back under my thighs and stand.
“You should take her up on the offer,” I tell him. “I know you want to get laid and you two clearly have good chemistry. Besides, you’re angry with me and you want to hurt me and I get it, I deserve it, so I’m just going to go—”
Damien’s hand shoots out and he catches my arm before I get too far. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. “I don’t want to punish you, either.” There’s a gulf of longing in his eyes now. His grip tightens around my arm. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. I never did. I just want to get to know you, Nancy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
The sincerity in his tone gives me pause. I feel like I’m in the middle of two shifting tectonic plates. On one side, Hollywood, bright lights, tiny bathing suits and fancy dresses. On the other side, nighttime, the home-smell of developed film, and Damien.
It’s time to hang up Tomlin
“Can I show you something?” I ask.
His expression softens and warms with the hint of a hopeful smile. “I would love that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
: NANCY
I pick up my keys from the valet and Damien follows me to my station wagon. If he thinks anything about my rag-tag car, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he buckles his seatbelt and watches the window as I drive through the winding LA roads.
“Are we running away together?” he asks once I’ve gotten a couple miles of asphalt under my tires.
“Maybe.” I let a little smile dance across my lips and it feels wonderful.
“If I can make a request, I’d like to elope somewhere with sun.”
“And sand?”
“If I never have another Mai Tai again, it will be too soon.”
I laugh at that. The further we get away from the lights and cameras, the better and lighter I feel. It’s just us, no cameras, no audience, just Damien and me. Truly alone for the first time since I met him, Damien seems comfortable next to me. He’s lost his wilted shoulders from earlier, he looks relaxed and at ease.
The sky has turned fully nighttime dark by the time we hit Beverly Hills. I know these roads so well from my days as a street reporter, I can practically drive them with my eyes closed. The sheer cliff fall separated by metal barricades doesn’t faze me at all.
The houses to our left grow in size. From homes, to townhouses, to mansions, we’ve entered the lap of luxury. I drive down the familiar road until I slow to a stop outside a house I’ve watched many times.
502 Beverly Park Way. Even in the dark, it looks intimidating. I can still make out the white pillars that stand tall at the estate’s entrance like saber teeth.
“Your place?” Damien asks as he bends to leave over my shoulder.
I swallow a laugh, this estate is only millions of dollars out of my budget. I shake my head. “No. Roger Burton lives here.”
“Roger Burton?” Damien repeats. “The singer?”
“Yep. That one.”
Damien pauses. “I’m a fan of the guy’s music. Don’t get me wrong, but why are we here?”
