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“No chance of him speaking with us on camera?”
I laugh and shake my head no. “Absolutely not.”~Levi~
“My ass has grown,” Starla says. She’s sitting next to me on the couch, her legs thrown over mine as she munches on popcorn. “I need to work on that.”
“Your ass is fine.”
Her interview is on television, and she’s watching with rapt attention. She’s been critiquing every movement, every word.
She’s so damn hard on herself.
The interview is almost over, and they’re showing Starla at the piano with Diane sitting next to her, listening to Starla sing. I could tell while watching the interview in person that Diane likes Starla. She was engaging, and the look in her eyes said fan.
But you just never know what the press is going to say or how they will spin a story. Starla’s been a nervous wreck about it for days. I’m glad the interview is airing so she can stop worrying about it.
“As you can see, Starla is enjoying her vacation, her time away from the spotlight for just a little while. But I think she’ll be ready to get back to work shortly.”
“Such a great interview, Diane,” her co-anchor, Marty Randall says. “Did she talk any more about Rick and his tragic death?”
“You know, Marty, we did talk a bit off camera. I could really get the sense that she still grieves for Rick deeply, and may even feel some guilt where his death is concerned.”
“Really? How so?” Marty asks.
“Yeah, how so?” Starla asks, sitting up.
“Well, she mentioned that when she spoke to Rick the morning of his death, that he seemed tired and just not himself.”
“I never said that.”
Diane continues. “Perhaps they fought or had a disagreement, and Rick was angry when he got in that car.”
“A lover’s spat, perhaps?” Marty asks.
“We don’t know, and frankly, Starla didn’t say more than that. I can only speculate.”
“A great loss to the world of sports, that’s for sure,” Marty replies with a grave nod before they go to a montage of photos of Rick, some with Starla, before fading to his dates of birth and death, and then ending the show.
“Fuckers,” Starla mutters, pacing the living room. “They basically just accused me of killing him.”
“Well, I don’t know if they did that.”
She looks over at me as if to say, seriously?
“Okay, they made it sound bad.”
“Why do they always have to try to put words in my mouth?” she demands. “It’s ridiculous. I never said that we fought. I simply said Rick seemed tired. And she just had to run off with it. Now we’ll have more social media shit where people will post polls. Do you think Starla caused Rick’s death?”
She reaches for her phone.
“I’m putting an end to this bullshit.” She puts the phone on speaker and sits on the edge of the couch.
“I take it you just saw the spot,” Donald says, his voice too chipper. “You did fantastic, sweet girl. Absolutely fantastic.”
“Bullshit,” Starla replies. “You suckered me into doing that interview and didn’t give me all of the details because you knew I wouldn’t want to do it.”
“Well—”
“You do this to me all the time, Donald, and I’m done. Do you hear me? If it ever happens again, you’re fired.”
“Now you listen to me, you can’t just—”
“Oh, I can. I know you think you’ve got me cornered with that contract, but I made sure my attorney arranged it so I wouldn’t lose everything to you if we parted ways. I’m not threatening you, Donald. I care about you, and I am grateful to you, but if you think you can pull shit like this without consequences, you’re wrong. It’s disrespectful and hurtful.”
“Everything I do is for the betterment of your career.”
“I call bullshit,” Starla counters. “You do it for ratings. No more ambushes. I either know everything going in with a complete list of questions, or I don’t do it. End of.”
“Fine. Go cool off.”
Donald hangs up, and Starla tosses her phone on the coffee table.
“What a jerk,” she whispers. “He will not guilt me into just blindly following him anymore. I’m not nineteen anymore, Levi. I’m too old for this shit, and I have a say in my damn life.”
“Agreed.”
She glances over at me, and her expression softens. She scoots over to lean into me and sighs.
“Well, that was a shitshow.”
“Not really. It was a good interview. You looked great. They just added the bullshit at the end.”
“My ass has grown,” she pouts, making me laugh.
“Come with me to the gym, and we’ll work on it.”
“You try to kill me at the gym.”
“I won’t try to kill you.” I kiss her hair. “You’re beautiful the way you are. If you want to tighten up your ass, I can help you with that. I’m fine either way.”
She snuggles closer. “Okay, you can help. But curb your sadistic tendencies. I don’t want to be unable to sit for a week after.”
