Generations 2.7 kindle (32 page)

……

T
he Mike Andrews Show. A nighttime talk show. It was a new one, but it was a staggering success. The guy was a riot.

Ben had just performed his song. The crowd loved it. Ben thought it was his best crowd yet. This place had a club-like feel. It was darker, edgier. And the crowd seemed to feed from that vibe: they were rowdier than the average talk-show crowd.

It was time for the interview. It was going well. Mike was cracking a lot of jokes. Ben didn’t feel like the conversation was really going anywhere. But that was okay, because he was having fun and the crowd was rolling out the laughs.

Until. The flat-screen behind Ben displayed the soon-to-be released cover of
 
M
magazine. The one with Brishell’s naked body next to his bare torso. The crowd cheered loudly as Mike urged them on. All kinds of whistles and cat-calls broke out. Once the crowd settled down, Mike asked, “How does a guy get this to happen? I mean, really, under what circumstances does a guy get wet, roll in sand, and come out with … her stuck to you? Like gum on a shoe? This never happens to me. Anytime I’ve ever rolled in the sand, the only thing I’ve ever had stick to me was an empty potato-chip bag.”

The crowd laughed, but Ben could feel his stomach turn. This was not in the script. He didn’t want to talk about Brishell. But, of course, Mike wasn’t going to leave it alone. He asked what it was like to work with Brishell. He commented on what a beautiful woman she is, to which Ben tried to reply casually. “Yeah, she is. She’s suede.”

“Ultra suede.” Mike added. Yeah, the saying had already caught on. And Ben had only said it a few times. These people were sheep.

Then Mike asked personal things about Brishell’s physique that should never be said—ever, let alone in front of millions of people.

Ben didn’t say much. He shifted his body and leaned away from the desk. Like if he was farther away, maybe he wouldn’t hear the questions. Mike called him on it. “Is this making you uncomfortable … talking about Brishell?”

The way he said “Brishell” made Ben nervous. And for good reason. Because the next picture that popped up on screen was one of Katrina.
 

“Would this be why you don’t want to talk about Brishell? Would you rather be talking about her?” Mike pointed at the picture. It was one from the music video. Beautiful, smiling, Katrina. “What’s her name again?” he asked.

Ben was thinking all sorts of choice swearwords. Ones that would get him bleeped on national TV. This was unbelievable. This was not supposed to happen. He didn’t even go there with Nora … and she paid for the exclusive. Ben felt his insides grow hot. Not like he was going to break out in a sweat kind of hot, but like he was getting so mad that he might incinerate his organs. He wanted to stand up, pull off the mic, and walk off the set. But. There were three hundred people in the audience. It might as well be live.

He tried to smile—what he hoped was a natural, complacent smile. And he tried to make his voice sound light, like this was not affecting him in the least. “I would say that the reason that I wasn’t talking about Brishell is the same reason that I’m not going to talk about her,” he pointed to the picture of Kat. But, since he didn’t say her name, people in the audience must have thought he needed help remembering. “Katrina,” various people called. “Her name is Katrina.”

As irritated as Ben was, he still smiled and said thank you to the audience. Then he tried to redirect once more. “So, actually, I’m here to talk about my new album. It’s called
Time
and it was released three days ago. You may have heard of it?”

This got laughter from the audience, which was good. But Ben was still fuming inside. “You have a picture of the cover?” he asked Mike. Ben actually reached across the desk, trying to help Mike find the cover art.

Mike found it, held it up, and said, “Here it is.
Time
. Available now. Everyone going to buy it?” The audience cheered loudly. Again, good. Then Mike threw the cover art into the audience and said, “Alright, we talked about your album. Everyone promised that they are going to buy it. So let’s get back to this.” Again, the picture of Kat illuminated the screen. “Everyone is dying to know what is going on here.” Mike reached for his remote.

Ben started to say the canned response. The “we’re just friends” one. Then Mike pushed a button and switched the photo.
 
It was the Ferris wheel kiss. “Not buying it, Ben.” More cheers and cat-calls.

Oh, this guy was going to pay. “No, really,” Ben started
   
 
to say.

“Maybe in your world. In a world where you roll through the sand and get a Brishell stuck to you. And your friends kiss you like this.” The cameraman zoomed in on that kiss. The crowd roared, yet again. “A day in the life of Ben Wilder, folks,” Mike said.

Once the audience calmed down, Mike switched to a different picture of Kat. Ben hadn’t seen this one before. It almost looked like it could have been from a dance recital. She was striking a pose with one arm held over her head. It made her skirt hike up, shorter than anything Ben had seen her wear. And the look on her face was rather … seductive. Like she was exhaling with exhilaration.

“None of my friends look like this,” Mike said with disappointment. “I mean, dang, will you look at that?” The camera man zoomed in on this one as well. The crowd … they were going wild over that picture. Over Kat. A sixteen year old girl. “I’ve got to find out how to get me some friends like that,” Mike joked.

That inner fire was no longer contained. Ben could feel sweat pooling under his leather jacket. His face was probably turning red. “She’s sixteen, Mike,” Ben said. His voice came out sounding gruff. He quickly gave a stage smile, hoping to cover his anger.

“Yeah, I
know
.” The way Mike replied—with his eyebrows raised—was disgusting. Pedophile kind of disgusting. But then he gave his own stage smile to cover up the perversion. “So that’s why you’re still just friends. She’s too young. To get involved like that. Pity. But at least you have … something else to occupy your time while you’re waiting for Katrina to come of age.” Again, the picture of Brishell.

This guy is going to die.

……

I
nterview over. Ben had just entered his dressing room. “What the hell was that, Paul?” Ben immediately yelled.
 

Paul’s face was inches away from Ben’s. Ben could see Paul’s upper lip sweating. “Calm down, Ben.” Paul’s voice was soft, soothing. “That was completely unauthorized. He jumped script.”

“Obviously someone knew what he was up to. The photos were prepped.” Ben backed away. He felt like he had to keep moving. If he stopped, all that frustration might pool in one spot—like his fist—and result in damage of some sort. Not that he ever really lost his temper. But he felt close. Damn close. He wanted to hit something. Hard.

“Yes. He was prepared. His staff knew. But they didn’t tell us anything.”

Ben was across the room now. Still pacing. “Whose job is it to know? Who cleared their script?”

 
“Steve. It was Steve on this one.”

“He’s fired. Seriously. Fire him now. He should have found out about this.”

Ben was in Paul’s face again. Paul flinched ever so slightly. “That might be rash, Ben. If Mike’s staff had an ulterior motive, there is no way that Steve could have found out about it.”

“Then what is he paid to do? This can’t happen again.”

“It won’t. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“How? If we can’t find out about these … covert scripts, how can we make sure nothing like this happens again? Mike was trying to scoop Nora. Who’s going to try to scoop Mike? I can’t be a target like this Paul.”

Paul stood still. He was the embodiment of calmness. Like he was some Yoga guru. “I’ll make it very clear to Steve—to the entire staff—that this can’t happen again. They’ll know that their jobs are on the line. We’ll interview the entire team of writers for each of the upcoming shows … look for any discrepancies. And as far as Mike goes … he’ll know he crossed a line. He’ll find himself short on guests for a while.”

This took the edge off the anger—that momentary bliss found in planning vengeance. A good old fashioned boycott. Paul could arrange that. All the A-listers would turn down Mike’s show. He’d be off the air within a month. Sweet retribution. But it would only work if everyone boycotted. “Do it Paul. Let everyone know that Mike can’t be trusted. Tell them what his tactics are.”

“It will be easy. His conduct was uncouth. I’ll make sure he suffers the consequences.”

Ben ran his hands through his hair. Mike was taken care of. Now Ben had to worry about the next person. He looked at his watch. It was four-o’clock. One-o’clock in California. “I have to talk to Kat.” Could he have her pulled from school? Or would the press catch on to that? That might make it worse. But how fast will word of Mike’s interview travel? Would she hear about it before school got out?

 
Ben clenched his hands over fistfuls of hair. Oh, this was bad. He’d just killed things with Kat. Sure she’d been understanding of the pictures with Brishell, but Ben knew that Mike had just sparked a firestorm. The media would pick up on it. Who will Ben chose, Kat or Brishell? Obviously not Kat. Ben had said himself that she was too young.

“For the record, you handled it very well. You didn’t crack. You were calm. You were amiable. You got a few laughs. Really, for a tough topic, we still have a best case scenario. You came out unscathed.”

“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about Kat.” Ben could feel the sweat pooling under his arms again. He quickly unzipped his motorcycle jacket and threw it to the sofa. Really, Paul. Did he not possess a single human emotion?

“Katrina will be fine. You didn’t divulge anything.”

“Exactly, Paul. I dismissed her. Us.”

“She’ll understand. You were protecting her. I could see that. I’m sure many people will see it as well. Really, I don’t think you’ll have much fall out. Why don’t I get the tape for you? I’m sure it’s not as bad as you imagined.”

“I was there. I know what I said. I know that I didn’t give Kat the credit that she deserves.
 
I can’t imagine how this will make her feel.” He’d said that Brishell was suede. And he hadn’t made any reference to Kat in that regards. He knew that would sting, no matter how resilient Kat seemed to be.

“So you would have preferred the alternative? To announce your … whatever … with her on national TV.”

Argh. Why did Paul have to do that? Make everything so black and white? “Obviously I would have preferred to not have to talk about it at all.”

“Of course. But maybe it is time to talk.”

“I … don’t think Kat is ready. It been crazy enough as it is. And you remember what they did to Malia? I can’t do that to Kat.” Ben still hadn’t been able to shrug off the guilt from that one. Malia’s family had fallen apart. Her parents divorced. Her siblings had taken sides and no longer spoke to each other. Not that what Malia’s dad had done was Ben’s fault, but it never would have been brought to light had the press not been keeping their spotlights shining through Malia’s windows 24/7. And the paparazzi wouldn’t have been there if Malia would have chosen someone less … popular to date.

“Yes. But Malia was already a celebrity. I hardly think the press will go to the same lengths for Katrina.” Still calm and even, but now Paul’s voice had a fleck of disdain.

Ben had enough of Paul’s belligerence against Kat. “Tell me why you don’t like her,” he demanded.

Paul motioned at the sofa. He thought they should sit for this conversation, meaning it must be bad. Ben was ready to sit anyhow. All the adrenaline was leaving his system, making him feeling like he’d just ran five miles. He plopped down dramatically, trying to show Paul how irritated he was.

“Ben, I do like Katrina. There is nothing wrong with her. She’s a nice girl. A nice average girl. Do you hear those key words? Average and girl? I think that Mike has a valid point. You’re expected to do better than that. You’d be better off with someone like Brishell.”

Enough sitting. Ben sprang from the sofa and yanked off his sweat-stained T-shirt. “Where’s my clothes?” he asked. He tore through the room: opening every drawer and looking in every cupboard. “I don’t like Brishell,” he said, although he felt like he shouldn’t have to reaffirm that. He’d already said it over a dozen times after Dubai. Ben reached for some deodorant spray—the brand that he had done the commercial for last year, even though Paul had said it would kill brain cells if overused—and sprayed a very liberal amount. But Paul didn’t even choke. He handed Ben his clothes, which were apparently hung in an armoire that looked like a TV cabinet. That’s when Ben noticed the Plasma on the wall next to the armoire. Oh.

“You’re upset. You’re not being rational. I can see that you’re starting to wear down. Let’s cancel that dinner with Les. You might benefit from taking the night off.”

“I don’t need the night off. Besides. It’s Friday. I can sleep in tomorrow.” They had done the weekend morning show last week. All they had scheduled tomorrow was the Saturday night comedy show—which was a rather big deal, but still … he did get to sleep in. That was all he cared about.

Paul looked him over, the way a doctor would do when trying to determine if a patient needed sedated. “Actually, I will cancel the dinner with Les. He can fly to L.A. in a few weeks and meet with you then.” Les was press, but second rate. Not a priority. Even though Ben really liked Les. He’d always given Ben rave reviews. But Paul was right: Les could wait. Ben exhaled deeply. It felt good to make the load a bit lighter. “Let’s get you back to the apartment so you can rest before the game.” The Knicks. Front row. Exactly what Ben needed tonight.

“I need to talk to Kat first.” Ben found his phone and began a text. Paul was heading for the door but then he stopped and pivoted slowly. Great. There was more.

“Maybe you should wait a while before you talk to her. Calm down a bit more.”

“I’m fine, Paul.” Ben could hear the irritation in his voice. He was surprised Paul didn’t duck or run for cover. Well, no, this really wasn’t surprising. Because Paul wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Just give it a sec to think things through before you call to
apologize
.”

Ben felt every muscle in his body tense. He didn’t need to be reminded of this. He wasn’t ten anymore. Wilders never, ever apologize. He knew that. He knew that power is everything. And that apologizing is a sign of weakness. He could never go there. He wasn’t going to go there with Kat. Then his muscles tightened even more. So then what was he going to say to Kat? Saying that he didn’t mean to diss her on national TV was a bit of an apology, wasn’t it? Oh, Paul. Ben felt himself growling. He felt more anger towards Paul than he had towards Mike just minutes ago, if that was possible.

“If you tell Katrina that you feel more for her than was communicated on TV, what exactly will you be saying? What will you be declaring to her? What will you be committing?”

Paul had just barely said that he didn’t think much of Kat, so the last thing Ben was going to admit was that he was in love with her. He’d even almost told her that. Twice. No, technically he’d only
tried
once. But he’d chickened out. The other time, he actually had said it. But it was in Italian. And it wasn’t with
 
absolute
 
certainty.
 
He’d
 
said,
 
“I think I’m falling in love with you ….” He didn’t think so anymore. After being away from her for nearly two weeks—and still not making it through a single hour without thinking about her—he knew so. But he’d kept that locked within his heart.

Obviously Ben had betrayed himself somewhere along the line, because Paul said, “You tell her you love her and you’ll be giving her all the power. I wouldn’t … advise it. Think of the damage she could do to you once this ends. Does the word ‘needy’ ring a bell? Do you really want to go there again?”

Maybe Paul was afraid of Ben after all because Paul left the room rather quickly. Which was good, because Ben envisioned himself chucking his cell phone at Paul’s head. Not that Ben actually would have done it … unless the phone accidently slipped out of his hand. But that didn’t mean that Paul didn’t deserve to have it done. That was really harsh:
to bring up what Malia had said. To the press. After they broke up.

It had taken Ben months to recover from that one. She hadn’t given Ben much of an explanation when she had broken up after their year long relationship. Basically, all she had told Ben was that it was over; she’d had enough. Then she went and blabbed to
Inside
magazine. Said that Ben was needy. And clingy. It stung like salt in a flesh wound. No, worse. Like pouring acid into a surgical incision. Because he had to face it on two different levels. Although he thought that the fallout within his own heart was probably worse than anything that the press said—it actually got him some sympathy with the media. But still, it was embarrassing.

Ben laid down on the sofa and sunk in as deep as the leather would allow. He wished that he could morph. Just become the sofa and nothing else for a time. The burden of being a Wilder weighed him down so heavily he felt like he was lower than dirt. That he was with the earth. In a grave that was dug for him by his father.

He stretched his arm across his forehead, covering his eyes. His head was beginning to throb with pain. Like he needed a headache on top of this. But it was inevitable. Lack of sleep plus stress always resulted in a massive headache. He needed some A.C.&C. But he’d sworn off anything stronger than Tylenol. He didn’t want any addictions to ensnare him, as simple and diminutive as they may seem. They could lead to something greater. Something that would keep him in that grave next to Dan’s decomposing body. So that meant fighting a throbbing headache in the same manner one would use a Band-Aid to stop bleeding from an arterial laceration—ineffectively.

The sofa quickly grew uncomfortable. It was too short. And the leather was cheap. And he wasn’t really capable of lying still right now. So he sat up again, cell phone in the palm of his hand. Katrina’s number was lit up on the screen. He sighed deeply. Ultimately, Paul was right. Like always. Ben craved the day when he would be the wise one. The one who held the reigns instead of being the ass in a harness.

What to say to Kat? His heart begged him say it all. His head warned him to be cautious.