Page 46 of Last First Time
One of the men behind me starts clapping, so I eventually let go of her. And yeah, her hair is a little rumpled and it gives me a small thrill.
“Let’s go pretend to be respectable people, Reed.” She winds her arm around mine, and everything is so much more bearable already.
“We are so fucking respectable. We should sell tickets to our major show of respectability.” I pull her closer and kiss the top of her head.
She snorts again. “I’m pretty sure the senator already sold those tickets. That’s why we’re hiding in here right now instead of walking out peacefully.”
“Yeah well, he doesn’t know how great we both are at making spectacles of ourselves. Let’s get this done and go home.”
“Yeah, home sounds pretty darn great right about now.” Her tiny smile makes me want to strut out and face all my fears, prove to her that I can be the man she’s always wished for.
So I do.
K.T.
The popping lights of the flashbulbs are blinding me. I stumble a little as we walk toward the reporters, but Reed tucks me closer to his body and we find our way to a spot in the front of the crowd. A sea of microphones is stuffed in front of us, and reporters’ questions swirl around us like the noise of a raging storm.
Reed holds up a hand, and the group quiets down surprisingly quickly. “I’m here with Ms. Troudeau to make a brief statement regarding the events of the last twenty-four hours. We will not be answering questions beyond the contents of this statement.”
The whole introduction sounds canned, like this is a statement he gives right before giving a bunch of “no comment” responses. I wish we had talked a little bit longer about what was going to be said or not said during this stupid press conference.
The noise kicks up again immediately like the buzzing of a thousand angry hornets, and my mouth tightens. I hate this feeling, like I am out and exposed in the open, like I’ve done something really terrible. Like all of these people in front of us have seen me naked or they know all my secrets.
As it turns out, this particular group of individuals has not only seen my naked photos, but they’ve published them too, spread them around everywhere they could until as many people as possible have seen me naked and vulnerable. What a bunch of monsters. How dare they stand here in front of us demanding answers to questions they have no reason to ask, so blatantly unashamed.
Reed is droning on saying something or other about the mayoral race, but I feel myself flushing with anger. The sharp words are rising on my tongue, and I’m not going to be able to keep them inside much longer. I might actually burst a blood vessel if I don’t let all this out.
“You people,” I yell. Oops. Everyone’s attention has switched over to me, and suddenly I’m in a panic. An angry panic, but still a panic. “You fucking people.”
One of the reporters, a woman with a sharp-looking hairdo and long, talon-like nails curated in a French manicure, shakes her head at me. “No cussing now, miss trampy trash. We want to use as much of the footage as possible without having to edit out every third word, so try to keep your dirty talk for the bedroom.” The reporters around her laugh.
My entire body trembles with the desire to rip her hair out and then feed it to her in my own balled up fist. “Trash? Did you really? Look, I know women like you are jealous about my relationship with the one and only Reed Harrington IV, but there’s no need to resort to name calling.” I put a hand on Reed’s chest territorially. “So shut your mouth, jizz breath.”
The reporters jostle against each other, but the sharp looking one pipes back up. “Oh, now you’re in a relationship? It’s not just a little wham, bam, thank you ma’am? Or an excuse to drum up some more media time?” Her heavily made up eyes flick from me to Reed then back again.
I smile sweetly at her. “Honey, I’m going to use small words so you can keep up with me.” I clear my throat and straighten up, squaring my shoulders as if me and this bitch are about to fight. Because we just might. “Reed and I are getting married. Whoever took those photographs did it when we were celebrating our engagement.”
I notice his arm tightening around me, but I love the white tint around her overly made up lips so much. Then the flurry of noise starts back up, the questions and shouting of my name reaching a higher pitch. Oh, this is thrilling.
“And sure, we definitely got a little carried away with one another, but I was beyond happy that Reed wanted to spend his life with me. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get a little spanky with this hot piece of merchandise?” I swat Reed’s butt for effect. He jumps a little, and I feel a wave of delight at staking my claim on him in public.
Wait, what am I doing?
The pitch rises and the flashbulbs start again. Looks like I’ve totally overdone it, as usual. Well, Reed knows by now that I certainly am not a halfway sort of person. Guess we’re going to have to see this thing through to the end of the press conference.
“Mayor Harrington, are you really engaged to Ms. Troudeau?” The reporter asking this time is a fat man in a little coat, some ugly tweed pattern that reminds me of the furniture we had growing up. It was left out in front of someone’s house, so we took it home to use. Later, we figured out it had been left out because someone had definitely lost control of several bodily fluids on the couch. It always vaguely stank no matter how many times we scrubbed at it. I always suspected that we smelled that way after sitting on it too.
I wait, fists balled up, expecting Reed to come up with some sort of politician excuse for the craziness that erupted from my mouth. Maybe he can talk it down to the stress of his recent legal issues, or food poisoning. Space madness. Yeah, that’s totally believable.
Instead, he leans closer and kisses my hair. “That’s right, sir. I’m the luckiest man on earth because this beautiful woman, the love of my life, agreed to be my wife.”
Wait, is he actually going along with this? Holy crap. He is also super good at this lying business, because when he said that and looked at me with those hearts in his eyes, I actually believed him. I can feel myself slipping away into the words he said, sinking into it and believing him.
And I want to believe. At least for a few more moments, I want this whole thing to keep being a little bit true a little bit longer. That’s the only possible explanation for what happens next, when I find my mouth opening up and carrying on with this silliness.
“Reed and I were going to make a public statement after the campaign wound down, but I guess the anonymous photos sped up the timeline for us.” I make sure to put as much sarcasm as possible on the word anonymous. The entire crowd of reporters sighs, and even the hardest and roughest amongst them seem to swoon a little. I have to admit it sounds damned romantic, even if I was quite recently posting bail for the hot guy in this story.
“And come on people, there’s nothing that we want more than a politician who is faithful, one who is happily married. So, what if we got a little carried away during our engagement celebration? It was supposed to be private. Maybe you should be asking questions of the man who was searching for naked photographs on what was supposed to be a private governmental security feed.” I give them all the stink eye, but apparently it doesn’t work on large crowds.
