I question, for a moment, whether that means I’m smarter than Kent or Kent is a better person than me, then wash the thought away with a huge gulp from my glass of wine. It’s easy to make grand gestures when you’ve already got everything you need. I don’t, and I never have.
A woman built like a refrigerator and wearing a hot pink spandex dress and matching lipstick corners me. “Angry Ashley, right?”
I glare at her. “Hardly.”
She laughs. “Yeah, I can see that. Okay, fine, Ashley. I’m Mimi from CelebDaily. Tell me, what do you have to say about all of this now that the final show is over?”
Morris moves into view behind her, his eyes flashing a warning. I don’t need it, though. I am so close to being out of this horrible situation and I am not going to risk getting in trouble. Once I’m free of the show and everyone involved I’ll be able to go after Will for screwing me over. “It’s just been huge,” I gush, staring at Morris’s fat gut for a moment before turning my attention to the woman’s makeup-plastered face. “Such an experience. I just don’t even know how to describe it.”
“One word?”
I think. It’s not an act. I can’t say anything that’ll get Morris mad. Finally I say, though I hate myself for it, “Amazing.”
She looks surprised. “Really? You didn’t seem to be amazed on the show.”
I make myself giggle. “Oh, come on, everyone knows things get edited. Every show needs a villain and I guess I got to be ours. No big deal.” The words stick in my throat but I force them out.
“Wouldn’t that be Phillip?”
I can’t even win at this? Phillip, MC’s best-looking ex by a long shot, does deserve the title for how he treated her, though. Hoping to take the attention away from me, I say, “He’s over there,” and point to where he stands alone looking about as happy with this whole thing as I feel. “You should talk to him about it.”
“Oh, I will. But later. What are your thoughts about how the show ended? MC winning? I guess it’d have been better for you if Kent won?”
“Yup, probably,” I say, then do my best Dory imitation and don’t say another word.
Dory always out-waits me but this one caves. “All right then. Moving on. What do you think of McKent getting together? Sweet, wasn’t it?”
Her dancing eyes say she knows I don’t feel that way at all, and I wonder if Morris would disapprove of my throwing the rest of my wine on her then reluctantly admit he probably would. “Very,” I say firmly. “Kent is a sweetheart and I like what I know of MC and I’m glad she was able to forgive him.”
Mimi moves closer. “What was that all about anyhow?”
“No idea. I think Kent’s brother might have been--”
I cut myself off but too late. Her eyes light up and she says, “Ron? You think he was involved? What gives you that idea?”
When we had the ‘loved ones’ visit on the island, while most of us were swimming Ron mouthed, “I’m still so sorry,” at Kent, who smiled sadly and nodded. I don’t think anyone else saw it, and since he had his back to the camera it didn’t get aired. It might have been about nothing, but it felt significant. It still does. Which is all the more reason that I shouldn’t have said anything to Mimi. If it does mean something, the famously and terrifyingly private MC will come after me for it.
I blink a few times, trying to look confused while also grabbing a moment to think of a response to throw Mimi off the scent. “Oh, I just assumed. I mean, he’s Kent’s brother, right? So when they broke up, he must-- yeah, he must have been unhappy with MC. That’s all. I was going to say he might have found it hard to forgive MC for hurting his brother.” Relieved I found an explanation, I smile at her.
She tips her head to one side. “He seemed fine with her on the island.”
Yeah, he did. Damn it. I shrug. “Maybe he is. I don’t know. I guess you’d have to ask them.”
“Oh, I will,” she says, and my stomach churns but I say, “Okay, you do that. Anything else for me?”
She shakes her head. “No, you’ve been most helpful. Thanks ever so much.”
She walks off, and once the thumps of her overburdened feet fade away I look at Morris and give him a huge ridiculous smile and a thumbs-up.
He lumbers over. “Amazing, huh? That comment won’t do you any favors trying to sue us.”
“You already said that wouldn’t work,” I mutter, hating his superior tone.
He grunts and turns away, and I know he was half-hoping I’d do something for which he could punish me and am glad I didn’t even though I still want to.
A hand brushes over my lower back and I turn with a gasp.
“Sorry, Ashley.” Aaron grins at me. “Just wanted to say nice job supporting our lovebirds, and may I also say you look great tonight?”
“You may,” I say, smiling back because my body’s still tingling where he touched me and maybe, just maybe, he could be the reward I can’t get any other--
“Good. Have a great night,” he says, looking over my shoulder, then moves on past me.
I turn to see him go and am not at all surprised he’s heading for Summer.
“That’s it,” I mutter to myself. I’ve had more than enough of this day and this show and this life. I look toward the door and realize the security guards have moved out into the hall. Hoping this means I’ve finally done my time and can grant myself parole, I head in that direction but am stopped by someone calling my name.
I turn to see MC standing between Kent and Sam smiling at me, and when our eyes meet she says, “Thank you.”
Afraid she’s already heard about my comment to Mimi, I say, “For what?”
She jerks her head toward the stage. “I hear you were one of the first up. We appreciate it.”
Kent nods, and MC leans into him and says, “We might not have been able to work things out if it weren’t for you.”
I manage to smile because I know I have to, but I can’t say anything. It’s just so unfair, and though I know only little kids whine about things being fair and adults get revenge my throat’s tightening against the pain of it just never being my turn for things to go right.
“And thanks for helping me walk. Again,” Sam adds.
It’s easier to smile at him. Poor guy got robbed of his time on the show, and from the things he said to Peter tonight he really did want to be there. I feel united with him in our mistreatment by fate, and that’s why I went to him and helped him when it seemed like everyone else had forgotten it’d be hard for him to get up the stairs off the stage. “You’re welcome. I hope your ankle heals soon.”
“Me too.”
“Listen,” MC says, “we’re going to have a party next weekend. To get everyone together.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “We really want you there.”
I can’t imagine why. “That’s sweet, but I’m busy next weekend.”
“That’s too bad,” Sam says before she can answer. “I wanted to bring you a little surprise to thank you for your help.”
I stare at him. “Like what?”
His neck reddens around his blond ponytail. “Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”
“I guess not,” I say, surprised and confused but also finding myself believing he means it. He wants to give me something. I don’t know what, and I have no idea why, but nobody ever gives me things when they don’t have to and I can’t say no. “Well, maybe I can change my plans.” My non-existent plans. Yeah, I can probably change those.
MC grins. “That’d be great. Here.” She holds out a phone to me. “Can I get your email and phone number?”
I’m regretting this already. I didn’t want to see any of these people again and now I’m agreeing to see all of them? But Sam’s smiling at me and looking hopeful and that feels better than anything has for a long time, so I take the phone.
As I hand it back after entering my information Kent says, “We’ll be in touch. Thank you again.” He draws MC against his side. “For tonight, and for on the island. We’d
have starved without you.”
“No, you’d just have eaten a lot of fruit.”
He laughs. “But no fish. None of the rest of us figured out that spear like you.”
True, because Brett and I had worked for months to learn, spending hours at a time in his gym’s pool spearing sponges and floating plastic bags so we’d be useful to our team once we reached the show. I had been useful, as it turned out, but it wasn’t the same at all. I’d never been in the running for the million dollars. Like Grandmother had said, it was a pointless waste of time. For all those months I had stretched myself further than I ever had before to prepare for the show, and it had gotten me exactly nowhere. I’d never be a success. Never.
I smile, because I don’t know what to say, and MC says, “We’ve got a few more people to talk to so we’d better go. But we’ll see you soon.”
They barely wait for my response before moving on, and as I watch them go I wonder whether they’ll actually contact me. I doubt it. Why would they?
Sam looks back, and I blush to be caught watching. He raises his hand in a shy wave, and I wave back as we smile at each other. Maybe he’ll make sure they contact me.
My smile fades when he turns away. No, he won’t. And I don’t care anyhow. I’ve got bigger fish to fry. A lying-ass Will fish. And I want to spear it right in the face.
*****
The security guards do let me out, and they tell me where to get a limo back to the hotel, and though I don’t want to accept anything else from the show I do because I also don’t feel like dealing with the logistics of getting myself out of here.
Once I’m safely locked in my hotel room I pull out my computer to email Will.
Will, you ASS! I trusted you and you screwed me over. I can’t believe this. I went in there just like you said and they laughed at me. They aren’t compensating me at all because the contract I SHOWED you said they wouldn’t and you sent me in there anyhow and made me look like an idiot. What the hell is wrong with you?
I know he gets his email on his phone and he has the phone with him every second of every day, so I sit and wait for a response while working my way through the little bottles in the minibar. With every sip of booze I get angrier, and when the fourth bottle lies empty on the floor I think of something else I should have said.
And another thing! If you didn’t think they’d compensate me you should have just said so. Why set me up to be humiliated? Again? Just so you could impress your stupid little friends by kissing me? Which you suck at, by the way.
I fire this one off and get an immediate response, but when I see the subject line my fury turns volcanic.
Mail not delivered - address not found
I grab my phone and smack at his number in my contact list.
It rings once, twice, then a metallic voice announces that this number is out of service. I hang up as it suggests I check the number. I don’t need to. It worked the last time I used it. There’s only one explanation.
Will realizes he’s in trouble and now he’s running.
Well, he should be. I’ve been so angry at absolutely everything relating to this show, but no more. Now I’ll use that rage only against him, focus it like the sharpest scalpel and slice him to shreds with it. He listened to my pain after the show and he promised me success and he lied. He lied on purpose. And he’s going to pay. I am going to hunt him down and humiliate him like he humiliated me. It’ll happen. It’s only a matter of time.
I’ll get my revenge if I have to hunt Will for the rest of my life.
Chapter Ten
It’s not that easy, though. I try everything I can think of over the next few days to find Will but I get nowhere. Every piece of contact information I had for him is now useless. I even go to the restaurant where we watched the episode in that private room, but the people there claim not to know how to find him. I don’t believe them, but I don’t know what else to do.
As if being back in my regular life and flooded with rage about Will isn’t enough to deal with, MC hasn’t contacted me as she promised. I knew she wouldn’t so my surprise and sadness are stupid, but I feel them anyhow. I guess I thought that with Sam’s influence she would. I should have known better. He forgot about me the moment I walked out.
The only one who hasn’t forgotten me is Dory, who clearly needs a few more clients because she just can’t leave me alone. I’ve ignored all her calls and messages and texts, but as I’m getting ready to go to Shannon’s to watch “Celebrity Lifestyles” she sends another, which I can’t ignore.
Ashley, please don’t make me invoke the contract. I will do it. Call me within the next hour or I’ll call the producers.
Dealing with her is bad enough; the idea of having Morris on my case again makes me pick up the phone.
“Ashley,” she says coolly, with none of last time’s delight.
“Dory,” I return, anger filling me again at the sound of her voice. “Wouldn’t it be better for both of us if you’d just give up?
“No, she says, sounding like she wishes it would be. ”I’m not happy with you, after what you did to get that meeting, but I think it’s important that we carry on with our sessions.”
“Well, that makes one of us, but I guess I have no control. Big shock. So what do I have to do?”
“I’m going to call you once a week. You can set the time but it will happen once a week and it’ll be for an hour a time, and you’ll actually talk to me. In return, I won’t call or text at any other time. You can contact me, of course, if you--”
“I’m more likely to contact Morris.”
“--want to, but you don’t have to,” she says, going on as if I hadn’t spoken. Aren’t psychologists supposed to listen to their patients? “Do we have a deal?”
“Have I got a choice?”
“Of course,” she says. Is that a hint of unprofessional satisfaction in her voice?
It takes me a second then I get it. I do have a choice: her or someone else who’s probably even worse. “Then I choose you,” I say, making sure my aggravation’s clear. “How lovely for us both.”
“Indeed. Now, when will we talk?”
I have no plans other than work. I wish I did, so I could make the scheduling impossible for her. I consider making something up, but suddenly I’m too tired to screw with her any more. She’s not the real problem anyhow, and in her ridiculous way she’s just trying to help me. Even though I don’t need her. “Thursdays at 7?”
“Yes,” she says, sounding surprised. “That will do just fine. During this week’s call I’d like to talk about your worst memory and how it made you feel.”
“Easy,” I say. “I got suckered onto this awful reality show and treated like dirt. It made me feel great. Obviously.”
“No, for real,” she says. “We’ll talk Thursday. Goodbye.”
She hangs up. I sit, rage at losing the upper hand and at myself for not fighting harder cascading through me, then pop a few pills for my growing headache and leave for Shannon’s.
Once we’ve ordered our pizza and desserts and Shannon has teased me for everything she can think of about my appearance on the reunion show, she hits play on the “Celebrity Lifestyles” episode she recorded last night and begins fast-forwarding through the commercials. She overshoots the mark, though, then rewinds too far again.
“I’m getting seasick,” Becky says. “Stop going back and forth.”
Shannon offers her the remote. “If you’re so smart, go ahead.”
Becky refuses it, and Shannon’s about to try again when the television says, “Are you looking for someone?” and I blurt out, “Don’t!” before she can go forward.
She hits pause and looks at me. “What?”
“I want to see this commercial.”
“Whatever,” she says, and starts it up.
“Lost touch with your high school friend? A brief encounter with the woman of your dreams, but you didn’t get her number? Your baby daddy ran off on you? We can help. Watch ‘Stalk Th
is Way’ as we teach people just like you to find their missed connections. Thursday nights at nine after ‘Ragged Royalty’.”
The commercial ends, and Shannon pauses again and says to me, “That’s what you wanted?”
I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t see much choice. “Yeah. I... it sounds like it could be fun to watch.”
“Bull,” she says. “You were all excited about it even before you heard the commercial, just from that first line. What’s the deal? Got a baby daddy you need to find?”
Becky laughs, and I reach for my wine to give myself a second to gather my thoughts but words fall out before I can. “He’s not my baby daddy.”
“So there is a guy? Spill!”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. If only so you’ll watch the show with me and help me find him.” I give them the story of Will. Sadly, it doesn’t take long.
“You’re an idiot to think you could sue that show,” Shannon says, grabbing another slice of pizza. “Didn’t you read your contract?”
“I’m going to rip your head off with my bare hands,” I say, trying to hide my rage in a joke, “and go bowling with it.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Bite me.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“I read it, Will acted like there was a way around it, and I trusted him. Call me an idiot again and I’ll pop you in the mouth.”
“Before there’s bloodshed,” Becky says as Shannon pretends to cower in fear, “can I make a suggestion? Just Google him.”
“Oh, golly, why didn’t I think of that?” I roll my eyes. “Of course I did. There are a lot of hits for ‘Will Smith’ but they aren’t exactly the ones I’m after.”
She laughs. “Good point. Facebook? Twitter?”
“I tried, a bit,” I say, not wanting to admit exactly how long I’ve spent browsing in search of a picture of him. “But there are so many fan pages and parody Twitter accounts for the other one and I didn’t get anywhere.”
Shannon shrugs. “So give up.”
Becky nudges her. “Nice attitude.”
Bad Will Hunting Page 7
