by Lori Folkman
Great. What did he just agree to?
……
It’s bright. Too bright. My eyes hurt. I can’t see. I blink, over and over again. And then a man is standing in front of me.
I can see the pain on his face. His mouth is in the shape of an “O” but no sound comes out. He collapses, face first.
I don’t want to touch him, but I do. I have to help this time. I need to save him.
I roll him over, my hands shaking uncontrollably. I can’t really see him anymore: no face, no features. It’s just blood. Everywhere. It begins to splatter on me.
I’m too late. He’s already dead. There is nothing I can do. I start to cry. My heart hurts. The sobs get caught in my throat. It’s getting hard to breathe. I gasp for air. I groan, my body racked with pain.
Then it lifts. I feel like my body has just been resurrected, rising from a dark pit. My muscles are twitching, like I had been running for my life. I inhale deeply, then blink, and wonder if I’m alone. Wonder if anyone heard ….
Chapter Twenty ……
Ah. New York. Ben felt like he had come home. He had, in fact, spent most of his youth here. And they still had their estate in upstate New York. He loved the quiet and classiness of the old New York towns. Not that he’d get to experience the quiet of the estate this trip; there just wasn’t any time for relaxing. But that was fine, because he also loved the complete opposite: the noise and diversity of New York City.
He was halfway through his publicity tour. He was still alive with energy and excitement. But he could feel the underlying fatigue beginning to pull on his hem. That edge of crabbiness was there. That desire to find a dark spot and sleep for hours without interruption.
The hype was great though. “Generations” was at number one for the sixth week. The video was breaking records of its own: first as being the most downloaded video in a single week, followed by month. And it was still talked about nonstop. So was that more recent kiss with Kat—the one caught by the paparazzi. But he didn’t really regret that. He’d shown discretion for so long. And they were on the top of a huge Ferris wheel. It’s not like it was PDA. It was rather private up there. Or so it had seemed.
Speaking of Kat—or not speaking to Kat—the hectic pace of the City hadn’t allowed Ben much time to talk to her. They would text frequently, but to coordinate the three hour difference in time zones with his crazy schedule was another thing. Today he got to hear her voice for the first time in a week. It was almost as invigorating as a nap.
First thing he asked: “Did you see my interview with Nora?” He felt a little uncomfortable about that one. Then he remembered that Kat would have been in school when it aired.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I TiVo’d it. Just got done watching it, actually.”
Cool. She was taping his interviews that aired while she was in school. That was sweet. “Was it … okay? Not too sentimental or anything?”
“No, Ben. It was perfect. Really. It was … kinda tender in parts. But it wasn’t mushy or anything.”
“Hmm. Obviously Nora thought it was mushy. She cried.”
“I know. But she cries on nearly every show. I think she has over-active tear ducts.”
This made him chuckle. Kat always knew exactly what to say. Especially when she added this: “It didn’t make you look … weak. Just real. Like you have the same feelings we humans do. Kinda tore down that extraterrestrial image.”
He could feel his Katrina smile coming on. The one that he just couldn’t wipe off his face anytime she was around. “And that’s a good thing?” he asked.
“Yep. You want to appear normal—sometimes.”
“That’s what Paul said.”
“He can be wise … occasionally.”
Ben knew she was being sarcastic, but still, what gives between her and Paul? They were going to have to learn to like each other eventually.
“And I saw you wear the T-shirt on the late show, underneath that black blazer. Looked good,” she said.
“Yeah? What’d your dad say? He think it was cool?”
“Oh, yeah. Totally.” Why was it that she sounded insincere just then? She did that occasionally. It always baffled him. Was it that her dad could have cared less to watch one of Ben’s performances? Or that Mr. Hayes wasn’t really keen on Ben borrowing the Clash shirt? Ben wanted to ask, but he didn’t know what kind of answer he’d get. Kat would likely dismiss it. Say it was nothing. Just like she had done with Brishell. Which, as awesome as it was for Kat to shrug off that photo shoot, something told Ben that she wasn’t entirely okay with it. Maybe it was the way she blinked when she first saw the photo, almost like the picture was blinding her.
And as he was thinking about that night in his theater with Kat, he felt this awful pang in his heart. He wanted her near. “I miss you Kat,” he whispered. He hoped it would feel like he had just blown those words into her ear, in the way that made her shiver. He loved that. He tried it again, making his voice a little lower, a little breathier. “I really, really miss you.”
She didn’t respond for a second. When she did, her voice was light, like she was trying to joke. “You gave me goose bumps.”
Awesome. He wished he could be there to feel them prick on the back of her neck.
“It’s gone fast though—this week. Don’t ya think?” She was trying to focus on the good, like always.
But he couldn’t feel the good right now. He could just feel the weights of longing pulling his heart down. “Yeah. But thinking about the next week feels like … I don’t know, like waiting for spring in New York.”
“It’s still cold there?” she asked. She’d misinterpreted his metaphor. He was trying to say that waiting until he could see her again felt like waiting for flowers to bloom in the middle of a snowstorm. But she wouldn’t understand that. She was in sunny California.
He felt like he couldn’t survive without that … heat that burned between them. Like without seeing her brightness every day, he would shrivel and die. He wanted to say that … and more, but he didn’t want it to get lost in translation again. He needed to say those kinds of things face to face. Which he would, just as soon as he got back.
……
The Mike Andrews Show. A nighttime talk show. It was a new one, but it was a staggering success. The guy was a riot.
Ben had just performed his song. The crowd loved it. Ben thought it was his best crowd yet. This place had a club-like feel. It was darker, edgier. And the crowd seemed to feed from that vibe: they were rowdier than the average talk-show crowd.
It was time for the interview. It was going well. Mike was cracking a lot of jokes. Ben didn’t feel like the conversation was really going anywhere. But that was okay, because he was having fun and the crowd was rolling out the laughs.
Until. The flat-screen behind Ben displayed the soon-to-be released cover of M magazine. The one with Brishell’s naked body next to his bare torso. The crowd cheered loudly as Mike urged them on. All kinds of whistles and cat-calls broke out. Once the crowd settled down, Mike asked, “How does a guy get this to happen? I mean, really, under what circumstances does a guy get wet, roll in sand, and come out with … her stuck to you? Like gum on a shoe? This never happens to me. Anytime I’ve ever rolled in the sand, the only thing I’ve ever had stick to me was an empty potato-chip bag.”
The crowd laughed, but Ben could feel his stomach turn. This was not in the script. He didn’t want to talk about Brishell. But, of course, Mike wasn’t going to leave it alone. He asked what it was like to work with Brishell. He commented on what a beautiful woman she is, to which Ben tried to reply casually. “Yeah, she is. She’s suede.”
“Ultra suede.” Mike added. Yeah, the saying had already caught on. And Ben had only said it a few times. These people were sheep.
Then Mike asked personal things about Brishell’s physique that should never be said—ever, let alone in front of millions of people.
Ben didn’t say much. He shifted his body and leaned awa
y from the desk. Like if he was farther away, maybe he wouldn’t hear the questions. Mike called him on it. “Is this making you uncomfortable … talking about Brishell?”
The way he said “Brishell” made Ben nervous. And for good reason. Because the next picture that popped up on screen was one of Katrina.
“Would this be why you don’t want to talk about Brishell? Would you rather be talking about her?” Mike pointed at the picture. It was one from the music video. Beautiful, smiling, Katrina. “What’s her name again?” he asked.
Ben was thinking all sorts of choice swearwords. Ones that would get him bleeped on national TV. This was unbelievable. This was not supposed to happen. He didn’t even go there with Nora … and she paid for the exclusive. Ben felt his insides grow hot. Not like he was going to break out in a sweat kind of hot, but like he was getting so mad that he might incinerate his organs. He wanted to stand up, pull off the mic, and walk off the set. But. There were three hundred people in the audience. It might as well be live.
He tried to smile—what he hoped was a natural, complacent smile. And he tried to make his voice sound light, like this was not affecting him in the least. “I would say that the reason that I wasn’t talking about Brishell is the same reason that I’m not going to talk about her,” he pointed to the picture of Kat. But, since he didn’t say her name, people in the audience must have thought he needed help remembering. “Katrina,” various people called. “Her name is Katrina.”
As irritated as Ben was, he still smiled and said thank you to the audience. Then he tried to redirect once more. “So, actually, I’m here to talk about my new album. It’s called Time and it was released three days ago. You may have heard of it?”
This got laughter from the audience, which was good. But Ben was still fuming inside. “You have a picture of the cover?” he asked Mike. Ben actually reached across the desk, trying to help Mike find the cover art.
Mike found it, held it up, and said, “Here it is. Time. Available now. Everyone going to buy it?” The audience cheered loudly. Again, good. Then Mike threw the cover art into the audience and said, “Alright, we talked about your album. Everyone promised that they are going to buy it. So let’s get back to this.” Again, the picture of Kat illuminated the screen. “Everyone is dying to know what is going on here.” Mike reached for his remote.
Ben started to say the canned response. The “we’re just friends” one. Then Mike pushed a button and switched the photo. It was the Ferris wheel kiss. “Not buying it, Ben.” More cheers and cat-calls.
Oh, this guy was going to pay. “No, really,” Ben started to say.
“Maybe in your world. In a world where you roll through the sand and get a Brishell stuck to you. And your friends kiss you like this.” The cameraman zoomed in on that kiss. The crowd roared, yet again. “A day in the life of Ben Wilder, folks,” Mike said.
Once the audience calmed down, Mike switched to a different picture of Kat. Ben hadn’t seen this one before. It almost looked like it could have been from a dance recital. She was striking a pose with one arm held over her head. It made her skirt hike up, shorter than anything Ben had seen her wear. And the look on her face was rather … seductive. Like she was exhaling with exhilaration.
“None of my friends look like this,” Mike said with disappointment. “I mean, dang, will you look at that?” The camera man zoomed in on this one as well. The crowd … they were going wild over that picture. Over Kat. A sixteen year old girl. “I’ve got to find out how to get me some friends like that,” Mike joked.
That inner fire was no longer contained. Ben could feel sweat pooling under his leather jacket. His face was probably turning red. “She’s sixteen, Mike,” Ben said. His voice came out sounding gruff. He quickly gave a stage smile, hoping to cover his anger.
“Yeah, I know.” The way Mike replied—with his eyebrows raised—was disgusting. Pedophile kind of disgusting. But then he gave his own stage smile to cover up the perversion. “So that’s why you’re still just friends. She’s too young. To get involved like that. Pity. But at least you have … something else to occupy your time while you’re waiting for Katrina to come of age.” Again, the picture of Brishell.
This guy is going to die.
……
Interview over. Ben had just entered his dressing room. “What the hell was that, Paul?” Ben immediately yelled.
Paul’s face was inches away from Ben’s. Ben could see Paul’s upper lip sweating. “Calm down, Ben.” Paul’s voice was soft, soothing. “That was completely unauthorized. He jumped script.”
“Obviously someone knew what he was up to. The photos were prepped.” Ben backed away. He felt like he had to keep moving. If he stopped, all that frustration might pool in one spot—like his fist—and result in damage of some sort. Not that he ever really lost his temper. But he felt close. Damn close. He wanted to hit something. Hard.
“Yes. He was prepared. His staff knew. But they didn’t tell us anything.”
Ben was across the room now. Still pacing. “Whose job is it to know? Who cleared their script?”
“Steve. It was Steve on this one.”
“He’s fired. Seriously. Fire him now. He should have found out about this.”
Ben was in Paul’s face again. Paul flinched ever so slightly. “That might be rash, Ben. If Mike’s staff had an ulterior motive, there is no way that Steve could have found out about it.”
“Then what is he paid to do? This can’t happen again.”
“It won’t. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
“How? If we can’t find out about these … covert scripts, how can we make sure nothing like this happens again? Mike was trying to scoop Nora. Who’s going to try to scoop Mike? I can’t be a target like this Paul.”
Paul stood still. He was the embodiment of calmness. Like he was some Yoga guru. “I’ll make it very clear to Steve—to the entire staff—that this can’t happen again. They’ll know that their jobs are on the line. We’ll interview the entire team of writers for each of the upcoming shows … look for any discrepancies. And as far as Mike goes … he’ll know he crossed a line. He’ll find himself short on guests for a while.”
This took the edge off the anger—that momentary bliss found in planning vengeance. A good old fashioned boycott. Paul could arrange that. All the A-listers would turn down Mike’s show. He’d be off the air within a month. Sweet retribution. But it would only work if everyone boycotted. “Do it Paul. Let everyone know that Mike can’t be trusted. Tell them what his tactics are.”
“It will be easy. His conduct was uncouth. I’ll make sure he suffers the consequences.”
Ben ran his hands through his hair. Mike was taken care of. Now Ben had to worry about the next person. He looked at his watch. It was four-o’clock. One-o’clock in California. “I have to talk to Kat.” Could he have her pulled from school? Or would the press catch on to that? That might make it worse. But how fast will word of Mike’s interview travel? Would she hear about it before school got out?
Ben clenched his hands over fistfuls of hair. Oh, this was bad. He’d just killed things with Kat. Sure she’d been understanding of the pictures with Brishell, but Ben knew that Mike had just sparked a firestorm. The media would pick up on it. Who will Ben chose, Kat or Brishell? Obviously not Kat. Ben had said himself that she was too young.
“For the record, you handled it very well. You didn’t crack. You were calm. You were amiable. You got a few laughs. Really, for a tough topic, we still have a best case scenario. You came out unscathed.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Kat.” Ben could feel the sweat pooling under his arms again. He quickly unzipped his motorcycle jacket and threw it to the sofa. Really, Paul. Did he not possess a single human emotion?
“Katrina will be fine. You didn’t divulge anything.”
“Exactly, Paul. I dismissed her. Us.”
“She’ll understand. You were protecting her. I could see that. I’m sure
many people will see it as well. Really, I don’t think you’ll have much fall out. Why don’t I get the tape for you? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you imagined.”
“I was there. I know what I said. I know that I didn’t give Kat the credit that she deserves. I can’t imagine how this will make her feel.” He’d said that Brishell was suede. And he hadn’t made any reference to Kat in that regards. He knew that would sting, no matter how resilient Kat seemed to be.
“So you would have preferred the alternative? To announce your … whatever … with her on national TV.”
Argh. Why did Paul have to do that? Make everything so black and white? “Obviously I would have preferred to not have to talk about it at all.”
“Of course. But maybe it is time to talk.”
“I … don’t think Kat is ready. It been crazy enough as it is. And you remember what they did to Malia? I can’t do that to Kat.” Ben still hadn’t been able to shrug off the guilt from that one. Malia’s family had fallen apart. Her parents divorced. Her siblings had taken sides and no longer spoke to each other. Not that what Malia’s dad had done was Ben’s fault, but it never would have been brought to light had the press not been keeping their spotlights shining through Malia’s windows 24/7. And the paparazzi wouldn’t have been there if Malia would have chosen someone less … popular to date.
“Yes. But Malia was already a celebrity. I hardly think the press will go to the same lengths for Katrina.” Still calm and even, but now Paul’s voice had a fleck of disdain.
Ben had enough of Paul’s belligerence against Kat. “Tell me why you don’t like her,” he demanded.
Paul motioned at the sofa. He thought they should sit for this conversation, meaning it must be bad. Ben was ready to sit anyhow. All the adrenaline was leaving his system, making him feeling like he’d just ran five miles. He plopped down dramatically, trying to show Paul how irritated he was.
“Ben, I do like Katrina. There is nothing wrong with her. She’s a nice girl. A nice average girl. Do you hear those key words? Average and girl? I think that Mike has a valid point. You’re expected to do better than that. You’d be better off with someone like Brishell.”