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And now, I’m getting texts from a fetus—sort of, anyway. Honestly, I’m kind of hoping it never stops.
Cap: Ooo, mama! You looks so pretties ons the teebee. Goo goo GAH GAH!
I’m about to tuck the phone away when another message rolls in immediately. It’s like they coordinated with each other or something.
Thatch: Mummy! We’s on teevee! I wuv woo, and I pwomise not to kicks too hawd while yous busy feedsing dumdum Gawy his bawls for dindin!
My God. I can’t with these guys.
A genuine smile kisses my lips as the intro music starts back up with a rat-a-tat on the drums, and I quickly tuck my phone back underneath my leg. A glance to the side of the stage shows Heidi’s Botox stretched tightly into a glare, but I don’t bother worrying about it. She’s mad at me more than she’s not these days anyway.
Harrison, however, is smiling and shaking his head. He must know the nature of the message, even without seeing it for himself. At first, I thought he might be upset about me talking to his friends without including him, but he didn’t even blink. Instead, he just told me to prepare myself for the strange and unusual, and let me tell you, he was right.
Gary looks right into the camera and changes his voice from the grumpy, grumbly sort he used with his crew during the break to the upbeat entertainer he portrays himself as on TV. I’d like to say I can somehow blame him for being disingenuous, but that would be the height of the pot calling the kettle black.
“We’re back again with Raquel Weaver…plus one,” he says with a wink. “And we’re talking about anything and everything Hollywood starlet.”
He turns to face me, and the secondary camera comes to life, a red light going live on the top. “You’ve been at the center of quite a bit of drama lately, huh, Raquel?”
I laugh a little, trying my best to look at ease with the shitshow I know must be coming, and nod.
“It’s been a little crazy lately, yes,” I confirm softly.
“And why is that? I mean, I think that’s what all of America really wants to know. How does all this messiness come to be? What really happened?”
“When the pregnancy first came about, I wasn’t really ready to handle the consequences,” I say, glossing over any and all fine details. Lies veiled in the truth always sound more genuine. “I mean, the last time I checked, most women aren’t on the Gary Bull Show talking about their pregnancies.”
Gary laughs. “Most women aren’t Raquel Weaver.”
I call up a blush as I look to my lap and then look Gary back in the eye. He doesn’t mean it to be a compliment—at least, not a real one. He’s actually using the backhanded statement to prove to me that I don’t deserve the grace and privacy of someone else. I am a plaything for Hollywood’s amusement—supposedly. It’s the message he wants to send, despite the innocent smoke show of his words—You signed up for this, Raquel. “Well, thank you. But it can be a lot for anyone to handle—even me.”
“Of course,” Gary agrees, since doing so is the only way to avoid ending up on the Am I the Asshole? (AITA) thread on Reddit. “So, where does Ben Huddleson come into all of this? Was it all an elaborate ruse?”
I take a deep gulp of air and try to calm my fluttering heart. It never, ever gets easier being under the gun like this, no matter how many years I’ve been doing it. Just imagine being called to rehash any of the one million questionable decisions you make in your lifetime. It always feels shitty—and I can promise it feels even shittier doing it on the world stage.
“Ben was just trying to do the right thing. He’s a good friend and didn’t want me to have to face all of it in the spotlight alone,” I lie. Ben Huddleson is the furthest thing from a good friend. Hell, I doubt it’s possible for him to be a friend to anyone but his ego. “And Harrison,” I start and then swallow, feeling like I need to explain his desire to be involved further with the broadest, most flattering brush. Out of everyone in this whole dang scenario, he is the one person who’s always been trying to do the right thing. “Well, he’s the father of this sweet little baby in my belly.” I place a hand to my stomach and smile. “And he’s wanted to be involved since the beginning, but I really didn’t want him to have to deal with being in the limelight. He didn’t ask for this.”
“What’s the matter? He can’t handle a little attention?” Gary jokes, jabbing his journalistic knife in all of my feel-good bullshit and twisting for good measure.
