All Eyes on Her by Poonam Sharma Page B

Marvin, ” she scoffed. “Now Monica, do you think it’s unreasonable for me not to wanna do a photo shoot with the title ‘She’s Willing to Fight For It,’ considering the circumstances, as you lawyers like to say?”
    “What circumstances?” Jonathan and I echoed.
    Martin slammed a copy of Pucker into my hands. “Sources Say Camydia Has Less Than A Fighting Chance” the front-page headline screamed. It was emblazoned in bright red letters across a photograph of Cameron taken in the parking lot of a West Hollywood hotspot the previous night. Seated in the passenger side of his trademark blue sapphire Escalade was an “unidentified blonde” who was shielding her face from the paparazzi.
    “This is an endorsement deal for Outlast! It’s the most popular sports equipment company on the planet!” Martin pointed out the bejeweled logos twinkling across Lydia’s sports bra and satin boxing cloak. “You said you wanted an endorsement deal, and I got you the mother of all endorsement deals. Normally they won’t even consider giving them to non-athletes! We’ve got two hundred extras waiting inside that building to cheer you on, we’ve got three former heavyweight champions sitting in to play fake judges in the background of the shot, and the entire boxing ring has been lined with pink silk to match your tiara! If you pull out now, it’s a lawsuit!”
    “I. Ain’t. Doing it,” she told us forcefully, folding her arms in front of her.
    “Lydia!” he hollered.
    “You work for me, Marvin. And you are getting on my last nerve. Why don’t you go find that pink-diamond tooth cap they promised me? I’m probably not gonna do this shoot, but I’m sure as hell not doing it without my cap .”
    “Every hour we wait costs the company an extra hundred K,” Martin implored, before sulking out of the trailer. “And it hurts her career, too. This is a marital issue. It’s not about Outlast. It’s about Cameron. Please, try to make her see the bigger picture. I know it’s not what you signed on for, but I didn’t expect to be a fifty-year-old man scouring a boxing ring looking for a pink jewel-encrusted snap-on tooth cap.”
    Lydia ran her fingers over the glittery waistband of her boxing shorts. Jonathan picked her boxing gloves up off the counter and stepped between her and the mirror.
    “Maybe not as many people read Pucker as you think,” he tried.
    She stared blankly at him for a second before swiveling her attention to me.
    “Go ahead,” I said, sitting on the love seat across from her so that she knew she had my attention.
    “I can’t give ’em what they want.” She started tearing up.
    “Give who what they want?” I asked.
    “The media. The goddamn f-ing media.” She shook her head. “I am so tired of all this.”
    Jonathan chimed in, “You feel like you’ll look like an idiot if people think you’re threatening that woman through a magazine ad, right?”
    She nodded.
    “And you know what really pisses me off?” Lydia dabbed at her leaking eye makeup. “The media wouldn’t have anything to torture me with if these women would keep their hands off a married man. It’s not like they don’t know he’s married. I mean he’s not some random guy they never heard of. I’m mad at him, too, but…I don’t understand why women always have to go out of their way to hurt other women?”
    I said it before even realizing where it was coming from, “Because, deep down inside, some of us still believe that we can only get ahead if another woman falls behind.”
    “If I may,” Jonathan interrupted, lifting the custom-made tiara out of its case. “I have a suggestion. I think there’s a way to make sure you don’t look weak without you violating your contract.”
     
    The interior of the boxing gym was dressed as if the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy cast had thrown up all over it. The crowd sat ready to wave tiny logoed penants on cue, while bare-chested and well-oiled waiters with rippling