Seven Minutes 'til Midnight

by Sunniva Dee

  Hell, I just saw a meme based on a still picture of Aishe and me. I look wild-eyed—like I did, I know—and she’s enjoying what we’re doing too. It was easy to suppress the text from memory. You also get used to shit, it appears, because my next step was to simply send the link to Troll, who sent it to Janet, who got the lawyers on yet another goose chase. Here’s to hoping my priestess never sees it.

  The UK mags are mixing it up for us. As of late, they’ve been speculating about Waris and Elias. There’s a rumor she’s on tour with him—people have seen her, one of the few truths out there at the moment—and the reason why she’s with him is that she’s having his twins.

  Elias wouldn’t have looked at her twice if it wasn’t for the twins, they say, but hell, he’s a standup guy. Of course, this particular rumor has spurred the creativity of visual artists, posting could-be pictures of what their babies will look like, between Waris’ generous features and Elias’ sharp angles. They also offer a variety of options skin-wise, ranging from full-on albino to the purest coffee.

  But being in Japan, we only get part of the impact. The major Japanese entertainment websites have been forgiving of us… even as they’ve inadvertently fed the American press with a new strain of gossip. Only yesterday, Emil burst out laughing at the modified version he found on the twin story.

  In some’s belief, Waris isn’t having twins after all. No, Elias and her love is the real deal. But what you see of Aishe in the video is actually two women. They’re twins, and identical at that. Only they’re also slightly different. See, if you go back to such-and-such place in the video and sharpen the contrast and brighten the background, you’ll see that the woman’s features are different from one angle to the other.

  The Japanese concertgoers get to see Aishe at the meet-n-greets. They sometimes see her next to Hailey at dinners and at bigger TV shows where we’re allowed to offer merch too. Hailey they see all the time behind the merch table. Which brings me to a crazy turn of events.

  In the short time since Hailey met Aishe, she’s turned into quite the copy of her. There’s no two ways about it with those clothes, the jewelry, her hair, and that makeup.

  They are the same height, about the same size, and Hailey must have done something to her skin, because she used to be fair. Maybe she’s hitting tanning beds in her spare time? Either way, the result is a less natural version of Aishe’s mouthwatering tint.

  “Tro-o-y?”

  I’m still browsing the 7-Eleven shelves for snacks when I turn and find Hailey. She’s offering me an orange marshmallow snowman.

  “Irene told me how much you like weird candy, so I bought you this one. It’s salty licorice-flavored with blackcurrant gummy bear stuffing on the inside. Pretty cool, right?”

  She blinks at me, keeping her smile lower than usual. Setting her hip out to the side, she looks affected, but something about it reminds me of Aishe. It’s the strangest thing.

  “Oh yeah, that’s really weird. I’ll grab a few to take home to my nieces and nephews. They love that shit,” I say.

  “I already bought this one for you. Let me.” She scratches it open with turquoise nails and holds it up in front of me.

  “Like, now?” I say, shooting my brows up.

  “Why not? You only live once, right?” She lets out a giggle that’s huskier than her own laughter. Sort of like Aishe’s.

  “I’ll save it for later,” I say, reaching for it.

  “Aww, come on? I wanted to see your face when you try it. Bet it’ll be priceless.” She bites down on her lip, while puckering it. A bite-pout. Wow. At least it’s not an Aishe thing.

  The laughter falling from me is politely impatient. I’ve got my hands full of stuff I want to take back to the hotel. I found some marshmallow stuff myself, a couple of hearts, as a matter of fact. They’re so big and red they’re probably chock-full of preservatives, but I know Aishe will like them. She’ll blush too. I’ve been banned from talking about feelings, so I’ve been creative in ways of showing them to her. She blushes every time, and the anger in her eyes is absolutely stunning.

  “Let it go, Hailey, okay? I’m not hungry.”

  “Aww, Tro-o-y. You don’t have to be hungry to eat marshmallows? Look at this. It’s so small too. Let me feed you it, okay? It’ll be fun. I bet you’ll be all, ‘Whoa, that’s nuts!’” Eyes wide and pale, the color of soft concrete now that she pleads with me. I’ve seen them dark too, but that’s usually when Aishe is around.

  I roll my eyes, letting them half disappear under my eyelids. “One bite.”

  “Yep!” Her concrete sparkles triumphantly. God, I’m not sure what’s weirder, she or her candy. She leans forward on the tip of her toes—in shoes Aishe says are for flamenco dancing.

  I reach for the orange marshmallow snowman with my free hand, and she pulls it back the way she did the last time.

  “Seriously, Hailey? I’m not going to keep playing games with you.”

  “Open wide.” She gapes with me while she drives the candy toward my face like it’s veggies for a child.

  Goddammit, but at least I’ll get her off my back.

  I open my mouth. Hailey steps a whole lot closer. Lifts higher on her toes. She stumbles a little, lets out an oops, and leans on me, lips puckered in an “o.” As the candy goes into my mouth and I bite down, at least three camera shutters go off around us from different angles, and she’s in my face, so damn close, like she’s the one eating and not me. Or like she’s about to kiss me.

  She fucking kisses me?

  “What the hell?” I bat her off. “Hey, you.” I point at one of the photographers. He doesn’t look Japanese. Grinning, he bolts out the door before I can catch him. I swing around, in the direction of the other shutters. I see the back of another photographer running out the back door, while the third, definitely not Japanese, saunters up to the cash register with all the time in the world.

  “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” I bark.

  Troll’s by my side immediately. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m handling it,” I say. “Give me that. You took pictures I don’t approve of, and you’re going to erase them right now.”

  The guy looks me over, smile growing in the middle of red stubble. He does it over his shoulder, because he’s busy paying for a handful of orange snowmen. “Nah” is all he says. “We’re in a public place, we’re in Japan, and you, Troy Armstrong, are a public figure.”

  “The fuck? That doesn’t mean I’m okay with this!”

  “Oh there’s something wrong with taking a picture of you kissing your girlfriend?” He juts his lower lip out in a gross version of Hailey’s expression a minute ago.

  “I wasn’t kissing her, and she’s not my fucking girlfriend! Give me that.” I try to get his camera by force, but Troll holds me back, telling me to chill, that it’s only going to blow up in our faces.

  “Hey, asshole, what’s it gonna take? I’ll get you a good chunk up front if you let me delete the pictures right now,” Troll says, pressing in front of me with calm experience. “Hard cash, man.”

  “Oh you’re ready to bargain for my money shot? I don’t think so. No way you’ll do better than Star Report or Hollywood Fancies.” He shoves his wallet back into his pocket and grabs the bag of candy. “Pretty sure I can get six digits out of this one.”

  I don’t even think. I forge past Troll and slam my elbow into the side of the guy’s face. There’s a whac in the air. Troll groans, and the guy’s still standing there, eyes wide with incredulity. He touches his face. Which doesn’t have a mark on it. Troll’s bent over, holding his arm.

  “What’s going on here?” Bo shouts. “Who’s this?”

  Hailey is behind me, and I suddenly realize she’s linked herself onto my arm. Letting out scared little sniffles, she pretends to be crying. I jerk free of her and help Troll to his feet.

 
“Aww, damn, that was close,” the guy says. “Those headlines would’ve kicked ass: Troy Armstrong knocking out poor, hard-working photographer while trying to steal his camera. And the settlement would’ve been fucking a-awesome.” He play-groans. “Well, I guess I’ll have to stick with just my money shot. Bye, sugar. Thanks for everything.” He winks to Hailey and takes off with a sloppy air kiss.

  Tonight, I wanted to take Aishe to the rooftop gardens of the Regent Ritz Hotel. The small tables, the paper lanterns winding in and out between bonsai topiaries, and the unobstructed view of the moon was going to soften her resolve against me. But instead, I’m taking Troll to the E.R. He used his arm to block me from hitting the paparazzo.

  AISHE

  We haven’t stayed in the same hotel for more than two nights since we came to Japan. It’s part of what makes it special to come back to the Regent Ritz Hotel for our third night in a row tonight. The guys are out and about, the crew is spread for leisurely activities, and Zoe and I have hit the department stores. Now, we’re back with loads of gorgeous clothes. More than I can afford, really.

  “I’ll help you unpack,” Zoe says from the door.

  “That’d mean I’d have to come help you unpack afterward, so no thank you, sweetheart!” I point at her even dozen bags. The bellman already insisted on helping “the most beautifulest wife of the clown-erupt!” but she shrugged him off with a few bills.

  “So what are you wearing for dinner? You’re coming with us to Moon Tower, right? You should wear the gold lamé one, because, Lawdie, Lawdie, Troy would swallow his tongue.”

  “And I’d want that why again?”

  “He likes you, and you might not even realize this yourself, but you like him too. You totally look at him.”

  Oh man. If that was all I did.

  “I look at people,” I joke. “It’s one of my things.”

  “You’re so funny. Anyway, you two have chemistry, and not only in bed.”

  “Right, and isn’t it awesome that the whole world can make up their minds on whether or not we have chemistry in bed?” As I say it, I realize that this particular lament means less to me with each passing day. Sometime in a remote future, who knows: maybe I don’t care about having been leaked, orgasm and all, to the entire world.

  “Meh, it is what it is,” Zoe says what she always says when this comes up. She doesn’t give a crap. It might be why I care less too.

  “Also, think about it: imagine the crap-ton of people out there who’ve never been laid the way we did in that film. We had a blast, right? Some people don’t even have orgasms, and if they do, it’s with some wooden man doll of a guy who has no idea how to treat a woman.”

  I burst out laughing. “A wooden man doll?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Not, like, a real wooden doll.”

  “Pinocchio!” I say.

  “Oh God, that’s so gross! Pinocchio’s, like, the sweetest story. You totally just ruined it for me. I’ll never watch it again without thinking about terrible lovemaking and little wooden dicks!” She makes a cross with her index fingers, holding it up against me, as she backtracks toward the door. “Behold, Aishe is crazy. Need to leave before is too late.”

  I follow her to the door, snickering. “What accent is that? Transylvanian?”

  “Something like that.” She grins, saluting me with twelve shopping bags raised on her arms. “Come to Moon Tower, ’kay? You and Troy are the only ones always staying in your rooms when we do something fun. I’ll make Emil get Troy to come too, and we’ll all be there.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I call after her, already knowing we have other plans. I’m not sure what we’re doing. Something Troy loved the last time he was in Nagoya. All I know is we have this plan because everyone else will be at the Moon Tower.

  As I throw myself on the bed, I let out a sighed thank-you to The City of Nagoya. The place is home to several TV channels, and they’re shedding out big money to have Clown Irruption play.

  Today was a TV day, and I haven’t seen Troy since this morning. Basically, none of the pretties went, because this hotel is the bomb and we’ve laid out by the pool and enjoyed complimentary spa treatments all day.

  I feel fabulous. Albeit a little sweaty. Zoe doesn’t mess around when she shops, and we sure got a lot done in two hours.

  I whip a pocket mirror out of my purse and hold it up over my face, so I can study myself from my prone position. My makeup is in place for the most part, but I’m definitely shiny. No lipstick, of course, because we had smoothies. Mmm, so good. I could get used to this.

  Slowly, I sit up and wiggle my feet out of my shoes. Doing small circles with my ankles, I get the blood circulation back while I consider this happy feeling I’ve been harboring for a week now, ever since Troy and I came to our truce.

  Maybe truce isn’t the right word. For a truce to come, there first needs to be enmity, and between Troy and me, there’s only been shock. Disbelief. Sadness. Grief. Guilt. And unfortunately, love.

  I’m in love-fire with my disloyal friend. It’s why I still call this a truce, because isn’t there a saying that all is fair in love and war? I think that can be interpreted my way. As in however the heck I want.

  I long to see him in the morning, to wake up before him and look down at his beautiful face from my elbow-high vantage point above him on his bed.

  When his eyes open, the first thing he does is stare right into mine. I cherish the moment they change from confusion to tenderness, when they slide from unconscious into glimmering awareness.

  We have a routine now, Troy and I. In a new hotel, I start out by making a mess in Waris and my room. She never even comes by anyway, and I’m only here initially. I take my first shower and dress up. At this point, I don’t even bring my essentials to Troy’s room. It’s a strange thing when you go mushy on the inside thinking about what someone has done for you.

  A week ago in Tokyo, I squirmed out of bed late. “I’d pay an arm and a leg to lay around for a while longer,” I’d said.

  “You make the rules, moxchia,” he murmured, and I told him, again, to not use that word for me. His answer was a disarming smile.

  “No, I don’t. Troll does, and we have to be down for breakfast,” I said.

  “True, but we’d have twenty minutes extra if it weren’t for you needing to pack up your bombed room before breakfast.” He came up behind me in the bathroom mirror. Warm, he brushed against me, droplets still trickling between his pecs after our shower.

  I was already dressed. Hair thoroughly brushed—which takes forever—I was hooking my red and gold feather pendants into my ears when he pushed against me.

  Instinctively, I tipped my head to the side so he had better access to my neck, and he pressed soft kisses up the length of it like we were lovers. I remember the goosebumps he gave me, the need rising in my body, the beat pulsating in me with each caress and how I hated having to run to my room.

  “Look,” he murmured. “Why don’t you just move into my hotel room? No one will say anything. Heck, they’ll be happy for us.”

  “Except Hailey,” I said with a slightly evil smirk.

  “Who cares what she thinks?”

  “I know, but no. I… I love this, with you.” I found his eyes in the mirror. “But everything would change then. I need my backup plan if the Drago Fuoc makes me into something I don’t want to be.”

  Troy cradled my face in his hand and steadied it until we stared at our reflection in the mirror. He leaned his chin on the top of my head. “How do you feel right now? Are you something you want to be in this moment?”

  I pffed like I’d been doing a lot with him lately. “Yeah, but if I go bruxiante, you’ll have a crazy person on your hands.” Gently, I started collecting my essentials. Shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, makeup. My perfume, body lotion, and all the good stuff a girl needs when she wakes up in the mo
rning no matter where she is.

  He watched me work, a small towel the only fabric covering him. “If that happened, you’d be my favorite werecat.”

  “You just don’t get how horrible I’d be.” I couldn’t help enjoying the mischievous side-eye he gave me.

  “I’ve seen you, baby. Not so scary to me.”

  “Oh you’re comparing this to when I was making Emil’s life hell?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “Or have you gone werecat on other guys too?”

  “No, but don’t trust what you saw! I could get way worse.” My toothpaste dropped to the floor, and I picked it up. When I rose to my feet again, Troy was zipping my biggest beauty bag closed.

  “All I saw, Aishe, was a beautiful woman trying to give herself to Emil. You wanted to give him all of your love and attention, and frankly, I’m no chicken shit. I’m not afraid, and if that’s what bruixante means to you, I’ll be over here clapping my hands, with my arms open to catch you.”

  He put down the beauty bag and did exactly that. He even bent his knees to take the impact of someone heavy. And there I went again, laughing.

  How does he always make me laugh?

  “You’re crazy, Troy Armstrong,” I said. “Bruxiante can work differently on different people, so who knows what I’d turn into with you.” My smile evaporated as I added, “I’ll just have to do what I do. Keep my room. See you when you want to see me.”

  “As in always,” he husked, gathered up my second beauty bag too, and walked out of the bathroom.

  “Hey! Where are you going with those?”

  “I’m putting them in my suitcase.”

  “What? But that’s my stuff.”

  “I promise not to use any of it.”

  I ducked my head out of the bathroom and found him smirking at me from the desk. Closing the suitcase, he pressed his palm flat against the lid and locked it. “It’ll be easier. You have to bring all of this over here anyway, so why not keep it with me?”

  I smile. Wrap my arms around myself, thinking of Troy’s determination that morning. With the exception of a few tour-bus nights where he’s had to sneak my stash into my bunkbed, it’s worked out great. Now, the only products I keep in my fake room is whatever I carry around in my purse.