by A. V. Geiger
“You handled it just right, Fred Astaire.” Maury waved away Eric’s worries, gesturing with the cell phone in his hand. “That was a gift from the heavens last night. The videos are going viral. We couldn’t have staged a better PR stunt if we tried.”
Eric took a step back and leaned heavily against the dressing table. He cast a suspicious glance at Maury’s face. A PR stunt… That was just another of his manager’s bad jokes, right? The publicists would never go quite that far.
Eric couldn’t help but wonder, though, about the press release this morning. Not a knife in the girl’s hand? Some kind of metallic pen? He remembered the sound as it fell from her grasp and clattered to the stage. It hadn’t sounded like any pen he ever encountered before…
Eric fisted both his hands. Paranoia. That’s all it was. Maury would have told him if she’d really had a knife. The publicists might lie to the press, but not to him. They had his back. He looked at his manager again. “We’re pressing charges, right? Why haven’t the police come by to take my statement?”
Maury rested a hand on Eric’s shoulder, wrinkling his nose at the sticky makeup residue. “Listen to me, kid. Relax. Your fans love you. They don’t want to hurt you. That one just got a little overexcited.”
“You didn’t see the look in her eyes!” Eric brushed his manager’s hand away, frustration welling in his chest. “What if she tries to do it again? Maury, I danced with her. I put my arms around her.”
“You did what you had to do to get her off the stage.”
“I know, but I totally played into all her sick fantasies. It’ll only encourage her more!” Eric’s voice rose with emotion, but his manager wasn’t even paying attention. Maury had his eyes cast down instead at Eric’s cell phone.
The sight of it struck Eric with a new wave of dread. Crap. He just remembered which Twitter account he’d been using when Maury grabbed it.
“Not half-bad,” his manager said. “A little washed out, but you kinda got the Greek god marble statue thing going on. It’ll work.”
“What’ll work?” Eric snatched the phone and looked at the screen, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t see Twitter. Maury must have closed it when he opened the camera app. No way his manager could’ve noticed the username on the account.
Still, Eric chastised himself for his carelessness. He needed to keep his wits about him. Talk about a near miss.
“Social media wants you to tweet a selfie,” Maury said.
Eric eyed the photo that his manager had snapped. Maury had caught him in profile, with one eyebrow raised in surprise, and the muscles of his bare chest and shoulders rippling as he turned. The tacky layer of grease on his skin reflected the light from the flashbulb like a sheen of sweat after a hard workout. Not an unflattering look, Eric had to admit. The makeup people knew what they were doing.
“This? They want me to tweet this?”
Maury nodded. “Sure. Show you survived unscathed, and keep the buzz going for the music video.”
“Oh great.” Eric rolled his eyes. “Hey, I have an idea! Run this by the label, why don’t you? Maybe we could get some buzz going for the video by—I don’t know—releasing the song? There’s going to be a song involved, right? Or is this video just silent footage of me getting molested by evil fangirls?”
Maury glowered back, all trace of humor fading from his face. He glanced at his watch impatiently. “You know what, Eric? Don’t worry about it. I’ll tweet it for you.”
The manager reached for the phone again, but Eric saw him coming this time. He jerked the phone away, out of Maury’s reach, perhaps a bit more violently than necessary. “Don’t touch my phone, OK? This is my personal cell.”
“Whoa!” Maury put up his hands in defense. “Just trying to help, big guy. You got something on there that I should know about?”
Eric ignored the question. He prayed that the pancake makeup would cover the guilty flush of color prickling his cheeks. “I’ll send the tweet,” he said, turning his face away. “Just give me a little space, please. Like three inches of personal space. That’s all I’m asking.”
“Sure,” Maury replied. He waved an arm expansively around the six-foot-wide trailer. “You got the whole place to yourself, kid. Just send the tweet and get yourself ready to start shooting. The director’s going to call for you in five.”
12
DESENSITIZING
Breathe in.
Hold.
Eric one…Eric two…Eric three…Eric Thorn…Eric five…
Tessa let her breath out with a slow sigh, visualizing the ball of tension in her chest rising up through her throat and out of her mouth like a puff of smoke. The breathing exercises that Dr. Regan taught her usually had some effect, but not today. Not after that scene she’d just witnessed on TV and the creepy DM conversation afterward.
She never should have gone on Twitter. She’d vowed to herself that she wouldn’t—not until today’s desensitization exercise was complete. Now Tessa only had a few more moments to undo the damage. She could already hear her mother’s heavy footsteps on the stairs.
“Tessa? Are you ready?”
Tessa buried her face in her hands. She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her TV, with the image of Eric’s face still freeze-framed on the screen. Tessa grabbed for the remote. The picture faded to black just as her mother entered.
“Watching TV?” Her mother had a work bag slung over her shoulder and a white cardboard box in one hand. She set them both down heavily on Tessa’s dresser and strode over to the window to open the horizontal blinds. Then she pulled up the window sash with a jerk.
“Mom, don’t!” Tessa raised her arm to shield herself from the sudden burst of sunlight and the gust of crisp fall air. “Close the window!”
“It smells like dirty sweat socks in here.”
“Just close the blinds at least!” Tessa said, turning her back. “Please, Mom. Someone could see.”
Her mother answered with a heavy sigh, but she complied with the request. Tessa felt the jagged edge of panic ease at the sound of the blinds clattering closed.
Not that she felt relaxed now. Not even close. They would have to reschedule the desensitization exercise for another day.
Tessa opened her mouth to say so, but she hesitated at the sight of her mom’s outfit: hospital scrubs, rumpled and stained after a long overnight shift. Her mother had rearranged her whole work schedule to make time for this today. Tessa could just imagine the explosion when her mom found out that she had worked a night shift for nothing.
“Why aren’t you dressed, Tessa?” Her mother eyed her with hands on hips. “You’re going outside like that?”
Tessa looked down guiltily. She’d started to put on clothes when she first got up that morning, but the Today Show had stopped her in her tracks. Now, she still wore her cotton pj’s from last night, with a pair of fuzzy, hot-pink bunny slippers.
“Bright eyed and bushy tailed,” Tessa mumbled.
“Fine.” Her mother stifled a yawn. “Whatever. Come on. I’m tired. Let’s get this over with. Are you coming?”
Tessa gulped, working up the courage to break the news. “Can we do it later, Mom?” she asked in small voice.
“No, we can’t do it later. I need to sleep!”
Tessa chewed on her lower lip. Should she try to go through with it after all? Maybe she could do her breathing exercises on the way downstairs…
Her mother picked up the white cardboard box again, and her tone softened as she opened the lid to reveal the contents: a half dozen freshly glazed donuts. “Krispy Kreme,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. “Come on, I swiped these from the nurses’ station. We can sit out on the front stoop and eat.”
Tessa pulled in a deep breath and held it for a five count. Then she nodded resolutely and took a step toward the bedroom door.
Small steps, she reminded herself. One foot in front of the other. She could do this. No big deal.
She made it to the top
of the stairs before her confidence started to waver. Her ears registered the sound of a low rumble from outside. Was that a passing car?
“Mom, maybe we should go on the back deck instead,” Tessa said. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Still outside, but at least it was protected from view of the road. The rickety, old deck jutted out over a ten-foot drop-off. Tessa always used to love it back there: her own private hideaway, suspended in the air, peaceful and secluded.
Her mother didn’t break stride as she replied over her shoulder. “No way.”
“Why not?” Tessa trailed her mother quickly down the stairs.
“No one’s used that deck for years. The railing’s rotted through. Only a matter of time before someone falls and breaks their neck.”
Tessa scowled, wishing her mother would stop for one second to discuss. She hit the bottom landing and rushed onward. “I thought you were getting that fixed,” she said.
“With what, Tessa? All that money went to a certain someone’s college fund.”
Tessa didn’t miss the bite in her mother’s tone. She knew a guilt trip when she heard one. Her mother had been livid when Tessa had deferred freshman year of college, months after the nonrefundable tuition deposit had already been paid. Tessa had promised that it was only a temporary setback. She’d head off to college once her recovery was far enough along.
Now here they were, a week into the fall semester, and Tessa had yet to trade her bunny slippers for an actual pair of shoes.
“OK then.” Tessa drew in a shaky breath. “Front stoop it is.”
She could do the front stoop. She must have run down those steps a million times over the course of her childhood. She just needed to shut her mind off. Focus on the task at hand.
Her mother reached for the door, but she stopped and stepped aside. She knew the drill. The two of them had been doing these desensitization exercises for weeks now. It was Tessa’s job to open the door herself.
“Sometime this century, perhaps?”
“Mom, I’m trying,” Tessa said. “I’m almost there.”
The door loomed before her, and Tessa closed her eyes.
Breathe in.
Eric one…Eric two…Eric three—
“For goodness sake, Tessa. It’s just a doorknob!”
But Tessa didn’t hear her mother’s voice. Not anymore. When her eyes reopened, she didn’t see her own front door at all.
Tessa’s head swiveled wildly as she tried to orient herself, but the edges of her vision had gone black. Tunnel vision. The area that remained visible slowly constricted. Soon she would be blind. And where she couldn’t see, she could sense the lurking menace all around her.
The rational corner of her mind gave way as the mindless fear overtook her. Tessa staggered against a side table as the memory crashed down. She was somewhere else now. Not her childhood home. A darkened hallway…a different door…fiddling with an unfamiliar lock, with the sound of those shuffling footsteps coming up behind her… Her head swam as her clumsy fingers fumbled, and for a moment she thought she would fall. Only the fear kept her upright. The terror that she wouldn’t get the door open before…before…
Her vision clouded over completely, and the blood in her veins turned to ice. She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on her upper arm. “No!” she cried, wrenching free.
“OK, sweetheart. Take it easy.” Her mother kneeled beside her, pulling the hair out of Tessa’s face. “You’re OK. Let’s go back upstairs and get your pills. Are you dizzy? Are you going to faint?”
Tessa barely heard, her thoughts still fragmented with all-consuming terror. She never should have left her room. Not today. She knew how it would go. Now she stood unsteadily and allowed her mom to lead her toward the narrow stairwell, all the while trying desperately to block out the images from her mind.
Think about something else.
Anything.
Anything else.
Like the click of a deadbolt, her mind switched over to a different scene. Two figures danced before her. A waltz around a stage. Then he stood alone in the center, dabbing at his chest with a bloodied towel.
“Eric,” Tessa whispered. She knew she was projecting, but she didn’t care. Defense mechanisms had their purpose. She let her words tumble out, unchecked. “How can they laugh about it? He was bleeding! What if she had a knife? It’s not funny! How can they all think it was funny?”
They reached her bedroom door now. Tessa lunged across the room for the bottle of anxiety pills by her bed as her mother tried to make sense of the jumbled words. “Who had a knife? Tessa, did someone at your summer program have a knife?”
“What? No. I’m not talking about that.” Tessa quickly palmed two pills and let them dissolve under her tongue.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She sprawled across her bed, overwhelmed with the urge to be alone. She felt the heavy blanket of anxiety still smothering the breath out of her. It would lift soon, she told herself. Any minute now, the drug would take effect. “I’m OK,” she said. “Just leave me alone, please.”
Her mother lingered in the doorway, a crease of concern between her eyes. “Sweetheart, if someone came at you with a knife, you need to—”
“No,” Tessa moaned. “Forget it. It wasn’t even about me. I was talking about Eric.”
“Who?”
“Eric Thorn! A fan attacked him. It was on the Today Show just now.” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the TV.
“Eric Tho—this is a celebrity you’re talking about?”
Tessa saw her mother’s face change, the mask of worry replaced by irritable impatience.
“It was scary,” Tessa said.
“Unbelievable. A singer. Something happened to some singer, and that’s it? We’re done? You know I changed my whole schedule—”
“I know!” Tessa cut her off. “I’m sorry! You don’t understand. I tried to tell you. I’m not in the right place mentally today—”
She broke off as her mother knelt to pick something up by the foot of the bed. She tossed the object in Tessa’s direction, and it bounced beside her on the mattress: the TV remote control.
“Here. Go ahead. Watch your Today Show.”
“Mom,” Tessa said miserably. “Don’t. I’m sorry.”
The bedroom door slammed as her mother left the room, but Tessa could still hear her grumbling all the way down the hall. “That’s fine, Tessa. Take your time. I’m going to bed. When you’re in the right place mentally, let me know.”
13
EXPOSED
“OK, thanks, everyone. Take ten.”
Eric gingerly disentangled his limbs from one of his delightful new love interests. Olga or Oksana? He couldn’t say for sure. Day four of shooting, and he still couldn’t keep their names straight. Neither could the film crew, from what Eric could tell. Maybe the director should have thought of that before he cast a pair of Latvian identical twins to star in the latest music video.
Music video, Eric thought with a grim smile. What a joke. Ever since the Billboard charts started counting YouTube views, the whole video business had taken an ugly turn. They should dispense with the pretense and call it what it was: soft-core porn. A footrace to see who could expose the most flesh without getting banned by the FCC.
Eric slipped a robe around his shoulders and ran a towel across his face to rub away the lipstick stains. Makeup would have to touch him up before he undressed again for the next scene, but that could wait. Right now, he needed privacy. He’d passed the last several hours shooting the threesome scene with his lovely costars, and he’d spent the entire time with his mind on someone else.
Eric glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one followed him back to his trailer. Then he eagerly whipped out his phone. He’d sent out the selfie before shooting began, but he hadn’t found a spare moment to check for a response.
Eric Thorn @EricThorn
Selfie day! Tweet me a selfie wherever yo
u are at this exact moment, and maybe we’ll use it in the new #MusicVideo
He had to hand it to himself: one of his more ingenious Twitter ploys. He needed something to look forward to today—anything to take his mind off yesterday’s ugliness at the concert. The answer had come to him this morning as he sat staring at his selfie, struggling to compose a caption. He’d been wondering for weeks now what Tessa looked like. He didn’t dare ask her for a pic. But this was perfect. She was sure to send one. After all, it wasn’t just some random stranger off the Internet asking to see her. It was her idol. Her obsession. Her true love, Eric Thorn.
Had she seen it? He scrolled eagerly through the replies.
The response was overwhelming, of course. His notifications overflowed with pictures of teenage girls making faces at their phones. Kissy faces. Duck faces. Oh look! One of them made a GIF of herself twerking. He scrolled past all of them, scanning for the only username he cared about. Where was it? Hadn’t she sent one?
He didn’t have time to wade through all the noise. He entered her name into the search bar to pull up her profile. There it was at the top of her recent tweets:
Tessa H @TessaHeartsEric
@EricThorn Here’s a kiss from someone cute. Glad you’re OK!
pic.twitter.com/1cdI6DZmTe
Eric bit his lip as he clicked to expand the picture. He couldn’t help but laugh at what he saw. She’d arrayed a mountain of Eric Thorn fan paraphernalia at the head of her bed: poster, T-shirt, coffee mugs, CD cases… Was that a pillowcase with his face on it? The only sign of her own presence in the photo were her feet, decked out in a pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers. She had one bunny positioned next to the poster, kissing his image on the cheek.
Eric shook his head. So frustrating! He couldn’t see anything. Hell, he couldn’t even tell how big her feet were!
Still, he couldn’t erase the grin plastered across his face. Here’s a kiss from someone cute. She was awfully cute, wasn’t she? Even if he couldn’t see what she looked like, at least she made him smile. Probably the first real smile that had crossed his face all day.