HeartWorks

by Charmaine Gordon

Trace shook his head in mock disgust. “Well you need to grab her CDs. This is her third album, after all!”

  “Trace, stop bullying him! You don't have to listen, Mr. Elmswood,” December spoke up, giving Trace an icy glare.

  “But I want to. And I will. And, call me Tom,” he said, touching her hand to get her attention. December whipped around to face him, looking equal parts delighted and mortified. His stormy blue eyes sparkled back at her.

  “Oh, um, sorry, I'm December…” she stuttered, her light brown skin flushing rosily. Tom held her gaze, as she melted into a puddle on the inside.

  “Oh my God, aren't they so cute?” Trace placed his hand over his heart and feigned swooning, while the audience cooed. December smelled a rat but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

  “Please tell me you've seen her in the latest Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition or Marie Claire at least?”

  With each magazine name, the photo spread in question flashed up on the large screen behind Trace's head so Tom could see. He looked suitably impressed at the images of December in a blood red evening gown and Gothic make-up, and several shots of her, in a shiny silver bikini, frolicking on the beach. December shot daggers at Trace. Why was he pushing this? Obviously Tom hadn't known who she was until tonight.

  “You look particularly fetching in that bathing suit, December.” She blushed prettily at Trace's compliment.

  “Honestly like seventy eight percent of that is Photoshop. My trainer wishes with all his heart that I looked that good,” December admitted, laughing. She remembered she had an impressionable fan base that had to know that they didn't need to strive for falsely advertised perfection.

  “Nonsense, you look gorgeous tonight. You can't give Photoshop credit for that.” Trace was laying it on thick, she noted.

  “True. Terrence Mitchell, my stylist and makeup artist, is a genius. He deserves a raise… but don't tell him that,” she said conspiratorially, earning a round of laughter and applause.

  “She's so humble. Tom, do you see how lovely she is?” Trace prodded with not even an ounce of subtlety.

  December fought the urge to kick him in the shin. Why was he being so shameless?

  “Don't answer that, Tom. Trace is just trying to get uninvited to my birthday party this year.” She said lightly, attempting to change the subject.

  “Now, December darling, I know you're getting a little irritated at me already. But you'll forgive me in time. I hope...yikes,” Trace pleaded, dramatically.

  “Of course I forgive you, Trace. Wait. What do you mean ‘in time’?” December tore her gaze from Tom to glower at Trace.

  “Well, remember New Year's Eve when you sent me that drunken text?”

  “No, I do not. And you should probably delete that,” December said, warningly. Her eyes did an odd pleading, threatening hybrid glare to which Trace shook his head, uncompromisingly.

  “No can do, kiddo. This is for your own good. It's time Uncle Trace played Matchmaker.”

  Chapter Two

  Oh God, No! So, Trace did know about her crush on Tom. December wished with all her might to disappear. Or at least for Trace to turn into a pebble. Neither happened.

  “Since you don't remember that text message, I'll have to remind you. Who wants to see December's drunken text?” Trace asked grandly, to an already foaming at the mouth crowd. “Don’t you want to see it too, Tom?”

  “Not if she doesn't want us to, Trace.” Tom said, kindly and December fell in love all over again. She might as well enjoy the feeling while it lasted because once Tom saw it, things would become very awkward. She hid her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes really tight, hoping for a power shortage.

  “Trust me, Tom. You need to see this. Sorry, Dee. Remember I love you and only want you to get out of your shell.” Trace said the last part quietly but December resigned herself to the fall out. “Here we go, people!”

  She knew by the hoots and hollers from the crowd that they saw her message. She refused to open her eyes; instead she decided some things. No more drinking. And no more text messaging. Okay wait she couldn't stop text messaging. Never mind, just no more sending texts while drinking. And none to Trace, ever again. She could live with that.

  Suddenly she felt soft lips on the shell of her ear, and a lightly accented voice whispering into it.

  “You can look now, December. The worst is over.” She stiffened at his touch. God, why did Tom have to smell so freaking good? And why did Trace have to be so evil? Oh well. Time to face the music.

  December slowly sat up and opened her eyes. Ignoring Trace and Tom, she stared directly at the words on the screen:

  “OMG TRACE, DID YOU SEE TOM ELMSWOOD’S NEW MOVIE YET? GOD, HE’S SO HOT. WHY CAN’T HE BE MY BOYFRIEND?? SHOULD I SEND HIM TOPLESS PICTURES?? OMG DELETE THIS. WHY AREN’T YOU REPLYING? OH YEA, THIS IS A TEXT. BUT SERIOUSLY MY NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION IS TO MAKE OUT WITH TOM ELMSWOOD. MAYBE GET TO THIRD BASE. YAY! SHH DON'T TELL NOBODY LOLOL.”

  Ugh, it was even worse than she thought. December wanted to vomit. Preferably on Trace. She tore her eyes away from those horribly humiliating words and drew on previously untapped inner strength to keep it together because she was still on live television. She put on a fake smile and pretended to think it was funny.

  “Trace, you are so dead to me!” She chuckled but meant every word.

  Trace reached out to grab her hand but she pulled back into her seat, folding her hands neatly onto her lap. December acted in tons of her music videos. She could act like she wasn't about to die of shame for at least another two minutes.

  She leaned in closer to Tom and whispered, “I am so sorry about this. I didn't know.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He whispered back, squeezing her hand in support.

  Oh, but she did worry. She knew he would never speak to her again. Then again, he didn't know who she was before tonight. So, hooray, at least she'd get to go back to loving him from afar. Minus a few friends.

  “So, Tom... what do you think of December's proclamation?” Trace questioned just as enthusiastically as before, as if he hadn't just thrown her to the wolves.

  As soon as the show was over, she was going to delete his number. Trace would be blocked and banned so hard it would make his stupid big head spin. She would keep Terrence, though. He was probably an innocent bystander in all of this.

  December felt Tom's hand resting lightly on her back, trying and failing to provide silent solidarity. She chanced a glance at him.

  “Well, she's extremely beautiful...,” he said slowly, drawing the words out. He left the sentence as is, open ended. The crowd ate it up. It was suggestive enough for them to be happy and ambiguous enough that he hadn't actually answered the question. December didn't know if she wanted to cry or laugh. She chose a mixture of both, a choked kind of laugh that was lost in the audience's elation.

  “You heard it first here, people! A love match in the making! Thank you to December and Tom for joining us. That's all, folks! Have a great night!” Trace announced at the ending of the program.

  December sat rigid for the requisite two minutes to allow the credits to roll and the cameras to pan out, her face a picture of pleasantness as she smiled emptily. However the second the cameras started shutting down, she was off like a shot. She ignored Trace's yells for her to come back, and headed for her dressing room. She needed a good cry.

  Terrence Mitchell knew how this would turn out from the second Clarissa explained to him what Trace wanted to do; therefore, he had the tissues prepared. It was a cruel stunt to play on someone you considered a friend, even if it was for her own good. They all worried for December. She was so afraid of getting hurt that she rarely took a risk where her heart was concerned. She lived in her dream bubble, with her fantasy boyfriend, Tom. In reality, she hardly ever dated. The closest to dating was in her music videos when she had to pretend a random model was the man of her dreams. And when said models tried to actually ask her out, she'd run for the hills
. Burying herself in web surfing and as much fan fiction a person could read in twenty four hours.

  At 5’5”, with sparkling hazel eyes, and a flawless cafe au lait complexion complimented by chestnut colored hair that fell below her shoulders, she was beautiful. And yet, instead of flaunting her enviably hot stuff, she shied away from romantic situations because there was a very big chance her heart might be broken. Unsurprisingly, she was extremely afraid of being abandoned, given her shady origins.

  For a person in her profession, which dealt in luck and not always in talent, she was, surprisingly, a pessimistic risk avoider. Especially when it came to dating. In fact, Terrence could count on one hand how many quasi-serious relationships December had with the opposite sex since they’d met six years earlier. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her lack of boyfriends. Anyone else would have started slowly by introducing her to single friends at conveniently held dinner parties, but not Trace. He just had to play cupid in front of a live TV audience.

  December burst through the dressing room door, flinging herself into his arms, sobbing her guts out like he knew she would.

  “Why would he do this to me, Terr? What kind of butthead move was that?” She asked, despairingly.

  “He thought he was fulfilling your fantasy, sweetie. In Trace's crazy mind, he felt like he was doing you a favor,” Terrence explained.

  “Well, he's a jerk. And now I look like a loser in Tom's eyes forever. He didn't even know who I was…” Tears streamed down her pretty face. He sighed, thank God for waterproof mascara or else she'd look a horrible sight.

  “It’s his loss, because you are fabulous.” He hugged her tight and kissed her forehead. “Let's get you home.”

  “Yes, let's go before someone tries to come console me or question me some more.” She perked up, yanking her coat on and pulling a hat roughly on her head.

  “Do you want to go see Tom?” Terrence asked cautiously.

  “What? No. Why?” Her eyebrows furrowed in a genuine terror at the very idea.

  “To apologize about the text. And for Trace putting him on the spot like that. He wasn't expecting it either. It's going to be his name all over the tabloids tomorrow along with yours.”

  “But I already apologized on stage!” Terrence shot her a judging look. “Okay, fine. I’ll go now before he leaves the studio, just to get it over with. I'll meet you back here in five minutes, okay? How do I look?” December asked as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, while yanking off her hat.

  “Do you really want me to answer that?” Terrence said sassily

  “Oh shush. I'll put my hair into a pony tail. Will that help?”

  “Greatly. And blow your nose. You sound like hell.”

  “Yes, Mom.” She giggled into her tissue.

  December quickly stepped into the hallway that led to Tom's dressing room. She stopped to fix her clothes before knocking, but voices stilled her actions.

  “It was awful. How embarrassing was that? I could strangle Trace myself.”

  “It wasn't that bad, she's very successful. As crushes go, she's a gift from the gods.”

  “I don't care about that. Now everyone will expect us to go out on a date. Or flirt or something awful like that.”

  December cringed. Dating her would be awful for him? He sounded so disgusted at the idea of having to flirt with her. She wanted to go home and curl up in her big fluffy bed and not see anyone for at least forty-eight hours. Her stomach hurt. Her heart hurt. Hot tears burned at her already red rimmed eyes and she could barely breathe. She stumbled away to find Terrence. December couldn't handle any more heartache or humiliation. She wanted to go home and forget about all this night but she had the Critics' Awards the next day. After that, though, she wasn't leaving the house for a week. And anyone who tried to stop her was going to get knifed.

  The ride in the rented limo back to the hotel was filled with December's quiet sobs.

  “What happened, sweetness? You can tell me. It can't be that bad.” Terrence rubbed her back in light circles as she curled into herself.

  “The very idea of being with me makes him sick to his stomach!” She began crying even louder.

  Terrence sat holding her in stunned surprise. Well, that kind of thing would make anyone bawl their eyes out. He whispered soothing words into her hair, and only vaguely registered that this wasn't their normal West Coast driver.

  When they arrived at the hotel penthouse, a large stack of blueberry pancakes for December and scrambled eggs with toast for Terrence awaited them. December took off her shoes and stomped towards her bedroom, stating she wasn't hungry.

  “We have to leave at four in the morning to be there in time at the airport. But until then, if anyone calls, tell them I'll talk to them tomorrow after rehearsals. Including Clarissa.” She slammed the door only to open it again to snatch the pancakes up. She caught Terrence's knowing gaze. “Who am I kidding? I won't leave this to waste.” She slammed the door one more time for good measure.

  Chapter Three

  Tom woke up the following morning, to the shrill sound of his cell phone ringing. It had to be his manager, the only person who would dare wake someone up at six in the morning without any care or consideration.

  “Maurice,” he growled into the phone.

  “Turn on Channel 9. I'll call you back in five.” The line went dead. Tom rolled his eyes tiredly. Maurice Doyle wasn't known for his manners, just his business savvy.

  Tom did as he was told but all he saw was a commercial for dentures. He rolled over, snuggling down into his comforter, eyelids heavy with the need for sleep. He hadn't slept well, since he couldn't stop thinking about that insane interview. What was Trace even playing at? Humiliating that poor woman on television like that. What was he trying to accomplish besides making her look desperate and him like an unfeeling cad. Tom groaned at the memory of her retreating back as she fled the stage. She had really nice legs, though, and an amazing singing voice.

  December Brown, huh? He’d have to Google her after the awards show he had to attend tonight.

  “Last night on the 'Trace Randall Tonight' show, British actor Tom Elmswood and singer December Brown were the subjects of a matchmaking experiment gone sour.” A female announcer’s voice said. Tom bolted right up, raising the volume on the TV.

  So this is what Maurice wanted him to see. 'The Morning Gossip' with Valerie Maldonado replayed the segment in all of its awkward glory. Tom winced at the look of mortification on December's face before she buried it in her hands. He watched himself whisper into her ear as it turned red. Tom felt a flutter in his stomach, as he saw her literally pull herself together on camera. Did she ever do any acting before? Because the way she tamped down her emotions and plastered on that smile was a thing of beauty.

  “Trace Randall may have thought he was playing cupid but from the look of disinterest on the talented actor's face, the arrow definitely hadn't struck. Poor December, unlucky in love, but overflowing with talent.” Valerie said before moving on to her daily doggy pampering segment.

  Tom quickly changed the channel to MTV. He only caught the ending of their take on last night’s show. “December Brown looked positively enamored by Tom Elmswood, only to have her obvious crush on him rubbed in her face, not a minute later. Will Tom ever ask her out? Probably not, but hey, I'd date you any day, December. Girl, you are scorching!” the mohawked VJ said with an overly dramatic wink.

  Tom couldn't help himself. He kept switching channels to hear more opinions about the ‘event’. He wanted to murder Trace. Every journalist at tonight's award show would be asking him about December and her text. The media made him out to be dispassionate and uninterested, which made him feel like the scum of the earth on top of it all. He'd never even heard of the woman before last night, why was this happening to him? Damn that Trace Randall.

  Tom had tried to stay out of the media circus his entire career. He didn't date within the industry. He was always polit
e to the paparazzi and signed every autograph. He answered every question reporters asked him, and for the past five years, it had all worked out perfectly. Hell, he'd even been voted Sexiest Man and he wasn't even trying. Yanking on a t-shirt, Tom decided he needed a plan of action. His cell phone began ringing and he picked up instantly.

  “Hello?”

  “Did you see it? That little stunt has everyone talking about you!”

  “I'm sorry, Maurice. I couldn't help it. Blame Trace Randall for this debacle.”

  “What debacle? This is gold. Free publicity, Tommy boy! My phone has been ringing off the hook since it aired last night!”

  “You're not mad? It’s tabloid fodder, Maurice...”

  “Well, maybe in a week. But for now, we can spin this anyway we want to.”

  “We can? How?” Tom asked hesitantly.

  “Tonight at the Critic's Awards, answer the questions any reporter asks. Be honest, but vague. Like you did last night.”

  “I can do vague since I haven't a clue about what's happening. Should I call December? I wonder how she's handling all of this...” Tom murmured worriedly.

  “I'll get you her number later. But for now, just lay low. She's performing on the show tonight. Keep your distance until I can get in touch with her manager to see where her head's at. Got it?” His agent barked out in his gruff way.

  “I suppose...” Tom didn’t feel very assured, but Maurice was very good at his job so he had no choice but to trust him.

  “Good. The limo will pick you up at four.”

  Once again the dial tone signaled the end of discussion. Maurice had an aversion to saying goodbyes and hellos. Tom slowly put his phone down and flopped back down on his bed. He suddenly felt bone tired. This was going to be a very long day.

  Chapter Four

  December rehearsed her butt off. Even her hard to please choreographer, Nathan Morris, was pleased with her dedication. She rarely showed such focus in rehearsals unless he'd threatened her with bodily harm. But not today; from the very start, she put her all plus even more, into learning the routine.