by Lauren Rowe
“I understand the meaning of your words, yes,” I reply, echoing Savage’s comment a moment ago. His arm is still around my shoulders and I want to show him the solidarity he clearly thinks he’s showing me. But when Nadine’s eyes harden, I can’t help adding, “I’m willing to do my best to deliver what you want, if I can. I’m just not sure, at this point, that I can.”
“Oh, I have faith in you,” Nadine replies, and her tone makes me feel like there’s a subtextual “or else” hidden in her statement. With a plastic smile, she slaps her thighs and rises from her armchair. “Show us ‘Vintage Savage and Laila’ tomorrow, during the last round of auditions, and then during Draft Day and Mentor Day, too. After that, we’ll take the long holiday break to regroup and figure out where we want to take things from there.”
“Mm-hmm,” I say, as my stomach twists and clenches.
I look at Savage to find him silently staring Nadine down.
“So,” Nadine says brightly, “do either of you have any fun plans for the holidays?”
As a matter of fact, during our three weeks off, Savage and I have lots of fun plans. The morning after shooting ends, Savage and I will head to Chicago to visit Mimi and Sasha. After spending three days with Savage’s family, I’ll fly back to California to spend Christmas day with my family, while Savage remains in Chicago with his. A few days after that, Savage and I will reunite in LA for a couple days before flying to Cabo to relax and celebrate the new year. The trip is Savage’s generous Christmas gift to me, and I can’t wait. After that, as the first episodes of the show begin airing, Savage and I will return to our fake love nest in LA to relax and gear up for the weekly singing competition to come. But sitting here now, I don’t know if Savage would want me to mention any of that to Nadine. In fact, based on the way Savage has reacted to Nadine during this conversation, I’m quite certain he wouldn’t want me telling her a damned thing about our private life.
“We’re just going to relax and spend the holidays with our families,” I reply.
Nadine looks at Savage and he nods.
“Sounds fun,” Nadine says. She tells us about her holiday plans—she’s taking her family to Hawaii. She’s getting her daughter a puppy for Christmas. Blah, blah. As Nadine speaks, I can barely breathe, as my mind races along with my pulse. Finally, Nadine bids us a good evening and heads toward the door of Savage’s dressing room. Before exiting, though, she turns around and shoots us a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks again for doing such a great job, guys.” She looks at Savage. “Especially you, Savage. The audience is going to fall even more in love with you when these audition episodes air.” With that, she turns and leaves. And I’m suddenly positive my days on the show are numbered, if I don’t deliver precisely what Nadine has requested. Maybe even if I do.
Fifteen
Savage
“This is a disaster!” Laila whisper-shouts as we tumble into the backseat of our SUV. We shot the final batch of auditions today, during which there’s no doubt we didn’t deliver “Vintage Savage and Laila,” as requested by Nadine yesterday. Not even close. On the contrary, we were every bit as enamored and enthralled with each other, as ever. And now, Laila is freaking the fuck out.
If I’m being honest, I didn’t actually try to change course or deliver any semblance of what Nadine asked for yesterday. Why would I? I have no desire to return to any sort of toxic, angry dynamic with Laila—to mess with the blissful happiness I’ve found with her these past weeks. Not for any reason. But certainly not to please the executive producer of some reality TV singing competition that’s contractually obligated to pay me, regardless.
Even if I were only “pretending” to be a dick to Laila again, I worry I might genuinely hurt her feelings somehow. And I don’t want to risk that. So, all day long, I’ve sat back and let Laila take the lead in delivering the “hate-lust” dynamic Nadine requested yesterday. And guess what? Laila has followed my lead. She’s returned my every smile, laughed at my jokes, and squeezed my hand every time I’ve squeezed hers. And before I knew it, the shooting day was done, and Laila and I had given the audience a whole lot more of the same—a blissfully happy couple that adores each other, can’t keep their hands off each other, and laughs at each other’s jokes. Even the stupid ones. And I’m not sorry about it. Not even a little bit.
Our usual bodyguard closes the door behind Laila as she gets settled into the back seat of the SUV next to me. “It’s a disaster,” Laila mutters, repeating her earlier refrain. “A total and complete disaster!”
I chuckle and pull her to me. “I think you should pick another word besides ‘disaster,’ babe. Repeating the same word, over and over, makes it lose its punch.”
“Catastrophe. Calamity. Crisis. Any word you want to use, today wasn’t good.”
“Fuck Nadine. The audience will love seeing us happy and the ratings will reflect that. And if not, oh well. You and I will get paid the same amount, either way. We’ll flip Nadine the bird on our way to the bank, baby.”
The car heads toward the exit of the studio’s parking lot, and Laila looks out her window, her body language stiff and encumbered. In fact, she looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
“You worry too much, Fitzy,” I say. “I’m telling you, the audience will love us being happy.”
I wait for her to reply, to smile and exhale and say I’m right. And when she doesn’t, I sigh and pick up my phone to reply to some texts from throughout the day. I deal with a group chat from Reed Rivers about my band’s imminent album release. I text Sasha to confirm my upcoming travel plans and shoot a quick selfie video for Sasha to show Mimi when she wakes up in the morning, since I’ve unfortunately missed singing Mimi to sleep again, the same thing that’s happened the past few nights, thanks to Mimi’s exhaustion from the move into the new house, my busy shooting schedule with the show, and the time difference between Chicago and LA. And, finally, last but not least, I reply to a text from my best friend, who’s expressed excitement about joining the show tomorrow afternoon for Mentor Day.
Me: I can’t wait for you to see the bullshit dog and pony show for yourself, KC. This show is everything I hate, all rolled into one. Thank God for Laila sitting there with me.
Kendrick: Speaking of Laila, I’ve acquired some fascinating information that relates to her supposed fling with Charlie the Fitness Trainer during the tour.
Me: It’s not a supposed fling. Laila confirmed it herself when I saw her at the awards show.
Kendrick: She lied. In the middle of our training session today, Charlie got a phone call from his HUSBAND. I guess it’s possible Charlie is a bisexual adulterer, but I think the more likely scenario is that you’re a paranoid nut job and Laila is a liar who knows how to push your buttons to maximum effect. LMFAO!
My heart lurching into my throat, I look at Laila sitting next to me in the car, to find her texting away on her phone, and an unexpected torrent of conflicting emotions floods me. Anger, relief, rejection. Anger that Laila took my jealousy and paranoia and stoked it, solely to mess with me. Relief that Laila didn’t fuck Charlie on the tour, as I’ve thought for so long.
But, mostly, I’m feeling acute rejection in this moment. As jealous as I was to think of Laila choosing Charlie over me during the last month of the tour, a piece of me found weird solace in that idea. If Laila hadn’t jumped into something with me after the amazing night of the hot tub, then I had to come up with some reason for that. Someone else had caught her eye. Someone else had stolen her away from me. Someone else had made it possible for her to resist me. Well, why not Charlie? He’s handsome and buff. A good guy, from what I can tell. And Laila made it clear, every time she was near him in my vicinity, that she liked him.
So, if Charlie isn’t the reason Laila didn’t come to my room, not even once, then what the fuck! I’m right back to feeling literal madness at trying to figure that woman out! How and why did she stay away from me for so long after Phoenix? If Laila di
dn’t start fucking Charlie after the night of the hot tub, then . . . does that mean she stayed away from me . . . simply because she’d lost interest in me? Because I hadn’t rocked her world, the way she’d rocked mine? Because she simply didn’t want me, the way I so desperately wanted her? Every single thought I’m having in this moment feels like a dagger not only to my ego, but to my heart.
With my pulse thumping loudly in my ears, I tap out a reply to Kendrick:
Me: I didn’t see that one coming. Gotta go. See you at the studio tomorrow.
Kendrick: Hold up. Call me now.
Me: Can’t. Sitting next to Laila in a car.
Kendrick: Don’t do it.
Me: Don’t do what?
Kendrick: Whatever scheme is already taking root inside your twisted brain. I only told you about Charlie’s husband to free you from the batshit jealousy you’ve been holding onto since the tour. Don’t turn around and throw this in Laila’s face. Don’t try to coax her into a conversation about Charlie so you can catch her in another round of lies. Let bygones be bygones, Savage. You’re happy now. BE HAPPY.
Me: I’m not going to throw this in Laila’s face. I’m not even going to mention it to her.
Kendrick: You lied to Laila, too, remember? In fact, you lied first about that waitress in NYC, and then about all those women you brought into her dressing rooms. Call it even and let it go. Otherwise, if you bring this up to her, you’d better be ready to tell her all the shit you lied about, too. And WHY you lied to her. The FEELINGS you were having when you did all that. Are you ready to open up about how obsessed and crazy you were, behind the scenes?
Me: Not even a little bit.
Kendrick: That’s what I thought. So, keep your big mouth shut.
Me: I will. Thanks for the info. Gotta go.
I plop my phone down onto the seat, facedown, between Laila and me, while Laila keeps tapping away on her phone. Why didn’t she want me the way I wanted her, during that last month of the tour? I just don’t get it.
“Who are you texting with?” I ask, when she still hasn’t looked up.
“Aloha.”
“You were with her all day.”
Laila calls up to our driver. “Hey, Mike, could you turn up the music, please?” When music starts blaring loudly, Laila looks sheepishly at me. She says, “I have something I need to tell you. It’s something I’m contractually not supposed to tell you or anyone else. But, screw it. I’ve already told Aloha and I don’t want to keep this from you any longer.”
My stomach twists. “Okay.”
Laila takes a deep breath. “I kept this from you because I didn’t want to burden you with it, or make you change the way you acted on-camera. I thought if you knew what I’m about to tell you, you might act differently on-camera, in a way that didn’t seem natural.”
“Spit it out, Laila.”
She bites her lip and exhales. “There’s a termination clause in my contract. A buy-out clause, by which the show can send me packing, at their sole discretion, at any time, without prior notice, by paying me a hundred grand.”
“A hundred grand? Jesus, Laila. No.”
She nods.
“A hundred grand is peanuts to them!” I whisper-shout, running my hand through my hair. “No wonder you’ve been so stressed out about what Nadine said yesterday.”
“I’m obviously on the chopping block, especially after we didn’t deliver today.”
“You should have told me about this the minute Nadine left my dressing room last night, Laila!”
“I didn’t want to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. Plus, I thought I could handle this on my own. But after today, when you were so sweet to me and I didn’t have the heart to be anything but sweet back to you, I realized I can’t do this alone. Everything depends on me delivering ‘Vintage Savage and Laila’ tomorrow. It’s my last chance to hit a homerun before the long break. After shooting was over for today, Nadine popped into my dressing room while I was changing and made it clear she was pissed about our ‘happy couple’ routine today. She didn’t say this, explicitly, but her demeanor made me think they’re going to fire me during the break if we don’t hit it out of the ballpark tomorrow, exactly like she’s requested.”
My heart feels like it’s exploding. “They can’t fire you. They’re contractually obligated to let you perform in the finale, remember?”
“Okay, so maybe they’ll invite me back to let me sing. Yet another chance for huge ratings.”
“But we’re picking four teams tomorrow. The whole audition process has been built around you being one of the judges.”
“That’d be an easy fix. They could fire me during the break, say we broke up and I didn’t want to return to the show. And then, they’d parcel off the contestants on my team to the three remaining judges and finish out the season with three judges, like always. Just think about the ratings if they did all that, Savage! They’d have a self-created ‘scandal.’ A big ‘mess’ they’d have to scramble to fix. Don’t you think everyone would tune in to see that? Not to mention, to see how poor Savage is doing after his breakup with Laila? I haven’t slept a wink since Nadine talked to us in your dressing room, and I’ve looked at it from every angle. I’ve decided I’m not paranoid. They’re going to fire me during the break, Savage. I can feel it. Unless we deliver what Nadine asked. And even then, I might be toast, regardless.”
“Well, fuck that. I won’t let them fire you,” I say, my jaw tight. “If that’s what they ultimately decide to do, then I’ll tell them I won’t do the show without you.”
Laila’s face melts with affection for me. She touches my cheek gently and smiles ruefully. “Thank you, but I’d never let you do that. You’re contractually obligated to do the show. You’d have a lawsuit on your hands.”
“I don’t care. I’m not doing the show without you, Laila. That was a basic condition of me doing the show. Doing it with you.”
“No, it wasn’t. You agreed to do it, long before you knew I’d be anything but Aloha’s one-episode mentor. Plus, the whole reason you signed onto the show was for Mimi. And that reason still stands today, more than ever.”
I feel flooded with panic. But I manage to say, “Okay, let’s not panic here. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but I know something you don’t. Something that proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they won’t fire you, whether we deliver ‘Vintage Savage and Laila’ tomorrow or not.”
She looks at me hopefully, her blue eyes wide and brimming with hope.
I glance toward the front of the vehicle, to make sure our driver and bodyguard can’t overhear me, despite the loud music. And when it’s clear they’re enmeshed in their own conversation, I return to Laila and grab her hand. “There’s a dangling carrot in my contract, baby. They’ll pay me a fat bonus—a quarter mill—if I get down on bended knee and propose to you, right after we perform our duet in the finale.”
Laila gasps. “No.”
I nod. “They didn’t want me telling you about it, to ensure you had an ‘authentic reaction’ on-camera. And, honestly, I’ve never told you about it, anyway, because there’s no way I’m going to do it. But the mere fact the bonus is hanging out there proves you’ve got nothing to worry about. Why would they offer me a bonus to propose to you in the finale, if they’re not planning to keep you around until the finale?”
Laila’s shoulders slump. The hope in her eyes a moment ago fades. Clearly, she doesn’t find my logic as compelling as I do. “I don’t think we can rely on that clause to protect me, honey. I think they’re preserving themselves all sorts of potential storylines, depending on what happens, from week to week. You know, hedging their bets. If I’m still around for the finale, then maybe you’d choose to earn that bonus. But if they don’t keep me around, then that’s fine, because they’ve got a Plan B that will work, too. That’s what Rhoda told me they do on The Engagement Experiment, all the time. She worked on that show with Nadine for five seasons, remember? When she came to the
house and spilled all the tea, her stories made it clear the producers of that show always hedge their bets. They manipulate the contestants in lots of different ways, and then run with whatever storyline begins taking shape. Savage, you wouldn’t believe the stuff they do to people to manipulate their emotions and actions on that show. I think Nadine has taken a page out of her old playbook.”
I process that for a moment. “Okay, then. If you’re genuinely worried about this, then I’ll do my best to be more of a dick to you tomorrow, so you can fight fire with fire, and we can deliver ‘Vintage Savage and Laila,’ like Nadine wants.”
Laila sighs with relief. “Thank you. I don’t know if I’m capable of scowling at you anymore, let alone being a bitch to you. I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to pick a fight with me tomorrow to get the ball rolling.”
“Hell no! You’ll have to be a bitch to me first, or I’ll come off like a misogynistic asshole. Like I’m punching down. I’ll play along and give almost as good as I get, but you’re going to have to be the one to get the ball rolling.” Laila snuggles into me and I put my arm around her. “It’ll be fine, baby,” I coo softly. “You’ll be a bitch to me and I’ll fight fire with fire, and we’ll be everything Nadine wants and more.”
She sighs like there’s a hundred-pound weight resting on her chest, and my heart pangs in reply.
“I don’t know if I’m capable of being a bitch to you anymore, Adrian. You fucking bastard. You’ve tamed the shrew.”
I can’t help chuckling. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It is. I can’t even imagine how mortified I’d be if I got fired from the show. The list of fired judges, forevermore, would be me and Hugh Delaney.” She makes a guttural, disgusted sound. “Let’s face it. The word ‘disaster’ really does say it best.”
