So for now I stay quiet, keeping the bloom of falling for Chris to myself through the evening, as I walk my dog, and read a text from my boyfriend telling me that Qbert misses me, and it’s almost enough for me to drop everything and invite him over. But the next time I see him I know I’ll want him in every way, and I won’t let myself go there until I’ve come clean. So I resist, telling him instead that I’ve never enjoyed a game of Qbert more.
Then I reach for my laptop, write out a script for tomorrow’s show, going with the simplest admission of all. “Thanks for your support. I’m pleased to let you know that I found someone who makes me ridiculously happy, and because of that the contest is over. It wouldn’t be fair to him, you, me or anyone else to keep going because this guy has already won. He’s won my heart.”
I exhale.
I’ve written it down. I’ve given voice to my feelings. I’ll be putting it out there. I can do this. I can step forward into the great unknown of a new love. Tomorrow, I’ll call Hayden, Erin and Julia right after my shoot and before the video goes live.
I close the computer, slide under the covers, and scratch Ms. Pac-Man’s ears just the way she likes.
“You’re a good girl.”
* * *
The next morning as I finish my makeup, Todd’s name flashes across my phone. My stomach tightens, but I answer it anyway. He’s holding something over me, and I need to know what it is.
“So about the sale of your blog to Fashion Nation,” he begins, picking up our truncated call where we left off. “I hate to do this, McKenna. I really hate to do this. But I feel a little bit, what’s the word? Shafted. A little bit shafted. Left out with the sale.”
I must get my hearing checked. I’m sure he didn’t just say that. “You feel shafted? Well, isn’t that just the pot calling the kettle black.”
He ignores me. “I’m only talking about what’s fair. You made a pretty penny on that sale, and you surely deserve most of it.” I grit my teeth as he repeats the words, “Most of it.”
“I deserve all of it.”
“Well, I’m not so sure about that. And I’ve been talking to some folks who think it’s a little unfair that I didn’t receive any of the buyout money. After all, I did play an instrumental role in the intellectual property of The Fashion Hound. If not for me, you would probably never even have a blog.”
He is gasoline and I am a flame. “Let me guess. You’re not making as much money as your new wife wants to support your family. So you’re looking to dip your fingers in my bank account?”
He scoffs. “No. No. No. I want what’s fair. This isn’t about money. This is about equality. That’s something that matters a lot to you, isn’t it? You’re all about equality. You’re going after equal treatment in your show with your little project. I want equal treatment in the sale.”
I am fuming, twin streams of red fury pour out of my ears, as I slam my mascara tube on the sink, only one eye done. I am a teapot about to boil over, a geyser about to blow. “I would rather wear baggy jeans and shapeless shirts for the rest of my life than ever give you a cent of what you don’t deserve.”
I stab my manicured nail on the end button and drop my phone on the chair. Then I race downstairs, and bang on Hayden’s door, hoping to hell she hasn’t left yet for work.
She answers, dressed sharply in her lawyer suit, a cup of coffee in one hand.
“Greg,” I say, through clenched teeth. “I need to talk to Greg.”
“He’s leaving for work in a few, but come in.”
I walk inside, not caring that mascara has made it onto only one set of eyelashes, and that my face must look oddly asymmetrical as I collapse at the kitchen table and lay out my newest dilemma for Hayden’s business attorney husband. He nods thoughtfully, listening carefully as I recount every detail of Todd’s request.
“Please tell me he doesn’t have a leg to stand on,” I say, and I’m not just begging, I’m pleading.
Greg sighs. “I’ll help you through this. You know I will. But he has a case.”
“It never ends with him.”
Hayden sighs, as she puts a hand on my shoulder. She says nothing. There is nothing to say. Because Todd will stop at nothing to find new ways to rip me.
I return to my house and punch the Xbox on-button. I fire up Guitar Hero this time and plow through a few songs on medium, releasing my fury on the guitar and then taking down Slash in three tries in an epic guitar battle on the medium level.
But I still want to kick the screen, or the console, or a brick wall, so when my phone rings again, I answer it angrily before I even see who’s calling.
“What. Is. It. Now?”
“Hi, I’m looking for McKenna Bell,” the man’s voice says, unperturbed. He’s not Todd, so I dial down my anger.
“This is McKenna.”
“Hello! This is Tristan Quinn. I’m a producer with Helen in the city and I wanted to see if you are available to come on the show today.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. The Fashion Hound,” he coos, saying my name with a faux-sinister accent, like I’m a campy sixties superhero.
“For what?”
Helen is a national daytime talk show that’s been on the air for several years. Helen is Helen Weathers, a former actress and comedian. Her show is topical, she interviews celebrities and politicians, brings popular musicians on stage to perform, and banters with the audience and guests.
“Well,” Tristan purrs into the phone, “Helen just adores your video blog and wants to talk to you about what makes a good Trophy Husband.”
“Oh, that’s very sweet. But I’m no longer in the market for a –”
“–Helen has been a fan of your blog for some time now,” Tristan gushes. He lowers his voice. “You know, she’s an alpha female too.”
I laugh. “I know, but–”
“And she just LOVES the idea of a Trophy Husband so she wants you on the show to talk about traits and qualities that make for a good Trophy Husband. You’re the leading expert on them, she says.”
“I’m the leading expert on Trophy Husbands? Wow, I didn’t know the world needed one.”
“Oh, I just have to tell you, I think this idea is so fabulous. I mean, men have been doing this for years. Why not women?”
“That was my thought initially, but I’ve sort of had a change of–”