Date With A Rockstar (9 page)

Five minutes to seven, I open the door of the viewing room to watch Jeremy on the first date. All of the other girls are already there, waiting for the feed
to start. Part of me wanted to stay in my room and give Jeremy a small amount of privacy, but I've never seen him live on a date and I might be able to use the information to win.

Black static in four segments light up the screen and then fill in with images. Will I have to contend with four cameras following me tomorrow? Claire and Jeremy are in line in front of the club. He's wearing jeans and a T-shirt and leaning heavily on a brick wall. I think he must be even more tired than he was on the plane. They should've given him a day of rest before starting the filming.

The nine of us sit in rolling chairs pushed up against the U-shaped table in front of the screen. Shelley Anne concentrates on the scene with a neutral expression. Jasmine taps her nails on the table. The others fidget. Being a voyeur to someone else's date feels wrong, but I can't look away. So much for private moments.

In front of the dance club, advertisements play over the brick walls. Wet pavement reflects the flashing, colored sign onto Jeremy's black sneakers. Claire has a band of blue silk wrapped around her breasts and a short, flowy skirt. She hooks her arm through Jeremy's as they walk into the club. I gnaw on my thumbnail.

The camera pans to take in the dancers. Their swaying is creepy without hearing the song playing in the club. Claire spins at the corner of the dance floor. Her skirt flares high and it's all skin and strobe lights. Jeremy's mouth opens in what I think is a laugh. Claire dances backward, sliding her hand down his arm and twining her fingers with his.

Praline gags. I'm with her, but make a mental note that Jeremy appears to like dancing. All of the shots of him on stage usually just show him surrounded by computers and long keyboards while he mixes in instrumentals and sound effects over his own voice.
He's not one of those guys that runs around doing choreographed steps.

Claire's red hair bounces in time with her hips. Jeremy follows her lead, smiling while she twirls around him. She raises her hands above her head, shimmying her shoulders, and even I am impressed with her muscle tone. They stop dancing and stand close together, mouths moving. Presumably the song ended. Jeremy leads her to the bar. I guess he doesn't know about the no alcohol rule, but it's not technically illegal. He's over eighteen and I think Claire is, too. They clink beer bottles and I wonder what they toasted to.

The rest of the date continues with more of the same. Claire is beautiful on the dance floor. I count Jeremy's smiles. Fourteen. Shelley Anne cries and wipes at her face with the sleeve of her shirt. I expected that from Praline, and I'm surprised about the depth of emotion my roommate has for a man she hasn't spent any time with. I wish I had my scratch pad to distract me from the drama.

After two hours of hell for us, the date moves back out to the street in front of the club. They lean against the wall, bodies turned toward each other. He definitely likes her. All the physical signs are there. The limo pulls up. Jeremy opens the door for Claire and she sits on the edge of the seat, her legs splayed out, preventing him from closing the door. He leans down and kisses her cheek. One of the camera displays zooms closer. She turns her head slightly, and then they're really kissing. Huh. I wonder if he's thought this through. How many girls does he kiss? There are a lot of diseases out there. Fluxem's only one of them. He steps back away from the limo and gives Claire an intense stare. Then he closes the door and waves goodbye as the limo pulls away. The screen flicks off. There's a moment of silence, like someone important
has died. Then one at a time we push away from the table and leave the room.

Kissing to impress isn't something I can do. I'm just going to have to hope conversation is enough on my date. I gaze down at the square pattern in the carpet as I make my way back through the hotel. Shelley Anne falls in step beside me, but doesn't say anything. Her face is puffy from crying. I bet there was a secret camera in the viewing room. They'll probably intersperse shots of her crying while Jeremy dances. I'm not going to show any emotion in that room.

Inside our hotel room, I try and put the memory of Claire's twirling out of my head. It would be helpful if I could go to the hotel gym and work out, but I have my own date in the morning. I can't let her get to me. I have other problems. I pull open the bag from the hotel gift shop and bring the purple bikini into the bathroom. I've never been this naked in public in my entire life. Air touches parts of my body that are always covered. I gulp. And this will be televised.

I turn in front of the mirror, adjusting the ties.

That's when I notice it.

A big, pinkish-red mark spreads over my back. The skin's puffed up and darkening fast. I can't pull air in and out of my lungs fast enough.

Fluxem.

The spot is about three inches wide and five inches long, in a grim diagonal across my lower back. I've never been marked by the disease before. Stress probably finally triggered it in my system. Two years of lying dormant, and then I join a frigging reality TV show and I'm covered in sores. It's only going to get worse. I've seen the pictures. This will turn into a crusty, scabby mess. Oh. My. God.

Now, right before my frigging beach date, I get this.

I touch the wound gently with my fingertips. It doesn't hurt, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't there yesterday. I would have noticed. I push on the red part and a bit of puss squeezes out of the center. I gag and try to wipe it off with toilet paper. Any other frigging time. Any time but now. A shirt would hide this. A one-piece bathing suit. But no, I have a neon purple bikini. I put my head between my knees and try to concentrate on breathing. Jeremy is going to think I'm disgusting.

I sit for a long time. Eventually, the horror morphs into grim acceptance, and the tightness in my chest lessens. I stand in front of the mirror again. From the front, the mark isn't visible. I tighten my stomach muscles and flip my hair to the front, covering the words scrawled across my breasts. One side says “Key” and the other “West.” Maybe I can wear a T-shirt the entire date. Nervously I peek my head out of the bathroom door. God, I can't even walk across my hotel room in this thing. “Hey, Shelley Anne? Do you think I can get your opinion?”

“Yeah, sure.” I can hear the sulk in her voice.

I step out of the bathroom and pause. Head back, standing straight, I can do this. “How bad is this suit?”

Do you notice anything diseased about me?
I turn slightly to the left and then right.

She bursts into tears.
Oh, shit.
“Sorry,” I say and duck back out of sight. She must have seen the red spot. I crack the door enough to talk to her. “Do I look that bad?”

“You know how pretty you are,” she snaps through sniffles. “You're the prettiest one of the group and you don't have to show off.”

Me? Is she crazy? She thinks I'm pretty and she didn't see the mark! I stand by the cracked door, stunned. I pace back to the mirror and tuck my hair behind my ears. I don't know. Dark hair, dark gray eyes, smattering of freckles. It's the same face I've
been staring at my whole life. But this time when I stare, I can't help my grin. I've never had another girl call me pretty and Shelley's anger is oddly…confidence building.

But being considered pretty quickly loses its rush. I think about Fluxem dissolving my bones and disfiguring me. I lift my arm to my face and sniff. I still smell like me. Is this the beginning of the end, or will my symptoms be mild? How long will my appearance last if I don't come up with that money?

TODAY IS THE day. My date with Jeremy Bane. My body hovers between having a heart attack and ecstasy. I run to the bathroom first thing, but the mark is still there, slightly darker but with no crust.

I slip a gray T-shirt over my head, letting out my breath as the material covers all evidence of Fluxem. Next, I tie a knee-length wrap skirt around my waist. Apple blossoms and branches twine together on a neutral gray background. Two years ago, Mom made the skirt for me out of a Japanese tablecloth. I've only called her once since arriving. Her optimism and my anxiety about the competition don't mix. I just want to shake the well-wishing out of her.

Shelley Anne sits up in her bed.

“Are you going to watch my date today?” I ask her.

“Yes, duh.”

“I didn't know after last night with Claire.”
You cried for hours.
“Maybe you shouldn't watch any more dates. I might not, either. I don't want to psych myself out.” That, and there won't be much point. I'll have already had my chance to win him over.

“I bet you'll feel differently tonight,” she says.

There's a knock on the door before Shelley Anne's sulk can depress me. A cameraman stands directly behind Eleanor. I freeze.

“You're going to have to get used to it,” Eleanor says, leaning in. “Now, let me fasten your mic to your back.”

I stand still while she reaches through the neck of my shirt and tapes the tiny device under my shoulder blade. I don't think there's any way she can see the mark on my lower back. I hope. I try on a sincere-looking smile for the TV audience and follow her down the hall. “When are we meeting up with Jeremy?” I ask her.

“Right now.” She turns to face me, widening her eyes and raising her eyebrows. I feel like there should be a drumroll in the background. She stops and knocks on another door at the end of the hallway. Holy shit, we're picking him up at his room? I'm going to know the location of Jeremy's room. Eleanor must secretly want me to win, or maybe she feels bad about the bathing suit. I hope the other girls aren't watching the feed yet, otherwise there'll be a stampede.

Jeremy opens the door and he looks…wow. Smoldering hot. His light green T-shirt makes the auburn highlights in his hair pop. His long lashes blink down and I realize I'm staring directly at him and not saying a damn thing.

“Hey, Monet.” He offers me his hand and we shake in greeting.

“Hey, Jeremy.” His hand is warm in mine. I struggle not to be clingy and release his touch after the appropriate amount of time.

He gives me his crooked grin. “Now, I can't forget that name. In a good way, of course.”

Eleanor motions us out the door without breaking our dialogue. Oh, right. The cameras. I sigh and follow her down the hall again.

Jeremy falls in step beside me. “Don't worry, the cameras creep me out a bit, too. It's like I spend my whole life trying to dodge them, and then the studio
makes me an offer I can't refuse. It's not like I could say no when the money helps cancer patients.”

“Of course.” Walking next to Jeremy Bane is so surreal. He's so famous, but he's just striding along next to me like a normal guy. On stage he's more a supernatural character than someone I could be near, and now he's just right here. I almost want to poke my finger into his side.

He brushes his hair back from his forehead and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I mean, I'm not implying that I don't want to be here. But I'd rather be dating you in the normal way, without the tail.”

He'd like to be dating me. Be cool.
“I understand.” And I do. I don't want to think about how every one of my actions right now will be analyzed by the viewers. “Is the cancer foundation the only reason you decided to do the show?”

“Well, you never know who you might meet.” He smiles at me again, but the answer sounds too much like the one from the commercial. I want to ask him more, off camera. I want to know everything about him.

We both scan in at the elevator and I recognize his bodyguard, Derek, when we step off. His snug black T-shirt stretches over his muscles, giving him that tough guy look, but he still has that repressed smile at the corner of his lips. In comparison, Jeremy's not as bulky and has mysterious eyes. Derek's are a harder slate blue, more badass than artistic. Despite our entourage, I can't stop staring at Jeremy. He's so tall standing next to me. There has to be a way to relax around him. I'm not going to be able to impress anyone this wound up.

Eleanor opens the hotel doors and hands us off to another assistant. A chauffeur comes around the side of the limo and ushers us in. Cameras point over the front seat of the limo. I sigh again and Jeremy pats my
back lightly as he settles in. “You'll get used to it,” he whispers.

“Do you know what beach we're going to?” I ask even though all I'm thinking about is the deep, breathy quality of his whisper.

The assistant hands back a brochure. Jeremy holds it out between the two of us and I scoot a few inches closer.

Coconut Beach on the outskirts of the beautiful city of Key West is known for its snorkeling, crystal blue waters, and drinks served out of coconuts. Ranked one of the top ten cleanest vacation spots.

The limo slides through the narrow streets without a bump or jolt. I've never been in a car that doesn't make noise. Maybe the wheels don't touch the ground. Jeremy pulls a bottle of sunscreen from the pocket behind the seat. “Did you already put on yours?”

“No. I didn't even think of it.”

He nods and hands me the bottle. I spread the lotion over my face, but I can't think of anything brilliant to say.
Be calm. Pretend he's an average nineteen-year-old guy.
The assistant narrows his eyes at me, probably irritated that I'm not doing anything worth filming.

Jeremy seems content not to talk. He sits close enough to me that our arms are touching. The warmth from the contact sends a quiver through my spine. Does he feel even a tenth of the excitement I do? The city landscape tapers off abruptly and palm trees replace buildings. Foliage springs up in tight masses, taking advantage of the small amount of open space. I shift in the seat to try and see every bit of it. I want to slip out of the car and breathe in the air. I wonder if the taste will be like I imagine when I lose myself in the projections in front of the bank buildings. Jeremy
leans over my shoulder. Geesh, I'm up on my knees, face pressed to the glass like a five-year-old.