Date With A Rockstar (20 page)

Who will win a date with a rockstar and thirty thousand dollars?
flashes across the screen to the opening song from Jeremy's ocean collection. Rod Bing is back behind his desk. He's wearing a purple scarf. I wonder if he was trying to match my bikini. I feel like puking.

“This week, contestant number two vies for Jeremy Bane's attention, but you will decide whether she deserves him or not.” Drums crescendo in the background. I can't believe Rod Bing is talking about me.

They show the line footage again and then the camera cuts to me entering the interview room. My face fills half the wall. I look nervous, meek. Wet hair tangles around my shoulders and I appear washed out from all the rain.

I shiver, remembering the three days in line. What misery. It's hard to judge myself. Shelley Anne called me pretty. But what will the TV audience think?

The interviewer asks the question about Jeremy's music—probably the only answer I gave that makes me seem somewhat intelligent. I'm staring at the one-way glass, but the camera must have been right below because it seems like I'm staring directly into the camera. My eyes meet my own on the screen and the sensation brings a wave of nausea. Creepy. They only show my answer to the one question. I let out my breath in relief. After the Claire exposé I wouldn't have been surprised to find they filmed me puking in the bathroom.

Rod Bing leans over the desk and raises his eyebrows. “Now, before we get to the juicy details, let's take a look at their date.”

Juicy details? I'm pretty sure my life doesn't have any of those, unless they fabricated something. Did I
sign anything giving them the right to lie about me? There's no way they could know about Fluxem. I shift around on the couch. My legs bounce continuously. Shelley Anne narrows her eyes and I try to sit still. I have no control and I hate it.

On screen, I step out of the limo and the camera slides up my leg and over my T-shirt. How the hell did they get that angle? I would've had to have been standing on top of the cameraman. Maybe there were lenses on the limo door. Jeremy climbs out after me and brushes against my arm. Our heads tip together. I remember the conversation, the feel of him next to me. I want to go back to the beach all over again. Well, without the cameras.

When the show gets to the part where we wade out into the water, I hold my breath, praying my mark won't be visible. Jeremy blocks the view and once we hit deep water the footage turns boring. Our heads bob up and down in the distance for a few seconds, then they cut back to us walking out. They missed all the romantic stuff when Jeremy was teaching me how to swim. Instead, they zoom in on the front of my dripping wet body. I'm so embarrassed. But at least my breasts are keeping the attention off my back.

Crystal makes a guttural noise from the other couch. I catch Claire's attention and she smiles sympathetically. She and I are now in the already-traumatized-on-TV club.

Rod Bing comes back on the screen. “Stick around. After this commercial break we'll find out what contestant number two has to hide.” They montage tribal drums over song eight of Jeremy's new release, building a sense of doom. I'm offended on his behalf that they messed with his work and pissed that they're not showing more of our date. I guess since we didn't wear our microphones during lunch they're
not showing any of that footage. Still, they could've showed a few clips of us walking in the woods.

I gnaw the end of my fingernail. I guess there's no chance the juicy details about me will be positive. I think I'd rather be jumped again than watch whatever they are going to reveal. I prepare myself for slams about my lack of direction in life, my inability to get a good job, maybe a few panoramas of my shitty apartment building.

The show's back on. Here we go. Okay. How bad will it be?

Mom sits on our tiny couch. An interviewer squeezes in next to her. The close proximity looks silly, but I know there's nowhere else in our apartment to sit.

“Why did you choose to have a female child, Ms. O'Neal?”

The question surprises me.

Mom sits up straight and she looks both beautiful and frazzled. “Monet has always been the biggest joy in my life.”

He taps a pen on the tablet in his lap. “Yes, of course. But why did you choose to have a girl rather than a boy?”

“That's a very personal question, sir. I'm not sure I feel comfortable answering.” She holds her head high and I'm so proud of her.

“Actually, according to your fertility records, you and your husband did in fact choose to have a boy.”

WHAT?
Husband? This is all news to me. My mother was married when she conceived? My father. I have a father? Not just a DNA donor. I've never even seen pictures. I've never received birthday presents. As long as I can remember it's only been Mom and me. My head spins.

“How did you get that information?” Mom is pissed.

“Your daughter has given us full rights to explore her background. Now, let's get back to the question. Isn't it true that you were supposed to be inseminated with a male embryo?”

“I have never regretted a single second that Monet has been my daughter.”

“But the initial procedure?” he prompts.

“Yes, we selected to have a male.” My heart drops through my stomach. She wanted a boy? I never knew.

Mom presses her lips in a tight line. From the way she leans forward and clenches her fists, I think she's close to violence.

“A technician made an error and we got a girl. Honestly, I'm surprised there aren't more errors.”

The asshole on our couch raises his eyebrow and shrugs. Like maybe I'm a girl or maybe my mom is lying. “What I'm interested in,” he pauses dramatically, “is whether or not your husband left you because of the error.

“We managed to track down your ex-husband. Do you want to hear what he had to say?”

Mom looks grim. She should have told me. When we were on the phone, she should've told me. Tears glint in the corners of her eyes as a man's body fills the screen.

Oh my God! He's fiftyish. Graying hair, slightly overweight. Strong jaw, expensive suit. I'm taking in as many details as I can before I pass out. I'm sure my brain can't handle the strain.

Then he speaks. Perfect white teeth. The man has money. “Of course for my one child I selected to have a boy to carry on the family business.” His title scrawls along the bottom of the screen. Walter O'Neal, CEO of Fission Cooperative.

“And when the female result was reported?”

“I told Katherine to have the fetus removed.” A commercial pops up on the screen. I glance at Jasmine
and she's smiling. My teeth clack together as I fight the urge to mess her up. Praline grimaces when I look at her. I need to call Mom. I need to throw up. I need to hear the rest of what my father has to say immediately. How can they screw with my life like this?

The show comes back on. The interviewer does another intro, then my father…holy shit…my father… is back on the screen.

“She refused, claiming some attachment already, and I left her. No law against me having another child with a different woman.”

I have a father and he's an asshole.
This is why Mom never told me. He didn't want me. The screen switches back to Mom.

“Monet, if you're watching this, I just want you to know that I love you and I have absolutely no regrets in my life.”
Oh, Mom. I love you, too.

“Really?” The interviewer taunts. “Even if your choice means living in poverty?” Now they do the pan of our apartment building. Then they show the full hundred square feet of our apartment. “Monet doesn't have a lot of options for her future.”

“Sir, my daughter is brilliant and she will succeed in anything she sets out to do in this life.” Tears roll down my face.

The screen switches back to showing me in my bikini. I hope it's my imagination and they're not intentionally zeroing in on my crotch. I'm speechless over the fact that they actually tried to cast doubt as to whether or not I'm a girl. That's insulting. I think I'd rather be labeled a slut like Claire. I hope Jeremy never sees this. He's on his date now, but I'm probably doomed to be immortalized in reruns. Hell, Jasmine will probably be hanging out by the elevator, waiting to tell him as soon as he comes back from his date tonight.

Rod Bing rubs his chin. “Remember, voting won't begin until all the contestants have had a chance.” A still image of me fills the screen. My one breast says “Key” and the other says “West.” Better that than the sore on my back. After finding out I have a living father who never wanted me, the words on my chest are nothing.

“Vote number two at the end of the competition if you think Monet deserves a chance to be in the final three. The choice is yours…”

I'm too shocked to even cry. What did my mother give up by choosing to have me? How long did she live in wealth with that man? I don't remember her ever having money. I race through every fact. If he never wanted to meet me or know anything about me, then screw him.

Claire sits down next to me. “Wow, I'm sorry. I didn't think they could do anything worse than what they did to me. They were really stretching with that one. Digging into your conception files is low.”

“I didn't know.”

“Yeah, I didn't read all those papers we signed, either.”

“I mean, I really never knew I had a father. I thought my mom just wanted to have a baby. I've never known her to have a permanent relationship with any man.”

Claire stands up and wipes her palms on her jeans. “I'm going to the restaurant for a coffee. Wanna come?”

“No. I need to talk to my mother.”

She nods in understanding and leaves me. Jasmine takes the opportunity to sashay over. “I really enjoyed your episode,” she says, deadpan.

I don't even bother to respond to her, and after a few seconds she walks away. I sit for a long time on the couch, staring at the blank wall. I eventually make my way back to the room. I hear the phone ringing before I open the door.

I know it's Mom before I even hit the button. Her tiny 3-D shape materializes. She fades in and out, smoothing her hair over and over again.

“Honey, I didn't know they were going to show all of that.” She twists her fingers together. “I never wanted you to find out like this.”

“Mom, you have to sit still or the display can't get a good lock on you.”

“Oh.” She tries to stop fidgeting, but I can still tell how upset she is. “Monet, talk to me. Are you furious?”

Am I? “I'm shocked. I feel like I should've known about this.”

“There was just never a good time to tell you. It's been so long. I hadn't even thought of that man in years.”

“My father, you mean.”

“That man has never been your father.”

I don't argue. That point we can agree on. “Why didn't…” I trail off, not knowing what to ask. I heard the man's own words. He didn't want me. He said it on camera. I am not a boy. “Did he ever come to see me?”

“After you were born?” She's already shaking her head no as she speaks. “I didn't think he deserved to spend time with you.”

“Did he try?”

“No—honey, I'm so sorry about all of this.” The image of her fades out.

“Mom, you're moving again. And I'm not mad at you.” Okay, maybe a little, but I can't stand to see her so upset. “Did you miss him after he left?”

“No, I didn't. I had you, and after I realized what kind of person he was—I was glad he wasn't around.”

“But the money?”

“Oh, Monet. There are a million things in this world more important than money.”

I think about disagreeing with her and starting our old argument, but I let it go.

She pauses, smoothing her hair obsessively. “Are we still okay?”

“Yeah, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her tone is relieved. I wish I could hug her. “I've worried about this for so many years.” The tears in the 3-D image of her are hard to see, but I recognize the gestures. She wipes at her nose and eyes.

I want to get off the phone before she makes me cry, too. “I've got to go. But I'll talk to you soon. They don't have too many more days of filming.”

She nods and wipes her eyes again, trying to smile for me. “Good luck with Jeremy.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I hit disconnect. I feel like I've been run over. I retreat to the bathroom and sit in the tub. I don't even bother with the lights or water. I just sit.

I WAKE UP to pounding on the bathroom door. Ouch. I'm still in the tub and my neck is killing me. I stumble to my feet.

“Are you okay in there? How's your leg?” That sounds like Jeremy. “Monet, are you dressed?”

Holy shit, that is Jeremy! “I'll be right out.” I take a quick swig of mouthwash and glance in the mirror. I run my fingers through my hair. There's a bit of purple bruising under my eye and across my cheek. Not too bad, just makes me look more dramatic. I shrug and open the door.

Jeremy leans against the doorframe, radiating sexiness. “I was afraid I was going to have to barge in on you again.” His eyes widen when he sees my clingy green dress. He blows out a breath, looking me up and down. “Oh, your face.” He brushes my hair back and his fingertips skim the bruise.

I shiver. “It doesn't hurt anymore. The swelling went away.”

“Shit, and your leg, too.” He kneels at my feet. My legs are bare from the knees down and his face is inches away. “Does it still hurt?” He pokes the edge of the tender, healing skin.

“Only when you poke at it,” I say jokingly.

Shelley Anne sits on her bed, glaring at us.

He glances over at her. “Uh, Shelley was kind enough to let me in.” I bet she was. Probably almost died of happiness until he asked where I was.