Say It Sexy

by Virna DePaul

  “I think you all know why I called you here today,” Lyle’s voice announced, breaking me out of my reverie.

  I looked up to find Garrick, Shane, Tyler, Erica, Alice, and a slew of other extras seated around the table. When had they all come in?

  From the behavior Garrick had demonstrated toward me, I inferred that he had no desire to reconcile the damage done. Why would he? Garrick had said he was falling in love with me, and I had thrown that back in his face in front of my father. We’d never recover from that. He had not failed me that night. He had fought—played his strongest hand in my defense. I had folded.

  Lyle clapped his hands together and rubbed them excitedly. “Tomorrow, we have our very first open press panel at Winrock Mall.”

  “Woohoo!” Shane cheered, thrusting his fist upwards. I wished I could have shared in his joy even as Tyler rolled his eyes.

  Chuckling, Lyle pushed his glasses up his nose. “They’ll be holding it in the open store space adjoining the food court. I’m sure you’re all as eager as I am to talk about the show! However, I wanted to be sure to remind you not to give away any spoilers for future seasons. Since Episode Six will have already aired, you can discuss matters leading to Episode Seven, but nothing beyond that.” He shook his finger and clicked his tongue as though he stood surrounded by kindergarteners. “You’re under contract, and discretion and secrecy is mandated. If all goes well, we may be appearing at other conventions in the near future!”

  With that said, Alice ventured a step toward the front and took the lead. She stood with her hands behind her back, supporting my earlier musings that she may have had some army training after all.

  “I have sent reminder emails to all of you, detailing the time you should arrive, and the questions you should be prepared to answer. Try to be as cryptic as you can with the direction Lyle plans to take with Straightlaced, and as detailed as you can with questions directed specifically at your characters, and how you may have grown as an actor or actress while playing him or her.” She sighed softly. “We anticipate the typical bias between male and female questions. Gwen, try not to take offense when most of your cue is strictly physical. They’ll ask about your diet, your exercise regimen, how you prepared for the role, etc. I sincerely wish we could mandate equality as far as the quality of your roster, but it’s rare that society thinks females have the brains to answer serious queries. Understood?”

  A series of yeses and nods went up from the collective. I stared blankly, cataloguing Alice’s warning into a part of my brain that I had set aside for important information, but in no way responding emotionally.

  Drained and deadened, I couldn’t scrounge up even a shadow of a smile.

  “Also,” Lyle spoke. “Gwen and Garrick, it’s very possible that you will receive an enormous amount of questions and suspicion regarding your activities and relationship off screen. I sincerely apologize for not organizing a better security system for you. Most of them were still at the cast party, where we had expected you to be.”

  I nodded, faked a smile, and said, “It’s nothing. Over with now.”

  Garrick grunted his agreement, but we didn’t meet eyes.

  Concern stamped on his expression, Lyle’s attention volleyed between us, as though trying to prompt a magnetic reaction between our gazes. “Nevertheless, I would recommend preparing your answers together, to avoid confusion. That goes for the panel at the Winrock Mall, as well as your individual appearances on the Carl Marsh Show, which have been scheduled over the next two weeks.”

  That’s right, I thought. Alice had told us about our guest appearances on the Carl Marsh Show weeks ago. At the time, I’d been thrilled. Now, it just seemed like another obstacle to navigate.

  “That’s not necessary,” Garrick stated. “We both know precisely what happened. We’ll handle it.”

  Sick inside, I let my attention fall away and drift on the waves of what was, and what might have been.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Garrick

  With a stone sulking in the pit of my stomach, I took my seat on stage amidst the cheering of our audience gathered inside Winrock Mall. Faking a grin had never been hard for me, and the enthusiasm coursing through the room caught on like a contagion. I waved. Whistles and whoops resounding through the conference hall the size of a small auditorium answered me.

  Chancing a glance at Gwen, I did a subtle double take and struggled to conceal my alarm. She wore a strangled, wan smile—plastic as Rachel’s nose—directed at the crowd. My insides constricted at the strange shade of pale coloring her face.

  I had noticed that yesterday, at Lyle’s meeting, she seemed distant and flat. It took everything in me to restrain myself from reaching out to her. She probably wanted to be left alone. At least, that had been my conclusion with how standoffish she seemed on set. So, I turned cold. Not to mention the fact that being around her ached like a festering wound. I had not endured that level of embarrassment, that level of rejection, since the night I walked in on Rachel and Dominic. Gwen had stated her feelings very clearly. And though we had yet to make our peace, it hadn’t been my impression that she needed further closure.

  But Hell knew I did. It was a matter of judging when she was ready to give it to me. Unlike her, I hadn’t been able to just turn off my feelings. And that in itself was completely backwards. Solely based on our personalities and history, I should have been the numb one.

  How had one girl, one chance firework of chemistry, so profoundly altered my way of living?

  What had happened to enjoying all the things that life had to offer, and not deluding myself or restricting my focus to one woman, or an abstract concept? I had come to realize that Gwen shone as the best offering. That was how. That was why. The only problem was, she didn’t want me. I had thousands of girls pining for my attention. The only one I wanted to lavish with affection and effort had publically shoved my face into the dirt of denial.

  However, I had to gather all that angst up and toss it into a suitcase to be sorted through later. I knew what this panel meant for the show, and to Lyle.

  And it scared the shit out of me, for the first time in our professional relationship, to start doubting Gwen’s ability to do the same. With a gentle tap to her elbow, I tried to ensnare her attention, if only to remind her to buck up.

  She didn’t look at me.

  Shit.

  Our host introduced us one by one, Shane on the far left and Tyler beside me on the far right. Erica sat beside Gwen. The host, who disclosed that she doubled as a news anchor, wore a nametag that read Cera Silverman and a sinfully tight pencil skirt. After a few preliminary messages and basic inquiries about Straightlaced, Cera took questions from the audience. Most of them were directed at Erica to begin with, all about her plans for the series and what inspired her to write it.

  Gwen fared alright initially, a bit flat and emotionally dead, but she completely crumbled at the first mention of our relationship off screen. From that moment on, it was like a feeding frenzy. The first drop of blood had been spilled into the water and the sharks came in swarms. Some of them grilled Gwen about the night of Logan’s party. Others insisted that she tell all about our private activities. Thirty minutes in, I saw Erica take Gwen’s hand under the table and squeeze. And not to comfort her, but to rouse her. Gwen was sluggish, dead—completely unenthused by the entire scene. A bee could have stung her and she wouldn’t have reacted. It was as though someone had stolen Gwen and replaced her with an empty husk, puppeted from somewhere offstage.

  The final blow for me came when a young woman that looked frighteningly familiar raised her hand and asked me if I “had fun” at Liam Collier’s birthday party, as well as how it felt to have him be singing the voiceover for Payton’s band.

  Britney, I realized.

  It would always be a sore spot for me that I couldn’t sing, but I was speaking the truth when I told Britney that it was an honor to work with Liam. Thankfully, that shut her up. I was even more gratefu
l she didn’t broach the scandalous activities that she, Angela, and I had indulged in all those weeks ago. I’d have to remember to thank her for that. And make sure she had no plans of future disclosure later.

  The cherry on top of this rubbish pile was that, about halfway through the interview, I noticed Rachel standing at the back of the room with her Prada purse hanging on her shoulder, shouldering a column. She stared at me, scrutinizing every word.

  Just then, a girl in glasses raised her hand and Cera called on her. The girl stood up, clutching a copy of Straightlaced. “Gwen, is it true you may be leaving the show?” Glasses asked.

  “Well—I,” Gwen faltered. “No—”

  “What prompted you to consider it? It wasn’t Garrick’s singing voice, was it?”

  Shit. I knew it was bad when an audience member had to make a joke to lighten the mood. Thankfully, some angel (or devil—I haven’t really decided) called out, “Sing a few bars for us!”

  The audience laughed, giggled, and squealed with excitement. More onlookers joined in, voicing their agreement and goading me on. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel stand a little straighter. Just as Gwen had, she had tried in the past to prod me into singing to her. Just like with Gwen, I had refused.

  “Come on!”

  “Sing something, Garrick!”

  “Yeah, sing!”

  “Sing something for Lacey!”

  Nerves spiking, my mind frantically reeled for what to do next. I could say no, right? Because honestly, making a mad dash for the parking lot and peeling out in a stolen car sounded far more appealing.

  I quickly weighed the pros and cons of the alternative. I’d look like an idiot, and soundly thrash any lingering doubt about my musical capacity, but…

  I looked at Gwen. We still needed to talk. No matter what, I needed her to know that when I’d told her I was falling in love with her, I’d meant it. I needed to apologize for not opening my door that night when she’d tried to talk to me. I wanted to know if there was still any part of her that held hope for us.

  And right now, I ached to snap Gwen out of her funk. I needed to try.

  Why not do that all in one fell swoop?

  I wondered if she’d get it. If she’d understand the significance of what I was about to do.

  To quiet the crowd, I raised my hands and huffed out a laugh through my nose. The hush hung tense with apprehension and unrealistic expectation, as though I lied about my voice, and the moment I opened my mouth, The Heavenly Host would open the sky to strike up a band and a flash mob would spontaneously dash to my side.

  But this wasn’t fucking Glee.

  Turning to Gwen, I mustered my courage and shrugged out of my dignity.

  And of course, my mind lay as blank as an empty canvas when I tried to think of a song. But then, just as I took a breath and opened my mouth, unbidden lyrics leapt out. I sang the refrain from Swim Through Fire, the song that Payton sang to Lacey in Episode Four.

  Beyond the barbed wire wall sits a table for two.

  An ocean away, these blurred visions through blue.

  I built you a bridge, a boat, all soon ashes and soot,

  To help you cross what you hoped I'd brave on foot.

  Burning blood brought blazes red, arsonists often do.

  Now even water burns but I'll swim through fire to you.

  So happy to be tone deaf, as I knew I had royally butchered everything but the words, I rubbed the back of my neck and held my breath. I awaited some kind of reaction, some sign that Gwen had heard the words I’d sung. That I’d reached her.

  That she understood.

  I’d swim through fire to get to her.

  But Gwen stared at me… and through me. I felt my heart wither at the naked wasteland in her gaze.

  I had failed.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at the others to gage their reactions. It felt as though I had been smacked and stabbed by blunted objects meant to bludgeon with memories and rejection. The lyrics I had unconsciously selected thundered through me, followed by a nauseating revelation.

  I wasn’t over her. And I never would be. Because I was madly, desperately, and inalterably in love with her.

  She could deny me, slash my work, and bug the piss out of me. I wouldn’t have minded. Nothing hurt as badly as this.

  Everything ached under the weight of a love unrequited even as Rachel and I exchanged one meaningful glance, during which she smiled sadly, her gaze filled with acceptance. She raised her hand in a gesture of goodbye, then turned and walked away.

  I forgot about her the instant she left my view and thought only of Gwen.

  What had I expected? That she’d suddenly leap up from her seat, toss her arms around me, and profess to feel the same? I had been searching for an identical reflection in her eyes of the feelings coursing through my heart. I wanted to bridge the gap between us. I wanted to close the rift. I was willing to go any distance, and brave any storm.

  A tenuous wave of applause and genuine laughter, if only to humor me, resounded from the audience. I had put myself on the chopping block, and she had let the proverbial ax fall. Not through any action of her own, but by doing nothing.

  Where was the Gwen I fell in love with? Who was the woman who sat across from me now?

  When the panel concluded and the group of us were dismissed, Gwen’s sullen mood hung over us like a dismal cloud.

  * * *

  Once we arrived at the hotel, I tailed—or stalked, more accurately—Gwen through the lobby and into the elevator with half a mind to shake her and half a mind to lock myself up and drink myself stupid. All the frustration coursing through me threatened to boil over at any moment. And I fully intended to dump it on her, should that happen. Yet again, she seemed oblivious to my frustration, her droll eyes always ahead and unfocused, staring at the world through a lens I couldn’t name.

  Rounding the hall into our corridor, I made my decision as she fished for her card key in her clutch.

  “What the hell was that?” I asked, unable to keep the anger out of my voice as I barged into her room behind her and shut the door.

  Gwen turned, her eyes round with surprise. “What are you talking about?” she whispered.

  “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re sharp as a whip. The panel, Gwen. That was—without mincing words—a disaster. You’ve been this way for days. What the hell is going on?”

  I balked when, instead of firing back at me, she sighed, all of the energy seeming to leave her body with the breath of air she released. She sank down to sit on the edge of her bed.

  “Gwen?” I prompted.

  “I’m empty, Garrick. I lost you. I lost myself. I think I lost my father too, or at least I lost any hope of having him understand. I’m just… lost.”

  ‘This is about me?” I asked, surprised.

  “Of course,” she answered, her voice containing none of her old fire.

  On a whim, I went to her and knelt at her feet. “Listen. I’ve done a lot of thinking the past two weeks. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you when you came to my room. I know that just because you weren’t ready to make our relationship public doesn’t mean that you weren’t serious about me. I know that by sending me away, you were actually trying to protect me.”

  She shrugged haplessly. “It doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “It absolutely matters!” I exclaimed, seizing and sandwiching her hands between mine. This finally garnered her attention. “Gwen, you singlehandedly showed me that love does exist. Everything you said at dinner that night was true. Everything in that stupid book is beautiful. Underneath all my pain, and all the crap I let pile up inside me, I do want a relationship, and someone to share my life with. You dug me out of that mess, baby.”

  “And then I heaped more of it on you. I hurt you by lying in front of my father. I do love you, Garrick. I have for a while now.”

  “I know,” I assured her, my throat constricting and my grip becoming gentle. My phone buzzed from m
y pocket. I yanked it out to silence the call, but stared at the name instead.

  Dominic.

  Finally, I shook my head and swiped to ignore. Gwen watched me curiously. This was the moment. I needed to tell her. I needed to show her just how fucked up my past truly was. “There’s one more thing I want to tell you, and I think it will explain why I was so hard to reach for so long, and why I don’t understand the bond you have with your family.”

  She gazed at me, focus reappearing in her gorgeous green eyes, like a doe peering cautiously around an oak.

  “The night I came home and caught Rachel with another man… That other man was Dominic, my brother.”

  Skin going a shade lighter than pale, Gwen’s full attention locked me in place. And I knew I had breached the barrier she had erected between us. It hurt like hell, as she was the first person I had ever admitted it to. But I was willing to endure the pain if it meant she would be there at the end to help me heal.

  “I’m so sorry, Garrick,” she whispered, her voice breaking, suddenly fragile as an eggshell. Tears welled in her eyes. Somehow, I knew they weren’t just for me. They were for us, for her, and for the shambles and semblances of broken dreams and new truths surrounding us. And then, spark and magic rekindled, she came forward, flung her arms around my neck, and planted a firm kiss against my lips. A kiss that was all at once an apology, a statement, and a promise.

  I shot to my feet, holding her as though I would never let go, and we kissed as I had never kissed anyone. Locked in her embrace, I was happy and whole.

  The steady thuds of my heart found their place with the fluttering of hers. She was safe here, with me, uncertain as she was. I wanted to prove it to her.

  My hand combed its way through her hair, coming to rest behind her head. I looped an arm around behind her and pulled her body, tiptoes and all, against me, supporting her with ease against my frame. The power behind the embrace dipped her back slightly. I backed her up until her bare knees bumped up against her bedside. There, I laid her down, a hand behind her head when I did, taking my place over her and sweeping her hair to one side as I removed it to trace down her shoulder and the snowy skin of her arm. I breathed her in as we molded further, hands wandering up and over the back of her thigh, beneath her, and between us.