by Kim Desalvo
“She’ll get checked out,” Dylan said to the cop. He turned her face and took her hand from her cheek, his eyes flaming. “Bloody hell, there’s already a bruise! Oh sweetheart…” he took one of the remaining clean towels and soaked it with cold water, holding it to the swollen spot just below her eye. “Can someone get me an icepack, please?” He was trying to sound calm, but the frantic anger in his voice was clearly evident. He turned to the guard and hissed between clenched teeth, “Did you get the bitch?”
“We got her. This is a serious offence, Mr. Miller, and you can be assured that all necessary charges will be filed.”
“I bloody well hope so.”
“I don’t want to press charges,” Tia said quietly.
“What are you talking about?” Dylan hissed. “You were attacked. Damn right we’re pressing charges.”
“I’m not pressing charges. I can’t take this personally—she doesn’t know me.” She brought her hand to Dylan’s face and tried to smile in an attempt to douse some of the anger burning in his eyes. “I’m OK, Dyl, really.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“I’d really rather not,” she said, “I think I’ll just try and forget the whole thing.” She turned to one of the producers. “Bring in the cameras. We can do the interview in here.”
“Fuck the interview! As soon as the medics get you checked out, I’m taking you home.”
She turned to him. “No, Dyl. We came here to do this, and I’m not letting some random person with a Penelope complex scare me out of it. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a scraped knee and a little knot on my cheek. Believe me, I’ve been through worse.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she raised her hand, and he shook his head and let her finish. “Look, she’s one of the haters. They’re out there. They’re always going to be out there. I want to let her and all the rest of them know that what they do has an impact on us. That we’re not made of stone, and we’re certainly not made of glass. I’m not going to go skulking away because of one crazy person. There are a lot more people out there who came to see you…to see us…and we owe them. Maybe some of the others will figure out that we’re real people too. I want to do the interview.”
Dylan growled and pushed his fingers through his hair. His face twisted in disgust when he pulled them out; smeared with blood. He pressed his forehead to Tia’s. “What am I going to do with you, woman?” he croaked. “You really want to do this?”
“I do.”
He tossed his head back in surrender and shrugged at the producer who hovered nervously by the door. “I guess we’re going to do an interview, then.”
The man jumped up as if he’d been hit by a cattle prod. “Ah, OK, I’ll call wardrobe and tell hair and makeup to get ready…”
“No hair or makeup,” Tia said. “And no wardrobe. I know the cameras were filming when we came in…everyone saw what happened. There’s no sense in trying to pretend it didn’t. No sense pretending anything. They’re going to get me, plain and simple, and that’s it.”
She stood up and looked down at her splattered dress. Her hair was soaked from all the water that was poured over her head and even her shoes were completely ruined. She wouldn’t normally have even walked out of her house looking like such a wreck, and here she was, insisting they put her on television. Was she nuts?
Dylan looked at her with an emotion that could only be described as complete and total adoration. “You are positively amazing, you know that?”
“Yeah, well, you might be on a short list of people who think so after I get through with this, but the ones on the short list are the only ones who really matter in the end, anyway.”
He took her face in his hands and she winced at the contact. “Oh bloody hell,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.” Tia had never felt a kiss as tender as the feather-light one he placed on her swollen cheekbone. “I love you so much.”
The door crashed open and a camera and lighting crew burst in. “It’ll just take us a couple minutes to get this set up—it’s not ideal, but it’ll work.” A middle-aged woman, hefting a camera nearly as big as she was, stopped as she was setting up a stage light and turned to Tia. “I just want to say that I think you’re so brave for doing this. I saw what happened, and I’m incredibly sorry. I hope you know that there are a lot more people pulling for you than against you.”
“Thanks,” Tia smiled, pushing her wet hair behind her ears. “That means a lot. Especially right now.”
They had the makeshift studio set up within minutes; just a couple lights and three portable cameras. Some folding chairs were brought in, and the news anchors strolled through the door, adjusting tiny microphones clipped to their lapels.
“We’ve got about two and a half minutes before we go back live,” Carole Peppers said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We’re sure,” Tia said, and Dylan scooted his chair as close to hers as he could and took her hand.
“I applaud your courage,” Dan Matheson added, “and we’re so grateful you decided to stay. This can’t be easy, but I think it’s a good message.”
“And we’re back live,” Carole said into the camera. “If you’re just joining us, you know we’ve been scrambling over here. Our guests today, Dylan Miller and Tia Hastings, were attacked by a member of our audience on their way into the studio. We are horrified and embarrassed by the behavior of one of our citizens, and show it to you again only because it will help you understand the courage of one brave woman in the face of adversity. Here’s what happened just a few minutes ago.” She turned to Tia. “We go live with you in one minute…you doing OK?”
Tia nodded. The cameraman counted down on his fingers, and Carole pressed her lips together as he tucked the last digit. “We offer our sincere apologies to not only Tia and Dylan, but to all of those who had to witness that blatant lack of basic human respect. From what we gather from police, the balloon contained sheep’s blood, and was weighted with a rock. Tia was hit in the face, and a second balloon landed at her feet, causing her to slip and fall. We fully expected that the interview was not going to happen, but Tia is insisting we go forward.”
“We are moved by her bravery and truly appreciate that she still wants to talk with us,” Dan added. “So without further delay, Ladies and Gentlemen, Tia Hastings and Dylan Miller.”
The camera man facing them pointed, indicating they were now on live. Tia could hear the wail of an approaching siren in the distance.
Carole began, “First of all, I just have to apologize one more time. As our audience can see, you are still covered with the contents of the balloon used in the attack. Can you tell us why you decided to go through with the interview?”
Tia cleared her throat. “We said we’d be here, and we didn’t want to let anyone down. I saw how many people were gathering by the stage to hear Dylan sing and to welcome us; and it wouldn’t be fair to them if we just left.”
“You’d just been attacked…I’m sure they would understand…”
“I’ve got a couple bumps and bruises—hardly enough to make me rush home; although, this isn’t exactly the look I had in mind for my Australian TV debut.” She pasted on a smile and lifted her wet hair, letting it fall back in clumps onto her shoulders.
The EMTs came in just then, toting medical bags and pushing a stretcher. “Ladies and gentlemen, medical help has just arrived. We’re going to send you off to Jay for the weather while they check Tia out, and then we’ll be back with you. Stay tuned.” Dan waited a couple beats before saying, “And we’re out.”
They continued the interview after the EMTs cleaned Tia’s wounds and evaluated her eye. It was quickly determined that she had no serious injuries, so they patched her up and gave her a proper ice pack. Tia steered them away from questions about the attack, and even though she looked a mess, by the end of the interview she was laughing and telling stories about meeting Dylan’s parents for the first time, and sharing her favorite observat
ions about Australia.
“What do you mean you still want to perform?” Dylan asked when she suggested it during the final commercial break of their segment.
“People came to see you, Dyl, and they deserve that. I promised I’d sing back-up.”
“You don’t need to…”
“I know. I want to.”
“Damn it woman, you are stubborn. And strong. And freaking sexy, even covered in sheep blood.”
“Don’t you forget it,” she teased. “You don’t want to mess with me.”
He turned his palms out. “No way,” he smiled. “You can win every argument.”
“Can I get that in writing?”
The roar from the crowd was deafening as Dylan and Tia took the stage in their blood splattered clothes. Words of encouragement and support washed over them like a blanket and Tia stepped up to the mic first. “I knew that the rest of you were awesome!” she yelled. “Thanks so much for your support!”
“No, thank you!” came a hundred voices amidst thunderous applause.
Tia stepped back and let Dylan take the reins. “That’s my girl Tia!” he bellowed. “She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and today—she’s my hero!”
He strummed the first chords of I’ll Pull You Up, and in light of the situation, it had a whole new meaning. He’d literally pulled her up in so many ways she couldn’t even begin to count them. Since this was the first time he’d played it live in Australia, the crowd went wild. She never got tired of singing this song and as Tia chimed in, she could feel her confidence increase with every note she sang. These people didn’t know her either, but they were supportive of her nonetheless and weren’t shy about letting her know it. She’d always told her students that 99% of the people in the world are good, and looking out over the audience, she could clearly see the truth in that statement.
“Thank you very much,” he sang as he coaxed out the final notes. “This next one’s a new one, hope you like it.” Tia grinned when he started plucking the first notes of her favorite new song, House Without a Home. He wrote it in New Zealand, because he couldn’t stop thinking about how much they’d both gravitated toward the natural beauty of many of the places they’d visited on the tour. He told her that the whole time he was filming out in some of the wilder parts of the country, he kept seeing things he knew would make her smile; like birds, sunsets, and waterfalls. There was no harmony written for this one yet, so Tia moved to the side of the stage and enjoyed, as she always did, watching Dylan do what he did best. She closed her eyes and let his honest gravelly voice wash over her.
Gravity just let me go, I’m tired of this world you know…
got nothing left to give, and I can’t keep takin’…
Even open eyes don’t truly see…in our narcissist’s society…
don’t know how we can live…with this mess we’re makin’…
Oh…no…we reap only what we sow…
On this big blue ball…life is precious overall…
Bodies littered on the ground, in the forest there will be no sound…
the white bear cannot live…when his world is bakin…
Oh…yeah…it’s time to take a stand…
because on this big blue ball…life is precious overall…
So leave the forest to the trees…keep the fishes in the seas…
we all need some room to roam…what good’s a house without a home…
Understand it’s got to be…about all of us and not just ‘me’…
not hard to tip the scale…when the balance is already shakin’…
Open up your eyes and see…that nothing good in life comes free…
Seems we’re on a spiral down…and my heart is breakin’…
Oh…please…you know it brings me to my knees…
you know that on this big blue ball…life is precious overall…
Let’s leave the forest to the trees…keep the fishes in the seas…
we all need some room to roam…what good’s a house without a home…
Yeah leave the forest to the trees…and the flowers to the bees…
all creatures need some room to roam…can’t have a house without a home…
Tia was so mesmerized by Dylan on stage and the passion that he had for his music that she was transported to another place. When he strummed the last chord, she rushed out to throw her arms around him as the audience responded with yet another roar of approval.
“Thank you very much, friends, for coming out to support us today and for helping us heal. I hope we’ll see you again soon.” Dylan swept his guitar off his shoulder and pulled Tia into his bow. The couple hundred people who’d showed up for their little performance sounded like a couple thousand and that was all the support she needed to know she’d done the right thing. They waved one last time, and jumped from the stage, shaking hands with a few audience members and then with Carole, Dan, and some of the crew before jumping into the waiting car.
She thought she’d break down after the whole thing was over; thought she was just being strong in the moment and that it would all catch up with her and flood her with emotion. But when she jumped into the back of the car, she smiled. “That went well, don’t you think?” she said.
“Come here, baby girl,” Dylan grinned. She cuddled up to him, both of them still a bit damp and in desperate need of showers. “I am just so bloody proud of you, I can’t even form the words.” He laughed. “No pun intended. You handled that whole situation with so much class and grace, and you were positively brilliant.” He shook his head, at a loss for words, but his smile said it all. “God I love you. More than I can possibly say.”
Kelley rushed down to meet the car as they pulled up to the house, and she took Tia immediately into her arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetie, but I am so proud of the way you handled the whole thing!”
The look on Kelley’s face and the tenderness in her touch caused Tia’s self-control to falter just a bit and she choked back a sob. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how people can be so cruel,” she said, “but I do know that I did the right thing.”
“Come on,” Kelley said, “I’m going to draw you a nice bath with lots of bubbles, and then we’re going to have some wine and do your hair and go out for a nice dinner. You showed them that they can’t break you—let’s show them that life goes on.”
Tia took a deep breath as they walked into the restaurant. Dylan’s arm was firmly around her waist and Steve was at her other side with Kelley at her back. Tia knew that their placement in proximity to her own body were by design, and she was incredibly grateful for the physical as well as the emotional support; especially since her legs felt a bit like cooked spaghetti. It hit her while she was soaking in the tub, the hot water and soap stinging the shredded flesh on her knee and elbow. She had her own little pity party, her quiet sobs masked by the hum of the jets that churned the water and loosened her tense muscles.
The last thing she wanted to do was face the public again tonight; especially with her cheek swollen and turning colors; but the show must go on. She couldn’t fathom why a complete stranger would want to hurt her on behalf of another complete stranger—she knew she’d never be able to rationalize the whole thing, but it kept her brain spiraling out in all directions. Although she’d never admit it out loud, she couldn’t help but wonder if it might happen again. Apparently not everyone had defected from Penelope’s fan club, and they seemed to be really pissed off.
In the end, she knew that she had to do it; she was not going to live her life in fear. She sucked it up, toweled off, and felt considerably better after she fixed her hair and dulled the bruise with some makeup. Slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans and the Cricket Australia training shirt Dylan had gotten her on Boxing Day, she breathed a little prayer that none of Penelope’s fans would be at the restaurant.
“Oh wow,” the hostess said excitedly when they entered the lobby. “I can’t believe this. It’s really you.”
Dylan
extended his hand to the visibly shaking spikey-haired brunette. “Dylan Miller,” he said by way of pointless introduction. She giggled and shook his hand.
“I know... I mean, I’m Vanessa…wow…I’m just…”
“Can we get a table for four, Vanessa?” he said sweetly. “Something kind of tucked away in a corner, maybe?”
“Oh, yes, of course. Let me see what I’ve got available.” She turned to Tia. “Can I just say that I really admire how you handled that whole awful situation this morning? I think you showed a lot of class. What a horrible thing to do to someone. I don’t think I could’ve done what you did—is it true you’re not pressing any charges?”
“It’s true,” Tia said, “and thank you for the support—I really appreciate it.”
“That just makes you even more of a bigger person. Brave, too, for going out in public right away. Does it hurt?” She raised her hand to her own cheek, indicating the spot where Tia’s face was swollen and already turning a lovely shade of purple.
“A little. I think it may have left a bigger bruise on my ego, though.”
“Well I think you were great. You both are. The whole world’s pulling for you, you know.”
“Thanks again. I really do appreciate it.”
“I can have them make you up a table in the other room. There’s no one in there right now, so it’ll be more private.”
“That’d be great,” Dylan smiled.
Private or not, all eyes in the restaurant were on them as soon as they entered the dining area. Tia tried to hold her head high and forced a smile; which came with the price of a zinging pain; as they made their way to the doorway that led into another room. Whispers swept up from every table and she could feel the stares boring into her. Panic coiled around her lungs and squeezed there so that she could only breathe in tiny sips. Somewhere a glass fell to the floor and shattered, and she cried out; nearly jumping out of her skin as she buried her face into Dylan’s chest.