by Penny Wylder
Her lips thin, parting slightly. Her throat starts to move, and her eyes soften. My ears perk. The hair on my arms stand up, and my skin bristles impatiently, needy and restless, eager to hear her speak.
Her voice is music to my ears, even if she's angry. I never want her to stop talking. I'll listen to her all day; it doesn't matter what she's saying. But I'm left hanging, void of her sweet tones as the door opens swiftly, and Daniel strolls in with the makeup artist rolling her cart of TV magic.
“Here, she's right here. We don't have any time left, so do what you can with her.” Daniel flips his finger in Sylvia's direction. He's not discrete about his anger, he isn't trying to hide that he really wants to scream at her and throw her across the room.
The woman moves to Sylvia's side. I can see her discomfort with Daniel hovering over her. She starts to take things out of her cart, laying them out on the top of the vanity with a shake in her hands. She doesn’t speak to Sylvia. She just gets to work. Daniel probably gave her an earful, and now even she feels like it's somehow her fault.
“I told her what to do already, Syl, so just let her do her job. Some of us understand the importance of this work.”
Sylvia's eyes turn to pinpricks as the woman starts dabbing foundation on the purple rings under her eyes with a white sponge. She bites her tongue. She doesn't say a word, simply letting her eyes settle on the ceiling instead, pupils expanding back to normal size as she forces the anger away.
She gave up before she even began the fight. Years of verbal assaults and directives, manipulation and mind fucking has made Daniel her kryptonite. Even if she wanted to speak, she wouldn’t.
It infuriates me. I make a metal note to ream him later once we're done. If she won't stand up for herself, I will. It might cost me my job, but I don't give a shit.
Jennifer spreads thick purple eye shadow across Sylvia's lids, and bright pink blush on the apples of her cheeks. Sylvia stares blankly in the mirror. Her head is yanked back as the woman tugs at her hair, pulling it into a tight ponytail, and slicking it to a shine with some clear gel.
Jennifer pulls Sylvia to her feet, pinching the hem of her dress and yanking it down. Holding it in her hand, she draws flat palms over the wrinkles, trying to create a crisp, flawless look.
Sylvia grunts, taking a step back, and drags her hands down the skirt of her dress herself. “I got it, thank you.” Her eyes widen, annoyance plaguing her face.
She has a short fuse this morning, like tempered glass ready to crack. I can see it in everything she does, in her expression and movements. I can hear it in her tone, and the way the words roll off her tongue like she's spitting them out one at a time because they taste bad.
Suddenly, from what seems like nowhere, the room turns into a flurry of movement. People wearing headsets, talking quickly, speaking to everyone and no one all at once come rushing in.
Hands are on my shoulders, pushing me out the door. Sylvia is behind me, with her own set of hands moving her along like a child being ushered out of a store.
“We're moving,” one guy says into the bulb of his microphone. “One minute out.”
We're quickly swept down the hall and shoved into another larger room. There's a couch in the middle of the room and a chair beside it. Video cameras on dollies are speckled throughout the room. We're standing in the middle of a bustling hive, all the worker bees are running around us, barking out orders and time frames at one another.
“Two minutes!” someone yells from my left.
“Mic check, we're good,” another person says behind my back.
Chatter is everywhere. The room is alive, teaming with life, movement, sounds.
“Hello there, Phade, Sylvia, I'm Kerri Lonogin.” Holding out her hand toward us, Sylvia takes it first, then I shake. “So glad you're both here, this is great. I've been hoping to get the first chance to sit down with you two. Pick your brains a little, give our audience a taste of Sylade.” She giggles and waggles her brows.
Sylvia thins her lips. “Sylade?” she asks, cocking a brow high.
“Yeah, you know, Brangelina, TomCat, we thought Sylade could be the start of something. It's catchy, your fans will adore it.” Smiling, she clasps her hands together. “All right, we're about to go on, so why don't you two go have a seat on the couch. Sylvia you'll be on the outside, Phade you're next to me.”
We don't get a chance to walk on our own, again we're whisked away like cardboard cutouts. More hands grab my arm, pulling in the direction Kerri, the host of Sun Daily, told us to go.
Someone pushes down on my shoulders, sitting me down. I look over to my right, and see a team of people fluffing Sylvia's hair, and touching up her makeup. Bright lights pop on behind the scenes, blinding me momentarily.
Blinking wildly, I reach over and take her hand. The past few days it feels like she's been avoiding me. I call and she doesn't answer, or she gives me some lame excuse for not being able to see each other.
I've let her have this space she obviously needs but is afraid to ask for. She's probably nervous, maybe afraid about what she's feeling. I know I am.
I'm trying to get her attention, hoping she'll look at me, but she doesn't. Her eyes move over the people surrounding her, poking her face with sponges, and running a comb through her hair.
But she squeezes my hand, and that's enough to let me know she's there with me.
As quickly as all the noise sprouted to life, it dissipates just as fast. The room falls quiet as music plays from the speakers and the teleprompter pops on. I can see the words on the screen as they begin to roll slowly.
“Good morning, I'm Kerri Lonogin, and this is Sun Daily.” She goes through a burst of unimportant news, from a car accident on the freeway, to a local woman who donated four cakes to the animal shelter for the unwanted pets.
Turning her attention to me, she smiles and dances her eyes between the camera and me. “I've got a very special guest this morning, Phade—Brass Knuckles—Manson and his fiancée, Sylvia Fontain. Hello and welcome,” she says, turning to face us straight on.
“Hello,” Sylvia and I both say at the same time.
“Awe! How you cute you two are, answering together.” Kerri gives a huge, exaggerated grin that shows all her bright white teeth. “So, Phade, you had a big win this weekend, how do you feel?”
A red light pops on above the camera to my left, and there's a man behind it rolling his arm to let me know that's the camera to look into.
I can see Daniel in my peripheral vision, arms crossed over his chest, chin resting on a fist. He's carefully and methodically there. Watching, observing, making sure we do this exactly how he wants it.
“I feel like it's deserved. I work hard, I train hard, and that shows when I get a win.”
Kerri holds a small stack of papers in her hands, looking down at her predetermined list of questions. “You sure do train hard. I think every woman in this city knows how hard you train.” She winks at the camera and lets out a joking laugh. “Your abs aside, I think what every woman really wants to know is how did you two meet?” Her eyes move to Sylvia, the question now directed at her.
“Well,” Sylvia says, her voice shaky, “we, uh, we met. . .” Pausing, she forces a smile as her hand comes up to pluck at her bottom lip. “We met a few months back, it was, uh, well, it was—”
“It was a nice accident, that's what it was.” Answering for her, I squeeze her hand harder, letting her know I'm here. “We met at a dance club one night.”
That wasn't a lie. It wasn't how Sylvia had it laid out in her binder, but it was the truth. That was the first time we hooked up.
“A nightclub, huh?” Kerri's eyes veer slyly. “You and nightclubs don't usually mix according to People Magazine and every other newspaper out there. Didn't you run into some legal trouble because of partying?”
I can feel Sylvia's eyes on me, waiting to see how I handle this question. She's worried, afraid I'm going to blow this whole thing.
She needs to
have faith in me. And if she doesn't, she will once we're done here.
“Well, that's the problem with newspapers, they don't get the real story, not like you and this station. If I had legal troubles, I wouldn't be here, now would I?”
Kerri laughs, tapping her papers on the top of her thigh. “Can't argue that,” she says, her lips rolling into a pleased smile. “Do we have a date for the wedding?”
I look over at Sylvia, our eyes meet, and hers are huge as saucers. Her skin is pale, and her bottom lip is trembling subtly.
“Summer, we don't have a set date, but we're thinking this summer. Sylvia really loves when the calla lilies bloom, and she wants to use them in our ceremony.”
Shock coats Sylvia's gaze, and her hand tightens around mine. Kerri goes on to ask a few more questions about my next big fight, and if Sylvia has found a dress yet. The entire interview is over in ten minutes.
The second the cameras power down, a man yells that we're off air for a commercial break, and Sylvia jumps from her seat, taking off out the double doors.
Kerri tries to grab my arm and talk to me, but I shrug her off. “Excuse me, I need to go see if my fiancée is all right.”
Throwing the doors open, I have no idea which way she's gone. There are a few random people in the hall, so I ask if anyone has seen her. A young guy, most likely an intern, points to the women's bathroom around the corner.
Pushing the door open, I don't go in, but I call to her inside. “Sylvia, you in here?”
“Go away!” she yells, then vomits into the toilet. “I'm fine!”
“You don't sound fine. I'm coming in.”
“N—n. . .” She can't finish the word as she throws up again.
Stepping into the bathroom, I find her huddled around one of the toilets, her face hanging over the edge.
She's torn the scarf off her neck and unbuttoned the top few buttons on her dress. “Go away, I'm fine.”
“Stop, you're not fine.” Dropping to my knees behind her, I rub her back and hold her ponytail out of the way so it doesn't fall into the line of fire. “I'm not just going to leave you here like this.”
Sylvia vomits a few more times, then dry heaves a couple times before letting out a heavy breath. “I think that's it.”
“You sure? Don't get up just yet, give it a minute.”
“No, I'm good, really.” Sitting back on her knees, she lays her hands on her lap. “I feel better.”
“Your color's back, so that's good.” Rubbing her back, I pull her into my chest. “What'd you eat, something bad? Or was this all nerves?”
Tears bubble up on her eyes instantly, and she starts to sniffle. “No, it's nothing like that.”
“Well, what is it? What's wrong?”
“I fucked up, Phade. . .” Pausing, her teary eyes float up to mine and she blinks, releasing the rush of water. “We fucked up.”
“I don't understand, what are you talking about? I thought the interview went well, we didn't say—”
“No,” she says, rolling her head on her shoulders. Her face dips and then turns up so she's looking at me. Her eyes are seeping, water is pouring down her cheeks, and dropping into her lap. “I'm pregnant, Phade, I'm having a baby.” Her voice trembles on air as she tries to keep her breathing steady, but her chest is lifting in short rapid bursts, like she's about to hyperventilate.
“You're what?”
“Pregnant.”
My heart instantly lurches into my throat, beating erratically. “Pregnant? Did you just say you're pregnant?”
Sylvia nods, fresh tears spilling down her face. “I'm sorry, I wanted to tell you sooner, I just didn't know how. I didn't mean for you to find out like this.” Grabbing some toilet paper off the roll, she wipes her nose and throws it into the bowl. “What are we going to do?”
Every nerve in my body sparks with feeling. Fear, excitement, joy, anxiety. . . Love.
Dropping her head into her hands, she sobs. Her shoulders shake as she takes in hungry breaths of air. Gripping her chin with my thumb and forefinger, I tilt her face up so I'm looking in her eyes.
“We're going to have a baby, that's what we're going to do.”
“Wh. . . What do you mean? You want this?” she asks, her voice weak and thin. “You're not mad?”
“Syl, I could never be mad about something like this,” I say, taking her face in my hands and bringing my forehead to hers. “Of course I want this. I want this baby and I want you. You saw how I grew up, no real family, no one who really cared about me. My father took off when I was a baby and my mother wasn't a mother at all.” Pressing my forehead harder into hers, I clutch her cheeks in my hands. Setting her hands over mine, they're soft and delicate. “I didn't think having a family was something I was meant for. I always thought I was too broken—”
Shaking her head, she says, “You're not broken, you're no more broken than the rest of the world, me included.”
Kissing her forehead, I smile. “I love you, Sylvia. I wasn't able to see it before, but now I know, I feel it. I feel you in my heart and soul. And this baby, this baby was meant to be.”
Her eyes sparkle as they search my face for truth. “You mean that? You love me?”
“I love you like I've never loved anything before.” Lowering my mouth, I brush my lips over hers.
“I love you, too.” Whispering the words against my lips, she starts to smile, pulling her face away from mine. “I'm sorry, my breath. . . It must be—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” I demand, scooping my hands deeper around her face and holding the back of her head.
Pressing my lips to hers, I kiss her hard, I kiss her so she knows she's my air, my life, my world.
And this baby, this baby just proves my heart was right all along.
17
Sylvia
“You're what?” Daniel's voice cuts through air, slicing me where I stand.
“Pregnant.” I'm trying to keep my shoulders tall and my back strong, I don't want to feel so weak around him, and it sucks that I do. He has the ability to make me feel small, unimportant, like I need to prove myself every damn day. “I'm having a baby.”
He isn't happy. A small piece of me wants to hear some sign he's excited, a hint of joy with a side of disappointment is fine with me. But, he's going to be a grandfather, isn't that a special moment?
“Did you tell your mother?”
Shaking my head, I frown. “No, not yet. I wanted to tell you first, I thought we could maybe come up with a fun way to tell her.”
Striking a hand through the air, his body stiffens. I watch him shudder in his chair. He looks disgusted. My heart breaks, my stomach knots, and I feel myself losing steam. I'm deflating inside, disconnecting from the happiness I walked into the room with.
“Absolutely not. You're not keeping this baby. You're getting rid of it.”
“What?”
Did he actually just say that? Get rid of the baby?
“This isn't what we talked about. We talked about a fake relationship, something that wasn't real. I didn't pay you to get knocked up by some asshole fighter.” Slamming a finger into the top of his desk, he glares at me. “You're not having this baby. End of story.”
“Excuse me? You can't—”
“Oh I can. . .” Daniel stands up quickly, pressing his palms into his desk. “Because I just did. You don't have time for a kid, Sylvia. And Phade. . .” Pausing, he chuckles to himself as he circles his desk, coming to lean against the front. “Phade isn't father material. I mean come on, you and I both know that. He's a walking STD, Sylvia, the girls he's been with—”
Holding up my hand, I stop him right there. “Daniel, Phade isn't who you think he is. He isn't a wild party boy, just looking for a good screw. He actually cares, he's excited about this baby—he loves me.”
“Love,” Daniel says with a sarcastic laugh. “He's taking you for a ride, Syl, period. He doesn't love you, are you kidding me? Phade's a muscle-head, he's good for drawing blood and putt
ing on a good show, that's it.”
“That's not true.” I'm holding back my tears the best I can. I can feel them as they swell, prickling my eyes. I don't blink. Holding my eyes open wide, I force the tears down, back where they came from.
Daniel doesn't like to see weakness. Tears are weakness. I thought I had found some backbone, now I'm reverting back to childhood lessons. Muscle memory wants to force me into a ball, to nod and agree and let him win.
This isn't his choice to make, Syl! It's yours.
“Get rid of the baby, Sylvia. It's in our best interests if you do. Before you tell anyone else, and crush your mother's soul, just get it done. I can set you up with someone, we'll do it quietly, keep it out of the press.”
“No, Daniel,” I say, shaking my head. “I'm not doing that. I don't care what you think, I'm keeping this baby.” Placing a hand on my belly, I can already feel the life inside me.
It's strange. The second I laid eyes on the double lines on that strip of plastic, it was as if new air washed over my body. Everything changed in that split second. Nothing is about me anymore, it's about this baby.
“Sylvia—”
“No, Daniel! You don't get to control this—not this.” Baring my teeth, rage fills me. It starts in my chest and spreads down through my arms, coiling around my hands and turning them into fists.
He always has his hand in everything I do. Ever since I was a child, he's had to place his stamp of approval on my life.
It's going to stop and it's going to stop now.
Daniel's face turns bright red, and his mouth falls into a heavy frown. “Listen to me and listen to me good little girl, you're not in charge, not in this, not with anything. You've always done what I said, and you'll continue to do what I say.”
He takes a step toward me, forcing me to take a step back. He isn't even that close, but the look in his eyes is making my hair stand on end. I'm just watching him, the way his eyes turn dark and his eyebrows crawl across his forehead like caterpillars.