by Lacy Carter
“Well—” Anya said, rolling her eyes.
“Yes,” Henry said, stepping forward and shaking Chad’s hand.
Seeing them face each other, Bonnie realized that Henry wore his hair similar to Chad’s. Coincidence? Or was Henry a fan? Judging by the Henry’s demeanor, Bonnie went with the latter. Wearing an overeager grin, he stared at Chad with unabashed admiration.
“We came here because it's Anya’s birthday,” Henry said.
“Richie, send a bottle to their table,” Chad said. “It's on me.” He turned to Bonnie.
“Wait,” Anya said, stroking his arm, before holding onto it with a desperation. She wanted him badly. “There's so much I want to ask. You decided to go on Win a Filthy Bad Boy. Does that mean you want to settle down?”
For some reason Bonnie felt irritated to see Anya touch Chad’s arm.
“Nah, the show is pretty much scripted,” he said, turning to leave.
“What's she like?” Anya asked, hurriedly. “The skank.”
Bonnie swallowed. Her rising panic urged her to leave. She put her glass on the table and stood, deciding that it was better she didn’t stick around.
Chad turned and wrinkled his forehead. “Who?” he asked.
“The girl they paired you with for the show,” Anya said.
“Oh… she's right behind you.”
Bonnie stopped mid-stride, and turning, she caught the shocked expressions on Henry and Anya’s faces.
“She's my girl for the show.”
“Yes,” Bonnie said, looking at Chad. “And this skank is just leaving.”
Chapter Six
....he's good looking, that's not to be debated, but Chad’s allure to the opposite sex is the fact that he doesn't give a rat’s ass about what anyone thinks about him.
He only cares for himself. Women think he’s attracted to them; how wrong they are…
There is no special treatment or regard for the women in his scope, they are all just prey in a hunt.
Cameras clicked away furiously and the crowd gasped in awe as we entered the studio for our first interview. The hubbub of his fans, an army of overzealous women, wailed outside the studio for Mr. Steel. It was astounding, to say the least.
Chad acknowledge the crowd. I suppose he was used to the attention, whereas my heart flip-flopped in my chest. “Don’t trip, whatever you do, don’t trip!” I repeated the words over and over again in my head, but the mantra offered little comfort. The five-inch heels, the floor-length dress and the flashing lights, were a constant threat to my balance.
Before long, we were ushered into the building and taken to separate make-up rooms. It felt as if I had suddenly woken up as Katniss Everdeen and was about to participate in the 74th Hunger Games.
We were interviewed by John Frazer, when I say ‘we’, I mean Chad, as most of the questions were directed toward him, which was to be expected. But it was clear from this brief moment with Chad that he never cared for me. Winning me over was just another challenge for him.
Like I said… Chad doesn't care about what others think and he certainly doesn't care what others want… he’s just out for himself.
Bonnie stopped typing and re-read the last sentence as the front door buzzed. Bonnie's head snapped up, and she closed her document. She had an hour before the taxi arrived.
She opened the door to find Ken.
“Hey Ken!”
Bonnie walked back inside her apartment and Ken followed behind her into the living room. It was the first time she invited Ken in. She was so preoccupied with the recent changes in her life that Ken wasn't a big deal. Until this moment, they only spoke in the hallway. He never entered her place. She never entered his. They were not at that level yet.
“Hey doll! So what's this I'm hearing?” he asked, smiling. “I never knew there was a celebrity in the building.”
Bonnie twisted side-to-side. “Where?” she said. She stopped, cocked her head, and squinted at Ken.
“Hey, don't try to brush it off,” Ken said. “You’re all over the news, not to mention you were on The John Frazer Show. I'm glad the whole world got to see what I always see.”
“What's that?” Bonnie asked.
“How hot you are,” Ken said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“I only went on The John Frazer Show because I was contractually obligated. I hated every second if it.”
“So what about Mr. Steel? What's he like?”
“Why is everyone asking about Mr. Steel? I had to look pretty despite the whole finger-drumming ordeal. John Frazer’s whole ludicrously trivial and brown-nosing spiel about Chad, ugh.” It was as if Bonnie’s brain-to-mouth valve had temporarily malfunctioned.
“Tough break,” Ken said.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it. Not only is he the defining figure of a generation, he's the most complex bad boy to featured on a Win a Filthy Bad Boy, now?” Bonnie huffed. “I came off looking like a gold-digging groupie.”
“I get why you’re feeling crappy, but don’t sweat it. You did okay.”
“Thanks, Ken. I just wish Frazier asked me more questions. If John had asked me, I would have had a lot to say.” She continued, seriously, “the bullshit questions were like nothing I had heard before. Then my mom calls to say she and dad will be watching, and rooting for me to win because Chad is so hot. They said bagging him would be my greatest accomplishment to date.”
When Bonnie ended her tirade, she noticed Ken wrestled to prevent himself from smirking.
“Go ahead, laugh,” she said.
“I'm not… really. It's just…” He stopped, shrugged, and fell silent. If the desired effect of this were to provoke Bonnie, it worked.
“What… what were you going to say?”
“Alright, alright. I just find it hard to believe you're not into him. I’d be hard pressed to find another woman who doesn’t think Mr. Steel is hot.” Ken gave her a huge smile, revealing his perfect set of teeth.
“I never said he wasn’t hot, I just think he sees all women as fair game and doesn't care about the ones he hurts.”
Ken grabbed the remote. “So, you haven't seen anything about the build-up to the show?” he asked.
“No. And that's how I'd like to keep it,” Bonnie had avoided the TV since she agreed to do the show. Over the past few days, she found herself being followed, hounded even, by journalists when she went out shopping. People pointed her out on the streets. She started to realize even fifteen minutes of fame was too much for her. She felt like a sideshow. It was all feeling like more than she could handle and the Stephanie Stein article was feeling more and more like a honey trap.
“No sweat. Reality TV's not my thing anyway.” He flashed his adorable dimples.
“Thanks,” she said. Bonnie felt a little at ease knowing at least one person she knew wasn't going to be watching the show.
“In this case, though, I'm going to make an exception,” he said and broke into a chuckle. “I’m not missing a second.”
Bonnie groaned. “What have I gotten myself into?”
***
Two hours later, Bonnie took a seat at a table overlooking the Manhattan cruise terminal and ordered a latte. The Cafe Un Deux Trois was pretty much empty, except for the cameras that were pointed at Bonnie. She clutched her favorite black bag.
Bonnie smiled to the camera in front of her. “He's late. To be honest, I don't know why I'm even surprised.” It was hard for Bonnie to speak to the camera, yet pretend it wasn't there. This was the instruction given by Leslie before the show started.
Leslie, the director, droned on-and-on about her celebrity friends, Christian Bale, Colin Farrell, and Johnny Depp. She was a very tall woman with long jet-black hair that she tied into a ponytail. With high, blade-like, cheekbones and long legs, she looked the part of a runway model.
It was their first meeting and Bonnie got the distinct impression that the other woman hated her. She narrowed her eyes with contempt when Bonnie tried to shake hands, immediately tur
ned her back, and addressed her crew. Possessing an unnaturally loud voice, Leslie barked orders at her team.
Leslie had a way of making Bonnie feel stupid without coming out and saying it. She curtly gave Bonnie her instructions, before stomping away in her flats. When Leslie went to work, she never once sat in the director’s canvas chair and she was good at what she did.
“I need to know what you told him so we know whether he’s going to show,” Leslie said to a guy in a baseball cap.
“Like I said. I told him show up eight, because the ship is leaving nine,” said the guy in the baseball cap.
“Katie, can we hold off the live-stream?” Leslie asked.
“What we have here, Les, is a ten-minute-tops type of thing. Then we’re live. He needs to be here way before that happens.”
Bonnie got the sense Leslie was wound tight as a spring thanks to the pressure of being the director of one of the most popular shows on TV.
Bonnie was informed about the setting of the show, which was taking place on the Oceania Cruise ship, a 30-day cruise across the Caribbean. The cruise was primarily for couples who wanted to explore exquisite sights and romantic settings. Bonnie knew it was going to be tough.
The people behind the cameras prompted her to express her thoughts, but she had to be careful. Her mind could only focus one thing: gorgeous eyes and a hard body on top of her. With cameras filming her every expression, she couldn't afford to allow her imagination to roam. She had to filter out her thoughts before she spoke, least her naughty thoughts escape.
“I got here an hour early and was shocked to see the crowd of people, mainly women, waiting outside for Chad. I've never watched the show; maybe they do this for all the bad boy celebrities. I don't know.”
Outside of the café, there was a commotion. The loud sound of an engine ripped through the air, and in response, the crowd of women squealed.
“I just don't get why a crowd of women have to turn up wherever Chad is.”
***
Chad slipped on his sunglasses, barely avoiding the blinding flashes of the cameras. As he made his way to baggage claim, he grabbed his luggage in one hand and held his cellphone in the other.
“The party sucked,” Chad muttered into the cell. Cameras flashed, questions were hurtled at him, and women screamed his name. He ducked his head deep into the collar of his coat and wished he could go back to bed already.
“Chad, you're hungover? And you rode your motorcycle? Must I remind—”
“Heather, don't shout. Between you, these fans, and this splitting-headache, I won't make it on the cruise ship.”
“Oh, you better,” Heather said.
“I'm gonna be sick.”
“You better not.” Heather’s voice was stern. “They want you for movie roles next and more model shoots. You partied all night, arrived late, and chose to ride you motorcycle instead of letting your driver bring you in the limo.”
“Yeah, what's wrong with—”
“DUI, DUI. Must I remind you?”
“Okay, I got it. No need to shout,” Chad said and slung his bag over his shoulder. He pressed his fingers and thumb to his temples.
“Okay, this Bonnie girl is a journalist. You just have to put on a show, you don't have to fuck her, Chad,” Heather said.
Too late, Chad thought. “Got it.”
“Just stick to the general guidelines of the show,” Heather said.
Translation: don't fuck Bonnie, Chad thought.
He hung up.
Chapter Seven
The cameras zoomed forward to give the audience a tease of the interior of the Oceania Cruise ship. A fifteen-deck Liner, its grand interior boasted a mall, restaurants, casinos, and a ten screen movie theater. It had ten swimming pools and whirlpools, fourteen clubs, and multiple bars. Another detail, which Bonnie found a little disconcerting: it was a clothing optional cruise.
Bonnie and a group were led by Jerry, the tour guide, through the cruise liner’s cabin hallway. Chad wasn’t among Bonnie’s group. What she gathered from the frustrated whispers of the camera crew, he had failed to show up for his tour of the ship. Within Bonnie’s group, she found herself listening to the women talking about Chad.
Woman One: Would you believe that Mr. Steel is onboard?
Woman Two: Boy, I’d love to run into him. It would be a cruise to remember.
Woman One: You’re such a freak Gina.
Woman Two: Well, have you been keeping up with the show? Apparently, he doesn’t even close his cabin door. Didn’t you catch the shot of him butt naked? I’ll you, what I’d give to wander into his cabin.
Woman One: Gina, stop.
Bonnie had to suffer the sexually charged conversation during the entire tour. Thankfully, neither woman seemed to recognize her.
Jerry gave details of the many luxuries available, from in-room massages, a spa, five gyms and twenty-four-hour room service from all the Line restaurants, to Authentic Italian Pizza, which designed the pizza of your choice. As they moved through the hallway, the line came to an abrupt stop.
Bonnie watched Jerry as his face turned bright red. The group walked up beside him to see what had thrown him off so suddenly. He faced a cabin with its door slightly opened. Bonnie’s jaw dropped as she registered the outline of the body inside the cabin. It was Chad and he was naked.
Woman One and Two in unison: Oh my god!
***
Chad must have heard the exclamation because he approached the door and swung it open. Bonnie couldn’t believe her eyes. The man was naked. Apparently, he’d just stepped out of the shower, as he rubbed a towel behind his neck. His hair was wet. With the sun behind him, his body glistened with water droplets of which a few errant streaks ran down his hard body, and his very glorious package was on full display.
“Please... please, excuse us,” Jerry stuttered. “Come on everyone, follow me.” The women who were discussing Chad were bolted to the floor, so that Jerry had to drag them away, before they decided to follow the group. Bonnie followed the group too but she felt his eyes at her back as she walked away.
Later that evening, the cameras caught Bonnie as she sat in the ship’s dining hall. She glanced around the tables filled with couples. Dinner was well underway, but there was no sign of Chad.
To make matters worse, she was early as usual. Punctuality was a habit she adopted from being a journalist. It allowed her to feel comfortable and in control. Showing up before an event would allow her to observe and assess things. Chad, however, was frustrating her routine.
“Would you like to be served now, Miss?” the waiter asked with a smile.
“Five minutes; he's just a bit late.”
The waiter bowed and left.
Bonnie bit her bottom lip and put on a brave face but, all too aware of the cameras, her smile went a little crooked. A few hours ago, Bonnie spent two agonizing hours hunched over the toilet with seasickness. No one mentioned the ship would be so rocky. Now, in the restaurant, she regained her composure and even tried to appear upbeat. But, after humiliation had set in and her optimism faded away, Bonnie felt deflated.
The cameras were at a distance and pretty much out of sight, but that didn't help Bonnie to relax. It was as if everyone in the restaurant were looking at her, feeling sorry for her. The dinner between her and Chad was organized for them to get to know each other, after which they were supposed return to their cabins and give feedback about their first impressions.
“Chad, are you fucking kidding me?” Bonnie muttered. Her faced turned hot from rage.
She imagined Jill’s voice: Easy tiger, try not to be on edge. Don't show you care.
However, it was just as easy to imagine Jill’s voice taking another tone:
Then again… he is Chad DeMarco, Mr. Fucking Steel. What are you doing girl? You should be on your knees worshiping his…
Bonnie got up made her way back to her cabin. She was prepared to spend the majority of the evening brooding in silence in her room.
/> As she walked through the hallway, the cameras followed her, capturing her every expression: hurt, anger, humiliation.
Leslie asked Bonnie to follow her. They entered a large fawn-colored cabin room and walked into the middle of a phalanx of cameras that awaited them.
“Just tell us how you feel about being stood up,” Leslie whispered.
Bonnie groaned inwardly; she had already given an introduction about herself earlier. She spoke about never dating in high school or college, her break up with Henry, and her life as a journalist. Now she had to talk about being stood up by Chad.