Date With A Rockstar

by Sarah Gagnon

  He slides his stool back in and sits. “I can’t believe these asshole producers.” His hand around his drink tightens. “So, you saw when Shelley sank her talons into me in the canoe?”

  “I did.”

  “I swear they’re making me entertain the craziest girls in the tightest surroundings.”

  “Does that mean you didn’t want to kiss her?” Please say you didn’t.

  “Shelley Anne?” He grumbles deep in his chest and finishes the rest of his drink in one big swallow. “No.” The word is firm and final.

  I smile down at the bar. “That’s good. From my perspective, I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

  “I’m trying to have fun on these dates, and I don’t mind a good kiss, but there has to be some lead up and mutual interest. That one came out of nowhere.”

  “Maybe she thought her hypnotic swimsuit had already won you over.”

  “I guess. There are a lot of girls like that who come on to me. Sounds stupid to say, but the lack of skill gets irritating.”

  “Um, what do you mean by ‘skill’?”

  He scratches his head and then runs a finger around the rim of his glass, making a haunting sound. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you, huh?”

  “I don’t mind.”

  He smiles and then goes quiet for a moment. I wait patiently, absorbing all the physical details of his body. He props his leg on the bottom of the bar stool and bounces one knee. The fabric of his jeans stretches tight over his thighs. And he just noticed me staring. Argh!

  “‘Skill’ is probably the wrong word, but I’m not an animal. I wouldn’t mind a bit of intelligent conversation and shared interests. I don’t give out kisses like they’re autographs.”

  I sip my drink, caught up in thoughts of kissing Jeremy. “From the outside, it looks like you have such a glamorous, perfect life.”

  “Ha. If people constantly asking you for money and favors while you have to hide out alone in hotel rooms to keep from getting mauled is considered perfect, sure. I’m so isolated these days. I’ve got Derek and that’s about it.”

  Crap. That’s me. I’m one of those people waiting to ask for money and favors. I want to die of guilt. Except that I’m already diseased, and not wanting to die is what has me in this predicament. But Jeremy is an awesome guy and people shouldn’t be taking advantage of him. I’m a hypocrite and now Jeremy’s looking at me because I’m probably making a bad face. I swallow. “Derek seems like a good guy.”

  “He is, but not the most sensitive. It would be nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of. I’m trying to write these deep, emotional songs, and my only friend likes combat and big boobs.” He drops his head, looking down at the bar.

  “I could help you…or, I mean, I know we just met and won’t have much time together, but maybe we could talk online, or—” I take a deep breath trying to pull my thoughts together. I want to be there for him. If he needs someone. “I guess a show like this isn’t a great way to meet people, but if you ever need a friend to bounce ideas off of, I’d love that.” He doesn’t say anything for a minute. Just looks up, appraising me. Is he looking for a friend, or more? Did I phrase that wrong? “I think it’s amazing you can be so creative while still touring and traveling around.”

  He shrugs. “You haven’t heard the songs I’m working on now. Maybe my creativity is all used up.”

  I laugh. “That’s never going to happen.”

  “How can you be so sure? Most musicians get one hit song at best. I’ve already had more success than most. This might be the end of my career.”

  “No way. Unless you want it to be. From my perspective, the whole world adores you.”

  “Bah.” He shakes his head and takes another drink. I watch his long eyelashes sweep down across his cheek as he blinks. I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans, trying to work up the nerve to touch his hand.

  He perks up and turns to me. “Hey, you live in Boston, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How good of a school is BU? I’ve heard positive things about their pre-med program.”

  I let out my breath. The deep conversation is over, and I can’t help but feel like I missed an opportunity or should have said more. BU is a college I’ll never afford. “I think it’s a good school. I haven’t attended any classes, but I bet there are a lot of intern opportunities at the Global Skin Cancer Initiative.”

  “I’ll have to look into it.” He taps my scratch pad. “Can I see what you’re working on?” He leans over. “You didn’t answer my first question. Is this a picture of me?”

  I tangle my fingers in my hair. “Yeah, but I just started, so it doesn’t look very good yet.”

  “I like it. Can I look through the rest?”

  I shrug. Please, oh please, let him like my designs.

  He starts at the beginning of the pad and slowly flips through, stopping on each page. My heart pounds in my throat and I gulp my drink. He’s not saying anything. I punch on my menu screen and try to appear disinterested in his opinion.

  He flips back and forth. “This one is my favorite. This whirlpool shape with the sharp lines cutting in and around it reminds me of my song, ‘Ocean 65.’”

  I choke. “I drew that while listening to your song on repeat.”

  “The image would make a great T-shirt design for my next concert tour.”

  “Really?” My stomach is all squirmy and happy. T-shirt design must pay something.

  “Absolutely. Make me a copy and I’ll make sure the design gets to the right people.”

  I release the binding of the book and pull out the page. “You can just take the original.”

  “You sure?” He handles the edges gently and keeps the square safe in his hand rather than placing it on the bar. Then he turns to me, his eyes focusing directly into mine. “You weren’t mad about my other date, were you?”

  Who, me? Never. “It’s a strange situation, knowing you’re going on a lot of other dates. All the dates sound like places I’d like to visit, so I’m a little jealous, but really I’m just happy that I’ve gotten to talk to you.”

  He rubs his hand over his face. “I feel like I should apologize.”

  “I know what I signed up for, and if you want to kiss Shelley, or whoever, that’s your business.”

  “Maybe I want to be kissing another girl who keeps turning me down.” He leans in slightly, like he’s daring me. I keep my eyes on his. Go ahead, do it. The smile lines fade from his face and he inches forward. I close my eyes partway—

  “Monet? Oh, and Jeremy, too. What luck. And I thought I’d have to sit at the bar all by myself.”

  Jasmine. I’ve never wanted to kill anyone as much as I do now. “Hi, Jasmine.” She seats herself next to Jeremy. He shifts around, uncomfortable. I wish I had access to a punching bag. A good workout or sparring session would be perfect right about now.

  “Jasmine?” Jeremy asks.

  She gives him her mega-watt shark smile, which I can see from around her back as he turns to her. Did a shiver just go up his spine?

  “The one and only.” Or one of three, because of the clone phenomenon in the contestant pool.

  “We haven’t gotten a chance to spend time together yet,” he says, smiling.

  “They’re saving the best for last.” She giggles. So fake.

  “Well, nice to meet you.” He shakes her hand and eases up off his seat, pushing his empty glass toward the attendant.

  Jasmine thrusts her jaw out before correcting her expression into a flirtatious grin. “You’re going to stay and have a drink with us, aren’t you?”

  “I wish I could, but I think I’ll have to leave you girls to it. They have me recording another monologue for the show before my date this evening.”

  “Oh, how interesting.” Jasmine reaches down to adjust the strap of her sandal and the neckline of her sheath dress falls open.

  “Have a good time tonight,” I say.

  He narrows his eyes at me and I can almost
hear him telling me that I’d better not go to the viewing room.

  “Thank you for this.” He discreetly holds up my drawing, so that Jasmine can’t get a good look at the image. “Bye, girls.”

  We watch him walk away from the bar, his stride long and casual.

  Then Jasmine turns on me. “What the hell was that? Are you sneaking around trying to spend extra time with Jeremy?” She’s inches from my face. Maybe I’m going to punch someone today, after all.

  “No, I just happened to run into him.”

  She clinks her nails against her glass filled with bright red liquid. “I think you’re lying.”

  What is her deal? “What difference does it make?”

  “If you think I’m going to let you get away with cheating, you’re wrong.”

  “I’m not cheating. There’s no rule about spending extra time with him. Shit, Jasmine. We’re all in the same hotel. Don’t you think we might run into each other here and there?”

  She flips her hair over her shoulder. “There may not be a rule yet, but there will be, and I’ll be watching you.”

  “Whatever.” I slide my stool back and walk out of the restaurant.

  THIRTEEN

  I PASS SHELLEY in the hallway on the way back to the room. She scowls at me rather than saying hi. I’m not going to the viewing room. Jeremy doesn’t think I should be watching, so for once, I’m not going to give in to curiosity. Instead I pace the room, wondering what’s happening and imagining the worst. His date is probably perfect. He’s in love with Jasmine clone number two. They’re eating a fabulous steak dinner overlooking the water and holding hands.

  I pound my head on the window, then walk over to the desk and sit down. I can do this. I can survive one night without watching Jeremy’s every move. I pull out my scratch pad, but only manage a pattern of jagged gouge lines. Maybe it’s better to watch. Then I’ll know how bad the date was.

  By the time Shelley comes back from the viewing room, I have my mattress flipped up against the wall and I’m practicing kill kicks. I’ve got a good rhythm. Duck in, kick Jasmine’s imaginary head, weave back. Punch her in the gut, dodge her lunge. Spin kick imaginary Shelley when she sneaks up behind me. I breathe in and out, timing my punches.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Shelley asks when she sees the state of my bed.

  “Working out.”

  “By attacking your bed?”

  “I’ve eaten a lot of desserts the last few days.”

  “Oh.” She rubs her belly, deeply considering this. I bet she doesn’t have a super suit to wear under all of her clothing. “You missed some stuff in the viewing room.” I do not want to hear about the date.

  “Eleanor made an announcement. The dates are going to start broadcasting tomorrow night.”

  “Right. I can’t believe they can get all the footage together in time.”

  “Jeremy’s concert with the final three has been set for the twenty-fifth for months, and Eleanor said the first elimination will be in front of a live studio audience, so the dates are only on a two-day delay to make the timing work.” She rubs her belly again self-consciously. I do a final kick combination, then flip my mattress back onto the bed frame.

  I clench my jaw and pace to the window. I tap the opening rhythm to “Ocean 65” onto the glass. The idea of standing in front of strangers while they vote on whether or not Jeremy and I make a good couple disturbs me. I don’t want to compete, but if I want Jeremy, I have no choice.

  I don’t watch his morning date, but we’re required to watch the first episode with Claire before the evening footage starts. They have us situated in a fake living room. Erin and Jaime have paired up. Funny how those two just don’t register as competition to me. They don’t have strong memorable personalities like Jasmine and Claire. I glance around the living room and lump Crystal in with the other no-worries girls. Jeremy’s a musician and that girl can’t carry a tune. Not that I can. Though who knows if my opinion will reflect the audience’s? The cameraman works his way around the big, fat couches, filming different angles. A huge viewing wall comes to life in front of us.

  “Who will win a date with a rockstar?” the narrator asks as the camera pans over all the girls standing in line. Jeremy’s new song plays in the background as the girls yell to family and friends. I see myself, but the camera moves on, and I’m not smiling, or waving, or doing anything else memorable. After a commercial break they begin showing excerpts from the interviews of girls who were not chosen. They select a good mix of heart-breakingly hopeful and painfully embarrassing.

  The screen flashes back to the host, Rod Bing. He’s wearing a shiny gray suit with a magenta scarf. “Now, let’s get a glimpse of the first girl selected.” He widens one eye in his signature expression. Every season, he ends up hosting a new reality TV show. I take a deep breath, waiting to see myself. Instead, it’s Claire who pops up on the screen.

  But she wasn’t the first or even second. Okay, so they’re just correlating with the order of the dates. No big deal. Still, I was picked first and they’ve taken that away from me. I feel like I just got stepped on.

  Claire’s interview continues, and I recognize the interviewer as the same one who spoke to me. She’s intelligent. Her laughs are more sexy than giggly and her answers are coy. Red hair falls in choppy layers over her dance outfit. The skirt has a series of ruffles at the bottom.

  “What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”

  “I love dancing. Latin, formal, pulse, all of it.”

  The interviewer smiles. “Mind giving us a preview?”

  She stands with elegant balance and points her toes into her calf like she might pirouette. Instead, she whips out of the ballet pose into an aggressive circle that throws her skirt up high. Her hand smacks onto the ground and then she leans backward into a slow backbend. The edge of her black panties flash on the screen, then her fingertips touch the floor behind her. With a delicate hop, she flips backward. Holy shit.

  “Wow.” The interviewer, who was unimpressed with me because I had to leave to vomit, smiles wide, and it’s obvious how Claire got a spot on the show. I can’t really blame Jeremy for being impressed by that. My interview sucked compared to those dance moves.

  I sit back on the couch. Claire fidgets with the hem of her shirt. Rod Bing comes back on the screen. He purses his lips and clucks his tongue. “After the commercial break, reality television gets real.”

  What does that mean? An ad for Shelley’s super bikini comes on and I wonder how nervous she is about being found out. I grip on to that idea to keep from dwelling on Claire’s backflip. A few more ads and the show comes back on, with Rod Bing’s voice booming over images of girls in concerts, girls in line, girls in interviews.

  “Now, we wouldn’t be responsible producers if we left Jeremy Bane in the clutches of just any girl. So now, the hidden background of contestant one. What does she have to hide? What secrets does she not want us to know? You heard correctly, we’ve done an in-depth background check. When you decide what girl is right for Jeremy, you WILL know EVERYTHING.”

  Nervous fidgeting spreads through the group. I start to say something, but close my mouth, uncertain. On the other couch, Praline has the same mouth-gaping expression. Claire’s trying to signal Eleanor to come over.

  My episode will be airing tomorrow, but I can’t think of anything embarrassing in my life. Fluxem was diagnosed through an anonymous test, so they won’t be able to tell the world about my disease. I don’t have money and we live in a crappy apartment, but I knew they were going to interview Mom, so I figured my poverty would be obvious. I can’t think of anything else.

  I glance over at Claire. She’s biting her nails, staring at the viewing wall. From her expression, I bet the studio dug up real gossip on her. I feel guilty for my curiosity, but I want to know what she has to hide.

  A still photo of Claire fills the screen. She’s standing in front of a mirrored wall in a dance studio. The colors are muted and dark, bu
t I can make out a tall man with gray hair leaning into her. His hand is…in a rather indecent location and from the blurring they’ve done to the image, I assume she isn’t wearing panties and one of her breasts is exposed. Oh, la la. Is Jeremy in a room being filmed as he watches this, or are they keeping him oblivious?

  Rod Bing shields his eyes in mock embarrassment. “Our trackers have revealed this man as Claire’s forty-year-old dance instructor. Who also happens to be…married.” Cue standard one eye widening. The screen changes to the interview with Claire’s mother. “Did you know your daughter was involved with her instructor?”

  Oh, jeez, poor Claire. I watch her on the other couch. Her jaw is clenched, her fists are clenched. Her whole body tightens, ready to attack the wall, or maybe the producers.

  Claire’s mom stutters and the interviewer hands her a copy of the photo. “Oh…oh…um…” From the wrinkles and squinting of her face I know she’s trying to find an explanation that will make the photo meaningless. But she can’t exactly say the guy is just helping her lean into the stretch, because there’s the small matter of missing panties. “Whatever mistakes Claire made with her instructor are long over with. She’s moved on with her life and dating Jeremy is just the beginning.”

  Nice cover. She’s a good mom. I wonder what my mom would’ve said if presented with an indecent photo. She’d probably calmly worry, then give me a safe sex lecture. Thankfully, I know I’ve never been in a compromising situation with a boy, so they won’t be able to dig up anything like that in my past.

  Claire hasn’t said a word and the cameras continue to film her, waiting for her to have a dramatic reaction they can use on the show later. After the big reveal, the actual date footage comes on. There are no more surprises. Claire is playful, Jeremy’s having a good time. Even with their mics, it’s hard to hear what they’re saying in the club, so there are a lot of quick cuts highlighting Claire’s dance moves, which have a new color now that we all know what went on while she was learning those moves.