Long Shot (12 page)

“How could you do this? I have had people I don’t even know knocking down my door, asking about you.”

I squint my eyes tight, trying to erase the day. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I am so, so sorry. This was never supposed to happen. Look, can we just talk about this later?”

“Well, if you’re coming on Sunday—”

“Oh god, no, Mom. Not at Sunday lunch. Are you kidding me? Look, just… can you just talk to Grams? She can explain all this and then—”

“
Your grandmother knows
?”

Shit. “Look, I have to go, Mom. I’m really sorry. Just know this was never my plan and I’m so sorry and—”

“The money I saved from the time you were born, every cent I lovingly put away for your college fund, all for this…”

“Oh my
god
, Mom, I have to go. Love you, bye.” I hang up and drop my phone on the counter like it’s suddenly grown fangs.

Jane pops her head in the kitchen. “That didn’t sound too bad. Could have been a lot worse.”

I make a face at her. “Right, sure, awesome. You’re so helpful, Jane.”

“I should actually thank you.” Jane flashes a grin and I don’t like her. I don’t like her one bit. “This is going to take the pressure off of me and Bobby to give her another grandchild for several months. They’ll be so distracted by their delinquent daughter the penis photographer that they’ll completely forget about me.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re so welcome. This was my masterplan the entire time.” I shoot her both middle fingers and glower. “I thought you were under too much stress and decided to sink my entire life so mumsy wouldn’t ask you again about your uterus.”

“You’re the best.” She blows me a kiss, but comes into the kitchen and squeezes me tight. “You’ll get through this, I—”

A knock on the door interrupts her. Jane frowns and disappears into the house to answer the door, leaving me to stare at Rob’s number in my phone. I need to call him to tell him to never fucking speak to me ever again, not even if the world is about to explode and he’s the only one who knows it, but that would mean talking to him. I don’t want to talk to him.

I could always text, but that’s kind of like talking to him, and I don’t want a response from him. There’s always ghosting, but he knows where I live and there are high chances he’d show up on my doorstep, and seeing him is the absolute last thing I’d ever want. I’d rather talk to him than see him.

I call him and scream once more. It’s extremely cathartic, even though the neighbors probably believe someone is being killed over here. Well, if he shows up, they’ll be right.

“I may need to have a little talk with Rob myself.” Jane comes back in, eyes narrowed, mouth in a tight line.

“Why?” I exit out of the contacts screen and go back to fielding text messages. A surprising amount of former classmates want me to either (a) take pictures of their own dicks or (b) their boyfriends’ dicks or (c) want to be introduced to my models. Interesting. I haven’t actually gotten a horrified text yet, despite my dire predictions.

“There’s a slew of reporters outside.” Jane crossed her arms. “Not like television van kind of reporters, but there’s a chunk of them with cell phones in my face, asking to talk to you.”

“How did they even get this address?” I panic because I’ll never be alone. I was being mildly dramatic when I thought I couldn’t go anywhere ever again, but they are outside my house? Shit, shit, shit.

“You can find out anything on the internet.” Bobby comes into the kitchen and leans against the island. “I scared them off, told them I’d call the cops for trespassing. You okay?”

“Hell no.” I mix another Bloody. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an agent to call.”

I take the bottle upstairs with me and dial the phone number from the email. “Ms. Roberts? This is Meredith… yes,
that
Meredith. Yes, the one with the penises. I got your email about your offer of representation. Let’s talk about what that means.”

Ms. Roberts fills my ear with a bunch of legal jargon I can’t understand, so I drink my way through it, until she mentions art galleries.

“I’m sorry, what? You’ve already reached out to several galleries on my behalf?
ART BASEL?”
I pull back my phone and stare at it to make sure I’m not fabricating this entire phone call in my head. “Did you just say Art Basel was interested in my work? Oh. My. God. Yes, yes I would absolutely love to work with you! How can I not? Just email me all the documents and I’ll have my lawyer look them over.”

Most dick photographers retain legal counsel, right? I don’t know. I just wanted to sound professional. I’ll sign anything she sends me; who cares. My firstborn? Oh, my soul? No price is too high for freaking Art Basel!

I run downstairs, drink and phone still in my hands, and scream, “ART BASEL WANTS MY WORK.”

“Who?” Bobby asks and Jane swats at him. “What? I’m not down with the art thing.”

Jane somehow manages to sigh at him even as she starts pogoing with me. “Art Basel is a huge international art fair. It’s like,
the
place to be. They want you?”

“THEY WANT ME!” I shove the fist with my phone in the air and do a dance. “Can you believe it? Art Basel! Me! They want!”

“Do they want the dick pics?” Bobby interjects again.

I freeze. “Don’t mention that part. I’m trying to be thrilled here.”

And I am. Being featured at one of the premiere art shows on earth will go a long way towards soothing my ruffled feathers. And my mother’s.

“So, everyone who is too good for social media and thinks art is everything will soon know your name is attached to penises, too?” Bobby again. Jane smacks his arm. “What?”

And then I collapse against the island. “Oh my god. What if all I’m ever known for is the dicks?”

Without waiting for a response, I trudge back up the stairs, feeling eighteen different conflicting emotions. This is so beyond terrible. Everything is terrible. Bobby’s right, everyone on the planet will soon only know my name because of penises.

I’ll have to cancel my ten-year high school reunion, because like
hell
I can show my face around those freaking vultures ever again. I won’t be able to return to my yoga studio if I ever decided that I want to try yoga again. Probably can’t ever attend a church service with my mother ever again lest I get smote on the spot.

Actually, a God-given bolt of lightning may be the swiftest way to deal with this, but I doubt I’d be so lucky.

I stare at my phone, still racking up the notifications and emails and texts as people ask me for appointment slots and referrals. As different agents continue to woo me, though no one else mentions Art fucking Basel, so Ms. Roberts it is.

Okay, so I’ll be making money now. I’ll be able to move out of my sister’s bedroom and get a place of my own, support myself doing something I love when so many people struggle to break through in photography. I can even start drinking brand name booze on my own dime. But at what cost?

This, I realize bitterly. Having my entire life change because one asshole decided to blow my cover and expose me to the world. I thought we meant so much to each other. We confided in each other, we were deeply intimate, and he betrayed me.

I didn’t think I would be able to actually feel my heart breaking, but as the anger leaches out, the hurt replaces it. The trust—I can’t get that back. I am not going to tell him about the agent, that because of his stupid article I’m now being courted by the art community. He doesn’t deserve to know any of that, only that I am never going to fucking talk to him again.

It’s time to make my final call.

W
aking
up today was like waking up Christmas morning. Okay, so we had a nasty fight the night before, but some important things were said. For one, I accidentally admitted that I loved her, but she totally said it back.

She also used my dick for costume measurements, but I am totally willing to forgive that. For one, she’s using me and not another dick. That’s actually a good girlfriend move right there. She’s loyal, dedicated, and doesn’t want to use any other penis but mine to try on her little cockstumes.

I’ve just been so anxious about this project, I maybe was too harsh with her. But hey! Everything went live today, and I can’t wait for her to see it. To see I’m more than just a set of abs humping the floor. To see that I’m more than ripping off my clothes and cunnilingus. I’ve got a brain and real journalistic talent.

My professor loved it. I’m getting an A, I’m done with school, and the rest of our lives can begin together now.

Waiting to hear from Meredith has been killing me. I wanted to text her straight away, but the articles exploded online, and I knew she’d see it. No sense in ruining the surprise then. The article comments were all gold, and half a dozen people were asking to see her work or schedule appointments with her. What started as something to prove my worth turned into a golden business opportunity for her.

This has gone way, way better than I’d hoped. My phone rings, and her name is on my caller ID. I answer, but all she does is shriek her excitement and then hang up. So cute! I try calling back a handful of times, but nothing. No biggie. I’ll go for a run and burn off some of my excess energy.

A second scream phone call comes in as I walk down to my favorite trail. She is losing her mind. You’re welcome, love!

I pop in my headphones and crank up a little Gaga in my ears and spend a few minutes stretching.

I push myself for one of those Until-You-Die runs, where I don’t bother with mile markers or time, but just go until I can’t go any more. Makes getting back to the car kind of shitty, but it’s what I need to break through this tension as I wait for Meredith to calm down enough to chat.

The miles fall away beneath my feet as I relax into the pace and rhythm. I’d forgotten how much I need this in all my busyness lately.

Only a few more weeks, though. I’m done with school and a real job is just down the road, so close that I can taste it. Just another couple dozen shifts should sock away what I need to live on for the summer. I may have to strip my way through an internship at some point, but the end is nigh. Soon I’ll be wearing button-downs and carrying a briefcase. Because I’m going to carry around a briefcase. They look so profesh.

Meredith ought to have a briefcase. Maybe I’ll buy her one. Speaking of, she ought to be sufficiently calm enough to chat. I pull out my phone, hoping I’ve missed a call from her, but no. I decide to call it a day and shift to a brisk walk to head back home for a long, cool shower.

I’m in a towel when my phone goes off. I drop the towel and dive for it, grin hitting both cheeks as Meredith’s pretty face lights up my phone. Maybe she just needed a little extra time to process how awesome it was, or maybe she spent the whole morning fielding calls from agents and new customers and could just now get a breath in.

I did that for her. That’s pretty fucking awesome, man. I may win Boyfriend of the Year.

“Hey babe!” I answer the phone and kick back on my bed. I’m getting a semi already just thinking about her, and I wonder how quickly we can get to the celebration sex. I’m so not even mad about last night any more.

I should tell her I forgive her. But first…

“What did you think?” I ask, noticing the line is awfully silent. “Hello? Merie? Tell me what you think about the article! It was so hard to keep that a surprise—”

“Yeah.” Meredith’s voice cuts me off and she sounds weird. Off. Not exuberant and joyful. Immediately, my brain starts flashing warning signs. “I’m totally breaking up with you. Don’t ever talk to me again.”

And she hangs up.

I—what?

Clearly, there’s been a mistake or my ears are full of water or something, so I call her back, but it goes straight to voicemail. Weird. I call again. And again. And again. Each time, I go to voicemail.

My stomach is sinking, and so is my heart. This is not how today was supposed to go. This is not how any of this was supposed to go. She was supposed to herald me! Maybe if I can get her to read the article, because clearly she hasn’t or she’d be thanking me profusely, then she’ll forgive me. She’ll see how important she is to me. This will all blow over and be something we laugh at on our anniversary.

“Hey, remember that time you almost broke up with me over doll clothes, and then you read my article outlining how much of a badass you are?”

“Oh, Rob, you are just the best!”

So those screams weren’t of joy, then, I guess. Think, Rob, think.

Okay, she’s not answering my phone calls, but she can’t send my texts to voicemail. I send her the link to the PuffPost article with a quick note about how much she means to me. And then, as an homage to last night, I toss in a few hearts to remind her that we professed our love to each other, and “totally breaking up” the following morning is not something people in love do.
Meredith
.

She doesn’t respond. Okay, maybe she needs to read it and then catch up on all the craziness going on. But I need to find something to do to keep my hands busy, otherwise I’m going to go insane waiting. I don’t do waiting well.

Maybe I should go on another run. I just showered though, so I toss that idea.

I stare at myself in the mirror, still naked, though now the semi has gone, and slap myself. “How do you fix this?” I ask the bewildered looking man in the mirror. He doesn’t answer, but I can think of a few things that could work.

I throw on some clothes and fix my hair. It’s not a suit or anything, but I look pretty good in jeans and a button-down. Throw on some of her favorite cologne, and out the door I go, with a few stops in mind.

First, chocolate. She didn’t get to fully enjoy her Christopher Elbow chocolates, so I’ll remedy that. I grab the biggest box they’ve got and pick up a few from the case for good measure. Next stop is Mike’s for a few bottles of wine. I made the bouquet joke before, but this time I’m giving her a dozen reds. Way better than roses.

She’ll see how serious I am. How much I meant it when I said I loved her. This is what real couples do when they fight. Sure, I may have tricked her into dating me, whatever. The point is we are a couple now, no matter what she said earlier on the phone, and couples stay together through thick and thin.

If I have to, I will strip for her. Dead serious.

Finally, a florist for the best bouquet of flowers what’s left of my dollars can buy. I pick something with lots of lilacs. I guessed they were her favorite because all her screen savers are set to various images of them.

I consider taking her out for another picnic, but our last one didn’t exactly end so well and right now, I’m trying to get her to
talk
to me, not ignore me for three days.

Meredith is turning into a lot of work, but for the first time, I get it. She’s
worth it
. She’s smart and funny and gorgeous and pushes me to want to be better. That sort of thing is invaluable. I want that in my life every day. I don’t want her to go away any time soon. I want her around. I want her opinion on things and to hear her laugh. I want her to talk shit about my interviewers who don’t hire me, and I want her to take pictures of my dick when we’re drunk and hilarious.

This girl means everything, and I will bust my ass to make sure she knows it. If it means blowing the rest of my spending cash for the week on overpriced chocolates and bottles of wine and purple flowers, then that’s what I’m going to do, dammit.

Jane is waiting on the front porch of the house when I pull up. She gives me a wave and looks friendly enough, so I don’t think Meredith really meant that we were breaking up. Jane has that whole sisterly obligation to kill me thing going for her, and assassins don’t smile and wave to their prey.

This is a very good sign.

“Well, if it isn’t the journalist.” Jane smiles at me once I’m out of the car. “I didn’t know you could write.”

I beam at the compliment. “Told you I was more than a stripper.”

“That you are. That you are. You look nice.”

“Oh, thanks.” I shift so Jane can see how laden with gifts I am. “Meredith around?”

“Um.” Jane scratches her nose and it’s now that I realize her smile has a tartness behind it. “Yes and no.”

“Like… she’s about to leave?”

“No.”

“Okay.” I flash a smile and try not to look impatient… or like a fool. “I don’t know what that means.”

“This is all very sweet,” Jane says and immediately my heart crashes into my gut. This is not going to go my way. Jane is going to break up with me all over again on Meredith’s behalf. This is humiliating.

“Really, it is. You’re a good guy, Rob. And I know you really mean well—”

“Can I talk to her?” I interrupt, keeping up that stripper smile, the one that says I’m not bothered by anything and I want to be here. The one that hides my breaking heart. “I think something is wrong with her phone and—”

“You should really probably go.” Jane presses her lips together and looks sorry for me. Which, of everything, is worse. “Seeing her right now is not a good idea.”

“Okay.” I nod slowly. I cannot look like a fool. I can’t be here with egg on my face. This will all work itself out and everything will be fine. “I bet Meredith is really overwhelmed by all the publicity of everything. I didn’t think it would take off like this, at all, really, and I’m sure it’s a lot for her to wade through. I was hoping I could help, though.”

There’s that pity face. Man, Jane is really, really good at it. “Go home, Rob. Give her some time, okay?”

I nod, turn to leave, and stop. “You know why she doesn’t want to see me?”

Jane nods.

“It’s about last night’s fight, and I really overreacted, and—”

Jane shakes her head, looking confused. She clearly doesn’t know about our fight. She doesn’t know we confessed our love to one another during a stupid fight over a stupid doll outfit.

“This is about my article.” Oh,
shit
. I misjudged. I really, really, really misjudged.

Jane nods again. “It was nice to see you, Rob.”

Daggers in my chest, that’s all I can feel. I swallow down the angst burning through me, and walk back up to the front porch. “Can you make sure she gets these? I really want her to have them.”

Jane’s eyes are misty, and it’s really not helping my vibe. “I certainly will. You’re a sweet guy. She’ll love them.”

“I hope so.” I offer a tight smile and get the fuck out of there as fast as I can.

Oh god. I should have paid more attention to Veronica. She only met Meredith once, and even she could see how shy the girl is. I let that first drunken night color everything I thought about her personality. Here I am, trying to prove to her that I am more than an embarrassment, by utterly humiliating her in front of the whole world.

Suddenly, I realize what an idiot I am. Tears blur my eyes a little as I pull up in front of my place, but I angrily rub them out. I’m not the one who has the right to cry about this. I unlock the door and head to my roommate for some advice.

“You look like shit.” Peter cuts his eyes to me as he jerks off. There’s a camera in the corner and a naked brunette on the sheets. “Killin’ my vibe, man.”

“Meredith broke up with me.” I try not to stare at the train wreck going on in my roommate’s room and lean against the door frame. “I thought I was doing her a favor, getting her a shit ton of free publicity, proving my worth to her as something other than a stripper, and she breaks up with me for it.”

Peter winks at the brunette, and she giggles. “Bro, I could have told you this. She didn’t even want to date a stripper. Why would she want her name to be associated with dicks in every Google search til the end of time?”

“Balls,” I say, trying to avert my eyes from his balls. “I never thought of it that way.”

“That’s because I’m smarter than you.” Peter’s fingers deep into this girl, still not looking at me. Is this how pornos usually go? It’s fucking weird.

“Whatever. How do I get her back, man? She won’t answer my messages, won’t call me back. Her sister was gate guard at the house.”

“Do you love her?” Peter asks between smacks of the brunette’s ass. This is an incredibly bizarre setting for a heart-to-heart.

“Of course I do! Would I be in here right now, witnessing this abomination, if I didn’t?”

“All right, fluff me.”

“Fluff off.”

“Not you, Rob. The production assistant.” A girl materializes from another corner and drops to her knees. I can only stare open mouthed at this. “Have you sent her some dick pics?”

“Oh my god, Peter, that’s how this whole goddamn thing started! No one liked your dick pics, so I convinced her to do this whole stupid thing. For you!”

“Oh. Right. Huh.” Peter shoots a wink at the black-haired girl on her knees. “I guess you should get her back, huh, man?”

“Oh my god, that’s exactly why I’m here. Talking to you. Witnessing this…. This. Witnessing this. Because I need some advice and apparently I’ve got no other real friends except you.”

“Dude, I don’t know how to do that. My only relationships are with my co-stars. Right, sexy?” He winks at the girl on the bed. It’s like I’m not even here. “Anyways, is this a bad time to tell you I’m moving out? The porn thing is working out so well, it just makes more sense for me to get my own place. It’s just getting weird when I do shoots in your bed.”

“You WHAT?!”