by Emily Bishop
“So? There are others who could’ve done it, too, and sucked your dick besides without half the trouble.”
I set aside that dick-sucking comment. “Rod, bear with me. Stay with Pride’s Death for another week. Stick with me, and I swear to god, you won’t regret it. I’ll fix this fuckup.”
Rod grunted on the other end of the line. “Fuggit. OK. One more week, and if you haven’t magicked this shitstorm away by then, I’m out. And you’re on your own. Good luck, buddy.” He clicked off the line.
I balled my fist around the phone and squeezed until the plastic cracked. This wasn’t my burner phone, but I didn’t care. I pictured shaking Felicity until whatever screw had come lose fell back into the hole it’d come from then shook my head and set the phone down on the desk.
I lifted the remote instead and switched on the TV. “Shit,” I whispered and lowered the volume, right away, looking over my shoulder at Aurora—unmoving, chest rising and falling in an even rhythm.
I flicked through the channels until I landed on E! and moved closer to catch the commentary.
My image splashed across the screen, and a young, female presenter—she looked like a paler version of Giuliana Rancic—talked in the split screen frame beside it. “So, this is our breaking news of the day. Hot off the presses, sizzling, tsssss. Feel the burn, Jarryd Tombs, we’ve got our eye on you.” The valley girl whine gave me an instant sinus headache. “He’s apparently been caught in a liaison with a fortune-teller.”
“What?” a man said, high-pitched, effeminate, off screen. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious, Carter. So, it’s no secret that everybody’s favorite actor broke up with everybody’s favorite actress over two weeks ago.”
“Three now,” said Carter and clicked his tongue.
“Yeah, three weeks ago, we saw the end of Jaricity.” Christ, I’d forgotten they’d come up with that mashup of our names to describe us as a couple. At least, it wasn’t Ferryd. “And everyone was in an uproar. I had to cancel appointments to deal with the grief. Like, it shocked me.”
“You and me both, girl.”
“But now, it’s come to light that Felicity is totally distraught. She didn’t see the breakup coming and found out that Jarryd cheated on her from the start with this gal.”
A picture of Aurora, taken within the clothing store, where she stood, wide-eyed and behind me, replaced me on the screen. A chorus of fake boos ensued from the studio crowd.
“Her name is Aurora Bell, and she had to know that he was engaged, right?”
“How low can you go?” Carter asked.
The Giuliana wannabe nodded. “Like, monumentally low. Like lower than my heart dropped when I heard the news. Here’s the worst part. Felicity Swan didn’t even know if it was true or not, until one of her friends snapped a few of these pics of the cheater with his… what’s a gentle way to put it? Lover, I guess.”
Carter sniffed off screen. “That’s not what I’d call her.”
The entire screen filled with images now. Pictures, artfully blurred at the right spots, over Aurora’s breasts, at the points we connected. Images of us naked, wrapped around each other, caught in the throes of pleasure on the hotel bed she slept in now.
“Christ. Jesus Christ,” I grunted.
“What is that?” The voice spoke from my side, tremulous. Aurora pushed past me and stared at the screen. The noise had woken her, after all. She stood naked, her hair tangled at her shoulders. “Jarryd! What is this?”
“It’s us,” I replied. “Everyone knows. Felicity went to the press and said that I had an affair with you while I was still together with her.”
Aurora’s face transformed, her eyes screwed up, her bottom lip quivered. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No, you should have. We’ll fix this, like we’ll fix what happened with your mother’s cabin. I’ll take care of everything.”
“No.” Aurora darted past me to the bedside table, where she’d left her clothes last night. She tugged on her jeans, her shirt, left the bra. “No, no, no, no, no.”
“Aurora, stop.” I rushed to her side and reached for her.
She jerked back, worked her sneakers onto her sockless feet. Slung her handbag over her shoulder. “No!” Aurora darted off the bed and raced for the door.
“Wait! I’ll fix it. I’ll fix everything.”
But it was too late. The door whacked shut behind her and left me with nothing but the whine from the TV and the blurred images of our most intimate time together, blown up for the world to see.
Chapter 24
Aurora
I jogged down the street, lungs burning and tears streaming down my cheeks. Trees flashed by, a single car drove up the road and past me but I couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel and I couldn’t have cared less.
My worst nightmare had pretty much materialized. Felicity’s warning swam up from the recesses of my memory. I should’ve stayed away from him. How did I think this would end? Everyone thought I was a homewrecker, now. This was worse than being the gypsy whore.
I entered town and slowed to a walk, using the sleeves of my T-shirt to scrub tears from my face. I probably looked like shit, not that it mattered.
I walked past the bakery, and a woman standing in the line outside turned and stared at me. She raised a finger and pointed. “It’s her,” she said, loudly.
Every other person in the line looked around. Some of them rolled their eyes and muttered under their breaths. Others raised eyebrows.
“So what?” another man asked. “She’s just a whore.”
My stomach dropped, and I stumbled forward. It’s happening. This is worse than before I left the last time. I regained my footing and walked down the street fast, past shop windows and now, the Moondance Bar and Grill. The doors were shut—it hadn’t opened for business yet—but I’d have given anything to see Jerr and ask him for help.
“No, you’re not going to bring anyone else down with you,” I whispered.
It wasn’t much further now. Just past the General Store, another five minutes and I’d be at the RV park. So far, so good, relatively speaking.
But my mind skipped back to those images on the TV screen in Jarryd’s room, and I flushed red. The moments that had held the most intimacy for me displayed for everyone to see. Not just everyone in Moondance or even in Wyoming. Everyone in the United States, even people from other countries.
They knew my name. They knew I’d had sex with Jarryd Tombs. And they thought they knew what type of person I was: a slut who slept with an engaged man and broke up Hollywood’s hottest couple.
I passed the General Store and didn’t dare peek inside—I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them in there. People I’d known or recognized staring at me as if they’d never seen the truth about me before.
The door of the store clacked behind me, and I stepped quicker. My heart was caught in a constant loop—whoop-thump, whoop-thump. I massaged my chest and swallowed again and again, but my mouth had gone as dry as sandpaper.
Whispers behind me, or were they in my head? No, those were definitely footsteps crunching on the sidewalk behind me, and they gained fast.
I didn’t look back, couldn’t even bring myself to swivel my head an inch to the left or right.
The RV park was three minutes away. Just three minutes.
“Yeah, it’s her,” a man croaked behind me. “Go, quick, around the front.”
I broke into a run.
“Follow!” the guy croaked.
This time, I did look back, and my heart nearly stopped entirely. Two greasy dudes chased after me, with cameras hanging bouncing from the straps around their necks—it wasn’t difficult to guess who they were or what they wanted.
“Aurora,” one of them called and swiped sweat from his forehead. “Yo, you’re Aurora Bell, right? Slow down, honey, we want to talk to you.”
The other guy, at least a ham thicker than his friend, wheezed and raised the camera. “Come on, sweetie, stand st
ill for a second. We want to talk to you. You’re going to be a big star.”
I tightened my grip on the strap of my handbag, gritted my teeth, and broke into a dead sprint.
“Christ. Trust Tombs to fuck a runner. Look at that bitch go.”
I ignored the rhetoric—though, a small part of me, the part that hadn’t buried itself in shame and regret found the sentiment funny in a sick way—and made for the entrance to the park. It was ahead. Right there. Within reach!
I rushed at it then under the sign and down the dirt path toward the lot. The reporters trundled after me, kicking up stones and swearing under their breaths. The fat guy wheezed harder.
I wound between the RVs, past people out cleaning them or simply reading on lawn chairs, enjoying a beer. Some of them looked up as I blew by, others didn’t even notice—the latter were fine by me.
I arrived on the front steps of the RV and fumbled my keys out of my pocket. “Come on, come on, come on.”
Mistress wormed out from underneath the RV and meowed at my legs. I’d left food and water out for her when I’d left for my shift yesterday, but she was probably hungry again.
“Not the time, sweetie,” I whispered and rammed the key home into the lock with a horrid grating of metal on metal. I twisted it, opened up then thundered into the RV. Mistress entered at a much more leisurely pace.
The two reporters approached, both at a jog rather than a sprint. The fat one was pale. The greasier one raised his camera.
I whapped my door shut and locked it from the inside then backed up. “Oh, god,” I said, and raised shaking fingers to my lips. “Oh, god, oh, god, what the fuck. What the fuck is happening right now?”
Mistress meowed her answer.
I leaned against the kitchen table for support. “This can’t be real.” But it was. I’d made this choice. I’d been part of everything that’d happened, and this was my punishment for it.
Mistress wound between my legs, rubbing her warm furry body against my jeans. I sat down beside her then pulled her into my lap and stroked the back of her head, scratched between her ears. The soft brush of fur calmed me. I shut my eyes and breathed in and out.
This wasn’t irreparable. There had to be a way to deal with this.
OK, I could never see Jarryd again. That much was clear. I couldn’t even consider it, because I lost whatever dumbass senses I’d had whenever he was close.
I’d run.
I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to do anything but settle down in the only home I’d ever known, but the option had been yanked out of my grasp. James had bought the cabin. Everyone I knew and even those I didn’t believed I was a homewrecker.
That was the situation.
“Breathe.” I inhaled and exhaled, stroked Mistress’s fur, and she purred against me, bringing a little comfort, at last.
Mistress had liked Jarryd, too. She’d been there on the afternoon I’d brought the crystals back from Mama Kate’s, around the back of the RV where—
“Shit!” My eyelids opened. “Double, triple shit!”
The tag! I’d never cleaned the tag, and those paparazzi assholes would go crazy snapping pics if they found it.
I put down Mistress then lurched to my feet, shuffled for the door. I stopped with my fingertips on the handle. What was the point? If I ran out there and stopped them, they’d snap photos of me anyway, they’d probably take one of me with the tag, confirming everyone’s suspicions.
Jarryd Tombs had cheated with a gypsy whore.
“Do it, just do it,’ I said, and opened the door.
I braced myself for the questions, the photos, but the space in front of the RV was clear, just green grass, a couple leaves, and that breathtaking view of the forest beyond, trees still and silent beneath a bank of gathering clouds.
I trundled down the two front steps and held my breath. Where were they?
The crunch of footsteps around the side of the RV gave me the answer. They’d found the tag.
“Get another shot. A long shot. Man, Clive, this shit is gold.” The reporter’s voice was wet, phlegmy.
I tiptoed toward it, keeping close to the side of the RV, breathing only through my nose. I shouldn’t have come out here, but now, faced with the soft click-click of a camera shutter, the whispers, and the excitement, I couldn’t turn back.
Seeing them fluttering around the tag, snapping pics, would help me process the truth.
People knew, and they hated me for it.
I halted and peeked around the corner.
There were four reporters, now, and one of them held a microphone, facing his cameraman. “Is it a good shot?” he asked and patted his coifed, blond hair. “You got that slogan in there?”
“Got it, boss.”
“Good,” he said.
The cameraman held three fingers, ticked them off then pointed at the reporter. “I’m standing here outside what appears to be Jarryd Tombs’ lover’s RV. As you can see, someone has already painted a nasty message on the vehicle.”
My insides curled up into nothingness, into a black void. This was mortifying. A nightmare made flesh, holding a microphone up to the end of my hopes and dreams to hear its final kicks and screams.
“The woman in question, Aurora Bell, appears to be a local fortune-teller, or at least a magician of some sort. We have it on good authority from her neighbors that she’s a famed scam artist.”
I sucked in a breath. That’s bullshit! Everything I do comes from the heart. From the soul! But I couldn’t tell him or anyone else that, and even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference.
“Apparently, Mr. Tombs initially came to Moondance to be with his new lover, while he was still in a committed relationship with Felicity Swan. Or should I say, not so committed, ha.”
The cameraman gave Mr. Coif another thumbs up for the joke.
“Our information indicates that Jarryd Tombs is staying in a local motel. We’ll be heading over there to get the scoop shortly.”
The cameraman lowered the camera. “Got it!”
“Great work, Henry. Great fucking work. All right, now, let’s get a few artsy clips for the show. The audience eats that shit right up. I’m gonna head around the front and see if I can draw out the whore.”
I shuffled back, and my heart thumped, did a funny skip-beat. I backpedaled, turned, and dashed up the front steps of the RV again then slapped the door closed behind me and locked it. I retreated to the bedroom and shut that door, too.
The knocking started seconds later.
“Miss Bell? Are you in there? We want to talk to you. It’s Ronald Hart with Heat News.”
I lay back on the bed and stuck my fingers in my ears. Sure, it wasn’t the most mature of solutions, but it did the job.
Except, now I couldn’t hear them, but I could hear my thoughts loud and clear.
Gypsy whore. Why does this keep happening? I wanted this to be real. I wanted Jarryd and me to be real.
I rolled over onto my stomach and took my fingers out of my ears. The shouting and banging had stopped, but low murmurs and the occasional burst of chatter emanated from the back of the RV. They were still out there, and they probably wouldn’t leave any time soon.
I scooched forward on my belly, all the way up to my pillow then rested my head and squeezed my eyes shut. The tears that wormed beneath my lids were hot. They burned all the way through to my soul.
“Stop it, stop crying,” I whispered, but I couldn’t stop.
Even now, all I wanted was to be with him again. To smell his skin, and taste him, to kiss him again. He’d felt so good beneath me and inside me, inside my heart, and now, it was all over, and the pain in my chest, right below my left breast, hurt so bad it was as if I’d broken in two or someone had stabbed me.
I sniffled and despised myself for it. What would Mom have done? Surely, she wouldn’t have taken this lying down. No, she would’ve picked herself up again and come up with a plan.
I punched the pillow once then sat up
.
“A plan,” I said. “That’s all I need. Number one, never see him again. Number two, get out of Moondance. Number three… Number three.” What then? Spend my life traveling?
The buzz of my cell phone on the built in bedside table drew my attention from the issue at hand. I lifted it and winced.
Jarryd’s name flashed on the screen.
My thumb hovered over the red phone icon but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t cut him off like that. He was a part of this, too. It wasn’t his fault things had blown up in our faces. Not really.
I answered. “Hello,” I said.
“Aurora, I’m sorry.” Just the sound of his voice made me tighten up and brought another fresh pang in my chest. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“I know,” I replied. “But it has happened. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
“No. I won’t accept that. I’m calling because I don’t want you to run from this,” he said. “You don’t have to hide from these assholes. We can face this. Together.”
“We can’t. This will ruin Pride’s Death, possibly your career. It’s better I bow out now.” Before I fucked up his life like I’d done to mine.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I won’t accept that answer. Our relationship has nothing to do with my career or the movie, and the press will know that soon enough.”
The talking outside intensified. No doubt, more of the paparazzi had arrived. “I’m afraid it’s already too late. And I’m not set up for damage control. This is over, Jarryd,” I whispered. The walls of the RV weren’t paper, thin but I wouldn’t put it past the assholes outside to push glasses against the side of the vehicle and try listening in.
“It’s not over,” he replied.
“It is,” I said, and my voice broke. “Don’t make it harder than it already is. This has been amazing, but it’s time to move on.”
“Aurora,” he grated.
I tugged the phone from my ear, my eyes already screwed up to hold back the howl building inside, and hung up on him. That was it. It was over.
The cell buzzed in my palm, right away. Jarryd again. I laid it down on my pillow then got up and looked around the room. My life was in here, and it wasn’t as if I had to pack up much. All I had to do was start the engine and make my way over to the fairground. Then, I’d pack up the cards and crystals, I’d be ready.
