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Speaking for myself, I haven’t been able to write the damned song because, every time I look into Savage’s dark eyes, I feel anxious that whatever idea I might be thinking about, whatever sappy and sweet suggestion I might make, will hit too close to home. Be too honest. Too vulnerable. Something Savage will know is the truth, rather than part of a “creative writing assignment,” which is what we’ve both agreed the song should be. And, just like that, I can’t come up with an idea I’m willing to speak out loud to save my life.
I have no idea why Savage has had writer’s block, as well, but I admit I’m hoping he’s been running up against the same dilemma as me. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. He said, right from the start, sappy loves songs aren’t his thing. So, more likely than not, he’s simply waiting for me to take the lead.
Sunshine’s cheery voice yanks me from my reverie. Looking into a camera, she says, “Another batch of auditions, and then we’ll move on to Draft Day, when our judges will get to finalize their teams. After that, we’ll have Mentor Day, and then . . . finally . . . our live weekly singing competition will begin!”
The audience roars with excitement.
Sunshine looks at the judges’ table. “Are you excited for everything that’s coming, judges?”
The first three judges reply, like good soldiers, that we’re excited and raring to go. Whoop-de-doo! But Savage being Savage, he gives Sunshine nothing but a half-hearted thumbs up and an expression that says, “If I must.” Of course, the studio audience is enthralled by Savage’s disdain, since by now, that’s become his thing on the show—acting like the whole exercise causes him physical pain. It works so well for him, I think, only because, on occasion, he unexpectedly breaks free from his usual disdain to grace the world with a beaming smile or effusive praise, usually saying something so perfect on those rare occasions, he makes whatever contestant he’s speaking to burst into tears and the entire audience swoon.
Our host returns with a huge smile to the camera aimed at her. “Until next time, I’m Sunshine Vaughn, reminding you to . . .” The studio audience joins in on the show’s famous sign-off: “Sing. Your. Heart out!” And then, as the audience applauds, we four judges do what we always do at this point—we stand and applaud and dance to the theme song blaring in the studio.
Finally, when the theme song ends, we four judges stop celebrating and swiftly head backstage with some bodyguards, so we won’t get mobbed with requests for selfies and autographs from the studio audience. But as our foursome makes our way backstage, Nadine approaches the group, stopping our movement.
“Savage and Laila?” Nadine says. “Can I talk to you for a moment—perhaps in Savage’s dressing room?”
My stomach drops into my toes. When the big boss says she wants to talk to you, in private, it’s probably not a good thing, no matter how well the past two weeks of shooting have gone. I have to think that’s especially true when you’re a newbie cast member who strong-armed her way onto the show in the first place, and the producers insisted on reserving an early termination clause in her contract that’s not in anybody else’s.
When we get to Savage’s dressing room, Nadine closes the door behind us and gestures to the couch. “Please.”
Savage and I take the couch, our body language stiff, while Nadine sits in an armchair across from us, her body language confident and unapologetic. This woman has been the big boss on this show since its inception, and The Engagement Experiment before that, so her demeanor not surprisingly communicates power and confidence in no uncertain terms.
“So, guys,” Nadine says on an exhale, clasping her manicured hands in her lap. “First off, I want to compliment you on your performance these past two weeks. You’ve both far exceeded our expectations.”
I sigh with relief and grab Savage’s hand. “Thank you. I’m so glad you’re happy.”
“We’re thrilled. You’ve been selling the romance beyond our wildest dreams. You’re either amazing actors, or . . .” She raises her eyebrow and lets her facial expression finish the sentence: Or you’re not acting at all.
I look at Savage, who isn’t looking at me, and can’t help noticing his breathing has become noticeably stilted and his jaw tight. I return my gaze to Nadine, my cheeks radiating with heat.
“Either way,” Nadine continues, “we’ve been blown away by how convincing and authentic you two have seemed, both here on-set and in your behind-the-scenes videos from home. When the first episodes begin airing in a few weeks, nobody could possibly doubt the authenticity of your relationship. Which, of course, was initially our primary goal.”
Initially.
Oh, fuck.
Something about the way she emphasized that word unsettles me. If that was only the initial goal, then what’s the goal . . . now?
