Glitter on the Web

by Ginger Voight

  “I take it you haven’t been online in a few hours,” she said, which made my heart sink.

  “No,” I confirmed cautiously before I reached for my phone, which I had dropped, and left, on the coffee table after I had walked in the door. It sounded like a slot machine with all the alerts I was getting, so I had turned it off entirely.

  “Who’s Carly?” was still trending, and Rhonda had weighed in to let the world know exactly who I was.

  “Carly is a nobody,” she had tweeted. “Just a shill from his agent’s office. He doesn’t even know her name. He just refers to her as the office cow.”

  So I had been outed, too. Wonderful.

  Even better, she had released some covert video of him talking about said office cow in a three-second looping thing where he’s blow up his cheeks to mimic how “fat” I was, saying, “Moo,” for emphasis.

  PING was all over it like the smoking gun that it was. It was proof positive that he hated fat chicks, or at the very least… me… which made all his posturing completely useless.

  That was when Clem directed me to Eli’s account. He had responded to her tweet with three of his own.

  Tweet One: “Stop lying to everyone, Rhonda. You know she’s the real reason we broke up. You couldn’t stand that I wanted to fuck someone bigger than you.”

  Tweet Two: “The real reason you’ll never show the full video? I was mimicking you mocking her, because it was ridiculous.”

  My jaw clanked open, especially when I read the third and final tweet: “She’s always been nobody to you. But because of you, I can tell the world about her at last. So thank you.”

  I groaned as I fell back against the sofa. “What the fuck?” I muttered at last.

  He had tweeted that at 9:47 p.m. By 2:25 a.m., I had 50,000 more followers, with more @ responses than I could read, including those from his own account, where he had thanked me for a wonderful night, using every kiss/love emoticon he could find.

  Needless to say I didn’t get a wink of sleep the rest of the night. I was tempted to call in to work that Friday, but I knew I had to act fast before this thing got even more out of control than it already was.

  Having a PING photographer greet me as I left my apartment building the next morning only strengthened my resolve.

  Frank, however, could have hugged me. “You brilliant, brilliant girl!” he exclaimed as I walked into the office. Roses stank up the joint, filling my desk to overflowing. Whether they were from Eli, Frank or PING was anyone’s guess. I was unable to read the cards thanks to an onset of hay fever.

  “Frank, this is ridiculous,” I started but he wouldn’t hear of it. He ushered me into his office and shut the door. “It’s not true.”

  “This is better than truth,” he chortled as he rounded his desk. “This is a friggin’ Godsend. Making Rhonda look like a jealous ex, pissed that she was cast away for a bigger girl and slinging sour grapes as a result, that’s pure genius right there. I don’t even need to know whose idea it was.”

  “It was his,” I assured.

  “Whatever. It works. Even turning off your social media works. Everyone wants a girl they can’t have. Genius!” he added again, far too gleefully for my tastes.

  “I turned off my social media because I don’t want any part of this,” I told him.

  “Poppycock,” he dismissed easily. “This is your job.”

  “My job is to act like some lovesick decoy?”

  “Exactly,” he said. “Where’s the harm?”

  I gaped at him. “Hasn’t anyone thought to ask me if I already have a boyfriend?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  I stammered over my response. “Well… no… but that’s not the point.”

  Frank leaned back in his chair. “So what is the point?”

  “It’s. A. Lie,” I said, slowly and clearly.

  “What’s a lie?” Eli wanted to know as he strolled into Frank’s office, chill as you please, as if he hadn’t just blown my life apart.

  “Ah, look,” I smiled big and fake. “It’s my new boyfriend. Go fuck yourself, Eli.”

  “But that’s why I have you, sugar dumplin’,” he grinned. “My new main squeeze, with so much to squeeze,” he said, wrapping his arm around my waist and squeezing tight for effect.

  I rolled my eyes and stepped away from him. “I hate you.”

  Eli turned to Frank. “She’s so cute when she’s coy.”

  He stood up and rounded the desk, perching on the edge. “You guys better get your stories straight. I have requests for interviews from at least two dozen outlets. Dixie even called. People want details.”

  “There are no details. There is no relationship,” I stated emphatically. “I’m not doing it. No interviews. No relationship. No lying. Period.”

  “Of course you will,” they both said in unison, which pissed me off even more.

  “If you make me do this, I’ll quit,” I told Frank.

  “Carly,” he started, but I spun around and headed for the door. Eli met me there, bracing his arm against it so I couldn’t leave.

  “Don’t tell me the honeymoon is over already,” he grinned.

  My jaw clenched so hard I thought it might actually lock. “Move out of my way or I swear to God I’ll make it effortless for you to manage all those falsettos you hit.”

  Again he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, practically a vice to hold me in place as he steered me back towards Frank’s desk. “Calm down, sweetums,” he crooned. “We can make all this work for the both of us.”

  I glared at him. “And just how do you propose to do that?”

  He pushed me down into the chair. “Money, honey.”

  “Please,” I scoffed. “There’s not enough money in the world to pretend I’m in love with you.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I figured you might say that.” He nodded to Frank, who pulled a folder from his desk, one that had been delivered by a courier just that morning. And I knew that because he was leaving as I had arrived. Par for the course with our business, but apparently now it had something directly to do with me. Wonderful.

  “What’s that?” I asked, though I was scared shitless of the answer.

  “It’s a contract,” Frank told me. I shook my head immediately.

  “Yeah, I know how that works. I read the books. And I can tell you right now I have no interest in any contracts.”

  Eli sat next to me. “Calm your tits, Carly,” he said. “It’s not that kind of contract.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Frank withdrew the paperwork and slid it across the desk. It was a standard non-disclosure agreement, which, from my initial perusal of the first few pages anyway, didn’t require anything untoward. In fact, I had signed something similar when I had come on board to work for Frank, to keep the lives and business of his clients confidential.

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Eli has come up with a great cover, thinking on his feet as always,” he complimented, giving his client a warm smile. “All you need to do is go along with it.”

  Eli chimed in. “Your new role is all about not saying anything. You just live your life as normal, and let everyone else fill in the blanks accordingly.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  Frank handed over a check. I nearly swallowed my tongue. Not only was it for one million dollars, it was made out to me. My gaze pivoted to Eli, who wore an amused grin.

  “‘Not for a million dollars,’ is easy to say when you’re not looking at a check with six zeroes and two commas on it.” Before I could ask him where or how he got the money, he explained, “Tempestuous will be using my new song, ‘She’s a Winner,’ in all their ads, and I’ll be using their models and their clothes in the video, which we’ll debut on Fierce. It’s mutually beneficial for everyone, fat or thin. Even you can’t hate that.”

  So it wasn’t exactly blood money. Still. “And what exactly are you expecting for this kind of money?”

&nb
sp; “Like I said, it’s not that kind of contract.” He flipped through the document, to the more relationship-specific clauses, that simply said I would maintain the normal outward appearances of a traditional relationship. “All I need from you? Just play along. Show up with me to some premieres. Travel with me on occasion. Hell, you could even move into the house. Be a lot better than the rat trap you currently call home.”

  My blood boiled as I listened to him. “I’m not moving in with you.” It took me a minute, but I slid the check back to Frank. “And I’m not ‘playing along.’ The whole thing is ludicrous. Why would you even want me, anyway?” I asked Eli. “I’ve made it no secret that I hate you.”

  He shrugged as he leaned back in his own chair. “I could get any girl to do this, including any one of those ten I had you invite to the show yesterday. That was the original plan, anyway. But the fact that you hate me is an asset. At least I know you won’t fall head over heels in love with me, which would make ending the whole thing harder than it has to be. When it’s all over, you’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

  “You’ve got that right at least,” I snapped.

  “I tell you what… you can even be the one who breaks up with me. Dump me in a most glorious and public fashion. Make me eat my heart out, if you can,” he added with that smirk I swore was going to make me punch him right in the face. “But in the meantime, I need a decoy. And it makes sense that it’s you. You’re not a fan. You’re not famous. But you’ve been in my life day to day for the last seven months. It’s not a difficult relationship to fake.”

  “Please. You didn’t even know my name until yesterday.”

  “Nobody cares about the details,” he promised. “People see what they want to see, like I told you. And they want to see me with a girlfriend who isn’t a size-0.” His eyes glanced over my ample figure, as if he had the right to do so. “That’s you.”

  I crossed my arms in front of me and turned away from his liberal stare. “I’m not doing this,” I told them both again.

  “Is there someone else?” Eli asked.

  At first I wanted to lie, but I had already told Frank the truth. “No. But what if I meet someone? What if you do? How long are we supposed to keep up this charade anyway?”

  Both Eli and Frank shared a look. Frank was the one who said, “A year.”

  My heart sank. A year? Twelve months, four seasons and three hundred and sixty-five days of Eli Blake? “Are you out of your fucking mind, Frank?”

  He shrugged. “A quick affair and they can keep testing Eli’s integrity.”

  “Of which he has none,” I asserted, but Frank ignored me.

  “A year is a respectable time frame for any relationship, especially in this business. One year of plus-size lovin’ and everyone will believe every word he sings for the rest of all time.”

  “And you get a one-million-dollar payday,” Eli reminded. “Actresses all over this town would kill for that kind of part.”

  “Then maybe you should find one,” I snapped.

  “I could,” he agreed. “But you’ve already been playing a part for seven months, tight-lipped with every lie so far, just to get a paltry paycheck.”

  “Hey,” Frank objected. Eli just gave him a look, and he conceded the point with a shrug of his shoulders. Eli turned back to me.

  “So what’s another twelve? Unless, of course, you’re afraid that you might actually fall in love with me…,” he trailed off, almost like a dare.

  I shot up out of that chair like a rocket. “God, you’re so full of yourself! This has nothing to do with you! This has to do with me looking myself in the mirror for the next year.” I groaned as I cupped my face in my hands. “And all your fans, too. Jesus.”

  He stood to face me. “My fans are the very reason you should do it.” Off my look, he clarified. “They would never have a chance with me regardless. All they have is a fantasy. People like Rhonda; they blow those things to bits just to watch the world burn. That’s what hurts people. No one needs a dream to come true to get something out of it. Sometimes just having the dream is enough. All we’re asking you to do is just give them a reason to hold onto the idea that they can be loved for who they are. You tell me that’s possible, but you act like I’m the only guy who can make that happen for them. Who’s the real liar here, Carly?”

  I wanted to throw up in my mouth a little bit. I couldn’t believe he was turning his lies around on me. “I’m not saying you’re the only guy who could pull that off. But you shouldn’t lead people on to believe you are if you’re not. It’s dishonest.”

  “And if I were to look at your driver’s license right now, what would it read under weight?” he asked. I looked away. “We all lie in this life for various reasons. You’re just the one being offered a million bucks to do it.” He had me there. “I could pocket that money. Add it to the pile already at the bank. I could take a vacation somewhere exotic, where I could lounge on the beach and fuck every bikinied babe who walked by. Or, I could give it to you, someone who clearly needs it, who could do something important with it. And all you have to do is silently go along with everything, which is exactly what you’ve been doing all along.” He smiled wide, that dimpled grin that made other women weak in the knees. My eyes narrowed as he went on, going too far, as usual. “Plus you get a year with me. Where’s the downside?”

  Hate, hate, hate. Stabbity. I couldn’t listen to anymore. “I gotta go,” I said suddenly. “I can’t deal with this right now. I just need some time to think.”

  Eli’s victorious smile widened. “So it’s not a no.”

  I glared at him. God, how I wanted to tell him to go straight to hell. But he was right. A check with two commas and six zeroes changed some things. I needed some perspective, and it was clear I wasn’t going to get that in that office.

  “Remember, you’re still under our original NDA,” Frank called after me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I dismissed. I grabbed my purse, sneezed twice from all the flowers, and left that office about an hour after I got there—which was uncommon for me.

  Even more uncommon for me, I was at FFF when it opened at eleven o’clock that morning. Clem wasn’t there yet. She had started a new job on a new show, so I relayed my story to Antoine, her partner and other bestie.

  Antoine Bouche was a true Southern Creole from Louisiana, from his latte-colored skin to his gray-green eyes. He was tall, big and colorful, like a Mardi Gras parade all by himself, with braids and beads and gold and green, like a Culture Club song personified. And NDA be damned, I needed some insight from someone far enough removed from the situation to give me the kick in the ass I needed, to say no to this horrible nightmare once and for all. I knew no one would shoot me as straight as an out and proud gay man.

  Clearly I should have waited for Clem.

  “Girl, take the money,” Antoine told me. “If it was me, I would have already cashed the check and gone shopping.”

  “Thanks,” I deadpanned. “That’s very helpful.”

  “I hate to agree with the man, but he has a point. You’ve already lied by omission. You haven’t come clean in all these months just how full of shit he is. Why is now any different?”

  I sighed. “Because it was finally over. Rhonda outed him. But the weasel found a way to burrow his way back in, and now he’s taking me with him.”

  Antoine shrugged. “So don’t go. Call Rhonda up and throw your support behind her. I know you know her number.”

  “I’ve thought about it,” I confessed. Then I thought about that check again. I had been playing the lotto once a week since I turned 18 hoping for that kind of payday. Hell, most of us did. You would have to be a lunatic to turn down that kind of windfall. And there it was, mine for the taking. “It’s not every day someone wants to just hand you seven figures, you what I mean?”

  “I know that’s right,” Antoine told me. “That’s some Indecent Proposal/movie shit right there, something most of us working girls can only dream about happening. If he
ever decides to pretend he’s gay, send him along to me. I’ve got a few uses for that kind of money for sure”

  “What do you mean?”

  It was his turn to sigh. He glanced around before he leaned in. “They’re turning this whole block into a shopping center as part of the neighborhood renovation project. They’re tearing everything down by spring to revamp it. We have till the end of March to find a new place, and the ones we like are right out of our price range. Anything in Hollywood or West Hollywood is out of the question unless we have a lot more money. That’s why Clem took that new job. We’re hoping for a miracle of our own, otherwise FFF is no more.”

  My stomach dropped. “Are you kidding?” He shook his head. I couldn’t imagine a world without FFF. It had become a part of me since I had moved to L.A. And poor Clem and Antoine. This was their dream.

  “Why didn’t she tell me about this?” I asked Antoine.

  “You know Clem. She’s going to do it on her own. Her grandfather offered to take out another loan on the house, but she won’t let him. We either do it ourselves or we don’t do it at all.” As he looked around the fledgling empire he had built with his friend, I knew suddenly that not doing it at all was very possible.

  It made me sad that evening as I stuck around my favorite haunt, working behind the bar just to give me something to do. I needed to be around my people, people who understood my particular struggles. That meant Clem and her special clientele, who thankfully didn’t bother to acknowledge my newfound fame as Eli Blake’s possible girlfriend; though I caught several do a double take as they passed the bar.

  That’s what made FFF such an oasis. It was safe haven for all.

  And now it was in jeopardy over something as stupid as money.

  I didn’t say anything to Clem about what I knew regarding FFF. When I told her about the contract, she just shrugged and said it was up to me, that I had to follow my heart. But when she told me she, too, would have taken it and spent it where it needed to go, Eli Blake be damned, I knew exactly what that meant.

  I had to agree it would have been fitting to fund a size-positive nightclub with his money. Letting FFF shut its doors forever would have been exactly what guys like Eli would have wanted. If I turned down that money, I was essentially turning all these people out into the streets, where they had no sanctuary and no place to be welcomed and accepted. This was their dream, their beautiful—attainable—dream, and all that was standing in the way was the good, ol’ fashioned, American dollar. And in Frank’s office, at that very moment, there was a check printed out to me, good, ol’ fashioned, American Carly Reynolds, promising me one million of them.