by Morgan Rae
It was stupid of me to think I could make things right. It was a terrible idea to come back to this terrible show in the first place. I’m choking on tears as I stumble out of my heels.
The worker ants have been busy while I was gone. There is a red v-cut dress spread out over the comforter. Leave it to Tonya McKenzie and her crew to pull out all the stops. Devil in a red dress, I think to myself, that’s what they’re going to try to paint me as. The bad guy, Cruella de Vil, utterly irredeemable.
The dress is nice, but too bad I won’t be wearing it. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a couple clicks away from ordering an Uber and leaving this whole mess behind me. I shove the dress to the floor and flop down in bed, where I pull the pillow against my chest and heave sobs into it.
I’m a bad person. I don’t blame Damien for falling out of love with me. I’d hate me, too.
I want to cry my eyes out, relieve this ache between my legs with my vibrator until my mind shuts off, and eat a bunch of crappy room service until I can pull myself together enough to leave. The temptation to dissolve into my own self-loathing is strong.
I roll over to squeeze the pillow tighter and a slip of paper crumples underneath my cheek. I peel back to see what it is and find a note left on the bed with the dress. In fancy script, the note reads:
You’ve come a long way,
it’s time to see the love story through.
May your mind be open
and your heart be true.
– Tonya McKenzie
I stare at the letters for a moment, watching the ink blur as my eyes leak with tears. I scoff at the last line, I’m so sick and tired of hearing that phrase.
I flop to my back and stare at the ceiling. My mind is empty, my chest feels hollow, and still I hear Tonya’s words echoing back.
May your mind be open and your heart be true.
Well, Damien’s mind certainly isn’t open. He’s closed himself off to me completely. He shut the door on me and on any chance of reviving our relationship. He’s locked his heart away from me and I can’t blame him. I’ve broken his heart enough.
But what about my end of the deal? My heart hasn’t exactly been true through any of this. I lied to the producers, I lied to Damien, and I lied to myself. If I’d just followed my heart in the first place, I would’ve told Damien everything right off the bat. Maybe then, he could’ve seen the real me.
I’ve stopped crying now and my mascara feels sticky on my cheeks. I pull myself out of bed and make my way into the bathroom. My makeup is a mess, my cheeks look sallow, and my bloodshot eyes look dull and lifeless. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I don’t look like Tomlin or Nan anymore, I’m no one.
It’s time to fix that. I go back to my suitcase, tug out a portable makeup kit, and pour it out onto the bathroom sink. I rinse off my face to give myself a blank canvas. I reapply my eyeliner, less dramatic this time, more subtle. I tease out my hair until it has just the right amount of curl. I nearly go for a natural looking lipstick, but then I stop myself. A tube of bold, red lipstick lays practically unused in my kit.
Red, like the dress. I strip off my clothes and pluck the dress off the floor. It zips in the back, so it takes a little maneuvering to get it on my body. It’s a perfect fit, like Cinderella’s slipper. It highlights my body’s natural curves and shows off a sliver of my chest, which makes me feel both classy and sexy as hell.
This isn’t a villain’s dress, it isn’t red with the blood of my enemies. This dress is my red, beating heart, vulnerable and open for the world to see.
I’m tired of pretending. Tomlin Murray is gone. It’s time to show the world, and Damien, the real Nancy Harper.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: DAMIEN
I start drinking long before the show starts. I have to get Nancy’s sweet taste out of my mouth.
I feel horrible for what I’ve done to her. But maybe now she’ll get the memo to stay away from me. I can’t control myself when she’s near me. One whiff of the jasmine in her perfume and I’m head over heels for her again.
I can’t do that to myself. I can’t keep falling in love with a woman that I can’t have.
I’ve only been supplied with tiny bottles of tequila, so I make the best of them and down them like shots. Soon, the harsh burn of alcohol numbs my taste buds and slows the chaotic thoughts whirling through my mind. I settle onto my couch, from which I can see an expansive view of Los Angeles splayed out beyond the floor to ceiling windows. The sun has begun to set, casting the city in a crimson glow. I polish off another mini-bottle. I can see the headlines now, Washed up rock star drinks himself into a stupor. When did I become such a bloody stereotype?
I spot my acoustic guitar resting in the lounge chair.
This one tune has been in my mind for weeks so I decide to give in to the one lover who’s never hurt me. I play it out and murmur the words under my breath, “Your heart is as deep as the ocean and I’m caught up in the riptide of your love, baby.”
A knock on the door interrupts my rhythm and I stop playing. Even as my hand reaches the doorknob, a sliver of hope resides in me, like shrapnel from a wound that simply refuses to heal. I hope it’s her.
A bored production assistant stands on the other side of my door with a clipboard. “Damien Blaze?” I scold myself for being disappointed. It shouldn’t be her; it can’t be her.
“That’s me.”
“They need you downstairs in ten. Conference Room B.”
“Thank you.”
“Wear this.” He hands me an outfit on a clothes hanger.
He ticks off a check on his clipboard and walks away without lifting his head. I close the door and try to brush off my disappointment
I get dressed in the outfit they’ve supplied me. I pull the fitted black pants over my hips, unsurprised when I feel how tight they are. The shirt is dark, long sleeved, with a strong open collar. I slide my fingers through my hair to pull it back and glance in the mirror. I look like I’m preparing for a GQ spread. I’m Destination: Desire’s sex symbol, I guess I should be flattered. Instead, I feel empty.
I leave the room and make my way downstairs. There are signs on the walls with black arrows guiding the contestants like dumb cows to the slaughter. I follow the signs into a conference room, where they sit me in front of a mirror and powder me down for the camera.
I’m the first one there, but it’s not long before the chairs around me start to fill. “Isn’t this nice? I feel like a movie star. Cate Blanchett, maybe.”
I glance up as a woman settles into the chair next to me. Auden smiles at me as the makeup artists begin to crowd her.
“Don’t you think so, Damien?” she presses.
“It doesn’t make me feel like Cate Blanchett, no.” I focus my attention at the mirror instead of the woman next to me.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “No. You’re more of a Brad Pitt.”
I can see her reflection in the side-by-side mirror. She’s cropped her blonde hair and she tilts back as the makeup artists soften her cheekbones.
“You’ve changed your hair,” I say, making small talk.
Her eyes catch mine in the reflection and she smiles. “You noticed.”
I know that smile. I change the topic. “Where’s Bryce?”
“How should I know? We broke up after we left the show. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The makeup artist draws her fingers through my hair, her nails scraping my scalp.
“I’m not. Honestly, I’m surprised to see you here,” she says. “After what Tomlin did to you…I’d probably bury my head in the sand.”
“The show must go on.” I hate how practiced my voice sounds.
Auden reaches out, her fingertips graze my neck as she brushes her hand across my shoulder. When I lift my eyebrows, she only smiles in response. “Setting powder.”
“Right.” I stand and pull away from the makeup artist. ‘
Thank you, I think I’m done.”
Before I can escape, Auden’s fingers wrap around my wrist. When I turn to her, she holds a card between two fingers out for me.
I take it. “What’s this?”
Auden’s rouged lips draw back in a smile. “My room key. You know.” Her eyes are predatory as they flicker over me from head to toe. “In case tonight gets…hard.”
My jaw tightens. I shove the key in my back pocket and quickly leave the room. I need air, or another drink.
“Mr. Blaze.” I get one of my wishes. A man in a black suit offers me a flute of champagne on a tray as he ushers me into the dining room.
“Thank you.” I pluck the flute from the tray. In its place, I set Auden’s room key on the tray. “Someone lost this,” I tell the man. “See it gets to the front desk, will you?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
I take a swallow of champagne, letting the bubbles fizzle and burst in my mouth. I step through the dark wooden doors and into a lavish restaurant. The lights are dim, romantic, and the place is swathed with royal purples and cream whites. We have the restaurant to ourselves. There’s a long white table peppered with candlelight stretched out in front of me. Beside the table, tucked away in the corner, stands a black top bar, with neon lights buzzing underneath. There’s already a line of different brands of liquor along the table, free for the taking and, no doubt, encouraged. Alcohol is the miracle elixir of reality television, after all. The cameramen are all set up at the head of the table, cameras poised at the door and the table to capture every painfully awkward moment of this reunion.
I’m early, but I’m not that early. The happy couple is already there. Shayla and Darius rise from their seats and smile.
“Damien! Feels like it’s been forever, honey. C’mere.” Shayla hooks her arm around me and pulls me into a hug. We’ve never been terrible close and I recognize a pity-hug when I feel it. Still, she’s never been nothing but friendly, even during the contest, and I admire her for that. I feel an easy camaraderie with her, as though we are stitched from the same cloth.
Darius clasps me on the back and I return the motion. “I hear congratulations are in order,” I tell them.
Shayla’s smile is as dazzling as the wedding ring she wiggles on her left hand. “What do you think?”
I politely take her hand and examine the stone. “I think you must be the strongest woman in the world to carry around a diamond that large every day. Well done, Darius.”
“Thanks.” His hand falls to the small of her back. “My girl deserves the best.”
“Uh-huh,” Shayla grins and curls her fingers over his strong jaw. “That must be why I got you, huh?”
“Must be.”
They share a kiss and it’s like I’m not even here.
They’re in love. My stomach used to turn at the thought of such open affection. Now, the sight of them together just makes my heart ache.
Shayla, the smart girl, must notice a flicker in my expression because she seals the kiss and then waves to my champagne flute. “Polish off your glass. There’s more where that came from.” She shakes a large bottle at the table.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I’m aware the production team is plying us with alcohol in the hopes that we’ll all make fools of ourselves by the end of the night, but I don’t care. I’m going to need a little liquid courage to get through this night.
We make small talk as the rest of the party arrives, one by one. Auden comes in a few minutes after me. She offers me a pointed smile before she congratulates the happy couple as well and makes a point of sitting beside me. Bryce and Margo come in next. They enter hand in hand, back together, apparently. Margo looks like she’s been pre-gaming as she leans against Bryce and laughs a little too loudly. Bryce is obnoxious as ever. He pats my face a little too hard and says, “Hey, bro. Nice fuzz. Who knew a pretty boy like you could grow facial hair?”
He laughs at his own joke and Margo laughs with him even though she clearly has no idea what’s going on. Eventually, everyone settles down.
Shayla’s fingers brush the back of my hand. “Is Tomlin coming?”
“Nancy,” I correct her. “No. I don’t believe so.”
The corners of Shayla’s mouth turn downward in a frown. “Don’t you know?”
“We’re not together,” I say. “It’s not my business what she does.”
Shayla sighs. “You wear your heart on your sleeve, boy. Anyone can see that this whole man-of-steel act is a crock.”
My shoulder muscles tighten. “It is what it is.”
She looks like she’s about to say something when the doors open one last time. I turn my attention to the approaching figure and my breath catches.
Nancy’s red dress hangs off her shoulders and flows down her sides, hugging the scoop of her body and showing off the curve of her hips. When she steps closer, a hint of creamy thigh peaks through her side split. My eyes should be hooked on her legs or her snug breasts, but instead, I find myself mesmerized by her face. She’s applied only the bare minimum of make up and the natural beauty of her face shines through, her chestnut eyes nearly golden now. My hand tingles with the need to feel the warmth of her cheek in my palm. I want to feel her breath on my lips when she whispers my name. I want to taste her, all of her, all of Nancy.
I stand so abruptly I nearly upset my place setting. It’s an old knee-jerk politeness, stand when a princess enters the room. That’s the kind of thing I grew up drilled into my skull and, it seems, Nancy has turned me into a child. I can feel the stares of those around the table, but my heart only picks up an extra beat when Nancy’s eyes catch mine. She looks startled at first, soft-eyed and gentle, but then she lifts her chin a little higher and smiles fearlessly at me.
That pang in my chest? It’s the sting of an arrow, I’m sure.
“It’s about time,” Shayla says.
“I’m sorry,” Nancy says. “I didn’t realize I was late to the party.”
“With a grand entrance at that,” I add. As Nancy moves to the empty chair across from me, I shoot Bryce a meaningful glare. He doesn’t get it and just stares blankly at me. I clear my throat purposefully and tilt my head toward Nancy. Pull out the chair for her, you Neanderthal.
It finally clicks in his eyes. Bryce quickly stands and, before Nancy can seat herself, he pulls her chair out for her. “There you are, Queenie,” he tells her.
“Thank you, Bryce.” Her hand lingers briefly on his shoulder as she slinks down into her seat across from me. Only once she’s sitting do I remember I’m still standing and I take my seat as well.
“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” I tell her.
Nancy’s eyes reconnect with mine, challenging me. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Auden is adjusting and readjusting her napkin in her lap out of the corner of my eye. Once my gaze disconnects from Nancy, I realize for the first time that the temperature in the room has changed. Auden’s gaze casts downward, Bryce gives Nancy the cold shoulder, and Margo openly glares. Nancy is the enemy. My fists clench under the table as my instinct to protect her kicks in.
She doesn’t crumble or shy away from the negativity. Instead, her smile remains perfectly intact as she looks around the table and says, “Is this everyone?”
“Now it is.” The voice comes from none other than Tonya McKenzie, who appears out of nowhere at the head of the table. She must have come in Nancy’s wake, but I only had eyes for the red dress. Tonya, to her credit, looks Hollywood glam, decked out in a fitted black dress with her hair twisted into a tight bun. “Have we all reintroduced each other?”
Murmurs of agreement rumble around the table. Nancy’s eyes flicker between each of us. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Chase Michaels declined his invitation to join us tonight. However, I’m sure the rest of you have plenty to discuss among yourselves. Tonight, there will be no challenges, no games. This is a time to reconnect with each other, find closure…and p
erhaps rekindle new friendships.” Friendships is the PC term. Tonya means she wants two of us to shag in the bathroom where the camera can catch it and her eyes flicker directly to me when she says it.
You’re in for disappointment, Tonya. No drama here.
“Well,” she smiles and steps back. “I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your dinner courtesy of the hotel.”
As Tonya vanishes, a trio of waiters and waitresses come in with platters of food. The cameramen catch the delighted expressions of everyone around the table as they begin to put small plates of Caesar salads and fried tomatoes in front of us.
That is, nearly everyone is happy. Margo, however, hasn’t stopped shooting daggers Nancy’s way. She plucks a piece of grilled asparagus off her plate with her fingers and chews the end irritably before she finally spits out, “Surprised you showed your face here, Narc. Have you come here to drag some more secrets out of us for your little story?”
My fist tightens. Nancy’s eyebrows lift her forehead. “I’m here to tell the truth.” Her words are calm and calculated. I have a feeling she won’t be backing down from a fight. I bite my cheek to stop a smile, I can’t help but feel proud of her.
“We’re all liars, aren’t we?” Shayla defends. “That’s what falling in love is. At first, you lie. You show your partner all the good parts of you, the person you want to be because you’re afraid that they won’t like you for who you are. Next is true love…that’s when you show them you, all of you, the good and the bad. And if they stay, you know they’re a keeper.”
My eyes flicker across the table and I catch Nancy staring at me. Neither of us look away for a moment.
I can feel the words bubbling up in my throat. I want to tell her that I would’ve loved her, all of her, the good and the bad, if only she let me in.
Then again, maybe I’ve been in the wrong. She did show me herself at her worst, didn’t she? A woman panicking on the beach, frantically trying to explain to me why she’d spent all this time in a lie. A villain for all the world to see, but she didn’t care about the camera or the show.