by Rachel Cross
“Today? On New Year’s Eve? I don’t know,” Jake panicked, raked a hand through his hair, and turned to Tyrone. “What does their contract say? I mean, if I agree to go on, can they literally skewer me on live television?”
Cate rolled her eyes at him. “Look, I wouldn’t put it past them to host a Jake on a stick for an end-of-the-year barbeque, where everyone takes turns asking way too personal questions and then burn me if I just can’t let go and answer.” Jake was serious. His fear of those women was real. Especially the hippie. He thought he’d have more time to prepare for battle. The elections weren’t until the last Tuesday in February; he could go on in a few weeks.
“The contract won’t change whether you put this off or not,” Tyrone shook his head, as if he could read Jake’s thoughts. “It says you can choose just one topic to be off-limits, but everything other than that will be fair game. Don’t ruin this by over-thinking it, Jake; just tell us what you don’t want to talk about, show up, and let go.”
“Do it, do it, do it, do it!” The kids in the room began chanting, louder and louder.
When Jake didn’t answer, Tyrone turned to Cate. “Tell them he’ll be there.” Everyone cheered.
“Tell them not to ask me about Filip,” Jake finally spoke, quietly. “Filip is off-limits.”
• • •
Keila got off early the afternoon of New Year’s Eve. She went straight home and began taking things out of her bag until she came upon the newspaper she’d bought on impulse. She stared at it. Everyone had been talking about it and she’d truly wanted to ignore it . . . but she bought it when she passed a newsstand on her lunch break. She then proceeded to regret it, but instead of tossing it she stuffed it as far down as possible into her bag. Much like the pit of her belly, it was now a rumpled mess.
Now, she turned to page fifty-two. “Let’s just say I got to know every room in his house very well,” she read just below the caption. Her throat constricted and something lumped in her stomach at those words. Thoughts of those very rooms flitted in her mind, along with images of how intense and earnest his gaze had been as he’d looked at her while kissing her senseless.
At that moment, senseless seemed like the perfect word for what she’d turned into. This time, she tossed out the paper. Though her mother and sister were at her Aunt Gina’s house preparing for her annual New Year’s Eve bash and were expecting her later on, Keila decided to go upstairs to crawl into bed, be miserable, and sleep until the next day. She’d claim exhaustion when party-time came around; even the overly shrewd women in her life would buy that one.
• • •
Late that afternoon, Jake looked around the tiny room that was supposed to be the green room except it was all . . . pink. What the . . . ?
Fluffy, fuzzy, bedazzled deep pink pillows scattered on top of two plush, light pink leather love seats that faced one another and candy striped pink and white wallpaper all leapt out at him. Both Jake and Tyrone hesitated before sitting down, and then fidgeted when they finally did. Cate laughed.
There had to be some sort of errant psychology behind the room. Its exaggerated décor probably meant to remind men they were in pure, unadulterated, and unapologetic female territory, while women guests probably found it amusing, a reminder that they were just there for some girl-time.
Jake caught sight of a long, fuchsia spear in one corner of the room, the silver blade at the end shaped like a star.
“The skewer,” Jake whispered to Tyrone, nodding toward the spear.
“Ouch,” Tyrone whispered back.
“Would you guys please relax? I mean look at you two! You’d think this was death row.”
“Death by a pink skewer.” Jake fidgeted some more.
“It’s a spear. I’m sure it purely decorative,” Cate smiled uncertainly, eyeing the long spear. “Come on guys, don’t you think this a fun room?”
“You’re a woman, that’s how they want you to feel. But that’s not how they want us to feel. I’m on to them. They’re trying to mess with my head.”
“Do you think they’re watching us?” Tyrone looked around the room one more time, his eyes darting from one corner to the next.
“Nonsense. It’s six o’clock. They’re out there greeting the audience and you’re on in about five minutes,” Cate said, looking at her watch.
“Why don’t they have a TV in here, then? Why can’t he listen to what they’re saying?” Tyrone asked, his paranoia mounting along with Jake’s.
Before Cate could give another one of her calm, rational answers, the door opened and a man with a clipboard motioned to Jake. “Mr. Kelly, you’re on in five. We need you at the right side of the stage, right through here. When you hear Samantha welcome you, you just walk on, smile and wave to the audience. You’ll be sitting next to Tess.”
The Hippie. Jake tried not to gulp. Gulping was a sign of weakness. He looked over at Tyrone, who visibly gulped.
“I’d like to stay out there on the wings,” Tyrone informed the assistant, and despite his inner worries over Jake, he actually managed to sound like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Sure, one person is allowed just offstage.” He then turned to Cate. “You can watch here, the remote control is in the right drawer,” he said, pointing toward an ivory coffee table engraved with flowers. “And the TV is behind those doors,” he nodded to a large, matching chest that took up most of a side wall.
The assistant then motioned for Jake and Tyrone to follow him and was about to shut the door but Cate held onto it, prying it open. “Just don’t hold back so much, Jake, okay? You’re a likeable guy when you let go. So let go. You owe it to everyone who’s worked their butts off for you to be yourself out there and show Chicago why we support you.”
Jake looked at Cate for a long moment before finally shaking his head in agreement, though in reality he just didn’t know if he had it in him to just let go. The assistant more forcefully shut the door then, and he and Tyrone hustled as much as two people feeling like they were walking the dead man’s walk could.
Jake stood just off stage and watched as the women of She Said, She Said discussed horoscopes, of all things. Samantha lived her life by them, Gretel would sue every astrologist for fraud if she could, and Tess thought there may just be something to be learned from the stars above.
Jake looked out into the audience and wasn’t exactly shocked to see something like ten women for every man. So many women . . . women who had made the top-rated show number one in its time slot because Samantha, Gretel, and Tess got them. And they got to the bottom of things. They got to know people. And today, they wanted to get to know Jake. His gut tightened.
He shifted his focus onto the stage. The set in front of him looked nothing like the green room. The beige, rust-red, and brown color scheme was warm and inviting; not overpowering and intimidating. He’d even say the set was living room-cozy. Yep, they were mind-messing professionals all right.
There were two arm chairs on one side and a love seat on the other, with an enormous screen behind them. Right now, the screen had a spectacular view of Chicago. Tess was sitting on the love seat, her legs folded underneath her, alone and hugging a cushion, the lonely space beside her reserved for Jake. They’d sit him down, make him feel all warm and comfortable, the five cameras he’d counted would zoom in on him, using different angles, and then . . .
“Ladies, ladies, more ladies, and gentlemen, we’ve been inviting our next, highly anticipated guest on our show for months—” Samantha began in her sweet, sing-song voice before she was interrupted by Gretel, who drawled, “More like we’ve been begging him to come on.”
“Right,” Samantha laughed, while Tess just stared right into his eyes. Jake squared his shoulders and jutted his jaw out. Tess smiled, winsomely. Jake swallowed hard. “We’ve been begging a certain enigmatic, inscrutable mayoral candidate on for months, and today, the final day of the year, he’s finally agreed to sit down and talk to us. Everyone, please welcome Jake Kel
ly!”
Jake took a deep, calming breath, walked on set, mechanically smiled, and waved to the audience. When a few women whistled and a rose and a pair of red panties were thrown at him, Jake couldn’t help it. He looked out at the audience again, surprised, and really smiled.
He then looked over at the empty space beside Tess and took a deep breath. When he looked up, Tess grinned and pointed two fingers from her eyes to his.
• • •
Her attempts to catch up on sleep failing miserably, Keila switched plans. She’d mope, eat flan, watch TV, and eat more flan. She snuggled into the old living room sofa with the entire dessert and lazily turned on the television set.
She sat upright, hit by an image of Jake. Granted, she was used to seeing him everywhere, but definitely not on She Said, She Said. The women were talking, and the camera kept panning to him standing just off stage, Tyrone right behind him.
Her heartbeat picked up. This would be his chance to either set the record straight about his playboy image and deny it, or to own up to it and convince the public that his personal life didn’t matter. Finally, he was getting off that high horse of his and reaching out, actually doing something other than touting his grand plan.
Would it be enough? She wished she didn’t care as deeply as she did. All she could feel was apprehension for him.
The sound of applause filled the living room and Keila watched as Jake walked onto the stage, his demeanor suave and his smile practiced. He waved stiffly and a few things were thrown at him. One camera zoomed in on some string that barely resembled panties and then another camera caught Jake’s reaction. Obviously surprised, he smiled his spontaneous smile, the one that didn’t hold back, and his eyes flashed, clearly amused.
Keila missed that smile and gaze so much her heart clenched hard and an uncomfortable thought settled into her mind. To think Jake was the type of person she couldn’t believe in and that she should push away was so convenient.
But that smile and that look reminded her of those times she’d felt like no matter how deep she fell into him, there was always more to fall into. Like whatever connected her to him was endless.
Had her mom and Tania felt the same way about the men in their lives? Tania had misplaced her feelings, which meant Keila could, too. But her mom had been loved completely in return for hers and she’d never regretted it, even though she’d suffered his loss.
Her mom wouldn’t regret decisions based on love. And Keila knew in the end, despite the tough barrier she’d built around heart, Tania wouldn’t change a thing about the past because she had Mia, Mia who they all adored. She swallowed hard.
Keila watched as Jake turned his back to walk toward his seat. They announced a commercial break and Keila hurried into the kitchen, snatched the newspaper from the trash, and held her breath.
“Let’s just say I got to know every room in his house very well.”
Though it still nauseated her to read that line, she exhaled and quickly read the article in its entirety, stopping only at the decorator’s description of a bay window through which she thought someone might spy on them, although she wouldn’t say exactly what anyone would spy them doing. That particular descriptive phrase Keila read three times.
The decorator had tried to play it smart, to not say any outright lies and just play coy, infusing every sentence with innuendo. But she’d missed one huge detail—Jake’s house did not have a bay window. It looked like it should have a bay window. No doubt countless similar old country houses had bay windows, but Jake’s did not.
Jake must’ve not bothered to read the article or he would’ve caught that, and his staff had never been to his house so they had no way of knowing. Wondering what to do, thoughts came at her in fast, tiny bursts.
He’d tried to reach out to her, to explain, and she’d shut him out because it was easier. Now she had information that could help Jake regain credibility among those who needed to believe he wasn’t just some skirt-chasing playboy.
But the very fact that she’d spent the weekend with him might just add fire to that image, not help put it out.
Unless she called Cate or Tyrone with the information and they had Jake mention it during his She Said, She Said appearance.
Except Jake was already on stage and people already knew there was another mystery woman out there, and there was no mistaking Jake and the house in the background in that picture, so even though Julia would be explained and the decorator would be explained, the mystery woman would not.
Keila leaned on the wall behind her, remembering her mom’s advice. Don’t make decisions out of fear, make them out of love. She wasn’t sure she could ever let go of her fear over how deeply Jake touched her, and she wasn’t sure he’d ever ask her to try. For all she knew, he might never want to see her again. But she loved him. She’d probably fallen in love with him, somehow, that very first night.
When she heard the show come on again, she glanced at the TV. Jake was greeting each lady with a handshake, but they each hauled him down for a kiss on the cheek. He sat. Gretel spoke, Samantha smiled, and Tess continued to study him.
Keila looked at the clock. This was She Said, She Said’s biggest show of the year. Not knowing what to do and feeling she didn’t have a whole lot of time, she called Pete the Blogger because he’d remained true to his word and he seemed to be in tune with the people of Chicago. Most of all, he’d know the best way to get through to his mom while she was on air.
“Are you crazy? You don’t know what you’re talking about! Trust me, you don’t want that kind of attention,” Pete bellowed over the phone a few minutes later.
“Please, Pete! Just tell me what do to get the message across. I trust you because you’ve done right by me. But I trust him too and I haven’t done right by him. I . . . I don’t want to protect myself. I want to protect him,” Keila pleaded.
A deep sigh. A long silence. Then, “Fine. I’ll help you,” he blew out a breath. “I’ll give you a telephone number. It’s a private line, Okay? Usually reserved for emergencies. It’ll go through to my mom’s personal assistant. Just explain who you are and that I gave you the number. She’ll probably call me back to verify it’s not some sort of hoax, and then I guess she’ll decide what to do and how to handle it from there.”
“Oh, wow. Okay, okay. I’m ready to do this. I’ll call right now. Thanks Pete! Mua!” Keila blew a kiss into the phone and, tamping down her anxiety, made her next call.
• • •
Jake sat back and tried to look relaxed while Gretel addressed the expectant audience. “As we’ve been broadcasting to our loyal audience, Mr. Kelly has agreed to our no-holds-barred clause. There is only one subject he has requested us not to speak of, one involving a late friend, and aside from this minor reference, we will honor his wishes.” Gretel finished her introduction and Samantha began with her own, more enthusiastic commentary.
“We asked you, the viewers,” Samantha pointed to a camera, “To email, fax, or tweet any and all questions you have for Jake Kelly, and let me tell you, even though this was last minute, we’ve been inundated!”
“Curiously enough,” Tess continued beside him, her eyes wide and not at all innocent, “many questions are of a very personal nature.”
Jake swallowed and squirmed in his seat, doing his best to hide this from the live, studio audience.
“Look at him, he’s squirming,” Samantha clapped her hands together, delighted. The audience laughed. Jake looked up.
“I’m not squirming. I’m looking forward to your questions,” Jake smiled, knowing the corners of his mouth weren’t quite reaching up. The audience laughed again. Why the hell was it he’d agreed to do this? At the moment he couldn’t remember.
“Jake, honey, calm down. Relax. Let your guard down,” Tess coached him.
Jake breathed in and prepared for battle. “I’m calm. Let’s do this. First question, fire,” he again tried to smile as he faced his execution squad.
“Okay, you he
ard him. Fire!” Gretel’s eyes gleamed. “What, exactly, and in full detail, is your relationship with heiress Julia Hamilton?”
“Julia Hamilton is an old friend,” Jake explained.
“In full detail,” a member of the audience shouted out. Samantha laughed, “Right, in full detail.”
“What we want to know is, when you think about Julia Hamilton what comes to mind?” Tess clarified with what seemed like an encouraging tone.
Jake sighed, thinking, knowing he didn’t have all day. Okay, he’d give it a shot: what did come to mind when he thought of Julia? He cleared his throat. “Details,” he said, clearing his throat again. He lifted his head and looked Tess in the eye. “Julia is sweet and shy and someone I truly value. We trust each other. And there’s never been anything remotely romantic between us,” Jake answered truthfully, thinking this whole thing wouldn’t be too hard.
“How does it make you feel when the media says she’s waiting on the sidelines for you to sow your wild oats?” Tess then asked. And there it was; that feel word.
“Some reporters don’t care for the truth.” Jake both sat back and held back; he couldn’t exactly make an enemy out of reporters.
“No, no, no, no. She didn’t ask what you thought about it, she asked how it made you feel.” Samantha leaned forward.
Jesus, how did it make him feel? Jake swallowed. Truthfully, like pounding a few of the so-called journalists, but he couldn’t say that. He looked up. Everyone was waiting expectantly.
“Uh, Jake? This is live television, the cameras are all zeroing in on you, and people at home are going to think their screen has frozen,” Gretel commented and a few people chuckled.
“Listen, I just don’t see how the way I feel about ridiculous lies relates to how I’ll run the city.” Jake knew people just wanted to get to know him; he got that now. So he tried his best to look as sincere as he felt.