Kiss the Sky

by Ritchie, Krista

  Now he’s just trying to pointlessly irritate me. “Go annoy someone else,” I snap, “preferably someone from a different universe. Maybe you’ll reunite with your ancestors.”

  I try to shove past him, but he sidesteps and blocks me. “I was talking about your other necklace. The one with more than one diamond.”

  “I have many diamond necklaces, Scott,” I retort, not realizing how bitchy and snobbish I sound until it’s too late.

  “Not this many diamonds,” he says, taking a step closer to me. “The inside is leather.” And then he drifts to the left, stuffing his hands into his pockets and sauntering away.

  I stay frozen, too stunned to force my heel down the stairs.

  He was talking about my collar. My diamond collar.

  The one I only wear during sex.

  And I’ve never had sex outside of the bedroom or anywhere the cameras can film.

  Something is wrong.

  I sense it deep in my gut.

  Dread mixed with paranoia, a nauseous combination, carries my feet downward. I’m on autopilot, trying to shake Scott’s words and continue my daily routine.

  Breakfast. A vanilla yogurt with strawberries and granola and then I’m off to New York to introduce myself to the new Calloway Couture staff.

  My heels clink against the hardwood in determined steps. Two stairs down and I stop, worried thoughts creeping back, despite my urgency to brush them away.

  What the fuck are you doing, Rose? If Scott knows something, I need to confront him. Or talk to Connor. I almost turn around, but I hear the television from the living room below. Two more stairs down, and the voice becomes distinguishable.

  “…a top story. Another Calloway girl in a scandal,” the news anchor says. “This time there’s legitimate proof.”

  Daisy.

  Something happened to Daisy.

  I walk hurriedly, reaching the bottom of the staircase in no time. Loren, Ryke, Lily and Daisy sit on the couch together, their backs facing me. They watch the television above the fireplace, and I march further into the room to have a better look at what’s on screen.

  “Oh shit,” Ryke says, seeing me first.

  Loren quickly snatches the remote, and the television flickers to black.

  I set my hands crossly on my hips and direct my hostility towards my sister’s boyfriend. “I’m not five-years-old, Loren,” I snap. “You can turn on the news.” Especially if it’s about Daisy.

  “No,” Lo says, flipping the remote in his hands nervously. “I’d rather not.”

  Ryke runs his fingers through his brown hair—a clear sign that he’s anxious too.

  Lily and Daisy huddle together on the couch, cupping their hands by their mouths as they whisper. I frown and scan the area for Ben, Savannah, or Brett, but the camera crew is nowhere to be seen.

  That’s…strange.

  And why are my sisters acting like gossipmongers in front of me?

  Unless…

  I refuse to believe what’s right in my face. I don’t want to accept it yet.

  I stomp over to Loren on the couch, my five-inch heels never letting me down. They keep my body sturdily upright, confident and fucking poised. I try to snatch the remote from his hand, but he holds onto the other end tightly—as if we’re about to have a tug-of-war.

  I glower. “Let go, Loren, unless you’d like me to dislocate your arm.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you tired of making all these empty threats?”

  I twist his arm, just like Connor taught me in the self-defense “class” and Lo winces. His grip loosens on the remote, and I take it quickly from his hand.

  As he massages his shoulder, he says, “Bitch.”

  “Yes, but I’m a bitch with real threats.” I power on the television. When the news pops up, I freeze. Again.

  Fixed to the floor. Too cold to move.

  “Bet you feel like a bigger bitch right now,” Loren comments.

  “Shut up, Lo,” Lily calls out. “Rose…”

  I wave her off and turn up the volume. But the headline on the bottom of the screen is vitally clear. Yet, I still have to reread it five times just for the letters to sink in.

  Sex Tape of Rose Calloway and Connor Cobalt Sold to Porn Site for $25 Million

  Porn site.

  Sex tape.

  I didn’t sell shit. That little scumbag forged our signatures to a porn distributor? The only satisfaction right now is picturing Scott’s head behind bars because if I imagine the other thing—everyone watching Connor fuck me—a tingling sensation crawls up my arms like thousands of centipedes.

  The news doesn’t even bother to explain who we are. Through the reality show and blogs, we’re already famous. Now, I suppose, we’re infamous.

  My head buzzes with all the noise from the television, from my friends and sisters. “The producer is none other than Scott Van Wright, Rose’s ex-boyfriend.” I barely catch that line. He’s still my ex-boyfriend? I concentrate on that stupid lie that’s still being aired. When the real shit hits the fan—Scott still manages to keep half his mask on. I hate him.

  I have to be stuck in some fucked up nightmare.

  Loren tries to grab the remote out of my hand, and I jerk back and turn the volume up. “I’m watching this,” I snap. And there I am.

  They play a clip from the sex tape. I’m lying on my bed in this house, naked. Black bars censor the tape for network television, my breasts and vagina sufficiently covered now.

  But somewhere online the unedited version is being circulated. And how can I stop it? Lawyers. Lots of them. But I can’t even bring myself to call my father or to dial the family’s attorney. I am hypnotized by me. On screen. With Connor.

  My arms are tied to the bedpost with Connor’s belt, and the expensive diamond collar glints in the dim candlelight. I remember that night. It was right after the Alps. My second foray into sex and it’s public for everyone to see.

  I turn the volume higher, my finger stuck on the button as it blares.

  “Rose,” Loren complains, his hands on his ears.

  “Rose.” Lily stands and tries to touch my arm, but I jerk away again.

  “Don’t touch me.” I need to see this. No one tells me to turn it down, probably afraid I will kill them for it. I feel murderous. I feel like I could go kill a coalition of baby cheetahs and not bat an eye.

  The news anchor’s voice escalates to an intolerable level. But I don’t lower the television. Not yet. “Scott Van Wright has sold the sex tape to Hot Fire Productions for a multi-million-dollar deal. There’s been no comment yet from either Connor Cobalt or Rose Calloway, but it appears to be a legal transaction between all four parties.”

  My mouth drops. That fucking liar. There is no way in hell this is legal.

  “The summary of the film says the hour-long session is rough and for mature audiences only.” Clearly.

  I turn the volume to the highest level.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Ryke asks, putting a hand to his ear to block the noise. Lily is the only one standing up by my side. Her face twists in pain, and I remember she’s been in this position. Sort of. She’s never had her sex life distributed. No one has seen it online.

  She was just called a sex addict, and everyone took it as truth. Which it was. But this is clear, physical proof that I’ve had sex. I’m no longer a virgin.

  “Maybe she’s like…having a mental break…” Daisy says.

  I spin on my heels, taking the remote hostage with me. I carry myself with some morsel of dignity. In the kitchen, I rummage in a cupboard that squirmy Brett loves to hide his booze under. Since we have a “no alcohol in sight” policy in the townhouse, most everything is kept out of reach. I land on my knees and dig around the dishwasher soaps for the bottle of Jack.

  “Seriously though, Rose!” Lily says loudly, trying to talk over the blaring TV. “Are you okay?”

  I rise to my feet, snagging a wine glass from another cupboard before I return to the liv
ing room. Everyone watches as I pour whiskey to the rim, practically overflowing the glass.

  “Rose, not to lecture you at this really sensitive time in your life,” Loren says, “but that’s not how you drink whiskey. And as an expert in liquor, it offends me.”

  I give him a sharp glare. “You’re not an expert in liquor. You’re an alcoholic.” I set the bottle of Jack on the coffee table and take a large swig. It burns the back of my throat, but I hardly even cringe. The sting is numbed by my anger.

  “Which makes me an expert,” Loren argues.

  I wave him off. My go-to move at this point. Wave it off. If only I could magically wave away that sex tape.

  I take three more gulps from my wine glass. I am so pissed. My body throttles with rage. I am shaking I am so fucking livid. Yes, it’s embarrassing that the world has seen my breasts and vagina, two parts of me that I was unwilling to show Connor for an entire year.

  Yes, I’m slightly nervous the world will view me as a doormat now that they see me gooey and submissive in bed.

  No, I will not cry.

  I won’t shed a tear for Scott Van Wright. He deserves only my nasty, vile words. Not emotions that I reserve for people I love.

  “What’s going on?” Connor asks, his voice coming from the stairs. Perfect. He’s heard my call. The loud, obnoxious television.

  And his gaze traverses to the TV.

  “Look honey,” I say, “we have a sex tape together.”

  Everyone silences, probably wondering if the unflappable Connor Cobalt will suddenly lose his shit. It takes him less than ten seconds to unglue his feet from the floor—beating me by a whole minute. I expect him to take out his phone. To do the responsible thing and start dialing attorneys and crisis management centers.

  Instead, he stops right in front of me. His eyes swim in mine, as if searching for my mental state. I’m fucking fine, I want to scream back. But I choose to take another large swig of the biting whiskey.

  Raw concern encases his features. I want to explain how angry and not sad I am, but the words don’t form. And then he glances at my wine glass. He better not take this away from me like I’m a child. If he pours my drink down the sink—

  And then he snatches the wine glass right out of my hand.

  Before I have time to complain, he puts the rim to his lips. And I go quiet, watching him take a huge, brazen swig—washing away his own fury with the alcohol. I smile. Because we cope in the same way. Not usually with drinking, but with pulling our shoulders back and taking it like a fucking champ.

  He hands the wine glass back to me and says, “Ce n’est pas la fin.” This isn’t the end.

  I nod in agreement. He steals the remote from me and softens everyone’s ears by lowering the volume.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t even check to see who it is. I just sit on the armrest of the couch and watch the television.

  “…Princesses of Philly has promoted Rose as a virgin. Many people are speaking out about the validity of the show…”

  Connor changes the channel to cable.

  “…either she lied or she lost her virginity during the time of the show. Go to our website for a poll—” He flips to another station.

  I yell spitefully at the flat screen, “The world doesn’t have ANYTHING better to do than talk about my virginity?!” I motion to the TV with my drink.

  “Or lack thereof,” Loren adds.

  I ignore that comment and turn to Connor. “My vagina has trumped national news.” I let out a manic laugh. “What do you think our friends from Model UN would say about that?”

  Connor’s eyes rake me like he’s diagnosing my hysteria.

  I ignore that too.

  After a quick moment, he sidles behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He presses his lips to my shoulder. I lean back against his chest. It feels familiar and warm, safe even, knowing that I have someone here—on my team.

  Daisy clicks away on her laptop. “It looks like most people are voting in favor of you in polls. They say that you can’t be a liar or a hypocrite. Not when you’ve stated in the show that you would—and I quote—‘jam my five-inch heel in the eye or asshole of liars and cheaters.’”

  That was a little dramatic, even for me. But the interviews riled me to a new degree, and I spouted every threat I could think of. Like roasting Scott’s penis by flinging it at the sun. I would love to execute that one if humanly possible.

  Tink, tink, tink. Little bells clank together as Sadie pads over to our group. She looks as feral as I feel. And a wicked, crazy impulse drives through me. I disentangle from Connor’s safe embrace.

  “Rose,” Connor says, half with worry and half with warning.

  I don’t listen. Still holding my wine glass, I squat down in front of the tabby cat. She’s a hostile bitch (like me). She has scratched my arms. Hissed at me. And I swear she pissed on my Jimmy Choos, although I can’t confirm that.

  But in this moment, I feel invincible from all offenses. The media. Scott. And this fucking cat. I reach out to her.

  “Don’t do it!” Lily yells at me from beside the couch. “You’re going to lose an eye.”

  Ignoring my sister, I slip my palm underneath Sadie’s furry belly and pick her right up with one hand, my other still clutching onto the stem of the wine glass. I stand and stare straight into her eyes that almost match the color of mine. I am channeling my hatred into one supreme death glare.

  Sadie moves and Lily lets out an audible gasp.

  But the cat doesn’t claw me. No.

  She licks me. Her scratchy little tongue brushes against my chin like a puppy and not a feline.

  “What the fuck?” Ryke says in shock.

  I hold her close to my body and she purrs against my chest. “We’re friends now,” I state the obvious and take another sip from my wine glass.

  “Or she thinks you’ve grown balls,” Loren refutes.

  “I’ve always had them,” I say, offended. I turn to see Connor who stares with concern and a little bit of fear. The bottom of my stomach drops in effect. He can see right through the barriers I build to protect myself.

  I’m okay, I try to convey the words through my eyes. But I’m not so sure I succeed.

  Lily’s phone rings loudly on her lap. “Shit, it’s Dad.” She looks between Connor and me. “What do you want me to do?”

  I don’t say anything. I just kiss Sadie’s head as she continues to nuzzle into my ribs. Her change of demeanor calms me and gives me a little more strength.

  Connor mutes the television and takes the phone from Lily, putting it on speaker. “Greg, this is Connor.” His voice is relaxed, even if his tense posture and hard eyes don’t agree.

  “Good, I’ve been trying to call you and Rose. I assume you’ve seen the news,” he says quickly, his anger underneath his urgency. “I’m on the phone with my attorneys and Cobalt’s. We’re looking through the contracts all of you signed. Until we can come to a clear picture of what’s going on, I need you to get my daughters out of that townhouse. No more cameras.”

  Translation: Princesses of Philly is cancelled.

  Hooray. I can hardly celebrate “no more Scott” when the result came at the expense of my name and image. And then it hits me like a freight train—Calloway Couture. Everything I’ve worked for can go to hell all over again. This sex tape could ruin my fashion career.

  And I care. A lot.

  My stomach roils like I need to puke. I think I may vomit. I hold my belly, and Connor puts a firm hand on my shoulder, squeezing tightly to reassure me that he’s here, that everything is going to work itself out.

  I try to believe it.

  “We’ll pack today and leave,” Connor says to my father.

  “Let me know when you make it safely back to Princeton. If there’s too much press around the house, you should all stay at our place in Villanova.”

  “Sure,” Connor says. “Do you know where Scott is?”

  “No idea, but Loren’s father
is about to rip him a new asshole. To be honest, I’d love to see it happen.” My dad can be as soft as a flower petal whereas Jonathan Hale is the thorn. “Is Rose around?”

  “She’s on speaker.”

  “Rose,” my father says, his voice turning gentle. “Honey, how many lawyers looked over the contract before you signed it?”

  Everyone stares at me, waiting for the answer. I already sense their judgment. I stroke Sadie who purrs again. She’s my only ally. “Just me,” I say.

  “What…the fuck?” Ryke says, his mouth falling.

  Loren groans, leaning back into the couch like a wave crashed into him. “Why did we trust you?”

  Connor rubs his eyes and shakes his head.

  Lily looks petrified.

  Daisy’s face is frozen solid.

  “I’ve taken multiple law classes at Princeton,” I refute. “I understood every line of that contract.” I’ve always shared Achilles’ fatal flaw. Hubris. Excessive pride. I couldn’t look weak in front of Scott, so I decided to do everything myself. I needed no one’s help.

  And if I misread any line in that contract, it’s going to cost me. And Connor.

  My dad lets out a disgruntled sound. “It’ll…be complicated from here on out, Rose. I’ll talk to you when the lawyers have read through the contracts in detail.”

  “Wait,” I say. “How’s Mother handling this?”

  “Terrific, actually. She’s been slinging Scott’s name in the mud all around the house. She said she’d call and apologize to you later today, Connor.” I can hear my father smile by the end of that statement. Connor shares it. Her precious Scott showed his true self today. I’m glad that my mother is back on my boyfriend’s team.

  “Stay safe. All of you,” my father says.

  With this, he hangs up. No mention of the actual sex tape, no chiding. He only seemed disappointed by my refusal to grab a lawyer.

  Connor gives me a reprimanding look as he hands the phone back to Lily. “I thought you took my lawyer to the meeting, and I thought he read the contracts.”

  “I thought I told you I left him behind.”

  Connor shakes his head. “You must have mentioned that to someone else, darling.” He takes my wine glass again and finishes it off with one long gulp.