by Julie Murphy
Anna steps forward. “No. No, you can’t. Because I have something to say, and I want to say it right here in front of everyone.”
“Anna, no,” I whisper.
“I have feelings for someone else,” she declares dramatically. “I’m sorry, Henry. I know we’ve only started to get to know each other, but I can’t stand the thought of deceiving you.”
With all eyes on her, I can’t say my stepsister isn’t enjoying this.
Valerie lets out a low whistle. “This is like telenovela levels of intense.”
Addison crosses her arms with a loud huff, while still trying to appear shocked.
“You have feelings for someone else?” Henry asks.
Anna nods. “I thought it would fade after meeting you…but now I miss him…and I’m so sorry, Henry, but my heart’s just not in it.”
He takes her hand, the tension in his forehead easing a bit. “Thank you for being honest.”
“So I guess this is it?” she asks.
He nods and holds up the scroll. “You mind if I give this thing out real fast?”
She stumbles back clumsily and takes her place back on the steps between Addison and Samantha, both of whom look like they’ve seen a ghost. “Oh, right, of course.”
Henry eyes the scroll in his hands. “Well, that was unexpected,” he says. “I, um…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Addison.” His voice cracks on her name. “Will you accept this scroll?”
She lets out a brief squeal before collecting herself and walking coolly down the steps. “Thank you,” she says. “I can’t wait for a chance to show you who I really am.”
“Who she really is?” Stacy whispers.
“Who she really is is actually hiding in plain sight,” I say.
Anna, free as a bird, runs down the steps and gives Henry a hug, followed by a dejected Samantha.
Addison eyes me from the other side of the crowd, and I can’t help but wonder what happened on her date last night. Not only did she come home early, but she was nearly eliminated too.
Anna rushes over to me and gives me a long hug. “I feel so much better. But I think Mom might kill me—”
“Kill you?” I ask. “That was ratings gold!”
She thinks about that for a moment, straightening into a proud stance. “Yeah, it was! Wasn’t it?”
“I love you,” I tell her. “You and Drew stay out of trouble—or I don’t know, get into trouble.” I can’t believe I’m going to be alone here now.
Anna’s eyes water as she nods eagerly. “Win this shit,” she says. “I saw you and Henry up in that boxing ring. There’s something there. And that prize money could get you started in a big way.”
“Samantha, Anna,” says Chad, “I’m sorry, but it’s time to say goodbye.”
The remaining women watch as Samantha and Anna get into the Rolls-Royce and are driven off the property.
We all turn to walk back inside once the car disappears over the horizon, but seemingly out of nowhere, a bright yellow taxicab speeds up the hill and through the gates, honking its horn.
“Henry, I’ll let you tell them,” Chad says.
“Well, like Chad said, I’ve got some business to attend to, and I thought, what better way to do it than to take you all with me, so you should all pack your bags. We’re going to New York City!”
My whole body immediately eases at the sound of my city’s name. My home for the last four years. New York.
“Exciting stuff!” Chad says. “You’ve all got one hour to get ready, and, ladies, we will not be returning to the Before Midnight château until the finale. It’s time to hit the road.”
We fly out on an Airbus chartered by the network, and we have enough room for each of us to stretch out across a whole aisle, which is definitely much less cramped than my flight here. Henry is kept away from us up front in first class. I understand that the whole purpose of the show is to catch every interaction with Henry on camera and that all of those moments are heavily orchestrated and guarded, but it seems silly to keep us away from him during a six-hour coast-to-coast flight when we’re all on the same plane and privacy is impossible. It’s a reminder that this isn’t about falling in love. It’s about entertainment.
I claim the first row of coach just behind Henry in the last row of first class. He stretches back a few times, rustling the curtain between us. We’re so close it’s maddening. Midway through the flight, when almost everyone else is passed out, a small notebook slides out in between my feet. I reach down to find Henry’s notebook.
Written there beside the lipstick kiss I left him a few weeks ago it now reads: Walkie-talkie date night tonight?
I dig a pen out of my bag and write back: Affirmative. Cabbage Patch.
I reach forward, holding the notebook, and squeeze my hand through the narrow gap between his seat and the window.
His hand catches mine, and he holds on for one, two, three, four, five seconds before taking the notebook and letting go.
When we land at a private airport in Westchester, we’re loaded into a few Suburbans. I find myself dozing as we make the drive into the city. Eventually, we stop in front of a hotel near the Battery. When the valet opens the passenger door, I step into a warm flood of light from the hotel sign above that reads THE WAGNER.
We’re left to congregate in the hotel lobby while Wes and Beck check us and the whole crew in, like they’re our senior trip chaperones.
For the first time all day, Henry is left unguarded, and I’m the only one who seems to notice. Every other woman is either trying to look like an Instagram model for one of the camera guys grabbing some B-roll, or they’re crowded around half a copy of yesterday’s contraband newspaper someone left out beside the fruit bowl.
Mallory and Zeke, who should be guarding Henry, are bickering over tomorrow’s schedule as Henry wanders into the gift shop.
When no one’s looking, I follow him inside. I find him shaking a few snow globes and then marveling at them as he sets them back down to watch the snow fall.
“Kind of a different sort of flight than our first one together,” I say.
He startles a little at the sound of my voice, but his whole expression eases when he sees me, a smile twitching in his jaw. “Hey there, Cabbage Patch.”
“I can’t believe it’s only been three weeks since we left.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on it a little so that it looks nice and rustled. Somehow, he’s managed to look disheveled in a sexy way after a six-hour flight. “I think about that day a lot.”
I take a step closer to him, so that we’re both hidden by a tower of teddy bears in I ♥ NY T-shirts. “Regret getting on that flight?”
He frowns. “It’s not the flight I regret.” He reaches out to my hand dangling at my side and links his pinkie with mine, and it feels like my whole pounding heart is right there, living in my little finger. And despite my whole body feeling this one small touch, things also seem normal in this moment. Like two people who just randomly met and hit it off standing in a hotel gift shop together surrounded by tacky souvenirs and glittering snow globes.
“I went looking for you today,” I tell him. “I was trying to help Anna find you, but then suddenly we had an elimination ceremony going on and…well, you know the rest.”
He smiles. “I saw her with Zeke last night on my way back to my room. At least someone was getting some action.”
“Oh…well, you were a good sport.”
“What else was I supposed to say? The premise of this whole show is—” He stops and something seems to dawn on him, like the fact that he doesn’t really know much about how I feel about this show and what reasons I’m here for.
“It’s ridiculous,” I say. “You can say it.”
“I was going to say ludicrous, actually.”
“Henry?” a voice calls. It sounds like Mallory. “We’ve got you all set up in a suite.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
I duck around the corne
r of the display and shoo him forward, and here I am, hiding once again.
He doubles back and bends down, pressing his lips to my forehead and murmuring, “What I wouldn’t do for ten minutes alone with you.”
My stomach knots into a bow as I wait a few minutes before I slink out of the gift shop, where the annoyed attendant is waiting to roll down the metal grate. “Sorry,” I tell the stout old man.
“There she is!” Beck waves me over and shepherds me toward the elevators with the rest of the girls before shoving a key in my hand.
I glance down at the shiny red card. “Who am I bunking with?”
“No one,” she tells me. “Don’t thank me. Thank the hotel. They messed up on the reservation and comped us a few extra rooms.”
I scoop her into a hug and let out an ecstatic yelp. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”
She pulls away from me and steps onto the elevator, rubbing the ear that was closest to the pterodactyl-excitement-screech noise that came out of my mouth. “Yes, I’m serious. In fact, all of you get your own room.”
The whole elevator full of women shrieks. I think Sara Claire might actually cry she’s so happy.
“And don’t get any funny ideas. We’re all taking turns monitoring the halls. The televisions have been removed from your rooms. You can order off the room service menu, and if you’re the kind of nut who needs to work out all the time, the hotel can bring you an in-room workout kit with weights and yoga something or another.”
“Oh my God,” someone behind me says—Chloe maybe? “I’m ordering a huge plate of french fries and chocolate ice cream to dip them in.”
Addison coughs into her fist. “Heifer.”
You! Are! Awful! my brain sings.
Beck rolls her eyes. “I need you all camera ready by ten in the morning. We’ll be dropping off group-date envelopes and filming reactions. Other than that…” She glances down at the time on her phone. “It’s about midnight now, so you’re all free until then. Go take a bubble bath or walk around naked or do whatever people do in hotel rooms by themselves.”
I walk into my room and go straight for the window without even turning the light on. Pushing the curtains aside, I drink in my view. Across New York Harbor, all lit up on a muggy summer night, is the Statue of Liberty against a deep velvet sky with only the brightest stars in sight. I’m home. Even if it’s just for a few nights. I’m home, and it took leaving to know that. No matter what happens, even if I’m still creatively floundering after this show is done, I’m coming back to New York. I’ll make sure Erica is comfortable with the new nanny, and I’ll sleep on Sierra’s bedroom floor if I have to, but I need to come home.
After standing there for a moment with my nose practically pressed against the glass, I turn the lights on and check out the expansive bathroom with a huge walk-in shower, a ginormous jetted tub, and a separate water closet with a phone mounted just above the toilet paper dispenser for when duty calls, I suppose? This whole room is almost twice the size of Sierra’s and my entire apartment.
Even the towels are huge, which—as someone who has never been able to wrap a hotel towel around themselves without a massive gap showcasing the goods—is an extravagance. In the closet, I find two oversize robes, and one of them is even big enough to nearly fit me. Just as I’m sliding my arms through the armholes, a bell rings.
“These rooms have doorbells?” I ask myself.
I swing the door open, expecting it to be housekeeping or maybe someone from the front desk, but instead I find Beck in sweatpants rolled at the ankle and two bottles of beer dangling from her fingers. “I thought you might like some company.” She holds the beers up. “And a drink.”
“No cameras?” I ask with a smile. I want to turn her away, especially since I have a walkie-talkie date waiting for me, but how am I supposed to explain that? I guess I can at least have a drink and then feign exhaustion.
“No cameras.”
I offer Beck the other robe, and we post up on my massive king-size bed. I have plenty to ask her about the show, but it occurs to me that I don’t really even know Beck, and honestly, she’s the only person left here who I feel like I can really confide in.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of person who would enjoy working for Before Midnight,” I say.
She takes a swig of beer. “Oh yeah? Gruff workaholic lesbian producing a dating show with misogynistic and antifeminist leanings come as a big surprise?”
“I wouldn’t say gruff,” I tell her.
She kicks her boots off and stretches out on the bed with her legs crossed. “When Erica found me, I was producing live biweekly wrestling shows. It was a grind. We went from city to city, and I was sleeping for maybe four hours a night. I didn’t have an apartment because I was on the road so much, so literally everything I owned could fit in a suitcase and a backpack. Not that my work balance here is what I would describe as healthy, and I wouldn’t say this show is in line with my own personal agenda, but Erica is the biggest name in reality television. I grew up watching shows like The Real World and Road Rules on MTV. I’m sure it sounds ridiculous to say those shows changed my life, but it’s true. It was the first time I saw a gay person on television, and it opened me up to a whole world that I didn’t see in my little Northern California town.”
It’s easy for me to think of shows like that as brain-eating time sucks—not that I don’t obsessively watch Teen Mom—but it never occurred to me that shows like that could be a revelation for someone. “So is this job, like, a stepping-stone on your way to bigger things?”
“One day,” she says, “but for now, this show is the big thing. I know it seems ridiculous, but there aren’t many opportunities out there that guarantee you loyal viewers every week. And the people who are watching this show aren’t always the kind of people who would just invite someone like me over for dinner. But they sure as hell watch my show. So I like to think that bit by bit, I’m showing people there’s a whole world out there bigger than themselves. I mean, take last season, for example. That was our first interracial couple. Maybe that’s not a big deal for a lot of people, but in parts of this country they still look at you like you’re an abomination for something like that.”
“Wow,” I say. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Sometimes you gotta sneak people their vegetables. Give ’em the good stuff with a little bit of what they need but aren’t ready to digest. And hey, it pays better than wrestling TV. Plus, when we’re not filming, I get to go home to my girlfriend and our cat, Horace.”
“You have a girlfriend?” I ask. “And a cat?” For some reason, I’d only ever pictured Beck pacing circles in Erica’s kitchen and drinking Red Bulls.
“Yes, Cindy, I have a whole life, if you can believe it. I even…cook actual meals sometimes.”
“Okay, now that’s going too far.”
She lets out a squawking laugh. “Okay, actually, you’re right.”
She’s right about sneaking people their vegetables, though. People don’t want to stand around and talk about how bleak the news was last night or argue about who they’re voting for, but they will sit around in the break room talking about what happened on Before Midnight the other night. Last season’s couple was a big topic of discussion on shows like Good Morning America and The View.
“Can you keep a secret?” Beck asks.
“No one on this show knows my stepmom is the show runner and brains behind this whole production, so yeah, I’m pretty good with secrets.”
“Fair.” She takes a deep breath. “Erica’s helping me pitch a queer version of Before Midnight. We’re going to start with a bisexual suitor.”
“Oh my God, that’s amazing!” That would be huge for a show this big to expand like that. It would definitely send a very clear message. Besides, queer people deserve to have their bad romantic decisions documented for the whole country to consume, too.
Beck tells me all about her vision for the show and how she wants to stage it and
what kind of singles she would hope to cast. She’s even done some preliminary scouting.
When she’s finished her beer, she rolls out of my bed with a groan. “It’s late. You need to sleep. I need to sleep.”
“Can I ask you something? It’s okay if you can’t answer.”
She drops her bottle in the recycling bin under the desk. “Sure.”
“Was Henry really going to send Addison home this afternoon?”
She takes her robe off and drapes it over the edge of the bed. “Yes.”
“Why? They just went on a date last night. She’s so hot. All someone like her has to be to win a competition like this is semi-agreeable.”
Beck shakes her head. “I don’t know. It was a whole ordeal…I can’t say much, but it wasn’t her time yet and Henry didn’t care. He wanted her gone. She said something that didn’t sit right with him, I guess.”
“You guess?”
She sighs heavily. “You know what I said the other night about Henry’s list?”
I nod.
“Well, we have some girls who we just point-blank tell him are off-limits until we hit a certain number of episodes. I know it sounds gross. But they’re the kind of girls people tune in for. I might have a total gay agenda, but I didn’t say I was a saint.”
“And Addison is one of those girls?” I ask.
“Yeah. But Henry fought with us on it. He went head-to-head with Wes and then Erica and then the network. He said either it was him or her. One of them was going home.”
“But when Anna volunteered, he chose to send Samantha home and not Addison?”
She shakes her head. “When you can crawl inside that man’s head and tell me what’s going on, let me know.”
I laugh dryly and get to my feet. “You said she said something to him that didn’t sit right with him. What did she say?”
She rubs her chin for a moment, thinking. “It was about you, Cindy.”
“About me? Why would she say something about me?” I ask, confusion wrinkling my brow.
“She’s a mean girl, Cin. Addison is a classic mean girl. She knows how flash-in-the-pan fame works, and playing into a stereotype is part of that. She knows the fastest way to get people talking is to do or say something shocking.”