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“Make sure you don’t say anything about us in the interview. Don’t tell the world about our relationship.”
She does a full stop and whirls around to face me, her face again tight with anger.
“Our relationship?” She hisses the words at me. “I’m not even sure that’s what this is, Ben. You’ve gone out of your way to make sure nobody thinks it’s arealrelationship. And I think that’s the first time you’ve evenusedthe R-word. Up until now, it’s always been our ‘situation’ to you. So, I’ll be sure not to tell the world about this fictionalrelationshipyou’re referring to. As it turns out, I’ve never had a real relationship, not even with you.”
Without waiting for me to reply, she grabs her bags and hustles out the door, slamming it behind her with a rattling bang. I stare after her in shock. Part of my brain is fixated on the last words she said,As it turns out, I’ve never had a real relationship, not even with you. More great song lyrics. I’ve got to jot them down now, I think, reaching for my little notebook and pencil.
The other part of my brain is trying to figure out what just happened. I feel like all the air has suddenly been sucked out of my body. I offered to go out there with her, to support her. I asked her one simple favor, something I’d thought was already implicitly understood between the two of us. Don’t talk about our relationship. And then she said all that? She stormed off and left me here alone, I think bitterly, staring at the closed door. For a moment, I consider going after her. But I know it’s no use. As usual, I’m left standing alone, a solitary road warrior with no one by his side. I don’t know why I thought this time would be any different.
Chapter Nineteen
Lacy
Ican’trememberthelast time I felt so stupid because of a guy. Maybe never. Ben has always put himself first, ever since we were teenagers, and he always will. The fact that he was ready to risk possibly beinglateto this interview just to write some crappy song lyrics? I grit my teeth at the thought, trying to contain my anger. I’m in the dressing room backstage, getting ready for my interview with Maisie at her media company’s headquarters in Chicago. Myhuge, career-changing interview, I hope. One that I will ace, I hope.No thanks to Ben, I think again in annoyance.
I know I’m not being totally fair. Yes, Ben helped me with some of the media prep. But still. Now, when it really counts, where is he? Hunched over some scrap of paper in the basement of Rose Manor, scribbling away at his songs. Or maybe he’s struggling with writer’s block, just like he was when I first discovered him hidden away at the old family house. The family house that will be sold soon, thank goodness, getting rid of the last scrap of a connection between me and Ben, and our families. Good riddance.
The truth is that it’s easier to be angry right now than sad. If I let myself dwell on what just happened, I’ll cry. And I can’t risk going into this interview with Maisie with a red face, puffy eyes, and stuffy nose. I can’t risk breaking down in tears mid interview. So, for now, I hang on to my anger. I tell myself Ben is an asshole, the biggest asshole that ever lived. I tell myself he’s not worthy of my love. I tell myself I never loved him at all.
There’s a tap on the door and a strange voice shouts out brusquely: “Five minutes before camera!”
It’s the head of Maisie’s production team, ushering me to the set.
“I’ll be right out!” I call back.
Immediately, my heart starts racing, and I break out into a cold sweat. I look at myself in the mirror. The hair and makeup artists have put me together perfectly. I look like myself, not overdone, but just a little better than usual. More fresh-faced and better slept. The fly-away hairs that usually encircle my head like a small halo are gone, and my hair is smoothed back into a sleek, low-slung ponytail that looks oddly elegant. I’m wearing a red top and form-fitting jeans. I opted for red because Ben told me it looks good on camera. I curse the choice now, since seeing the top makes me think of him. But it’s too late to change.
I take one more deep breath and then exit the dressing room.
“Follow me,” the producer says curtly, hustling me down a short hallway and to the stage.
Maisie is already waiting, seated in a large, tall director-style chair. Another chair is set across from her, empty. The sight of it makes my stomach turn.It’ll be fine, I remind myself. I got a list of questions Maisie will ask in advance, and it was expressly agreed that she wouldn’t ask any questions about me and Ben, specifically, or about our relationship, either familial or romantic. I have the publicity team at the publishing house to thank for that.
“That’s your spot,” the producer says, pointing to it.
“Lacy! Great to meet you,” Maisie greets me enthusiastically, shaking my hand briskly.
“You too!” I say bravely, trying not to look too star-struck. I’ve only seen Maisie on screen, in interviews with various celebrities. She’s even prettier in person, her long braids sleek and shining. She’s always changing the colors. Today, there are streaks of purple interwoven in her hair. Her eyes are sparkling with what seems like genuine excitement to meet me. I remind myself that this is part of her job, one of the tricks of the trade that Ben warned me against. A great journalist will make you feel like you’re the center of the universe. It’s one way they gain your trust and win you over. It’s one way they get you to talk and to maybe say things you shouldn’t.
“We’re on in two!” A director calls from off set.
“You nervous?” Maisie murmurs to me, giving me a reassuring smile.
“A little,” I say honestly. “But also really excited,” I add, remembering to stay positive. Anything remotely negative could be twisted and used against me.
“That’s totally normal. You’re going to do great,” Maisie says with a confident nod. “If you’re half as eloquent in person as you are in your writing, I have no doubt you’re going to smash it.”
“Thank you,” I say, forcing a smile on my face. Again, I recognize the subtle dig, another journalistic trick Ben warned me about. Maisie’s tiny hint that I might be eloquent on paper but not in person seems like it’s meant to throw me off my game, to make me uncertain. I take a deep breath, in and out, and remind myself to keep cool. I refuse to get rattled. I’m going to, in Maisie’s words,smash this.
“And 20 seconds!” The director calls off camera. An assistant is bustling around me, clipping a microphone to my shirt and hiding the cord before hustling off again.
“And 10!” The director’s voice calls again.
Maisie is busily reviewing her note cards.
“And 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!” The director counts down. “You’re on!”
I turn to face Maisie, ignoring the cameras all around me. At the wordsyou’re on, Maisie immediately plasters an enormous smile on her face, and I remind myself to do the same. I hope I look light and easy-breezy, but I feel forced and weird.Relax, Lacy,I remind myself. Luckily, Maisie is already launching into things, giving me little time to fixate and freak out about the fact that this interview is being live-streamed to millions of people.
