He snorts. “Sure didn’t look like you were just talking.”
“Again…out of context.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but even if Poppy was on her knees giving him a blowie at the time, the photos don’t lie. You mean to tell me that’s how he looks at all interviewers? And I know you, Rox. You don’t look at everyone like that. You don’t look at anyone like that.”
Shit. My chances of selling him on a statement setting the record straight are dwindling fast. People claim they love a happy ending, but scandal sells. And really, wouldn’t I be just as dishonest as the pricks who cropped those pics to look like we were on some secret rendezvous? Because just hours later, Riot was in my room. And our secret rendezvous left me spent and sated and him with a wet spot on the front of his pants.
To be honest, going on record as Riot’s childhood friend and putting a face and name to the mystery woman is something I can’t afford. I have secrets, and one of those secrets involves Riot. And if anyone found out, this latest scandal would seem as irrelevant as Lindsay Lohan. That’s just not a risk I’m willing to take.
I heave out a sigh. “You’re right, Bari. Riot and I have history, and while it goes no further than that, it’s just not something I can talk about right now. Poppy would never understand.”
“I get it. This…history…will it affect your work?”
“Absolutely not,” I vow. Maybe if I sound confident, it’ll make it true.
“Ok, then. We do nothing. Let Poppy and Riot handle their own affairs. In a couple days, people will be talking about Harry Styles’ new haircut or a new Kardashian baby. Until then, keep your head down and just focus on writing me the biggest story of the year.”
“That, I can do.” Which means the charity gala is out of the question, even if for one fleeting moment I was already plotting to live out my modern day Cinderella fantasies. Haze would have been the most lit fairy godmother in history.
After I hang up with Bari, I have the bright idea to log on to Twitter and look up trending topics. Right there at the top: #RiotBlu. I click it and hold my breath, expecting the worst. And that’s exactly what I get. Tweet after tweet, complete strangers call me everything from a whore to a sac-chasing tramp. A couple people even stated I was a man. Even more claimed I was an underage prostitute. And I can’t even think about the racial slurs without feeling nauseous.
I thought I agreed to stay silent to keep from looking even more guilty and prompting people to look into my past. But now I’m realizing that silence is actually an admission of guilt in the court of social media. Luckily, no one knows who I am. Consumers are more concerned with the focus of the story, not the writers of it. But as I satisfy my masochism and keep scrolling, I run across a tweet that nearly makes me spill hot coffee in my lap.
Real talk, I think I know RB’s side chick. She looks like this girl I went to high school with. #RBBae
And Twitterverse smells blood in the water.
For real? What’s her name? Was she this thirsty in hs or just a lowkey thot pocket? #thethirstisreal
She was probably a gold-digging slut back then too. Hope he used a condom. #eighteenyearseighteenyears
I can’t believe Riot would cheat on Queen Poppy w/ a peasant. She’s not even cute! #popblu4evah
Wut high school did you go to? You got a yearbook? Show us the receipts. (attaches Whitney Houston gif)
Honestly, I don’t believe it. She’s not even Riot’s type. Poppy is a model. This girl obviously isn’t. #noshade
Oh shit, you know where she lives? Bitch is sexy af. I’d hit that. #mesohorny #meloveyoulongtime
Usually, I’d be dialing Haze right now so she can talk me off the ledge before I do something stupid, like respond to these clowns. But that would only out me to the public. And honestly, I’m too ashamed to tell Haze. I know she wouldn’t judge, and there’s a good chance she already knows, but I must admit that my feelings are hurt. I may be just a nameless Nobody to these people that worship the idea of Poppy and Riot, but their words cut deep. And it’s not even the fans’ fault for being so rabid. Their camps made sure they were the most talked about couple on every blog and in every magazine. They sold this dream of the perfect, beautiful couple that would one day have a perfect, beautiful wedding, and have perfect, beautiful kids. Even in rough times, their brand was a fixture in almost every household. Hell, Crayola even created a PopBlu crayon in their honor.
I’d never be accepted in this world, even if I was the second coming of Mother Teresa. I had a better chance of being welcomed as Becky with the Good Hair and becoming Bey’s sisterwife. Not that I should even worry about being ostracized. Riot never indicated that he was leaving Poppy for me. He never once said he wanted to end his relationship. Matter of fact, he spent the morning plotting to prove he was still a devoted boyfriend. So why the hell do I even care?
I’m debating whether my mental health can survive logging on to Instagram when there’s a knock on my bedroom door. As I approach, I hear what sounds like the makings of a serious migraine on the other side.
“Kaz? Everything ok?” I ask after opening the door to his pinched expression.
“Yeah, uh. Well, not really. I think you should see this.”
It’s coming from outside. The roar of dozens upon dozens of chanting voices, louder than the stands at CenturyLink Field on Sundays. I can’t hear exactly what they’re saying but if the stern expressions from Riot’s security team are any indication, it can’t be good.
“I thought I told you to leave her out of this.” The room is so crowded with bodyguards and the film crew, I don’t even see Riot until he’s just feet away, stalking towards us with furious strides. His hair is a little disheveled as if he’s been raking his fingers through it in frustration. He gestures for the cameraman to keep his distance, but he hangs just around the corner like a creeper, hoping to get something juicy on tape.
“I don’t think it’s fair to leave Rox in the dark. This involves her too. She has to know the severity of the situation or she could be seriously hurt.”
Hurt? What the fuck?
“Am I in some kinda danger? What’s going on?”
Riot shakes his head and heaves out a sigh. “There’s been some speculation online about your identity. And someone leaked that you’re staying here. I don’t know if anyone would physically hurt you but until this shit dies down, it’s best that we’re cautious.”
My cellphone vibrates in my hand. I’m too scared to even look to see who it is.
“All this over a couple of doctored pictures?” I exclaim. “Just tell them it isn’t true. Go out there with Poppy and show them you’re still together.”
“Poppy is refusing to film today,” Riot explains, his jaw tight. “Her publicist thought playing up the scorned, heartbroken victim for a few days would be good press for her.”
“There are already #TeamPoppy shirts for sale,” Kaz tacks on.
My phone buzzes again and I let it roll to voicemail. Even if that was Jesus on the main line, I couldn’t tell Him what I want. The solution would involve a few cardinal sins.
“This is ridiculous,” I shake my head. “This is my life, not a publicity stunt. Fuck this, I’ll go out there and tell them myself.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Kaz calls out behind me as I rush past him and Riot.
“Rox, chill. You don’t want to go out there,” Riot adds. “Listen to me. It’ll only make it worse.”
Security looks to Riot, waiting for a signal to intervene. He holds up a hand as if to say, I got it.
“What do you think your presence will solve? Why do you even want to put yourself through that shit?”
I wish I had an answer to his question. An answer that didn’t make me look like a desperate moron. But the reporter in me needs to know. Better I see it now for myself instead of plastered all over the blogs later, tagged with descriptors such as #breakingnews #cheater #viral #hookups. And that’s pretty tame.
I look u
p at Riot who stands in front of the glass doors, blocking my path. He wouldn’t understand my reasons. He wanted the fame and fortune. I just wanted him.
“I just need to. I just need a reminder,” I tell him.
“A reminder for what?”
“That you did me a favor.”
The meaning in my words take a split second to sink in, but when they do, I witness the wounds they leave behind. His head falls a fraction, his shoulders do the same. And that sparkling light in his expressive eyes seems to dim. I didn’t want to hurt him, but Riot left me no choice.
He steps to the side, giving me access to the terrace entrance. The ornate door handle is cool against my palm. I should have realized that the crowd below was much bigger and louder than I anticipated if I could hear them from the hallway. I just didn’t expect an actual mob would swarm a building in the middle of the day in Seattle for me.
“Riot loves Poppy! Go to hell, thottie! Riot loves Poppy! Go to hell, thottie!”
I don’t need to go any further than one step outside the door. Their voices are loud and clear. I’m the enemy. I’ll always be the opportunistic bitch that shattered their perception of love.
“I have to applaud them on their ability to insult me while somewhat rhyming,” I mutter when I feel a presence at my back. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Riot.
“There are some clever signs too. Someone stuck a picture of my face to a giant, cardboard dick.”
“Oh yeah? How did it look?”
“Pretty good, honestly.”
“I should just be happy they haven’t learned my name yet. Could you imagine the chants they’d come up with using Rox?”
“I have a feeling they’d be throwing dildos at the building, along with my CDs.”
“Your CDs? Damn. Sorry.”
He releases a breath. “No one buys CDs anymore, anyway.”
It’s a sad truth, one I have no response to. I just nod.
“They’re all wearing the color PopBlu. The police have been trying to contain the crowd, but it’s spilling over into the streets. Businesses and other residents are complaining. The local florists and bakeries are going to be set for life after I’m done paying for apology gifts for my neighbors.”
“And for Poppy?”
A shuffle, as if he’s shrugging. “She’s already getting what she wants right now. The sympathy and support of millions of raging fans.”
I turn around to face him, leaving a good amount of space between us to avoid any further speculation. I don’t doubt that the cameras have been on us this entire time.
“They really hate me, don’t they?” I say just above a whisper.
He shakes his head. “Don’t take it personal. It’s not you they hate. It’s the idea that everything they thought to be true isn’t what it seems. They see just a tiny sliver of my reality, and they take that as real life. I love what I do, but I hate that the sum of my soul is determined by a caption on a photo.”
I reflexively reach out to touch him. But as I lift my hand to cradle his cheek, I catch myself, remembering where we are and what we are to each other, and stuff my hand in the pocket of my jeans instead. Riot notes the gesture and takes a step back, an apology resting in a sad grin.
“I better check on Poppy,” Riot mutters, shuffling anxiously on his feet. Glad I’m not the only one feeling the morning-after awkwardness.
“Yeah. I’ve got some writing to do. Talk later?”
He nods. “Sure. Later.”
As open and unabashed as we were less than twelve hours ago, it’s disheartening that we’re forced to act like strangers now. Or maybe no one is forcing Riot. Maybe he’s keeping me at arm’s length because he’s done with me. And what transpired between us was simply an ego boost—his way of proving that he could still have me even after bailing during one of the most painful times of my life.
It’s barely noon and I’m already over today. I hit the kitchen for another cup of coffee and decide that it’s best for everyone if I remain in the shadows and not the focus of a camera’s lens. And I do need to write. Even if none of my material will ever see the light of day, I need to put fingers to keys and purge all the confusion and regret that has been eating me up inside.
MacBook open, headphones on, and my Mood AF playlist on shuffle. Even if I have to open a vein and bleed these words out, this story will be written. Because it already hurts like hell.
I almost don’t hear the knock on my door over the music and am surprised to find that my unexpected visitor is bearing gifts.
“Hey, Kaz. What’s up?” I ask, stepping aside to let him through with the tray of food.
“Thought you might be hungry. I get it’s awkward to be out there with all the cameras and security, and I didn’t want you wasting away in here.”
My stomach gives a growl of gratitude at the sight of what looks like a seriously gourmet quesadilla, a bowl of tortilla soup, and a pretentious looking bottle of water. My mouth waters at the aromas wafting from the spread. I wave him over to my bed and we lounge at the foot of it. Luckily, it seems my sheets were changed while I was dealing with PopBlu drama and all remnants of Riot are gone.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I claim but I’m already digging in, tearing a piece of quesadilla in half so I can get to the gooey melted cheese.
“S’all good. Not like I can go anywhere, anyway.”
“Building still blocked off?” I dunk a piece of quesadilla into my soup, and just as I expected, it’s divine.
“I think the crowd is getting bigger. Seattle PD isn’t too happy with Riot right now.”
“Sorry.”
Kaz shakes his head. “Not your fault. You had no idea what you were walking into. This life…it’s not for everyone. Especially someone like you.”
Someone like me?
Kaz reads my baffled, hurt expression and quickly continues. “I mean, you’re genuinely a good person. You drink beer, and not that pretentious, artisanal crap that tastes like piss and flowers. You don’t care about what designer a person is wearing or what car they drive or how many carats they have on their wrists. You’re a real woman, Rox. And this world is fake as fuck.”
I appreciate the compliment…I think. Yeah, sure I’d rather kick it at a concert or a lowkey lounge instead of poppin’ overpriced bottles in VIP. And I’m way more comfortable in a flannel, jeans, and Nikes than skintight couture that doesn’t allow me to sit or eat. I’m used to not being the center of attention, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be seen. Especially by the only person I’ve ever had eyes for.
“You’re a good friend, Kaz,” I begin, trying to organize my words to best convey my thoughts. “And you’re right—I’m not like industry chicks. But if this world is so awful, why do you want to be a part of it?”
With a slow nod, Kaz contemplates my question before answering. “Honestly… I don’t know how to do anything else.”
He sounds so sad, so ashamed, that I feel like an asshole for even answering. I abandon my food and rest a hand over his.
“That can’t be true.”
“Oh, but it is. I was a star athlete in high school, even went on to play baseball in college until a rotator cuff injury kissed that dream goodbye. But I was almost relieved when they told me I’d never play at that level again. I was ready for something else. I just didn’t know what that something else was.”
“Acting,” I smile.
“Acting,” he nods, returning the sentiment. “At least, that’s what I hope. I’m not getting any younger here.”
He’s right, but I don’t tell him that. While Kaz is awesome and I sincerely like him, he’s also a pretty face. And I worry that he may need to rely on that to get his foot in the door.
“At least you already have an in with being Riot’s friend. I’m sure he’ll help you out and put you in the path of the right people, just like last night.”
“Yeah. I’m sure he will. Just like last night.” He heaves out a breath then c
limbs to his feet. “Well, didn’t mean to keep you. I know you’re tired and haven’t been sleeping well. Just wanted you to get a bite to eat before stuff gets crazy again.”
I shrug. “You’re not keeping me. I’m fine.”
“You sure? I thought you’d want to get in a nap.”
Brow furrowed, I query, “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know, Rox. You tell me.” There’s a polite grin on his face, but he can’t hide his narrowed glare or the soften the edge in his words. He’s not that good of an actor.
I bound off the bed just as he turns for the door. There’s no way he’s leaving this room until he explains the sudden shift in his mood. And I haven’t forgotten the way he barely looked at me this morning.
“Hold up, Kaz. What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not going to play a guessing game and I don’t think it’s fair of you to throw out veiled insults and just bounce. So if you have something to say, say it.”
Kaz shakes his head, his head tipped towards the ceiling and his jaw tight. “It’s cool, Rox. Don’t worry about it. Just… a suggestion: you may want to ask Riot to soundproof this room too. That is, if you’re sticking around.”
I make a face and reel back. “What?”
“Yeah. I mean, for your sake. There are a lot of people in and out of this place.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I deadpan.
He looks towards the door when he says, “I came back up to check to see if everything was good with Poppy. Even set it up to have someone come by to give her an IV treatment when she woke up. And when I went to see if Riot needed any help, he was nowhere to be found. Poppy was knocked out and the whole apartment was dark and quiet. Except for your room.”
I can feel the blood drain from my face. I don’t think I’ve even blinked since he started talking.
“Just saying…” he adds on. “You should be more careful. Especially if he won’t.”
He opens the door and walks through it. And I let him go.
Rhythm and Blu Page 18