dismissive sound in her throat loud enough for only me to hear. “I’m not here to answer your questions, Ms. Tupper, but perhaps you’re seeking attention? Your fifteen minutes of fame?”
“You think I want everyone to know what happened to me?”
She motions to the room. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
I lean away from her, aware again of the glare of the lights and the room full of women watching me expectantly, wondering, Will she break down? Is she telling the truth?
I knew this was a bad idea.
“I’m here because you invited me, Ms. Keeler. I didn’t go looking for this. It wasn’t even my idea to go on the trip, as you very well know, and I gave up a lot to go there.”
“I assume you’re referring to your boyfriend, Craig. You still haven’t seen him, I believe?”
A nervous flutter twinges in my gut. “Yes, that’s right.”
She gives a gurgling laugh that must sound delightful on TV. “Well, when we heard about that, I have to say, we couldn’t resist organizing a little reunion.”
Organizing a little what?
She looks over my shoulder again, only this time, I know she’s not looking into the camera. I turn my head, and there he is: Craig Talbot, living and breathing and walking toward me looking tired, and cuter than I remember in his favorite light gray suit. There are laugh lines around his pale blue eyes. His sandy hair is cut short and parted on the left.
Our eyes meet, and I feel like the whole room, the whole world, is watching, waiting for me to react like someone should when she sees her boyfriend for the first time in six months.
“Emma? Don’t you want to say hi to Craig?”
I stand up and walk toward him, forcing myself to smile like a happy, normal person who’s just been given a great surprise. When I get near enough, I reach out and hug him. After a moment’s hesitation, his arms slip around me, holding me tight. I breathe in his familiar, spicy spell. My legs feel weak.
“Emma,” he says into my ear. “Welcome home.”
We break apart and stare at each other as the room watches. In the complete silence I can hear a camera shutter opening and closing.
“Aren’t you going to kiss her?” someone in the audience shouts.
And suddenly I know why Matt and the Management Committee wanted me to come here. They’re looking for exposure, all right, they just think bigger than I do—they always have. Because this has all been about manufacturing the perfect happy ending to my freak-show tale to ensure that it gets maximum publicity and spreads TPC’s name far and wide.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” the audience chants like it’s an episode of Jerry Springer.
Craig looks uncomfortable and embarrassed, but what can we do?
We kiss. The cameras whir.
Chapter 9: Where Everybody Knows Your Name
C raig and I are riding the elevator to his condo, standing shoulder to shoulder.
When we broke apart from our made-for-the-media kiss, Cathy Keeler went to commercial. Without quite looking me directly in the eye, Craig suggested we go to his apartment to “talk” once the show was over.
It’s always such a good sign when a guy wants to talk.
I must’ve been in a state of shock during the final segment of the show, because I don’t remember a word of what Cathy Keeler asked me, or what I answered. When the studio lights dimmed, Cathy thanked me as a man with a sign that said CLAP ! encouraged the audience to put their hands together. They complied perfunctorily. Still pissed about the lack of giveaways, I guess.
“I’m sorry about that,” Craig says. “Matt—”
“Said that the Management Committee would greatly appreciate it?”
He smiles. “Yes.”
“I got the same speech.”
We reach his floor and the elevator doors ding open. I follow Craig down the hall. His front door is an impressive piece of solid mahogany with a shiny set of chrome numbers at eye level. Inside, his apartment looks just as it always has, like a single, well-to-do man lives here. The
“You think I want everyone to know what happened to me?”
She motions to the room. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
I lean away from her, aware again of the glare of the lights and the room full of women watching me expectantly, wondering, Will she break down? Is she telling the truth?
I knew this was a bad idea.
“I’m here because you invited me, Ms. Keeler. I didn’t go looking for this. It wasn’t even my idea to go on the trip, as you very well know, and I gave up a lot to go there.”
“I assume you’re referring to your boyfriend, Craig. You still haven’t seen him, I believe?”
A nervous flutter twinges in my gut. “Yes, that’s right.”
She gives a gurgling laugh that must sound delightful on TV. “Well, when we heard about that, I have to say, we couldn’t resist organizing a little reunion.”
Organizing a little what?
She looks over my shoulder again, only this time, I know she’s not looking into the camera. I turn my head, and there he is: Craig Talbot, living and breathing and walking toward me looking tired, and cuter than I remember in his favorite light gray suit. There are laugh lines around his pale blue eyes. His sandy hair is cut short and parted on the left.
Our eyes meet, and I feel like the whole room, the whole world, is watching, waiting for me to react like someone should when she sees her boyfriend for the first time in six months.
“Emma? Don’t you want to say hi to Craig?”
I stand up and walk toward him, forcing myself to smile like a happy, normal person who’s just been given a great surprise. When I get near enough, I reach out and hug him. After a moment’s hesitation, his arms slip around me, holding me tight. I breathe in his familiar, spicy spell. My legs feel weak.
“Emma,” he says into my ear. “Welcome home.”
We break apart and stare at each other as the room watches. In the complete silence I can hear a camera shutter opening and closing.
“Aren’t you going to kiss her?” someone in the audience shouts.
And suddenly I know why Matt and the Management Committee wanted me to come here. They’re looking for exposure, all right, they just think bigger than I do—they always have. Because this has all been about manufacturing the perfect happy ending to my freak-show tale to ensure that it gets maximum publicity and spreads TPC’s name far and wide.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” the audience chants like it’s an episode of Jerry Springer.
Craig looks uncomfortable and embarrassed, but what can we do?
We kiss. The cameras whir.
Chapter 9: Where Everybody Knows Your Name
C raig and I are riding the elevator to his condo, standing shoulder to shoulder.
When we broke apart from our made-for-the-media kiss, Cathy Keeler went to commercial. Without quite looking me directly in the eye, Craig suggested we go to his apartment to “talk” once the show was over.
It’s always such a good sign when a guy wants to talk.
I must’ve been in a state of shock during the final segment of the show, because I don’t remember a word of what Cathy Keeler asked me, or what I answered. When the studio lights dimmed, Cathy thanked me as a man with a sign that said CLAP ! encouraged the audience to put their hands together. They complied perfunctorily. Still pissed about the lack of giveaways, I guess.
“I’m sorry about that,” Craig says. “Matt—”
“Said that the Management Committee would greatly appreciate it?”
He smiles. “Yes.”
“I got the same speech.”
We reach his floor and the elevator doors ding open. I follow Craig down the hall. His front door is an impressive piece of solid mahogany with a shiny set of chrome numbers at eye level. Inside, his apartment looks just as it always has, like a single, well-to-do man lives here. The
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