TALKDIRTYTOME
LULUWRIGHT
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Copyright©2017byLuluWright
Allrightsreserved.
Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedinanyformorbyanyelectronicormechanicalmeans,including
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ALSOBYLULUWRIGHT
1
ROSE
Ihavereachedanewlevelofmad,sadhorniness.
Mynewvibratorplugsintothewall.AsImoveanightstandtoexposeapower
outlet,Ishudderwithmortification,realizingthatI’vegraduatedfrombattery-
generatedpulsingpleasuretosomethingthatneedstoconnecttothecity’spowergrid
togetmeoff.
ButmydesiretobesatisfiedconquerstheshameandIamready,noexcited,totest
outtheupgrade.Alreadytwingingwithlittlethrobsinneglectedplaces,myhand
tremblesalittleasIplugmynewelectricboyfriendintothewall.Apre-workorgasmis
justthethingIneedtohelpmefacetheworkday’sguaranteedstresses—becausebeing
thegeneralmanager/programdirector/producerofasmallaltrockradiostationbrings
waytoomuchanxiety.Luckily,IthinkI’mgoingtolovethisampeduptoyjustas
muchasIdorockandroll.
Gosh,IhopeIdon’tblowafuse.
Recliningonmybed,Ifliptheswitchto‘on.’
Whoa.Thisisgoingtobefun.
Pushingallthoughtsofworkaside,Isettleintomygo-tofantasy:alonelybeachat
sunset.Endingarelaxingdaynudesunbathing,myskinisslickwithcoconutoiland
warmfromthetropicalsun.
Thesilhouetteofaperfecttriangleofbroadshouldersandnarrowwaistemerges
fromthewavesnearby,anAnonymousAdonis.Musclesrippleundertanfleshthat’s
seasaltwet.Withouthesitation,hecomestomeandkneelsbesidemytowel.Hisbig
roughhandsmassagemybreastsandinnerthighs,hiskisseshotanddeep.Heflickshis
tongueonmynipplesandthenworkshiswaydown.
Mylegsshakeasheworksmyclitwithhismouth.Heknowstheexactright
momenttoentermewithhisperfectcock,adeliberateslownessthatbothteasesand….
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
That’stheringtoneIuseforwork,butIamignoringit.AnonymousAdonisisjust
startingtothrustintome.
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
No,noway.Iamonabeachrightnow,slipperyfromsuntanoilandwetwithdesire
andtheentireACcurrentofParamusPowerandLightvibratinginsideme,makingmy
teethchatterandmy…
ILOVEROCK‘N…
Yankgoesthecordfromthewall.“What?"Iyellintothephone,shakingwithanger
andthwartedarousal.Thishadbetterbereallygoddamnimportant.
“Rose,youhavetocometothestation.”Chris,myseniorcitizenprogramdirector,
speakswithaquiverinhispack-a-dayraspyvoice.
“Whatisit?”Isoundmiffed.Iammiffed.“Wasthereanotherfireinthe
breakroom?”
“Iwish,”Chrismutters.“Butno.Mr.Morninghaslosthismindandlockedhimself
intheDJboothand…”Hestopstotakeabreathlikehe’safraidtosaywhat’snext.
“And?”Ishutmyeyesinpreparation.IsMr.MorningrackingupFCCfinesbygoing
onacurse-ladentirade?Ishebashingallofouroldequipmentwithabaseballbat?
“It’sKatyPerry.He’splayingheronloop.Samesong,DarkHorse,overandover
and…”
“Shit.”Myheartjumpsinmythroat.Icanliterallyhearthestationadvertising
revenuefallingwitheachchorus.“I’mcoming,”Isay.“Trytotalktohim.Ormaybecut
thepowertothebooth."
Icheckthetimeandfeelthepricklesofpanicsettlein,athousandneedlesstabbing
mychest.It’srushhour.Primetimeforlisteners.
Itakeabreathtocalmmyself.Perhapsallisnotlost.OurstationownerDocBing
doesn’tusuallylistenthisearlyinthemorning.Maybenoneofhisfriendswillcallhim
tocomplain.Maybeourlistenerswillthinkit’safunnyprank.
Butmyphonealertsmewithatextmessagefromtheonlymemberofoursales
staff,BeckyLynch.WTF!?!IAMGOINGTOKILLHIM.
NotifIgettherefirst.
IscrambleintojeansandmyfaveMusetee,thenheaddownstairstoseemyroomie
Geosuckingonorganiccoffeeandtwistingthewhitegirldreadsshe’stryingtonurture
inherScandinavianblondhair.“Morning,”shesays."Wantsomecoffee?"
“Thanks,"Ireplyabsentlyasmyeyesdartaroundthekitchenformykeys,“butI
gottagettothestation.Emergency.”
“Shit,Rose.Anotherramennoodlefire?”Shedanglesmymissingkeysinher
delicatehandandmysoulisovercomewithloveforherasIsnatchthemfromher
fingers.
Ishakemyhead.“Worse.Muchworse.”
IheadoutthedoorandhearGeoshoutafterme,“Don’tforgettolineupthe
interviewforourpodcastnextweek!”Imakeamentalnotesomewhereatthebackof
myracingmindasIleapintomyoldmaroonMustangandflooritoutofmyparking
spot.
Ourstation,W-ALT,blastsinmyearsattopvolume,andsureenough,it'sDark
Horsestill.Thisisit,thisishowIamgoingtodie:inmybeatupMustang,stuckinrush
hourtrafficandbeingtorturedbyKatyPerry.Ihearthatfuckingsong8timesbeforeI
pullintotheW-ALTparkinglot.
IdashoutofthecarandupthewalkwaywhereIspotChristakingadragoffa
cigarette.
“Whoknowsaboutthissofar?”Idemand.
Heshrugshisshouldersandthewrinklesaroundhiseyesdeepen.“Justme…and
whoeverelseislisteningtoourstationat8aminthegreaterNYCarea.”
“Fantastic.”IsighasIthrowopenthedoor.Onceinside,Idon'tstopuntilIreachthe
DJboothwindow.Mr.Morning—legalname:CliveDunby—has100%losthisshit.Isee
himdancingwithBlowsy,theblowupdollournoonDJleftinthestudioasajoke.At
leastshe’sstillwearingoneofmyoldbridesmaiddressesandisn’tstarknaked.
Mr.Morningisinhis40’sandhasmoretattoosthanabiker,overweightenoughthat
IcanseehishairybellybuttonpokingoutfromunderhisDanzigtee.Ashewaltzes
withdeadeyedBlowsy,Iseethephonesarelightingupbehindhim.I’msurethathas
tobeabunchofW-ALTfanscallingtofindoutwhatthehell.
IbangonthewindowtogetMr.Morning’sattentionandhegrinsandbendsthearm
ofBlowsytowavetome.Icurvemyfingertohim.“Comeoutnow,”Imouthwitha
sternface.
Helockseyeswithmeandthenshakeshishead,thenBlowsy’shead.Hiseyesare
wild,hishairdisheveled,andIjustknowthishasgonefarbeyondhistypicalfreak
outs.
“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”ChrisisstandingbehindmewithNightVixen,our
overnightDJ,whotheyclearlyaskedtostickaroundincaseweeverlureMr.Morning
outofthere.Herjetblackhairisstickingtoherface,andshe’sraccoon-eyedand
sluggishbutawake.Shesmilesatmeandrubshereyes,makingherlookevenmore
likeatrashpanda.
Irefusetoletthestationgodownlikethis.Timetoputonthebiggirlpanties,stop
themadness,saveW-ALT(andallourjobs),andgetMr.Morningoutofthatbooth.
Permanently.
“GetBeckstocallthecops,”Isaywithacoolnessthatmakesmeproud.“Andget
LizzieBordenfromthestoragecloset.”IhavewieldedLizzieBorden,theofficeaxe,
twicebefore.Oncetothreatenanunwelcomestalker.OncetobreakdowntheDJbooth
doorwhenthepreviousmorningguy,DawnPatrol,passedoutonthemicinadrunken
stupor.IknowIcanbreakdownthisflimsydooragainin5whacks.
Forewarnedisfairwarned.Igrabapieceofpaperandwriteonitwithamagic
marker.
WEARECALLINGTHECOPS
ANDBREAKINGDOWNTHEDOOR
ScowlingatMr.Morning,IslapthenoteagainsttheDJboothwindow.Hejustlaughs
anddryhumpsBlowsyintimewithDarkHorseashemakeseyecontactwithme.I
holdhisstareandshakemyheadslowly.Thetimeforfunandgameshascometoan
end.
Chrisisbackwiththeaxeandeyeswiderthansaucers.Heholdsitouttomeand
bowshishead.Wrappingmyfingersaroundthehandlesendsaniceboltofgo-juiceto
mychest,butIfeelcalm,oh,soverycalm,asIraisetheaxeandtakeadeepbreath.
Withouthesitation,IswingashardasIcanandPaulBunyanthedoor.It’sthin,just
particleboard,sotheaxgoesrightthroughlikepaperandIfeellikeXenaWarrior
Princess,atoweringamazonofstrengtheventhoughI’mbarely5’5”.Itmustlooklike
theShiningontheothersidebecauseIseethedoorknobjigglefrantically.Chrisand
NightVixencheermeon.
Mr.MorningopensthedoorwithBlowsyhelplesslytuckedunderhisarm,hiseyes
dartingbetweenmeandtheaxe.“Copshereyet?”
“Notyet.”Iputonehandonmyhipandhefttheaxeinmyother.“Soon.”
HethrustsBlowsyatmeandrunsdownthehallwayshouting,“FreedomRock!
FreedomRock!”
IrollmyeyesandturntoNightVixen.“Pleasegetinthere,”Isay.“Playasmuch
basicaltstuffasyoucanforthenexthour.Radiohead,PearlJam,Soundgarden.”Ilook
downatmyownT-shirt.“Muse.Andtrytocatchuponwhateveradsthelogsayshe’s
missedinthelasthour.”
“Yougotit,bosslady.”Shesnapsto,entersthebooth,andasecondlaterKatyPerry
stopssinginginthemiddleofaword.IfeellikeIhavejustbeenreleasedfrom
Guantanamo.“Nogothstuff,”Iadd,beforeshuttingtheaxed-indoor.
DraggingBlowsy,IwalkdownthehallwaytothesweetsoundsoftheFooFighters
withsweatdottingmybrowandvictoryendorphinspumpingthroughmyveins.I
settleourinflatablemascotonthecouchinmyofficeandcollapseinmychair.Iam
sweatyandalmostassatisfiedasIwould'vebeenifI'dfinishedbeachtimewith
AnonymousAdonisandmyelectrichammerofThor.
Chrisleansinmydoorway,shakinghislonggraylocksandsighing.
“Whatnow."Ibitemylip.
“BeckssaystheDocisonhiswayin.Heheardthewholedisaster.It’snotlooking
good.”
Shit.
Minuteslater,IgiveupmydesktotheDocandhisteacupYorkie,RobertE.Lee.Doc
Bingisalwaysdressedinaseersuckersuitnomatterthetimeofyear.Withhiswhite
hair,waxedmustacheandblackhornrimmedglassesheremindsmeofagay,crazy
Col.Sanders,notthewealthyplasticsurgeonheactuallyis.Me,ChrisandBeckshuddle
aroundmycluttereddeskwithcheeksachingfromfakesmiles.
Ihadanhourtoworkoutalittlespeechtoexplainthismorning’slatestdisaster,but
hecutsmeoffwithawaveofhisringedhandwhenIopenmymouth.
“Doesn’tmatter,”hesaysinhisAlabamaaccent.IseehiseyesdrifttoBlowsyand
squintindisapproval.“Mr.Morning,orwhateverhisnameis,wasonhiswayout
anyway.AtleastnowIdon’thavetopayhimseverance.”
Myguttwistsinaknot.Everythingbeginsandendswithmorningdrivetime.Ifhe
wasplanningtocutMr.Morning,arewechangingupthehour?Maybe,godforbid,
goingcountry?Iswallowhardandstruggletokeepthesqueakoutofmyvoice.“What
doyoumean…?”
“Gotanothermorningguycomingintogetussomemuchneededratings.”
Itradewide-eyedlookswithChris.Willwestillhaveourjobs?“Whoisit?”Iask,
rackingmybrain.Noneoftheotherbig-nameNYDJswouldtouchuswithasixfoot
pole,whichishowwewoundupwithMr.Morning,aVirginiaBeachtransfer.
TheDocsmilesandfeedsatreattoRobertE.Lee.Weallhavetowaituntilthe
Yorkiefinishes.ThentheDocraiseshiseyestomeandgrins.“TheBadBoyatBat.
AmericanAll-Star.SuperSlugger.Mr.MarkCarrington.”TheDoccoughsbehindhis
hand.“AdamnYankee.Butagoodone.”
“Brilliant!”exclaimsBecks.Hereyeslightupandherhandsareclenchedintight
fists.“He’ssosexy,"sheaddswithadreamyexpression.
IlookatChris.Hedoesn’tlookpleased,butme?IfeellikeI’mgoingtopuke.“Not
MarkCarrington.”
Squintinghiseyesatme,theDocleansbackinmychair.Hetwistsapinkyringand
grinsatme.“Youlikethislittle20kwattstationplayingweirdomusic,MissTaylor?’
“Ofcourse,”Istutter.“But…”
“Well,ifyouwantittostaythatwayyouwillproduceMarkCarrington’ssports
showinthemorning.Sportstalk,twostraighthours.Restofthedayisyours.”Iwatch
theDocrisefromhisseatandpickupRobertE.Lee.HischarmingAlabamaaccenthas
morphedintoJerseytough.“HestartsnextMonday.Iexpectthethreeofyou—”he
pointsateachofusonebyonebeforecontinuing,“—andkeystationpersonnel,to
attendtheBustUpenergydrinkeventinNewarkwherewe'llformallyannouncethat
Mr.Carringtonisjoiningthestation’slineup.”
Becksrisesfromherchairandsmoothsherpinkpantssuit.“DidyousayNewark?”
“Newark.PrudentialCenter,”hesaysstaringdownBecks’Ohgodface.Nobodylikes
goingintoJerseyifit'satallpossibletoavoid.
AstheDocwalksbyme,RobertE.Leelicksmyarmwithhissofttongue.“Gotabig
NewYorkCityPRteamtoannounceitthough.”TheAlabamaaccentisbackinfull
force.“Gonnabeabigevent,y’all.”
BecksfollowstheDocoutofmyoffice.“Markissuchafantasticlookingguy,”she
singsdownthehallway.“Ican’twaittomeethim.”
Chrislooksatmeandshrugs.“Well,Iguessourmorningdrivetimeissportstalk
now.Maybewecansneaksomerockbedsbetweenthesportschat,atleast.”
Ican’tevenregisterhowmehIfeelaboutsportsrightnow.Meanwhile,mybrainis
doingacopy-pasteloopwithnoend.
MarkCarrington.
MarkCarrington.
MarkCarrington.
Ireclaimmychairandjustmeltintoit.Fuckinghell.Ican’tbelievethisis
happening.I’mgoingtobeforcedtoworkwiththehighschoolcrushthatcompletely
shatteredmyheart.
Ihaven’tseenhimfacetofaceinpersonforyears,butIamacutelyawarethathe
hasonlygottenhottersincehighschool.Yourcrushesgettingfamouswilldothatto
you.
AGooglesearchlaterandI'meyeinghisnakedchestandstubbledbutimpossibly
sexyjawinashavingcreamad.Waterdripsdownhispecsandthetowel,oh,thetowel
barelyclingstohishipsinatease.Ithinkofwhathisdickmustlooklikebehindthe
whiteterryclothandtingleinalltherightplaces.ThenIforciblybanishthatthought.
No,no,no.Ain’tgoingtohappen.
AnotherGoogleimagesearchpullsupthereasonwhy:
AmberWilson,supermodel,lingeriedesignerandUNICEFambassador.
SheisthequintessentialstandardofAmericanbeautywithcateyes,thickauburn
hairandaswimsuitbod.Witheachimage,Ifeelmoreinadequateasawomanandasa
humanbeing.WholooksthatgoodfeedingorphansinSouthSudan?Seriously?
Apparently,MarkandAmberarefinitoasacouple,butitdoesn’tmatter.Forguys
likeMark,therearealwayssupermodelsoractressesreadytopounce.Dorky,career-
obsessedregulargalslikemecan’tcompete.Heprobablydoesn’tevenrememberme.
Atleast,notlikeIrememberhim.MyheartbeatshardwhenIthinkofseeinghim
again,butthenIremindmyselfthatallIhavetodoisstaycalm,focused,and
professional—andhe’llnodoubtdothesame.
Ijustprayit’snotarepeatofhighschool.
2
MARK
“Thisisamajorfuckup.”Stanleypaceshisofficewithsuchfury,I'msurehe’swearing
downthecarpet.Redfacedandspittingashetalks,hishandsflutterintheairlike
angrybirdsashedetailsmy“outrageousbehavior”and“arrogance.”
Isitcross-armedinmychairandtrytocatchhiseye,buthewon’tlookatme.Until
whatwentdowninthatBrooklynnightclublastnight,hewasmybiggestfan.Nowhe’s
makingnoiselikehedoesn’tevenwanttobemyagentanymore.He’soverreacting,of
course.I’msurehewantstocontinuecollectinghisfifteenpercentoneverydollarI
make.
“CanyouevenbegintocomprehendtheamountofspinI’mgoingtohavetoputon
this?Doyouunderstandyoucouldloseallofyourendorsementdeals?”Herubshisred
face.“AndnottomentionwhattheAmericanLeagueandtheYankeesaregoingtodo
toyou?”
Shruggingmyshoulders,Irollmyeyesandshiftinmyseat.Mystatsarestrong,I
havenothingtoworryabout.Besides,Stanleyhasmadealotofmoneysellingmeas
theBadBoyoftheBat.Icrackmyknuckles,butwince.Thetwoknucklesonmyright
handarestillsmartingfromTommyPizza’scheekbone.Iprobablyshouldhavenever
hithimthathard,butwoulda,shoulda,couldahasnoplaceinthisconversationif
Stanleyeverletsmetalk.Pangsofguiltstabmystomachthinkingoftheheartattackhe
hadlastyearandhowmyactionsmightbegivinghimanotherone.Hiseyesare
bulginglikehecan’tbreatheandaveinpulsesinhistemple.
“WhydidyouhavetohitTommy?IfyoupunchedanyotherMetsplayer,it
wouldn’tbeabigdeal,butno,yougottaknockthelightsoutofAmerica’skidbrother.”
HestopspacingtoglanceattherainfallingonCentralParkdownbelow,andIhear
himtakearaggedbreath.Asoundofdisappointmentandfrustration.“So,areyou
goingtotellmethestoryorjustsitthere?”
Pressingmylips,Ilookdownattheabrasiononmyhand.I'mnotthinkingof
Tommyanymore.I’mthinkingofTaniaandhowshewascryingandbeggingmenotto
tellanyoneaboutTommytryingtotakeadvantageofherinthebackroomatthe
nightclub.Asafamousactress,shewasdistraughtandhumiliated,worriedthatthe
storymightgetoutinthepress.AndshewasterrifiedofwhatHarry,herboyfriendand
myYankeesteammate,woulddotoTommyifhefoundout.Againstmybetter
judgement,IpromisedIwouldn’ttellasoulwhathappened.Assheshooklikealeaf
rightinfrontofme,myoutragebuilttoexplosivelevels.Afterthat,Ilefthertogofind
TommyandfuckhimupbetterthanHarryeverwould.Asfarastheworldknows,I
beattheshitoutofAmerica’skidbrotherfornogoodreason.
ButTommyknowswhy.Heknowsexactlywhathedid.
Toobadmyagentdoesn’t.
“Soyouain’tgonnatellme,”Stanleysays,stillglancingoutthewindow.
“It’snotmystorytotell.”
“Alrightthen.”Turningaround,hepointshisrightfingeratme,thesameonehe’s
usedinchantsof“We’re#1”atgames.“Youaregoingintoangermanagement.Youwill
completethecourse.Youwilldopressaboutthecourse.That’sstepone.Gotit?”
MyeyesmeethisandIshuddersomeunderhishotgaze.Inod.“Noproblem.”
Runninghishandsthroughwhat’sleftofhisgrayhair,hesitsonhisdeskandjust
staresatmeshakinghishead.IamagoodtwoheadstallerthanStanleyandhaveat
leastahundredpoundsonhim,butrightnowhe’sthebiggerman.Hewouldhave
handledtheTommythingdifferently.Hewouldhavefoundawaytodosomething
withoutapunch.
“Areyoustillmyagent?”Iask.Myheartisworkingupthenervetoburst.Henods,
butitdoesn’tcalmmedown.“Areyoustillmy...friend?”
Foldinghisarmsacrosshischest,helooksoutatCentralParkagain.“Gohome.
Don’tleaveyourhouse.Stayoutofpublic.Stayoffsocialmedia.Nonightclubs.No
fights.Nonothing.”
“Comeon,Stan…”
HeturnshisgazebacktomeandIlookaway.“Doyouwanttolosemillionsof
dollars?”
“No.”
“ThendowhatIsay.Gohome.I'llhavemoredetailslaterthisafternoon.”
“Don’ttalktomelikeI’mfive.”Iclenchthearmsofthechairandtightenmyjaw.
Ihearhimtakeabreath.“Thendon’tactlikeyouare.”
BackatmycabininthewildsofNewJersey,Ipourmyselfawhiskeyandeasemyself
downonmycouch.That’swhenalltheangerhitslikeaballoffiretomysoul.
GoddamnTommyPizza.Angermanagement?Publicapology?Ishouldbepublicly
thankedforpunchingthatpunk.Andplease,liketheYankeesaregoingtodismisstheir
starplayerfordeckingaMetsguy.
Stanleyhasbannedmefromleavingmyplace,soanightclubisoffthetable.ButI'm
itchingforafixrightnow.Fine.I’llorderin.Whenthewhiskeyhitsme,Ireachformy
littleblackbookofpussy.Yeah,I’moldfashionedthatway.Ihatecellphonesand
refusetoownone.Ithumbthrough.Whohaven’tIhadinawhile?
Distanceisakeyfactor,ofcourse.ItwouldbestupidtocallagirlinCaliforniawhile
I’msittinghereinmycabininVernon,NJ.
Kristen,no.Shescratcheslikeacat.
Elise?No,gotmarriedtosomeNBAguy.Nylatoo,actually.
RekitaiscrazierthanMary,butnotasbatshitinsaneasCeleste.Still,youshould
reallyonlystickyourdickincrazyamaxofonetime,twoifit’saholiday.
Michelle.Taylor.Gia.Allcheerleaders.Ah,I’moverthatfetish.MariawasjustOK
andMollywasfiftyshadestoowild.
IthrowmyheadbackandlaughwhenIseeAmber’sname.WeweretheItCouple
forayear.WewerebothontheSportsIllustratedcover,meholdingabatandher
holdingherboobs.Ourrelationshipworkedforawhilemostlybecauseshe’sreally
bendy—shewasagymnastbeforeshewasamodel.Thenshestartedtopressuremeto
getmarried.Ibalked,tellingherIhadtothinkaboutit,andwhatdidshegoanddo?
BangedoneofmyYankeebros.Idumpedherandshe’sgotthenervetostillbepissed
aboutmebreakingherheart.
Igrabapenandcrossoffhernameuntilshe’snothingbutablackblobonthepage.
ButthenIsee‘Heidi’andgetexcitedjustreadinghername.Yeah.Blonde.
Belgiumneseorwhatevertheycallthemselves.She’sgotanaccentandEnglishislike,
hertenthlanguageorsomething,butthat’sgreatbecauseIamnotinthemoodtotalk.
Imadeacoupleofothernotesbesidesblondeinthebook.
Boobs.Wearsshortskirts.Shy.Likessushi.Wait.Sushi?WasImakingacrudegirl-
on-girljoke?Haha.MaybeBelgiumneseblondeHeidiwillbringafriend.
Ipunchthenumberonmylandlinephoneandsheanswersonthethirdring.
“Hallo?”shesaysinthathotaccent.Mydickjustgotalittlehard.
“Hey,it’sMark.Cometomyplace.I'llsendacar.Youcanbringafriendifyou'd
like.”
There’ssilenceandthenfinally,“Markwho?”
Isigh.Models.“MarkCarrington.Yankeesbaseballplayer.”There’smoresilence.
“Wemetat…”butthenIrealizeIdon’tremember.“Thatthing…”
“Ah,yes,”shecoos.“GoYankees!”
“So,givemeyouraddressandI’llsendacar.Youwanttobringafriend?”
“Ja.”
Ofcourseshedoes.Fishinabarrel.
AfterIsendacarservicetotheUpperWestSide,Ipouranotherwhiskeyandsuckit
backasIcheckmyemail.Stanleysentdetailsofmypunishmentandabsolutionplan.
Fantastic.Mostofitishohum,basicPRshit.Threegamesandafine.Worthit.
Myangermanagementsessionsstarttomorrow,butatleastthelifecoachtherapist
personiscomingouttoVernoninsteadofmegoingtohisofficeinthecity.Guy'sname
isToddMurphyandIwon'tbethefirstathletewithangerissueshe'streated.Iguess
that’shisbiz.I'llgothroughthemotionstokeepStanleyhappy,butIain'tgonnamine
theoceansofmypastwiththisstrangernomatterhowmanylettershehasafterhis
name.
Itakeacoupleofpullsoffmywhiskeyandthenrefillmyglass.
RestofmyscheduleshowsanI’msorrypressconference,whereIhavetodeliver
theapologyStanleywroteformewithfeeling.Stanleyhassometheaterguyhe’s
sendingovertodirectmeasImemorizeit.LikeIdon'talreadyknowwheretosigh,
wheretofrown,wheretoputadramaticpauseandfakethatIactuallygiveafuck
aboutTommyPizza.
Lastontheschedule,IhavetodosomebullshitappearanceatthePrudentialCenter
inNewarkwithTommytoshowthatwekissedandmadeup.TheYankeesandMets
wanttomilkitforallit’sworth,Iguess.Liketheycare.Somecorporateface-saving
thingmostlikely.
Thenmyeyesstoponthelastitemonthelist.Temporaryradiogig.Morningsports
talkshowonalocalstationuntilspringtrainingstarts.Sixweeks?Radio?Ican’teven
imagine.ThedescriptionjustsaysprogrammingisTBA.Alright,then.Fuckit.Iknow
enoughaboutbaseballthatIcanfumblemywaythroughthat,Ifigure.
There’sonelastnoteattheendofStanley’semail.Myeyesblinkatthewording.
Ifyoudon'tdothisradiogigforthenextsixweeks,anddoitwell,Iwilldropyouasa
clientandourrelationshipisfinished.
Nowthatfuckingstings.StanleyhasbeenmyagentsinceIstartedmycareerinthe
minors.Ineverforasecondthoughthewouldreallydropme.Henegotiatedmydeal
withtheYankees.He’stheonethatlinesupmyendorsements.Hehelpedmefindthis
cabinandmyloftinthecity.Hehookedmeupwithagoodaccountantandastylist.
He’stheonewhohelpedmebreakupwithAmberandsquashedthatshitaboutmy
momsothepressdidn’tgetaholdofit.
Hetaughtmetotieatie.
Nowhe’sthreateningtofuckmeover.Andallforsomeradioshowgig?
Anuneasylumpformsinmythroat.Iswallowitdown,butitfeelslikeIswallowed
fireandit'sspreadingthroughmybodytomyarmsandlegsandfingersandtoes.Iget
offthecouchandpacemylivingroom,butitjustpushesthefirethroughmyveins
fasterandhotter.
Unfuckingbelievable.He’smademillionsoffmeandnowactslikeI’mnothing?
Whothehelldoeshethinkheis…
Myheartisbeatingtoofastandmychesttightens.
Ifeelthewhiskeytumblerinmyhandandthrowitagainstthefireplace.Asit
shattersinamillionpieces,myangersplinterstoo.Iturnoverthecouchandthrowa
pottedplantattheTV.Blindwithrage,myangryhandsgrabeverythinginreachand
hurlandtosswhateverIcanacrosstheroom.Ikickholesinthewallandripaparta
pillowuntilitsnowsfeathers.IdothisuntilIamphysicallywornoutandcollapseina
chair,myheartboominginmyears.
Thenthelandlinerings.Maybeit'sStanley.He’scaving.He’scallingtoapologize,
afraidhe’shurtmyfeelings.
“Hello,Stanley."IsoundlikeIhaveasthma.
“Ipickedupyour...guests.”It’smydriver.“Twoyoungladies.”Ihearthemgiggling
inthebackground.“IaminVernon,buttheGPSislosingsignal.Ineeddirections.”
Myeyesdartaroundthecabin,surveyingtheaftermathofmyrage.Iclenchthe
phonetightinmyhand.“Cancel.Takethembackhome.”Islamthephonedown.
Irightthecouchandcollapseontoit.AfterIregainmybreath,Ilookattheemail
againandrereadStanley’slastwords.
Ifyoudon'tdothisradiogigforthenextsixweeks,anddoitwell,Iwilldropyouasa
clientandourrelationshipisfinished.
Iscrolldowntoseeifthere’saPS,butthere’snot.Justthenameoftheradiostationand
theproducer’sname.
W-ALT,NORTHJERSEY’SSOURCEFORALTROCK
GeneralManager/ProgramDirector/Producer:RoseTaylor
Ieasebackinmyseatandbreathe.
RoseTaylor.
Thatcouldn'tbe....butradioshow.Altrock.Ithastobeher.TheRoseTaylorIknew
inhighschool.IonlyknowbecauseI'vedrunkenlyGoogledheronceortwice.She'sall
oversocialmediapostingaboutrockshowsandnewbands.Ialmostaddedheron
Facebookonce,butthencanceledthefriendrequestbeforesheaccepted.
Mythoughtsdrifttoanostalgicplace.Highschool.Senioryear.Fumblingwithher
brastrap.Makingoutwithherinthelibrary.Dryhumpingherinthebackseatofmy
loanercar.Andotherplaces.Man,shewasuppercrust,atleastforLambertville.I
alwaysfeltlikeanidiotandabumaroundher,butalsocalmandconnected.Ismileat
thememoryofoursecretoutings.Yeah,wewouldmakeoutandstuff,butafterward
we'dtalkuntildawn.I'msuresheremembersme.Shehasto,right?
Maybethisradiogigwon’tbethatbadafterall.
Istandandtakeadeepbreathandstretchoutmybody.Iwouldpourmyself
anotherglassofwhiskeybutthebottleisinpiecesonthefloor.Mypiano,however,
wastheeyeofthestorm.Italwaysis.Everyonethinksit’sashowpiece,boughtbya
nouveaurichebumpkintoimpresstheswells.Butit'snot.It’severything.
Isitdownatthebenchandcrackmyfingersoverthekeyboard.Istrikeafew
chordsuntilsomethinginmeclicks.IstartwithsomeDebussyandthenflowintosome
Gershwin.IpeakwithRachmaninoff,reallythrowingmyselfintoit,poundingawayat
thekeysasthehoursflypast.Butwhendawnhits,IcomedownwithsomeChopin,like
atruegentleman.
3
ROSE
BustUpenergydrinkandSputnikvodkaaresubsidiariesofAmericanBeverages,sothe
naturalPRbabywhenmatingthesetwobrandsisCrazyCosmicCocktail.They're
debutingwith—OMG—afuckinglasershowatthePrudentialCenterinNewark.Bust
Up'sspokesman,Mr.MarkCarrington,iscontractuallyobligatedtoattend.Andsoisthe
guyhejustpunchedintheface,theMets’reliefpitcherTommyPizza,whoalso
happenstobethefaceofSputnik.
Thisshouldbefun.
EveryoneandImeaneveryoneatW-ALTisbuzzingabouttheCrazyCosmicCocktail
LaserShow.Becksisalreadycountingthemoneyshe'llmakeinairtimesalesandI
noticeshegotherhairandnailsdid.NightVixenisameme-makingfactoryposting
funnystuffallovertheinternet.EvenChris,whohatesallthingscorporateand
contrived,istitteringaroundthestationtodaygrinninglikeLedZeppelinstarted
touringagain.
“Ican’twaitfortonight."Heslidesaplaylistprint-outacrossmydesk.“Imean,what
iftheyfight?Mymoney’sonMark.Youwannagetinontheofficepool?”
“No,thanks.”Iforceasmile.“Notmything.”
BecksisrightbehindChris,tappingwithfuryatheriPad,butshelooksupandcocks
apenciledeyebrowatme.“Areyousure?Imean,don’tyouhavetheinsidescoopsince
youandMarkCarringtonwerebestbudsinhighschool?”She’snotevenbotheringto
hidehermockingtonetoday.
Irollmyeyes.“Don’tyouhavesomesalescallstomake?”
Theyleavemeinpeacetotendtomyplaylist,payrollandanxiety.Ihaven’tseen
MarkCarringtoninthefleshsincegraduation.NottosayIhaven’tthoughtofhimin
thelastsixyears.AndmaybeonetimehedriftedintomyheadwhenIwasonthe
turnpikeandImissedmyexit.
Okay,sothatwasonlyacoupleofmonthsago….
WhatamIgoingtoweartonight?Whatdoyouevenweartoalasershow?How
shouldIactwhenIseehim,friendly-professionalorneutral-professional?
Jeez.Thisishighschoolalloveragain.
NightVixenandIdoalastminutebeautycheckoutsidethevelvetropeatthe
PrudentialCenterentrance.No,myhairhasn’tbeendestroyedbythelightsprinkleof
snow.Andyeah,herblacklipstickisstillperfectlylined.Welooksupercuteinourown
way;meinmyBasicBitchchic,herinhervampirepromensemble.Mystomachis
tightwithnerves,butNightVixenhasthisweirdcalmingeffectonme.Couldbeher
paranormalhypnoticpowers.Oritcouldbethatshe’sjustgotasincerecharm.She
alwaysmeanswhatshesays.
“Youlookreallypretty,”shepurrsandtheknotinmybellyloosens.
“Youtoo.”Andshedoes.She’sahotvampire.
Doormandudefindsournamesonhislistandweenter.Aftercheckingmycoatand
suckinginadeepbreath,IfollowNightVixenintothearena,wherearainbowoflasers
damnnearburnsoutmycorneas.Thespaceisalivewithloudelectronicaandbeamsof
lightbouncingeverywhereandthenunitingtoformtheBustUpandSputniklogos
flickeringinmidair.
Aftermyeyesadjust,Iscanthespacetoseethepooractors/waitershiredtowear
silverspacesuitsandhandoutcosmiccocktailsandsomeprettyyetunidentifiable
bitesoffusionfood.“Horsd’Orbit,”oneofthewaiterssays,offeringmeablobona
toothpick.
Ittakeslikecreamcheeseandsoap.
W-ALTpersonnelarescatteredaroundtheroomwithdrinksintheirhands.Chris
wavesfromacorner,whereIknowhe'llhideallnightavoidingpeople.Becksraises
herwineglasswithasmirk,butIcanseeshe’salreadyeyeingsomecorporatetypesfor
adsales.
Presspassesdanglefromeveryotherneck,andascurryofyoungdressed-to-
impressPRchicksdashaboutwithbluetoothstuckedintheirearsandiPadsclutchesto
theirchests.Allinimpossiblyhighheels.
“Yougottaadmirethat!”NightVixenshoutsoverthemusicasoneofthempasses.
“Girl’sgotsomefantasticbalancingskills!”Ishoutback.
Ispotacoupleoffamiliar,famousfaces.Youknow,thatguyinthatTarantinothing
withalltheblood?He’slessbloodytonight,butshorterthanIeverexpectedandhe’s
talkingtothatguywhoplaysawerewolfonTV.NexttomeNightVixenbeamswith
delightatWolfBoy.Ialsoseeagaggleofyoung,superskinnymodelswithlegsupto
theirchins.It’saroomfullofAmberWilsons.Almostinstantly,Ideflate.Withtheir
cranednecksanddartingeyes,Icantellthey’relookingforaballertoball.Mark
Carringtonwon'tevenhavetoopenhismouthtogettailtonight.Ugh.
NightVixenandIgrabCosmicCocktailsoffthetrayofapassingspacemanandtake
tentativesips.It’stheworstthingI’vehadinmymouthsincemyroommateGeotried
tomaketofupancakes.
“Poison.”Igrabmythroat.Theterribleconcoctionreallydoestastelikearsenic.At
least,thewayIimaginearsenicwouldtaste.Bittersweetanddeadlywithfakesugar.
“I’mgrabbingadrink.Arealdrink,”NightVixentellsme.GirlhasboozeESP.If
thereisarealbarinhere,shewillsniffitout.“YouwantaTequilaSunrise?”
Inod.“Moretequilalesssunrise.Thanks.”
AsNightVixenskulksoffthroughtheforestofsupermodelstofindusliquidgold,I
scanthecrowd.Sofar,noMarkCarrington.Iguesshe’sgoingtomakesomestunning,
dramaticentrance.Isuddenlyfeelsuperconsciousofmyreddress.Iwentwithsexy
insteadoflasershowcomfy,butnowI’mdrowninginregret.Thedressistooshort,too
red,andtooclingyforabodylikemine.IfeellikeJezebelattheball.Itugitdown.I
wanttolookgood,butnotlikeI’mtryingtocatchhiseye.
EventhoughIam.Aren'tI?
Oh,bro.Youshouldkillyourself.
Tothisday,thosewordsstillsting.DanePeterssaidthemwhenMrs.Singletary
announcedMarkCarringtonandIwouldbeplaywritingpartnersfortheentirespring
semestersenioryear.IrememberthelookonMark’sfacetoo,thethousandyardstare
ofannoyanceatthepotentialhittohispopularity.
IstillwincetothisdaythinkingaboutMark’sreactionwhenDanesaidthat.Withan
eyerollandahuff,heturnednotjusthisface,buthisentirebodyawayfromme.His
brosslappedhisbackandofferedwordsofsympathylikehewasgoingofftowar,while
therestoftheclasstittered.Mortified,Islumpeddowninmyseatandpulledmyhair
forwardtohidemyredface.
Therelationshipdeterioratedfromthere.Feelingswentfromdelicatetoleranceto
aggressivehatredinourveryfirstmeetingatthelibrary.Allwehadtodowaspicka
settingandcharactersforthetheatricaltwocharacter/oneactmasterpiecewe’dbeen
assigned.Butrightfromtheget-go,Ihadtoshutdownhisonlythreeideas,allofwhich
involvedMLBplayersconfrontingenemypitchers.
“Fine,”he'dsnappedwithoutevenmeetingmyeye.“Justpicksomething.”
Thewholewritingprocesswentlikethat,mesuggestingthings,himsneeringand
rollinghiseyes.Bythetimewefinallymadeittodressrehearsal,tothesceneI'd
writtenwiththeclimaxofthecharacters'relationship,adramatickissthatIhadn't
reallyexpectedtohavetoactoutmyself,I'dratherhavepunchedMarkthanevenfake
kissedhim.
ButmystraightAstreakwasontheline,soIgaveintoarehearsalkiss,barelya
peck.Somehow,IfeltthatkissdowntomytoesasIsteppedbackfromhimlikeI'd
beenstruckbylightning.
Predictably,Markjustfrownedandshookhishead.“That’snothowthesetwo
characterswouldkiss,”hesaidlikehewassuddenlySpielberg.“Thatwashowyou
wouldkissyourgaypalataparty.Nothowyouwouldkisssomeoneyoulove.And
thesetwocharactersareheadoverheelsforeachother,so…”
“Well,how…”
“Comehere.”Hecurvedhisfinger.
ThatsecondkissIfeltinmysoul.Timemaycloudmymemory,butIswearitlasted
foranhour.Partofmeisstillinthatkisstothisday.Thememorystillmakesmemiss
Turnpikeexits,forgod’ssake.
“Rose.”
NightVixenisbackatmysidewiththefirst,Iamsure,ofmanyTequilaSunrises.I
takeasipandallofMexicoburnsmytongue.“Thanks.It'sjustwhatIneeded."
Sheputsherblacklipstomyears.“Seethosetwoguysoverthere?”Shepointsa
blackfingernailtowardtwobesuitedcorporatelookingtypeswithslickedbackhairand
expensivephones.
“Whataboutthem?”
“Rumoronthestreetis,thosetwodronesarefromHalcyonMedia.”
Fuck.Halcyonistheevilmediaconglomeratethat’sbeentryingtobuyusoutfor
years.Ilookthesuitsupanddown,thenwatchDocBingsaunterovertothemasifon
cue.RobertE.Leelooksalittlepanickedinhisdoggiebag.Thelasersandbooming
synthmusicmustbescaringhimoutofhislittleYorkiemind.“Maybe,”Isay.
NightVixenshakesherhead.“MaybeDocreallyisgoingtosellthestation.”
Ishrugmyshouldersandtakeanotherlongdrink.“Theycouldbefromsomeother
corporation,”IsaywithacalmnessIrealizeismoreformybenefitthanhers.The
HalcyonrumorhasbeencirculatinglongerthanIcaretocount.Nowayit'strue.Doc
would'vesoldusalongtimeagoifheevermeantto.“Besides,"Ireason,"atthisparty,
they'remorelikelyfromBustUpandwanttobuyairtimebecauseofMark.”
“Maybe.”ShedoesatwirlyfingerwavetoWolfieacrosstheroom.Hewinksather.
“He’sgotmydigits,”shegushes.
Ieyeuptheactor.He’sbeachbodyhotwithalotofhairanddimples.Helooks
differentwhennotawolf,butthere’sstillsomethinganimalabouthim.“Goodscore."I
takeanotherlongswigandthelightsstarttospinevenmorecrazily.Wow.Thesunless
tequilaisreallykickingmyass.
Thenthehouselightsgoup,thankgod,andthelasersstopattackingmytipsyvision.
Theaudienceofjournalists,actorsandsupermodelsgoessilentonebyone.
ThenLambertville’sown,theBadBoyatBatandmyonetimeplaywritingmakeout
partner,MarkCarringtonentersthearenaandstepsuptoapodium.
Helookseveryinchasdevastatinglyhotashedidinhighschool,thougholderanda
littlerougheraroundtheedgesnow.Itsuitshim.Andthatdickishstrutisstillonpoint.
Myfacegetshot.Ashestandsbehindthepodium,anotherman,hisagentorPRrep
probably,speaksabouthowawesomeMarkis.It’sadroneinmyearsbecausemyeyes
arefeastingonMark.
He’sdefhotterthantheGoogleImagesrevealed.ThelongerIstare,thehotterI
realizehe'sbecomesincehighschool.Hisbodyfilledoutyetremainedlean.He’staller
too,welloverthesixfeethewasbarelyscrapingsenioryear.Hisreddishbrownhairis
closecropped,becauseIguessthatwastheonlywayhecouldtamethosewildcurls.
Hisnose—alwaystheconversationpieceofhisface—isstillprominent,butina
masculineway.Itpointsdownashischinpointsup.Butit’sreallyhiseyesthatrulethe
day.EventhoughI'magoodtwentyfeetaway,Icanseehisblueirisesarestillas
penetratingastheywereinthelibrary.WhenhetrainedthemonmeIwould
immediatelyshutthefuckupandforgetwhateverpointIwasmaking.They’redoing
thesamethingrightnow…myeyesdarttofloorandmyfacefeelslikeit’sonfire.
Didheseeme?Recognizeme?
Nah.Nowayhe'dremember.NotMark.
“Damn."NightVixenprodsmyarm.“Thatguyishot.Notmytype,butdamn.”
ThesunsethasarrivedonmyfirstTequilaSunrise,soNightVixenprocuresmea
second,whichIsuckdownwithfuryasflashbulbspoponMarkandTommyPizza
shakinghands.AfterIsuckdownmythird,IseeDocBingwavingmeovertowherehe
standswiththeBadBoyatBatandhisPRteam.It’shighschoolreuniontime.Powered
bytequila,likeallthebestreunions.
Isteelmyresolveandsteadytherattlingoficecomingfromtheglassinmyhand.
WhenIapproachthehuddle,MarkandIlockeyes.Hehasnoexpressiononhisface,so
IdomybestLadyGagaPokerFacetoo,eventhoughI'mdyinginside.
Thenhislookchanges.Henarrowshiseyesandthrowshisshouldersback.
“RoseTaylor,thisisMarkCarrington,"DocBingsays.
Marklooksatmelikehe’slookingaroundme,overme,throughme.“Nicetomeet
you,Rose.”
Thelackofrecognitionhitsmelikeasuckerpunch.Ithoughthemightneeda
momenttorecognizeme,mightneedtohearmynamefirst,butreally?Iopenmy
mouthtospeakbutheinterrupts.“Later."Hestalksoffaftersomemodelchick.
“Iguesshedoesn’trememberyouafterall,”Beckswhispersinmyearwithasmirk,
andIregreteveradmittingtoherthatIknewthisasshole.Whenwasit?Ohyeah,
drunkattheofficeChristmasparty,braggingaboutcelebencounters.
Ifume.Irage.Iwanttovomit.IfeellikeTommyPizzamusthavefeltwhenMark
landedthatsuckerpunch.Actually,Itakethatback.Aphysicalblowwouldhavebeen
easiertotake.
BythetimemyfourthTequilaSunrisehasgonedown,MarkCarringtonhasexited
thebuildingand,althoughitwascloisteredbehindtheDJbooth,Ihavelocatedthe
secretVIPbar.SohasTommyPizza.
Atalldrinkofwater,Tommy’slongbrownhairstopsbluntlyathiswideshoulders.
He’snotabadlookingguy,inspiteofthebeadyeyesandbruisedleftcheekbone.He
tellsmehowmuchhehates‘thesestoopidevents’andasksmeifIlikethechicken
fingersIkeepstealingfromhisplate.
“They'reawesome,”IslurasIshoveanotheroneintomymouth.So...hungry...
He’skeepingmeintopshelftequilasinceItoldhimIwenttohighschoolwith
Mark.“Suckerpunch,”hesneers,pointingtohisdamagedface.
Inodinsympathy.Iknewit.
ThemediaandcelebsemptiedoutwhenMarkleft.Nowonlyluckyfanswhoscored
aguestlistslotandafewradiofolksremaintomackonfreefoodandwhateverisleft
ofthoseshittyCosmicCocktails.NightVixenlefthoursagowithWolfie.Justfans,radio
folkandoneMetsplayernow.Anddrunkme.
Tommynudgestheplateofhalf-eatenchickenfingerstowardmeandplopsontothe
nextbarstool.“Youcanhavetherest,”hesayswiththesamesmileI'veseeninhis
SputnikVodkaads.
Anotherdrinklandsinfrontofme,becauseapparentlywhenyou’reabaseball
playerpeoplewillkillthemselvestoserveyou,andIamlovingtheattentionandthe
topshelftequila.Nomoreoff-brand,open-barshitforme.
“WhatwasMarklikeinhighschool?”Tommyasks,sippingathisowndrink.“Was
heaviolentthugthentoo?”
AsIlingerwithmyglassagainstmylips,Igivehimaside-eyeandhisfacesoftens.
“Imean,look…”Heglancesaroundandthentrainshiseyesbackonme.“I’mjust
tryin’tounderstandtheguy,youknow?”
Isighandnod.IrememberMarkstruttingaroundlikeheownedourhighschool.
Nevermindthathedid,dammit.Hewassodamnpopular,eventhen.I'malmostblind
drunkandIsluroutacoupleofwords,somethingabouthiscockyposing,butthen
suddenlyIrememberkissinghimandIforgetwhatIwassaying.
TommycurveshisplumplipsintoanothersmileandslidesmyTequilaSunrise
closer.“Iknow.”Hesighs,andashissmiledropshiseyesgrowcold.Helooksdown
andfingershisphoneonthetable.“Whydoyouthinkhe’slikethat?”
Ireleaseadrunkgroan.“Becausereasons.”
“Buthisfamilywasokay,right?”heasks.Hiseyesaresowidethathelookslikemy
fiveyearoldniecerightnow,allinnocentandsweet.Ifeelthisweirdurgetomakehim
happy.
“Godno.”Isnortadejectedlaughandtakeanotherlongsip.
TommygrabsmyhandandsqueezesandIfeellikehe’smybestfriendofalltime.
“Tellmemore.”
AndIdo.ItellhimallaboutMark’smessofamomandhiswreckofadadand
disasterofachildhooduntilInoticemyglassisjustice.
“Letmegetyouanother,”hesays.
MyvisionisblackaroundtheedgesandIhavethisneedtopressmyforeheadtothe
bar.“Nah.”Istruggletomyfeet.“I’mgood.”
“Ibetyouare.”
Scootinghisbodycloser,Tommywrapshisarmaroundmybodyandleansme
againsthim.“Let’sgosomeplacequiet.”
Itrytogetmyarmoffhim,butheistoostrongandIampinnedtohimandhe’s
leadingmetoadarkarenagatebehindthebar.Isuddenlyfeelvery,very,verysmall.
HemasheshisfacetomineandstickshistongueinmymouthasItrytopushhimoff.
“Justrelax,”hemurmurs.
Hisotherhandisonmythightryingtomaneuverbetweenmylegsandhe’sstill
draggingmeaway.Fromlight.Fromlasers.Frompeople.Tosomedarkcorner.My
eyesdartbehindhimuntilIseethefamiliarfaceofW-ALT’snoonDJ.
“Ralph!”IcalloutasIsquirmawayfromTommyandbangintoawall.Tommy
grabsmyarm,butIshakeitoffandstumbleintotheskinny,safearmsofRockin’
Ralph.
“YouOK?”RalphlooksovermyshouldertowardTommy.
MyarmhurtsfromTommytwistingit.IrubthebruiseIcanalreadyfeelforming.
“Yeah,I’mfine,”Isay.“Canyoutakemehome?Please.”
“Ofcourse,Rose,”Ralphsays,hisvoicegonehardallofasudden.“Igotyou.Let’s
getyououtofhere.”
4
MARK
“Isthatit?”Imutter.“Really?”
Myeyesaregluedtothecrumblingredbrickbuildingwiththeflappingbannerin
frontofStanley’sMercedesconvertible.Theradiobuildinglookslikeaplacewhere
post-apocalypticsurvivorswouldhideoutfromzombies.IexpectAndrewLincoln
fromWalkingDeadtorunoutwitharifleandshootmeinthehead.Partofmewishes
hewould.
IspottheancientfalloutsheltersignandknowIgotsomewoodontheballabout
theplace.Partofmecan’tbelieveRoseTaylorworkshere,butpartofmecan.Trueto
form,shewasascoldasevertomeattheparty.ShelookedatmelikeIwastrash.But
shealsolookedgood.Shelostweight,thoughnotasmuchasitlookedlikeinher
pictures.That’sgood.Shereallydidn’tneedtoloseanounce.Especiallynotifit
detractedfromthoselusciouscurvesofhers...
StanleyletsoutalongbreathnexttomeandIcan’ttellifhe’sinagreementabout
thisbombshelterorannoyedwithmeagain.Ifeelahotshotofangerinmychest,but
rememberwhatthatheadshrinkerToddsaidandcountbackwardsfrom100.Around
90,theangerhasgone,butitwasjustalittleburstthistime.“Thisisabadidea,Stan.
Thisplacelooks…"Ican'tfindthewords.
“Thisplaceisperfect,”hereplieswiththesamesternnessI’vecometoexpectlately
fromhim.“You’rethebigfishintheminisculepondhere.It’sgonnalooklikeyou’re
swoopingintosavetheplace.Wecanplayuptheheroangle.”
Isigh.It’scooltobe‘thatguy’sometimes,whenit’ssomeveteran’scharityBBQor
visitingtheMake-A-Wishkids.Butthispileofshittybricksneedsademolitioncrew,not
asavior.
Alright,then.Timetodustoffthecape.MaybesavethejobsofacoupleDJ’s.
Includingthegirlwhohurtmeinhighschool.Igrimace.AslongassheandIcankeep
itprofessional,it’llbefine,Itellmyself.
Stanleynodsatthebuilding.“Showtime,slugger.”
Thefirstthingthathitsmeinthelobbyisthesmellofstalebeerblendedwithancient
tobaccosmoke,barelydisguisedbyacheapfloralairfreshener.Atleastsomeoneis
trying.Thewallsareafadedyellow-whiteandthereceptiondesklookslikeitwas
foundonthestreetwithaFREEsigntapedtoit.Behinditsitsablowupdollthat
someoneputafancydressandaheadseton.
Istarethedolldownforaminute,debatingifthisisapracticaljokeorjustan
indicatorofthebudgetthisstudiooperateswith,thattheyhiredablowupdollfortheir
receptionist.
Istartat100againlikeToddMurphytaughtme.99.98.97…
Anolderwomanboundsoutofanofficeandcatchesmebytheshoulders,which
makesmestiffeninsurprise.She’sgotahugemaneofsexy-messyredhairandwhat
havetobebrandnewsiliconetits.Theperfectrevenge.IfRosehasn’tchangedsince
highschool—andjudgingbytheamountofside-eyeIcaughtfromherlastnight,she
hasn’t—thenhittingonthiscougarinplainsightwilldefinitelygetariseoutofher.
“I’mBeckyLynch.Becks.”Sheletsgoofmyshoulders,butonlytosqueezemy
hand.She’signoringStanleycompletely.
IcatchhereyeandletitlingerforabituntilIfeelherhandmeltinmine.Thatwas
aneasyball,waytoosimpletoknockouttathepark.“Youhaveonehellofgripthere.
Evertugatabat?”
Icantellbyhernaughtysmilethatshegetsit.
Hercheeksreddenandshelowersherchin.“I’mgladtohaveyouonourteam,”she
purrs.
Behindme,Stancoversasnortbycoughingloudlyintohispalm.
“Well,miss.”Ileanclosetoherandlowermyvoice.“I’mateamplayer.”
She’sgotamomvibe,butshe’slookingatmelikeI’mcandy.“Wemetyesterday,
youknow.”Hercool,whitehandisinmineandIgivehertheeyetreatment.“Ididn’t
haveachancetogetyournumber,though.”She’ssparklingrightbackatmewiththe
matchedaggressionofacagedtiger.Yougottaloveolderwoman.Theydon’tfuck
aroundwhentheyfuckaround.
ButnoRoseTayloryet,whichmeansnomakingabigshowofaddingthiscougarto
theblackbookofpussy.WhenIdothat,IwantRosetoseeithappen.“I’llmakesureto
getyourstoday.”Igrinather,andStancoughsagainbehindme.Fine,ifRoseisn’t
goingtoshow,I’llgetamoveon.“So,wheredowestart?”
Beforetheredheadcananswer,possiblybecauseshe’sstilldistractedlyfeelingup
mybicepwithherpencil-sharpfingernails,someoneelse,aguy,yellsdownthe
hallway.“Becks?Isthatthenewguy?BringhimonbacktoRose’soffice.”
Stanleyslapsmyback.“Goodluck,kid.”
Myheartskipsabeat.“Youain’tstaying?”Iask,inavoicethat’slessconfidentthan
I’dlike.
HiseyesstayonmeandIseeatwitchonhismouth.“You'reonyourown,kid.”
ThenI’moffdowntherabbitholewithnoonebutRedtoguideme.
RoseTaylor’sofficeisveryRoseTaylor,butRoseTaylorain’tinit.Ishouldhave
expectedshewouldmakemewait.HowlongdidIusedtowaitinthelibraryforher?
Oroutsideherhouseinmycar?Orafterschoolbythecanal?Hell,halfourhangouts
weremewaitingonher,toodopeduponendorphinstorealizeIwasbeingjerked
around.Thisissoher.
EvenRedhasabandonedme.Theguywhocalledusback,Chrissomethingorother,
wenttofetchcoffee,whichI’msurewillbeatrocious.SoI’mleftalonewithRose’s
things.
Herofficewallsarecoveredwithpostersandconcertbillslikeit’swallpaper.Mostof
thebandsI’veneverheardof,butIrecognizeacouplebignames.PearlJam,for
example.
Thatgetsthememorybankgoing.Jesushowmusiccouldstartanargument
betweenus.AtthetimeIwasstillacountryfan(blameLambertville).Iusedtotrollher
withTobyKeithateverypossibleopportunity.
Wonderifhestillmakeshercringe.
Herdeskiscontrolledchaos.Cluttered,butthereseemstobeanorder,likethings
justpileupandshe’sgottoconstantlyshiftherpriorities.Ibetshecomplainstoanyone
whowilllistenabouthowbusysheis.Shedidthatbackinhighschooltoo,always
stressingaboutclassesandhomeworkandherperfectGPA.She’ssuchaliar,though.
Shelovedtheenergyofworkingthathard.Evenwhenshewasswampedwithfinals,
she’dvolunteerforextrawork,orextracurricular,orextra-anythingshethought
wouldbecool.It’soneofthethingsIlikedabouther,howshealwayskeptmeonmy
toes.
Sometimestoofaronmytoes,ifyouknowwhatImean.
Ihearabeepandseeherphonelyingfaceuponherdeskwithamessagefrom
somecontactnamedGeo.Isthataguy?Herguy?Nah,she’dbroadcastthatalloverher
socialmedia.Wouldn’tshe?
SuddenlyIregretnotFacebook-stalkingheronemoretimebeforeIcameintoday.
Ifocusmyeyesonthemessage,unabletoresist.
Isthatdumbbaseballjerkindahouse?
Fantastic.
Icollapseinoneofthechairsinfrontofherdesk,thenimmediatelystandup.Fuck
that.I’mnotwaitingcomfortablyforher.
Ileanonherdesk,butthenthinkno,noway.Tooposed.Tryingtoohard.
Imovearoundherdeskandmakemyselfcomfortableinherchair.Yeah,that’sthe
ticket.Iputmyfeetuponherdeskandsprawlout.Thiswillabsolutelypissheroff.I
toywiththeideaofcontinuingtopretendIhavenocluewhosheis.Ilikethatfirein
hereyes,theonethatsetoffimmediatelyatthepartylastnight.
IhearhervoiceinthehallandIjumpalittle,buteasebackintothechairandcatch
mybreath.Beslow.Beeasy.
Thisislikeeyeingthepitcherashereelsup.I’mgonnahitthatballhard.Myheart
slowsdownandIgotothatplaceofpurecalmandfocuslikeI’monhomeplate.Batin
myhand.Rightathomeintheworld.
Chrispokeshisheadintheoffice.“Hey,man.”Hestepsin.Roseisrightbehindhim,
andwhensheseesmyfeetonherdesk,hereyesflashwithredhotanger.Icrossmy
feetandsmile.Chrisfaltersatseeingmeloungingthere,butonlyforasecond.“Uh,
Mark.ThisisRoseTaylor.”
Inod.“Sure,wemetlastnight.You’retheproducer,right?”
Shecrossesherarmsandglares,sayingnothing.Ihearhertaketheworld’sdeepest
breathandexhalepainfullyslowly.Moresilence.Hotstare,butoh,ice,icebaby.Ifeela
tugatmycrotch.SheispissedandIfuckingloveit.
“Um.”Chrisscratcheshishead.“Well,I’llleaveyoutwotoit.”
“Later,dude,”Ireply,butwithoutbreakingeyecontactwithRose’sred-hotglower.
Herlonghairhangsdowntoherwaist.Evenlongerthanitusedtobebackinhigh
school,whenI’drunmyhandsthroughit,clenchafistinit,pullheragainstmeand...
Stayfocused,Mark.Herfaceisthesameasitwasinhighschool,butIswearher
eyesaregreener.Imatchherglarewithanevenbroadersmile.“So,MissProducer,
whatdowedonow?”
Shecrinkleshernoseatmeanddropsherhandstoherhips.Thesuddenmovement
makeshertitsjiggle.Ismileandletmyeyesjuststaythereonherchesticles.Shenever
likedbrasandIhavealwaysappreciatedthatchoice.She’spositivelyscowlingnowand
herfaceisred,buthernipplesareharderthanRed’s.
“Firstyougetyourfuckingfeetoffmydesk,MarkCarrington.”
5
ROSE
Thewalkfrommycartothestation’sfrontdoorwasicyandcold,butstillIburned
withanger.MyarmisstillthrobbingfromTommygoddamnPizzatryingtotwistitoff
lastnight.Bastard.
Thismorning,Iresenteverythingandeveryone.Myhangoverhasnothingtodo
withit.
AndnowIhavetodealwiththisshit.MarkCarrington.Big-headed,egotistical,prick
ofahighschoolpunkwhogrewupintojustasbigofanegotisticalbaseballplayer.
Goingbyhisbehaviorlastnight,Iguesshisgameplanispretendinghedoesn’tknow
meatall?
Iknowitwassixyearsago,butit’snotlikeit’sbeensixdecades.Hashetakentoo
manybaseballstothehead?
Maybehe’sjusthadtoomanymodelssincethen.Hecan’tkeepusnormalgirls
straightanymore.
AfterIdropmystuffonmydesk,Igograbaweakcupofcoffeefromthe
breakroomtoprepareformymeetingwithMark,whichisonlyminutesaway.Itake
mytimeaboutit,too.Lingerinthebathroomtodoublecheckmyarms.Iworelong
sleevestoday,thankstoTommyfuckingPizza.Heleftabruisearoundmybicep,
telltalefingersandall.
OnegoodthingI’llsayaboutMark—Idon’tknowhisreasons,butatleasthepicked
therightassholeMetsplayertosuckerpunch.
Myshort-livedgoodwilltowardmyoldhighschoolflingevaporates,however,the
secondIstridebackintomyoffice.TheBadBoyatBatsitsinmyofficechairwithhis
feetproppedonmydesk,wearingasmirksosexyIcan’tdecideifIwanttoslaporkiss
him.
Slap.Definitelyslap.
ThoughIhavetoadmit,helookswaytoohotfor6:45inthemorning.Hishairisstill
wetfromashower,histightblueT-shirtshowsoffthemusclesinhisarmsandchest
andthosejeanslookliketheyweremadetoaccentuatehislargepackage.
ThankgodforthoseuglyassinAdidassneakersparkedfrontandcenteronmy
desk,orIthinkIwould’vebeenoverwhelmedbythehotness.Luckilythesneakers
clashwiththerestofhislook,andremindmeagainexactlywhoI’mdealingwith.The
game-obsessedhotheadwhobrokemyheartyearsago,anddoesn’tevenhavethe
gumptiontorememberdoingit.
Oratleast,hepretendshedoesn’t.Thatlittlesmirkstilltoyingaroundtheedgesof
hislipsmakesmethinkthathisfakeWemetlastnightlinewasdesignedjusttopissme
off.
Well.Twocanplayatthatgame.“I’mwaiting,”Isay,eyingthosesneakers
pointedly.
Inaslow,deliberatemove,heswingsthemdownoffthedesk.Hedoesnot,
however,gethisassoutofmychair.
“So,”hesays.“Whenareyougoingtothankme?”
Ileanoverthedesktoglareathimcloseup.Ispentthelastcoupleofdaysemailing
himconstantly,hearingnothingback,andaskingthestudiotofulfillridiculous
requeststhathestipulatedinhiscontract.Heevenmadeusgivehimaspecial-edition
DerekJeterbobblehead.Imean,whatisthatevenabout?“Thankyouforwhat,
exactly?”
“Forcominginheretodothisgig.Savingyourstation’sbacon.I’mnotexactly
gettingasalaryfromyouguys,y’know…”
Itrytoshootboltsofelectricityoutofmyeyes.Unfortunatelythatdoesn’twork.
Evenworse,itfeelslikemyrockhardnipsmightdothatinstead.WhydoIgetsoturned
onbyhisassholery?“You’vegottobejoking.”
Hesmiles.“IfIturneddownthisgig,thisstationwould‘gocountry’andyouknow
it.”HeleansinsocloseIcansmellthetingeofhisshavingcreamandhisown
particulararomabeneathit.Healwayshadagreatsmellandmybodyisrespondingto
itagainstmywill.
“Andwhat’sittoyouifwedid‘gocountry,’Mr.Carrington?”Iask,oneeyebrow
raised,handsplantedfirmlyonthedeskbetweenus.I’mcallingthisbluffonceandfor
all.Nowayhebroughtupcountry,theworstgenreontheplanet,justbycoincidence.
Notafterthewayheusedtotorturemewithit.
“Well…”Hiseyeshookintomine.Fuckinghell.They’resodamnbluethey’realmost
violet.Samestunning,intense,near-immobilizingstareasalways.LuckilyI’vehadalot
ofyearstopracticestandinguptoguyslikehimnow.I’mnotahighschoolerwitha
crushanymore.
Sowhydomykneesfeelweak?
“Iknowhowmuchyouhatecountry…”Markcocksaneyebrowatmetosellhis
point.
“Andhowdoyouknowthat,exactly,Mr.AnonymousBallplayerWhoHasNever
LaidEyesOnMe‘TilLastNight?”Inarrowmyowneyesrightbackathim.Fora
second,hisgazedipstomycleavage,andIusethemomenttomyadvantage,pulling
myarmstogethertogivehimjustenoughofaglimpsetoleavehimhotformore.
Lethimenjoythehotseatforaminute.
“Ihaveapolicyaboutgirls,”hesays,andhisvoiceissteady,buthisdilatedpupils
andpartedlipstelladifferentstory.Good.Istillhavesomeeffectonhim,nomatter
howmanysupermodelshe’shookedupwithsinceme.
“Kissandrun?”Isuggestwithapointedeyebrowlift.
Tomysurprise,helaughs.“Close.”Thosegoddamneyes.Howaretheysoblue?It’s
notfair.Thatcolorshouldbeillegal.“Isteerclearofanygirlsfrommypastwholook
pissedoffaboutmyveryexistence.”
“Mustbealonglistofpeopleyouhavetoavoid,”Iretort.
“Ah,Rose,”hesighs,andmynameinhismouthdoesterriblethingstome.My
kneessaginprotest.LuckyformeI’mstillleaningagainstthedesk.“Youhaven’t
changedabit,youknow.”
Ican’ttellifthat’sadmirationorregretinhiseyesashesaysit.Suppressingalaugh,
Irollmyeyes.“Neitherhaveyou,Mark.”
Hegrins.“Well,Iamabitricher.Andmorefamous.Also,Ithinkthetouchofgray
thingthat’sstartinginmyhairreallyaddscharacter,don’tyou?”heasks,leaning
forwardasiftopointoutgrayhairs.NotthatIcanseeanydottinghisreddish-brown
locks,croppedsomuchshorternowthantheyusedtobeinhighschool.
Iletoutabittersigh.“Yeah,well,let’shopeyourfameandfortunepaysoffforour
studio,too.C’mon,Mr.Carrington,timetoearnyourunpaidkeep.”
Withoutanotherword,Iturnandmarchoutoftheoffice.Behindme,ittakeshima
secondtofumbleatthedeskbeforeherisestofollowme.Partofmehopes,alittle
vindictively,thatit’sbecausehe’sstrugglingtoconcealhisexcitementintheprocess.
Aglanceovermyshouldercatcheshimfidgetingwiththecrotchofhispants,andI
can’tresistavictorioussmirkasIspinawayandaimdownthehall.Throughthedoor
oftheDJbooth,NightVixencatchesmyeyeandwavesMark’sprintedbiooverher
head.Great,shehashisintrolinedup.
Behindme,IhearMarkcrackhisknuckles.Thismustbehispre-gamewarm-up.
Wow,eventhat’sannoying.
“Goodluck,”NightVixenwhispers,touchingmyshoulderassheexitsthebooth.
InodbeforeIturntoMark.“Right.YouremembereverythingfromthevideoChris
sentyou?”
Basically,wedumbeddownradiohostingforMarktomakeitasidiot-proofas
possible.Allhehastodoissitintheboothandbabbleaboutsportsballorwhatever.I’ll
runallthebuttons,thetech,lineuptheintros,queueupsongsbetweenbits,andman
thelines.Youknow,alltheactualwork.
ButwhenIhandhimtheincrediblyexpensiveheadphonesChrispurchasedfor
him,MarkcrinkleshisnoseatmelikeI’veaskedhimtowearatutu.
“Idon’tlikewearinganythingonmyhead.”
Istareathim.“FCCrules,Mark.Youhavetowearheadphonesontheair.”
Herollshiseyes.“It’sradio,Rose.Who’sgonnaknow?”
Ipushtheheadphonesintohischest.“Iwill.”
AsIpressthephoneshardertohischest,Ilockeyeswithhiminadare.Ittakes
everyounceofwillpowerIpossesstoignorethefactthatIcanfeelhisheartbeat
pulsingbeneaththeheadphones,wheremyhanddigsagainsthischiseledmuscles.
AfterafewweirdsecondsofaMexicanstandoff,hismouthtwitchesintoasmileand
hiseyesshifttomyboobs.
“I’llgiveittoyougood,boss,”hesays,andIcan’tdenythethrillofelectricitythat
hiswordssendstraighttomycrotch.
IwatchhimsnaptheheadphonesoninamannerIwoulddescribeasmocking.
Though,OK,hedoesmakeheadphoneslooksexy.Ifhewerewearingtheminanad,I
wouldtotallybuythem.Especiallyifhehadhisshirtoffinsaidad.Oriftherewas
waterpouringacrosshisabs.Mmm.Nevermindthatwaterandelectronicsdon’tmix.
Damn,nowI’mjuststraightuppicturinghiminplaceofmyAnonymousAdonisat
thebeachencounter.Ugh.This,ofcourse,isexactlywhyMarkmakesmillionsposing
withasingleenergydrinkcanorpowerbar.Damnhim.“Keepthemonatalltimes,”I
addasweenterthebooth.
Twominutesuntilshowtime.Thephonesarealreadylightinguplikecrazy,even
thoughthepre-recordedintrohasn’tevenfinishedplaying.Iguesspeoplereallywant
totalktoMark.Gofigure.I’dpayanythingnottohavetodealwithhisgrumpyassright
now.
Aftersettlingintomyownheadphones,Icueuptheshow’sintro,apunkrock
versionofTakeMeOuttotheBallGamewithavoiceoverlaythatsoundslikethe
SecondComingisabouttogoliveonair.
IseeMarkpumpupinthechairwithhischestthrustoutandhischinup.Witha
shit-eatinggrinonhisface,he’sbobbinghisheadtothebeat.Myeyebrowsrise.Tobe
honest,whatwithhisbighard-onforcountrybackintheday,I’dexpectedhimtohate
thisintro.Buthey,peoplechange.Maybehegrewsomegoodtasteinmusic.
Asagreedbyeveryoneinvolved,Mark’sfirstsegmentishison-airapology.And,asI
listentohimdeliveritliveinperson,heartfeltandalmosttearingupashedescribeshis
loveforbaseballandrespectforalltheotherplayersonthefield,evenIhavetoadmit
it’sreallygood.Thenagain,itwaswrittenbythebestPRteammoneycanbuy.Who
knewourBadBoyatBatwassuchagoodactor,too?
Iamsurethere’snotadryeyeorvaginainthelisteningaudience.
AsIlineupeightcallsandenterthemonhisscreen,Markroundsouthisapology,
totallyowningthemic.He’sgottheconfidenceofacarnivalbarker,movie-stargood
looks,andhell,evenhisradiovoicesoundslikehewasborntohost.Hehasahard
Jerseyaccent,buthisvoiceisdeepandsure,andtheaccentmakeshimsoundlikea
realperson.Justyourbadboynextdoorwhogotfamousovernight.
Isweartogodifthisradiogiglandshimvoiceworkforpushingfurniturepolishor
somethinglameandwell-paid,Iwillblowagasket.Doeshehavetobegoodat
everythinghedoes?
Ileanbackinmychairandgivehimawrapitupsignalwithatwirlofmyfingers.
Henodsunderstanding.
HelooksdeadatmeandtheintensitymakesmetremblebutIholdhisgaze.“So,
hereIamnow,talkingtoallofyou.Ilovebaseballanddoingthisshowuntilspring
trainingisagreatwaytoexploremyfirstlove.”
Igivehimanotherfingersignalandheshootsmeaquizzicallook.Ugh.Noob.Ipry
hisheadphoneasideandwhisper.“Commercialbreak.Saywewillbebackwithyour
callsandIwilltakecareoftherest,OK?”
Henods.“We’llberightbackafterthebreak,andthenwe’lltakeourfirstcallsfrom
someofyouloyaldie-hardwankers.”
Icuthismicandrollthefirstcommercial.Iseehimrelaxonhischairandsmilelike
heeffortlesslyhitahomerun.Whichhebasicallyjustdid,notthatI’lleveradmitit.He
catchesmyeyeandmakesamuscleposewithbotharmscrunchedintheairthen
kissesbothofhisbiceps.“Irule,”hemouthsatme.
“Youhavecallsnext,”Ireply,deadpan.“Withthepeopleyoujustinsulted.”Let’ssee
howhehandlesthat.
“Notaproblem.”Hegrins.“Myfanslovetohateme.”
Andtheydo.It’saweirdhate/lovethinghe’sgotgoingonwithhisfans,whoMark
callshis“die-hards.”TheonlythingIcanthinktocompareittoisthewayfanboysfeel
aboutDarthVader.He’sevil,butyouhavetoadmithe’sprettydamncool.Andmaybe
redeemableintheend,whoknows.
Ihavemyhandsfullworkingtocutoffacoupleofpottymouths,thoughthankgod
we’reonathreeseconddelay.IfinallyputonethroughwhowantstoabuseMark,but
stickstoPG-13language.Worksforme.
“Hey,d-bag,”thecallerfromOzoneParksays.“Whydon’tyoupackitupandgoto
theAstros?NewYorkissicktodeathofyou.”
“Yourmother’snot.”Marksmirks.“Nextcaller.”
“RoryfromStatenIsland,”IwhisperintoMark’sheadphones.
Marknods.“Whatdoyouwant,Rory?”
“Igotadartboardwithyourpictureonit.”
“AndI’msureyou’reasgoodasablindwombatathittingit.”
“Youain'tfacedClaytonKershawyet.He’sgonnaseparatethemenfromtheboys.”
“SoIguessIwon'tseeyouatthatgame,”Markrebuts.“AsforKershaw,LAisgoing
towishthey’dfoundapitcherwithastrongerarmtogoupagainstme.Nextcaller.”
ThevitriolthrownatMarkonlyampshimupmore.Prettysoonhe’sbouncinginhis
seatandgrinninglikeakid.Suddenly,thisexplainsalotaboutourdynamicbackin
highschool.Bastardenjoysbeingscrewedwith,Iswear.
ThenextcallseemstobeMark’sfavoritesofar,fromadudewhocallshimself
Mack,aMetsfanfromLongIslandwhospeakslikesomeoneisstranglinghim.They
talkaboutstatsuntilIgoblindinboredom,butthephonesarelightinguplikemad
whiletheydroneonandon.Imean,whocareswhatthispersonI’veneverheardofis
averagingatbatinpost-seasongames?Arepost-seasongamesevenathing?Why?
Whoknows!
IinterruptMackandMark’sbro-outtothrowanothercallerin.Thisoneclaims
they’rebothwrong,andwantstocallthemoutfornotdisagreeingenoughoverMets
vs.Yankees.Sportsfansandtheirbloodfeuds,man.
Ihavetoadmit,though,asMarkgetsgoingonthisnewcaller,hisvoicerisingand
hisfaceheatingup,there’ssomethingstrikingabouthim.Thefireinhiseyesthreatens
toburndownthewholestudio,andyoucanpracticallyfeelthepassionboilingoffhis
skin.
Hecatchesmestaringandwinks,noddingasifIgiveacrapwhathe’stalkingabout
now.Morestatistics.Yawn.Ishoothimasarcasticthumbs-upinreplyandlineupour
firstofficialcelebrityguestcaller,CharlieBarnes,whoweinvitedtotalkabouthisnew
sportsdopingbook.WesentMarkthebooklikeaweekago,butsomethinginmygut
tellsmethatheprobablydidn’tbothertoprepquestions.
Well,serveshimrightifhedidn’t.
“Winditdownnow,”IsaydirectlytoMark’sheadpiece,andhecutsrightintothe
othertwocallers’talkmid-convo.“Aaaandthat’sallwehavetimefornow,but
rememberdie-hards,theMetscansuckit!”
Idumpthecallersandrollintoacommercialsegment.Allnationalads.Becksmust
berollinginthesecommissions.Damn.Markmightreallybetheboostweneedtostay
intheblack—andoutofHalcyon’sclutches.
“Wasn'tIgreat?”Hepluckshisheadphonesoffhishead.“Iwasmadeforthis.Ilove
talkingtothesebeautifuldie-hards.”
“Hey,hey,you’renotdoneyet.”Ishovetheheadphonesbacktowardhisears.“Put
thosebackon.”
“Down,girl,”hegrowlsintothemic,buthesnapshisphonesbackinplace.
“Happy?”
“ThenextsegmentisCharlieBarnes.Igothimonthelinereadytogo,ifyouhave
yourquestionsprepped.”IshoothimanI-can’t-wait-for-this-excuselook.
“Who?”HelookslikeIjustaskedhimtodefine‘irony’anduseitinasentence.
“Theauthor.”
Hisfaceremainsblank.
“Chrissentyouhisbookalongwithyourcontracttoworkhere.Youragent
confirmedyoureceivedit.”
“Book?”
“Yes,youknow.Wordsprintedonpiecesofpaper,lodgedbetweencovers.
Generallyusedtoconveyusefulinformationorstories.Likethisguy,whowroteabout
dopingscandalsamongyourbelovedballplayers.”
Hecrackshisknuckles.“Oh.Him.”
Inarrowmyeyes.“Soyoudidn’treadit.”
Heshrugshisshoulders.“Youknowme,Rose.Neverbeenmuchforliterature.That
wasalwaysyourareaofexpertise.”
“Thisispartofyourcontract,Mark.Weneedyoutotalktothisguy.He’supto
number3ontheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistrightnow,andhehadalotof
importantthingstosayinthebook.”
Herollshiseyes.“Letmeguess.Somejocksjuice.Somedon’t.Muchscandal,the
end.”
Ilookoverattheadcountdown.Thirtysecondsuntilwe’rebacklive.“You’regoing
toneedtoaskhimquestionsaboutthebook.Aboutthetopic.Engagewithhim.”
Marknodscoolly.“Icantalkaboutjuicing.Don’tsweatit.What’stheguy’sname
again?”
Igrimace.Thisisgoingtogohorribly.ButMarkstillhasthatcockygrinon,sowho
knows,maybehecanwingthisafterall.“CharlieBarnes.ThebookisBasesLoaded.”
Hesnorts.“Realcreativetitle.”
Thelastcommercialends,andIsignalMarktoshutupandstart.Lastthingweneed
ishiminsultingthisguyon-air—we’llnevergetanotherfeaturedguesttosignonagain.
“OurfirstguestisCharlieBarnes,authoroftheNewYorkTimesbestsellerBases
Loaded!”Marktakesabreath.“How’sithanging,Charlie?”
“Notbad.Thanksforhavingme.I’mahugefan,Mark.”
“Wellduh.”
Andthen,suddenly,crickets.Forasecond,Ichecktheconnection,thinkingwe
musthaveafaultyline.ButthenIglanceoveratMark,andrealizeit’snotthetech
that’sglitching.Markisfrozen,literally.Hismouthhangsopenandhiseyesareglued
inanemptydaze,staringatthemicinfrontofhim.
“Hello?”Charlietapshisphone,andstaticburstsacrosstheairwaves.“Connection
okay?”
“Askhimaboutthebook,”IhissintoMark’sheadphones.ButIgetnoresponse.
Fuckballs.
Forabrief,delightfulmoment,IthinkoflettingMarkdroponhisass.Justletthe
deadairgetsoloudit’stheonlythingintheworld.Forthefirsttimeinhislife,Mark
willfailhard.Thelookonhisfacerightnowispricelessrevenge.Andfrankly,it’s
makingmealittlehornyseeinghimsooutofhisdepth.Ishoothimthesmuglookhe
alwaysgivesmeandarchaneyebrow.Heopenshismouthwider,butnothingcomes
out.
Ah,victory.Sosweet,andyet,sofleeting.Guessit’suptometosavehisassyet
again.
IturnonmymicbeforeChriscomesbustingintheproductionboothwiththeoffice
axe.“Hi,Charlie,”Ibreatheintothemic.Myvoicegoeshuskyandsensual,notmy
usualon-airjust-the-factsdrone.I’mchannelingmyinnerScarlettJohansson,andfrom
thewayMark’sexpressionshiftsfromstupefiedfeartoanintense,kindofhungry
stare,IknowI’venailedit.“RoseTaylorhere,Mark’sco-host.We’reallhugefansof
yourbookhereatthestation,particularlybecauseit’sgotsuchacontroversialpitch.”I
raisemyeyebrowsatMarktoemphasizemypoint.“YouarguethattheMLBshould
legalizesometypesofperformance-enhancingdrugs.Whytakeastancelikethat?”
“W-Well,Rose,”Charliesayswithanerdylittlestutter.Icanpracticallyfeelhim
blushingfrommyJohanssonimpressionviatheradiowaves.It’smorethanalittle
gratifying.“Ithinkweshouldallstoppretending.Ithappensallthetime.Itwill
continuetohappen.Nomatterhowmanyregulationsyouputintoplace,there’sno
stoppingitcompletely.”
Markisstillcluelessandsilent,butInoticehisjawispopping.Histemplesthroband
hisfacegetsred.Hiseyesareonme,hisexpressiontornbetweenaweanddefeat.Or
maybeahintofboth.I’lltakethat,too.
Ileanclosertothemic.“Soyouthinkthatjustbecauseteststodetectdruguseare
difficulttoimplement,weshouldjustgiveinandmakecheatinglegal?”Ipractically
purr.
“It’shardlycheatingifit’sasanctionedaction,implementedacrosseverylevelof
theplayingfield.Nottomention,whenyoubreaksomeofthesedrugsdowntotheir
components—takesteroids,forexample.We’vebeenusingthemmedicinallyfor
decadesnow.We’vecomealongwayinsynthesizingandworkingtomakethemsafe
toingest,forpeoplewhoreallyneedthehelp,forexampleincasesofallergicreaction,
ordifficultywithothermedications.Notallsteroidaltreatmentsarecreatedequally.”
BeforeCharliecandroneontoolongaboutthat,though,Mark’seyesfinallycometo
lifeagain.Heshakesoffwhateverinvisibleforcewaskeepinghismouthclampedshut
foronce.“Butwhataboutthesideeffects,man?”
“AsIwassaying,sometypeshavesideeffects,yes,andtheyvarydependingonthe
typeofdrugandthedosage.Butifwe’rewillingtousethesedrugstotreatsickand
injuredpatients,whynotexpandthereach—”
“Dude,youtreatsickpeoplewith‘roidstomakethemhealthyagain.Becauseyou
needto.Notbecausetheydecideit’llbehelpfulfortheircareer.”
IhearCharliehuffintomyheadphones,andIleanbackinmyseatalittle,grinning.
Nowwe’reontosomething.
“Itwouldneedtobeapersonalchoice,ofcourse,”Charliesays.“Eachplayerwould
havetodecideforthemselveswhetheritwastherightideaforthem—”
“Andwhat’sgoingtoincentivizethemtonotdo‘roids?”Markrepliesangrily.Hesits
upinhisseatnow,andcloseshiseyesforasecond.Hislipsformwords,butIcan’tread
them.Ishe…countingsomething?
Iraiseaneyebrow.
“I’mnotsurewhatyoumean,Mark,”Charlie’sreplying.
“Thinkaboutit.Wemakeourlivingbasedonourabilitytocompeteinthisleague.
IfallofthebestplayersintheMLBstarttodope,theneveryoneelseisgoingtoneedto
dopejusttokeepup.You’retalkingabouttakingsteroidsfrombeingasometimes-used
crutchforcheatersintoaleague-widesanction—that’sasgoodasmakingita
requirementtodope.That’sjustirresponsible,man.”
“Maybe,ormaybeit’sthepriceathletesarealreadypaying,under-the-wire,with
closetedtreatments,justtokeepupinafieldthat’saskingmorefromthemeveryday.
Maybeit’stimewetookstepstomakethisabove-the-tablesothatatleastthatway
doctorsknowwhatsignstolookfor,andhowtohelp—”
“Sojustbecausewemakealotofmoneyplayingthesport,weshouldallputour
ownbodiesatrisk?”
Ileanbackinmychair,grinningmyselfnow.Fromhere,theydon’tneedanymore
nudges—Ionlyinterruptnowandthen,Scarlett-style,tointroducetheoddcallerortwo
duringbreaksintheirever-more-heateddebate.
IhavetohandittoMark,too.Heknowsexactlyhowtousehis‘die-hards’inhis
battleagainstCharlie.
Unfortunately,watchinghimdosoisturningmeonlikenoother.Ilovewatchinga
mantakecontrol,andIlovethewayMarkisusingthepassionofhiscallerstosupport
hispoint.Ilovehowinvestedheisinthisdiscussion—thisisn’tjustsometheoretical
debateforhim.It’shiswholelife,andyoucantellinoneglancethathe’sfiredupas
hell.IlovethatMarkisowningthis.
Forafewminutes,I’mnotevenbotheredbythefactthathe’swinning.Again.
AllIcanthinkaboutishowgorgeousheis.Fromhissharpjawlineallthewaydown
tohislarge,callousedhands,he’salargerthanlifekindofguywithabigpersonality
andtheconfidencetomatch.Hethrowshisshouldersinthemixwhenhelaughsand
useshishandswhenhetalksinawaythatmakesmeunabletolookaway.Andwhen
helooksatmetoo,well…
Forgettearingmygazeaway.
Whenhecaststhoseblueeyesinmydirection,it’slikeI’mtheonlypersoninthe
world.He’sdoingthattomerightnowasheargueswithCharlieabouttryingtoturn
athletesintoglorifiedgladiators.Hedoesn’tlosethebeatofhisargument,buthisred
hotgazemakesmefeelasthoughI’mspreadoutnakedbeforehim,hisforthetaking.
AndIfuckingloveit.
Asifhe’sreadingmymind,hegivesmethislittlenaughtysmirk,onlyhalfhis
mouth,andhiseyescrinklearoundtheedges.Flustered,Ilookaway.Suddenlythereis
nopast,thereisnofuture.Thereisjustnowandmyaching,desperatelongingforhim.
Fuck.
“Iamnotagladiator,dude.Iamaprofessional,andIdeservethesame
considerationasanyotherprofessionaloutthere—fromofficeworkerstoCEOstothe
guyworkingontheassemblylineatacarfactory.Thisismyjob,notabattleground.”
Markwatchesme,eyesonmymouthnow.
Almostunabletohelpmyself,tornbetweenwishingthisshowwouldkeepgoing
andbeinggratefulit’sfinallyoversoIcansneakofftothebathroomandrelievesome
ofthispentuptension—god,amIwet?Icrossmylegs.Iam—Ileanacrosstotapmy
mic.“Onthatnote,Charlie,Iwanttothankyouagainforcallinginandofferingyour
counterpointhere.That’sallforourshowtoday,buttuneintomorrowformoreof
everyone’sfavoriteBadBoyatBat,MarkCarrington.”
“Moreforyoudie-hardstomorrow,”Markaddswithasmirk.“Byefornow.”
Ibreakintoanothersetofads,andleanbackinmychair.Then,foralongmoment,
MarkandIjuststareateachother.Ifeelaglisteningcoolsweatonmyhotskinandmy
breathisgettingshorterandfasterthelongerthesilencestretches.Oh,crap.Mymicis
on,too.Hopehedidn’thearthat,orrealizewhyI’msoflustered.Feelingmycheeks
starttoburn,Iswitchoffmymicandbusymyselfwithturningoffthelines.Inmy
headphones,Ihearhimchucklesoftly.
“Admitit,thatwasprettygoodformyfirsttry,”hesays,breakingthetensesilence.
“Itwasalright,”Itellhimwithgrudgingrespect.
Asmallsmilecurvesonhislips.I’mabouttoreallylethimhaveit,butasIopenmy
mouthtodoso,hestandsupandtowersovermeandIcanthinkisdamn.Those
shoulders.Thatchest,sorock-hardIcanpracticallyseethesculptedlinesofhismuscles
throughhisT-shirt.
“We’regoodtogether,”hesays,movingcloser.“Don’tyouthink?”He’swaytoo
closenow,rightaboveme,andIcanfeeltheheatwavecascadingoffhisskinonto
mine.
Icrossmyarmsagainsttemptation,butIcan’thelpmyself.Mybodyleansforward
justalittle,ofitsownaccord.“ItwasOK,”Irepeat.Iturnmygazeaway,stubborn,and
grabagelpenfromthestudioboardtodistractmyself.
“Thatalmostsoundslikepraise.”
Isigh,audibly.“Don’tgetusedtoit.”
“Ah,youmissedme,Rose.Don’tlie.”Heleansoverme,andIglanceup,unableto
resistapeek.Thoseeyesofhislockontomineimmediately,andit’sallIcandotokeep
mygazefromdriftingdowntohismouth.Hisfulllips,whichhoverjustafewinches
frommine.HowlonghasitbeensinceIlasttastedhim?WouldhestilltastethewayI
remember,strongandmasculinewithjustatouchofsweet?
Damn,I’mlookingathislipsnow.Ionlynoticewhenhelicksthem,andthenI
realizehe’sstaringatmine,too,andtiltingcloser,closer…
Fuck,Ithink,somewherewaybackinthedistractedpartofmybrainstilltryingto
clingtoreality.He’sgoingtokissme.
AndI’mgoingtolethim…
“How’ditgo?”Chris,obliviousasever,Lordlovehim,boundsintotheDJbooth,a
stackofrecordsintow.“ThatwasthehighestcallvolumeI’veseenonthelinesin
months,youknow.Congrats,guys.”Hereachesoverforahigh-five,andonlythen
seemstonoticethewaywe’restanding,bodiesfartooclosetogether,ourfacesflushed.
Oratleast,mineis.ThoughI’dswearMarklooksalittlehotunderthecollartoo,his
cheekstintedreddishattheedges.
GoodtoknowI’mnottheonlyonelosingmymind.
“Highestcallvolumeinmonths,huh?”Markwiggleshiseyebrowsatme,backin
fulltauntingmode,andthatsnapsmeoutofmyspell.
Irollmyeyesandbrushpasthimoutofthebooth.“It’sjustnewkidonthewaves
hype.Don’tworry;ourlistenerswillbesickofyoubynextweek,”Icallovermy
shoulder.
Ourlistenersmight,butme?Well.Ifsixyearsofhatinghimdidn’tmakemesickto
mystomachofMarkCarrington,I’mnotsurethere’sapowerintheuniversethatcan
savemefromhisdevilrynow.
Iamsoscrewed.
6
MARK
IraceoutofthestudioasfastasIpossiblycan,consideringhowhamperedmywalkis
bytheraginghard-ondiggingintomyjeans.Theblowupdollismanningthefrontdesk
again,thankgod,sinceshedefinitelygetsaneyefulofmybonerasIstrugglepast.
Iclimbintomytruckandcollapseagainsttheseat,frustrated,confused,angry…and
hardashell.
Shewantedtokissme,Iknowit.IknowRose,dammit,evenafteralltheseyears,
andthatfireinhereyeswasunmistakable.ButthenshestormedoutoftheDJbooth
likeshewasbeingchasedbyhellhoundslessthanaminutelater.Itriedtofollowher,
butsheslammedherofficedoorinmyface.
Cold,hot.Hot,cold.Samecycle.Sameshow.SamepatternsinceLambertville.She
drivesmecrazy,still,evennow.HowcouldIpossiblyletagirllikehergetundermy
skin?SomelittleradioDJIhaven’tseensincehighschool?
IamMarkfuckingCarrington.Idonotchokearoundgirls.Girlschokearoundme—
inmorewaysthanone.
ButnotRose.She’sfartoostubbornforthat.
Ieasebackinmytruckseattorelievesomeofthepressureonmygroin.Goddamn
it.IwonderifanyonewouldnoticeifIundidmyjeansrighthere,wrappedmyfist
aroundmycockandpicturedexactlywhatIreallywantedtodotoRoseTaylorinthat
DJbooth…I’dmakehersuckmesohard.
Butno.It’sbroaddaylight,anditturnsoutthisradiospotisn’tasfaroutinthe
middleofnowhereasIthoughtitwaswhenIarrivedatthecrackofdawn.Thereare
peoplecrawlingalloverthelotnow,andthelastthingIneedtodoisaddmoregossip
fueltothebonfirealreadyragingaboutme.
Fine.Icanmakeithome.
Islamthecarintogearandpeeloutofthelot.
Ican’tbelieveIhavetodothisshownowforthenextsixweeks.OffseasonIshould
beonsometropicalislandsuckingbackDosEquisandeyeingupbeachgirlsindental
flossbikinis.Instead,I’minnowhereJerseyatanothingstationbeingtreatedlikeI’m
nothing.MyangeratStanleyburns.Whothehelldoeshethinkheis,signingmeupfor
thislikeI’msomemisbehavingteenager?I’maprofessional.SoIdeckedaguywho
haditcoming;whothehellinmyfieldhasn’t?Hewantsmetobethebadboywhenit
suitshim,butnotwhenitcausesminoramountsoftrouble.Firstsignofbotherandhe
dumpsmeonthenearestbystander.
NowI’mstuckwithRose.AndRose…aRoseisaRoseisaRose.
NomatterhowmanyhomerunsI’vehit,nomatterhowmanymillionsofdollars
I’vemade,shestillthinksshe’ssomuchbetterthanIam.Shelooksatmelikeadirt
stainonherimpeccableshoes.
AndfuckmeifIdon’tthinkshe’sright,halfthedamntime.
BeforeIcanhelpmyself,I’mremembering.Speedingdownthehighwaytowardmy
house,there’snothingtostemthememoriesthatfloodmybrain.
“Mark,comein.Roseisinthekitchenfinishingupthemashedpotatoes.”
WalkingpastRose’smotherintotheirhouse,IfeltlikeI’dsteppedintooneofthose
familysitcomsfromthe80’sor90’s.Everythingwasniceandcleanandperfect.Light
filledthehouseanditsmelledlikebakedbread.Lushplants,floweredthrowpillows,
gold-framedfamilyportraitswhereeveryoneissmiling.Aplushcouch,aflickering
fireplace,anearlyfinishedjigsawpuzzleonthecoffeetable.Throughawindow,my
eyescaughtaglimmeroftheabovegroundpoolinthebackyardwithbrightlycolored
raftsandnoodlesfloatinginit.EventhedogthatbeggedmetopetitlookedHollywood-
ready.
“That’sDino,”Rose’smomsaid.“Helovesmeetingnewpeople.”
Herdadworedadkhakisandshookmyhand.“Comeoverhere,Mark,”hesaid.
“Mightrain,soIdecidedtocookinsideinsteadofgrill.Helpmewiththesesteaks,will
ya?”Steaks.Thebiggest,fattest,juicieststeaksIeversawinmylife.I’dnevergrilled
meatbefore,butherdadshowedmehowtodoit,whentoflipthemandwhentouse
thetongstoshiftthemofftheheatontoourplates.
TheTaylorsweren’trich,herdadanaccountant,hermomateacher.Buttheywere
richtome.Inmorethanjustmoney.Richinallthereallyimportantways.Ourdinner
conversationwasaboutbookstheyreadandvacationstheytook.Theylaughedand
triedtopullmeintothediscussion,butIjustkeptsmilingandnodding,becausewhat
didIhavetoofferthesepeople?I’dneverreadthosebooks.I’dnevergoneonasingle
tripwithmyfamily,letaloneafewdozen.Hell,someoftheplacestheywentI’dnever
evenheardof.
IwasprettysureRosehadn’tcluedherparentsinonmyhomelife,andallIcould
thinkthroughoutthewholedinnerwashowtheywould’vetreatedmeiftheyknew.
ButRosesmiledatmeandbraggedaboutmyballgame,myplaywritingskills,evenmy
collegepicks.Itmademyearsburn,becauseitfeltlikeshewastryingtotalktheminto
likingme.LikesheknewrightoffthebatthatIwasn’tgoodenoughforherparents,or
forher,butshewastryingdesperatelytoconvinceherselfIwas.
“Markgota100onthathistorytestIwastellingyouabout,”shesaid,anditfeltlike
shewastryingtosay,Look,he’ssomewhatredeemable.Notacompleteogre.
ButIwas.Ialwayshavebeen.NotmyproblemthatshetriedtoconvinceherselfI
wassomeoneI’mnot.
Afteranotherfirmhandshakefromherdad,hermomsurprisedmewithahugat
thedoor.“Wehopeyoucomebacksoon,”shetoldme.Irememberthat,specifically.
BecauseIneversawthemagain.
7
ROSE
WhenIgethome,IseeGeocurledupinfrontofherlaptopinthelivingroomlooking
likeaself-satisfiedcatasshepawsatherdreads.
“Ithoughtyouweregoingtothatprotest,”IsayasIhangmycoatupinthehallway
closet.“Wasittoocoldtooccupywhatevertoday?”
Withhereyesgluedtoherlaptopscreen,shewavesmeoverandpatsthecouch
cushionnexttoher.“You’reallovertheinternet,girl.”
“What?”Iplopdownnexttoherandsheshovesherlaptopinmyface.Tomy
surprise,shehasTMZonthescreen.Shethinksgossipismeanandboring,soI’m
shockedshe’staintedhercomputer.“Whatareyou…”
“Watch.”
TMZplaysanaudiocliphighlightfromMark’sshow.Chrismusthavegivenitto
themafterIlockedmyselfinmyofficefortherestoftheday.Myeyeswiden.Ican’t
believehedidn’tcallme.“Whatthehell?”ImanageasIgropeformycellphone.
Geoslapsmylegtoshutmeup,andpointsmetoherscreenagain.
Sureenough,asecondlater,IhearmyScarlettJohanssonimpressionvoiceoverthe
speakers.Astheaudioplays,someTMZcommentatorwigglestheireyebrowsand
makesjokesaboutMark’shotnewradiogirlfriend.
“Tellmethatisn’tyou.”Geosmirks.
“Idon’tsoundanythinglikethat!”Iprotest.
Sheraisesaneyebrow.“Please.LikeIdon’trecognizeyourplease-sex-me-nowvoice
bythispoint,girl.”
“OK,OK.”Ilaughandtrytoshakeoffmysurprise.“Ijustcan’tbelieveTMZis
playingthis.”
SheshootsmeaWTFexpression.“Uh,hello?MarkCarringtonisonlythehottest
sportsplayerrightnow.EvenIknowwhoheisandI’veneverseenabaseballgamein
mylife.”
“ButTMZ,that’shuge…”
“Dude,it’snotjustTMZ.It’severywhere.Everyoneistalkingaboutdopinginsports
andtheshowandeverything.Lookatthis…”
Shepullsupanothersite,SportsScoop.com,whichisdiscussingMark’sargument
withCharlie.Fromthere,shesendsmetoanotherpage,oneofthecelebritygossip
rags’onlineforums,wherethereareseveralverylongmessageboardthreads
dedicatedtothechemistrybetweentheBadBoyofBaseballandthemysterioussexy
voiceknownonlyasRose.
“Sheshootsshescores.”Geoholdsupherfist.Itapitwithoutmuchheart.“Aw,”she
pouts.“Comeon,evenifhe’snotthatgreatalay,thisisgoodforyourstation,right?”
“Oh,totally.It’sawesomepublicity.”Iforceasmile.
Shetapsmyarmwithherstillclosedfist,completelynotfooled.“Whathappened,
homie?”
Icollapsemyshouldersinashrug.“YouknowIwenttohighschoolwithhim,
right?”
“MarkCarrington?”
InodandGeoburstsoutlaughing.Shethrowsherselfbackonthecouch,barely
catchingherlaptopfromfallingonthefloor.
“No.Way,”shegaspswhensherecoversfromherlaughingfit.“Whydidn’tyoutell
me?Didyouknowhimbackthen?Ican’timaginehewasintheAudioVisualclub.Or
washe?Ohmygod,washeanerd?”
Icrinklemynose.“Nah,stillatotaljock,evenbackthen.”
“Okay,sospill.How’dyou,queenofallthingsuber-dorky,knowthisproto-
superstar?”Shestaresatme,waiting,andIcan’tresistheropen,earnestface.
MycheeksburnasIadmitit.“Wesortofkindofmadeoutinthelibrary.Twice.And
inhiscarafewtimes.Okay,afewdozentimes...”
Hereyespopandherjawdrops.“Getout.YoudatedMarkCarringtoninhigh
school?”
Isnort.“I’dhardlycallitdating.Wewerepartnersinourdramaclass.Occasionally
onethingledtoanother.”
Sherollshereyes.“Didheordidhenotmeetyourfamily?”
“I…”Igrimace.“Itwashighschool—therulesweredifferentbackthen!”
“Totallydated.”Shelaughs.
“Whatever,”Igrumble,rubbingmytempleshard.“Sure,Iguesswekindofwent
out.”
“Andnow,what,youguysarerekindlingthathighschoolflame?”Shewigglesher
eyebrowsatme.“Ohmygod,thatmakesacuterstorythanfreakingAshtonKutcher
andMilaKunis,youknow.”
ItakeamomentbeforeIshakemyheadhard.“It’snotlikethat.”
Geosquints.“Whynot?”
Ishakemyheadagain.“Hedumpedmeforacheerleaderandtookhertoprom.
He’sthesamenowashewasbackthen—he’sintosupermodels,actresses.Not…you
know.”ImakeasweepinggestureatmytornrockbandT-shirtandmymessyleggings.
Georollshereyes.“Please.You’reashotasanymodel.Besides,didn’tyouever
wonderwhatyou…”
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
ThankgodJoanJetthasinterruptedtheinquisition.IknowGeoandshewasabout
togodeep,waytoodeepformeatthismoment.
Myreliefonlylastsforhalfasecond,however.Myphonescreenannouncesthatit’s
DocBingcalling.“Shit,it’sthebigboss,”ItellGeo.
Great.Nowwhat?Hiscallsnevermeananythinggood.Maybehe’spissedIhadto
interrupttheshowearliertosaveMark.MaybeI’mgoingtogetalashingforfailingto
prepMarkwellenoughinadvancefortheauthorinterview.Oh,fuck.Myskingets
clammyandmyheartisflutteringlikeahummingbird’swings.
Istandup,takeadeepbreathandanswer.“Hey,Doc.”
“Hello,sweetheart,”hecoos.
Sweetheart?Ialmostdropthephone.ForasecondIwonderifhe’spossessed,orif
someoneelseiscallingfromhisnumber.Butno,Irecognizethatboreddrawlofhis;I’d
knowitanywhere.I’vejustneverheardhimcallme—oranyone,forthatmatter—
anythingassappyas“sweetheart.”
“Uh,hello,”Ifinallystammer.“YouknowthisisRose,right?”Maybehethinkshe
calledBecks.She’shisfavorite—beingtheonewhobringsinthecoldhardcashandall.
IheartheyapofRobertE.LeebeforeDocBingstartsyappinghimself.“Fantasticjob
today,MissTaylor.Reallygreatstarttoournewsegment.ExactlythekindofpickupI
washopingfor.Beckssaysshe’ssignedmoreadsthisweekthanthelastyear
combined.”
“Oh,great,”Isay,catchingmybreath.Geoisshootingmeaconfusedlook,torn
betweenexcitementandaskingmeWTFwithhereyes.Ishrugwildlybackatherin
response.InallthetimeI’veworkedwithhim,I’veneverbeencalledbyDocfor
anythingotherthanablowup.Thispraiseisthrowingmeoffmygame.
ThenIhearDocclearhisthroat,andpartofmerelaxes.Right.Hereitcomes.“I’m
goingtoneedmore,”hesays.
Wellthat’shelpful,Ithink.Totallyclearsthatrightup.Fightingtheurgetorollmy
eyes,Ireply,“More?”
“YouhavegreatchemistrywiththatYankee.Thenewsoutletshavebeeneatingit
up.RadiosexpotandtheBadBoy.Everyonewantsmore,more,more.”Heclearshis
throatagain,andIcanpracticallyhearhisshark-likesmile.“Congratulations,Miss
Taylor.You’reMarkCarrington’snewco-host.”
Forasolidminute,Ican’treply.Ican’teventhinkstraight.Myeyesmustbe
buggingstraightoutofmyhead.NowGeolooksmoreconcernedthanconfused.I
waveheroff,andshakemyheadatthesametime,thenrealizeDoccan’tseeme,of
course.Iclearmythroathard.“But…”
“Gladthat’ssettled.Gottorunnow,sweetheart.Toodle’oo!”
Ihearaclickonhisendofthephone.He’sgone,justlikethat.ButIknowthere
wouldbenoarguingwithhimevenifhewasstillontheline.IjustblinkatGeowith
mymouthhangingopen.
“What?”shefinallyprompts.
“Iknowabsolutelynothingaboutsports.”
“Duh.Lasttimewewenttoasportsbarforabasketballtournament,youyelled
‘touchdown’foreverybasket.”
Isitdownnexttoherwithaheavythump.“DocwantsmetobeMark’sco-hostfor
hismorningshow.Theentiretyofwhichissportstalk,andnothingbut.”
Georubsmyarm.“Youweregreattoday.Justkeepdoingthat.”
“What,imitatingScarlettJohanssonandflirtingwithourguests?”
“Well,theaudienceateitupthistime.Whynot?”
“I’mgoingtomakeacompletefoolofmyself!I’llbewrittenoffasjustanother
dumbradioshowblondegettingbyonmylooksandmyabilitytofakeasexyvoice.
Nottomention,whatwillhappentoallourregularlistenersiftheystarttothinkthe
wholestationisfullofbimboslikeme?”
Georollshereyesandshovestoherfeet.“You’reoverthinkingthis,girl.It’sagood
thing,trustme.Thewholeinternetisblowingupwithrumorsaboutyouandahotas
hellsportsstar,you’regoingtobecomeradiofamous,andyou’reworriedabout
soundingalittleditzy?”
Ibitemylowerlipandsigh.“Iguesswhenyouputitthatway,itdoesn’tsoundso
bad…”
“Damnstraightitdoesn’t.”Sheleansintotouslemyhair.“Now,Iknowjusttheway
tocelebrateyourpromotion.”
“It’snotapromo—”
“S’mores!”sheannounces,bouncingawaytowardthekitchenbeforeIfinish
protesting.
Well.Can’targuewiththat.Howeverthisradioshowisgonnago,beitasuccessora
disaster,s’moreswillhelptakemymindoffworrying.
Butaswestandinourlittlekitchenandwatchthemicrowaverotate,heatingupour
marshmallowysnacks,myminddriftsbacktothebonfireIwenttobefore
Homecomingmysenioryear.ThepartywhereMarkfirstlockedeyeswithmeacrossa
busycrowdofhighschoolers,andwinked.Iblushedbrightred,evenasIrolledmy
eyesatthestupidjock,thinkinghecouldflirthiswayinwithme,ofallpeople.
Thatmemory,though,bringsupazillionothers,hotonitsheels.PrettysoonI’m
lostinthought,rememberingtheDJbooththismorning,hisstrong,chiseledchest
inchesfrommine,hiseyesonmyface,ourlipssoclosethatifI’donlytiltedmyhead
upright,wewould’vekissed…
Ishakemyheadanddistractmyselfbythinkingaboutprom.Senioryearprom.The
onetowhichhebroughtKatieCross,headcheerleader,insteadofme.Iskippedit,
becausehellifIwasgoingtostandaroundmopingafterhimwhenhepulledthatkind
ofshit.ButeventhoughIwasinthemiddleofahellaepicRancidshowatIrvingPlaza,
myeyesweregluedtoTwitterallnight.Watchingupdateafterupdateposttothe
#DHSPromthread,andIswearhewastheonlystudentgettinghisdamnphototaken.
Katiewasleaningalloverhimineverysingleone.
“SoIbetthisallhelpedwiththeline-up,huh?”
“Huh?”Iecho,blinkingbackintoreality.Geoisstaringatme,aplateoffreshly
heateds’morescoolingonherpalm.Ipickoneofftheplateandtrytofocus.
“FrightenedRabbit.Youweregoingtotalktothemabouttheline-upforour
podcast.”Herbrowneyesarewideandinnocentandthatmakesmefeelworsefor
droppingtheballonreachingouttotheband’smanagement.
Igrimace.“Geo,I’msorry…”
“Youforgot.”Thosewidebrowneyesstayjustaswideandemptyoffeeling,butI
canseeaveintickinginherforehead,andasourpoolofguiltchurnsinmystomach.
Thefactthatshe’snotangrymakesitevenworse.
“Thingsgotalittlecrazyatthestationtoday.Tomorrow,I’lltalktothem.”
“Youknowwehavelessthanaweekbeforeourfirstepisodelaunches,right?”
“It’llbefine.Ipromise.”
Shewatchesmeforalong,quietmoment.Thenshefinallynods,andsetstheplate
down.“Comeon,let’sworkonoursoundtrackqueueagain.”
IpushMarkoutofmymindandgiveGeo—myunderstanding,s'moresmaking,
good-heartedactivistbestie—myfullattentionfortherestofthenight.IfIcan’tstop
obsessingoverhim,Icanatleastremembertoobsessovertherightpeopleinmylife,
too.
8
MARK
Aweekintotheshow,Ialreadywanttothrowinthetowel.
Ithoughtthiswouldbeaneasygig.Somelittletwo-bitshowthatIputinanhoura
dayon.Butlately,it’sbeenallIcanthinkabout,evenwhenI’mnotintheDJbooth
recording,orreadingthemillionemails,schedules,booksandmemorandumsabout
thedamnshowthatRosekeepssendingme.Iswearshe’sdoingthisonpurpose.High
schoolalloveragain—shewasnotthekindofgirlwho’dletmecopyherhomework
thedayofjusttogetonmygoodside.Shealwaysmademeworkforit,andhard.
Rightnow,though,Ican’tsaythehardworkhasbeenallterrible.Ithasbeenalot
morefunthanIcaretoadmitbeingonair,especiallyinthesegmentswhereRoseandI
worktogether.Wetag-teamourguests—Iaskthehardballsportsquestions,andshe
chatsthemup,flirtsinthatsultry,sexyvoiceofhers(whichIswearsoundsevenbetter
thanitdidbackinhighschool),andbuttersthemupsoIcanswoopinforthekill.
Yeah,wemakeagoodteam.Andwearen’ttheonlyoneswhohavenoticed—the
whole‘netisexplodingwithrumorsaboutus.Butattheendoftheday,thisisn’tmy
passion.Idon’twanttobecomeanotherwashed-uphas-beenstarwhospendstherest
ofhislifetalkingaboutthedamngameinsteadofplayingit.
WhichmeansIneedtocutthisradiosuccessoffatthepass,beforeitstartstoreally
impactmycareer.Beforepeoplestarttothinkofmeasadiscjockeyfirstandaregular
jockeysecond.
I’matmyusualmasseuse,gettingmybackbrokeninhalfbyMiranda,whenmy
phonerings.Ittakesmeasecondtoregisterthename,becauseit’sbeensolongsince
mygood-for-nothingpissed-offagentcalled.
“Uh,Stanley…”isallImanagetogetoutbeforeMirandakneelsonmybackwithher
wholebodyweightandIgroan.
“You’regoingtoakid’scharitythingtonight.Soisyourco-host.Wearatux.”
That’sit?Ithink.Nogreeting?Noheyhow’sitgoing?NosorryIhaven’tcalledyou
everyotherdaylikeInormallydo?IscowlatmyphoneandwaitforMirandatoease
upalittle.“Where?”Iask.“Andwhatcharity?”
“TheMeadowlands,”hesays.“LittleSluggers.”
IdoliketheLittleSluggers.It’sareallycoolcharitythatencouragesspecialneeds
kidstoplaybaseball.It’soneofmyfavoritedo-goodthingsbecausethepeoplewho
hostitarereallydevotedtotheirjobsandthekidsaresogreat.Butevenmentionof
myfavoritecharitydoesn’tlightenmymoodrightnow.“I’msureit’llbeagreatphoto
op,”IgruntbetweenpunchesfromMiranda.
“Especiallyconsideringwe’regoingtogetoneofyouandTommyPizzaboth.”
Ifeelmybackpopinknots,thenMirandapushesthemdown.“Deepbreath,”she
purrs.
Toolatefordeepbreaths.“Youhavegottobekidding,”Ispit.“What,thisentire
fuckingapologytourisn’tenoughforyou?”
“Bethereat6,”Stanleyinterrupts.Thelinegoesdeadinmyhand,andMiranda
punchesmyshoulderbladehardinresponse.
Fuck.100,99,98…
Mirandawastoughonmetoday.Ahot,tinybrunette,shehasthehandsofthe
IncredibleHulk.Ithinkshebeatsoutherlifeaggravationsonmyglutes.She’soffered
twicenowtogivemeahappyending,butfrankly,Idon’ttrustthatmonstergripof
hersonmydick.
AfterIpullmytruckintoVIPparkingattheMeadowlands,Ihopouttostretchthe
achesthatlittleladyinflictedonmybackandass.Justthen,IseeRosepullupinherold
beatupMustang.Acloudofblackexhaustdriftsaroundhercar—justlikeitalwayshas.
Ican’tbelieveshe’sstilldrivingthathunkofjunk.Howisitevenlegaltodrivethat
beaterontheNJTurnpike?
“Hey,”Icalloutassheclimbsoutofhercar.Sheseesmeandfrownsimmediately.
“Nicetoseeyoutoo,”Imutter,eventhoughshe’stoofarawaytohearme.
Shepopshertrunkwithoutmakingeyecontact.“ComehelpmeunloadtheseT-
shirts.”
“Shouldn’tsomeonefromthestationcometo—”
“Jesus,isliftingonefingertohelpmesofarbeneaththegreatandmighty
ballplayer?Pickupabag,Mark.Please?”
Istalkovertoher‘stangandslingabagovermyshoulder.“Ididn’tmeanitlike
that.Imeantwho’scomingfromW-ALTforthisevent?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Noone.U2isplayingatMadisonSquareGarden,soeveryone
elsefromthestationbailed.”Sheslamshertrunk.“Who’scomingonyourside?”
Iturnmybacktohersoshecan’tseemydisappointment.“Someinternfrommy
agent’soffice.”Becausesuddenly,Stanleyistoogoodtocometomyeventshimself.
Suddenly,Ibarelymeritadamninternforassistance.
Aswemakeourwayacrosstheparkinglot,InoticeRosestrugglingwiththeother
bag.Igraspthestraptotakethatonetoo,butshepullsaway.“Yousaidyouwanted
help,”Ipointout.“Letme.”
Withobviousreluctance,sheletsgoofthestrapandallowsmetoslidethesecond
bagontomyshoulder.“Thanks,”shesays,butthewayhervoiceclampsaroundthat
singleword,you’dthinkshewascursingmeout.
TheinstantwehitthemainflooroftheMeadowlands,thekidsareonmelikewhiteon
rice.SomeofthemeventrytoclimbmelikeI’mamantree.Isurrenderandletthe
gigglemonstershavecontrol,catchingacoupleontheirwayupmylegtoflipthem
upside-downandtickletheirankles.“Areweheretoplayatbeingmonkeys,orarewe
heretoplayball?”Iaskthem,asmorekidstugatmyjeans.
“Playball!”theychorus,andIgrinandhoistoneofthekidsontomybacktohead
overtothecages.
IcatchRosegrinningatmeandthekids,butwhenIgrinbackshejustrollshereyes
andpullsouthercellphone.“I’mgoingtocallthestationandsetuptheradioline.”
We’llbeliveontheradioeveryhalfhourduringthethreehoureventtoraise
awarenessfortheLittleSluggersonW-ALTtoo.WehaveaGoFundMesitesetupjust
fortonight.Thegoalistoraise10kinthreehours.Thesedie-hardsbettercome
through,becauseI’vepledgedtomatchthatamountiftheyhitthedonationcap.Least
myfanscandoisputtheirmoneywheretheiroversizedmouthsareforthesekids.
Rosegivesmeanodandapieceofpaperwithcopybeforeshehandsmethephone.
Ireadthewordsandgiveashoutouttothefansaboutwheretogoonlinetodroptheir
dukes.
“AndI’lltellyouwhat,”Iadd.Rosewavesherarms,givingmethecutsign.She
hateswhenIgooffscript.Thatonlymakesmesmilewider.“Forgetmatchingthis.I’m
gonnatellyoudie-hardswhat,foreverydollaryouguysputinIwillputinten.Gotit?
Doit.”
IhandthephonebacktoRoseandtomysurprise,forasplitsecondbeforesheturns
herbacktometofinishdoingwhateversheneedstodowiththestationpeople,Ispot
anotherreallivesmileonherface.Thewaythatgrinlightsupherwholeface,Icould
stareatheralldaylong.
Predictably,anhourintothethreehourstint,TommyfuckingPizzashowsup,lateas
ever.I’minthemiddleofsigningsomedonationautographsforacoupledreamy-eyed
(andmorethanalittleattractive)MILFswhentheflashofTommy’spaparazzitail
illuminatesthearea.Iglanceovertheseaofkidsandfawningadultsandspyhim
surroundedbyanentourageofagents,PRrepsandfans.
ThereisnothinglessintheworldthatIwanttodothanmakeapublicappearance
withthisasshole.ButStanleyinsistedIneededtoconvincetheworldwe’veput
bygonesbehindus.ForStanley,Icanswallowmyprideandputupwiththisshitforten
seconds.
FlashbulbspopfranticallyasTommyreachesme.Heextendsahand,butfuckthat,
I’mgoingallin,iffornootherreasonthantothrowhimoffhisstride.Igrabhishand
inatighterthannecessarygrip,andpullhiminforaback-slappingbro-hug.Thesmile
onmyfaceisatotalshit-eatinggrin,andmyback-slapismorelikeaseriesofpunches.
“Fuckyou,”hehissesinmyearasheslapsmybackhardinreturn.
“Fuckyoutoo,man,”Ireply,stillgrinningfromear-to-earaswebreakapart.
TommywalksawaytowardRose.Truetoform,thekidhocksaloogieontothepark
grassashepassesherandRosegrimacesindisgust.MyeyescatchhersandImouth
“Whatthefuck.”Scowling,sheshrugs.Atleastoneotherpersonisseeingthisasshole
forwhathereallyis.
Withthelittlefriendshipshowoverwith,Ifinallygettoworkwiththekids.I’mat
homeplatecoachingonswingsandTommyPizza,thebastard,ispitchingfromtenfeet
away.Beforeeachkidstepsuptohomeplate,RosehooksthemupwithaW-ALTT-
shirt,aYankeesbaseballcapandaprettysmile.Thelatterdistractsmemoreoftenthan
I’dcaretoadmit.
AkidImetearlier,Eric,acceptsahatfromRosenext.He’smyfavoriteLittle
Slugger.“Youlooklikeapro,”Rosetellshimasshetugsthehatontohishead.She
looksoveratmeandwinks.“Youarereadytobat?”
Ericnodsabigyesandrunsovertome.AsIhigh-fivehim,IgiveRoseagrin.Can’t
helpit.Ilikehowshewaswithhim,naturalandfriendly.Itwaslikeshedidn’teven
noticethesurgeryscarsthatcoverhisfaceandhands.
IshoothiscutemomareassuringwinkasIguidehimtotheplate.Shewarnedme
earliertobesupergentlewiththelittleguy,sincehe’sstillgotalotofpaininhis
fingers.Ireacharoundhimandholdthebatforhim,thoughIkeepmygriploose
enoughthathecontrolsthemotion.
TommyPizzahasthefuckingnervetorollhiseyes,butatleasthepitchesasoftballI
canswingatwithouthurtingEric.IpopitTommy’sway...andwhatdoesthepunkdo?
Catchesit!
BehindmeRosemakesanangrysound,halfgaspandhalfsnarl.Icouldn’tagree
more.
“Let’strythatonemoretime,”IcalltoTommy,givinghimthesamedeathglareI
gavehimbeforeIpunchedhissmugface.Herollshiseyesagain,butatleasthelistens
andtossesanothersoftoneourway.
EricandIgiveitagoodbop,hardenoughtosailoverTommy’shead.Oneofthe
volunteersbehindhimdoesanicepratfallandEriclaughs.“Run,winner,”Icallashe
sprintstowardfirst.Littleduderunshisheartout,andskidsacrossfirstbaseas
everyoneincludingmeburstsintocheers.
Rosestandsbehindus,grinningear-to-earandsnappingphotosoftherun.She
catchesmestaring,andforalongsecond,wejustwatcheachother,smilesonour
faces,sharingthemoment.Thenshetucksthephoneinherfrontpocket.“Timetoegg
onyourdie-hardsagain.”
Gottalovethewayshe’sallbusiness,evenatatimelikethis.Ibowtotheinevitable,
andstepawayfromtheplatetorecordmynextradiocall.
Alltoosoon,theeventcomestoanend.RosehoiststhebagsIhelpedlugfromthecar,
muchlighternow,sincewe’vegivenawayalmostallthemerchshebrought.
“Needahand?”Ioffer,beforeshecanragonmefornotofferingtohelpagain.
Butshejustshakesherhead.“Igotthis.”Hereyescatchmine,asparkofheatin
them.“Bytheway…”Sheleansinclose,andIcatchawhiffofherperfume,something
lightandairythatmakesmyheadswim.Ormaybeit’sjustherproximity,thewayI
canseeherlipspartinminutedetail,andherpupilsdilateastheycatchmine.
Suddenly,Iamveryawarethatonlyacoupleofinchesstandbetweenus.Oneshift
ofmyheadandIcoulddipdowntokissthosepert,smirkinglipsofhers.Icouldstep
closer,wrapmyarmaroundhertinywaistandcrushheragainstmybody,feelthose
curvesofhers,thecurvesIcouldn’tgetoverbackinhighschool,theonesIwantedto
memorizewithmyfingertipseverytimewetouched.
Analmostpainfulthrobofdesirepulsesthroughme,andofcourse,itzooms
straighttomycrotch.Fuck.Iwanthersofuckingbadrightnow.
Sheleansupontiptoe,andIthink,thisisit.We’redoingthis.
Shestopsaninchshyofmylips,hersstillcurvedinasmile.“YouoweLittleSluggers
awholelotofmoney,”shepurrs.
Thenshe’soff,sashayingtowardtheparkinglot,herasswigglingwitheverystep,
andI’mleftburninghot.Iwouldbegladwereachedourfundinggoal,andexcitedfor
thecharitygroupIlovesomuch,exceptthatallIcanthinkaboutrightnowiswatching
thatdelicious,pertlittleassofhersmarchtowardtheparkinglot.
Fuck.
Ispendanotherhalfanhourshakinghandsandsigningleftovers.Abaseballsomedie-
hardclaimshecaughtinBaltimore.TheSportsIllustratedmagazinewithmeandmy
exAmberonthecover.Thekidwhobringsmethatonelookswaytooyoungtobeable
toreadthearticles,buthetapsonAmber’sphotoandgrinsupatmelikehe’sthinking
niceone,andIcan’thelplaughingasIscrawlmysignatureacrossthatcoverforhim.
I’mgrabbingmyshit,finallyreadytoheadout,whenTommyPizzaslidesupnextto
me.“Thatbitchfromthestation.Youbangingher?”
Ijabmyfingerstraightintohisoversizedpecs.“Shut.Up.”
Helaughs.“Fine,whatever,bruh.”Hepullsonhiscoat,shakinghisheadashedoes.
“Man,Ihatethesegigs,”IhearhimmutterinthegeneraldirectionofhisnearestPR
lackey.“Thesekidscreepmeout.”
Ifeelthelavastarttobuildinsideme.Reinitthefuckin,Mark.Thepapsarestill
here.IsufferedthroughthatreconciliationwithPizzaoncealready.Icannotblowthis.
100,99,98…
Idon’tevenreach95.Ijustwalkawayfromthepunk,eyesonthesky.He’snot
worthit.
Outintheparkinglot,I’msurprisedtonoticeRose’scar(though“car”isputtingit
politely)stillthere.Sureenough,whenIroundthetrunk,she’sbentunderthehood,
hercurvyassstickingstraightupintheair.
LasttimeIchecked,Rosedoesn’tknowadamnthingaboutcars.Butwhoknows?
Peoplechange.
Still,Ican’tresisttheopportunity.Or,frankly,theexcusetolingernearthatassa
littlelonger.“Needsomehelp,littlelady?”
Rosepopsupfromthegutsofthecarjustlongenoughtoglareatme.
“Seriously,”Iamend.“Youstalledout?”
“Doyouknowanythingaboutcars?”sheaskswithasigh.“IfIcallatow,I’mafraid
they’lljustcondemnher.”
Ipeekunderthehood.Thosecarpartsareolderthanuscombined.Itestacoupleof
hosesandoneburstsinmyhand,squirtinggreaseacrossmycoat.“Youdon’tneeda
mechanic.Youneedapriest.”
“Fuck.”Rosegroansandleansherforeheadonthehood.“ButIloveher.”
“Wellthen,Ihopeyou’rewillingtoputinawholelotofwork.”Iwipeawaygrease
frommyhandsonmyruinedcoat.“She’llbefinehereforthenight.I’llsendovermy
mechanicinthemorning.”
“I’vegotplacestobe,Mark,”shechides.
“Soletmegiveyouride.”
Hereyesdarttomine,andIrecognizethatlook.She’stempted.Thensheshakesher
headandstaresbackattheMeadowlands.“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”
“Don’tberidiculous.It’sgettingcold.Cabsoutheretakeacenturytoshow.Notto
mentiontheychargeaboutthreetimesthetollratetogetbackintothecity.”Iofferher
anarm.“Letmeplaythegallantknightandsaveyoufromtheserialkillers.”
Shebitesherliptoholdbackagiggle.Herdimplesarecute.“Ahyes,yeoldeserial
killersofNewJersey.”
“YouknowtheMeadowlandsarelike,thenumberonedumpinggroundforbodies
themafianeedstohide,right?”
Shepursesherlips,butIcantellI’mwinningherover.
“Besides,youhaven’tseenmynewride.”Ijerkathumbovermyshoulder.“I’ve
gottenbettertasteincarssincehighschool.Thisbaby’sgotaleatherinterior.Topofthe
linestereo.AndofcoursemyJeterbobbleheadonthedash,thankstoyourstruly.”
Shesnorts.“Sothat’swhatthatwasfor?Cardecoration?”
“It’saveryimportantelementofthetruck,Rose.You’llsee.”
Andjustlikethat,Iwin.Shedropshershouldersinsurrender,andbendstosnatch
upherbags.“Fine.Ifit’llmakeyoustoppesteringme.”
Itrynottogrintootriumphantly,thoughIcan’tresistasmallsmile.IfIcangether
inmytruck,I’mhalfwaytohomebase.
She’squiettillwehitthe17.“CanIturnontheradio?”sheasks,herhandhoveringby
theknob.
AfterInod,sheswitchesiton.W-ALTblaresthroughthespeakers,andsheblinks
overatmewithasurprisedsmile.
Ishrug.“WhatcanIsay?I’mateamplayer.”
Ifuckinglivefortheblushthatcreepsoverhercheeksrightthen.
ThedrivepassesfasterthanI’dlike.AllIcanthinkaboutishowIwanttopullover
ontotheshoulderandpullthatT-shirtoverherhead.Kissmywaydownherneckand
uncrossthosearmsofhers,holdthemoverherheadasIslideintothepassengerseat
ontopofher.
Butshejuststaresoutthewindow,herarmsandlegscrossed,silent.Everynowand
thenIcatchhereyeinthereflectionofthewindowglass,studyingmewhenshethinks
Iwon’tnotice.Theonlyencouragingthingisthathergazedropsdowntomychest
moreoftenthannot,lingeringonthelineofmypecsandabs,visiblethroughmytight
T-shirt.
“Lefthere,”shesays,andIfollowherdirections.Thesilencefeelselectric.Ican’t
takeitanymore.
“Look,Rose,”Isay,justasshesays,“Mark.”Webothpause,thenlaughsoftly.“You
first,”Itellher.
Thoseround,wideeyesofherscatchmineagain.Sherunsahandthroughher
honey-coloredhair,ahabitshe’shadsincehighschool.“Thisallfeelsreally,
dangerously…familiar.”
Iraisemyeyebrows,invitinghertogoon,butshetakesabreaktopointmedown
anotherroad.Shit.Wemustbegettingclose.“Youmeanmedrivingyouhomeaftera
longnightofmutualfrustration?”Idaretosay.
That,atleast,earnsasoftlaugh.Thoughherexpressionremainsalittlesad.
Longing.“Well,forstarters,yeah.Youandmeingeneral,Mark,itjustfeelslikewe’re…
slippingintooldpatterns.Likeit’dbesoeasytojustpickupwherewe…”
“Whereyou,”Iclarify,andherexpressionshiftstoaglare.
“Whereyou,ifIrecall,leftoff,”shefinishes,chinhigh.That’sachallenge.ButIdon’t
wanttorisetoit.
Foronce,Idon’twanttofightwithher.Well,notunlessthatfightisgoingtoendin
someseriouslyfierymake-upsex.“Rose…”
“I’mrighthere,”sheinterrupts,pointingtoathreestorybuildingonadarkstreet.
Ikilltheengine,andthetruckgoesdark.Inthenewsilence,Icanheareverybreath
shetakes.Seeherlipspart,assheleanstowardme.Imirrorher,reachahandupto
cuphercheek.SheblinksinsurprisewhenItouchher,butshedoesn’tpullaway.Ilet
mythumbtracetheoutlineofherluscious,fulllips.“Rose,”Isayagain,andthistime
it’snotthestartofaconversationbuttheendofone.
Shecloseshereyesandtiltsherchinupandmylipscollidewithhers.Forasecond,
Iforgeteverythingelse.Thecar,thecoldoutside,thedarkstreet.It’sjustmeandher
andthatsexy,perfectbodyofhers.Myhandslidesdownhercheektocupthebackof
herneck,andmyotherhandcrossesthegearshifttowraparoundherhip,tuggingher
towardme.
Butthatseemstowakeherup.Shejerksback,away,andwebothgaspasshebreaks
thekiss.
Fuckinghell.
Sheleansbackinherseat,eyesshut,bothofusbreathingalittleharderthanusual.
“Idon’tthinkweshoulddothis,”shefinallysays,thoughhervoicewavers.
“Whatisityouwanttodo,Rose?”Itrytocatchhereye,butshestaresfirmlyoutthe
windownow,herjawset.
“Iwantmyradioshowtosucceed.Iwanttomakethisstationthebiggestthingsince
slicedbread.Iwanttoberespectedformycareerchoices,nottheguyI’mbanging.”
“LasttimeIchecked,nobangingishappening,”Ipointout.
“Exactly,”shesnaps,thenshakesherhead.“It’sjust…it’stoomuchrightnow,
Mark.”
TypicalRose.Hotthencold.Onthenoff.Shelovesplayinghardtoget,butsheplays
sohardthatsheconvincesherselfsometimes.Butshe’sdonethisbefore.AlthoughI’m
dyingrightnowasmypantsstraintighter,Icanwaitherout.“Allright.”Icatchhereye
againandjustgazeatheruntilIseeherjawtremble.Iwanttorestartthatkissright
fuckingnow.Iwanttokissherlonger,harder.Iwanttopinherbeneathme,andmake
thewholerestofherbodytremblelikeherjawlinerightnow.
Instead,Iforcearelaxed,nonchalantsmile.“ButIdon’twanttospendthenext
threeweeksworkinginthetundra.Canweagreetobefriendly?”
Sherubsherforehead,butnods.“Yeah.Ofcourse.”
“Thankyou,Rose.”
“Goodnight,Mark.”Sheopensthedoorandclimbsout.Leaningbackinmyseat,I
drummysteeringwheelandwatchuntilsheopensherfrontdoor.Halfofmewatches
becauseIwanttomemorizeherstride,hergait,thesexyflashofherlonglegs.The
otherhalfwantstomakeabsolutelysureshe’shomesafebeforeIleaveheralone.
OK,Ithink.Aceasefire.Mydickandballsachethewholedrivehome,butthisis
betterthanconstantfighting,right?
Butsomehow,whenIwalkthroughthefrontdoorofmycabin,theemptinessofthe
placehitsmehard.Ifeel…lonely.
Mylandlineringsafewminuteslater.Adistraction,perhaps.ButwhenIseeonthe
callerIDthatit’soneofmyoldfuckbuddies,Deborah,theonewithaJLoassanda
mouthlikeahoover,Idropthecalltovoicemailwithoutevenknowingwhy.Forsome
reason,rightnow,thatdoesn’tfeellikeenough.
9
ROSE
Ihavefans!
Ihavereallivepeoplewhowanttohavetheirpicturetakenwithme.Theysqueal
whentheyseemeandshoutaftermeabouthowawesomeIam.
IdiscoveredmynewfoundfanbasewhenIarrivedatthestudiothismorning(inan
Ubersincemypoorbabyisintheshopnow).UsuallywhenIgettothestationIparkin
thebacktoavoidMark’sfans—thedie-hards,thegroupiesandtheautographhounds—
buttheUberleftmeoutfront,andIsteppedfromitsconfinestodiscoveragaggleof
girlsholdingupW-ALTbannersandbeggingformysignature.
Forasecond,Ijuststoodtheregaping.Thenacoupleotherpeopleamongthegaggle
ofthirty-oddMarkfansshouted,“Hey,it’sRose!”andsuddenlythewholegroup
migratedovertome.
I’mstillsigningW-ALTbannersandYankeesposters,slightlyconfused,whenMark
pullsup.
Ofcourse,ashearrives,mostofthefansdriftovertosurroundhistruck.ButIstill
haveafewstragglers,clearlyjusthereforme.
“Enjoyingtheperksoffandom?”heasksashestridesovertome,wearinghisusual
T-shirtandsmirkcombo.Damnhim.Whydoeshelooksexyashellevenwhenhe
clearlyjustrolledoutofbed?Hishairisamess,yetitonlyaccentuateshissharp
cheekbonesandthesparkleinhiscrazyblueeyes.
“Whatisgoingon?”IaskhimasIwaveawaythelastautograph,andjogacrossto
meethimatthestationdoor.
“Thefanshavebeenaskingforyou,”hesays.
“Huh?”
“Rosewiththesexyvoice,”hemurmursinmyearasIreachhisside.Heloopsa
protectivearmaroundmywaist,andmostofthefansbackoff.
Ofcourse,thetwoofussoclosetogetherandhimembracingmestartsawholenew
explosionofphotosbeingtaken.
“Sexyvoice?”Irepeatlikeanidiot.
“Youreallythinknobodynoticedhowhotyouareonourshow?”
“Well,I…”Acouplemorefansarearriving,andthecamerasflashmoreoftennow.I
wanttopullawayfromhim,stopanyrumorsrightnow,butI’mkindofnervousabout
facingthiscrowdalone.“ShouldIbeafraidhere?”Iwhisperundermybreath.
“You’llbefine.”Hetightenshisarmaroundme,though,andlooksuptocatchthe
eyeofaguynearthestationdoor—security,Irealize,whichwemusthavehiredwhen
Mark’sshowstartedtobuildinpopularity.Sureenough,theguardstartsrightover
towardus.“Yougotthis,”Marktellsme,andsomehow,Ibelievehim.
Wewalkacrosstheparkinglot,securitypartingthecrowdlikeMosesandtheRed
Sea.Markpatsmyside,andmywholebodytingles,tingles,tingles.
Fuck.IthoughtIhaderasedthememoryofourkisslastnight,butmylipsburn
nowjusttothinkofit.
Justaswearealmostinthebuilding,aguydressedinaMetsjerseyinaseaofYankees
garbstepsbetweenusandthedoors.“You’regoingtoblowthisseason,Carrington,”the
guysneers.Irecognizehisvoicefromhiscalls.I’mnotsurehowexactlyIpictured
Mack,butIcertainlythoughthewouldhavehadmoreteeth.
“Ok,wanker,”Marklaughs.
Whenwefinallygetintothebuilding,IalmostknockDocBingover.“Good
morning.”Hehandsmehislittledog.RobertE.Leegivesmeathousandlicksinthree
secondsashesquirmsinmyarms.
“Ididn’trealizeyouwereintoday,”Imanagetosaybetweenlicks.
“IneedtohaveaquickchatwiththeYankeeherebeforeyourshow.”
DocBingcollectshispupandIfeelastingasIwatchthemwalkofftomyofficefor
theirprivatemeeting.I’mtheshowrunnerhere.Shouldn’tIbeinvolvedinthat
conversation?
Istomptothestudioallbutt-hurt,butfeeltheimmediatecalmingeffectofNight
Vixen’svoice.MyheartrateslowsandIsipatmycoffeetospeeditup.MaybeNight
Vixenreallyisavampire.She’sonthemicreadingcopyaboutaVFWHallshownext
weekend,andevenjusthearingsomethingboringlikethatmakesmecalmer.Ilether
sneakintheseunpaidboostsforthelocalscenelikeVFWbecauseherdevotiontothe
realscenetouchesme.Shepushesthenexttrackandwavesmein.
“Howdidyoulikeyourfans?”Vixenwinks.
Istifleagroan.“Howdidyouknow?”
Shethumbsattheparkinglot.“Someofthemhavebeenouttheresincelastnight.”
Iperchonthetablenexttoher,shakingmyhead.“It’sprettyweird,I’vegotta
admit.”
“Prettycool,Rose.”Sheadjustshermicandlaysoutherfinaltwotracks,thenturns
tome.Hefaceisblankandserious.“Becarefulthough.”
BeforeIcanaskwhatshemeans,Markboundsintothestudio.Oninstinct,Ismileat
him,butthenrememberI’mmad,dammit.Iexittheboothandtrytoscowl,butitfeels
morelikeapout.“WhatwasthatmeetingwiththeDocabout?”Doubledamn.Isound
likeI’maccusinghimofsomething.That’snotfair.Icheckmytone.“Imean,wasit
anythingimportant?”
Heshakeshisheadandshrugs.“HewantstoknowifI’dbeinterestedinextending
mytimewiththeshow.Throughspringtrainingandbeyond.ByremotewhenI’mon
theroadandwithguestspotsandstuff,youknow,otherpeoplefillinginformewhenI
can’t.”
Ifeelarollofuneasytensioninmybelly.“Doyouwanttodothat?”
Heshrugshisbigshouldersagain.“Idunno.It’sneverbeendonebeforewithan
activeplayer.Stanleymentionedthismighthappen.Iguesswe’reallgoingtotalk
aboutitnextweek.Butyouknow,I’vegotspringtraininginthreeweeks...”
Ihunchmyshoulders.Iknowhe’sleaving.Iknewthatallalong.Iwasgladforitat
thestart.Sowhydoesithurttoberemindedthathe’ssteppingbackoutofmylifein
justthreeweeks?
“Right.Imean.Youneedtoconcentrateonyourgame.”Myvoicesoundsthickwith
hurt,nomatterhowItrytodisguiseit.
Hereadsmydespairandrestshishandonmyshouldergently.“Look,we’reinthis
together,Rose.Remember?I’mateamplayer.Ifthisshowgoesnational…”
“National?”Idon’tknowifIexhaledthewordorinhaledit,butwhateverIdiditwas
loud.Me.Runninganationalradioshow.
Beingonanationalradioshow.
Morefansintheparkinglot,morefanstuningintoeveryshow.Tonsofexposure.
Pilesofmoney.
AguaranteedcareerforaslongasIwantit,onanationalradiostation.Myhead
spins.It’severythingIeverwantedfrommycareer,andyet,confusingly,it’scoming
fromapartnershipIdon’tthinkIshoulddelvetoodeeplyinto.BeingwithMarkmakes
meworrythatI’lllosefocus,forgetaboutmycareerandlosemyselfinhis…
Markisshruggingagainlikeit’snobigdeal.“Right,national.Itwouldbecool.”Buta
dropinthebucketforhim,fameandmoneywise.
Ilookaroundthestudio.Cheapwoodpanels,smellycarpetandwiresheldtogether
withducttape.Couldanationalshowbemyfuture?Inastate-of-the-artstudio?
Doingsportstalk?
IsthatwhatIwant?
Iwouldbehellastupidtowalkawayfromanopportunitylikethat.Themoney
alonecouldfundtheever-livingshitoutofmeandGeo’spodcast.Icouldgetanational
syndicate.Makemusicontherealbig-leaguewaves.
Butforallitsdecay,IdoloveW-ALT’scharm.Whatwouldhappentothisstation?
CouldIbringitnationalwithme,orwouldIneedtoleaveitinthedust?
“SpringtrainingisinFlorida,”Marksaysandmyheadsnapsbacktohim.Iheard
thewords,butcan’trespond.Mytongueisfrozeninmymouth.
Iknewthisallalong.Iknewthetrainingwasn’there.Iknewhewasleaving.I
repeatthosewordslikeamantrainmyhead.
ThenMarkcocksaneyebrow.“Yougotabikini?You’vealwayshadasmokin’bod.”
Nowmymouthdropsopen,butitstilltakesasecondtounfreezemytongue.
“But…”
NightVixenvacatestheDJbooth,andIgetamomenttorecoverasMarksnapson
hisheadphonesandsetsup.
“Myjobishere,”Isputter.
Heshrugs.“Unlesswe’rerecordingtheshowfromtrainingcamp,”hepointsout.
Oh.
Oh.Stunned,Iplopdownonmychairintheproductionboothandcueuphisintro.
Florida.Afewshortweeksago,theSunshineStatedidn’tcrossmymindunlessI
staredatitslogowhiledrinkingorangejuice.Nowit’smorphedintoanimpossibly
suddenpossibility,andIcan’tprocesswhatitmeanstomycareer,myplans,mylife.
Butthere’snotimenow.Mark’sintroisending.
It’sshowtime.
ThefirstcallerisFrankie,adiehardbaseballfanfromBayonne.She’sanewonefor
me,butMarkgreetsherlikethey’vehatedeachothersincechildhood.AsIlisteninto
theirargument,headswimmingfromallthestatisticschat,onethingbecomesclear:if
thisthingisgoingtomoveforward,ifIamgoingtoproduceanationalbaseballshow,I
havetolearnaboutbaseballandIneedtolearnitfast.
EspeciallyifI’mgoingtomovetoFloridatochasespringtrainingcamp.
AtthefirstbreakIgetonMark’sheadphones.“Hey,canIaskafavor?”
10
ROSE
“Wherearewegoing?”IshoutoverMuse’sAbsolution.Mark’struckcrossedthe
GeorgeWashingtonBridgefiveminutesagoandwearedeepintheBronx,adark,
scaryplaceIhaveonlybeenonceindaylight.He’sbeenquietfortherideexceptto
repeatthatwherewe’regoingisasurprise.He’sbeenteasingmealldayaboutit,ever
sinceIaskedhim—asafavor—toteachmeaboutbaseball.Somethingaboutthe
requestputapermanentsmileonhisfaceandhe’sbeensmirkingeverytimeIlookat
him.
Ashedrivesusthroughaninnercitywarzone,Istealglancesathimandsmileat
thethingsInotice.Sometimebetweenleavingthestationandpickingmeupat9,he’s
showeredandshavedagain.Freshasadaisy,heis.Thoughconsiderablymoremanly.
Alsohesmellsbetter.Likethepineycolognehewears,layeredbeneathhisown
unique,headyscent.Icouldn'tgetenoughofthatsmellwhenwedatedinhighschool,
anditstillintoxicatesmenow.Butmynoseisalittledistractedfromhimbythefaint
lemonscentinthetruck.Myeyescatchtheglossyglowofhisdashboardinthe
moonlight.
Someonehadtheirtruckdetailedafterhisshiftthismorning.
So,Igetthathe’ssexuallyinterested.That'salwaysbeenobvious.Butequally
obviousisthefactthathewouldprobablybanganyfemale.Butallthisextraefforttells
meheespeciallywantstobangme.Ican'tfigureoutwhyexactly,ifhisnormaltypeis
moresupermodelthansuper-DJ,butforsomereason,hewantsmebad.Partofmeis
thinkingthat’senough.
Maybe.
Ontheotherhand,Icouldwindupjustlikelasttime.Alone,rejected,skippingout
onprombecausehesettledonahottermodel,nursinganotherbrokenheart.
“Theresheis,”heinterruptsmythoughtswithanodforward.Ilookoutandsee
YankeeStadiumintheneardistance.Allthelightsareonandit’slightingupthenight.
“Isthereagametonight?”Ithoughtitwasoffseasonandtherewerenogames,but
whatdoIknow?
“Yes,”hesayswithagrin.“Abigone.”
“Who’splaying?”
Helaughssoftlyandhepullsintotheemptystadiumparkinglot.“Meandyou.”
Iblinkinhisgeneraldirection.“What?”
Hepullsinfrontofagateandswitchesofftheengine.Tossingandcatchinghiskeys,
hewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.“Thebestwaytolearnbaseball,”hesays,“istoplay
baseball.”
Attheentrancegate,Iturnmyfaceaway,butpeekasMarkpalmsafewsecurityguys
somecashandshakestheirhands.I'mguessingthecashwasacourtesyonMark’spart,
becausetheguysarestaringathimwithpoppingeyesandtoothysmiles.Heistheir
god.
Marktakesmyhandandpullsmedownalonghallwayuntilwereachadoor
markedLOCKERROOM.Hepushesopenthedoorandthesmellofathousandsporty
guyshitsmeintheface.It’snotabadsmellbyalongshot,justareallyoverpowering
masculinesmellandmybodyinstinctivelyrespondswitharushofsexhormonesto
mybrain.SuddenlyallIcanthinkaboutisthetightshirtMarkiswearing,thewayit
outlineseverymuscleinhisbody.That,andhowbadlyIwanttoripthatshirtoffhim
andrunmyfingersovereveryinchofsaidmuscles.
WestopinfrontofalockerandIseeaplaquereadingCARRINGTONatthetop.He
popsitopenandpullsouttwowell-oiledmittsandabat.Thenhehandsmehisjersey
andsettleshisofficialcaponmyhead.Hisscentsettlesaroundmyshouldersalong
withthejersey,faint,sincehe'swashedthething,butsomehowhecouldn'thidethe
factthatthisjerseybelongstohim.Now,wearingit,IalmostfeelasthoughIdo,too.
Dangerouslineofthoughttoallow.Ishakemyheadtoclearit.
"TodayyouareaYankee,”hetellsme,grinningfromeartoear,andIsmileback,
evenasmystomachtwistsinwarning.AllIcanrememberisthatsearingkisslast
night.
I'mintrouble.
OfcourseIknowYankeeStadiumisbiggerthanabreadbox,butIhavenoideahow
immenseitisuntilMarkleadsmethroughagatewayandontothefield.Feelingalittle
dizzyinthevastemptiness,Ialmosttripovermyownfeetstaringupatthestands.
“Whoa.”Markcatchesmyelbow,steadyingme.“Iknowhowyoufeel.Butthisis
nothing.Youshouldseewhatit’slikewiththecrowdroaringandthecameras
followingeverymoveyoumake.”
“Ican’timagine.”Butinaweirdway,Icansensewhatitmustbelikeforhim.When
westopathomeplateIscanthestadiumandpicturethepressureofperformancehe
faceseverytimehewalksontothefield.Ican’tevenkeeptrackofmyowntwofeetin
anemptystadium,andyethebatshomerunswiththousands—no,millions—ofeyes
onhim.
Afterhetossesourglovestotheside,hedirectsmygazetotheballthrowing
machineonthepitcher’smound.“I’mgoingtoturnthatonandyou'regoingtohita
coupleofballs.”
“Me?”Iexclaim,buthedoesn’thearme.He'salreadyjoggingtowardthemachine.
Withaflickofhiswrist,hejogsbacktohomeplate.
Hetakesthebatandmotionsformetostandoutoftheway.“Letmeshowyouhow
it’sdone."
Hepositionshisbodyandhiseyessquintintolaserfocus.Helookslikeastatue,legs
bent,elbowsout,everymuscletensed,hiseyestightonthemound.There’sacrank
fromthemachineandaballspitsout,flyingatwhatlookstomelikethespeedoflight.
IinstinctivelycowerbackandshieldmyheadasMarkswingsthebat.
CRACK!
Myeyesfollowtheballup,up,up....andout,out,out,untilitfadesintothenight
waypasttheneareststands.ImouththewordWOW,butMarkdoesn’tseeme.He’s
lickinghislips,shufflinghisfeetandchokinguponthebat.Hisgazeonceagainhones
inonthemachine.Helookslikehe’sgonnafuckitup.Itspitsoutanotherball…
CRACK!
ThisoneIdidn’tevensee.It'sjustabullet-likeblur.It’sprobablyinJapanbythe
timeheturnsaroundtocurvehisfinger,beckoningme.
“Batterup!”
ItiptoetohimlikeI’mabouttogetaspanking,tornbetweennervesand
excitement.Mysportsexperienceisprettymuchlimitedtodrunkenbeachvolleyball
andwatchingSuperbowlforthecommercials,butcomeon.I'minYankeeStadiumfor
aprivatelessonwithafamousbaseballplayerwhoishandsomeashell.I’lltakea
swingortwo.
Hehandsmethebat,handlesidefirst,andstepsoutoftheway.Iquicklygetinto
position,mimickinghisstance.Myelbowsfeelallwrong,nottomentionitseemslike
I'mstickingmybuttoutinhisface.
Sureenough,asecondlaterhetouchesmyelbow,lightly,tonudgeithigher.Itryto
ignoretherushofadrenalinethatshootsupmyarmfromhistouch.
“Headsup,”hemurmurs,hisvoicewarminmyear.Withastart,Ilookupatthe
machinetorealizeit'sfiring.
There’sahumofthemotorandaswooshofair.IswingashardasIcan...andwhirl
aroundinacircle,nearlytopplingover.
Miss.
Heclapsanyway.“Goodeffort."
Irollmyeyes,buthe'salreadyshakinghishead,pushingmebackintoposition.
"Tryagain.Leanintoit.”
Irepositionthebatinmyhandsandglareatthemachine.I’mready.I’mgoingtodo
this.Thismachinehasnothingonme.
Hum...clink...pop,andtheballsailstowardme.
SWOOSH.
Itsoundslikeamissilejustflewbymyhead,butI'vegotnothingtoshowforitbuta
wideswing.Iscowl,pissedthatImissedit.Dammit."Thisthingischeating!"Iglareat
it.
Marklaughsandstepsupbehindmeagain.Heputshisstronghandsonmyhips
andpullsmeawayfromtheplatebyaboutsixinches.Thenhewrapshisarmsaround
mineandI'mengulfedinhotmanmuscle.Nice.
“OK,”hewhispers,hisbreathticklingmyneck.“Bendyourknees.Notthatmuch,"
heamendswhenmykneesalmostbucklefromlust."Leanover."Istickmyassout,
andcollidewithhiscrotch.
What'sthatIfeel,pressinghardagainstmyass?Iwrigglemyhips,resistingtheurge
togrin.FuckhefeelsevenbetterthanIremember.
"Notthatmuch,"herepeats,thoughI'mgratifiedtonoticehisvoicesoundsthicker
thistime."Armsuphigher,too.”
Ihearhimsighandthenfeelhisentirebodyatmybackasaballbuzzesbyus.It’s
likehe’sspooningmestandingupandIcanfeelhistightmusclesonmythighs,assand
back.HisheatenvelopsmeandI'mlovingit.Hetightenshishandsovermineonthe
bat,andittakeseveryounceofconcentrationIhavetokeepmyeyeontheball.
“Watchandwait.”
Anotherballexplodesoutofthemachine.Ifeellikeit’scomingrightatmeand
grindbackonMark,nervous.Thatwillhurtifithitsme.Butheholdsmefirm...um,
reallyfirm.Hisbig,powerfularmsforceminetoswingandIfeeltheenergyoftheball
crackingagainstthebat.Ithitssohardmyarmsfeellikewetnoodles.Myteethchatter.
It’slikefiringariflewithafuckofakickback.
Theballsailsintothestandstotheleft.
Igaspoutabreath,butbeforeIcancongratulatemyselfhesays,“Wecandobetter."
Herepositionshisbodyagainstmine,deepinthezonenow,andIdon’tthinkheeven
feelsmyasspressingagainsthisharddickanymore.Irelaxagainsthimagainand
savorthepowerfulfeelingofhisbodywrappedaroundmine.Iaminnowaya
weaklingofawoman,butinhisarmsIfeelthisintensesenseofstrengthandpower
anditmakesmewanttojustrelyonhismuscles.
WhatwasthatNenehCherrysong?Iamstrongenoughtobeweakinhisarms.
We—no,he—swingsthebatagain.Ifthiswasarealgameitwouldbeahomerun.It
sailshighintothestands,outofreach.“I’llmeetyouatfirstbase,”hesayssuddenly,
slappingmyass.Istartle,andbeforeIknowit,he'sjoggingtowardthemachine.Itake
offasfastasIcanrun,butevenpausingtoswitchoffthemachine,hestillbeatsmeto
first.
Islideacrosstheplate,andhetagsmeasIdo,aspareballinhisfist.
“AmIout?”IpurrupathimafterIcollidewithhischest.Hisarmswraparoundme,
almostautomatic.Unfortunately,Ihaven’trunthatfarforalongtime,soIsoundout
ofbreathlikeIjustranamarathonuphill.
Hekeepshishandsonmyhips,leansin,andIfinallysnapbacktomysensesand
slipoutofhisreach.Hesensesmymood,andshiftshishandstohisownhipsinstead,
surveyingthestadium.
“Myfirsttimeatbathere,Ihitahomerun.”Hepointstothebackofthestadium.“It
wentthatwayandbouncedoffthebackwall.”Hetakesabreath.“I’vehittonssince,
butnothingwilleverfeellikethatfirsttime,youknow?”
Inod.
NotthatIunderstandhittingarunhome,ofcourse.ButIdoknowwhatit’sliketo
listentothatnewrecordfromyourfavoritebandforthefirsttime.Sure,thesongs
becomeoldfriendsafteryouwearoutthetrackswithnonstopplays.Butyouwill
neveragainfeelthatfirsttickleoftheriffsoftheguitarinyourearorthebassline
fuckingwithyourheartbeat.
HisattentionsnapsbacktomeandImustbewearingsomesensualexpression
becausehedoesthatdazzlingeyething,hisgazealloverme,eatingmealive,andhe
stepscloseragain,closingthegapbetweenusoncemore.“Youknow..."Hegrins."You
arenotofficiallysafeuntilyouputyourfootonthebase.”
Iglancedownandseemyfeetaren’tonthebase.Iquicklycorrectit.“AmIsafe
now?”
Hetakesanotherstepcloser.“Oh,notquiteyet.Don’tyourememberhowtogetto
firstbase?”
Ilaugh.“Iguessyouhavetoshowme.”
“Withpleasure,ma’am.”
Hewalksuptomeandstops,hisfaceinchesfrommine.Itfeelslikeadarefora
secondandinmyheadallmyhesitationissilencedbymyinnervoicescreamingkiss
mekissmekissme.FinallyhecupsmyfaceinhishandsandIfeellikeswooning.Notto
becliché,butmykneesdon'twanttoworkwhenhishandsareonme.Theywantto
rebelanddropmedowntothedirt,pullhimontopofmerighthere...Hiseyesstare
medownandheleansincloser,closer,closer...andthen,he…
Kissesmyforehead.
Asmymouthdropsopen,hesprintsawayinthedirectionofsecondbase.“Come
on!”heshoutsoverhisshoulder.Icanhearthelaughterinhisvoice.
Whatatease.
Twocanplaythisgame.
Irunhardagain,fasterthistime,spurredonbyadrenaline(and,okay,motivatedby
theurgentneedfiringinmyladybits).Heletsmebeathimtothenextbaseandeven
sauntersthelasttenpaceswithasmirkonhisface.“Accordingtobaseballrules,”he
saysinanofficialannouncervoice.“Secondbasemeanstits.”
Ifoldmyarmsacrossmychest.“Oh,isthatso?”
“Yep.”Hefoldhisarmsacrosshisownchestandtapshisfootonthebase.“My
house,myrules.”
Pressingmylipstight,Iglancearoundthestadium,thenbackathimjustintimeto
catchthateyebrowwiggle.Naughtinesswashesovermeandmyfaceheatsup.Igrab
thebottomhemofmyshirtandtugitawayfrommybody,lockingeyeswithhim.
Hiseyeswidenandhismouthparts.Idon’tthinkheactuallyexpectedmetotake
himuponthis.“Yes…”
Allinonemotion,Iliftmyshirtandflashhim,archingmybacktoshowoffmybare
breasts.ThenItugmyshirtdownagain,lightningfast.
Hefrowns.“Hey,wait.Thatwastooquick.”
“Yourturn,”Icounter.
Withhissmileintactandhiseyestrainedonme,hepeelsoffhisshirtandtossesit
behindhim.Underthestadiumlights,well,let’sjustsaymyeyesarefeastingonthe
glisteningperfectionofhisnakedchest.Hetakesasteptowardme,butI’malready
sprintingtowardthird.
“Iknowwhatthirdbaseis,”IcallovermyshoulderasIrun.“Doyou?”
Heboltspastmeandjumpsonthird.Heturnsandlooksatmeforamoment.Then
hisfacegrowsseriousashestepsclosertome,stillsilent.Suddenlyit'shardtobreathe.
Hebiteshislipandcurveshisfinger.“Comehere,”hewhispers.
“Why?”Myeyessearchhisface.Isheteasing?Isheserious?
ButIcan'thelpit.Istepclosertohim,mybodysinginginanticipation.I'mvibrating
outofmyskinwithsexualheat.Ifhedoesn'tkissme,I'mjustgoingtohavetotake
mattersintomyownhands.Specifically,thosedeliciousabsofhis...
Onceagain,asIreachhisside,hecupsmyfaceinhishands.“I’mgoingtokissyou,”
hewhispers,lookingintomyeyes.“I’vebeenwantingtotasteyou.”
Ibarelyhavetimetonod.Ican'tthinkstraight.
Slowly,deliberately,hislipsbrushagainstmine.Thenhismouthpressesintothe
sweetestkisshehasevergivenme.Softmouth,hardtongueandjusttherightamount
ofpressurethatIcanfeelallover,butmostlybetweenmylegs.Rubbingmyhandson
hischest,Ipressmyhipsintohis.Hedeepensthekiss,hiskneeslidingbetweenmine.I
grindmyhipsagainsthisthigh,andfeelhiscockdigintomyinnerthigh.He’shardand
hotandeveryinchofthatisforme.
Fuck,Iwanthim.Iwanteverypartofhim.Iwanthiscockinsideme,Iwanttograb
hishipsandridehimuntilwebothcollapse...
Hestopskissingmeandwegazeintoeachother’seyesforalongmoment.Bothof
usarebreathinghard,andIdon'tthinkithasanythingtodowiththebasesthistime.At
least,nottheonesinthestadium.Ireachdowntostrokehisharddickoverhisjeans
andfeelhisbreathhitch,hishipsrocktowardmine.Hishandcreepsupmyside,
grippingmesohardit'llleavebruises,butIfuckingloveit.Hebrushesstrayhairoutof
myface.“Rose,I….”
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
No.Ididn’thearthat.
Ipressclosertohim.
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
“Isthatyourphone?”
Inod.“Theemergencylinefromthestation,”Imumble.I’mstillstaringathimwith
myhandpressedagainsthisjeans.Ifeelthatharddickbehindthedenim,andgod
damndoIwantit.
ILOVEROCK‘NROLL
“Shouldn’tyoupickup?”
“Idon’twantto,”Ipout.Butheraisesaneyebrowatme,soIstepawaywithasigh
andgrabmyphoneoutofmybackpocket.“ButIguessIhaveto.”
Henodsunderstandingandbrushesmycheekwiththebackofhishand.
“Hello?"
“Rose."It'sChris.“We'reofftheair.Thetransmitterblew.Rightinthemiddleofa
set.Callsareexplodingbutwecan'trecordorrespond...”
Iscrunchupmyforeheadandresisttheurgetoscreaminfrustration.“I’llbethere
assoonasIcan.”Ihangupthephoneandjustgroanforwhatfeelslikeaminute
straight.
Markwincesinsympathy.“Youhavetogoin?”
Inod.“Disaster.Ourtransmitterburnedout.Ifwearen'tbackontheairwithinthe
hour...”
Hewrapshisarmaroundme.“Comeon,I'lldriveyouover.Ifanyonecansolvethis,
it'syou.”
11
MARK
Mytherapistisalwaystenminutesearlyforoursessions.Notnineminutes,noteleven
minutes.Exactlytenminutes.Themanisconsistent,and,ifI'mhonest,that’spartof
thereasonhe'sstartingtogainmytrust.That,andhesatthroughatleasttensessions
ofmerantingaboutstupidTommyPizzaandtheidiotsinthepresswhomademefeign
affectionforhim.
NowhesitsacrossfrommesippingtheteaImadeforhim.TeaIdidn’tevenknowI
had.Teathatmagicallyappearedinmycabinetasifwaitingformetomakeit.“Earl
Grey.”Hesetsthecuponthecoffeetable.“Alwaysagoodchoice.”
"I'mnotsurehowoldthatis,"Iwarnhim."Itmustbefromatleastfourgirlfriends
ago."That'sthelasttimeIcanrememberdatingsomeonewhopreferredteatocoffee,
themoresensiblecaffeinechoice.
"Tastesfinetome."Hesmiles,andthat'sanotherthingIappreciateabouthim.This
guyisdowntoearth.Notanotherpretentiousoverpricedheaddoctor.
“How’syourkid,bytheway?”Aftertenintensesessionswiththeman,Ifinally
pickedupsomeinfoabouthislife.Marriedforadecade,he’sgota4weekoldson,and
that’safterheandhiswifetriedforyearstogetpregnant.
“Good.”Hegrins.“Exhausting.”
“Youlikebeingadad?”InoticeI'mrubbingmylegs,soIstop.
Helooksatmyhandsandthenbackatme.“EvenbetterthanIexpected.What
aboutyou,Mark?”
“Me?”Iambacktorubbingmylegs,hardernow.
Hewaitsformyeyestomeethisagain.“Yes.Doyouwantafamily?”
“Yeah,someday.Ijust…”Iletoutabreath.“Igotsomestufftoworkonbetween
nowandthen.”
Asheflipshisnotebookopen,henods.“Speakingofwhich,doyouhaveyour
homework?LasttimeIaskedyoutomakealistofthingsthatmakeyouhappy.”
Ipeelthepaperoutofmypocket,wrinkledfrombeingfoldedintomybackjeans
pocket.Iwroteitabouttenminutesbeforehegothere,admittedly.ButIremembered,
whichismorethanI'vedoneanyothertimehe'scomehere.IwroteitassoonasI
wokeuptoprepareforhisvisit,tidyingthelivingroomandcleaningupthekitchen
aftermylatenightburgerbingelastnightwhenIgotbackfromdrivingRoseintothe
station.Iopenthenoteandclearmythroat.“Firstfrost.Mytruck.Mycabin.
Hamburgerswithextracheese.”Ishiftinmyseat.“Hittinghomeruns.Doingmy
morningshowontheradio.MyDJpartnerontheradio...."
"Andwhoisthat?"heprompts,sosubtlyIalmostdon'tnotice.
"Oh,justRose.She'sanoldfriendfromhighschool."
"Really?"Hetapshispenonhisnotebook."Soyouvolunteeredforhershow?"
"Well,no,butnowthatI'mdoingit,it'sfun.Anddoingitwithherisfun;wehavea
goodrapport..."
“Let’stalkaboutthatrapport.”
Ishrugandlookdownatmyhands."It'snice,Iguess."WhenIglancebackup,he's
blinkingatme,lookingmoresurprisedthanI'veeverseenhimlook.
“Mark,areyouawareyou'resmiling?”
Istarttoprotest,butthenIhavetoadmitit—he’sright.
12
ROSE
Iamastressmuffin.
Thetransmitter—inplacesince1984—hasbeenblinkingonandoffalldayand
night.EventhoughIdon’tseesmokecomingfromitanymore,IswearIcanstillsmell
it.ChrisandIhavebeentakingturnsstandinghereeyeballingit,policingittokeepW-
ALTontheair.Iwasabletogetalittleshut-eyeonthecouch,butnotmuch.Itooka
splashbathinthebathroomsink,armpitsandfaceonly,andfeelslightlyrevived,butI
stillmightcollapsefromanxiety.
AllIneedisforthisdamnthingtocrapoutagainduringMark'sshow,andIcankiss
thosenationalsyndicationdreamsgoodbye.Nobodywillhiremetohelpwiththe
show.NotwhenmyonlyjobistokeepitontheairandIcan'tevendothat.
Theshittyoutofdatetransmittershutsoffagain.Iwhackit,anditsputtersbackto
life,butforhowmuchlonger,nobodyknows.
Doc'sresponsewaspredictableasever.Newtransmitternotinthebudget,hereplied
bytexttomyfranticcalls.Nevermindtheextracashwe'reflushwithfromMark's
show.Nevermindthatwehaveadrevenueoutthewazoonow.
Ihaveeveryfaithyouwillmakeitwork,herepliedtomystringofcursewords.This
iswhathappenswhenacrazyoldrichguyrunsyourmediacompanyforkicks,instead
ofneedingtomakeanactualprofitoranything.
Damnhim.
"Allgood?”NightVixenshoutsbetweensetsfromtheDJbooth.Icanjusthearher
throughthethinwallofthetransmitterroom.
"Notevenalittle,”Imutter.Itakeadeepbreath,butitdoesn’thelp.Ihtinkitmight
bepossibletodieofaheartattackat25."AnyluckwithChris?”Ishout.Hewastryingto
wrangleadealwithanearbycollegestationthatwentdigitalandgetthemtoloanus
theirtransmitter.
Ifthatdoesn'twork,Idon'tknowwhattodo.
ButIkindado,actually.
Betweenwhackingandwigglingandguardingthetransmitter,I’vebeendoingthe
mathinmyhead.CalculatinghowmuchIhaveonmycreditcards.Maybebetween
themIcanfinaglethethousandsneededforareplacementtransmitter,onebuiltthis
century.
"Nojoy,"NightVixenshoutsback,andmyshouldersslump.
Dammit.Iamgoingtomaxoutmydebt.
ButIloverockandrollandIamfool.
Thisismystudio.Mybaby.NightVixen,Chris,allourlisteners—theydependonme
tokeepherrunning.Theyareworthit.
Somehow,despitethedebtI’llberackingup,IfeelmuchcalmernowthatIhavea
direction.Myenergylevelsareshootingup.IradioChris.“Chris,pleasebabysitthis
hunkofjunkthroughtherestofNightVixen’sshow."
"Whatareyougoingtodo?"heasks,withtheairofamanaskingadoctorhowto
curehiscancer.
"Ihaveaplan,"Iassurehim.
Wetradeplaces,butI'mlessthanhalfwayoutthedoorwhenIcollidewithMark.
“Goodmorning!”Heholdsoutacupofcoffeeandholdsupaboxinhisotherhand.I
don’tmove.Heplacesthecupinmyhand,butitbarelyregisters—becausemyeyesare
gluedtothebox,theunbelievable,giant,brandedbox.Whatinthe...
“Whoa.”NightVixensticksherheadoutofherDJboothtostare.Shelookslikeakid
onChristmasmorning.“Isthat...?”
Iamawaremymouthishangingopen.IsnapitshutandjuststareatMark,whois
grinningeartoear.“DigitalwasallIcouldfind.Hopethat'sokay.Idon’tthinkthey
evenmakeanalogtransmittersanymore."Markwinks,evenasIradioChristocome
outofthedungeontechroom.“Doyouthinkyoucangetittoworkbeforetheshow?”
MarkissayingwhenChrisjoinsus,jumpingupanddown,hiseyesbulgingasmuchas
NightVixen'sdid.
"Hellyes,Ican,"Chrisshouts.
Me,I'mstillspeechless.
ChrisshakesMark’shand.“Thanks,man.ThishasgottabethebesttransmitterI’ve
evertouched.”
AndstillIamjuststaringatMark.
“DidIhitahomerun,Rose?”hefinallyasks,thatslylittlegrinIloveplayingonhis
lips.
“Youdidn’thaveto…”
Heholdsuphishand.“YesIdid.”
“But…”
“Rose…”HelooksatChris,thenatme.“Letmedomypart,ok?LikeIsaid.Team
player.”
“I…”Ijustcan’tbelieveitandIamtrulytouched.“Thankyou,”Ifinallysay,finding
myvoice.
Henods.Ithinkhemightbeblushingalittle.“Youareverywelcome.”
“Thankyou,”Irepeat.Butthistimeit’sawhisper,justforhim.
Theshowisablurofcallers,myScarlettJohanssonimitation,andMark’sintenselooks
fromacrosstheroom.Ihavebeenridingawaveofvictoryendorphins.Thecallshave
beenonfiretodayandthattransmitterisworkinglikeacharm.Mark’sT-shirtisnice
andtight,butwekeeplockingeyes.Aseachsecondoftheshowpasses,Iwanthim
more.Ikeepstaringathimandtouchingmyfingerstomylips.Duringourlast
segment,Itakedownmysloppybunandshakemyhairlose.
“Tomorrowis,uh…”Marktrailsofftostareatme.Hebiteshislip.“Uh,what’s
tomorrowagain?
Ileanintomymic.“TomorrowwehaveAlexRodriguezandDailyNewssports
journalistDavidBell,”Icoo.“Nottomentionmorecallsfromyourawesomedie-
hards.”
Marklaughs,alittleforcibly.“Gonnabeagreatshow,”hesays.“Later,wankers.”
AsRalphshufflesthroughthestudiodoorwithhisvinyl,IgiveMarkacomehither
lookandheadtotheproductionroom.Ostensibly,heneedstodosomevoiceworksoI
canspliceitintothefinishedpromopiecewehavetofinishtoday.
Butthat’snotallIwanttodointhere.Wehaveunfinishedbusinesstosettle.
Homerun,hereIcome.
Wordlessly,Markfollowsmetotheproductionroomdownthehallway.
Whatthehell?Alittlesexneverkilledanyone.IbreakouttheShakirahipsright
now.Theyrollwithadeliberatesexinessandcantellnolies,dammit.Ifeelthehot
wetnessbuildbetweenmylegsandmyentirebeingshiverswithanticipation.Iwantto
bealonewithhim.Iwanttotouchhim.
Iwanttofuckhim.AndIdon'tgiveashitabouttheconsequences.
Islamthedoorbehindhimandturntoseehehashishandraisedintheairfora
highfive.
Really.Idonotdohighfives.I’mafistbumpgirl.Ijuststareathimwithfake
annoyanceuntilhegivesmealighttaponthefist.
“Iamawesome,”hesays,grinning.
Ibowtohistruth.“Youare.Yousavedthedayandwonagain.AndforthatIam
eternallygrateful.”Ipointtotheheadphonesaroundhisneck.“Nowgetthosebackon.
Wehavetorecordacoupleoflines.”
“Yes,ma’am.”Hesnapsthemon.
It’sjustthreelinesofcopy.Simple.Icoulddoitinmysleep.Andsocouldhe,
apparently,becausehe’sperfectonthefirsttake.
ButIdon’twanthimtoleave.AsIworktheknobs,Ibrushmyhipsagainsthisand
rewindthetape."Again,"Icommand.
Thistime,hisvoicesoundsalittlethicker.Deeper.Hisouterthighgetsastrokefrom
myhand,andIleanwaytooclosetopointouthisline."Again,"Irepeat,myboobs
brushinghisbicep.HegivesmeasmilethattellsmeheknowsI’mstalling,heknows
I’mteasing.Andhe’steasingbackbyleaningin.Theonlyquestioniswhoisgoingto
sealthedeal.
Herepeatsthelineagain,andthistime,hisvoicehitcheswhenIbrushmyhand
lowerdownhisthigh.
“Youknow,”hemurmursafterthetenthtake.“IthinkIknowwhatmyproblemis.”
“Hmm?”
HepointsatmyDavidBowieshirt.It’svintageandthinnedfromamillionwashings.
Mynipsarepoppinglikemadanditmakeshimsmilelikeadevil.“NeverbeenaBowie
fan.”HetracestheThinDuke’sface,whichjusthappenstocrossmybreast.Hisfingers
lingeronmyhardnipple.“I’mdistractedbyyourshirt.”
“Oh.”Ilookdownwithafakepout.
“Takeitoff.”
Myeyeslightup.“Thatcouldwork.”Iletmygazewanderalloverhischest.“But
youfirst,”Isay,tuggingatthesleeveofhisT-shirt."It'sonlyfair."
Hehalfsmiles.“Noproblem.”Heremoveshisheadphonesandtakeshisshirtoffin
onegloriousswoop.Hekeepshiseyesonmeasitdropstothefloor.“Letmehelpwith
yours,”hewhispers.
Itakemyheadphonesoffandsetthemontheproductiondesk.
“Youhavethemostluscioustits.”Hesmiles.
HishandsareonmebeforeDavidBowieevenhitsthefloor.Hotandrough,his
fingersfeelamazingonmycool,softskin.Hesqueezesandkneadsthem,pinchingmy
nipples,harderwitheachpass.Histhumbflicksonenippleashegentlykissesthe
other,andthendoesthisloving,long,slowsuckonmyleftnippleuntilIcanfeelitin
mypussy.
“Isthatbetter?”Imanagetogasp.Iwanthimtokissme,soIguidethebackofhis
headupuntilhismouthisinchesawayfrommine.
"Almost.ButI’mgoingtoneedalittlemorefromyou,"hepurrsjustbeforeourlips
collide.It’sthekissIhavelongedforanditmakesmewantmore,more,more.
Helicksmylipsandthenhisown.“Howwedoing?”Hereacheshishandundermy
skirt.Ashekissesmeagain,hestrokesjusttherightplaceoutsidemypanties.Sweet
tendertouchesthatsetoffsexysparks.Mykneesforgethowtobekneesagain.“You’re
soakingthroughyourpanties,”hesays.
Hepullsmeclosetohimandhishot,nakedchestagainstminedrivesmewild.Ican
feeleveryinchofthosepecsonmytits,hiswashboardabshardagainstmystomach,
diggingintome,ourhipbonescolliding.Ibitehislowerlipandthenkisshim,my
tongueprobingintimewithhisfingersagainstmyundies.
Andthenmypantiesaresuddenlyoff,butIcan’ttestifyastohoworwhen.Ijust
feelarushofcoolairinthethrobbingspotbetweenmylegs.Thisisit.Nomore
waiting.Ihungrilytugathispants,completelyforgettinghowtounbuttonorzipthem.
Hestopsmewithagrin,fingerscurlingaroundmine.“Igotthis."
Hegazesatmeasheslideshisharddickoutofhisjeansformyinspection.
Jesus.It'sbiggerthanIremembered.
MorethanIexpected,butIcandeal.“Thinkyoucanhandle…”hestartstosay,
smirking,butmyfingerstouchhistip,shuttinghimup.
Liftingmyskirtup,Ipressmybackagainsttheproductionroomwall.Inonefluid
movement,Ikickmylegupandhehooksitinhisarm.WecouldbeonDancingwith
theStarsor,well,maybeDancingwiththePornStars.Thenextthinghedoesisswirl
theheadofhiscockagainsttheentranceofmypussy.Thenhepauses,justasI'mwet
andachingforhim,readytotakehimintome.
“I’mgoingtofuckyouwithmyhugecock.Youthinkyoucanhandleit,Rose?”
“Yes,”Ipant.
“Butmycondomsareinmywallet...whichisinmyjacket...whichisinyour
office…”
Ismileathimandjerkmyheadtotheside.Hisgazefollowsminetotheright.On
theproductiontablesitsalargeglassbowlofcondoms,agiftfromtheNJBoardof
Healthbeforelastsummer’smusicfest.
“You’reonehellofaGirlScout,Taylor."Hegrabsone.
AsIbitemylipdamnnearbloody,Iwatchhimtearthewrapperwithhisteethand
rollupthecondomwithonehand.Isavortheviewastherubberrollsdownhisthick
deliciouslength.Hedoesn'tevenlook.Heistalented.
Ashestaresatmewiththoseintenseblueeyes,heliftshishipsagain,bracedatmy
entrance."I’mnotgonnagoeasyonyou,”hesays,thoseeyeshardandhungryallat
once,andohfuckIcan'ttellhimhowmuchIlikethesoundofthat.
"Fuckme,Mark,"Igasp.
Inasingle,deepthrust,hefillsmewithhiscock.Imeltashepenetrateseveryinch
ofmypussy.Hegrindsagainstme,intomeandIthrustbackwithfuryuntilIcan’tsee
orhear.Ijustfeelredhotboltsofenergy.MykneebucklesandIfeelthestrengthofhis
armsholdingmeupandthepowerofhisdickbangingmetoanotherplace.Every
thrustsendsmehigher,closertotheedge,andI'msowetandhot,butIcanfeelevery
inchofhiminme,everythrustmakingmegaspinecstasy.
"You’resotight,"hegrowlsinmyear,handsroughonmyhips,pinningmeagainst
thewall.
“Fuck,”Imoan,tossingmyhairovermyshoulder.Markgathersmyhairinhisfist
andpulls,makingmegasp.
“I’mgonnamakeyoucomesohard.”
Ican'thelpbutobey,cryingoutfaintlyasIpeakovertheedge,theorgasmmaking
mywholebodyquake.Hekeepsthrusting,hard,unrelenting,andIspiralrightbackto
theedge,nearlyreadytocomeagainwhenhepinsmetothewallandfucksmefast
andhard,hisbreathahotrushinmyearashefinishes,gasping.
Thankgodhe'sthisstrong,becauseIcouldn'tstandonmyownrightnow.Onlyhis
stiffbicepsandthewallbehindmekeepmeupright.
Then,withoutwarning,whilewe'rebothstillpantingforair,tryingtorecover,
there’saknockatthedoor.Byitslight,rhythmictapIknow—thankgod—it’sBecks.I
amnot100%inlovewiththeideaofherfiguringoutwhat’sbeenupinhere(Mark),
butoutofallthestaff,she’stheleastlikelytospillmyjuicysecrets.Theproduction
roomisherMILFypersonalfuckpalace,sosheknowsifsheratsonme,I'vegotmore
thanenoughdirtonher.
“Beoutinasec,”Imanagetoblurtout.BecksmumblesaresponseandIhearher
walkaway.Mark’sheadrestsonmyshoulder.Ifeelthesweatofhisforeheadtrickle
downmyclavicle,andhisgaspsofbreathwarmmyneck.Me,I'mgaspingintohis
forehead,mybreathsstirringthehairathistemples.
Theroomstartstoresolveintoanormalroomagain,notadistanthallucination.I
wriggleoutofhisembrace,butheclingstightertome.Afterasecond,Ipushhimoff
withagentleshove.Hisjeansarearoundhisanklesandhe’sgotthatwrylittlesmileon
hisfacethattellsagirl:jobwelldone.AsIadjustmyskirt,hepullsuphispantsand
leansintokissmeagain.
“Weshoulddothatagainsometime.”Hetakesmyfaceinhisbighands.“Likeright
now,or…”Heraisesaneyebrow.“Inafewminutes…”
ButBecksistappingatthedooragain.“Seriously,Rose,”shebarks.“Theproduction
roomisn’thereforyourpersonaluse.”
“Wehavetogetoutofhere,”Ihissandskirtpasthimtolocatemyunderwear.
“There."Markpointsuptotheceiling.
“Howthehell…”MylacypurpleFrenchcutbriefsaredanglingfromthelight
fixture.Itrytoreachthelowceiling,butmyfingersareabouthalfafootoutofreach.
Becksisgoingtofreakout.
“Letme.”Markreachesupandeasilyplucksthemfromthefan.
AsIwiggleintomyerrantpanties,Isquintathim.“So,thisisn’tgoingtobecomea
lockerroomrumor,isit?”ThatwasalwaystheexpressionIusedwithhimtokeep
myselfoutoftherumormillwhenwemadeoutinhighschool,butnowIsayitasa
tease.
Thepost-fucksmileonhisfacegrowsasheshakeshishead.“Ourlittlesecret.”He
looksmeupanddown.“Youdecent?”
Idoaquickwardrobecheck.“Decent,”Iconfirm,seeinghehashishandonthe
doorknob.
WeopenthedoortoBecks'scowlingface.“Wow,really?”Sherollshereyes."At
leastwaituntiltheovernightshiftliketherestofus."
Giggling,andhopingI'mnotblushingtoohard,wespeedwalkdownthehallway
awayfromtheincriminatingcircumstantialevidence.
13
MARK
ThelastcoupleofdayshasbeenachallengetoseehowmanycrazyplacesRoseandI
canfuck.Mytruckhasbeenchristened,cabandflatbedalike.Wediditinheroffice
andinthelobbyafterhourswhilethatvampirechickyammeredonthroughaspeaker
aboutTheCure,andagainastheblowupdollwatched.Seemslikethereareonlythree
placeswehaven’tdoneit:herbed,mybed,andtheW-ALTDJbooth.
Iwanttoseeherplacetoseeifmatcheswhat’sinmyhead—analtartothemusic
sheloves.IexpectcandlesburningaroundaframedpictureofTheRamoneswitha
lotteryticketproppedupagainstit.Iamsureshe'sgotbandT-shirts,cdsandLPslaying
allovertheplace,plusmaybeanelectricguitarleaningagainstawall.
Iwanthertoseemyplacetoo,mycabin.IwanthertoseehowfarI’vecome.Since
mylastexplosion,Icleanedup.ThefloorshavebeensweptofsmashedglassandI
replacedthebrokencouchandinjuredflatscreenTV.Sofar,Ihaven’tdestroyed
anythingelse.
ThismorningIamdustingmypiano.Yeah,Idoitmyself,becauseIamparticular
abouthowit’sdone.Can’ttrustthemaidtousethespecialmicrofiberclothIboughtor
haveagentletouch.
Thisisn’tthepianoIgrewupplaying.Thatonemymomsoldfordrugs.ThisoneI
gotatanestatesale.
Rosedoesn’tknowIplay.Nobodyleftalivedoes,infact.IwanttoshowherIstill
rememberhow,butnotonlycanInotdecidewhichsong,Ican’tseemtogetherto
agreetocometomyplace.Nevermindgettinganinvitetohers.
She’sfriendlyandflirtywithmeontheonairandthesexinmytruckissmoking
hot.She’shungryforitwhenwefuck,andsheevenseemsemotionalsometimes,aswe
catcheachother'seyesafterward,orwhenshe'srestinginmyarms,gaspingfromher
latestorgasm.ButpartofmethinksthatmaybeshestillthinksI'mbeneathher.Maybe
Iamstillbeneathher.
IfindI’mrubbingthepianotoohardandIbackoff.Later,whenIcalmdown,I’ll
finish.Thephonerings.Citynumber."Yeah?"Ipickup.
“Hey,kid.I’moutinJersey.Aboutthirtyminutesaway.CanIstopby?”
ItakeamomenttodecidewhetherIfeelanxiousorhappy,butendupjustfeeling
confused.Stanley’sphonecallsrecentlyhavebeenshortandtothepoint,sothisvisitis
unexpected.“Sure,”Ifinallysay.“Comeonover.”
TimeawayfrommehasdonewondersforStanley.AfterIhandhimaclubsoda,hesits
onmycouch.Helooksfifteenyearsyounger.Hisfrownlinesaregoneanditlookslike
hegotsomesun.
“KeyWest,”heclarifies,easingbackonmycouch.“BevandItookalongweekend.”
Ashesipshisclubsoda,Inoticemystomachisturningover.I’mnotknownformy
subtlety,soIjustdriverightin.Icrossmyarms.“Stillhatingme,huh?"
Hecoughsalittleclubsodaasheshakeshishead.“No,kid.Icouldneverhateyou.”
Hetakesanothersipandthenlooksatme.“Ijustwantedyoutogrowup.That’sall.”
Idon’tsayanything.Istareatmyhalfpolishedpiano.
“Youseemtobegettingontrack,fromwhatIhear.Radiogigisgoingwell.Make-up
appearanceswithTommyworked.Yourtherapistsaysgoodthings.”
Nodding,Ilookbackathim.“Ihaven’tmissedonesessionwithhim.Idon'twantto
bethatguyanymore.Theangryone.”
Stanleysmiles.“Nomoreslugginganythingbesidesaball?”
Ishakemyhead.“Thosedaysarebehindme.”
“EvenifaguylikeTommyPizzagetsinyourface?”
Isnort.“Evenifhedeservesit.”
Heshakeshishead.“Youcan’tletguyslikethatrentspaceinyourhead,kid.”
“Iknow.”
Hesetshisdrinkonthecoffeetableandslapshisknees.“Timetoaddressthisradio
businessbeforewemeetwiththatnutownertomorrow.Andwehavetotalkaboutthis
new24HourRadioMarathonIjusttalkedtothestationabout.YouandRosearegoing
toraisealotofmoney.”
Anothernight,anotherevent.Thesepartiesareallthesame.Press,PRtypesanda
couplecelebswiththeirpeople.Thedrinksaregenerousandthefoodissparse,butyou
alwaysgetadecentswagbag.It’sstupidhowmuchgettingthesebagspleasesme.
Dumbstuffreally.WhenIlookinthebagIseestuffIneverknewIwanted.Abottleof
topofthelinewhiskey,aDVDofsomeactionmovieI’veneverheardof,cufflinks,
threepowerbarsand,ofcourse,thewholereasonwe’reallheretonight—BustUp
digitalsocks—sincethey’rethenewestofficialsponsorofLittleSluggers.Thesesocks
aremadetobroadcasttoyoursocialmediaaccountshowfaryouwalkinaday,how
manycaloriesyouburn,howmuchenergyyouexpend,totryandguiltyouinto
exercising,Iguess.
Okay,soItakeitback.Iwantmostofthestuffinthisbag.Thesocksareabitcreepy.
IstartthinkinginmyheadwhointheworldIcangiftthesesockstowhenIfeelthe
energyintheroomchange.
Ilookaroundtoseewhathappened.Didthelightsdim?Didsomeoneopena
window?
ThenIseeher.
Rosebreezesthroughtheroominatightlittlereddressthatinstantlymakesmeand
probablyeveryotherguyinthisroomthinkdangerousthoughts.Pairthatwithher
kissablemouthandthoselong,sensuouslegs,legsIcanstillfeelwrappedaroundmy
waistasIthrustintoher,andwell...I’mgoingtohavetroublekeepingitinmypantsfor
longtonight.She’sshowingoffsomeskintonightandthoseheelsmakehershapely
legslookevenhotterthanusual.Ispotherthesecondshewalksintotheplace,andso
doeseveryoneelseitseems.Sheliterallystealstheairrightoutoftheroom.
Iwatchherscantheroomwithaninscrutablelookonherfaceuntilsheseesme
andsmiles.
Then,“Hey,BadBoy,”awomaninterrupts,shovinganotherdrinkinmyhand.I
don’tevenseethatgirl;I’malreadydodgingpasthertowardRose.
AsIkeepmyeyesonRose,hangers-onsurroundme,likeit’sagiantplantokeepme
frommygoal.Theguytotheleftisfromsomebeercompanyandtheguytotheright
ofmeisfromESPN.Thegirlwithhimkeepseyeingmelikeshe’swonderingifher
boyfriendwillmindifshepropositionsmeforathreesome.
Myearhasbeenbuzzingallnightwithbullshitpraiseandpitches.Stanleyandhis
teamdotheirbesttokeepthemoffofme,butabunchofthemmanagetoweasel
throughanyway.Ijustsmileandnod.That’swhatIdo.Smileandfuckingnod.
Iprefermysinceredie-hards.Theyliveandbreathebaseball.Notmoneyandfame,
whichisallthesehangers-onhavetolikeaboutme.
IwatchRosewalktothebarandorderadrink.Weagreedtokeepourdistance
tonight,that’sthedeal.Everythingonthedownlow.Everythingasecret.Notsureif
shelikesthatbecauseshethinksit’sthesexythrillofasecretaffair,orifshejust
doesn’twantitonthestreetthatwehitit.
Andwearedefhookinguplater.She’sthrownmeaboneandletmethrowher
mine.Haha.
She’sagreedtocometomyplaceinthecitytonight.IhaveMoetchillinginthe
freezerandalistoffilthythingsIwanttodotoher.Iwasabletotalkthemaidintoan
emergencydeepcleanandIgotWestElmtodeliversomefancyknickknacks.Ihave
thissewnup.ShewillseeIamnotthatwrongsideofthetracksguyanymore.The
condoain’thomelikemycabin,butit’snice.
“Hey!Hey!”someguyinasuitshoutsatme.Icantellbyhiswobbledwalkand
glassyeyeshe’sbeenhittingsomethinghardandI’mnotsureifit’suppersorwhiskey
orboth.Hemakeshiswaythroughthecrowdandhitsmybackacoupleoftimeshard
asheleansintomeandmumblessomethingaboutrealestate.
“Excuseme.”IwalkawayfromhimandIcanhearhimsluracursebehindme.
ImakeabeelinetoRoseandInoticeherbristlealittle.Shelooksaroundtheroom
likeshe’sworriedsomeonemightseeherwithme.
“Wedoworktogether,”IpointoutinalowvoicewhenIreachher.
Shelaughs,andthedeep,throatysoundsendsajoltstraighttomycrotch.“Iknow,I
know.”
HerTequilaSunriseisalmostempty,soIorderheranotherandgetabeerfor
myself.IseethebartenderhasopenedtheBrooklynBrewerybottleandintendsto
handittome.“Inaglass,please.”InoticeRosehasaquestionmarkonherface.Ilean
intoher.“IthinkIhaveabeercontractpending,soIcan’tbeseendrinkinganyspecific
brandinapicture.”
Rosefightstheurgetosmile,Icantell.“Isallthathardtokeeptrackof?”
Itugatmysuitjacket.“I’mgettingpaid50largetowearthistonight.That’snoteven
countingtheshoes.”Ipullatmytie.“Thisisonlyfivethousandthough.”
Rosebrushesmytiewithherfingersandeventhoughshe’snottouchingme,Ifeel
likeshe’sstrokingskinnotsilk.“Areyouawalkingbillboardorwhat?”
Imeantochuckle,butitsoundsalittlesad.“Prettymuch.Mybodyisforrent.”
Shetiltsherhead.“Isthatweirdforyou?”
“Itwaswhenitfirststarted.Idunno.Awkward.Buttheseclothingcompaniespay
metoweartheseclothes,sowhenIgetpappedtheygetpress.Andit’snotlikeIhad
anybrandsIreallylovedtowearbeforeoranything.Sowhynot?Win-winforbothof
us.”
“Iguesseverythinghasaprice.”
“Well...”Iletmyeyesrakeoverherbody,slowly,thenleanclosertoherandlook
intohereyes.“Noteverything.”
Shesmirks.“True.I’mnotforsale,ifthat’swhatyou’rethinking,Mr.Bigshot
Ballplayer.”
“ThatisexactlywhatIloveaboutyou,”Ireply,trailingafingerupherarm,barely
touchingher,awareofalltheeyesonus.Butfuckinghell,doIwanttodomore.Ican
tellbyherdesperatelittleshiverthatshedoes,too.Ileaninclosertoherearand
murmur,“Ican’twaittofuckyoutonight.”
Asshebitesherlipandlooksaway,cheeksflushedred,Irestmyeyesonhertits
thatarepoppingoutofherdress.
“Youaresuchatease…”shewhispersback,butshelookskindofdreamyaboutit,
eyeshalf-hooded,andIwanttokissherrighthere,rightnow,fuckwhatanyoneelse
thinks.ButthenIseeherfacedropashereyesfocusonsomethingbehindme.
Iturnaround.
Amber.
Yes,thatAmber.Myexsauntersher5’10”framestraighttowarduswithacoupleof
hairtossesandanarchedeyebrow.Howthehelldoesshekeepgettingintomyevents?
Oh,right.Iguessbeingthehighestpaidmodelintheworldtendstomakedoormen
sympathetic.
That,andshe’sprobablyfuckinganotheroneofmyteammatesbynow.Backwhen
wesplit,Ithoughtthatwouldbotherme.Now,Idon’tevenmindthethought.
She’sstillwalkingthiswayandwaving.Roseshocksmebywavingback.“Youknow
her?”Iask,raisinganeyebrow.
“Ofcoursenot.”
RosewigglesoffthebarstoolandgreetsAmberwithapoliteintroductionandoneof
thoseairhugsgirlsdo.Lookingatthemsidebyside,Ican’thelpbutcomparethetwo.
RoseisstandingnexttoMaximmagazine’shottestwomanalive,butIcan’tseeAmber
atall.AllIseeisRose’slong,honeycoloredhairbrushingthecurveofherwaistand
thateasy,sweetlaughbubblingoutofherbeestungmouth.
Ambermustbesensingdefeat,becauseaftersneakingalookatme,andmerefusing
tomeethereye,toobusywatchingthedipwhereRose’sdressrevealshersmooth,bare
shoulder,Amberskulksofftoanotherteammate.
“Sorryaboutthat…”ImurmurtoRose.ButRosejustshrugsandtugsmytie.
“I’llseeyoulater,”Rosesays,drawingoutthewordlatersoIknowit’sapromise.As
Iwatchherwalkaway,Ambernoticesandwalksbackmyway.
Dammit.
NowIfeelRose’sparanoiaabouttheall-seeingpubliceye.Idonotwantthemediato
thinkAmberandIareanitemagain.
AmbertouchesmyfacewithherlongfingersandIpullawaywithafakesmileon
myfacejustincasesomeonewithacameraiswatching.
“Stillmad?”shepurrs.
“Let’snotdothis.”Istepaway.IspotStanleytalkingtooneofhisinternsandIhead
straighttohim.HeexcusesthecollegekidwithaglanceinAmber’sdirection.Hisface
isredandIwatchhimtakeoutahandkerchiefanddabhisforehead.WhenIreach
him,heshakeshishead.“Youhavetoexpectthat.”
“What?”
Herubshisneckandwinces.“Amber’scareerhascooledsinceyoutwobrokeup.”
“Noway.”
“Twentyfiveisancientinmodelyears.Sheneedstobepairedwithsomeonelike
youtokeephercareerafloat.”
“Stan,herfaceiseverywhereandshe’salreadybanginganotherjock,I’msure.”
Stanleylaughs,closeshiseyesandscruncheshisleftshoulder.“Sheain’tno
supermodel.She’sjustaprettygirlwholooksgoodinabikini.Eachdayanother
younger,prettiernewgirlstealsherthunder.IhearFordmightbedroppingher.”
There’snosympathyinmyheartforher.“That’sherproblem,notmine.”
IhearStanleygaspandwonderifhe’sreallythatsympathetictopoorAmberthe
aged-upmodel’sdilemma.Butthenhefallsagainstme.Oninstinct,Icatchhim,but
he’sheavy,andittakeshimasecondtofindhisfeetagain.AtfirstIthinkhe’sdrunk,
andmarvel,becauseI’veneverseenhimeventipsy.ThenIrealizehe’sclutchinghis
chestwithonehandandsqueezingmyhandwiththeother.Isithisheart?
“Getmeoutofhere,kid,”hewheezes.“Don’tletanyoneknowwhat’sgoingon.”
14
ROSE
“I’msorry,ma’am,buthedoesn’tappeartobehome,”Mark’sdoormansaysasheputs
downhisdeskphone.He’saboutmyageandmightbecutewithoutthepornstache.He
staresatme,waitingformetosaysomething.
“Whatdoyoumean?Ofcoursehe’shome.He’sexpectingme.”
“Sorryma’am,apparentlynot.There’snoanswer.”
“Well,tryagain.”
Thedoormangivesmeapursedlipsmile.“Ma’am,Ihavetriedthreetimes.Thereis
noanswer.He’seithernotathomeor…”Hebowshisheadatmeasifgivingmethe
cuetofinishthesentenceforme.
Ionlydoitinmymind.IsMarkavoidingme?
No.Whywouldhe?Hewasallhotandbotheredaboutseeingmetonight.
Somethingmusthavecomeup.Orhefellasleep.Orhe’sintheshower.Or,Idon’t
know.Something.
“DoyoumindifIwaithere?”Ipointtoacouchinthelobby.
“Sorry,miss.Iamafraidyouhavetoleave.”
I’msurethisguyhasturnedawaycountlesswomenonMark’sbehalf.Ican’t
exactlyblamehimforlumpingmeinwiththosegirls.
MaybeMarkhastoo.
IhalflaughasIexitthebuildingandwalkdown72ndStreet.FirsttimeIhavedone
thewalkofshamewithoutactuallydoinganythingshameful.Thisissomuchworse,
sinceIdon’tevenhaveanygoodmemoriestotidemeover.
IsummonUberandstampmyfootinfrustration.Dammit.IwishMarkwasn’tsuch
aLuddite.Whothehelldoesn’townacellphone?
Atfirst,Ithoughthisrefusaltouseonewascharminginanoldschoolway,butnow
it’sjustannoying.I’mupsetIwon’tbescrewinghimtonight,butI’msurehehasagood
reasonforskippingoutonme.
Raincheck,Iguess.Iglancedownatmyreddresswithasigh,andpromiseherthat
nexttime,she’llwinduponhisfloor.
Whengethome,IopenthedoortoGeoreorganizinghercollectionof60’svinyl.The
Beatles,TheStones,TheMamasandThePapasarespreadalloverthefloorwithheron
herkneesoverthem.
Shit.Geoonlyorganizesthingswhenshe’sreallypissed.
Iprayit’sboytrouble,butthenshelooksupatmewithaglareandIrealizeit’s
definitelymyfault.Shesaystwowords.“Frightened.Rabbit.”
Doubleshit.
“I’msorry,Geo.Icantalktothemtomorrow,I—”butsheholdsupherhandto
silenceme.
Iwatchherstackherrecordsintonodiscernableorder,onebyone.Theonlysound
isLPslappingonLPandhermouse-likesqueaksofrage.
“Monday,”Ipromise.“ThistimeIswear.”
ShestandsupwiththestackofrecordsclutchedtoherNOWtee.Sheholdsupa
fingertosilencemeandsqueezeshereyesshut.“Thereisnotomorrow,”shesays.
“Tomorrowwasyesterdayandeverydaylastweek.”
I’mnotsurewhathippieprotestsongthatcomesfrom,butsheseemssatisfiedwith
it.Shestormstoherroomandslamsthedoor.
Iheaddownthehallandtapgentlyonherdoor,pressingmyforeheadtoit.“Geo,”I
coo.“Geo,please.”
ThenIheartheangrysoundsoftheSexPistolsblaringinherroom.Dammit.She’s
reallymadifshe’splayingpunk.Betterlethercooloff.
Igotomyownroomandclosethedoor.Frustratedbytheevening,Ieyemypower
vibratorandfigureI’llgiveawhirl.Unfortunately,IforgetthatIshouldn’tpoweriton
unlessmostofthelightsinthehouseareoff.ThesecondIswitchinon,thelightsgo
outandJohnnyRottenstopswailing.
“Forfuck’ssake,Rose!”Ihearthroughthewall.
IstareatThor’shammerinmyhand,nowuselessthankstothefuseIjustblew,and
sigh.Justmydamnluck.
ThenextmorningIfindGeosittingatthekitchentablenibblingongranola.“Still
upset?”Iask,sittingdownnexttoher.
Shefingersherhippiekibbleandpouts.“Ijustfeellikeyoudon’tcareaboutthe
podcastanymore.”
“Ido.”Itouchherarm.“It’sjustthatthingshavebeenso…”
“Crazy.Iknow.Butthingsarealwayscrazy…”
Takingmyhandoffher,Ileanbackinmyseat.“I’msorry.”Isigh.“Ireallyam.”I
takeoutmyphonetopullupthecontactIhaveforFrightenedRabbit’smanager.“It’s
Saturday,butI’mgoingtocalltheirpeoplerightnow,rightinfrontofyou.Ijustneed
toGoogletheirtourdatesrealquicktoseewhere—”
“Wait!”Shegrabsmyarmandcupsmyphoneagainsthercheek.“Youneedtostay
offtheinternet.”
“Uh,why?Areweprotestingsomething?”
Sheshakesherblonde,thindreads.“Iamseriouslymadanddisappointedwithyou
rightnow.But…Idon’twanttohurtyou.SoIwouldratheryouhearitfrommeinstead
ofGoogle.Because,eventhoughIamsosomadatyou,Iloveyouwithallmyheart.”
“Wait,whatareyoutalkingabout?”
Shesqueezesmyhandandlooksdeepintomyeyes.WhatIseeinhergazeispity.
Dreadpoolsinmystomach,butnoamountofworrycanpreparemeforhernext
sentence.“MarkCarringtonjustgotbacktogetherwiththatAmbermodel.”
Ifeellikearedhotknifehasbeenthrustintomychest.Ittakesmeaminutetofind
myvoice,duringwhichGeojustkeepssqueezingmyhand,untilIlosefeelinginmy
fingers.“Great,”Ispit,whenIfinallyfindmytongueagain.“Fine.Awesome.Whoeven
cares.”Convincing,Rose.
“Whathappenedlastnight?”
Ilookatherandcan’tbelievehowshecanbesosupportiveafterIscrewedherover
somuchrecently.Ishouldbackoff.Handlethisonmyown.It’snotfairtopileallmy
shitonherafterdickingheraround.ButIneedtotalktosomeone,soIspillit.
“Hestoodmeuplastnight.Andshewasattheparty;Isawthemtalkingbriefly…”I
shakeitoff.No.Nowayishebackwithher.Itdoesn’tmakesense.“Whatareyou
basingthison?Apicture?Apieceofgossip?”
Geoshakesherhead.“Just,trustme,it’slegit.”
Noway.Imakeagrabformyphone.Geofightsme,butI’mmotivated,soIwinin
theend.Itdoesn’ttakememorethanasecondtoGoogleit.It’sthefirsthitwhenyou
typeinAmberandMark,withouteventheirlastnames.
Shetweetedthismorning.Thenthenewssitesranwithit.
Istareatthescreen.It’sapictureofthemattheeventlastnight.Herinthatcouture
dress.Himintheblacksuithewaspaidtowear.Theyaren’ttouching,Itellmyself.It’s
notlikehehashisarmaroundheroranything.Butthetext,thetextthatAmberwrote
herself,isclear:
#TogetherAgain#ThisTimeForever
“Oh,”Imumble,readingthetweetoverandoverasthepiecesstarttofittogetherin
mymind:thewayMarkdisappearedfromtheeventlastnightwithoutaword,then
gettingstoodupinthelobbyofhishighriseapartmentafterward,thepitying
expressionofthedoormanasheaskedmetoleave,andthewayMarkhasbeen
completelyunreachableonhislandlinephoneseversince.AndgivenMark’splayboy
waysandhistrackrecordwithwomen…itallmakesperfectsense.There’snopoint
beingindenialaboutit.
Thisisjustlikehighschoolalloveragain.I’mjustthecasualhookupthatMark
keepshiddenfromtheworlduntilhefindssomeonehotter.
“Well.”Irisefromthetableandwalkoverandlookoutthewindowatnothingin
particular.“IguessIstillcan’tcompetewithacheerleader.”
“Acheerleader?”
IturnbacktoGeo,who’swatchingmewithhereyebrowsscrunched,andshrug.
“Supermodel.Cheerleader.It’sallthesame,isn’tit?”
“Uh,notreally…”
IpulluptheFrightenedRabbit’scontactinfoandcalltheirmanager.Timetoshift
myprioritiesbacktowheretheyneedtobe.“Hello?”saysanEnglishvoicesaysafter
thethirdring.
“SimonCarlyle?”
“Speaking…”
Iclearmythroatandsitupstraightinmychair.“RoseTaylor.Iproduceapodcast
hereintheNewYorkCityMetroarea…”
15
MARK
BeverlyWhiteisatoughJerseybroadwhodoesn’tsufferfoolsormincewords.The
secondsheseesmeintheERwaitingroom,shenarrowsherbrowneyesandpokesmy
chestwithherlongfingernail.“Getthefuckouttahere,”shehissesthroughhertears.
It’s4inthemorning.ShewasinMyrtleBeachandmusthavegonethroughhelltoget
hereaftershegotthecallaboutherhusband’smassivecoronary.
Iwanttopleadmycase,butIknowthatnowisnotthetime.IshootBill,Stanley’s
assistant,asadlookandhenodsashegentlynudgesmeoutintothehall.“Go,”he
whispers.“I’llcallyouassoonasweknowanything.”
IhearBev’sharshwordsbehindmeasImakemywaydownthehallandIalmost
tripovermyowngrief.“Thatkidisthereason,”sheyells.“It’sallhisfault.Beengiving
Stanhellforyears.”
Idon’tfeeltheheatofanger,justthedownwardpullofasadnessandguiltcocktail
that’smakingmefeelsicktomystomach.Lostinswirlingthoughts,thetaxirideisa
blur.
StanleyhasbeentheclosestthingtoafatherthatI’veeverhad.Forthelastfive
years,he’salwaysgoneaboveandbeyondourprofessionalrelationship,treatingme
likehisownkid,pullingfavorsforme,helpingmethroughhardtimesinmypersonal
life.
Hecoulddietonight.AndBevisright,itwouldbeallmyfault.
Myapartmentiscoldanddark,butthemooddoesn’tchangeevenafterIturnonallthe
lights.IamsuddenlyawareI’mstarvingandopenthefridgetoseewhatIhave.
Awholelotofnothing.Butthat’sfine.Nothingwouldfilltheemptinessinsideme
rightnowanyway.
Ileanbackonmycouchandtryoutoneofmytherapist’sbreathingexercises.AllI
canthinkaboutisStanley’sfaceashecollapsed.ThestraininhisforeheadasIcarried
himoutside,somehowdodgingthepapsthatswarmedeverywhere.Hewouldn’tletme
callanambulanceuntilwewerefarenoughawayfromthebuildingthatthereporters
wouldn’tsee.Whatifthosefewminutesmakeallthedifference?Whatifhewould’ve
beenbetteroffifI’dcalledanambulancesooner,ignoredhiswishes?
I’mdeepinthatspiralofthoughtwhenInoticethelongstrandofhoneycolored
hairhangingonthesleeveofmyArmanijacket.
Rose.
Stanley’smedicalemergencymademeforgetallaboutourplanslastnight.Shit.I
grabmylandlinephone,buteyethetimeonthemicrowaveandseeit’sjustpast6am.
Doubleshit.It’stooearlytocallhernow,ontheonedayshehasofffromdoingthe
show.
Itellmyselfnottoworry.I’msureshe’llunderstandwhenIcalllater.
ThephoneringsinmyhandandIalmostdropitfromshock.
“Hello,”Ibarkbeforethefirstringisdone.
“Mark,it’sBillBellows.”
Stan’sassistant.Ifeelmythroattightenasamillionbadthoughtsdanceinmyhead.
“Howis…?”Ican’tevenfinishthesentence.
“He’sgoingtobeOK.Closecall,buthe’spastthedangerpoint.”
Iletoutasighthatfeelslikeithasnoend,andcollapsebackintomyseat.“Thanks,
man.”Isay.“CanIcomeseehimtomorrowmorning?BeforetheRadioMarathon?”
“Tellthatsonofabitchtoburninhell!”Bevshoutsfromthebackground.She
soundslikeshehasbeenswallowingchunksofglass.
Billsighsintomyear.“I’llletyouknow,Mark,OK?”
“Thankyou.”
Ampedandunabletosleep,Idrivebacktomycabinonemptyroads.Istayupallday
playingthemostmelancholyshitinmycollection;sultry,moodpiecesthatkeepmein
adarkplace,butit’sallgood.That’smytherapist’sbigthing.
Letyourselffeeltheemotions.Letyourselfbeinthemomentwhenthefeelingsare
rushing.Don’tkeepthingsbottledup.Witheachfingerthatlandsonmyeightyeight
keys,Ifeelthetensioneaseandmyminddrift.
ThefirsttimeImetStanleyWhiteIwasbucknakedtangledinthelimbsofthreehot
chicksIpickedupinabowlingalleybarjustoutsideofMemphis.Twooftheladies
wereidenticaltwins,thethirdwastheircousin,butshelookedenoughliketheother
twothatIfiguredIwouldtelltherestoftheguystheyweretripletsanyway.AllnightI
calledthemHuey,DeweyandLouiewhilewereinventedtheKamaSutraforaquartet.
Goodtimes.
Stanleyhadcomesaunteringthroughmymoteldooratthecrackofdawnon
SundaymorningandhemusthavebeenloosewiththeFranklinsbecausethemotel
manageropenedmydoorforhim,noknockornothing.ThereIam,spread-eagle
nakedonthebed,withHueyonmyright,DeweyonmyleftandLouie’sheadresting
onmystomach.Theplacewasamess,withpizzaboxesandMillerLitecans
everywhere;theaftermathofavictorycelebration.I’djustbrokenaminorleague
battingrecordthenightbeforeandpartiedlikeitwas1999.
Stanleydidn’tbataneye,justgavemethatfaint,amusedsmilethatdefineshim.
Standingoverthebedinhisgraysilksuit,hecouldhavebeenataboardmeetingora
funeral.Notahairoutofplaceonthatguy,notanemotionbetrayedonhisface.
“Ineedtotalktoyouaboutyourfuture.”
Iwashungoverasfuck,myskinwasstickyandIsmelledlikethetriplets,butI
didn’tblowhimoffbecauseIknewwhohewas.Evenbackthen,hewasabigdeal.And
Iknewyoudidn’tsendsomeonelikehimpackingevenifyoudidneedaSilkwood
showerwithbleachandasandpaperloofa.
Thatmorningmylifechanged,andnotjustintermsofballplaying.Stanleybecame
apartofmylifeIhadnoideaIwasmissing:aguidinglight.IamsurroundedbyYes
men,buthe’stheonlyguywhohastheballstotellme,No,kid.
Idon’tevenfinishtheBeethovensonata.Idigthroughmysheetmusicandpullout
somePuccini.MadameButterflyishisfavoriteandthispianoarrangementistops.
Whenhegetsoutofthehospital,I’llplayitforhim.
Iwakeuponmycouch,mybodyscreamingfrombeingtwistedlikeapretzelandmy
headpoundingfromscotchonanemptystomach.Withoutthinking,Ifliponthe
plasmaandseethatthemaid—blessherBelarussianheart—leftitonE!insteadofmy
usualESPN.AsIstandandstretchoutmybody,IchuckleattheRhiannathinkpiece
oneofthetalkingheadsisspewing.Somethingabouthowasee-throughtopis
empoweringtowomen.NotthatI’mcomplainingabouttheview.Thoughofcourse,E!
blurredouthernipsinthephototheyprovide.
Mycoffeemakercostathousanddollars,butIpoursomeDunkinDonutsbeansinit
asE!detailsanotherscandalousstoryaboutTaylorSwiftandsomevideoshemade
aboutanotherex-boyfriend.Yougogirl,getyours.IhavetowatchE!more,thisshitis
funny.
ButwhatIhearnextisn’tsofunny.Beforegoingintoacommercialbreak,theydrop
afuckofateaser.
MarkCarringtonandsupermodelAmberarebacktogetherandE!hastheexclusive
story!
Ilookupandseeapictureofus—meandAmber—atlastnight’sevent.Inthephoto
we’reside-by-side,clearlyaselfiefromAmber’scamera,thoughshe’stheonlyone
smiling,ahugetoothygrin.
That?Really?
Fuckinglazyjournalism.
Thenagain,whatdoyouexpectfromE!,Iguess.
Withmypipinghotcupofjoeinhand,Iplopdownonthecouchandwaitoutsome
ladyadstocheckoutthisbullshitstory.Intheprocess,Ilearnwaymoreaboutskin
careandhealthygutflorathanIeverwantedtoknow.
I’mpreparedtoseeafluffpiece,theusualdrivelthatoverthinksacandidshotata
mediaevent,typicaltabloidfodder.Thenthestorystarts,andmythroatdriesup.
E!Newsistellingme—andtheworld—thatAmberhasbeentweetinglikecrazy
aboutus.Asifthereisanus.She’sbeenatitallnightapparently,ravingaboutourtrue
love.Howweneverreallybrokeup,thetabloidsmadeitallupforpress,exaggerated
onelittlefight.Theyhaveheronthephone—anexclusive—andshe’sgushinglike
Yosemite.
“He’swonderfultome.ThefirstmanI’vebeenwithwhoreallytakesour
relationshipseriously;whodoesn’tseemeasjustanotherpairoflegs.”
Blah.Blah.Blah.
Normally,Idon’tgiveafuckaboutgossip.Normally,themostarantlikethisfrom
anexwouldmakemedoissendheraceaseanddesistletter,maybecoupledwithan
interviewofmyownaboutfemmefatales.
ButnowIcare.BecauseallIcanthinkaboutrightnowisthatsomewhereoutthere,
Roseiswatchingthistoo.
IreachforthephonetocallStanley.Hewasrightabouther.Hewillknowwhatto
do...
IttakesawholeminuteofhisphoneringingandsendingmetovoicemailbeforeI
rememberthereasonI’mhungoverfromwhiskeyonanemptystomachinthefirst
place.
Fuck.
IhittheStarbucksonthe17andgrabRose’snofrillsfavorite:astraightupventiblack
coffee.She’sanuncomplicatedgalandIappreciatethat.
Herphonewenttovoicemailthismorning.Thathappens.Ididn’tleaveamessage.
Ijusthavetotalktoher,Ikeepthinking,butIamalsocursingmyself.
WhydoIcare?WhydoIfeellikeIoweheranexplanation?Idon’t.Thisismycrazy
extodealwith;ithasnothingtodowithher.Anditwasmyagentslashfatherfigure
slashmentorslashlifecoachinthehospital.Idon’thavetoexplainwhyImissedour
hookupforthat.
Iknowthatinmyhead,butmygutistwisting,sohereIambarrelingupthe17at6
amwithadrenalinepumpingthroughmyveinsandanEthiopianjavasplashingonmy
Corinthianleather.HeropinionmatterstomeandIdon’tknowwhatthatmeans,but
thetruthis,it’salwaysmatteredtome.
Evenbackinthedaywhenwewrotethatstupidplayandmadeoutinsecret.Even
whenIfeltlikeherdirtylittlesecret,thedumbjockshewastooembarrassedtoadmit
shewasseeing.Eventhen,Iwantedtoimpressher,wantedhertothinkwellofme.I
stilldonow,afterallthistime.
“Shecan’ttalktoyou.”TheunfamiliarchickpeekingthroughRose’schainedapartment
doorisscowlingatme.Hereyeslookcrazymad,butIgiveherasmileanyway.
Ialreadyknowhowthisisgoingtogodown.She’spissedatmebecauseshe’s
protectingherfriend.I’msureRosetoldhereverything.Evenifshedidn’t,thisgirl
musthaveseenthetabloidsbynow.Irackmybrainsforthegirl’sname.Rose
mentionedherroommateafewtimes.Somekindofrock-soundingname.Theearth,
nottheband.Amethyst?Crystal?No,itwasearthier,hippier…
“Geo,right?”Iask,lookingdeepintohereyes.Foralongmoment,shesaysnothing.
Shit,Ithink.Wrongname.Thenshebreaksthedirecteyecontactandlooksdown,but
nods,unabletoresistalittlesmile,probablybecausethiscelebrityshe’snevermet
knowshername.Score.It’sworking.
“Listen,Geo.”Idropmyvoicetoalmostawhisper.“Ijustneedtoexplainthree
thingstoher.That’sall.”
Sheputshereyesbackonme,hermouthstillahardline.
Keepingmyvoicecalm,Ileanin.“Lastnight,aclosefriendofminehadan
emergency.”Hereyeswidenslightlywithsympathy.
“Sorrytohearthat…”
“Thesecondthingisthatmyexisaliar…”Georollshereyesandopenshermouth
tospeak.Ijustknowit’sgoingtobesomefemalesunitething,soIdon’tletherget
there.“Whenyouarehighprofile,peoplemakeupthingsaboutyouforthemedia,and
forprofit.Evenpeopleyouoncetrusted.Theyputtheircareersoveryourlife,andthey
don’tcareiftheyhavetothrowyouunderthebustodoit.”Iletalittleheatseepinto
mytone,becauseIknowthat’swhatAmberisdoing.Aswespeakhere,she’sprobably
gettingre-signedatCoverGirl.
Geo’sscowlmeltscompletelyandadimpleshowsuponhercheek.Iamdoingwell.
“Andthethirdthing.”IholduptheStarbuckscup.“IsthatRose’scoffee'sgetting
cold.”
Grinning,Geobitsherlip,andgentlyclosesthedoor.IsmilewhenIhearhersliding
thechainoff.Sheopensthedoorandtakesthecoffeefrommyhand.
“Thanks,”Isay,butshedoesn’tstepbacktoletmein.
“Nowfuckoff.”Sheslamsthedoorinmyface.
Thatdidnotgoasexpected.
WhenIpullintotheparkinglot,therearemorefanscampingoutthanusual,inspiteof
thecold.That’stobeexpectedwiththebigmediapushlikewehavegoingforthis24
HourRadioMarathon.Theparkinglotispackedwithnotjustmydie-hards,butalsoTV
trucksandreporters.
Billrodeoverwithmefromthehospital,whereIwasn’tabletoseeStanleyyet.
Sleeping,thenursetoldme,thoughnotbeforeIcaughtaglimpseofhisroomthrough
thewindow,andsawBevglaringdaggersinmydirection.
Aswestepoutofthetruck,Billleadsmetowardthecrowd.Ipauseindifferent
placesalongthegauntlettodomyjob.Apicturehere.Anautographthere.Stanley
wouldbeproudofBill.Althoughjustfreshouttacollege,heisagreatpartnerthrough
thecrowdandreallyhasthingstiedup,shufflingmealongandinterrupting
overzealousfansatexactlytherightmoments.
InoticeanoldCorollapullupandIspotRoseinthecar.ThatGeochickisdriving
and,man,Icanfeelthehatelasersshootingoutofhereyesfromthisfaraway.Iflooks
couldkill,I’dbeapileofsearedmeatinthemiddleoftheparkinglot.
RosetakesoffherseatbeltandGeotoucheshershoulderandsayssomething.
ProbablysomegentlewordsabouthowIamsuchadick.
UsuallyIlaughaboutthiskindofthing,butnotnow.Itbugsthefuckoutofme.
Whynotwaittohearmysideofthingsbeforeyoubreakoutthepitchforksand
torches?
“So,whatareyourthoughts,Mark?”Amichoversinmyface,acameratrainson
meandareporterinabadtweedsportcoatandworsetoupeestaresatme,waitingfor
ananswertoaquestionIdidn’tcatch.
Ishakeitoff.“Sorry,what?”
“YouandAmber…”
Billcutshimoff.“Nocomment.”Hepushesmealong.
Atthefrontdoorofthestation,Billleansin.“SaynothingabouttheAmbersituation.
Silenceisdenial.”
Damnright.NotthatIwould’vesaidanythinganyway.Ihaveotherreasonstosay
nothing.JustbecauseI’mfamousdoesn’tmeanIhavetoansweranyquestionsabout
mypersonallife.Fuckthat.
AndIdon’tneedtoexplainmyselftoRoseeither.
ButIwantto.
The24HourRadioMarathonisallaboutraisingfundsfortheLittleSluggers,my
favoritekidsatbat.Stanleyputittogetherbeforehisattack,andit’stheleastIcandoto
seeitthroughonhisbehalf.Evenifthingswithhimarestilluncertain,withthedoctors
reportingnochangeinhiscondition…Notgoodnews,butnotbadnewseither.Just…
waiting.
AtleastthiskeepsmymindoccupiedwhileIdo.
Wehavearidiculousgoal:raise$100Kin24hours.
Iknowthedie-hardswilldoit,andourratingsaresohotthatI’malsoexpectinga
bunchofnon-die-hardstothrowussomedough,too.TheYankeesarematchingevery
dollarifwereachourtarget.Earliertoday,BustUpsportsdrinkannounceditwill
matchtoo,andsowillEdgeShavingCream.Plusme,ofcourse.
ThatcouldearnhalfamilliondollarsforLittleSluggersandallIhavetodoisstayup
for24hoursstraight.That,andkeepsaneenoughtotalkontheradio.ButassoonasI
reachthelobbyandspyRose,Irealizethisisgoingtobecomplicated.Sheboltspastme
withoutawordandslamsthedoortoherofficebehindher.
“What’supwiththat?”Chris’sfurryeyebrowsarearchedtohishairline.
IshrugmyshoulderslikeIdon’tknow,butinsideIfeeltheangerstarttoburn
again.
100,99,98…
Idon’thavetocountdownfurther.She’ssteamingmad,butshe’sstillsmokinghot.
Shemovedbymeinawhirl,butIsawthehighheeledbootsandlittleskirt.Thisisjust
alittlegameshe’splaying.Shewantsattention,soI’llgiveittoher.
Chrissighs.“Well,letmeshowyouthesetup,anyway.”
NightVixenfiresmeadirtylookwhenChrisandIreachthestudio.Iseethegoodnews
isallovertheplace.
Thistime,Idon’tknowwhotobeangryat.Ican’tblameNightVixen—orRose,for
thatmatter—forlisteningtothegossiprags.Theyareprettydamnconvincing.I’d
believeAmbermyself,ifIdidn’talreadyknowshewascrazy.Andnobodyknowsabout
StanexceptmeandBill,perStan’spersonalrequest.
Butstill…you’dthinkI’dhaveearnedsomebenefitofthedoubtbynow.
Thestudioisdeckedoutwithgearandpostersfromoursponsors.Iweavebetween
theboxestotakeoverfromNightVixen,andspotapileofsnacks,food,andsoftdrinks.
Nottomentionatonofcaffeinatedbeverages.RoseandIhaveeverythingweneedto
getthisthingdone.
“Reporterswillcomeinthroughouttheday,”Chrissays.“Tofilmandwhatnot.”
“Cool.”
Hehandsmeapieceofpaper.It’sthescheduleforthenext24hours,includingalist
ofcelebritynames.Everyhoursomeonefamousinandoutofbaseballwillcallinto
pushthecause.
“Thisisamazing,”Isay,gapingatsomeofthenamestheymanagedtosign.“Great
job.”
Hechucklesashetapsthepaper.“Rosehasbeenworkingherassoffthelastcouple
ofdays.”
MyjawclenchesatthementionofhernameandChrisdoesn’tmissit.Heshakeshis
head,tornbetweensighingandlaughing.“WhydoIhavethefeelingthatyoubeing
lockedinthestudiowithRosealldayisgoingtobelikebeingsealedinaglassjarwitha
thousandhornets?”Asheshakeshishead,heleavesthestudioandIturntocatch
NightVixenrollinghereyesatme.
Well.He’snotwrong.
16
ROSE
Nowomanwantstofeellikeanotchonsomeguy’sbedpost.NotevenMark
Carrington’sLouisvilleSlugger.Butwhatmakesitworseisknowingthatit’smyown
damnfault.Ifellforitagain,justlikeIdidinhighschool.
Damnhim.
Butdamnmemore.Afterall.Foolmeonce,shameonyou.Foolmetwice,that’son
me.
Ican’tavoidMarkforever,butIdoadamngoodjobofitmostofthemorning.
Everysecondofmyroutinewaspepperedwithinnermonologuechantsof“Idon’t
care.”“Idon’tcare.”“Idon’tcare.”
Butwithallthatinmyhead,why,ohwhydidIgrabmyfuckmepatentleather
pointybootsandmicroskirtoffmypileoflaundrythismorning?
Oldhabitsdiehard,Iguess.
PartofmeknowsIhavezerorighttobepissed.MarkandIhadasexdeal.There
wassomecuddlingafter,butnowalkingintherainholdinghands.Nothingthathad
anyhintofthetwofierceRs:RomanceorRelationship.
Fuckbuddies.That’sallwewere.
Hedidn’tmakemepromises.Wedidn’tsaywewereexclusive.Wedidn’tsay
anythingexceptfuckmeharderorohfuck,I’mgonnacome.Well.Thatandafewother
choicephrases.
WhenIgotoutoftheshower,Geotoldmehestoppedbyandpassedonthe
Starbuckshedelivered.“It’sjustagame,”sheassuredme.“Heonlywantstofuckyou.”
She’snotwrong.Henevertookmeoutonadateinpublic.
Hedidn’twantanyonetoknowaboutusjustlikehedidn’twantanyonetoknowin
highschool.I’manembarrassmentforaguylikehim.Anobody,azillionleagues
belowhim.
Iknewthisgoingin,sowhydoIfeelsodisappointed?WhydoIfeelsoscrewed
over?
WhydidIdablavenderoilonmyneckandgivemyselfafreshshavethatinvolved
yogamovesandahandmirror?
Isitatmydeskandsqueezethelifeoutofmystressball.Ihavenoideahowto
handletheangerandhurtI’mfeeling.Ican’tblamehim,notreally.LikeIsaid,my
faultthistime.Butitstillhurts,morethanIexpected.Idon’tknowwhattodowith
that.
MyeyesdrifttotheMotivationalQuotecalendarBecksgavemeatthelaststation
holidayparty.Ihaven’tpeeledoffthedatesforweeks.NotsincethedayMark’sradio
showstarted,infact.Igrabthecalendar,angrysuddenlyatthatdate.Fuckthatdate.
Tearingofftherestofthedatesnow,Igothroughsomeprettylaughable“quotes.”I
crinklethemuponebyoneandshootthemtowardmywastebasket.
Astrangerisjustafriendyouhaven’tmetyet.
Gobigorgohome.
InevermetachallengeIdidn’tlike.
Butoneofthemstrikesme.Goddamnitifitisn’tfromPamelaAnderson.Happy
fontimposedoverabeachscene,theformerBaywatchstarandPlayboymodel
somehowgetsmysoul.
Youcan’tcontrolothers,youcanonlycontrolyourownreactions.
Damnstraight,Pammy.
Idon’tcare.
Idon’tcare.
Idon’tcare.
Everymuscleonmyfacehastobeonboardwiththatthought.Myhandscan’t
shakeandIneedScarlettJohansson'svoicemorethanIeverhavebefore.Ireadsome
copyoutloudinmyofficetomakesuresheisstillwithme.Sheis,thankheavens.
Igotthis.Iamgolden.Icanbelockedupwiththemanwhojustrippedoutmy
heartforasecondtimeinasmallroomforthenext24hoursandfeelnothing.
Atleast,pretendIfeelnothing.I’mgoodatpretending.Iamthequeenofthepoker
face.
Beckssticksherheadinmydoorwithoutaknock.“Magictime.”
AndwhenIstandfrommydeskandsmileather,shebuysthehappyexpressionon
myface.
MarkandIarenotaloneinthestudio,atleastnotyet,soIhavealittletimetoadjustto
hispresence.Andthatunbelievablehotness.He’sdressedinanothertightT-shirt,this
onedarkgreen—hemusthaveaclosetfullofform-huggingshirtsandadrawerstuffed
withperfectfitdenim.Hisjeansareloosewheretheyneedtobelooseandtightwhere
theyneedtobetight.Hehasthebootyofthegodofglutes.
HeturnsawayfromChrisandcatchesmyeye.“Goodmorning,”hesays,cheerilyas
fuck.Ican’tfindwords,soIjustnodathimandavoidthoseblueeyes.
NightVixenstillhasfifteenminutesleftofhershowandChrisandBecksandMark’s
guyBillareputteringaroundgettingsomemediaguysinplacetofilm.Thefirstcouple
ofhoursontheair,wewillhavepressintheroom.Afterthat,it’sallusandthemics
andthephones.
TheroomishotwithallthebodiesandlightsinhereandIamhotforotherreasons
too.MuchasI’mpissedatMarkrightnow,beinginthesameroomstillmakesathin
layerofsweatbeadalongmyskin.IfeellikeI’monfire.Ican’tstoprememberingthe
lasttimewehookedup,inthebedofhistruck,stillhalfwrappedinourcoats.We
couldn’twaittogetsomewherewarm.Weneededtohaveeachother,rightthenand
there.Hepushedmedownintothetruckbedandbentoverme,hisbodyhotenough
tokeepmewarminthechillynightair.Hiswarmhandsworkedtheirwayundermy
shirttotoywithmynipples,gettingthemhardasrocksbeforeheslidoneofthose
handsintomyjeanstocirclemyclitinstead.
“Ican’twaittogetinsidethathotlittlepussy.”
Bythetimehefinallyundidmyjeans,Iwaspantingwithdesire,myhandstearing
athisbelt.Buthecaughtmywristsandheldmyhandsagainstmystomachashe
strokedhisfingeraroundandaroundmyclit,makingmewrithewithdesire.Whenhe
finallyplungedonefingerintome,IthinkIshoutedloudenoughtowakeupthebirds
inthetreesalongthehighwaywherewepulledover.
Hekeptmesilentafterthat,hismouthpressedhardintominetoswallowmy
moansashefinger-fuckedmeuntilmylegsturnedtojelly.Onlythendidherelease
mywristsandletmedrawhiscockout,strokinghisfull,velvetylengthashewriggled
myjeansdownmyhips.
Hefuckedmesohardthetrucknearlyrockedofftheroadwehadparkedalongside.
Hisfistsduginmyhair,heldmyheadbacksohecouldkissmyneck,mychest,mytits,
ashethrustintomeagainandagain,makingmybackarchandmytoescurlandmy
assslamagainstthetruckbedwitheachthrust.
Whenhecameinsideme,thenitwasmyturntograbhisfaceandkisshimhard
enoughtostiflethedeafeninggroanheletout.
So,yeah.AllthosethoughtswereabitdistractingasIwatchedMarkchatwithChris,
thesamebodythatbentoverminejustaweekagonowtotallyofflimits.Thenafew
moremediaguysstartedtofloodintobeginthefirstinterviewseries,andIforcedmy
headbackonstraight.Focus,Rose.Thisisnotimetoloseyourhead.Icanmournmy
ownidiocytomorrow.Today,Ineedtoplaytheicequeen,andplayherwell.
Themorningpassesinwhatfeelslikeafewseconds.Thankgod.
Threehoursdown,21togo.Thestudioclearsoutbitbybit,reporterafterreporter,
andthenfinallyit’sjustMarkandme.Ibusymyselftoavoidhisgaze,butpeekingout
ofthecornerofmyeye,IcatchhimstaringatmewithalookIcan’tfigureout.It’s
somewherebetweenpissedandsmoldering.
Withallthefury,wehaven’ttalkeddirectlytoeachotheronceonair,nevermindin
thedowntimebetweencalls.Wesitinfrostysilenceifwearen’ttalkingupacaller.
Coldplay’slatesthitisspinningandIchecktomakesureIhaveeverythingonmy
endlinedup.Ourfirstcelebritycalliniscomingupandit’sadoozy.BonnieFaithisone
ofmyidols.IhavelovedhersinceIwaseight.HeralbumQueenofRockiswhyIgot
intomusicinthefirstplaceandIlearnedallhersongsonguitarbythetimeIwas12.
WhenIputthecallouttohermanagerIjustdidittotrytobringinsomemoremusic
people,hopingthecharityanglewoulddrawher.Still,Ineverexpectedforherto
personallyemailmewithanenthusiasticyes.Turnsoutshe’snotonlyamassive
Yankeesfan,butoneofMark’sdie-hardstoo.
“Hey,BadBoy,”shepurrsinthatfamousraspyEnglishaccent.“Whoareyou
punchingnext?”
“Ah,Bonnie.Wouldn’tyoulovetoknow…”
“StillafanofChopin?”
Chopin?Markchucklessoftlyintohismic,butIseehimblush.“Don’tbenaughty,
Bon.Let’snotspillstatesecrets.”
“Oh,do,”Iblurtintomyownmic.Idon’tknowwhyIsaidthatandneitherdoes
Mark,whoshootsmealookofsurprisecompletewitharchedeyebrowsandagaping
mouth.
“Idon’tkissandtell,”hefinallysaysinalowvoice.
Awesome.Markhasbangedmyfavoriterockstar.Ileanbackinmyseat,feeling
nauseousasIlistentotheirsexybanter.
Whocaresthathebangedher?Whocaresifhedoesagain?Noneofmybusiness!
Besides,thisshouldnotbothmebecauseIDON’TCARE.ThewordsofSaintPammy
bouncearoundmyheadandIsteelmypokerfaceandsteadymyquiveringhands.
“See,youaround,BadBoy.”Isitmyimaginationorhasheraccentgottenextra
Englishastheconversationwenton?Suddenly,IhateBritishaccents.
“Later,die-hard.”
Finally,it’sover.Ibidfarewelltomyformerfavoriterockstarwithaquickthank
youandstartastreamoffivelongsongssoMarkandIcanhaveabreak.
Breakinitiated,Istormoutoftheproductionboothwiththeintentionofhidinginmy
officeforthenexthalfhour,butMarkisstandinginfrontofthestudiodoorblocking
myexitasRHCP’sDaniCaliforniaplays.
“Move,”Isay.
“Nope.”Hecrosseshisarms.“You’rebeingridiculous.”
Hejuststaresatmewiththoseeyes.Thosewaytoobluetobelegaleyes.
Goddamnwhyishesuchagorgeoushunkofaman.Myresolveismeltinglikethe
Arcticicecapsandmypantiesstarttopuddle.
“Rose,”hewhispers,andthesoundofmynameonhislipsmakesmylegswakeup
andwalktowardhim.Traitors.
Hewrapshisarmsaroundmeandkissesme…ontheforehead.Again.“Yousuckat
beingadramaqueen.It’sreallynotyou.”Withgentleyetfirmhands,hepositionsmy
bodysomybackistothedoor.
“Whatdoyouthinkyou’redoing?”Iamtryingtosoundfuckyou,butScarJois
makingmesoundfuckme.
Hisanswerisaneyebrowwiggleashepresseshisbodyagainstmine.Igetanother
kiss.Thisoneisonthemouth,softandslow,opened-eyedandplayful.Ilovewatching
thoseblueeyeswidenasIkisshimback,mylipsmeltingintohis.Heslowlylowers
himselftohisknees,keepingthoseblueeyestrainedonmineasifinadare.Heslides
hishandsupmyskirt,thenbackdownwiththesidesofmypantiescurledaroundhis
thumbs.Ifeelarushofcoolairbetweenmylegs.
Hesmiles.“Ireallywantedtodothistoyoutheothernight.Unfortunately,lifegot
intheway…Letmegiveyoumypeaceoffering.”
“No.Idon’tacceptoralsexfrommenwhoarecurrentlydatingtheirsupermodel
ex-girlfriends.”Imentallypatmyselfonthebackforstayingstrong.Butinsteadof
lookingguilty,orevenangry,helookssincere.
“Idon’tknowwhatIcansaytomakeyoubelieveme.Amberisdelusional.She’s
makingupliestosavehercareer.Thereisnooneelse,Rose.Justyou.Comehere.”
AsIsteptowardhim,IcheckthewindowstotheDJbooth,butthestudioisempty
foronce.Markgrabsmetohim,flushagainsthishardbody,andkissesme.
Andagainstmybetterjudgment,Ikisshimback.It’sdeepandconnected,andeven
ifhedoesn’thavetherightwordstomakethisallbetter,he’sconvincingmewithhis
intensity.
“Rose,”hemurmurs,pullingmeeventightertohim.
Icanfeelhismouthcurvingupintoasmirkashishandroamsupmyinnerthigh.I
don’tbotherfightinghim,becausethisisexactlywhatIwant.Withasoftmoan,Ilet
mylegsslideapart.
ThankgodIworehighheeledbootstoday,becauseevenwhenMarkisonhisknees
he’sstillatallguy.Iliftmyskirtandhelooksatmyundiesforafewsecondsandthen
slowlyslidesthemtherestofthewaydownmythighs.
Whenmybarepussyisexposed,hetiltshishead,grinning.“Iseeyou’veprepareda
landingstripforme.”
MyfeetandkneesarestilltogetherbecauseIwanttoplayalittlehardtoget.Iwant
himtoworkforit.
“Iwanttotasteyourlittlepussy.”
Myresistancecrumbles.Hespreadsmypussylipswithhisthumbsandtrailshis
tonguealongmyslit.Ihadnoideahistonguewasthatlong;hereachesmyhotspot
withease,slippingthetipofhistongueintome.Iletoutaninvoluntarygaspoflust.
Hesoftenshistongueandletsitdoslowwavesalongmyclit,throwinginsomesoft
lippuckeringtomixthingsupandkeepthingsinteresting,suckingandnibblingonmy
clitbetweenlicks.It’sallwarmrhythmicperfectionandIfindmylegsspreadingwider
ashishandspinmyhipsagainstthedoor.Hisstubblerubbingagainstthesoftnessof
myinnerthighsisfuckingdelicious.“Itfeelssogood.”
Histongueplungesdeepintomewithrenewedforce,withdraws,thencirclesmyclit
again,relentless.Itdoesn’ttakelongbeforeIhavebothfistsinhishair,clenchingtight
andpantingwiththeeffortofholdingback.
“Mark,”Iwhisper,myhipsbuckingasIopenmythighsaswideasIcan,ridinghis
face,needingtofeelhistonguefuckmeevendeeper.
AllatonceIcumharderthanIcanrememberinyears,andcollapseoverhim,my
kneesquivering.
“Youtastesogood,”hesaysasheguidesmeintoachair.Thenhebendsoverme,
hisblueeyessharponmine.Whenhislipsfindmineagain,softernow,Icantaste
myselfonhistongue,anditmakesmewetalloveragain.“AmIforgiven?”
“Notentirely,”Imanagetogasp.
Hetakesabreathandaknee.“Listen.I’msorryabouttheothernight,Rose.Ihadan
emergency.”
Itossbackmyhairandarchaneyebrow.“Asupermodelemergency?”Damn.Why
didIsaythat?Allmycardsarefaceupnow.
“Great.”Heshakeshishead.Takingmyhandsinhis,hestaresatmeafewmoments
beforespeaking.“What,areyoustilljealousorsomething?Ijusttoldyou—”
“No.Idon’tcare.”SaintPammybewithme.
ButIdocare,Ido.Cheerleaders.Supermodels.Sportsreporters.Rockstars.Thisisn’t
simplysexualjealousy.No,it’ssomethingelse.IcareabouthimandIwanthimtocare
aboutmetoo.Asmorethanjustafuckbuddy.Therealizationmakesmefeelweakand
vulnerable.
“Thenwhythedrama?I’mtellingyouthetruth—I’mnotbackwithher.”
IshrugmyshouldersandlookawayandmumbleagainthatIdon’tcare.
“Sowehavenoproblem,then?”
HiseyesareonmineandI’mmelting.Ihavenochoicebuttosighandadmit,“I’m
notamodel…”
Heholdsmygazeforasecondandthensoftlylaughs.“No.Youaren’t.”Hestrokes
mycheekwiththebackofhishand.“AndI’mgladforthat.”
Warmthandjoyfloodmybody.CouldIflyrightnow?IfeellikeIcould.ButIdon’t
wanttocomeacrossastooexcited.Ismileandclearmythroattoregainsomesnark.
“Youdidstillstandmeuptheothernight,youknow.”
“Itoldyou.Ihadanemergency.”
Ibitemylip.Helooksserious.Deadlyso.Andalittlesad,too.There’salinebetween
hiseyebrowsthatI’veneverseenbefore.“Whathappened?”
“Youhavetopromiseyouwon’ttellasoul.Seriously.Itcan’tgetouttothepress.”
“Ipromise.”Irestmyhandonmyhearttoemphasize.
“Stanleyhadaheartattack.”Hecloseshiseyesandgrimaces.“Abigone.He’sstillin
thehospital.”
“Oh,god,I’msosorry,I…”Ifeellikesuchabitchrightnow.“Shit,Ihadnoidea.Is
hegoingtobeokay?Whatdidthedoctorssay?”
“Theysaid—”Markholdshisfingerupandlooksupatthespeakeroverourheads.
“Wait,isn’tthatthelastsongending?”
17
ROSE
WesprintbacktothecontrolsjustasMGMT’sPretendisroundingout.IgiveMarka
nodtosignalhismicisliveandheleansintoitasheslidesonhisheadphones.
“Andweareback.”Helickshislipsinmydirection.“ButIhadatastybreak.”
MyentirebeinglightsupinredandIwidenmyeyesathim.“Whataboutyou,
Rose?”hepurrs.“Howwasyourbreak?”
HegivesmeawinkandIbustoutlaughing,silently,sothemicswon’tpickitup.
“Relaxing,”Icoo.
“OK,die-hards,youstillhavealotofworktodotoday.ThephonesareopenandI
amexpectingyoutoopenyourheartsandwalletsforthekids.”
OurpartnerBustUpsportsdrinkhasanoffsitephonebank,buttheyareforwarding
bigdonorcallsandacoupleofstand-outdie-hardsformetopatchthrough.Goodold
Mackhasbeensentthroughandmyeyesbulgeoutatthescreen.Thisdie-hardhas
pledgedabignumberforthecause.
“Tenthousanddollars,”Iread.“Greatjob,Mack.”
“I’mimpressed,”Marksays.“Ithoughtyouspentallyourmoneyonmustachewax
andnachos.”
“Stillhateyou,Mark.”
Astheyargue,Iworkthephonestofindthenextdie-hardtoputthroughbeforewe
breakintoasongset.ThenInoticethatthededicatedlinewehaveforthecelebrity
callsislightingup.
That’sweird.EliManningisn’tsupposedtocallforanotherhalfhour.Thinkinghe
musthaveconfusedthetime,Ianswerthecallwithoutthinking.“Eli?”
“No,”afemalevoicesays.“It’sme.”
IknowthatvoicebutIcan’tquiteplaceit.“I’msorry,Idon’tthinkIhaveyoudown
onourschedule,itmustbeanerror.Whoisthis?”
Thereisapause,thenanaudiblesigh.Whoeversheis,she’ssoundslikeshe’sbored
totearswithmyquestion.“Amber.”
Mystomachchurns.“Oh.Uh.WhatcanIdoforyoutoday?”Jeez.Isoundlikean
airlineticketcounterrep.
“IwanttotalktoMark.”
Ipauseforamoment.“He’sbusy.”
“I’mafraidIreallymustinsist.Whoisthis,anyway?”sheadds.
“Holdplease.”
MarkmakesthesignalthathisconversationwithMackisdrawingtoaclose.Even
thoughacallisschedulednext,IplayaStoneTemplePilotssong.
“Mark,”Isayintohisheadphones,ignoringthepinchinthepitofmystomach.
“Amber’sontheline.Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”
Hegroans.“Justhanguponher.”
Inodandshoothimasmallsmile.Oureyeslockinperfectunderstandingandthis
time,IfeellikeIreallycanfly.
Until8pm,theRadioMarathonremainsfun;after8pmitbecomesexhausting.By
midnight,Igointorobotmode,mechanicallypushingbuttonsforsongs,for
commercials,forcalls.ScarJoatsomepointturnedintoRodStewartandmyback,legs
andneckfeellikeI’vebeenbreakingrockswithasledgehammeralldayandnight.
Mark,however,isamped.Asthemarathondragson,eachhourseemstobringhim
moreenergyandhe’sshowinghisfunside.He’sreallygoosingthedie-hardsand
teasingthecelebrities.HetreatsmetoalipsynchedperformanceofWonderwalland
reallynailsit.Hisenergyiscontagiousandflowsintome.
Around2amwehaveatensongbreakscheduled.Thankgod.
“Didyouwanttonap?”heoffers.“Ifeelprettygood,Icanwakeyouupinanhour
orso…”
“Thatwouldbeaterribleidea.IthinkifIletmybodyrestI’llfallasleepandnever
wakeup.”
“Ihaveabetterideathen.Whattimedowehavetogetback?”
Ilookatmywatch.“2:50.”
“Let’sgototheroofandgetsomefreshair.”
“Howdoyouknowabouttheroof?”Iask,suspicious.Shit,didChristellhimabout
thesecretstashofrumwekeepupthereforemergencies?
Redfloodstohischeeks.“Beckstriedtoluremeuptherewithaboxofwineand
someseriouslyfilthywords.”
Isnort.“Oh.”
“Thenshetriedagainwithabottleofwhiskeyandsomedifferentdirtywords.”
“Ohmygod.”Myshouldersshakewithlaughternow.
Heshrugshishunkyshoulders.“Ididn’tgo,”headds,catchingmyeyeandlingering
there.“ButshespokesohighlyofthegreattimeIwouldhaveupthere,Iaminterested
tosee.”
Ileadhimtothebackoftheoffice,tothedoorbehindBecks’sdesk.Thereisnolock
onthedoorandiftruthbetold,anyonewhowantedtogetintotheofficecoulddoso
fromtheroof.Pre-MarkCarringtonera,wehadneverconsideredsecurityoutsideof
NightVixen’soccasionallovesickHotTopicvamps,buteventheyjuststalktheparking
lotandpout.
AsIclimbthespiralstairs,IrememberIneverdidputmyunderwearbackon,so
Markisgettingquiteashow.
“Niceview.”
“Wearen’tevenontheroofyet.”
“Won’tbeabetterone.”HereachesuptosqueezemyassasIroundthelaststep,
andIletoutastartledgasp,thoughtobehonest,itfeelsmorepleasantthansurprising.
CoolairhitsmewhenIstepoutsideandIwraptheblanketIluggedupstairsaround
me.
“Ihavethreatenedtoshutthisroofdownamilliontimes,”Iexplain.“Toomuch
smokingweed.Toomanyantics.”IturnbacktoMark.“Anddon'tgetmestartedonthe
insuranceissueswecouldhaveifthiswereeverfoundoutbyanyoneinreal
authority.”
“Thenwhydon’tyoushutitdown?”
I’veneveraskedmyselfthat,butIthinkIknowwhy.Icouldsayitwasforpeaceof
mindduringthedayorevening,knowingyouhaveaspottoescapefromworkdrama,
butthat’snottrue.“Rememberwhenweusedtogoplaces?Awayfromschool?Away
fromtown?”
Henods.“Ofcourse.”
“It’skindoflikethat.”IrealizewhatIhavejustsaidandthinkofhowtobacktrack.
“Imean,I…”
“Igetit.Ilovedsneakingofflikethat.Whileeveryoneelseinourseniorclasswasat
thatcrappymallorwatchingmoviesinthenexttown,wewenttoweirdplacesnoone
elseknewaboutoreventhoughttolookfor.Itwasjustforus.”
“Exactly.”Ismileathim,andthenwelapseintoacomfortablesilence,enjoyingthe
view.Afterafewminutes,Ishiverfromthecoldandhearsomeechoedshouts.“What
isthat?”
Markpeersovertheroofledge.“Shh.Comesee.”
Iwalkoverandtakealookatthedie-hardsbelow.Twoofthemarearguingabout
BabeRuthalmostahundredyearstoolate.
Hewrapshisarmaroundme.“KindofcoolthatIcanseethemandtheycan’tsee
me.Foronce.”
Ithinkofhowdifferenthislifeisfrommine.“Doyoulikebeingfamous?”
Hesighs.“Ican’treallyanswerthat.”
“Why?”
“Idunno.I’vegottenusedtoit.”Hepauses.“Thereareupsidesanddownsides.How
doyoufeelaboutyourfame?”
“It’snotreallyfame,”Iprotestwithaneye-roll.
“Kindais.Yourprofilehasshotupalotinthelastcoupleofweeks.”
Ismile.True.“Idunno.Iguessit’scool.”Ihatetoadmitittomyself,butinalotof
waysI’veenjoyedit.I’veGoogledmyself.Infact,IspentlastSundaylookingatpictures
ofmyselfontheinternet.IlikedtothinkIwasdoingitjusttoseewhatcameraangles
workedforme,butatsomepointsomethinginsidemeclickedanditwaslikeIcouldn’t
stop.BeforeIknewit,acouplehourshadgonebyofmegazingatme.“Yeah,it’scool,”
Isayagain,butthistimewithapinchofguiltinmygut.
“Itiswhatitis.Itstartsoutgreat,butovertime…”Heshrugsagain.
Fortherestofthebreakwewatchthedie-hardsbelowus.Eatingjunkfood,playing
withtheirphones,talkingtoeachother.Mark’sarmsstayaroundmeasweswayinthe
cold,hischeeknexttomine,andIwonder.Isthismylifenow?Onlytherooftopswill
beprivate?I’llneedtohavehideawayseverywhereIgo?
Ontheotherhand,withMarkbesideme,itallseemsdoable.Morethanthat.
Itseemsright.
Bythetime10amrollsaround,wehaveofficiallysurpassedourfundraisinggoals.
Overwhelmedbyexhaustion,Idon’tevenrememberthepost-marathonpress
conferenceMarkandIdid.I’vehitthekindofexhaustionthatmakesyoufeeljustsick.
Irealizenowthatwithalltheprepforthisevent,Ihaven’tsleptfordays.It’sbeengo,
go,goandmybodyisrebelling.Afterthelastpresspersonleaves,Iwobbleouttothe
lobbyandcollapseonthebeerstainedcouch.
“I’mdone,”Imutterintothenotsofreshsmellingpillow.“Finished.Justleaveme
hereandletmedie.”
MarkstandsovermeandIfeelhisbodyblockingallthelight.“Youaren’tdoneyet.”
Ifeelhisbigarmswrapmycoataroundmeandthenheliftsmeupinhisstrongarms.
Heatiscomingoffhisbodylikehe’sanuclearreactor.Squeezingmyeyestight,Ilet
mybodygolimp.AfterbeinglargeandinchargeoftheRadioMarathonforthelast
coupleofdays,itfeelsincredibletojustletgo.
“Iseeyougother,”IhearChrissaywithalaughinhisvoice.
“I’llsay,”saysBecks.Shesoundsannoyed.Isthatjealousy?Myfacetwitchesin
satisfactionthatIamtheenvyofthehottotrotofficemamaminx.
Ikeepmyeyessqueezedtight,hearthedooropenandfeelthecoldwinterairkiss
myskin.Markholdsmetighterashewalksoutintotheparkinglot.
“Rose!”Variousdie-hardsareshoutingmynameandmyeyelidsflickerattheflash
ofcameras.Chrisassuresthecrowdthatinspiteofappearances,Iamnotdead,just
deadtired.
Marksaysnothingbut,“Heybuddy,willyagetthedoorforme?”tosomerandofan
whoobeyshisbaseballgodwithahearty“yes,sir.”
Marksetsmeinhistruckandsnapstheseatbelton,makingmefeelsafeand
secure.Hemusthaveturnedhistruckonwithhiskeyremotefromthelobby,because
it’swarminsideandW-ALTisblastingonthespeakers.“You’llbeOK,”hemurmurs.
Ialreadyam.Dudehasseatwarmersandmyassiscooking.Mmm...Sleepinessplus
horninessfeelsniceashell,eventhoughmybodystillaches.
Whenwehitthe17,Ireachacrossthegearshifttotrailmyhanduphisthigh.He
castsmeasidewaysknowingsmile,putshishandonmylegandletshisfingersdance
upmythigh.Closingmyeyes,IleanmyheadbackandlistentoourreliefDJRockin’
RalphannounceaPJHarveysongasMarkstrokesteasinglybetweenmylegs.Itdoesn't
takemyfingertipslongtofindthebulgeinhisjeans,andtracetheoutlineofhishard
cockthroughthefabric,evenashefingersmyclitthroughmyskirt.
“I’mgoingtogetyoufeelinggoodagain.”Withonehandonhissteeringwheeland
hisotherundermyskirt,Iwatchasstripmallsandbillboardswhirlby.Histouchis
gentle,withjustaslightpressure,nottakingmeonatriptoecstasy,butkeepingme
lingeringinasweetplace,halfawakeandhalfdeliriouswithdesire.“Iamtakingyouto
mycabin,andIamgoingtofuckyouwell.”
“Hmmm.”Iclosemyeyes.
Promises,promises.
Imusthavefallenasleep,becausethenextthingIknowweareinaforest.Markurges
metowakewithapeckonmycheek.“OK,sleepingbeauty,”hewhispers.“Timeto
wakeup.”
AsIrubmyeyesandfighttokeepthemopen,hewalksaroundthetruckandopens
thepassengerdoor,lettingincoolcountryair.
“Canyouwalk?”Markholdsthedoorwideforme.
Iwouldloveforhimtocarrymeagain,butIdon'tthinkIcanpullthatbabymove
offtwice,soInod.“Wherearewe?”
Hegivesmeashysmile.“Myplace.”
His‘place’isaglam-rustic,beautifulcabin.Mostlysurroundedbytrees.Ispyabarn
inthedistanceandsomefallowacrestotheback.
“Youliveonafarm?”NotexactlywhatIpicturedafterhisdoormankickedmeout
ofhiscityabodeintheoverpriced,fancy-as-hellhighrise.
“Don'tknockittillyoutryit.”
"Iwasn'tknockingit,I'mjust..."
"Surprised?"Hegrins.
Groggyandstillwobblyinmytortureheels,Ihavethegaitofaneightyyearold
woman,butImakeituptheporchstepstohisfrontdoorwithhisarmaroundmy
waisttosteadyme.Beforeheopensthedoor,hegivesmeaproudsmile.“I’vewanted
tohaveyouover,youknow.Thisisn'tjustaploytogetunderthatsexyskirtofyours.
Although,thatisalsotheplan.”Heturnsthelock.
Onceinside,Icanseewhy.Mybrainquicklyregistersacoupleofthingswithinthe
hugeinteriorofthecabin.One:theviewofhugetreesandrollingfarmland.Two:
Markhascomealongwayfromwhathewasborninto.
“Nice,”Islur.IamsotiredIfeeldrunkandIcollapseontohiscouch.Iwanttolive
onthiscouchforever.
“Stayhere,”hesays,asifIcanmove.“I’llberightback.”
AsIloungearoundthecouch,Itakeaganderathisspace.Yeah,thisisalongway
fromthesticks.Dude’sgotaBasquiatandaWarholthatdon'tlooklikeprints.
So80s.Iloveit.
Everythingisperfectandclean,butMarkwasalwaysfastidiousabouthispersonal
hygiene.Healwayssmelledfreshlyshoweredandhisclotheswerealwaysspotless,an
amazingfeatconsideringhishomelife.Hishandsespeciallywerealwaysmeticulous.
Notmanyteenageboyspaythatmuchattentiontotheirnails,buthiswerealways
trimmedalaKoreanmanicure.
Agrandpianodominatestheroom;it’sblackandgleamingwithitsliduptoreveal
theintricateharpinside.IlookaroundhisapartmentfortouchesoftheMarkIknew
backintheday.Ittakesaminute,butfinallyIfindit.Behindhisgrandpianoishis
framedbaseballjerseyfromLambertvilleHighSchool,number13,intheschoolcolors,
maroonandgray.Thathekepthishighschooljersey,thatheframedit,makesmy
wholebodygoawww.
He’sbackandseesmyeyesonthejersey.Hegoesoverandmakesamoveto
straightentheframeeventhoughit’snotcrooked.Hecatchesmyeyeandkinda
shrugs.“IbelievenomatterhowmuchsuccessIhave,nomatterhowmuchmoneyI
make,IshouldneverforgetwhereIcamefrom.”
“Goodidea.Istillhavethetapesfrommyshowsinhighschool.Theymakeme
cringewhenIlistentothem,butIhavethem.”Then,whilehe'snoddingin
understanding,Irubatatightspotinmyneckandwince.Damn.Headache.
Hereleaseshisjerseyframe.“Iknowjustwhatyouneed.”
“What?”
“Comewithme.”
Heleadsmetohisprivategym.Amongtheweightsandmachinesisamassagetable
flushagainstthemirroredwall.“Let’sgetthoseknotsworkedoutofyou.”
HetakesoffmyT-shirtandfoldsitwithsuchprecisionit’slikeheworkedattheGap
foradecade.Heactuallydidworkthere,nowthatIthinkaboutit,butonlyfora
summer.
Next,heslidesoffmyminiskirtandthenbendsdowntoremovemyboots.
“Hopon.”Hepatsthetable.
Iclimbonandlayonmystomach.“Areyoucertified?”Itease.
“Nope.”Heoilsuphishands.“ButIhavehadthousandsofmassages.It’spartofthe
processtoavoidinjuries.”
Isetmyfaceintheholeinthemassagebed,butmyentirebodyremainstense.
Ifeelhishandsonmyback,andsuddenlymyskinprickleswithheat.“Whatthe…”
“Liquidheatmassageoil.Trustme,Rose.”
Irelax—justalittle—ashecontinuestorubdownmyback,shouldersandneck.Itis
fuckingmagic.MusclesloosenandthepainI’vebeensufferingforhoursfadesastingly
sensationsreplaceit.Heworksmyfeetwiththeaplombofasexed-uppodiatristand
witheachkneadofmyarchestheOhyespleasesensationintensifies.
“Youlikethat?”Icanhearasmileinhisvoice.
“Love.”Isallmymouthcanmuster.
Heworkshishandsupmylegs,rubbingmycalvesandthebackoffmyknees.His
thumbsgetdangerouslyclosetotheareaofinterestandIwigglemylegswiderfor
easieraccess.Laughing,hepatsmyass,thenslapsit,thenmassagesthespothejust
smacked.Iwriggleandsighhappilythroughouttheprocess.
"Flipover,”heorders.“You’redoneonthisside.”
Onmyback,heworksmyfeetagain,drivinghisthumbsintomyverysoles,making
aboltofwarmthshootupeachleg.“Mmm,”Imoan.Nootherwordscometomind.
Heworkshishandsupmylegstomyinnerthighs.Onceagainhisthumbsbrush
closetomysweetspot,teasingthetopsofmythighsandbrushingalongthecurveof
mybikiniline.Buthedoesn'tquitetouchmyclit.“Oh,comeon."Ishiftmyhipstoward
him.
Hebendsdownandkissestheoutsideofmypussylips.“Patience.”
Thenhegentlymassagestheoilintomybreasts,armsandshoulders.Inoticemy
legsarepartingwitheachsecondthatpasses,untilmykneesarefurtherapartthan
LondonandTokyo.Grabbinghisarm,Itughimtomeandhelaughs.“Alright.I
supposeyou'vebeenpatientenough,Ms.Taylor..."
18
MARK
IamnowhereneardonepleasingRoseandIgiveherawickedsmilebecauseIknow
exactlywhatI’mgoingtodotoher.Scoopingherupinmyarms,Icarryhertomy
bedroom.It’stimetofuckheronmyTempurpedic.Ihavebeenfantasizingaboutthis
momentforweeks,orhell,ifI'mhonest,foryears.
Yes,wehavehadsexinplacessoridiculousthatpornstarswouldtakepity.Butit
makesitallseemunofficialanddistant.Here,inmyownbedroom,Icanreallydigmy
kneesintothisexpensivemattressandgiveittohergood.
Inmybed,shewilltrulybemine.
Iwanthertowantme.
Iwanthertobeg.
Andthat’sexactlywhat’sgoingtohappen.
Abeauty,atrue,well-oiledbeauty,isspread-eagleandnakedonmybed.Herfadedtan
linesfromlastsummershowthetracesofatinybikiniIwouldlovetoseeherin.The
oilnotonlyhasrelaxedherandheatedherskin,butshowsoffhercurvesinthedim
light.Hereyesarehalfclosedinrelaxationanddesire.Curlingupnexttoherinspoon
fashion,Icupherbreastinmyhandandkisshernecksoftly."Rose..."
Shesighshappilyandleansbackintome.Ifeelthesoftnessandwarmthofherbody
againstmine.This,righthere,feelssodifferentandyetsofamiliar.Ihavebeenwith
manywomen,toomanytoname,tobehonest.Butthisfeelslikehome.Thewayshe’s
lookingatme,thatunguarded,wantinglooktellingmeshefeelsaconnectiontoo.
Iwanttotakemytimeinmybedwithher.
Iwanthertobegformycock.Iwanthertolosetrackoftheworld,she'ssolostin
ecstasy.Iwanttowatchhercomeagainandagainandknowit'smedrivingher
mad...andIwanttohearhersayshewantstobeherewithmetoo.
Herlipsfindmine,hardandinsistent,andIkissherdeeply.Shesmellsoflavender
andsweetsweat.Itastehermouth,andherlipsaresosoftIimagineit’slikekissinga
flower.ForamomentIamlostinkissingherandstrokingherface.Ican'tgetenough
ofher.Evenherkissessetmeonfirelikenothingelse.EventuallyIslidedowntokiss
herneck,thenhershoulders.Iworkmywayalongherdeliciouscollarbonetothesoft
moundsofhertits.Icircleherhardnippleswithmytongue,enjoyingherheavypants
asshearchesherbodyagainstmine.
Onlywhenshe'swrithingacrossthebedindesiredoIslidebackuptolickherear
gently,thensuckherearlobeintomymouth,tonguingherearrings.Shegaspsin
frustration."Doyouwantmetofuckyounow?"Imurmur.
"Yes,please,"shegasps.
"Ididn'thearyou.Iwantyoutobegformycock."
Shethrowsmeaglareoverhershoulder,butherpussyissoakingwetandmy
fingeristoyingwithherentrance.Shenarrowshereyes,butrepeatsherself,louder.
"Yes.Please."
"Louder.Andmoredescriptive.OtherwiseI’mgonnamakeyoukneelandsuckme
off."
"Goddamnit,fuckme,Mark,please,"shegroans,andtheheatandpassioninher
voiceistoomuchtoresist,asmuchasIloveteasingher.
Iliftherlegandenterher,pleasedtohearhermoanwithdesire.Suchincredible
heatandwetness.Fuck,she'ssofuckingtightandhotforme.
“I’mgonnafuckyousodeepandhard,”Igrowl.Herpussycontractswitheachslow,
painfullycarefulthrustandwemovetogether,measuredandperfect.ShelikeswhenI
talkdirtytoher.Iwatchherface,hereyesclosed,hermouthslackandquiveringlike
herpussy.
“Mark…”shewhispers.
“Youhavethetightestpussy.You’refuckingperfect.”
Keepingmycockinsideher,Irollontopofher.She’sflatonherstomachandI
reachunderhertorubherclitasIfuckher.Imovemyhipsalittlefasterandthrusta
littledeeperasherripeassrises.Harder,deeper,slowlyIbuildtherhythmuntilwe're
bothpantinginearnest,readytogoatit.
Puttingonehandonherhipandoneonhershoulder,Ifuckherlikeshe’snever
beenfuckedbefore.Sohardwebounceacrossthemattress,andIfeeleveryinchofher
envelopingmyrockhardcock.She’slovingit,herlegsspreadwideandherface
pressedintothemattress.Witheachinchthatfillsher,Ifeelanalmostpainfully
ecstaticsensationshootthroughmybodyandIwanttocum,sofuckinghard,butno.
Notyet.
IthinkofbaseballstatsasIcontinuetopoundher.Themound,thepitch,anything
tobreakmyconcentration.Butherpussyisalivewithmovementandsogoddamn
tightaroundme,distractingmefrommynumbers.Itrytokeepmymindoffjusthow
amazingherpussyfeelsrightnow,andhowfantasticitlookswrappedaroundmydick
whenIpullbacktowatchherbodywrithebeneathme.
“I’mgonnapoundyousohardyouwon’tbeabletowalktomorrowwithout
rememberingmydickinyou.”
She’smoaningandgroaning,desperateandhornyandsowetforme,cryingout
loud,AHAhAhalllllmostthere.God,Iloveacockhungrywoman.
Mypacequickensintimewithherresponse.She’sgettingthere.
“Yes,harder!”sheshoutsintothemattress.“Fuck.Fuck,I'mgonnacum,"she
whimpers,hervoicemuffledbutloud.
Now.
Istopmoving,mycockstillinsideher.
“Fuck,"shegroansandgrindsbackagainstme.ButIdon’tmove.Ittakeshera
secondtorealizeI'vestopped.Thensheglaresoverhershoulder,furious.“Fuckme,
dammit!”
Istilldon'tmove,eventhougheverysingleounceofmybeingwantsto.Iwantto
finishinsideher,feelhercomeonmydick.
Instead,sayingnothing,Islidemydickoutofher.Sherisesonherkneesandgrabs
myfaceinherhands,thetopofmyhardcockbrushingagainstherstomach.Herface
isredandshe’spanting,hereyeslitwithfire.Fuck,shelookssosexyrightnow.
“Don’tyoufuckingstop.”Eventhoughshemightclawmyface,Ijustsmile.Her
stareissointense,sosexy,Ifeellikeshe’slookingintomysoul.
“Iwanttoseeyourfacewhenyoucum,”Itellher.
That.AndIwanttohearyousayyouloveme,Ithink.
TakingherbytheshouldersIpressherbackontheTempurpedicanddigmyknees
intoit.ShewrapsherlegsaroundmywaistandIenterheragain.Intentonfinishing
thejob,Ikeepmyeyesonher.Timetohititoutoftheparkandintothestratosphere.
Itbarelytakesusanytimetoreachthepeakagain.We'rebothshoutingsoon,
moaningandgaspingandtellingeachotherhowfuckingamazingitfeelstofuckeach
other,nocareforwhooverhearsus.Theadvantagesoffarmlife.
Butit'sherfaceasshecomesthatthrowsmeovertheedge.Thewayhereyesroll
backalittleandshelookshalfpained,halfecstatic,hermouthparted,lipsfulland
kissed,bodyglisteningwithasheenofsweatandoil.
Mymouthbetraysme.“Iloveyou,”Igroanintoherneck,justasmyownorgasm
sweepsthroughme.
Butshe'scummingsohard,shedoesn'thearme.
Thankgod.
19
ROSE
Thereisnothinglikeanakedsleepingman.
Markissprawledonhisback,relaxedinadeepslumber.Withthetopsheettangled
athisfeet,heisexposed,givingmeawonderfulopportunitytoexplorehisathletic
body.Althoughhismusclesarerelaxed,theyaredefinedandhiswell-tonedchestrises
andfallswithslow,shallowbreaths.HisstubbleismoreprominentnowandItoywith
thethoughtofwhathewouldlooklikeinafullbeardandhowthosemanlybristles
wouldfeelagainstthesofterpartsofme.
Stirringalittle,hismouthisslightlyopenandhiseyelidsflutterinREMmode.What
ishedreaming?Isitaboutme?Orisheatbat?
Withtheslightestkissofatouch,Iworkmyfingersuphisinnerthigh.Hisface
breaksintoasmilebeforehiseyesopen.“Goodmorning,”hesays,hisvoicelowand
hiseyelidshalfclosed.Hisdickalsostandsathalf-mast.
“Goodmorning.”Ikisshischestandworkmywayuptohisneck,thenhismouth.
“Didyousleepwell?”
“Likeababy.”Hekissesmyforehead.“Youhungry?Iknowtheperfectplaceto
orderin.It’sactuallytheonlyplacethatdeliversouthere,butitreallyisgood.”He
grabsatthephoneonthenightstandwithonehandandreachesforhisboxershortson
thefloorwiththeother.ButIyanktheboxersawayfromhim.
“Nope.”Idropthemtothefloor.“That’sagainsttherules.”
"Rules,huh?"
“Yes.TodayisNakedSaturday.Wehavetospendthewholedaynaked.”
“Ilikethat,”hechuckles.“ArethereotherrulesforNakedSaturday?”
“Maybe...”Irunafingerdownhischest."Firstrule,Ieatfirst."
Hiseyebrowsrise."Ohreally.Andwhatareyoueating,dear?"
Ipretendthatmychestdoesn'ttightenatthesoundofhimcallingmedear.To
distractmyself,Ikissmywaybackdownhischest."Forstarters,you..."
Heleansbackonthepillowsandarcheshishipstowardme."IsupposeIcouldget
usedtothatkindofwakeup,"headmits.ThoughhisvoicecatchesattheendasInibble
athiship.
HiscockisrockhardbythetimeIreachit.StillItaunthim,skirtingaroundhisdick,
kissinghisthighs,thetrimmed,neathairlinearoundhiscrotch,evenhisballs.Mm.He
smellssomuchlikehim,masculineandsweatyandstillalittlesexedupfromourromp
lastnight.Itrailmytongueuptothebaseofhisshaftandcirclehim,lettinghiscock
brushmysoftcheekasIdo,savoringhisquietgroans.
Turnaboutisfairplay.Andheteasedmeenoughlastnight.
IgethimsohardthatprecumformsatthetipofhisshaftbeforeIstarttogoathim
inearnest.ThenIlickupanddownhisdickinlong,hardstrokes,whilemyhandstoy
withhisballs.Finally,Ilethimsinkbetweenmylips,butonlywhenhishipsstart
buckingoffthebedandhegaspsmynameafewtimes.
Itdoesn'ttakelongforhimtoworkuptospeed.Prettysoonhe'sthrustingupatmy
mouth,andIcan'tgetenoughofthesoundshe'smaking,moaningandgroaning,
totallyundermyspell.IdigmytongueintotheundersideofhiscockasIsuckhimoff,
andthatdoesit,likeflickingatrigger.Hecriesoutashefinishes,andIkeepgoing,
lickingeverydropofcumfromthetipofhim.
Hetastesexactlythewayhesmells,saltyandmasculineandfamiliar,yetuniqueall
atonce.
WhenIfinallyliftmyhead,he'sstaringatmewithsomethinglikeshock.Iwatch
him,waitingforthatstaretomeltintoasoftsmile,whichitdoes.ThenIslideuphis
bodyandcurlupinhisarmsagain.
"How'sthatforbreakfastinbed?"heasks,whenhe'srecoveredenoughtospeak.
Ismirk."Prettydamngood."Ileanintolickhisear."What'sfordessert?"
Sufficeittosay,ittakesusalongwhiletoevenplaceanorderwiththedelivery
placehementioned.Whichturnsouttobeapizzaplace.
IlookoutthewindowasIseethesunisgoingdown.“Pizza,ofcourse.”
“Yourwishismycommand.”
“Don’tdisappointme,”Isay,archingmyeyebrow.
Ablushspreadsacrosshecheeksandhegrinsandshakeshishead.Weareboth
thinkingthesamething,I’msure.“Neveragain.NotsureIcanhandletheglareof
stingingdisapprovaltwice.”
WhileMarkordersenoughfoodtofeedeveryoneinYankeestadium,Icheckmy
phoneandseeGeohasbeentextingmelikeadisgruntledex-boyfriend.Ittakesmea
fewminutestoworkoutwhathasherinsuchatizzy.TurnsoutthatpicsofMark
carryingmetothecarareallovertheinterwebsandspeculationissoaring.IsMark
cheatingonAmber?DidIstealhimfromher?Orhasthisbeenalovetriangleallalong?
“Oh…”Igapeatmyphone.
“What?”
Ihandhimthecellandhesquintsoveritandscrolls.Lettingoutasigh,hehandsit
backtome.“NowyouknowwhyIrefusetohaveaphone.”
IworkmywaythroughmoreGeotextsandseemorelayerstothebullshit.
“Teenagegirlsaretalkingsmackaboutme.TheysayI'maman-stealing…”
“Stop.”Marktakesmyphonefrommyhandandputsitinhisnightstanddrawer.
“You’regoingtodriveyourselfcrazyifyoukeeplookingatthatstuff.”
“But…”
“Comehere.”
Icrawltohimonthebedandlaydownbesidehim.Hefoldsmeinhisarms,then
turnsmyfacetohis.“IhavebeenridingthisfametrainforfiveyearsnowandI've
learnedsomeimportantthingsfromStanley."
“Likewhat?”
“Don’tfeedthetrolls.”
“Butit'snoteventrue!"
Hecloseshiseyesandshakeshishead.“I’mserious.”
“Isthiswhatitfeelsliketobepopularinhighschool?Witheveryonetalkingabout
you?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Well,backwhenwewereinhighschool,youwerethissuperpopularjockand
everyonegossipedaboutyou.Nowit'slikethat,butonawaybiggerscale.Likeallof
Americaisonegianthighschool.”
Heblinksatmeforafewseconds,thenleansbackonthepillowandlaughs.His
wholenakedbodyislaughingwithhim.Evenhisdickseemstobeshakingwithmirth.
“What’ssofunny?”
Herubshisface.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?Everyoneknewyouinhighschool,
too.Ourschoolonlyhadlike500kidstotal.”
“Butyouwerepopular.Peopletalkedaboutyou.”
Helaughsagain.“Peopletalkedaboutyoutoo.”
“Sure,butonlyaboutwhatanerdIwas.”
“Noonesaidthat.”
Irollmyeyes.“Yestheydid.”
“Who?”
ItrytocomeupwithanamebutI’mdrawingblanks.“Idon’trememberexactly.
Yourbuddies,I'msure.”
Heshakeshishead.“Theyneversaidanythinglikethat.”
“ThedayyougotassignedtomeinMrs.Singletary’sclass,Deanwhateverhisname
wasactedlikeyouweresentencedtodeath.Andyouagreedwithhim!”
Hepresseshislipstogetherandshakeshishead.“Youmisremember.”
“PrettysureIremembermyhighschoolhumiliationsaccurately.”
Hetracesmynippleswithhisfingers.Ittickles,butIdon’tstophishand.“Wrong.”
“Howdoyourememberitthen?”
Helooksawayforasecondandtakesadeepbreath.“IrememberDeanandthe
guysteasingmebecausetheyknewIhadacrushonyou.”
Iblinkforacoupleofseconds.It’sgoingtotakesomere-orientingofmymemories
toworkmyheadaroundthatone.Inarrowmyeyesathim,positivehe’sbullshitting.
“Youhadacrushonme?”
Hemeetsmyeyesforalong,smilingmoment.“Abigone.Iwasobsessedwithyour
tits.”Hepincheshisfingerstighteraroundmynipples,whichstarttohardenathis
touch.“AndIlovedthewayyouwalked.Thatass,deargod.Andyouweresmart.Sexy
smart.”
NowI’mstaringathim.“Really?”
Hepropshimselfonhiselbowandbrushesstrandsofhairoffmyface.“Andit
wasn’tjustthat.Ithoughtyouwerehot,butwhatreallygotmetonoticeyouwaswhen
youepicallyfailedatthattalentshow…”
“Ohmygod.”Ishudder.“Ilostabetwiththebiologyteacher.”WhichmeantIhad
todancealone,onstage.ToDestiny’sChild.Infrontofourentireschool.
“ThathadtobetheworstdanceinterpretationofSayMyNameever.Wasthatall
yourownchoreography?”heasks,laughing.“Didyoureallyfeelitnecessarytodoa
cartwheelinthemiddleofthesong?”
Iplay-slaphim.“Iknow,itwashorrible.God,Iwantedtodie.”
“Butyoudidit.Everyonethoughtyouweregoingtochickenout.Butyougotupon
thatstageandruinedBeyoncé’ssongforeveryone.”Hesmirks.“Anyway,that’swhenI
firstnoticedyou.Andyourtitsandyourass."Heslapsthemeachforemphasis."Iguess
allofthatatthesametime.Butseriously,Iadmiredyourcourage.”
“Aw.”
“Youweresoweird,butinagoodway.Youalwaysputyourhairupinthe
afternoonwiththisbarrettewithabumblebeeonit.Andyouworethecolorgreenall
thetime.Andyoualwayshadabook…”
“Inoticedthingsaboutyoutoo.”
Hisfacebrightensinasmile.“Yeah?What?”
“Irememberallthefoodyouateinthecafeteria.Andthatyourlockerwasalways
neat.Andthatyoutiedyourshoeswithdoubleknotand…”Isigh.“Yeah,Inoticedyou
too.”
SuddenlyIseethepastinawholenewlight.Iflashbacktodifferentsceneswith
thatnewpieceofstartlinginformation.Hismonosyllabicanswers.Thetensioninhis
bodywhenhewasaroundme.Howlongittookhimtofinallyspeaktomeoutsideof
ourproject,whichIassumedwasbecausehehatedme.
Thenlater.Thoselingeringkissesanddeepstares.
“Youhurtmyfeelingsalot.”Hestaresattheceilingwhenheadmitsthis,andI
watchhimcarefully,concerned.
“Idid?”
“Youwouldcallmestupidsometimes.Alotofthetime,actually.Youwerekinda
mean.ButIlikedyoualot,soIjustkeptgoingbacklikeachump.”
“Youweremeantometoo,youknow,”Ipointout.
Hesquintshiseyesatme,thenblinks.“Huh.”
“What?”
“I…”Hesoftlychuckles,thenrollsbackonthepillowandrubshisface.“Yeah,I
guessIwas.IjustfeltlikeIwasn’t,youknow,enoughforyou.Likeyoulookeddown
onme.SoIwasmeanback,Isuppose,sometimes.”
Istrokehischestandlookintohiseyes.Hisjawisclenchedandhiseyesaresetin
pain.“Mark,IamsorryifImadeyoufeelthatway.ButIhonestlythought—stillthink
—thatyouareamazing.Iwasimpressedwithhowyoucarriedyourself,howyou
soldieredoninspiteofeverythinggoingonathome.”
Heblinksatmebutsaysnothing.
“Iwassuperself-consciousatthatage.Mostkidsare,Iguess.Iwasconvincedyou
wereashamedofmeanddidn’twantyourfriendstoknowaboutmebecauseIwasthe
fatnerdygirl.SoIkindoftookthatoutonyou."
Heburstsoutlaughingandrubshisfaceagain.“Nope.Noway."Hesitsup.“Ididn’t
wanttotellanybodybecauseIwasterrifiedyouwouldbreakmyheartandeveryone
wouldknow.Ihadsomeselfimageproblemstoo,youknow,witheverythingthatwas
goingonathome.”
“Ofcourse.”
“Iguesswebothhadourissues.Butthatwasthenandthisisnow…”
Ishakemyhead.He’sright.“ButIamsorry.”
“Metoo.”Hestrokesmyface.“Can’twejustbetogether?Hereandnow?"
Istraddlehimandbenddowntokisshiminresponse.Thekissdeepensandhe
wrapshisarmsaroundmyhipstotugmedownagainsthim.JustwhenI’mwarming
uptotheideaofsexinghimup,there’saknockatthedoor.
“Foodishere.”Hereachesdowntograbhisboxershorts.
“Nope.Againsttherules!”
“ButhowamI…”
“Becreative.”Iwink.
IwatchMarkrisefromthebed,grabsomecashoffhisnightstandandwalktothe
doorbucknaked.“Coming,”heshoutswithalaugh.“HowthehellamIgoingto…”
Itiptoedownthehallbehindhim,peekingaroundthecornertoseehowheplansto
pullthisoff.Heopensthefrontdooracrackandslideshisarmthrough.“Uh,keepthe
changeandleavetheboxesontheporch,dude…”
AsIdissolveintolaughter,Markrunsbackovertome,scoopingmeupinhisarms
andcarryingmebacktobed.Wecanwaitalittlelongertoeat.
RightnowIamonmy4thsliceofpizzaandgreaseisdrippingdownmychin.Mark’s
response?Heflipsanothersliceontomyplateanddanglesanothermozzarellastickin
frontofme.“Friedcheeserules,”hesays.
Igobbleupthegooeyglobfromhisfingertips.
“Thatpianoisbeautiful,”Isaywithafullmouth.“Doyouthrowelegantpartiesand
hiresomeonetoplay?”
Markshakeshishead.“Iplay,”hesaysquietly.
“Really?”Iblink.Idon'trememberhimplayinginhighschool.
“Iknow.Notalotofpianosinthesticks.”
“Ijustmeant,younevermentioneditinschool."
Helooksawayandcrackshisknuckles.“Therewasthisniceoldladythatlivednext
door.Awidow.Arealgrandmothertype,youknow.Alwaysmakingcookiesand
watchingkidsintheneighborhoodforfree…”
Movingnexttohim,Itouchhisshouldertosilentlyencouragehimtotalk.
“Anyway,shewouldhavemeover,youknow,whenmymomwasamess.Tokeep
mebusy,shetaughtmetoreadmusicandplayheroldbabygrand.”
“Soyoukeptupwithit,Isee.”
“FirstthingIboughtwhenIgotthisplace.”
"So.Areyougoingtoshowmehowwellyou'vekeptupwithit?"Iwinkathim.
“Isthatachallenge?AreyouaskingmetoproveIcanplay?”
“HellyeahIam.I’dlovetohearit.”
Markstandsandgrabsmyhand.Heleadsmetothepianoandsetsmeonthe
woodenbench.Thenhesitsdownbesidemeandcrackshisknuckles.
Aripplingmelodyfillstheroomashisfingersdriftoverthekeys,andIcanfeelthe
vibrationsticklemybodythroughthepianobench.“Thatsoundsfamiliar.FurElise?”
“Goodear.”
Hechangesthetunetosomethingmoreupbeatandrhythmic.It’sonthetipofmy
tongue,butIcan’tnameit.“Ithinkthat’sarag?”
Henods.“MapleStreetBlues.ScottJoplin.”Hechangesthemelodyagain.Thisone
isannoyinglyfamiliarandmakesmegrimace.
“SayMyName?Seriously?”
Helaughsandraiseshishandsinsurrender.“OK.Howaboutthisone?”
Hisfacechangesashelowershishandstothekeysagain.Alightheartedticklingof
notespepperedwithsomedramaticchords.It’sabeautiful,hauntingmelody,butI
can’tplaceit.“Canyougivemeahint?”
“Closeyoureyesandlisten.”
Shuttingmyeyes,itfeelslikethemelodyismakingmerise.“Isitapopsongor
somethingfromclassical?”
“Listen.”
Layingmybodydownacrossthepiano’smantel,Iopenmyeyesandfindhe’s
staringatmeasheplays.Themoodofthepieceshiftstoadarkertone,butthenmelts
backintothejoyousmelody,butthistimeit’slayeredanddramatic.“Whatisit?”I
whisperwithasmile.
Hetakesthevolumedownandloopsthemelody.“Iwroteit.”
Ismile.Iamnotsurprised.Eighteenyearoldmewouldbe,butadultmeknowsthat
themanbeforemeisn’tadumbjockfromthesticks.Hehasdepth,somuchmorethan
Ieverglimpsed.NowIwanttoknowmore.“Whatdoyoucallit?”
Hissmilewidens.“ARoseisaRoseisaRose…”
20
MARK
WhenRosesleeps,nuclearbombscan’twakeher.It’sSunday,sonoradioshowthis
morning,butIamupatthecrackofdawnlikeusual.Iwakeuphard,andwatchingher
chestriseandfalldoesn'thelpmatters.Ithinkaboutmaybestrokingherpussyalittle
torouseherandarouseher,butshe’ssleepingsopeacefully,Ican'tinterrupthernow.
Later,baby.
AsSleepingBeautyslumberson,Ishowerandmakeafewcalls.Ourshowwillbe
overinaweekandI’llbeofftospringtrainingwithmyteaminFlorida.Yankees
managementareawareRosewillbecoming,butIhavetobuttonupafewmore
details.
Oncethat'sfinished,Iheadintothekitchentogetaheadstartonbreakfast.
Everythinginmyfridgeandpantryisbreakfastrelated.Justbreakfast.Igetdeliveryfor
everythingelse.AsIgrabthebacon,theeggsandthepotatoes,IfeelgratefulthatI
finallygotachickwhofuckingeats.
Thefreshbrewintheexpensivecoffeemakerdoesn’trouseRose,andneitherdo
thescentsofthehomestylepotatoesortheeggs.Butwhenthebaconaromafillsthe
cabin,Ifeelherarmsaroundmywaistandawhispered,“Goodmorning,”inmyear.
Thankgodshe’sup.Myballsareachingfromlackoflove.
“Sitdown,”Imurmur.“IwillservetheQueenofSighs.”
“QueenofSighs?”Shechuckles.
“Youshouldhearyourselfsometime.”
AfterIforkeggsintohermouthandfeedherbacon,Iwigglemyeyebrowsatherto
indicateIwanttofuck.
“Isthatyourspecialsignalforme?”Shesmilesandwrapsherarmsaroundmy
waist,whileIletmyhandswanderdownherhips.
This,righthere,isexactlywhatIwant.
“OK,Mark.Openyoureyes.”
MytherapistToddissittingacrossfromme,stillinthatweirdgreensweater,stillin
thosesillygoldrimmedglassesthatmakehimlooklikeayuppieJohnLennon,but
somehowhelooksdifferentnow.
Iusedtohatethesebreathingandmeditationexercises,butnow,afterbreathing
andmeditating,Ithinkhe’sawesome.It’sastrangemagicIcouldonlyperformonthe
moundoratthepianoorwhenIambangingRose.
“Howdoyoufeel?”heasksmeinthatcalmvoicehealwayshas.Inod,butIknow
it’snotenoughforhim.“Words,please.Aswediscussed.”
AfteraswallowandanotherbreathIamreadytodescribehowIfeel.“Relaxed.And
alsoenergized.Whichiskindofsurprising.”
“Good,”hesaysashewritesinhisnotebook.“That’sgood,Mark.”
Irubmylegsandthenmyface.“It’sgettingeasiertocalmdownnow.”
Toddnodsashecontinuestowrite.“Good,nowyouhaveanotherexercisetogoa
littledeeperintothoseemotionsandpurgethem.”Ican’thelpbuttoletloosealittle
laugh.“Somethingfunny,Mark?”
“It’sjust,whenIfirststartingworkingwithyou,Ithoughtitwasgoingtobeawaste
oftime,butnowIcanseethatit’shelping.So,IguesswhatIamtryingtosayisthank
you.”
“You’rewelcome.Andalthoughyouhavemadegreatprogress,youknowyoustill
havealotofworktodo.”
Theweightoftheworldfeelslikeit’sbeendroppedonmyshoulders,butIletthat
sensationpass.“I'mguessingyouhavemorehomeworkforme.”
Smiling,heripsoffapagefromhisnotebookandhandsittome.“Forthenext
week,Iwantyoutotakesometimeandmakeanewlist.”
Iglanceatthepageandreadaloud.“Listwhatmakesyouangry?”
“Whatwe’vebeenfacinginoursessionsisthatyourfirstresponsetoextreme
emotions,emotionslikesadnessorembarrassmentorevenpressure,isanger.Sowhat
Iwantyoutoexplorenowiswhattriggersyourangersothatnextweek,wecan
discussappropriateresponses.Good?”
“Soundsgood,doc.”
Squintinghiseyes,hetapshispenonhisnotepad.“Howisthenewromancegoing?”
Myskinflushesalittlehot.Yep,Ifuckingblush.“Well…”
“Wordsplease,aswe…”
“Iknow,Iknow.”Lookingaroundtheroom,myeyeslandonthepianoandIsmile
atthethoughtofRoseperchednakedonit.“It’sjustbeenacoupleofweeks.Butsofar
sogood.Andit’sweird…”
“What?”
“EvenwhenIhavegottenfrustrated…Idon'tgetthecrazyangerthinghappening
whenshe'saround.”
“Whynot?”
“Dunno.”Ishrug.
“OK.Wecanexplorethatnexttime.”
AfterIseeToddout,IgiveRosearingonhercell.She’sworkinglatetonightto
splicetogetherhighlightsfortheshow,butIwanttodosomethingspecial.Thatis,after
Ivisitanotherspecialsomeone.
Clutchingthebooktomychest,Iexittheelevatortoheadtoroom14B.Stanleyisgoing
tolovemygift.Rosehappenedtobecollegeroommateswithsomeoneatthe
publishinghouse,soshescoredmeaneditor’sadvancecopyofthenewMickeyMantle
biographythreemonthsearly.
Walkingdownthehallway,Icheckmyemotions,myanxiety.Ihaven’tsomuchas
talkedtoStanleysincethenightoftheheartattack.BetweenBev'spresenceandhis
touch-and-gostatus,Ifiguredstayingawaywasthebestsolution.Billagreed,
unfortunately.
ButIcan’texplainwhyI’msojumpytoseehimnow.MaybebecauseIwantto
impresshim,pleasehimandmakehimhappy.Butalso,becausesomuchhaschanged
sincethatnight.BetweenmeandRose,betweenmeandmyself...Iwanttoshareit
withhim.
ToddwouldbeproudImadethatconnection,Ithinkwithasmirk.
PausinginfrontofStanley'sdoor,Iforceasmile.StressiscontagiousandIdon’t
wanthimcatchingmine.Ishakeoffmynervesandtaponthedoor.Itswingsopento
revealBev.Hercuriousexpressionmorphsintoanoh,it’syouface.“Mark.Nowisnot
thetimeforyourshit.”
Iholdupthebook.“Noshit,Iswear.Icomebearingagift.”
Hereyessquintatthetitleandsheshakesherhead.“Ican’thaveanydramaorany
stressinthisroom.”
“Yes,ofcourse.Iunderstand.”
Shescowlsatme.“You'dbetter.”Shewidensthedoor.
Shit.
Stanleylookslikehell.TheMiamitanisgoneandhe’spaleandhollowlooking.His
eyesblinkopenandfocusonme,afaintsmileonhislips.“Kid,”hesaysinavoice
barelyaboveawhisper.
Stretchingmyfakesmile,Iinhalehardandapproachthebed.“Hi,Stan.Howyou
feeling?”
“Aces.Whatyougotthere?”
“YouknowthatHalBritainbioaboutMickeyyou’vebeentalkingabout?”Iholdthe
booktohimandhetakesitwithatremblinghand.InoticeIamtremblingtoo.
Hecloseshiseyesforwhatseemslikeaneternityandthenopensthem,tryingto
smile.Ithurtstowatch.“Thanks,kid.Howyoubeen?Billhasn’ttoldmemuch.”
“We’vebeenkeepingworkoutoftheroom,”Bevinterruptsbehindme.Hertoneis
stern,soItakethatasawarning.
“Doinggreat.WeraisedalotfortheLittleSluggers.”Stanleynodsandcloseshis
eyesagain.Iwait,buthedoesn’topenthemagainandpanicstabsmyheart.“Stan…”
Bevtouchesmyarmandhernailsdigin.“He’sfine.Hedoesthat.Justdriftsoff.”
“Oh.”Ilookatthebookwhichhestillhashuggedtohim.
“It’stimeforyoutoleave.”
IsitonmycouchforhalfanhourandmakemyListofThingsThatMakeMeAngry.As
instructedbyTodd,Iwritefortwentyminutessolidandrarelyletthepenleavethe
notepad.
HeartAttacks.
FoulBalls.
BlueBalls.
Flattires.
Burnedcoffee.
Gossip.
Rumors.
Amber'srumorsinparticular,sinceshe'smovedontospreadthewordthatI
cheatedonher.LikethethingwithRoseisn'tonawholeotherlevelthanAmberandI
everwere.
TOMMYFUCKINGPIZZA.
Bev’sharshwords.
Wheremylockerinthelockerroomis.Tooclosetotheshowers.
Thatdingonmytruckhood.Wherethefuckdidthatcomefrom.
Thetrafficonthe17inthemornings.
ThehangnailIhaveontheringfingerofmylefthand.
ApologizingtoTommyPizza.
Eric’sscars.
Potholes.
Headcolds.
Mymother’smugshotsforherarrestfordrugsandtheftandprostitution.
Istopandlookatthelastitemonmylistoffury.Wheredidthatcomefrom?Toddis
asneakyfuckandIcannowseewhyhewantedmetowritethislist.Igetit.Aflattire
isnotequaltoStanley’sheartattack.Ahangnaildoesn’tcomparetomyshit-tastic
childhood.
Ihavetriedeverythingtohelpmymom.AtfirstIthoughtstraight-upcashwould
fixthings.WhenIsignedtotheYankees,IboughtMomahouseintheburbsandfilled
itwithbeautifulthings.
Stupidme.Shestoppedgettingbustedforstealingandhooking,butshestilldidher
drugs.Afteranoverdose,Igottough.Justpaidallherbillsdirectlyandhadgroceries
delivered.
Shesoldeverythingshecouldoutofthehouse,firstthefurniture,thenthe
appliances,thenthecopperwiring.
ThenIputherinrehab.Fiveplaces.Nowasixth.She’sinArizonaandhasbeen
cleanforthreemonthsandIamhopeful,butcautiousaboutit.
Afteralongmomentofthought,Ipickupthephoneanddialthenumberatthe
rehab.Ineedtotalktoher.Ineedtotellherhowmuchshefuckedthingsupforme.I
needtotellherIamsickofcarryingaroundthisanger.
ThenIneedtoforgiveherandletthisshitgo.
21
ROSE
MarkandIhaveslippedintoaroutinebeforeourshows.WhileI’mstillsleeping,he
takesashowerandwhileI’mshowering,hemakesbreakfastforhisQueenofSighs.I
haven’tsleptintomyownbedfordaysandImightnotbeabletogoingforward.His
Tempurpedicisthebomb,andnotjustforsleeping.
Thismorninghecutupsomefreshfruitformewithascoopofyogurtinit.Andthat
isn’ttheonlywayhe’sbeenspoilingme.Heheatsmytowels.Nottomentionwehave
exchangedmanyajoyousmassageonthatsweettableofhis.
Mypersonalitemshavebeenslowlyaccumulatingathisplace,too.Firstitwasa
toothbrush.Thenacoupleofpairsofpanties,butinthelastcoupleofweeksI’veadded
mymakeupbag,severalchangesofclothesandsomebooks.Ievengothimtoupgrade
thetoiletpaper.
What’supwithguyshavingcheapoTP?Imean,he’sgotthisexpensiveJapanese
luxurytoilet,butbargainbasementpaper.
Eventhedrivetothestationthismorningiswonderfullyroutine,despitethefact
thatwehavetobeinextraearlyforameetingabouttheshowgoingnational.Thisis
ourlastofficialweekbeforeMarkandIgotoMiami.I’mstartingtofindcomfortin
that.LikeI’minthewholelovelysafetybubble.
Ilovethathedrivesme,andsurprisinglyIdon’tmissmycaratall.Ilovethatwe
talkaboutstuffonthewayin.Ilovethatheisgrowingabeard.Ashedrives,Ireach
overandstrokethesoftstubbleonhisface.
Nice.
Thismorningthedie-hardsareintheparkinglotasusual.Atthispointtheyarelike
oldfriendsandIknowmanyofthembyname.
“GoodMorning,Delores,”IsaytotheolderladydeckedoutinbedazzledYankees
accessories.Shemusthaveamillionpicturesofmebynow,butalwaysseemstowant
another.Idon’tgetit,butIalwaysaccommodateherandIknowmybestselfieposes
now.
AsImakemywaythroughthegauntlet,IseethatChrisisoutsidethestation’sdoor
suckingonacigarettelikehe’sgettingoxygenfromit.He’sshufflingfromfoottofoot
andInoticehisfacelooksmoreweatheredthanusual.Something’swrong.
“Chris.”
Hepuffsoutahugebillowofsmoke.“Iwouldhavecalledyou,”hesays,avoiding
myeye.“ButIfigureyoualreadyknow,so.”
“What’sup?”Marksays.Ifeelhishandonthesmallofmyback.
Chrisjusthuffsanddropshiscigaretteontheground.That’sano-noandhecatches
myeyetomakesureIseehimdoit.Hestompsitoutwiththeheelofhisbikerboot
andthenopensthedoorforus.
MarkandIexchangeconfusedlooksbeforeweenterthestation.
ThefirstthingInoticeisBlowsysittingbehindthedeskinthelobby.Stillwearingmy
oldbridesmaiddress,butshe’sgotanewaccessorythatmakesmystomachrollin
waves.
“WhyisBlowsywearingacowboyhat?”Markasks.
Ican’tfindwordstocompletemythoughts.Ijustshakemyhead,dreadpoolingin
mystomach.
NightVixenstandsnexttoChriswithherarmscrossedandhertoetapping.“We
havegonecountry?”
Chrislookstotheground.“It’sfuckingover.”
Igapeatthem.
"Youknewaboutthis."NightVixenjabsatmychest.
“Ididn’tknowanything,IswearI…”
“Oh,sure.”Beckswalksinfromheroffice,andgrimaces.“Likeyoudidn’tknowDoc
BingsoldustoHalcyon.”
“What?No!”IfeelMark’shandonmybackandit’stheonlythingkeepingmefrom
fallingover.“Thatcan’tbetrue.”
Beckswalksuptome.“Everyoneisoutofajob.”
“Exceptforyou,Rose,”NightVixensays.“Iguessyou’vebeenscheming,huh?”
“Yeah,lookslikeyou’regoingtocomeoutsmellinglikeaRose,”Chrissays.
MyentirebodygoeslimpandI’msurprisedIcanstillstand.“Listen,guys,”Isay,but
Becksjustwalksaway.
IlookatChrisforcomfort,butheglaresatme,everyinchfurious.“Well,Iguess
youneedtohitthatmeetingnow,don’tyou.”
Themeetingisablur.Idopickupacouplethings.RobertE.Leehasanewcollar.Doc
isburstingwithhappinessatthemillionshemadesellingout.AndnextweekSporty
TalkwillgonationalonHalcyon'svastnetworkacrossthecountry.WhileW-ALT,poor
littleW-ALT,goesliteralcountry.
DJs,programdirectors,theyareathingofthepast.ExceptforSportyTalk,
everythingwillbehandledoutofPortland.Everythingwillbecomputergeneratedand
generic.Mysalaryhasbeenincreased5xovermycurrentbase,andthenewbenefits
areridiculous.Icouldpayoffmystudentloanswithintheyear.
ButIfeelnojoy.Noneatall.
Marksaysnothing,butgivesmesympatheticlooksduringthemeetingandoncein
awhilehesqueezesmyhandunderthetable.AtleastIamnotaloneinthis.
Beforeweleavethemeeting,DocBingclearshisthroatandremindsmeIsigneda
bindingcontractwithhim.Icouldquit,butI'dstillhavetodothisshowforthenextsix
months.That,orowehimafucktonofbackpaysalarywhichI'vealreadyspent.
HalcyonownsmyassnowandthereisnothingIcandoaboutit.
AsMarkandIwalkdownthelonghallwaytothestudio,Iturnandstophimin
place.“Didyouknowanythingaboutthis?”IsoundlikeI’maccusinghimofwar
crimes.
Heshakeshishead,eyeshuge.“No.Ipromise.”Hebiteshislip.“IbetStanleywould
havefoundoutandtoldme,ifhewasaroundworking,but….”
Icovermyfacewithmyhands.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmean…”
Hepullsmetohimandplantsakissonmycheek.“I’msorry.Iknowhowmuch
youlovedW-ALT.”
MarkandIenterthestudioandhearthatNightVixenisplayingTheQueenisDead.
Shewon’tlookatme.Shewon’teventurnherfacetome.Fuckballs.
Asshestormsoutofthestudioforthelasttime,shekeepsherheaddown.ButI
hearhermutter“Traitor,”assheslipsoutthestudiodoor.
IwishIcouldragequit,butIknowIcan’tunlessIwantHalcyontosuemeinto
debtor'sprison.
“Comeon,”Markwhispers.“Let’sjustgetthroughtoday,OK?”
Ientertheproductionboothandputonmyheadphones.HoweverIfeelnow,I
haveashowtodo.
ThefirstsongcuedisCarrieUnderwoodandmyeyesimmediatelytearup.
Aftertheshow,newHalcyonpersonnelmoveinastheoldmoveout.Beckstellsmeto
gofuckmyselfassheshufflesoutofthelobbywithaboxofsalesbooksinherarms
andkicksthefrontdoorclosedbehindher.
Chrishasastackofrecordsinaboxashewalksbyme.Icallhisnameandheslowly
turnstofaceme.Thelookonhisfacemakesmewanttocry.
"I’msorry.”IwishIcouldsaysomethingmoreprofound.
“Youknow,”hesays,shufflingtheweightofthebox.“IkindathoughtIwouldbein
thisgiguntilIwastoooldtowork.Ididn'twanttoretire.Butnobodyisgoingtohirean
oldclassicrockgeezerlikeme.”Heshakeshishead.“Later,Rose,”hesaysasheslips
outthedoor.
IfeelMark’sbighandonmyshoulderandIknow,Iknow,Iknow.It’s
unprofessional.It’schildish.It’sstupid.ButIputmyheadonhisshoulderandcry.
AsweleavethestationweracethroughthegauntletandleapintoMark’struck.Ican
seehandymentakingdowntheflappingstationbannerInevergotachancetofix.
Markfollowsmyeyesandreachesformyhand,givingitatightsqueeze.“Let’sjust
gohome.”
22
MARK
“OK,”Isay,andslidethepieceofpapertoRose.“IthinkIfoundacoupleofmore
rockingcountrysongsherewecanuseasbeds.MaybewecangetHalcyon…”
She’sjuststaringoutthewindowlikeshedoesn’thearme.Coldrainfallsoutside
anditmatcheshermood.She’sreallyupset,likedoesn'twanttofuckorletmegodown
onherorevenjustgiveheramassageupset.Iamatalossastowhattodo.
WhatwouldRyanGoslingdo?I’mtryingtoremembereverychickflickI’vebeen
forcedtowatchbymymanyexes,butnothingseemstofit.There'snotexactlya
"Here'showtocheerupyourgirlwhenthestationshespentherwholelifebuilding
andbankedhercareerongetssoldoutfromunderher"guidebook.
ThenIaskmyselfwhatwouldIwant.SuddenlyIknowwhattodo.Iwillfix
everything.
AfterIthrowanotherlogonthefire,Idropdownnexttoheronthecouch.“DidI
evertellyouaboutthedaytheYankeessignedme?”Noresponse,butIcontinue.“It
wasboththehappiestdayandsaddestdayofmylife.”
“Why,”shedrones.Hereyesarestilllookingattheraindropshittingthewindow,
butatleastI'mstartingtogainherattention.
“IwashappybecausemydreamswerecomingtrueandsuddenlyIwasa
multimillionaire.”
Silence.
“ButIwasalsodevastated.”
Sheturnsherfacetome,finally.“Why?”
“Iwasleavingmyminorteam.Ilovedthoseguys.Ilovedthecoach,thefans,
everything.IlovedTexas.”
Shelooksbackoutthewindow.
“Haveyouthoughtthatyougettingthisboosttoyourcareercouldbeagoodthing
fortherestofyourteamintheend?”Iaskgently.
“How?”She'sbitingbacktearsnow.
Irestahandonhershoulder.“Nowyou’reinpositiontoreallyhelpthemout,job
wise.”
Shetakesadeepbreathandcloseshereyes.IamfailingattheRyanGoslingthing.
ThenToddpopsupinmyhead.Useyourwords.Expressemotion.Alightbulbgoesoff
inmybrain.
“Rose,”Iwhisper.“Tellmeeverything.Tellmeaboutthestation.Tellmehowyou
feel.”
Hereyesfloodwithtears,butshemovesclosertomeandputsherheadonmy
shoulderasthefloodgatesopen.Shetellsmehowmuchithurtstohearhercoworkers
blamingher.Howmadsheisthatshedidn'tseethiscoming,atherself,atDocBing,at
Halcyon.Shetalksaboutfeelinglikeasell-out,worsethansomeoftheverybandsshe's
raggedonforbuyingintothecorporation.Ilisten,andkeepmyarmsaroundher,and
whenshe'sfinallyalltalkedout,shejustliesthereinmyarms,cuddling.Butthetears
havefinallystoppedflowing.
MaybeIdohavetheRyanGoslingthingdown.
23
ROSE
AllI’vedonethelastfewdaysisplayCountrySamFMand,well,Mark.
SomehowImakeitthroughtheweek.Honestlythough,Ican'timaginehowIcould
havedoneitwithoutMark.He’sbeensupersupportivethroughtheendlessmeetings.
I’vebeenatCountrySamFMfortwelvehourdays,recordingnewpromosandlining
upsongsandrunningthefrontdeskandcompletingallsortsofbusywork.Launching
anationalshowisnosmallthingandneitherisworkingwithcorporatedroneswho
speakinbuzzwordsandfollowsomemysteriousinternalscriptIamnotprivyto.
“Demoswantthisguy,”Chadsays,tapingapictureofahockeyplayerwho
miraculouslyhasallhisteeth.“HisQratingisphenomenal.”Chadismynewco-
producerandheisarmedwithmarketinganalysis,focusgroupfeedbackandthesort
ofthingsthatearnedhimaMassCommdegreefromPrincetonandanMBAfrom
Harvard.
Everysecondofthenewshowisplannedwithzeroroomforspontaneity.Eventhe
musicweuseasbedsbetweensetshasbeenvettedbyourtargetfocusgroup:dudes
between18and34.Ifanyoftheseguysturnedtheirnoseupatasinglesong,weain’t
gonnaplayit.
IjustnodateverythingChadsaysbecauseIfeeloutofmyleague.IhaveaMass
Commdegreetoo,butit'sfromalocalcollege,andIhaven’tusedthestatpartofmy
degreesinceIpassedtheexam.Asleastthestation'scoffeeisbetter.Isipitashe
mansplainseverythingtomelikeI’mfive.
Ihatehimandhisspraytanandhisperfectlycoiffedhair.Everythingoutofhis
mouthsoundspatronizing.It'sworsethanmansplaining,it’sdouchebabbling.Tobe
fair,though,I’msurehe’sthiscondescendingtoeveryoneregardlessoftheirgender.
JustwhenChadisabouttolecturemeaboutthefinerpointsofdemographicsinthe
Midwest,thenewtrafficmanager,Kristy,pokesherheadinthedoor.“Youguysalmost
finished?Theguyswanttostartpaintinginhere.”
“Yes,ofcourse,”Chrissays,closinghislaptop.“Wecangooverthislater.”
TheW-ALTIusedtoknowisdisappearingbeforemyeyes,morphingintoCountry
SamFM.Afterallthe“superfluous”non-Halcyonpersonnelweresentpacking—i.e.
everyoneexceptme—BlowsygotstabbedinthechestwithapenknifebyKristy,
deflatedandstuffedintoagarbagebag.Ididn’tevengettotakeagoodbyeselfie.
Allthewornoutcarpethasbeenrippedup,andthebeer-stainedcouch—Night
Vixen’sdaytimecoffin—hasbeenreplacedwithwhatlookslikesomethingfromahigh
enddentaloffice.Alltherockpostersaregonefromthewalls,andgenericblackand
whitecityscapeshavereplacedthem.
MyheadspinslikeReganintheExorcist,butlessfun.
WewillbedoingtheshowfromMiamiduringYankeesspringtrainingandweare
wideningtheformattoappealtoawiderdemographicacrossthenation.Notafocuson
justtheYankees,butteamsacrossthecountry.Andnotjustbaseballeither.Markwill
stillbeanimportantpartoftheshowgoingforward,butduetohisbusyschedule,
since,youknow,he'llhavetoactuallybeabaseballplayer,hewillpre-recordsomesets
andwewillhaveguestsfillinforhimtherestofthetime.
Truthis,Markreallydoesn’tneedthisgiganymore.Ithinkheonlysignedthe
contracttodomeafavor.Ihaveneverhadanyonedosomethinglikethatforme
beforeandit’stoughtogetmyheadaroundit.WhenItrytobringitup,hejustdoes
thatshouldershrugofhis.“It’snothing.”
ButIknowhe'sdownplayingit.Iknowthisismydream,nothis,andhe'sbending
overbackwardstohelpmereachit.Ijusthopeintheend,afterallthecountryandthe
sellingout,thatit'sworthit.
BythetimeIgethomeFridaynight,Ihavejustabouthaditwithspreadsheetsand
demographicsandfocusgroupsandcorporatespeak.IcollapseonMark’scouchand
toeoffmybootswithsuchlazinessthatoneremainshalfonmyfoot.Ican’teven
mustertheenergytokickitoff.
Markslidesitoffwithasmile.“IgotsomepastafromthatItalianplacedelivered.
AndIrememberedyoudon’tlikepeasinthecarbonara.”Hesitsdownnexttomeand
pullsmybodytohis,rubbingmyshoulders.Wow,hishandsareamazing.Tensionand
stressmeltoffmeandIstarttorelaxandunwind...
“Tootiredtodoafashionshowforme?”
Turningtofacehim,Ismile.“What’sgoingon?”
Hesqueezesmehardandthenslidesoffthecouchtopickupseveralbagsfromthe
diningroomtableandbringthemtome.
Ipeekinsideone.“Whatisthis?”
Hewiggleshiseyebrowsatme.“Abikini.Several,actually.”
Ilaugh.“Andyouwantmetomodelthemforyou?”
“Yes,please.”
Itakeabikinioutofthebag.It’spinkandconservativelycut.Damnnearmatronly.
Seriously?
Buthiseyeslightup.“Thatonefirst.”
“OK.”Irisefromthecouchwiththebikiniinmyhand.Heslapsmybottom.
“Gettoit.”
Wow.Thisthingissomethingmygrandmawould'veworninthefifties.Iadmire
myselfinthemirroranyway.Mynips—totallyhardalready,justatthethoughtofwhat
Markmighthaveplannedforlater—arecamouflagedbythethickmaterial.Myassand
bikinilinearecompletelycovered.Ifnunsworeabikini,thiswouldbetheone.
Maybehe’ssuperintoquaint,conservativelysexylibrarianwearorsomething?
Nah.Themanappreciatesashortskirtandhobblingheels.Iguesshe’soneofthose
guyswhodoesn’twanthisgirlfriendshowingoffhergoodsonthebeach.Idigthat.
Besides,withmyhigherprofilenow,I’mnotsureIwantmyhotstuffoutonthe
interneteither.
Ipulltheponytailoutofmyhairandgivemyheadashake.Fromtheshoulders
downIcanbevirginal,butatleastIcanstillhavesexyhair.
Istepoutofthebathroom.
“Wow.Nice."Hiseyespracticallydevourme.Andheisn’tlying.Thebulgeinhis
jeansishuge.
“Youlikethis?Really?’
Hegivesmeanenthusiasticnod.“Let’stryitout.”
“Tryitout?”
“Withwater.”
“Youwantmetowearthisintheshower…”
Heshakeshishead.“Nope.Thehottub.”
“Hottub?”
IhaveneverbeenonMark’spatio,anddidn’tevenknowhehadone.It'sFebruary
afterall.NotexactlyBBQweather.Thecountryviewisspectacular,withlightsnow
falling,buticywindwhipsallaroundmeandmyskinscreamsiniceburnsandprickles
ingooseflesh.
“Hopinbeforeyoucatchyourdeath,”helaughs.
OnceI’msafelywarminthebubblywaterandrisingsteam,Iseehehaschampagne
chillingonicenexttothetub.Hepoursaglass.“Don’tworry.It’safancyplasticfluteso
wedon’tdiefromamillioncutsifitshattersinthetub.”
“Hmm.Chilledchampagneandawarmhottub.Somethingtellsmeyouplanned
this.”
“Yep.”Markdropstrouandshowshehasonbluetrunks.QuitetheBoyScout,this
one.Heclimbsinandgrabsaglassofchampagne.“Here’stoMiami,”hesaysaswe
clink.“Here’stothefuture.”
AfterItakeasip,hewiggleshiseyebrows.“So,let’sseehowthatbikinilookswet.”
“Areyoukidding?It’sfreezingoutofthewater.”
Pouting,heblinkshiseyesatmeinasillyimitationofapuppydog.“Aw,pretty
pleasewithsugarontop?”
“HowcanIresistsuchpoetry…”Slowly,Iriseoutifthewater,aVenusemerging
fromfoam.Hiseyesfalloneverypartofmyshiveringbodyandhemoans.
“Fuckyes.”
“Thisgrandmabikinidoesitforyou,huh?”
Hewiggleshiseyebrowsagain.“Best.Bikini.Ever.”
“But…”Ilookdown.Exposuretowaterhasmadethisbikini100%see-through.Oh.
Coveringmyselfoninstinct,IcrouchbackdowninthewaterasMarklaughsharder
thanIhaveeverseenanyonelaugh.Myeyesdartaroundthetreestoseeifthereis
somepervertwithbinocularstrainedonus.
Markmovesclosertomeinthehottubandgrabsmearoundthewaist.“Hey,sexy,”
hewhispersinmyear.“Thisoneisjustforprivate.”
HepullsmeontohislapandIrelaxmybodyontohis.Hiscockishardagainstmy
thigh,hishandsrubbingmylegsashekissesmythroat.“Everdoneitinahottub
before?”
Itakemyhandoutofthewaterandwaveitaround,pointingoutthetrees.
“Someonecouldbewatching.Andit’sfreezing.”
“Nooneiswatchingouthere.Besides,we'llstayinthewater.”
Oneofhishandsleavesmythighsandhefumblesbehindmetoslidehiscockoutof
histrunks.Feelinghowharditis,Igetexcited.Damn.Heishardtoresist,especially
whenit'sclearhowbadhewantsme.Ileanbackintohim,andreacharoundtograb
hiscockformyself.Wow,heisharderthanever."Mm,maybeIcouldtryit..."
“Shh.You’regonnatakemeallthewayin.”Hisfingerstugatthecrotchofmysee-
throughbikiniandheliftsmyhips,urgingmetorise.Histhumbcirclesmyclit,his
indexfingertestingmyslit,findingmypussyhotfromthetubandwetfrommyown
excitement.Heslowlyslideshiscockintome,supergentle,untilIamconnectedwith
hislap.Icanfeeleveryinchofhim,andIclenchhardaroundhim,grinningashiscock
twitchesinsideme.Thankgodforkegels.
Ifthereisapervertlookingatus,theywouldjustseeawomansittingonherman’s
lapinahottub,strictlyPG-13stuff.Still.Wedobothhavestalkerfansnow.Ibitemy
lip.“Ifyoustartthrusting,”Isay.“Anyonelookingatuswillknow…”
“Nothrusting.Badideainwateranyway.Trustme.”
Withoutmovinghiships,hepullshisdickinsideme.
Oh,fuckyes.That’stheticket.Applyingthosekegelmovesagain,Idothesameand
feelarushofsensationthroughoutmybody.Thecoldair.Thehot,bubblingwater.The
pulsingofhisdick.Herocksmebackandforth,andhisdickgrindsagainstthefront
wallofmytightpussy,diggingintomyG-spotwitheveryslideofourbodiesagainstone
another.
PrettysoonI'mgasping,myvisiontunneling,nothoughtforbeingseen.Idon'tcare
ifsomeonenotices.Thisfeelsfuckingamazing.
Frictionlesssexrules.Whoknew?
Hisbreathisredhotinmyearandhisskinagainstmineisroughandhot.Asifhe
canreadmymind,asifhecanreadmybody,hekneadsandmassagesmybreastsand
kissesmyneckatjusttherightmoment.God,thisisgood.
“Ican’twaittoburymyselfinyourtits.”
Ifeelthemountingpressure.Thisorgasmisdifferent.Totallyinternal,allG-spot.It
feelstantric,butIcumjustashard.
AfterheslideshiscockoutofmeIstayonhislap,completelymeldedtohisbody,
mycheekrestingagainsthis.“WhenwegettoMiami,”hemurmurs,“Iamgoingtodo
somanyfilthythingstoyou,youwon’tbeabletowalkforaweek.”
WhenSaturdayrollsaround,I’mgratefulforthebreakandplantosleepinuntilIsmell
bacon.MarkandIareleavingforMiamitomorrow,soIhavetodosomelastminute
shoppingandthenIhavetopack.Atsomepoint,Ihavetodropoffrentchecks—plural
—forGeotocoverrentandbillswhileI’mgone.
ButIdon’tsmellbacon.Infact,Idon’thearMark’susualmorningroutineatall.The
houseiseerilysilent.
Iopenmyeyesandseehimsittingonthebedroomsofa,facingawayfromme.Odd.
Ithitsmethattherewasnodickexperimentallyproddingmyassthismorning,or
kissesonmyneck.Noneofhistypicalsexcome-ons.Maybehe'snotinthemood?
“Goodmorning,”Isay,buthedoesn’trespondorturnhishead.Maybehe’s
meditatingorsomething?
Thefiremusthavediedinthenightbecauseit’schillyinthehouse.Iwrapasheet
aroundmynakedbodyandwalktothesofa.“Mark?”
Istandinfrontofhim.He’sawake,buthisfaceholdsnoexpression.Hiseyesare
casttothesideandbloodshot,anditalmostlookslikehemayhavebeencrying.A
waveofsympathyanddreadwashesoverme.“IsitStanley?”Ireachouttotouchhis
arm,buthisbodyrecoilsfrommyhand.Idrawbackinshock."Talktome,Mark.
What'swrong?"
Heturnshisgazetome.Hiseyesarecoldandhisjawisclenchedsotighthistemple
ispopping.Hetakesaraggedbreathandturnshisheadaway.
“Youneedtogetthefuckout.”
“What?Why?”IclutchthesheetaroundmetighterbecausesuddenlyIfeelsocold.
Thiscan'tbehappening.
Heglaresatmeforafewstrangemomentsandthenslowlyrisesfromthesofa."The
carserviceisoutside.Go."
"Mark,tellmewhat'sgoingon,please."
Wordlessly,hewalkstothediningroomtableandpicksupabox.Ashepressesitto
mynakedchest,heglaresatme.“Getdressedandgetout,”hesays,barelymovinghis
mouth.“Ineverwanttoseeyouagain.”
ThewindisknockedoutofmeasIwatchhimwalktothebathroomandslamthe
door.
Numb.That’stheonlythingIfeel.Lastnightwasbubblesandhottubsex.Afterwe
driedoff,wetalkedofthefutureaswefellasleepineachother'sarms.Thelastthinghe
saidtomewas“Iamsohappy.”Icanstillfeelhiswhiskerburnsonmyskinandsmell
thejacuzzichlorineinmyhair.
Whythesuddenchange?Itmakesnosense.Whatcouldhavehappenedduringthe
night?
Paranoiadancesin.Maybe,Ithink,maybethisromancewasallsomelongcon,
somerusehe’sbeenplanningforyears.He’shatedmesincehighschoolandwhenhe
sawmeagainhecameupwitharevengeplan.HedidsayIhurthiminhighschool.
Wasthisallpayback?Heplannedtomakemefallinlovewithhim,sohecouldbreak
myheart.Itthatit?Couldhepossiblybethatconniving?
No.Impossible.NotMark.
Imagesflashinmybraininquicksuccession,ofMarkkissingme.Makingloveto
me.Cookingbreakfastforme.Baringhissoultome.Tellingmehelovesme.
No.Thereisnowaythatcouldhavebeenfake.Iknowitinmyheart.It’ssomething
else,butwhat?Ihavenoclue.
Istoodoutsidetheclosedbathroomdoorandbeggedhimtotalktomeforalmost
anhour,buthewouldn’tcomeoutofthebathroomandhewouldn’tsayaword.
Myfacemustbeamess,becausemyUberdriverasksmeifIamOKthreetimes
beforewehitthe17.“Yeah,”Imutter.“Fine."
Notfine.Heartbroken.Freakedout.Lost.
Tohavesomethingtodowithmyhands,Ipulloutmyphone.Ineedsomethingelse
tothinkof.Likecurrentevents.Ortheweatherorsomething.
TaylorSwifthasanewboyfriend.
WearebombingsomeplaceIhaveneverheardof
And,onthetabwhereIhavesavedasearchofmynameandMark'stogether,
becauseIalwayslikedseeingthepicsthedie-hardssnapofus...
Oh.My.God.
No.
BythetimeIgethome,Ihaveplayedtheaudioclipathousandtimes.AfterIletmyself
intomyapartment,it'spitch-dark.“Geo?”Icall,butthereisnoanswer.
Isitonthecouchandplaytheaudioclipagain,thistimepatchingitintothewifi
speakersystem.WhynottorturemyselffurtherbyhearingitinBose’soptimum
qualityrichsound?
Myvoice,mydrunkenslur,fillseverycorneroftheapartmentandfuckswiththe
beatsofmyheart.
“MarkCarrington.”IcroakhisnamelikeI’msomeancienthag.“MarkCarringtonis
fromthesticksinwestNewJersey.Youhavenoidea.Wearetalkinggnarly
neighborhood,grossashelllevelsticks.SomuchworsethanJerseyShore."
"Buthisfamilywasokay,right?"amalevoiceprompts.Thevoiceiskind,thetone
sugary.
"Godno."Ilaugh.Ifuckinglaugh."HisfathercommittedsuicideinRahwayprison
whenMarkwaslikefive.Hewasinforarmedrobbery.Andhismotherisevenworse.”
“Inwhatway?”Whothefuckisthat?WhoamItalkingto?
“Ugh.Hisfuckingmother.Drugaddict.Thiefand,getthis,ahookertoboot.Real
fuckingwinner.Momoftheyear.”
“Wow,”themansays.
Yep.That’sme.Thememoryisfoggy,butitstartstocomebacktomenow.Thisclip
isfromtheeventthatannouncedMark’sdebutonW-ALT.Idranklikeafish.
Tommy.Shit.TommyPizza,that'shisvoice,Irecognizeitnow.Heaskedmethose
questionsandIansweredthemlikeanidiot.
ThatnightIfeltthestingofhighschoolhumiliationandMark’sapparentdismissive
attitude—hepretendedtonotknowmeandIlashedoutindrunkenbutt-hurtness.But
Iamnotstupid.IshouldhaveknownbetterthantotellTommyallthatshit.
IdonefuckedupandIfuckeduproyally.
Mystomachfeelslikeit’sturninginsideout.
Thenthere’sthepicture.ThefuckingpicturethatIfindafewminuteslater,
searchingthefalloutresultsonline.SomehowTommyPizzasnappedaselfiewhenhe
forcedthatgrosskissonme.Afrozensecondofanattack,butthat’snotwhatitlooks
like.Itlookslikewearefully,consensuallymakingout.
Fuck.ItlookslikeIplannedthiswholethingwithTommyonpurpose.Somekindof
twistedrevenge.
Andthecommentaryontheinternetisawful.Basically,thegeneralconsensusis
thatIfuckedoverMark,andnotjustthat,butIplannedtofuckoverMarkwith
Tommy.Iamabackstabber.Iscrewedhimover.
NoarticleIfinddatestheclipornamesTommyPizzaasthe‘mysteriousgoodfriend
ofMarkCarrington,'butIamsureMarkatleastwillrecognizehimfromthepicture.
EvenifTommy'sfaceismostlyblockedbymineinthatstupidkissshot.
Asfarasanyoneknows,therecordingandthatpictureweretakenyesterday.
Tommygetsoutofthisscotfree.MycrucifixionisbeingcalledforfromtheBronxto
EastLA.DListedsaysIfakedanaffairwithMarktofurthermycareerandstartedthe
onewith"thisnewguy"tofurtheritstill.SomeoneelsespeculatesthatIwasdatingthis
guyallalong,andusedMarkasaleg-up.
Wow.
AndfromwhatIcanseeonline,theBadBoyatBatisnowthesubjectofsympathy
andsupport.Thehunkwiththebrokenheart,whereasIamevilpersonified.
Oh,god.
SomeonehasstartedawebsitecalledRoseTaylorisaBitch.com.Andwow,the
hashtags.
#Backstabbing
#donttrustnowoman
#hoisho
Awesome.
Well,IguessI’vefoundonewayoutofmycontractwithHalcyon.ThereisnowayI
won'tgetfiredoverthis.Nowaywhatsoever.AtthispointIfeelliketheywouldfire
me,thenrehiremeimmediatelyjusttofiremeagain.Iamthatfired.
AndIdon’tevencare,becausethat’stheleastofmyproblemsrightnow.
AsIpacemyapartment,IleaveMarktheworld’slongestvoicemailthatmostlyhas
thephraseI’msorryamilliontimes.Itrytoexplain.Iwasdrunk.Upset.Itwasbefore
westartedtalkingagain.Beforewesaidawordtoeachother.Thenightyoupretended
nottoknowmeandIwashurtandafuckingidiotandhey,rememberthat
conversationwehadaboutself-esteem?
ThatwasfrombeforeIgottoknowyou.Therealyou.
ThevoicemailcutsoffbeforeIcantellhimIlovehim,though.BecauseIdo,I
realize.That’swhyI’mpanickingsohardrightnow,that’swhyIfeeltornintwoover
losinghim.ButIrealizeit’stoolate.
Toolittle,toolate.
24
MARK
Roselefttwohoursago,orratherIthrewherassouttwohoursago.Shebeggedand
pleadedandbargainedoutsidemybathroomdoorforanhourafterIshutmyselfin
theretogetawayfromher.Ionlylistenedtoaboutfiveminutesofherwhining.ThenI
putmyearphonesonandIblastedspeedmetaltodrownheroutanddidcruncheson
mybathroomfloor.BythetimeIfinallyfinishedcountingfrom100to0fourtimes
over,shewasgone.
Ican’tbelievewhatanidiotIam.ButRose,shemustreallythinkIamdumb.Idon't
buyforasecondthatshechangedhermindaboutmesincehighschool.Shestillthinks
shecantalkherwayoutofthis.Sheandhergiantbrainandevenbiggerego.
Shekeepsringingmylandlineoverandoverandfillingupmyvoicemailwith
enoughmessagestoknockVerizonoffline.Ihavezerointerestinlisteningtothem.I
deletethemallwithoutlistening.Idon’twanttohearhervoiceeveragain.
AtleastIknowhowshereallyfeelsaboutmenow.
AndshebangedTommyPizza,too.Thatpictureofthemsuckingfaceisalloverthe
place.Ofallthefuckingpeopletofuckmeoverwith,shehadtopickhim?
Ishouldhaveknown.InhighschoolshereallydidthinkIwasbeneathherinclass
andsmarts.Andthen,yearslater,IrunintoheragainwhenI’mrichandfamousand
suddenlyshethinksI’mawesome.Shespreadherlegsondemandandsuckedmydick
whenasked.Itfelttoogoodtobetruebecauseduh,ofcourseitfuckingwas.
WhowouldhavethoughtMissAboveItAllRoseTaylorwasnobetterthana
BaseballAnnie?
Itwasonethingforhertotalkshitaboutme,butdidshehavetodragmymother
intoit?Sheblewupmywholepastinonedrunkeninstant.Stanleyworkedhisassoff
tokeepmymom’spastoutofthepressforyears,andhernumerousmugshotsoffthe
internet.Notsurewhathedidexactly,buthealwayshintedthatwasaherculeantask,
nowalkinthepark.Hecalledintonsoffavorsonmybehalf.AndRose’smouthgoes
andblowsitinasnap.Mom’sarrestrecordsareallovertheinternet.
Howthefuckisthatgoingtohelpherrecovery?
Chump.Fool.Sap.
Mychesthurts,rightaroundtheheart.Forawhile,IworryI’mgoingtohavea
heartattacklikeStanley,butthenthepainturnstoheatandgushesthrougheveryinch
ofmybody.It’slikemyskinisonfire.Theangerfeelslikeit’sstuckinmythroat,
stranglingme,notlettingmebreathe.
Thephone,stillinmyhand,mustdie.
Ismashthephoneonthefloorandfeelinstantgratification,followedbyan
immediatestabofregret.
No.Thosedaysareover.Nomorebreakingshit.
100,99,98...Grabcontrolofthebreath.
90,89...Steadyyourhands
Igotomypantryandpulloutanewphone.Ikeepseveralintherebecauseduring
mytempertantrums,myphoneisusuallythefirstthingtogetdestroyed.ButIneed
myphone.WhatifBevcallsaboutStan?Whatifmymomcalls?
WhatifIneedapizza?
IplugthenewphoneinandcallthenumberIneedtocallrightnow.
“Hello,Mark.Howisthatdeliciouscockofyours?”
“Hi,Deborah.”
“So,Iheardthenewsand…"
“Whohasn’t….”
“Wantmetocomeoverandcomfortyou?”
IthinkofDeborah.She’salittleolder,about30.She’sbeenareliablefuckbuddyfor
acoupleofyears,andadie-hardforthelastone.ShewilldoanythingandImean
anythinginthesack.Shewouldgethersweetassoverhereandoffermeanyhole,no
questionsasked.AllIhavetodoisopenthedoorandremembertopronounceher
nameDeborahandnotDeb-rah.Iwouldn’tevenneedtotalktoheroutsideofthat.AllI
havetodoispointatmydick.
But...Ijustdon’twanttofuckher.I’mnotsurewhy.Thethoughtofitmakesmy
stomachacheevenworse.
WhydidIevenbothertocall?
“I’msorry,thiswasamistake.Goodbye,Deb.”
Ihangup.OK.Twostrikesout.IambackatbatandIgottahitthisoneoutofthe
park.IknowwhatIhavetodo,preciselybecauseIdon’tknowwhattodo.
Toddanswersinthreerings.Idon’tgivehimtimetosayhello.
“Hey,it’sMark.Thinkyoucanfitmeinforanemergencysession?”Ipauseandtake
abreath.“Please.”
AfewmomentspassandToddsaysnothing.Isqueezethephoneandnoticemy
handandfaceareslickwithsweat.“OK,”hefinallysays.“Givemeaboutanhourtoget
outthere.”
“Thanks,man.”
AfterIhangup,Irealizehowlonganhouris—forever.Ilookdownatthearmof
mysofaandseeonesolitaryhair.Rose’s.Diditshedfromherwhensheshookherhair
outlastnight,dressedinthatbikini?DiditgettrappedinmyfingersasIwasrunning
themthroughherhair?OrlandtherewhenIcarriedherinfromthehottubtolayher
downonthecouchandkisshersenseless?
Fuck.
Ipluckthehoneycoloredstrandfromtheupholsteryandwrapitaroundmyfinger
tight.Howmuchofherisleftinthisplace?WhatelsewillIfindofherinthenextfew
weeks,fewmonths?Astraybobbypinonthenightstand.Flecksofmakeuponthe
vanity.Afingerprintontheslidingglassdoor.
Iflexmyfingerandthestrandsnaps.Somethinginsidemesnapstoo.Angerfrom
deepinsiderushestothesurfacelikeavolcano.Mybonesrattleinrage,myheart
poundsandmyfleshiscooking.
MyeyesdarttotheTVandIthinkhowgreatitwilllookwiththephonethrown
throughit.IlookatthenewcoffeetablebeforemeandwonderifIcansplititinhalf
withonekick.Thatwalltenfeetfrommecouldstandsomeholespunchedinit.
No.No.No.
AfterItakeenoughdeepbreathstomakemyselfdamnnearlightheaded,Irisefrom
thecouchandwalktomypiano.Icrackmyknucklesandbangoutmypainand
despair.
Toddclickshispenoverhisnotepadafewtimesandstaresatme.Helookstired.He
lookslikehejustthrewonrandomclothestogethereasfastashecould.Iappreciate
theeffortandtoshowhimhowthankfulIam,I’mgoingtodomybestinthis911
session.Heclearshisthroat.
“Whatareyoufeelingrightnow?”
“Nauseous,”Iblurtout.
Hekeepshiseyesonmeandnods.“That’saphysicalresponsetoemotion.Ineed
youtotellme,specifically,theemotionsyouareexperiencingrightnow.”
Icrackmyknuckles.Icandothis.Icanlistwords.
ButthenIfindIcan’t.Ijustnodmyheadandlookaway,embarrassedIhavetaken
thismanawayfromhisnewbornkidandwifeonaSaturdayafternoonjusttoget
nowhere.Fuck.
Hesighs.“Weneedtheemotionsheet,don’twe?”
Ifeellikeakindergartenerashepullsapieceofpaperoutofhisbriefcaseandhands
ittome.Onitisalistofendlesswords.“Whichemotionsareyoufeeling?”
“Allofthem,”Isayandthrustthepaperbacktohim.
Hewavesmeoff.“No,tellmewhich.”
Ilookatthepaperagain.Somanywords.Allthewordsinthedictionary.Allthe
wordsintheworld.Allthewordsthateverexisted.Itrytowrapmytonguearound
oneandfindIcan’tspeak.Somefroghasjumpedinmythroatandthere’ssomething
inmyeye.Glancingatthepaper,Ispotawordthatstrikesandpointtoit.
“Hurt,”Toddsays.“Continue.”
Ifindanother.
“Humiliated.”
Itapthesheetseveralmoretimes.
“Sad.Angry.Confused.Betrayed.”
LookingoverthesheetItakeabigbreathandslowlyletitout.“And,”Isay,clearing
thefrogaway.“Andscrewedover.Andstupid.AndwonderingwhyIfellforthat,whyI
thoughtsheactuallycared…”Itakeanotherbreath.“Andalone.”Ileanbackonmy
sofaandletmybodygolimp.Whowouldhavethoughtthatthesimpleactofpointing
outwordsonapagewouldbesoexhausting.
“Good,”hesayswithanod.“Let’sunpackthosefeelings."
25
ROSE
WhenIwakeuponthecouch,myphoneisclenchedinmyhandandthesameIrma
ThomassongloopsontheBose,aperfectsongtodescribemydread.Yes,Irma,itis
rainingsohard.Shuttingmyeyestight,Irollaroundwiththeintentionofstayingon
thecouchforeverinamind-numbingsleep.
Jarredawakebyfingerspokingmyshoulder,IopenmyeyestoGeostandingover
mewithherhandsonherhips.
“Wherehaveyoubeen?”Iask.Myvoicesoundscrackedandweak.Sayingnothing,
shemarchestothekitchenwithheavystompsofherboots.Shedidn’ttakeoffherDoc
Martens.Thenoshoesinthehouserulesisherthing,notmine.Why?Whatnow?
Achingandsore,Irolloffthecouch,turnoffIrmaandhobbletothekitchen.
“Wherehaveyou…”
Cuttingmeoffwithahotglare,shearcheshereyebrow.“Don’tyourememberwhat
lastnightwas?”
IscourmybrainfortherightanswerandlooktoseewhatT-shirtsheiswearingfor
aclue.Ifsheattendsaprotest,hershirtscreamsthecause.Butit’sTheBangles,sothat
doesn’thelp.I’mtakingtoolongtoputittogetherandIcanseeherfrustration
growing,untilherfaceistwistedindisgustandshe’ssnortinglikeabull.
“Youdon’tremember,doyou.”It’sanaccusation,notaquestion.
Ishakemyhead.“I'msorry,Geo,Idon’t.”
Sheshakesthecoffeepotatme.“TheFrightenedRabbitinterview.”
“Thatwastonight,”Iprotest.
Rollinghereyes,sheturnsherbackonmeandfillsthecoffeepotwithwater."And
whatdayisit,Rose?"
“I,uh…”HowlongdidIsleep?DidIchecktheremindersonmycellwhenIleft
Mark'splaceyesterday?
Wasthatonlyyesterday?
ItwasSaturday,Iknowthatmuch,becausewe'dhadawholedayoflounging
aroundhiscabinplanned,completewithmorepizzadeliveryandsomuchmore
sex...mystomachroilsjustthinkingaboutit.Abouthim.AbouthowbadlyIfuckedup.
ThenIsquintatmyphoneandmystomachclencheseventighter.Shit.
It'sMonday.IsleptrightthroughSunday,thewholeday.Andthewholenight.
Sundaynight,whenthebandwasabletosqueezeinabriefinterviewwithusaftertheir
gig.
Idon’tknowwhattosay.Shepesteredmeforweekstosetupthatinterview.I
finallygotoffmyassanddid,andGeowassoexcited.ThepreciousfewtimesIhave
beenhome,I’vewalkedintoanapartmentfilledwiththesoundsofFrightenedRabbit
andprintoutsofthequestionsweshouldask.
HowcouldIforgetsomethingsoimportanttoourpodcast?Toher?
Bangingthecoffeetinandasinglecoffeecuponthecounter,Geoavoidslookingat
me.
“I’msosorry,”Itryagain.
SheholdsupherhandtosilencemeandforabriefsecondIthinkshemighthitme.
Thensheslamstheopencoffeecanisteronthecounteranditrainsfair-tradegrounds
inourkitchen.“Youbrokethenumberoneruleofourfriendship.Wealwayssaidwe
wouldneverletadudecomebetweenus.NextthingIknowyouarefuckingMr.Bat
Boyandwhatdoyouknow!It’slikeIdon’texist.Likeallofourplansmeannothingto
you.”
“I…”
“I!Yes,exactly!Let'stalkabouthowmuchyouloveyourselfrightnow.Always
Googlingyourself,staringatpicturesofyourself.Youhavebecomeacomplete
narcissist!Andeverytimeyou'rehereItrytotalktoyou,dragdetailsofyourdayout
ofyou,trytomakeplansforourpodcast,butallyoueverwanttodoisrunrightback
tohisplace.Ifyoudidn'twanttodothepodcastanymore,youshouldhavetoldme."
MyeyesdroptothesideandIcowerinshame.
Sheslamsherhandonthecounter.“Iammovingout,Rose."Shestompsofftoher
room,throwsthedooropensitandslamsitagain.Shuddering,Iwaittohearwhather
soundtrackofangerwillbe.SexPistolsorL7?
ShesurprisesmebymakingthewallsvibratewithMegadeth.Geoisnotthemetal
type.Sheisseriouslypissed.
AfterIcleanthecoffeegroundsoutofthekitchentiles,Itakealonghotshower.As
thewatercleansesmybody,afeelingofsadnessoverwhelmsme.Ilookatthedrain.
It’slikeIamwashingMarkfrommybody.Hiskisses.Histouches.It’sallpoolinginthis
tub,rollingdownthatdrain,away.Islidedownandcryasthewaterrainsdownonme.
Isitthereuntilmyfingershaveprunesfromthewater.WhenIexittheshower,Ihear
thatGeohasswitchedoffMegadeth,butherdoorisstillclosed.Iwouldn’tbesurprised
ifshebolstereditwithachairundertheknob.
She’smovingout.
Ican’tbelieveshe’sleavingme.It’sanotherlayerofshitinmylife.
She’sbeenmyroomiesincecollege.Ihaveneverhadanotherroommate.Inever
wantedone.Wehavebeenthroughsomuchtogether.Thosefinanciallyinsecurefirst
dayswhenwewouldcomehometonoelectricity.Thatdisastrousfirstgrownup
dinnerpartywhenweburnedourfancydinnertoacrispandsomeonefromthe
buildingcalledthefiredepartment.
Flirtingwiththosehotfirefighterswhocametocheckuponourmistake.
Paintingthelivingroomthatweirdpurplecolorandlovingit.Thecouchwefound
outsidethatwehadtodragbackoutwhenwefoundmicelivinginit.Herfirstjob,my
firstjob.Herfirstheartbreak,myfirstheartache.Irememberholdingherallnight
whenhermomdiedandshecriedherselftosleep.Shedidthesameformewhenmy
grandied.
Andnowshecan'tevenlookatmewithoutangeranddisappointment.Ihavereally
letherdown.Ihaven’tbeenthereforheratall.Iwassupposedtopartnerwithheron
thepodcast,putinanequalamountofwork,helpherfindbandhookups.Itwasour
baby.Ourcreativeventurethatwewerebothexcitedtolaunch.ButIdroppedit.I
droppedeverything.Thepodcastwasgoingtobeawaytohelphergetoutofthat
bartendingjobshehates,butIdidn’tevengiveitoneounceofattentiononceMarkand
thenewradiogigcamealong.
AndwhenIwashurting,whenthatpictureofMarkandAmbercameout,shewas
thereforme.Sheferriedmetoworkeverydayanddefendedmeagainsttheangrydie-
hards.
Ihavebeenawfultoher.Ihavebeenaterriblefriendtheselastfewweeks.
Iliedownonmybedandstarttocryagain.ForhurtingMark.ForhurtingGeo.I
suck.Butoneofthese,atleast,Icanmend.
Isitupinmybed.IfindapieceofpaperandapenandwriteGeo,mylovelyGeo,a
note.WhenIfinishIslideitunderherdoorandgotobedtocrymyselftosleep.
Ismells'mores.
No,Imustbedreaming.Canyoudreamsmells?Closingmyeyes,Idrawabig
lungfulofairthroughmynose.Maybeit’sascentedcandle.That’sit.Right?SurelyGeo
istoowickedpissedatmetomakemyfavoritecomfortfood.
Cautiously,IopenmydoorandpeekouttoseeGeoputteringaroundthekitchen.
Yes,mynosewascorrect.Ahalfemptybagofmarshmallowsslumpsonthecounter.
Somegrahamcrackersarestackedonaplate.IseeGeo’sbarefeetonthelinoleumand
herDocMartensontheshoeshelfbythedoor.
“Geo…”Isquintather.
Lookingup,shepointsaspatulatoakitchenchair.“Sit,”shebarks.“Wehavesome
shittotalkabout.”
Obedientandbrimmingwithremorse,Isitdownwhereinstructed,foldmyhands
onthetableandwait.Geoscoopsasteaming,meltings’moreonaplateandslidesitto
me.Ismile,butitdropswhenIseeherfaceremainsstonyandcold.
Shesitsdowninthechairacrossfrommewithherovenmittsstillonandaspatula
inherhand.“Ireadyourletter."Herfaceremainsexpressionless.“Soyoudon’twant
metoleave?"
"Ofcoursenot.Geo,I—"
Sheholdsupahandtosilenceme."Andyoudon’twantourfriendshiptobeover.”
“Never.Notatall.”
“Good.NeitherdoI.”Shedrawsalongbreath.“But,Rose,youcan'tkeepdoingthis.
Standingmeup,flakingonourprojects,withoutsomuchasasinglewordtoprepare
me.Andpleasestopshuttingmeout.IfeellikeIonlyseeyouwhenthingswithyou
andMarkaregoingsour.Whenthingsareokay,youaren'tevenhereandyouwon’t
evenanswermytexts.”Sheraisesaneyebrowpointedly."AmIright?"
Iwince."Yousawthenews?"
"Ididn'thaveto.You'rehere,somethingmusthavegonedownbetweenyoutwo.
AndIgetit,newrelationship,hotguy,superexciting—"
Iopenmymouthtostopher,butshetalksrightoverme.
"Andthat'sawesome.Butjustdon'tforgetyourfriendsalongtheway.Especially
whenitcomestoworkingtogether.Thispodcastmeanssomuchtome,Rose.It'slike
mynationalradioshow,youknow?"
Ibowmyhead."Iknow."
“So,Iwanttogiveyouanotherchance.ButIhavesomerules.”
“Anything.”Imeanit.Iwouldrobaliquorstoreforherrightnowifsheasked.
Anything.
“Number1.ThispodcastwillberecordednextSaturdayorIamout.”
“OK.”
“Number2.Beabetterfriend.Iamnotjustsomeonetopayattentiontowhenyour
currentguydoesn’tworkout.That’snothowfriendshipworks."
“Iknow.I'msorry.”
“Number3...youneedtonutup.”
Iblink."Huh?"
Peelingoffherglove,shetakesmynoteoutofmypocketandunfoldsit.“Iam
gettingfired.Iamsuretheywillcallmetomorrowtoletmeknow,sinceIdidn'tgointo
thestationtoday,”shereads.Thenshelooksatmewithraisedeyebrows.“Really?”
“Yeah,I'mguessingthey'llcallmewhen—”
Geoshakesherheadhardenoughtomakeherdreadsdance.“Yeah,they'regoingto
bepissedatyou,Rose.Maybeevenfireyou.Butthat’snotwhatImean.Youneedtogo
inthereandfacethemusicinperson.Don’tbeawuss.That’snottheRoseIknow.Got
it?”
IburstintotearsofreliefasIlookatGeo.Ihavenowords.Iseeherfacesoftenand
sheclimbsoutofherseatandwrapsherarmsaroundme.“Iamsosorry,”Isay,
slobberingintoherdreads.
Shepatsmyarm.“Ihaveonemorequestionforyou.”
Iblinkmytearyeyesather.“What?”Isniff.
“Whytheballsdidyoufeeltheneedtomakeyournoterhyme?”
26
ROSE
Geostopsthecarjustoutsidetheparkinglot.Die-hardsarestillmillinginfrontofthe
station,morethanwehadlastweek,andMarkisn’tevenheretoday.Heleftlastnight
forspringtraining.Thebeaches,thenightclubs,thewillingsupermodelsofMiami.His
newnationalshowstartsintwodays.
Withoutme.
Withoutus.
Geotouchesmyshoulder.“Readytonutup?”
Swallowingandnoddingatonce,Iforceasmile.It’safakeoneofcourse.My
stomachistwistedinknotsasIeyethedie-hardsandpaps.Thisisgoingtobetheworst
gauntletever,nottomentionthefirsttimeIamfacingitwithoutMark.
GeorollstheCorollaintotheparkinglot.ThecrowdpartsliketheRedSeaandstarts
shoutingmyname.Notwithadorationthistime,butanger.Blindedbyflashbulbsand
dizzyfromadrenaline,Ireallydon’tthinkIcandoit.Iclingtomyseat,paralyzed.
“Nutup,”Georepeats.Ifeelhertouchmyshoulderandhertonesoftens.“Yougot
this.Iamgoingtopulloverthereandwaitforyou.Onewayoranother.Justtextme
whenthisisdone.”
Iexitthecarintoaseaofoverwhelmingstimulation.There'ssomuchshoutingthat
myheadspins.Feelingapanicattackcomingon,Itrytofindthewilltomovemyfeet,
onestepatatime.Ieyethestation’sfrontdoor,longingforitlikesalvationitself.
“Lookatthebackstabber.”
“Bitch!”
"Whore!"
Itrytowalk,butthecrowdpressesinagainstme.SomewomanthrowsatornW-
ALTbannerinmyface,screamingaboutsellingout.Someoneelsespitsontheground
atmyfeet.Someoneshovesmefrombehind,andpanicmakesmeshutdown.My
bodystopsmovingthroughthecrowd.Idon'tknowifI’mstuckbecauseI’mtrappedby
thepeople,orifIamjustphysicallyparalyzed.Probablythelatter.Isuckindeep
breaths,butnooxygenreachesmylungs.
Shit.Shit.Shit.
Someonegrabsmyarmandgentlytugs.AtfirstIflinch,andtrytopullaway,but
thenmyeyesfocusonthesecurityguard,ahugewallofaman.Hesmiles.“Comeon,
hon.”
Icouldkisshimrightnow,butthere’snotimeforthat.Hepullsmetothefront
door,opensitandnudgesmeinsohardIbangintoChad,whoawkwardlycatchesme.
“Whoa,”hesays.“Kindatoughoutthere.Wesentsecuritytolookforyou.”
Chadisnottheonlyoneinthelobby.Kristyisthere,alongwiththenewgeneral
managerandacoupleofsuitsI’veneverseenbefore.HalcyonHRmaybe?Totalk
aboutmyfiring,nodoubt.
Ilookaroundatthemonebyone.Meetingmeuponarrivalinthelobby.IguessI’m
gettingfiredbeforeIcaneventakeoffmycoat.Isuckinadeepbreathtostarttalking,
butbeforeIcan,oneofthesuits—theoneinthebluetie—stepsforwardandthrustshis
handatme.
“Rose.GregTurnbull.”
Dumbly,Itakehishandandgetaproperhand-pumping.He’ssmilingashedoes
this.“Let’sgobacktotheconferenceroomandhaveachat.”
Well,thisisit.Timetogetmypinkslip.Itakeadeepbreathandfollowthemtothe
conferenceroom,tryingtorememberhowmuchIhaveinsavingsandif
unemploymentwillcoverbasichumanexistence.Maybemyrent.Probablynotfood
toliveoninbetweenrentchecks.
ThenChadopensthedoortotheconferenceroomandmybrainshiftsfrom
panickingaboutmoneytowonderingWTF.
Idon’trecognizewhatusedtothebetheemployeebreakroom.Before,therewas
anancientmicrowavethatwasprobablyleakingenoughradiationtoturnusallinto
superheroes,fluorescentlightsandatinyfridgethathummedlikeadragondying.The
wallswerefadedyellowandthetileswerelooseandcracked.
Now,asItakemyseatinthemiddleofthetable,mybuttiscushionedbyastateof
theartergonomicchair.Thetableundermyhandsisblacklacquer,reflectinglight
fromthemod-lookinglightfixtureaboveit.ThereisaplasmaTVboltedtothewalland
framedartyblackandwhitephotographyaroundtheroom.MostlyNYCshots.
Overall,itfeelslikeacorporatetombandIcan’thelpbutfeelelated.Asmilespreads
acrossmyfaceasIrealizethatasbadaseverythingis,atleastIamabouttobereleased
fromthiscorporateprison.IwillbeasfreeasNightVixenandBecksandChris.Maybe
theywillforgiveme,nowthattheyseeIhaven'tsoldoutafterall.
ThisroomsumsupHalcyonperfectly—boring,deadcorporatebullshit—andIam
nevergoingtohavetolookatitagain.
Iamgoingtobeokay.Iwillfindanotherjob.Iwillmoveon,andIwon’thaveto
fakemydeathandmovetoCostaRicatodoit.This,today,isjustonebadday.Itdoesn’t
definemylife.
Istraightenmyspineandtossbackmyhair.NoticingIfeelhot,Ipeeloffmycoat
andleanonthetable.IeyeballChad.IeyeballGreg.Ieyeballthatothernamelesssuit.
“Wellthisisdifferent,”IsayinmybestScarJovoicetodate.“Lookslikethecover
photoforaFightClubposterrightbeforeBradPitttearsintoit.”
Chadchuckles.“Youaren’twrong.”
Yes.Thewallsarebeige.Chadisbeige.Halcyonisbeige.ButIamnot.
Iambrightblueandpoppinggreenwithtingesofpurpleandfieryred.Fuckthese
people.Iwigglemybuttontheseatandflashabigsmile.“So,guys,let’sdothis.Ihave
anailappointmentinthirtyminutes.”
ChadopensuphislaptopandGregmirrorshimliketheyarecorporatetwins.The
otherdudejustsitstherestaringatmewithasmallsmileonhisthinlips.“Rose.I'm
ScottThorson,VPofPRhereatHalcyon.”
OfcoursehisnameisScott.“Nicetomeetyou.”
Hetugsonhistieandchuckles.“I'mhappytomeetyou.”Herestshiselbowsonthe
tableandleansin.“Hugefan.Ihaveneveroncemissedashow.Iloveeverythingabout
yourshow.Eventhemusic.”
Irollmyeyes.Ugh.Whatabullshitcorporatewaytofiresomeone.Acompliment
beforetheylowertheboom.“Let'scutthebullshit,"Isay."Whatkindofseverance
packagearewetalking?BecauseIhavearequirednoticeperiodinmycontractwith
Doc,andI’mprettysureyouhavetohonorthoseterms.”
LaughscirclethetablelikeI’mLouisCK.
Chadraisesaneyebrowatme.“Didyouthinkweweregoingtovoidyour
employmentwithHalcyonthismorning?”
Voidmyemployment?Mytongueloosens.“No,”Idrone.“Ithoughtyouweregoing
tostraight-upfireme.”
Againlaughterflowsaroundthetable.Iamtrulyonfirethismorning.Toobadthey
don'tpaymeforcomedyshows.
“No,Rose,”Scottsays.“Nothinglikethat.”Hedrumsthetablewithhisfingers.“You
areavaluableassettothiscompany.”
“Asset?”Icrossmyarms.“TheMorningZooalreadyreleasedaparodysongabout
me.JimmyFallontweetedjokesaboutmelastnight.I'velosttrackofthenumberof
angryhashtagsandTumblrposts.Peoplehateme.HowcouldIpossiblybeanasset?”
Scottwagshisfingerintheair.“Precisely.Peoplelovetohateyou.”
Mymouthfallsopen.IknewHalcyonwascorporateashell,butreally?
“YouhavealwayshadastrongQrating,”Scottcontinues.“Andwethinkthatwillgo
throughtheroofwhenwegetyoubackontheair.Especiallywithallthistension
cracklingbetweenyouandyourcohost.”
Igaspsoloudthemenwince.Theymustbejoking.Thismustbesomecorporate
fratboyjoke,asickwaytogivesomeonetheshove.“Backontheair?With...?”Ican't
evensayhisname.
Scottgivesmeanenthusiasticnodandahugesmile.“We'resendingyoutoMiami
tocovertheYankees'firstpreseasongame.”
Backinthecar,GeoissilentasItellherwhatwentdownatW-ALT—orshouldIsay,
Halcyon's—latestmeeting.Keepinghereyesontheroad,shenodswhenItakeabreath
toenergizemyrant,butotherwisedoesn'tinterrupt.
“And,”Ishout.ScarJoisgone,LouisCKtoo.NowI'mchannelingLouisBlack.“They
saidrefusingtodothiswouldbeinviolationofmycontract.SoifIdon'tgodown,they
canfuckingsueme.”
Geosmiles.“Theysaidfuck?”
“Well,no.Theysummarizeditmorepolitely.”Itakeabreath.“Butit'sprettyclear.I
dothis,ormycareerinradioisover.Dead.Kaput."Geosaysnothing,andIfeelthe
urgetofillherCorollawithmorewhinging.“MaybeIcanjustleavethecountryor
something.Imean,Ihavenothing.Whatcantheysuemefor?Myoldbusteddown
Mustang?Mycollectionofnewwave45s?MaybeIcanjustmovetoCostaRicaand
changemynameandworkinsomebeachbarwithtourists.”Icollapseagainstmyseat
andcatchmybreath.
It’sagraywinterdayandGeo’sheaterisnotgreat,soit’scoldinthecar,yetIam
sweating.Myreleaseofhotairoutofmyangry,panickedmouthfogsherwindshield.
Geoswitchesonthedefoggerandstayssilent.
“Geo,”Iwhine."Saysomething."
Sheshrugshershoulders.“GotoMiami.”
“What?Noway.”
Sheshootsmealook.“GoingtoMiamiisthebestthingtodo.Forone,itjustmight
giveyoutheopportunitytoapologizetoMark.Ihappentothinkthere’sachancefor
you—foryouboth.Youguysfoundeachotherandforgaveoneanotherforallofyour
highschoolcrap.You'reoldernow.Smarter,bothofyou.Ireallybelieveyouguyscan
overcomewhathappened.”
“But—”
“Andhonestly,beingbackontheairisthebestthingforyourcareer.It'syour
dream,Rose.Evenifthingsdon'tworkoutwithMark,thiswillopenupsomanydoors
foryou.”
“How?Soallthedie-hardscanhatemeliveontheair?SoIcanbecomeapariah
nationwide?”
Sheshakesherdreads.“Haveeverthoughtthatmaybegoingdowntheremightbe
justtherightwaytorehabyourimage?Whenyou'reontheair,youcantalktothese
hatersdirectly.Youcancontrolthespinofthestory.Youcantellyourside,apologize,
andmakethisright."
AsIwatchParamusshootbyme,IthinkofthedisasterthatawaitsmeinMiami,ifI
dogo.Justhowbadisitgoingtobe?CanItakeit?
Snowiscomingdownnowinbig,fatflakes.Tonightwouldbeagreatnighttocurl
upwithabottleofwineonMark'scouch,claspeachotherandwatchlamemovies.Or
ventureoutintohishottubandwatchtheflakesfallfirsthand,whilewegetallwarm
andtoastyandprobablynaked...
Rightnow,ImissMarkmorethaneverbefore.Shit.Ithurts,howmuchImisshim.
“Hey,”Geosays.Thereisasmileonherlips.
“Yeah?”Istareoutthewindow.
“IguessIneedtomakeyoumores’mores,huh?”
Myeyeswellup.“Thanks.ButIdon'tknowifthatwillhelp.”
27
ROSE
WhenIstepoutsidebaggageclaimtocatchacab,it’slikeIjumpedintoawarm
bathtub.Miamiishotterthanhellandashumidasasauna.Jesus.Threeseconds
outsideandI’msweatinglikeI’vejustrunamarathon.Theairistoughtobreath,it’sso
heavyandwet.It’slikeJerseyinthedogdaysofAugust,butworse.
Afterballingupmygoosedownjacketandsecuringittomywheeliebag,Ihailacab
andpopin,gratefulthedriverhastheAConArcticblast.
“Whereto,Miss?”heasksinanaccentIcan’tplace.
“TheHiltononMiamiBeach.”
Henodsandthecablurchesforward.Wedrivebyaworldcompletelydifferent
fromNewJerseyandNewYork.Everythinghereiscleanandbrightandbrandnewlike
ashinypenny.Ihaveleftbehindacold,graywinterforendlesswarmthandsummer.
Palmtreesandstucco.Convertiblesandhalf-nakedgorgeouspeople.Eyeingthe
beaches,Iamlostinthebeauty,forgettingeverythinginthedizzymomentanew
environmentcangiveyou.ForamomentIforgetwhyI'mhere.Iforgetthepitof
dreadpoolinginmystomach,whereit'sbeenseethingforthewholetripdown.
ThenIseeitinthedistance.Anenormousbillboard,plasteredacrossthehighway.
“GAMENIGHTWITHYOURSTRULY.”Andoh,look.Mark’sface.Fiftyfeetwidewithhis
violetblueeyesgazingthroughme.
Myhandssqueezeintofistsandsodoesmyheart.Iambackinaswirlofanxiety
andsadness.IhearGeo'swordsinmyheadasshefedmethebests'moressheever
made.“Yougotthis,Rose.”
Closingmyeyes,Itakeseveraldeepbreathsofthecabdriver’sspicyincense.Yeah.I
gotthis.IamaRose,whichmeansI'vegotthorns.
MyHalcyonproducershereinMiamiareadapperlittlefellownamedCodyandatall
sinewyblondenamedJessica.WemeetinarentedroomattheHiltonforaplanning
sesh.Codyischeeryanddresseddowninjeansanda21PilotsT-shirt.IthinkImay
havefoundanallyinthiscorporatecrazy,sinceitturnsouthestartedoutasthe
programdirectoratanalternativerockstationinDetroit.“IalwayslovedW-ALT,”he
sayswithasmile.“Reallycoolsetlists.”
“Thanks,”Isay.“Howdidyouendupworkingcorporate?”
Heshrugs.“WhatcanIsay?Ihaveawifeandtwokidsandthemovingaroundand
thealtrocksalarywasn’tcuttingitanymore.”
IpressmylipstogetherandlookdownattheequipmentHalcyonhasprovided.
Stateoftheart.“IguessI'macompanygalnowtoo.”
“Ifeelya,”Jessicasays.SherollsuphersleevetorevealaGratefulDeadtattonher
forearm.Assherollsitbackdown,shesmilesatme.“Weallhavetogrowup
sometime.”Thenshelooksatthetimeonherphone.“OK,let’sroll.We’regoingto
interviewacoupleplayersbeforethegame.”
Myheadnods,butinsideIfeelgooeyandsick.Jessicacatchesmyeyeandgivesme
agentlesmile.Sheknows.Shemustknow.Whodoesn’tatthispoint?Myfailed
romanceisallovertheWWW.“It’llbefine,”shesays.“CodyandIgotyourback.”
Codynods.“Afterwecheckinwiththesuits,we’llbetherewithyouinthelocker
room.”
“Thatmeansalot,"Isay.ThenIblink."Wait.Lockerroom?”
Thestadiumismostlyempty,justsomemediapeopleandotherproductionpeople.I
lookdownatthebasesonthefieldandrememberMarkandmeracingaroundthem.
Sigh.
Shakingitoff,IfollowCodyandJesstoHalcyon'sprivatesuite,perchedoverhome
plate.
ThesuiteispackedwithHalcyonexecutivesandtheirguests,everyoneslurping
cocktailsandchampagnefromtheopenbar.Oh,wow.Thisplaceischokedwith
celebrities.IspotatleastthreerappersandmorethanacoupleofHollywoodB-list
actors.AsI’mintroducedaroundtheroom,eyeslightupinrecognition.Mostpeople
trytosuppressachuckleordeliverapatronizinghello.
TaniaScullyisheresluggingchampagneassherollshereyesatasuitwhois
invadingherbodyspacebytouchingherarm.Ew.PoorTania.Ican'tsayI’mahuge
fan,butIcanadmitGeoandIhavewatchedallofherchickflicks.Shealwaysgetsthe
guyandshealwayslooksgreatdoingit.
“Harry’sfinance.Yankeesshortstop,”Jesswhispersinmyear.
Taniacatchesmyeyeandmustrecognizemesomehow,becauseshemakesa
beelinetome.Thenit’sallairhugsandairkisses.“RoseTaylor,”shecoos.“Greatto
meetyou.”
Ican’tbelievethestarofLostinKissesandTheBreakupCruiseknowsmyname.
Weird.
She'sshorterthanIexpected,andpretty,thoughwithalotofmakeupon.Butthat’s
notastupidthingtodo,Irealize.Camerasareconstantlyclickinginthisroom.
Shit,IhopeIlookok.Iair-kissherback."Iloveyourmovies,"Istutter,thenwince.
Wow.Smooth.
“Youwantsomechampagne?”Sheholdsouttheotherglassinherhandtome.A
sparklygemdominatesherringfinger.Jeez.ItlooksbiggerthantheHopeDiamond.
Theweightofitmustkillherwrist.
“Nothanks.Ineedtokeepaclearhead.Goingtodomoreinterviewsinafew.”
“That'sright.Iheard…”shelooksoverhershoulderandthenleansintome.“You'll
betalkingtoMark,right?”
Mystomachchurns.Imean,Jessdidn'texactlysayso,butIkindoffigured.Afterall,
Halcyonjustwantsmeheresotheycanmakebankoffourrelationshipdrama.
Fanfuckingtastic.InoddumblyatTania.
“He’sagreatguy.He’s…”Shepressesherlipstogether,thendownsthelastbitof
champagneinheronehandsoshecantakeafreshslugofftheother.“He’sbeenreally
down,”shewhispersaftersheswallows.“Harrytoldme.”
Harry.HerYankeesman.Gotit.Inod.“I’msurehe’sbeencomfortinghimselfwith
allsortsofmodels.”Itrytosoundnonchalant,butIfeellikeI’mdyinginside.
Sheshakesherhead.“Heonlycomesoutofhishotelroomfortraining.Noclubs.
Noparties.Nonothing.Harrytriedtotalktohim,invitehimout,but...”Sheshrugsher
daintyshoulders.“Markdoesn’ttalktoanyone.He’sbeinglivinglikeamonk.Avowof
silencetype,too.I'mreallygladyou'rehere.Wewereallgettingworried.”
Myheartjumps.IfeellikeImightbeinoneofhermovies.PrisonerofLove,maybe,
orTenWaystoHappiness.Assheispulledawayfrommyside,shegivesmealittle
wink.
Amonk.Like,asin,notfuckinganyoneelse?Isthattrue?
Iimaginedhimdrowninginvaginabynow,returningtohisoldplayboyhabits.
MovingonandputtinghisdickineveryactressandcocktailwaitressonSouthBeach.
Butifthisistrue,ifhe’sreallyholedupandmonkingout,whatdoesthatmean?
Idon’tgetmuchtimetorevelintheexplosionofconfusingfeelings,becauseJessis
tuggingatmyarm.“Showtime.”
Itakeadeepbreathandpasteafakesmileonmyface.Heregoesnothing.
28
ROSE
Hot,well-builtmenstandinvariousstatesofundressaroundme.
Sofar,IhaveinterviewedsixofMark’steammates,allofthemthankfullyfully
dressed.StandardstuffwiththeclichédquestionsthatScotthasassuredmeour18to
34maledemographiceatsupwithaspoon.Ifeellikearobot.Iguessthisismy
corporatelifenow.
Whiledoingtheinterviews,myeyesdartaroundforaglimpseofMark,butallIsee
arebarechestsandtheoccasionaldickdanglingby.Wow,theseguysarenotshy.I
guessthey'reusedtoreporterstraipsingaroundinherethough.Andit'snotlikethey
haveanythingtohide.
CodypushesHarryFortiertowardme,Tania’sYankeesman.Ahandsomeguy,he’s
lanky,withslumpedshouldersanddowncasteyes.
Icueupthetape.“So,howdoyoufeel?”Iask.
Heanswerswiththestandardfeelinggreat,readyforthisgame,can'twaittogetonto
thefieldthateveryplayerhasalreadysaid,buthe’sniceandgrinsashedoesit.Plushe
hasaniceCajunaccenttoboot.Hecallsmema’am,eventhoughhe’sgottabearound
myage.Aw,southernboys.
“ThanksHarry,”Isaywhenwefinish.
“Noproblem,ma’am.”
Thenhedoesthesamethinghisgirlfrienddid,quicklypeekingoverhisshoulder
beforehelockshiseyesbackonmeinaconspiratorialgaze.Helooksdownatthemic.
“Thatthingoff?”
Inod.
Heputshismouthtomyear.“Mark’sbadoff.Ifyoustillcareabouthim,please,try
torightthis.We'reallworried.”
BeforeIcanaskwhat“badoff”means,hemeltsawayintotheseaofnakedmen.
He’sbadoff.
Aboutus?Whenhesatonthatcouch,avoidingmyeyesashetoldmetogetout,I
hadneverseenhimlooksomiserable.Hehasn’treturnedanyofmyphonecalls.Asfar
asIcansee,he’swashedhishandsofme.Butsofartwoseparatehumanbeingshave
approachedmetoofferhope.Againstmybetterjudgment,atendrilofoptimism
snakesintomyheart.
MaybeIamoneofthepluckygalsTaniaplays.MaybeIcanstillgettheguy.
Jesstapsmeontheshoulderandpointsbehindme.Turning,IseeMark.Suddenly
it’slikehe’smovinginslowmotion.He’sinhisuniformfromthewaistdown,but
abovethehips,heisinhisglory.HischestismoretonedthanthelasttimeIsawhim
andhe’ssportingafullbeard.
Thenheseesmeandsmiles.Myheartaboutexplodesfrommychest.Maybehe
listenedtothosevoicemailsafterall.Maybehewillforgiveme.
AshewalkstowardmeIhearathousandclicksofcamerasandfeelthehotlightsof
TVcamerastrainedonme.Shit.ThisisgoingtobeinHD.Thisinteractionisinfrontof
theentireworld.Ican’tbreakdown.
Isteelmyselfasheapproaches.Thisisjustastandardinterview,Itellmyself.A
standardinterviewwithmyheartandallmyemotionsontheline.
“Hi,Rose.”Damn.Washisvoicealwaysthissexy?Mykneeswanttobucklealready.
Hepecksmycheek,andhisbeardtickles.“Howhaveyoubeen?”He’srubbingmyarm
andgivingmesuchawarmlookIcan'thelpbutsmileupathim,hopeful.
“Fine.Good.I,uh...”Imissedyou,Ithink,butIamawareofthecamerasonevery
sideofus.
Helooksdownatmyequipment.“Thatthingon?Shallwe?”
Iclearmythroatandliftthemic.“RoseTaylorhere,livefromtheYankeeslocker
roomspeakingtoSportyTalk'sownMarkCarrington,theBadBoyatBatforthe
Yankees,”Irecite.“Markwhatareyourthoughtsontheupcomingseason?”
Itakeabreathandoxygenlightsupmybrain.OMG.Iamsohappyrightnow,so
relieved.Hisgorgeousblueeyesareonmeandhe’ssmilingandflirty.Thereishope
anditisspringingeternal.
“Well,Rose.WhatcanIsay?ThelineupisstrongandIfeelthisisouryear.”
Thewordsareallstandard,buttheyaredeliveredwithatwinkleinhiseyeandhe’s
standingsoclosetomeashesaysthemthatIcanfeeltheheatradiatingfromhisskin.
Hesmellsamazing.ThebeardsuitshimandIalmostreachoutmyhandtostrokeit.
It'ssohardtocontroltheimpulse.Wetalkforafewmoreminutesaboutthegame,the
warmups,theseasoningeneral.Thewholetime,Iwantsobadlytotouchhischest.To
kisshim.Tothrowmyarmsaroundhisneckandneverletgo.
“Wedone?”heasksfinally,stillwithhisgorgeouseyesonme.
“Yes.”Ireachdownandswitchofftheequipment.WhenIlookbackup,hisfacehas
changed.Hisjawisclenchedandhiseyeshavegonecold.Heturnsandwalksaway
withoutaword.
Iamleftfeelingchilled.Empty.Alone.Iwantthelockerroomfloortoopenupand
swallowmewhole.
IfeelJessputherarmaroundmyshoulders.“AreyouOK?”
“CanItakefive?”MyhandsareshakingandIwanttoburstintotears.Thatwasonly
forthecameras.Everythinghejustdid.Thesmile,thetouching,theaffection.Fuck,I
amanidiot.Ofcoursehedoesn'tforgiveme.Howcouldhe?
“Sure.”Shepointstowardthemassageroom.“Goshutyourselfinthereforafew
minutes.Wehaveenoughhere.Nationalisonahardbreakanyway.”
Luggingtheequipment,Iquicklymovetothebackofthelockerroom,shutthe
doorandrunrightintoamassagetable.ExactlyliketheoneMarkhasinhisloft.
Exactlyliketheonehegavemeamassageon,beforehecarriedmeofftohisbed.
Great,reminderseverywhere.
Ijumpupandsitonit,danglingmylegs.ThatwasawfulandIcan'tblamehim.I
mean,howwashesupposedtoact?Ofcourse,hewasgoingtobewarmandfriendlyon
camera,infrontoftheworld.
WhatdidIexpect?Himtoforgivemejustlikethat?
Theequipmentisheavyonmylap,soImoveittotheside.That’swhentheideahits
me.Insteadofcrying,Ineedtodosomethingproactive.Ineedtofixthis.Somehow.I
pickupthephoneanddialadirectlinetoHalcyon'slatestacquisitionintheheartof
Paramus,NewJersey.“Chad?Ineedyoutopatchmethroughlive.”
ThereisapauseandIswearIhearChadclosinghislaptop.“Forwhat,exactly?”
Itakedeepbreath.“Ihaveanidea.Andyouwillloveit.”
29
MARK
Theroomisquietandcool.I’msittinginoneofthemeetingroomsinthebackofthe
stadium,awayfromthepress,awayfrompeople.Iamlayingonthefloorface-up,
staringattheceiling.IwishIcouldturnoffthespeakerabovemepipinginMIAMI
SPORTTALKFM,butit'sautomated.Thepre-gamespeculationisannoying,butatleast
I’malone.
Beforeeverygame,Iliketotakeafewminutestomyselftojustbreatheandrelax.
ThisishowIhonemyfocus.ThisishowIhittheballoutofthepark.Closingmyeyes,I
trytofindthatspaceofease,ofbliss.Itrytopicturebeingonthemound,myeyes
trainedonthepitcher,theballhurlingmywayasfastasabullet.Itrytoheartheroar
ofthecrowdandsmelltheroastedpeanutsandpopcorn.Itrytofeelthestingofsweat
inmyeyesasIchokethebat.
Howdoesitfeelinmyhand?Howmuchdoesitweigh?Howdoesitfeeltotakea
practiceswing?
Breathein.Breatheout.
“AndwearethrowingitbacktoRoseTaylorinMiamiwithaspecial
announcement…”theradiodrones.
Fantastic.Ican'tevenavoidherinhere.Ishutmyeyesandtrytodrownouther
sultryvoicewiththoughtsofswingingbatsandroaringcrowds,butIcan’t.
"Ijustwantedtotellyou—andyouknowwhoyouare—thatI'msorry,"she'ssaying.
Yeah,sureyouare,Ithink.Sorryyougotcaught.
"AndIloveyou."
Thefloorfeelslikeit'sfallingoutfromunderme.
"Goodlucktonight,"sheadds,likeitwasn'talreadyobvioustoeveryonelistening
whoshejustsaidthatfor.Butsomehowitmakesmystupidmonkeybrainlikeitmore,
thatsheadmittedtothewholeworldhowshefeels.Sheknowsshecouldbehumiliated
now.Icouldusethatagainsther.Andstillshetoldme.Toldeveryone.
Fuck.
Everythingwasdecided.Everythingpackedaway.Iwasgoodtogobeforethat
speech.Iwasgoodtomoveon.Thelastseveralweeks,whenIwasn’tatpractice,Iwas
SkypingwithToddandironingoutthemessthatismypersonalshit.Ihavebeen
hittingthetherapyhard,processingtheemotionsfromyearsagoallthewayup
throughmekickingRoseoutofmylife.
It’sbeenarollercoasterthislastmonth.Facingallthisshithasbeendraining,but
alsofreeing.Atleast,IthoughtIwasfree.UntilIsawRosethismorning.Nowher
heartfeltwordsringinmyears.
Shelookedgoodtoday.Toogood.Shekeptstaringatmybeard.Butstandingso
closetoher,allthehurtcameback.AndnowIamtornintwobyherwords,bythat
confession.ThewordsIwantedtohearforsolong.Iloveyou.
No.Fuckthat.
I’veworkedtoohardtoslidebacknow.OneoftheissuesIexaminedwithToddwas
theconnectionbetweenmyromanticrelationshipsandmymother.PagingDr.Freud.
Grosstoexamine,forsure,butImadesomebreakthroughs.Icouldseethe
connection.ExceptforRose,Ialwayshadthisstand-offishthingwiththechicksinmy
life.
AndthenIopeneduptoherandlookwhathappened.
Fuckthatandfuckher.
Angerhitsmewithalltheoldsymptoms.Clammyskin,poundingheart,racing
thoughts.ButI’vebecomeanoldproatreelingthembackin.Inafewseconds,I’m
backonthemoundinmyhead.Soon,I’llhavetogobackintothelockerroomforthe
pre-gamepeptalk.Soon,I’llhavetogooutthereandperforminfrontofmillions.
ButIcan’tfocusrightnow.Ijustcan'tfuckingseethegame.
InsteadIseemyhottub,mybed.Rose,nakedbeneathme.Herfaceinmyhands.
Thewayshemoansmynamewhenshecomes,thewaysherollsoverinbedtosmile
upatmeinthemornings.
FuckHalcyonandfucktheYankeesforbringingherbackintomylife.
IamgoingtostrikeouttodayifIcan’tgetmyshittogether.
There’satapatthedoorandIcheckmywatch.Itain’ttimeyet.Whocouldthatbe?
“What!”Ishoutatthedoor.
Theknobjigglesandthedoorslowlyopens.“Hi,kid.”Stanleyenterstheroom.
Forasecond,I’mtooshockedtomove.Ijuststareathimfrommypositiononthe
floor.“Stanley.”Ibringmyselftoastandingpositionandstareathim,notbelievingmy
eyes.
Helooksgood,likereallygood.BygoodImeanhealthyasever.He’snotwearing
hisusualsuit,butkhakisandaHawaiianshirt.Ijustgape,nottrustingmymouthto
speak.HeopenshisarmstomeandIgointotothemlikealittlekidandrestmychin
onhishead.Hemustbefeelinggreat,becausehegivesmeabearhug,strongenough
tobruisemyribs.Gosh,thatfeelsgoodfromhim.
“Howyadoing,kid?”Heslapsmyback."TheytoldmeIcouldfindyoubackhere.
Beingantisocial."
Something'sinmyeye,soIturnaway.“I'mgood,”Isay.Stanleyobviouslyain't
buyingthatbullshit,‘causeIhearhimexhaleachuckle.
“That’snotwhatIhear.Ihearyougotabadcaseofheartache.”
Ishrug.“It'sbeentough,Iguess.ButI'llbeokay.Goodtoseeyou.”
Stanleycrosseshisarms.“Tellmeaboutit,kid.”
SoIdo.Imean,Ireallygiveittohimwithbothbarrels.AllthatworkwithToddhas
turnedmeintoamushy,emotivedude.Bytheendofourtalk,I’mamess,havinggone
overthewayIfeltabouthisheartattack,theshitwithmymom,theRosestuff.There's
nowaycanIwalkoutontothefieldandhitaballtonight.Hell,Idon’tthinkIcaneven
walk,period.
Stanleygrabsmyarmandeasesmedownintoachair.Hegrabsanotherchairand
sitsacrossfromme.JustasIamdetailingRose’sliveapology,ithitsme.Guiltbecomes
theonlyemotionIfeel.
WhatthefuckamIdoing?
Dudejusthadamajorheartattackandaquadruplebypassacoupleofweeksago
andhereIammakingeverythingintheworldaboutme,myshittylovelifeandmy
childhoodemotions.God,I'maprick.Istifleitandwipemyfacewithmyhands.“I'm
sorryfordumpingallthisshitonyou.Howareyoudoing?”
Stanleydrawsabreath,looksaroundtheroom,andthenbackatme.“Theselast
severalweekshavegivenmeanewperspectiveonthings.Auniqueone.Whenyou
almostdie…”heleansin.“Ialmostdied,kid.”
Pressingmylipstogether,Inod.Iknowthatanditkillsme.
“Anyway,mylifeisdividedintwonow.Thereisbefore,andthereisafter.”
Heissilentashelooksaroundtheroom,attheformicatable,theconcreteblocks,
untilhiseyesfinallysettleonmine.“YouknowwhatIlearned,kid?”
Ishakemyhead.“Tellme.”
“Lifeisshort.AndI’vegotthissecondchanceatit.WithBev.Toenjoythings.For
years,Iworkedlikeadoganddidn’tgivehertheattentionIshouldhave.Nevertook
timetostopandsmelltheroses.NowIam.
"Bill’shandlingmorethings,soBevandIcandolittlegetawaysandcatchsome
theaterinthecity.Havedinner.”Hiseyescrinkleinasmile.“I’vebeenhavinglunch
withhereveryday.”Hepointstohischest.“That’smyjourney.That’smypath.”He
pointstome.“Youneedtofigureoutwhatyouwanttodo.WiththisRosesituation
especially.Youhavetofindyourpath.”
Myeyesdarttotheside.“Shesaidallthoseawfulthings…”
Stanleynods.“Shittythings.Thatweretrue,bytheby.Anditsucked,butyou’rea
bigboynow,andyouhavetodealwithit.Butweallmakemistakes.Likehowyouhit
TommyPizza.Thatwasamistake,right?”
Inod.“But…”
“Butnothing.”Heshiftsinhisseatandpunchesmyarm.Wow.Therewassome
strengthbehindthatjabanditmakesmesmilehe’sgotthatkindaheatinhim.“She
ain'tthefirstpersontosaydrunkregrettablethings,youknow.Besides,shehadno
ideashewasbeingrecorded.Shehadzeroexperienceinyourworldatthatpoint.That
worldofgreedy,dishonestfame-chasersandsabotagingrivalswhowilldoanythingfor
abuck.”
StanleyrisesandpicksmyYankeescapoffthetableandperchesitawkwardlyon
myhead.“Thinkitover,kid.Lifeistooshort.”
“Tooshorttobetreatedlikecrapbysomechick.Iain’tadoormat.”
“Well,”hesays,withhishandonthedoor.“Ifthat’syourpath,sobeit.Butright
now,focusonthebat.I’llseeyouafterthegame.”
HeleavesmetomythoughtsandIgetbackonthefloor.There’sagameoutthereto
playandIhavetogetmyheadbackintoit.
30
ROSE
Ihaveneverbeentoabaseballgamebefore.Ifmyheartwasn’tsoheavyandIweren’t
contractuallyobligatedtosithere,Imightfeelspoiled.TheseHalcyonseatsarenear
homeplateabovethedugoutandIamsoclosetotheaction,Icanseetheeveryspeck
ofdirtscatterintheairastheumpiredustsoffhomeplate.Perfectpositiontocatch
Mark’scoldlookwheneverhecomesoutofthedugout.Awesome.
“Batterup!”theumpireshoutsashestepsbackfromthenewlysweptplate.
Sittingprettyontheseat,Itakeahitoffawaterbottleandtrytolookbusy.Mixed
messages.OnonesideIhaveTaniaandHarrytryingtotellmethatMarkneedsme.On
theotherIhaveMarkturningcoldasicethesecondIturnedthemicoff.Sowhat’sthe
deal?
Sighing,ItextGeototakemymindoffthings.
What’sthelatest?
Sherepliesfast.Wejustgotour1000thdownload.
Wow.Silverlining.JustbeforeIleftforMiami,welaunchedourfirstepisodeofthe
podcast.Alreadyit'sbeenonthereceivingendofsomegreatlistenerreviews.Also,we
gotsomebloggeractionthatseemstobepiquingmainstreammediainterest.It’snot
thekindofsuccesswhereyouquityourdayjob,butit’sthekindofsuccessthatmakes
youputupwithyourdayjobfornow,becausethere'sbetteronthehorizon.
Fantastic.
IdropmyphoneinmybagandthendigitbackoutwhenIhearsomeonesnicker
behindme.“Look,”amalevoicesays.“It’sthatbitchRoseTaylor.”
“She’schubbierthanIwouldhaveguessed.”
Oh,that’sjustgreat.Ifeellikealleyesareonmeandeverylaughandtitterisabout
yourstruly.Ugh.Isinklowerinmyseat.Iamalone,surroundedbythousandsof
snickeringstrangerswhohateme.
“BattingfortheYankees,MarkCarrington!”
Thecrowdgoesnutsastheyplayhisentrancesong,thesameoneweplayedashis
intromusicfortheshow.Withabatinhand,herunsoutontothefield.Theroaris
deafening,butheshowsnosignhehearsit.Hestepsuptotheplateandthepitcher
windsup…Ileanforwardinmyseat,fistsclenched.Morethananything,Iwanthimto
nailthishit.Iwanthisgametogowell.Iwanteverythingtogowellforhim.
Boom.
Hehitsitbeyondtherafters,rightoutofthepark.Ileaptomyfeetwiththe
screamingcrowdashejogsaroundthebases,grinningandwaving.Myheartthrobs
withjoyforhim,butalsowithpainthatIcan'tbetheretocelebratewithhim.Totell
himhowhappyIamforhim.Howproud.
Andthenhedoesittwicemorethatnight.Apparentlyonemorewouldbean
openingpre-gamerecord,anumberofhomerunsinthefirstgameoftheseasonthat
hasn'tbeenstruckinyears.I’montheedgeofmyseatandthecrowdisburstingwith
energyandexcitement.
Whenhestepsoutfromthedugoutforthefourthtime,thereisacollectivegaspand
theenergyinthestadiumshifts.Everyoneisnervousforhim.Everyonehopehe
makesit.Iambitingmynailsdowntothequick.
Ipullmyhandawayfrommyfaceandsitonit.
Mark’sfaceissternandIcanseehisjawislockedinplace.Ashecrackshisknuckles
andgrabsabat,thecrowdstartstochant.
ONEMORE
ONEMORE
ONEMORE
Ijointin,shoutingatthetopofmylungs.
Thepitcheronthemoundissweatingandlookskindapale.Hejustmightfallover.
TheMetscoachcallsatimeoutandeveryonearoundmestartscursing.
“Fuckwhatnow!”
“Quityourstalling!”
Thetired,sweatypitcherispulledfromthemoundandayounger,fresherpitcheris
putinhisplace.
Andoh,fuck.It’sTommyPizza.
“Dirtytrick,”themanbehindmesnarls.
“Youdidn’tthinktheMetsweregoingtoletCarringtonjustwalkawayfromthat,did
you?”
Ican’tseeMark’sfacefromwhereI’msitting,butifTommyPizza’sfaceisany
indication,itmustbeintimidating.TommysquintsatMark,andthen,whilekeepinghis
eyesonMark,heturnsandspits.
Whatatotalasshole.
Markisfrozenathomeplate,batraised,feetapart.Icanseethemusclesinhisback
andlegsaretenseandreadytospringintoaction.
Tommytossestheball.Markstepsbackasitnearlyhitshim.Weallgasp,thewhole
stadiumatonce.
“Dirtytrick!”someoneboos.
“Nah.PizzaBoyisgoingtowalkhiminsteadoflettinghimgettherecord.”
Iturntofacetheguybehindme.“Thatcan’tbetrue,”Iblurt.“Isthatallowed?”
“Happensallthetime.”
Icurse.“That’sdirtyashell.”
“Yeah,itis.”
MarkperchesthebatoverthemoundandTommyhurlsanotherathim,again
almosthittingMark,makinghimquicklyjumpback.
Tommycracksuplaughingastheumpireshouts,“Balltwo!”withhisfingersinthe
air.
Thecrowdaroundmecurses.Idon’tunderstandhowthisisnotcheating.Atthe
veryleast,it’sbadsportsmanship.Isgoodsportsmanshipevenathinganymore?
Markgetsintopositionagain.Ifhe’smad,nothinginhisdemeanorshowsit.His
faceappearsonthejumbotronandIcanseehe’sonemotionallockdown.Hisjawisset,
hiseyestrainedonthemound.DidIjustseeasparkleinthoseblueeyes?
TommythrowsandIdon’tknow,itallhappenssofast.Thesecondtheballleaves
Tommy’shand,Markjumpsbackabouttwofeetfromhomeplateandswingssofastit’s
ablur.
Thecrackofthebatsoundslikeathunderclapandtheballsailsintothestands.The
crowdcollectivelylosestheirshitandIstandandshoutwitheveryone.Intherushof
victory,IforgeteverythingbutMarkrunninghisfinallaparoundthebases,screaming
forjoy.
Thegameendsinvictory,Mark’sfinalhomerunclinchingthewinfortheYanks.
ThereisamadrushofplayersontothefieldandMarkisfirstdousedwithchampagne
andthenliftedupontheshouldersofhisteammates.
He’sonthejumbotronandhelookssohappythatI’mburstingwithhappinessfor
him.Ashetakeshisvictorylap,Isitbackdowntocollectmythings,droppingmy
phoneandemptywaterbottleintomybag.
ThenIhearthecrowd’smoodshiftfromacheeringroartoboosandhisses.
Whathappened?Ilookdowntothefieldtoseewhat’sgoingon.Maybetheumpire
hasdeclaredthehomeruninvalid?MaybeMarkispunchingtheshitoutofTommy
Pizza?
Butno.
PeoplearepointingatthejumbotronandIfollowtheirfingerstoseemyownimage
upthere,completewithmygapingmouthandwide-eyedlookofshock.
Theroarofdisapprovalisdeafening.Okay,maybeit’snotthatloud,butit’stheonly
thingIcanhear.ShakingandfeelinglikeIamgoingtopuke,Iputmypurseonmy
shoulderandrisefrommyseat.
Shit,Ihavesomanystairstoclimbtogetoutofhere.Ihearthecrowdroarandlook
overmyshoulder.Markisbackonthescreenbeinginterviewed;Icanhearhisvoice
echointhestadium.Thankgod.Adistraction.MaybeIcangetoutofthestadium
withouthavinghalf-eatenpretzelsthrownatmeandbackwashbeerrainingdownon
myhead.
Ihavetoclimbmaybeahundredstairs.Okay.Icandothis,eventhoughmylegs
arewobblyasfuck.I’lltakeitoneatatime.Iwillclimbthestairs,exitthestadiumand
findmyHalcyonrideoutside.Igotthis.
100,99,98...
“Rose!”
Ihearmynameandfreeze.AmIdreamingorwasthatMark’svoice?
“Rose!”
It’shimandheisholdingthestadiummicstill,buthe'sdroppedtheinterview.He’s
notthatfarawayfromme,standingbyhomeplate,andoureyesconnect.Forthe
briefestofmoments,Ifeellikewe’retheonlyonesinthestadium.
Hisfacebreaksintoasmileandherunstowardme.
Canthisbehappening?
Hetriestojumpthedugout,butit'sreallyhigh.ThentwoYankeesgivehimaboost
andhegetstotheroof.Me,I'mrunningtheotherway,downthosestepstothefence,
whichbuttsupagainstthedugoutroof.Ileanoverit,andhecupshishandsaroundmy
face.“Rose.Comehere.”Thoseblueeyesaresettingmywholebodyonfire.
IclimbovertherailingandintoMark’swaitingarms.
We’reonthejumbotronagainashefoldsmeintothosearmsandkissesmedeeply.
Hestrokesmyfaceandgazesintomyeyes.Iopenmymouthtoapologize,toexplain,
buthepresseshisfingertomymouth.“It’sOK,”hewhispers.“You’vedonethat
enough.”
Myeyeswellup.Itakehisfaceinmyhandsandletmygazelingerbeforespeaking.
“Ihavetotellyouthis.Iamsorry,Mark.Inevershouldhavesaidallofthat.Itwas
beforeIsawtherealyou.BeforeIwokeupandrealizedhowmuchIadmireyou.”I
takeabreath.“AndIloveyou.”
Marksmilesandkissesmeagain,slowlyanddeeply,asthecrowdburstsintoa
roaringcheer.“Iloveyoutoo,”hewhispersagainstmycheek.
EPILOGUE
MARK
ThewateraroundmeiscoolandIwanttoseehowlongIcanholdmybreathtostay
under.Adifferentworldbelowthewaves,Ifeeltheslightpullofthecurrentandgaze
peacefullyatthecoralandthelittlefishthatseemtohavenofearofme.Nakedin
nature,that’sthewaytogo.
AllthestressoftheWorldSeriesismeltingoffme.Sure,I’mgladwewon,butdamn
thatwasapressurecooker.Itwasn’toveruntilitwasover,anailbiteruntilthelastbat.
Sevengames.Seven!
ButwediditandnowI’maWorldSerieschamp.Itoldthemthiswouldbeour
season.Ouryear.Andithasbeen,inmorewaysthanone.
Thingsaregood.Momiskeepingsobersofar,andforthatIamthankful.Likeher,
I’mtakingitonedayatatimeaswerepairourrelationship.Iwouldlovetoseeherfor
Christmas,butthat’stoomanydaysawaytoconsider.Sheissobertoday,shewassober
yesterday,andthat’sokay.Withprayersandhardwork,shewillbesobertomorrow
too.
IhaveknockeddownmyToddtimetobiweeklysessions.Stillachallenge,buteach
timewithhimIfeelI’vegonealittlefurtherthanthesessionbefore.Theangeris
controllableandInolongerhavetobattlemyemotionsatthedropofahat,butIstill
haveawaystogo.That’scool.Romewasn’tbuiltinaday.
Ialmostwanttostayfloatinginthiscalmforever,butmylungsareburstingforair
andbetterthingsthanthispeacewaitformeonthebeach.Iwigglemyeyebrowstoa
starfishandpushofftheocean’sfloor.
Gettingtothesurface,Ipullclean,saltyairintomylungs.Thesunhassetbehind
thebungalow,leavingthisworld,ourworld,bathedinthesharpcolorsoftwilight.
Theresheis.MyRose.Iswimtowardtheshoreinanticipationoftouchingher.
Pullingthatlithelittlebodyofherstomine.
Stanleyisthebest.Hedelivered,eventhoughIwasvaguewithmyvacationideas.
“Somewherehot,”Isaid.“Anicebeach.Butprivate.Reallyprivate.Privateisthebig
thing.”Iwasalreadythinkingofsee-throughbikinisandNakedSaturdays,mostly.
“Ah,Iknowjusttheplace,”hesaid.“AndyoucangetawayfromtheTommystorm
too.”
Taniawasgreatonthestand,astarwitness,andhercelebritystatusencouraged
moreladiestocomeforwardaboutthatcreepfest.Roseincluded,blessherbravelittle
heart.Tommygothisdue.IhopeherotsinRikers.
Amessengerdeliveredtheticketsanddetailstomydoorwithinanhourofmycall
toStanley,alongwithanotefromhim.
BevandIlovethisplace.Haveagreattime!
Love,Stan
AlittleislandeastofKeyWest.Gorgeous,thesandcleanandwhiteandthewater
crystalblue.Everydaysincewegotherehasbeenbeautifulweather.Foodfromthe
mainlandgetsdeliveredtwiceadayandallwehavetodoisindulgeandsoakupthe
sun.Bungalowonaprivatebeach.Ourlittlesliceofheaven.
Privateheaven.NakedSaturdayhasbeenstretchedintoNakedWeek.
IpulltowardtheshoreuntilIcanwadeinandstand.MydickgetsharderwhenIsee
Rose’sglisteningnakedbodyonthebeachchair,soakinguptheafternoonrays.Istand
overhertopickupherpinacoladaandletthesweatfromtheglassandwaterfrommy
bodydripontohertits.
“Mark.”Shegiggles.“Givemethat.”Ihandittoherandwatchherpressthosehot
poutylipstotheglassandtakealong,slowsip.
“DoIneedtooilyouupagain?”Istrokeherinnerthigh.
“Mm,maybe.”Sheliftshersunglassesandgrinsatme.“Geosaidtheequipment
arrivedatourstudiothismorning.ChrisandNightVixenareinstallingeverything
now.”
Ishakemyheadandstrokeherotherleg.“Gladmyoldbarnisgettingsomeuse.
YouwantedtokeepthestudioinNewJersey,huh?”
Shedropsthesunglassesbackdownandshrugs.“IguessI’mstillaJerseygirlat
heart.Canyoudealwiththat?”
Igrabherankles.“LetmeshowyouexactlyhowIdealwiththat.”
Ispreadherlegsasshelaughs.Yesterday,Igaveheraniceshaveandherpussy
glistenswithsuntanoilandwetness.Isitonthebeachchairandsetherfeetonthe
ground.“Letmelickthatpussy.”Ispreadherlowerlipstorevealmymostfavoritespot
intheuniverse.“Fuckyes,”Igrowl.“Carringtongoesdown.”
Shelaughs,butitquicklyturnstomoansasIgetdowntobusiness.Iworkthatsexy
pussylikeit’smyjob.We’vebeentogetherformonthsnow,soI’vecommittedwhat
pleasedhertomemoryandreallyknowhowtogetonthatsweetlittleclit.
“There’snothingbetterthanthetasteofyourpussy.”
Asshemoansindelight,herbodyrollsinaspasm,andIgetharderthaneveratthe
sight.Ifuckinglovewatchingherlikethis,knowingI’mincontrolofherorgasm,thatI
cansendhertoheightsofuncontrollablepleasure.Igrabheraroundthewaistand
workthattongueintoheruntilshe’sabouttogetoff,rightatthepeak.Then,teasing,I
pullaway.Shegaspsinprotestatfirst,butonlyuntilsheseeshowhardIam.
Nowit’scocktime,whichisperfectbecauseitreallydoesn’tgetmuchharderthan
this.“Takeoffyoursunglasses,baby.Iwanttoseeyourface.”Shesmilesandher
Armanishadesdroptothesand.She’swatchingmycockwithpuredelightandhunger.
Keepingherpussylipsspreadwithmyfingers,IwatchherfaceasIslidemydick
insidehertightlittlebox.There’snothingquitelikethatfirstpenetrationfaceshe
makes.Oh,thatsweetnaughtysmile.Shemoansandwrapsherarmsaroundmyneck
asImoveinsideher.“Youlikethat,baby?”
Heranswerisadeliciousgasp.“Harder.”
Beforenow,Ihadneverfuckedonabeachchair.Ittookalittlepracticetogetused
tothericketything.Youhavetoknowhowtobalanceyourbody,wheretoputyour
feetsotheydon’tslipthroughthevinylblades.ButIgotthis.IknowwhatI’mdoing.I
positionmybodyontopofherandgrindasIkneadherbreastsandkisshermouth.
“Iloveyou,baby,”IgaspasIthrustinsideher.
Shetouchesmyface.“Iloveyoutoo.”
Wefinish,bothofusmoaningourorgasmsatthetopofourlungs,butwhocares
whenthere’snoonearoundformilestohearus.Icollapseinaworn-outheapontop
ofheraswefinish.Shewrapsherarmsandherlegsaroundmeandwejustbreathe
andholdeachother.
Nah,Iwaswrong,completelywrong.Thebeachisn’tparadise.Thisis.Fuckingher
isalltheparadiseIneed.
“Didyouknow,”shewhispersinmyear.She’sdancingherfingersacrossmyback
andIjustknowmydickisgoingtogrowhardagainsoon.“Thatwasoneofmy
fantasies?”
Iraisemyhead.“Whatdoyoumean?”
Shesighsandrunsherfingersthroughmyhair.“Mygo-tofantasywasalwayslying
onabeachnaked…”
Ismile.“Wegotthatcovered.”
“Andthenthishotfacelessguywouldemergefromthewavesandfuckmeright
thereonthebeach.”
Iremovesomeloosestrandsofhairfromhercheek.“Faceless?”Ipeerdownather.
IthinkmytonesoundsalittlehurtandIwonderifI’mpoutinglikeachump.Shespots
thisandtouchesmycheekwiththebackofherhandsoftly,thenkissesme.
“Turnsoutitwasyou,”shewhispers.“Itwasalwaysyou.”
“Funny,”Isay,wrappingmyarmsaroundhertight.“Ihadasimilarfantasy.Andit
wasalwaysyou,too.”
THEEND
FRICTIONBYEMILYSNOW
CheckoutthefirstchapterofFrictionbyEmilySnow.
ChapterOne
"I'mplayingbingowithCynthiaandDeanthisafternoon.Didyou...doyouwantto
comewithus?Justsoyouwon'thavetobealone.Ihatethethoughtofyoubeing
alone,Lucy."
Mymother'svoice,risingoverTonyBennettandLadyGaga'sversionof"TheLadyis
aTramp"blastingfromthecounter-topCDplayer,sendsawaveofshamethroughme
asIstumbleintothekitchen.Earlymorningsaresupposedtobesimple.Pee,twoor
threecupsofcoffee,repeat.Instead,I'malreadybeingremindedthat,attwenty-seven,
IamA)livingwithmymotherandB)alone.
Crossingmyarmsovermychestsoshewon'tcomplainaboutmylackofabra,I
faceher.She'sprimlyseatedatthesameglasskitchentablemydadassembled—
cursingtheentiretime—duringThanksgivingbreakmyfreshmanyearofcollege.
Grippinghercoffeemuginonehand,sheleafsthroughthenewspaperwiththeother.
I'mnotsurprisedthat,despitetheabsenceofanactualsunrise,she’salreadyfully
dressedfortheday,herblackbobneatlycombedandhermake-upsubtle,immaculate.
Iyawnintomyupperarm."Goodmorningtoyou,too."
Shetakesinthesightofme,frommybarefeetandoversizedteeshirttomytangled
mopofjet-blackhair,andherbrowneyesnarrow.Ifrownrightback.
"So...bingo?"WhenIshakemyhead,shesagshershouldersandsighs.“I’mjust
lookingoutforyou.”
"Iknowyouare,andIappreciatethat."Turning,Iopenthecupboardandgrabthe
firstgiantmugIfind,theoneIboughtwhenwevisitedherfamilyinDaNangthe
summeraftermyfatherpassedaway.Itakethechairacrossfromheranddrawmy
kneesuptomychest,stretchingmyshirtovermylegs."ButIpromiseI’mfine.AndifI
don’tseemfine…well,that’sbecauseyoustartthemorningplayingTonyandGaga.”
WhileMomgoesonabouthowamazingGagaandTonyare,Ipretendtobe
interestedinmyphone,whichI’dleftonthekitchentableovernight.Oneglanceatmy
newmessages,though,andIregretchecking.Ihavethreenewtextsandthey’reall
fromTom.MybloodpressurespikesalittlemorewitheachwordIread.
11:19PM:Iwon’tsueifyoudropthestubbornact.YourcareermeansEVERYTHINGto
you,andweneedyouherewithus.
11:21PM:You'relivinginyourmother'shouselikeachild,andIknowyou.Thisisn't
yourideaoffun.
11:21PM:Luce,Iknowyou'regettingmymessages.
God,Iwanttopunchhiminhisperfectfaceforstartingmydaywiththissortof
bullshit.Ittakesanoutrageousamountofeffortnottoslamthephonedownonits
screen,butit’snew.AndIcan’taffordanother.Igentlyplaceitbesidemycoffeeand
forceasmileatmymother.
Shetakesthechangeinmyexpressionasasignofencouragement,becauseshe
leansintentativelyandsays,"Gettingoutmightbegoodforyou.”
Icanthinkofamillionandonethingsthatmightbegoodforme:
Acocktailwithadoubleshot,maybeevenatriple.
AtleastonenightwhereIsleepafulleighthoursbecauseI'mnotworriedabout
whathappensnextorstressedbecausemyformerbossisanassholewho’sscrewing
meover.
Sex.
Allthree,andnotinanyspecialorder.Atthispoint,I’mnotpicky.I’lltakewhatI
cangetwithoutmuchfuss.
"Iactuallyhaveotherplansthisafternoon,”IinformMomalittletoocheerfully,
tryingmydamnedestnottothinkaboutthemessagesI’veyettorespondto.Idon’t
evenknowifIcanrespond—notwithouttellingTomtogoscrewhimself.“Ihavean
interviewinBostonwithaplacecalledEXtremeEffects.I'mnotsurewhattimeI'llbe
back,andI’dhateforyoutohangaroundwaitingforme.”
I’vechantedthemagicword,interview,becauseshescootsherchairclosertomine.
Placingherelbowsonthetable,shecradlesherchininherhands."Didthat
employmentagencyfromlastweekmakeamatchalready?”
“No,Ifoundthemmyself—throughanadonCraigslist.”
Hergrinrapidlydiminishes,andIfeelheatcreepingintomycheeksasshetapsher
fingertipsagainsthertemplesandpinchesherlipsintoatightline.“Craigslist…okay."
Ishouldhaveknownthiswascoming,theblatantdisapproval.It'swhyIwasn't
goingtobringuptheinterview,especiallysinceIhaven’tbeenabletofindanything
aboutEXtremeEffectsotherthanthatthecompanyspecializesinweldingandother
metalworks—andIhadresearchedforhours.IhadalmostmessagedDaisy,the
womanwhocontactedmeviaemail,todeclinetheinterviewrequestbecausethelack
ofinformationimmediatelysoundedalarmsinmyhead.
Ofcourse,themomentIlookedatmybankbalance,Ireconsideredsendingthat
message.
Beggarscan’tbechoosersandsincethisentireconversationstartedbecausemy
mother’sinvitingmetoplaybingowithherfriends…
Stiffeningmyposture,Igiveherapointedlook."It'sajob,notasearchforacasual
encounter.Besides,didn’tthatthinginthelivingroomcomefromaCraigslistad?"I
pointatthe70-inchmonstrositymountedonthewalljustoutsidethekitchen.My
motherlovesherTVshowsjustasmuchasshehatespayingexorbitantprices,so
naturally,shesprungforausedflatscreen.
“That’sdifferent,”sheargues.“It’satelevisionset.Whatyou’retalkingaboutis
dangerous.”
“Firmsaren'tlininguptohireme,Mom.TheleastIcandoisgototheinterview;it
can'thurt."
Whatdoeshurtissayingthosewordsoutloud.
Despiteeverything,Imovedhomestillsureofmyself,surethateverythingwould
beokay,surethatIwouldsnaganewjobinrecordtime.Instead,I'veheardthesame
thingrepeatedly,meetingaftermeeting:
Overqualified.
MaybeIam,butIalsoknowtherealreasonIhaven'tbeenhiredyetandithas
nothingtodowithtoomanycredentials.Iwalkedoutonatwo-yearcontractwithmy
lastemployer.Andtheemployerinquestion—whosenewesttextmessageshave
alreadynudgedbeneathmyskinbeforeeightAM—isjob-blockingmeateveryturn.
Mom’schairscrapingagainstthetilefloordrawsmyfocusfromTomandback
acrossthetable.Sheworkstocoaxherfrownintoareassuringsmileasshestandsand
grabshermugfromtheplacemat."Ifthosefirmshaveanybrains,they'llcallyou,"she
says,walkingovertothedishwasher.
“I’mnotholdingmybreath.”
"Makesureyoutakeyourpepperspraytothatinterview.”WhenIstarttoargue,
sheholdsuponefinger,remindingmeoftheargumentswehadwhenIwasstilla
child.Nomatterwhat,SusieWilliamsisalwaysright."YoufoundthemonCraigslist,
Lucinda.Takethedamnpepperspray.”
Drawinginabreath,IpromiseherIwillandleavethetabletosearchmovingboxes
formyluckynudepumps.IworethemthedayIwaspromotedtoSeniorMarketing
DirectoratWLC—ayearbeforeIletTomtalkmeintoworkingforhimatJava-Org.
Today,IneedalltheluckIcangetbecausethebastard’srightaboutonething:
It'snotfunhavingmylifesofaroff-track.
It'sjustoveranhourdrivefromthebungalowIsharewithmymotherinWorcesterto
EXtremeEffectsinEastBoston,soIleavetwohoursearly.I’mstillflusteredbythetexts
Tomsent—andI’lllikelyspendtherestofthedayonedgebecausehearingfromhim
hassuchacrushingeffectonmypsyche—butIconcentrateonwhatIcancontrol.Like
ItoldMom,thefirmsI'veappliedatsofarhaven'tbeenbeatingdownmydoor,andI
needthisinterviewtogooffwithoutahitch.
Desperately.
TheGPSannouncesthatI'vearrivedatmydestination,andIpullmyJeepuptothe
curb,twistingaroundinmyseattogetabetterlookatthebuildingasIputmycarinto
park.Mylipsdragintoadeepfrown.ComparedtoWLC'sten-storybuildingin
downtownSanFranciscoorthechicSouthofMarketofficespaceTomandhisbusiness
partnerleasedforJava-Org,thetanstructurebeforemelooksmorelikeanoversized
garage.Knowingmyluck,thepersoninterviewingmewillprobablyhaveadip-
chewingobsessionandcoverallsthathaven’tbeenchangedinthelastweek.
Themomentthatthoughtcrossesmymind,myscalpprickleswithshame.Ibury
myfaceinmyhandsandgroanintomypalmsbeforeshovingmyhairawayfrom
warmcheeks.“Don’tbeanelitistbitch,”Itellmyselfharshly.“Don’tyoudarebethat
way.”
AsIapproachthebuildingwithmypurseandportfolioinhand,thefirstwavesof
nauseaslamintothepitofmystomach.I'mgoodatwhatIdo,butI'vealwaysstruggled
withgettingmyfootinthedoor.Ihadstressedaboutmycollegeadmissioninterviews
somuchmyeasy-goingfatherconfiscatedmylaptopandcopyofSellingYourSkillSet
forDummiesjusttoforcemetorelax.Dad’sadvicebeforemyappointmentatBrown,
andevenwhenIcalledhimfreakingoutovertheWLCpositiontheyearbeforehedied,
isstillfreshinmymind.
Kicksomeass,LucindaJane.
Clutchingmypepperspraykeychaininonehand,IstepoutoftheearlyJanuary
chillandintothewarmconfinesofthecompanyIfoundonCraigslist.TheoneIknow
absolutelynothingaboutbecausetheyhavezerowebpresence,andIonlyappliedto
becausethesixtythousanddollarsayearsalarywasmusictomybrokeears.
ThepartofthebuildingI'mstandinginissmall—atenbytenspacewithfiling
cabinetsliningonesideofthewallandafewchairsagainsttheother.Aleggybrunette
sitsintheseatclosesttothebluesteeldooronthefarsideoftheroom,flippingthrough
herownportfolioandoccasionallysneakingglancesattheintricatelydesignedmetal
clockonthereceptionist'sdesk.
Iconfidentlyapproachthedesk,andtheheavilytattooedwomanbehinditliftsa
pairofstartlinglightgreeneyesfromthescreenofhertablet."Letmeguess,Client."
Sherollsherchairbackwardafewinches,andItrynottostareathert-shirtthatsays
FuckingClassy.Afterafewseconds,Iopenmymouthtocorrecther,butthenshe
shakesherheadandmuses,"Ahh,interview."
God,IhopeIwasn'toglinghershirttoohard.
"Yes,I'mLucyWilliams-Duncan.IwascontactedbyDaisyaboutcominginattwo
forthemarketingposition."
“I’mDaisy."Herlipsquirk,andshescratchesastylusthroughherplatinumpixie
cutassheskimshergazeovermygoldenyellowpeplumdress."Andyou,Sunshine,are
early."
"Abadhabit."
"OneIshouldprobablypickupbeforeMr.Ehasmesendingoutinvitestofillmy
ownjob.”Shepointstothetwoemptychairsnexttothebrunette."There’saone-thirty
beforeyou,soitmightbeawhile.”
BeforeIleaveherdesk,Itapmyfingertipagainstthefaceoftheclock,shiveringat
thehard,coldtexture."Thisisbeautiful."
Shebeams."Wemadethathere."
Slightlymoreatease,Idropmykeysintothesidepocketofmypursebefore
leaningdowntoexaminetheclockmoreclosely."Ahh,soyoudesignclocks?"I’m
alreadyimaginingalltheaspectsofsellingpieceslikethis,andI'maneighthoftheway
intoadetailedmarketingplanwhenDaisyclearsherthroat.Sheblinksupatme.
Severaltimes.
“Yeah…clocks.”Herlipspart,butthenshecrinkleshersmallnoseanddrumsher
stylusagainstthequotetattooedonthesideofherneck."Amongotherfunthings.Go
aheadandhaveaseat,I’llletyouknowwhenhe’sreadytospeakwithyou.”
WhileIwaittomeettheelusiveMr.E,Ireviewmydocuments.I'minthemiddleof
re-readingmyrecommendationletterfromtheinternshipIcompletedbeforeI
graduatedwithmyMBAfromStanford,whenDaisysingsoutmynameinaclearalto.I
peerupfrommyportfoliotofindhergrinningbroadly.
"Theotherchick'sinterviewendedearly,sohe'sreadytobrightenyourdaywithhis
…sunnyawesomeness."
Ican'ttellifshe'sbeingserious,soIsimplynod.Holdingmyleatherbindertomy
chest,Ibrushmyotherhanddownthefrontofmyyellowdress,smoothingthe
wrinklesoutofthewovenfabric."Thanks,shouldI—"
Shepointsoverhershoulder,tothebluedoorbehindherdesk."Gothroughthere
andtakealeft.He'sintheofficeattheendofthewalkway.Andwatchoutformetalon
thefloor.It'samessbackthere!"
Thankfully,themetaldisasterseemstobecontainedintheworkshopontheother
sideofthewalkway,wheretwomeninweldingmasksareworking,thesoundofThe
Weeknd’s“TheHills”boomingfromanoverheadsoundsystemassparksflyaround
them.IreachE’sdooranddrawinasharpbreathtocalmmynervesbeforeIknock
softly.Althoughit’salreadyhalf-open,Momgotonmycasesomanytimesabout
burstingintoroomsunannouncedwhenIwasachildthatknockingfirstisahabitnow.
"Comein,Ms.Duncan."
Mytoescurlinsideofmyluckypumps.Thatvoice,withitslongvowelsandclipped
consonants,isjustabitbreathtaking.I’vealwaysbeenabigfanofaccents.Igrewup
withaVietnamesemotherandafatherfromMississippi,andthevoiceontheother
sideofthatdoordeeplysatisfiesmyauditoryfixation.It'sAmericanized,that'sforsure,
butthere'saBritishundertonethere.
Iwonderifthefaceandbodyattachedtoavoicelikethatdoesitjustice.
“MissDuncan?”herepeats,soundingatouchirritated.“You’rewastingyourtime
andminejuststandingoutthere.”
Isquaremyshouldersandpressforward.
Andmyheartimmediatelyslamsintomythroat.
Themanbehindthemetaldeskislookingathislaptopscreen,hiseyesnarrowed
andhislipsworkedintoaconcentratedfrown.Icanonlyseehimfromthewaistup,
butIquicklyhatemybody'sreactiontotheblueflannelshirtshoveduptohiselbows
andtheunrulychocolatebrownhairandstubble.
"Givemejustasecond,I’mgoingto—"Liftingblueeyesfromthescreen,hisdeep
voicecatches.Hestaresatmeforanawkwardpause,stunned.Rubbinglongfingers
tattooedwithRomannumeralsoverhischin,heinclineshisheadtooneside.Ihold
mybreath,prayingandhopingandwishingforamiraclethat’sclearlynotgoingto
happenbecausehisscowltransformsintoagrin.
Heknowsme.
Heremembersme,andmyheartsinksfrommywindpipe,inchbyinch,asIrealize
anotherinterviewhasjustbitthedust.
Here’sthethingaboutmostoverachievers,eventhosewho’vefallenfromtheirhigh
perch:theyallhavethatoneperson.Theonewhomadetheirhighschoolexistencea
littlemorestressful.Thatonepersonwhowas,despitehisconstantasshole-isms,the
objectofhersecretfantasies.Thatonepersonwhowastheoppositeofeverythingshe
aspiredtobecomebecausehegavezeroshits.
IwastwelvethefirsttimeIlaideyesonmyperson.
It'ssadthatIrememberthemomentclearly,butinmydefense,hecametoour
classtowardtheendoftheschoolyear,andI'djustcelebratedmybirthdaythreedays
beforehislateMayarrival.Wehadthesamehomeroomteacher,Mr.Collinswho
taughtSocialScience,andastheytalkedatthefrontoftheclassroom,Iwasentranced
byhissoft,choppedaccentandthewayhecombedonehandthroughhisdarkhair.
He'sdoingthatnow,onlyhe’snotspeaking.
ThelasttimeIsawthemaninfrontofmewastenyearsago.Hehadcomplained
thatmysalutatorianspeechwas"toofuckinglong"andthathehadpartiestogettoand
vaginasthatneededhisundividedattention.Ihadrespondedboldly,tellinghimthatI'd
seehimatourreunion—ifhecouldputdownhisbongandwhoeverhewasbanging
longenoughtomakeit.
Andnow,I'mstandingsmackdabinfrontofJaceExley,askingforhimtogivemea
job.
Heatpulsesdownmyspineasheflickshissteelybluegazeoverme,rakinginall
fivefootsixinches—fivefootninewiththeheels.I'vefilledoutsincethelasttimewe
saweachother.Ihavehipsandbreastsandabuttnow,andInixedtheshortblackbob
thatmademelookolderthanmymotheryearsago.
Still,foramoment,Ifeelliketheflat-chestedgirlwhowantedtopunchhiminhis
stupidlyruggedfaceeverytimehesaid,"pullthestickoutofyourarse,Williams."
"LucyWilliams."Jacesteepleshisfingersoverhismouthandleansback,givingthe
impressionofamanusedtogettinghisway.Tobehonest,Ihavenodoubtthat’sjust
whatheis."NeverthoughtI'dseeyouagain,andIsureasfuckdidn'tthinkyou'dwalk
throughmydoor,butplease...sitdown.”
SCREWMATESBYKATY IMCGEE
CheckoutthefirstchapterofScrewmatesbyKaytiMcGee!
newsletterheretofindoutfirstwhenitgoesonsale!
Prologue
IknewfromthefirsttimeIsawhimthatIwasscrewed.
Hecouldn’tbeashotasIthoughthewas,thatwasn’tpossible.I’mavisualartist.
Andthathadtobeanillusion.Nowaythosebrowncurlsandscruffyfacewerereal.
Twenty-eightyear-oldColinFarrelldidn’tliveinKansasCity.Someonewouldhave
mentionedit.Also,timetravel.
Ihadjusttakenoffmyglassestocleanthem.Fatalmistake.Iwasstillblinkinginthe
doorwayandtryingtomaneuverthehemofmyplaidbutton-downtorubonthe
lenseswhenAva,mistakingmefornervous,puttheflatofherhandonthesmallofmy
backandshoved.
SomyfirstrealimpressionofMarcKirbycameasItrippedandfelltomy
knees.Mychin,slightlypointed(Mom’sside,thanksfornothing)ledasitusuallydoes.
Pointfirst,Islammedheadlongandhardintohisdick.Andman…itwasabigdick.
Bestfirstimpressionever.
TypicalAva,crackingup,surveyedthescene(bothofusonthefloor:himin
pain,meinhumiliation).
“Madison’schin,mycousinMarc’scrotch,”shechokedoutbetweenhowlsof
laughter.“Meetyournewroommate,bothofyou.I’llleaveyoutoit!”Thedoor
slammedbehindher.
So.Completely.Screwed.
“I’llfindmyownroom,”Isaid,beforehehadachancetorecover.“Sorry
about—yourboyparts.”Myfinestmoment,obviously.
SweartoStanLee,I’venevermovedthatfastinmylife.Turningoneknob,then
anotherinrapidsequence:hisroom,closet,bathroom,finally(blessedly),mynew
room.
Forthehundredthtime,oratleastthehundredthtimethatday,Icursedmyformer
roomiesforchangingtheirmindsthedayweweresupposedtoturninourlease
renewalandleavingmeinthelurch.Youcouldarguethatanunplannedpregnancyon
Lizzie’spartandanervousbreakdownonScarlett’swereunexpected,butIwasinno
moodtobecharitable.
BecausehereIwasnow––anewroom,afreshstart.Abigdick.
Ididn’tmeanto,butthedoorslammedbehindmeaboutasloudlyasithadbehind
Ava.Butwhereasherswaspunctuation,minewasjust—Idon’tknow,carelessnessand
humiliationcombined,Iguess.
CouldhereallyhavebeenashotasIthoughthewas?
AndcouldIreallyhavejustchinnedhiminthejunk?AndthenIfled?Andslammed
thedoor?
Andcouldchinnedreallybeaverb?
Dying,seriously.
Ifloppedbackonthebed.ThankOdinthisplacecamefurnished.Icouldnoteven
handlegoingbackoutthererightnowtostarthaulingfurniturearound.Nowwasa
timeforcoweringandtryingtopretendthatdidn’thappen,evenasIcouldsmellthe
boy-scentsoftheapartmentandhearhimstilllettingouttheoccasionalgroan.
Okay.Noprob.Icouldhandlethis.
Theplanwastojusthangoutquietlyforawhile,lethim…recover.ThenI’dheadon
outcasuallylikenobigdeal,andapologizewhenneitherofuswereembarrassed
anymore.Easypeasy,we’dmaybeorderapizzaorsomething,hangout.Startfresh.
Flirtalittle.Justmeandthehotcurly-headedfaux-Irishguy.HotMarc.Eatinghot
pizza.Beingroomies.Asyoudo.Justdoingthething.
Iwokeupapproximatelyfivehourslater,tofulldarknessandapillowcoveredin
drool.Nopizza.Nohotroomie.
Andawholelotmorehumiliation.
BecausenowMarcprobablythoughtIwasscaredtofacehim.Iwasn’t,notatall.
Superbrave,thatwasme.Butyoucan’tsaythattosomeone,soyouhavetojust
swaggeraroundandhopetheygatherthegeneralidea.
WhichwaswhatIwasallreadytodothenextday,onlyheevidentlywasatschool
thewholetimeIwasathomedrawingandawaitinghim.
Notdrawinghim,perse.Ifyouhappentoputafamiliarfaceonabodywithacape
that’sjustartisticlicense.
Grabbingmynewkeyfromthecounter,Ifinallyheadedofftoworkformynight
shiftatthescreenprintshoparoundfive.Igothome,wounddown,wenttobedwhile
hewassleeping,andwokewhenhewasgoneagain.
Well,therewasstilltheweekendwhenschoolandworkwerebothnotinsession.
Weirdwaitingsolong,butIwouldn’tactlikeit,I’dbelike,“Oh,hey,neverseeyou,
how’sitgoing?”Supercasually.
Andhe’dbeall,“Man,ourschedulesarecrazy,right?Bourbon?”
“Bourbon,”I’dreply.Andthenwe’dgettoknoweachother.
ExceptIneversawhimSaturday.OrSunday.
ItextedAva,nonchalant,like.Yourcousinisaninvisibleroommatehaha.
Shewrotebackalmostimmediatelythathewasnotonlyinthemiddleofearning
hisdoctorate,butwenthometohelpouthismomonweekends.
Well,well.Hot,smart,andagoodson.Cool.Icouldworkwiththat.Andreally,I
don’tevenlikebourbon,so.
Butrightthen,Ihadtoactuallyworkwork,becauseComicConwasonlyafew
monthsawayandanaspiringcomicartistlikemyselfhustleslikeamotherfuckerat
thosethings.Sooneweekblendedintotwoprettyeasily,betweenmyday(night?)job
andmyart.Thenonemonthbecametwoandthenalotmoreandithonestlyshocked
mewhenonedayIsawastackofhisgraduationinvitationssittingonthekitchentable.
Tenmonthshadsomehowmeanderedbyinaparadeofframesandframes(bad
screening/artistjoke,sorry)withoutevergettingthechancetogettohangwithMarc.
Don’tgetmewrong––Isawhimallthetimeinpassing.Wejustneveroncefulfilledmy
pizzanightfantasy.
Fantasy?No,thatmadeitsoundtawdry.Myexpectation,thatwasbetter.Because
wholivedwithsomeonefornearlyayearandneverNetflix-edandchilled?
Wait.
ImeantactuallywatchedNetflixwhilechilling.Idid.Iswear.Because,literally,who
liveswithsomeonefornearlyayearandneverhasaboringcouchnight?
Soitwasweird,maybe,butitwaswhatwedidanditwasnobigdealandactuallyI
hadn’teventhoughtaboutourembarrassingfirstencounterinmonths.Really.
ExceptmaybeoccasionallywhenIhaddatenightwithmyvibrator.
Butitwasn’tlikeheeverknewthat’swhatIthoughtabout.
ChapterOne
“Madison?Hey.Madison.”
Isatupwithajolt,mysketchbookfallingtothefloor.
“Myboobs!DidIpass?”IwashavingThatDream.TheonewhereIshowupat
schoolafrazzledmesswithpencilsstickingoutofthemessybrownbunontopofmy
head,myglassesoncrooked,andinkstainsallovermyhandsandarmsthatwhisper
rudethingsatpassers-bywhothinkit’sme.Theonewheretheself-portraitIspentall
weekworkingonhassomehowmorphedintoapictureofthedogIhadwhenIwasin
elementaryschoolonlywithmymom’sheadontop,andI’mnowentirelycertainI’m
goingtogetanF.
AndthatMomwillnotbepleased.DidImentionI’malsonudeinthedream?
Ihatethatdream.
AsolidfouryearssinceI’dgraduatedfromtheKansasCityArtInstitute,andIwas
stillhavingthatrecurringnightmare.Apsychologistmighthavesaidthatwasa
reflectiononhowunpreparedIfeltineverydaylife.
ButImajoredinart,notpsych,sothatpsychologistcansuckit.Iprefertoswallow
myfeelings,preferablywithCheetos,andletthemturnintolow-levelanxietiesand
weirdinspirationforcanvasandpaperandT-shirtdesigns,likeanormalperson.
“I’mnotsureifyoupassed,”Marcsaid,pickingupthesketchbookandtryinghis
hardestnottolookatmyboobs.“Butyouralarmisgoingoff.”
Sureenough,aloudblaringwassoundingfrommyroom.Shakingthefuzziesfrom
myhead,Irantoturnitoff.Thiswasn’tthefirsttimeI’dfallenasleeponthecouch
whileworkingonaproject.Italsowasn’tthefirsttimeMarchadbeentheonetowake
me.MaybeeventuallyI’dlearnmylessonandworkinmybed.Ormovemyalarmto
thelivingroom.AndmaybewearmorepresentablePJ’s.
Thesesweatsprobablydatetotheyearofmybirth.
“OrphanBlack?”MarcaskedwhenIreturned,referringtotheimageI’dbeen
workingon.Don’tcorrecthim,don’tcorrecthim,Ithought.Don’t--
Itookthespiralbookfromhishands.“It’sJessicaJones.”
Hesnappedhisfingers.“Soclose.”
No.Notcloseatall.Ibitbackalaugh.ThoughmyroommateandIwerenear
strangers,I’dlearnedenoughabouthimtoknowhewasnotaspopculturedashe
couldbe.Notthatanyoneexpectedahistoryprofessortoknowthedifferencebetween
OrphanBlackandJessicaJones.
Correction––soontobehistoryprofessor.AccordingtoAva,he’dbeenfinishingup
hismastersthispastyearwiththeintenttoteachattheuniversitylevel.Hewastoo
busylearningthedifferencebetweentheHundredYearsWarandtheEightyYearsWar
tobecool.
Isincerelydoubthe’severheardoftheMarvelSecretWars.Lame.Althoughtobe
fair,onlyhardcorecomicnerdsknewthatone,soyourdefinitionofcoolneededtobe
fluid.
But,really.Whenamanlookedlikethat––sofirmandsculptedthatitshowedeven
underhissuit––hedidn’thavetobecool.Or..Okay,I’mmorenerdythancool.Allhe
hadtobewasthesubjectofafewofmylate-night,um,drawingsessions.Yeah,
drawing.
Andspeakingofhisattire…
Ipushedmyglassesuponmynoseandgavehimaonce-over.Becool,Madison.Be
cool.Buthemademenervous.“Youcleanupprettywell.What’stheoccasion?”And
theunderstatementawardgoesto…me!ButIwastotallycool,so.
Really,though,hedidcleanupwell.AsfarasIcouldtellfrommyfewencounters
withtheman,Marchadtwotypesofoutfits––businesscasualandworkout.(Workout
wasmyfavorite,incaseanyonewondered.Post-workout,specifically--theshirtwas
frequentlymissingbythatpoint.)Today’slookwasdecidedlymoreupscale.
“Ihadtodefendmythesisthisafternoon,”hesaid,looseninghistie.Iwasprepared
toloosenmyshirtaswell,withashotastheroomwasrapidlybecoming.Actually,it
wasjusthim.Ha!Ha!
“Thesis!Man,that’sbig.”Iknewalmostnothingaboutthethesisprocess,butIdid
knowitwasabigdeal.
Infact...crap.ShouldIhavegonetosupporthim?Hadanyonebeenthereforhim?
Wasthatsomethingpeopledidforathesisdefense?Wasthatathingthatroommates
didforeachother?
Welp.Toolatetowondernow.
“Howdiditgo?”Iaskedinstead,tryingnottostare––okay,drool––ashetossedhistie
onthearmofthecouchandbeganunbuttoninghiscollar.Iwasgoingtohavetohave
a“drawing”sessionimmediatelyfollowingthisconversation.
“Prettygood.I’dbeenofferedateachingpositionfornextyearbeforeI’dpresented
myargumentandnoonerescindeditafterwards,soIthink,allinall,itwasasuccess.”
“Awesome!Congrats!Woot!Yay!”BeCOOL,Madison!“Onboththethesisandthe
job.Ihopeyouhavebigplanstocelebrate.”
Actually,Icouldn’timaginehiminacelebrationsituation,lowkeyashewas,butit
wasFridayandhe’dhadquitetheday.Surelyhehadabuddytogooutanddrinkwith.
Oragirlfriend.Iwasfairlycertainhehadoneofthose.Shefrequentlyleftherwine
coolersinourfridgeandonceIsawabottleofherstrawberry-basilbubblebathwhen
I’dhelpedMarcunloadhisgroceries.
OfcourseHotMarc’sgirlfriendsmellslikesummerallthetime.Lesigh.
“Celebrate?”Thespotabovehisnosecrinkledinconfusion.Itmadehimseem
youngersomehow.Lessserious.Morefun.Ibethisstudentslovethatcrinkle.IwishI
washisstudent.“Oh,yes,that’sright.Ido.Lotsofcelebrationtobehad.You’reoffto
worknow?”
“Yeah,assoonasIcleanup.Maybe,um,drawforahotminute.”Itwistedmylipsto
onesideofmymouththantheother,ahabitIhadwhenIdidn’tknowwhatelsetosay.
Imean,whatelsecouldIsay?Itwasn’tlikeIcouldinvitemyselftohisparty,evenifI
didn’thaveajobandresponsibilities.EventhoughIwasawfullytempted,purelyfor
curiosity’ssake.“IguessIbettergoanddothatnow.”
“Okay.AndI’mgoingtochangetoo.Havetogetreadyto,uh,celebrateandall.”He
grabbedthetieoffthecouchandsmiledawkwardlybeforeheadingdownthehall.
“Rightthen.Bye.”
Islippedintomybedroomandshutthedoorbehindmebeforelettingoutasighof
relief.Allinall,ithadbeenaprettydecentencounter.We’dexchangedaboutasmany
wordsasweeverhadatatime,andnodickswereinjuredintheprocess.Maybethere
washopeforusasroommatesafterall.
SoIworkedfull-timeforSplatScreen,butIdidn’tconsideritmyrealjob.Theindieshop
specializedincustomT-shirtsandscreenprints.Thoughwedidhaveasmallstorefront
wherepeoplecouldwalkinandbuyprintsorshirts,mostofourjobscameinoverthe
internet,everythingfromlabelsforcraftbreweriestoshirtsannouncinglocalsports
championships.
I’dstartedatthecounterbutwasquicklymovedtothebackwhereIcouldoperate
thescreenprintingmachines.EverynightIcameinatfive,anhourbeforethestore
closedtothepublic,thenIspenttherestoftheeveningpumpingoutorders.Iwas
usuallydonebytenorso.
IfIgotdoneatareasonabletime,Igottoplaywithmyowndesigns,oftenstaying
anothertwoorthreehourstoknockoutsomenewpieces.Ilikedtoconsiderthatmy
“real”job,butitwasmorelikemygoaljob.TheSplatScreenworkitselfwaseasy
(boring)andpaidthebills(barely)butthetwomainreasonsIkeptitwasforthefree
useofequipmentandthehealthinsurance.
ThosewerethingsmyEtsystoreandoccasionalconventionboothwouldnever
provide,nomatterhowsuccessfultheybecame.Evenwitharoommateandacarolder
thanmy(mom’s)highschooldiploma,healthinsurancewouldbeimpossibletopayfor
onmyown,andIcouldn’tevenimaginebeingabletoaffordmyownstudio.Just
keepingasinglepressinmyroomwouldbealost-depositwaitingtohappen.
Icouldn’tevenbegintoimagineexplaininganinkexplosiontoMarc.Thehorror!
Anyways,ittookeveryextradimejusttokeepmestockedinsupplies.Itisthe
eternalstruggleofmanyanartist,andI’mnotsayingmystrugglewasanymore
difficult,justthatit’sreal.Thestruggleisreal.Hashtag,fullstop.
Andso,forthatsadbutreasonablereason,Iputawaythecommissionedpieceof
JessicaJonesthatMarchadmistakenforOrphanBlack,threwonapairofjeansandthe
newStrangerThingsgraphicteeI’dmadeafewnightsbefore(#FreeBarb)andheaded
outtowork.
TheClosedsignwasshowingonthefrontdoorofSplatScreenasIpulledmycarin
frontofthestore,butsometimesitaccidentallyflippedaspeoplewerewalkingthrough
soIthoughtnothingofit.Thelightswereoninside,andIcouldseeJD,myboss,talking
toamandressedinjeansandabluebutton-down.Obviouslywewereopen.
Except,whenIpulledonthehandleoftheglassdoor,Ifounditlocked.
Withmybrowfurrowed,Iusedmykeyandwalkedintofindtheretailspace’s
carpetwassquishyanddamp.Beyondnasty.Beyond.Andthesmell?Bee.Yond.Iwas
unpleasantlysurprised,tosaytheleast.
“Surprise!”Jacksaidpleasantly.“Apipeburstnextdoor.Takethenightoff.”
Ilookedaroundtonoticethewetfloorextendedthroughmostofthestore.“Ican’t
leaveyoutodealwiththisalone.”Ihadperfectattendanceatwork,thankyouvery
much,andyes,IwasbitterIdidn’tgetalittleribbonforitlikeIdidinelementary
school.“Icouldstillgointhebackandknockoutsomescreeningjobs,couldn’tI?You
don’twanttogetbehind.”
“There’stoomuchwaterbacktheretorunthemachinessafely.Theplumberhereis
workingonthepipe.Everything’salreadyoffthefloor,andIhaveacompanycoming
intotakecareofsoakingeverythingup.You’llonlybeinthewayifyoustickaround.
Plus,itsmellslikedeadass.”
Thatwasanextremelyaccuratedescriptionofthesmell.Perfectattendanceornot,
hedidn’thavetotellmeagain.Iwasoutoftherelikelastyear.Awholeentirenightto
myselfonaFriday?Thatwasathree-dayweekend.Anotherthingyoudon’tgetnearly
sooftenoutsideofschool.
Butwait.Iturnedaround.Andopenedmymouth.“You’restillgettingpaid,”Jack
yelledover.Closedmymouthandcarriedon.Score.
Thesituationdefinitelycalledforsomecelebrationofmyown.
ItextedAva,Lizzie,andScarlet.Dranksonme.BecauseIamnothingifnot
chivalrous.Onebyonetherefusalscamein.
Ava:bangingthenewguyrnsuggestyoufindone2
Iknow,sister.Iknow.Butwhohastimetolook?Notme.Seethewholetwojob
thing.Also,theanxiety.Howdoyouevenmeetpeoplewhenyou’reoutofschooland
workingalonemostdays?Iftheansweristheinternet,nothankyou.
Lizzie:Nositter,sorry!*sadfaceemoji*
Always.
Scarlet:Can’tdrinkonmypills.WanttocometoBiblegroup?
OnaFriday?HecknoIdidn’t.OrdidI?
Me:CanIbringmyownBible?
Scarlet:ThegraphicnovelcollectionthatisSandmanisNOTTHEBIBLE
YOUHEATHEN.
Clearlynottrueatall,soIchosenottorespond.Notthebible?Itwasmybible,
andIfeltduty-boundtospreadthegospel.Excuseme,butdoyouhaveamomenttotalk
aboutourlordandsaviorNeilGaiman?Itwasextremelyapparentthatshewas
discriminatingagainstme.ShewasalwayscasuallyleavingherKingJamesedition
around,IsawnoreasonIcouldn’thandoutmyNeilGaimanedition.
ApparentlyI’dmentioneditoftenenoughthatshewaswisetomytricks.
LiquorstoreandRedboxitwas,then,becauseIwasnotgoingtowastethisnightnot
drinkingandwatchingstupidmovies.
AfewmomentsofwanderingthroughthefirstfineestablishmentIcouldfind,
cleverlynamedBOOZE4LESSbysomeclassygentleman,toldmethatIhadnotbeen
drinkingenough.
Whendidsomanygloriousnewflavorsofvodkabecomeavailable?
Bubblegum?CakeBatter?Skittle?Itwasanalcoholictwelveyear-old’sdreaminthere.
ForasociallyawkwardADDgraphicartist?Eek.
See,whenIgetoverwhelmedbytoomanychoices,Itendtomakeapanic
decisionandchoosesomethingthatwasneveractuallyonmyradar.That’stotallyhow
Iendedupwiththebourbon.Idon’tevenlikebourbon.
Andthen,loandbehold,whenIdroveintothedrivewayIcouldseeMarcthrough
thewindow,loungingonthecouchwhereIhadmentallystakedmyclaim.Dang.I
didn’thaveaTVinmyroom,sowherewasIgoingtowatchthenewest-ishsuperhero
movieonmyfreenight?
Anyway,wasn’thesupposedtobeoutpartyingituponhisown?Somuchfor
assumingthathehadamoreactivesociallifethanIdid.Or,atleast,less-lamefriends.
Apparentlyhisfriendscalleditquitsbeforedinner,even,soIguessedhewonthatnot-
prize.Gosh,IreallyknewnexttonothingabouttheguyI’dlivedwithforalmostayear.
Thiswasbad.Iwasnotgoingtodrinkaloneinmyroom.Iwantedtodrinkalonein
thelivingroom!Wait.Thatsoundedbad.
Actually,thisdidn’thavetobebad.Marcwastotallyabourbonguy.Bourbonwasa
manlydrink.Marcwasamanlyman.Maybehe’dbeimpressedwithmychoice.Maybe
wecouldfinallyliveoutCouchNight,thefantasyI’dcarriedforthepasttenmonths.
TenwholemonthssincethefirsttimeItouchedhispeen.Withmychin.
NotthatIthoughtaboutthat.Much.InIwent,bourbonattheready.
ALSOBYLULUWRIGHT
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thankyouto:
Myroommates
SocialButterflyPR
CarolSeymour
JaxDylanHawkins
SophieBroughton
PennyWylder
JackieHernandez-Narvaez
PeggyLee
TonyF
RoseH:
MaggieRiley
RhondaJames
AndallofthosewhohelpedthesuccessofTheHardSell.
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
LuluWrightisasushieatingloverofBroadwayshows,longwalksonthebeach,andsexybookboyfriends.After
workinginretailforages,she'sproudtoputherhilariousexperiencestopaperinherfirstromancenovel,The
HardSell.