“I can already tell you what he’s going to say: ‘You’re fucked. There’s no owner’s manual. Every day with every one of Savage’s many personalities is a new adventure.’”
She snorts. “More like a nude adventure.”
I can’t help laughing. “Are you complaining about that? Because if so, you’re the only one.”
“Oh, God. I’ve got to endure three months of this?” With that, she looks down and starts tapping away. I watch her for a moment, admiring her profile. And, finally, grab my phone and tap out a reply to Kendrick.
Me: Crisis averted. The meeting was IN-FUCKING-SANE, but, in the end, I’m still a judge, by the skin of my teeth, and you’re still my team’s mentor. But in a shocking twist, Laila is now the show’s first-ever fourth judge and my live-in fake girlfriend for the entire season.
Kendrick: WHAAAAT?!?!?!
Me: It’s reality TV, baby! LOL. They think a “romance storyline” will bring in record ratings. They’re getting us a cool pad with lots of amenities so we can do tons of behind the scenes social media stuff. You know, like a real couple.
Kendrick: I’m shook. I got a text from the producers a few minutes ago, telling me to pack an overnight bag, clear my schedule for the rest of today and tomorrow, and stay tuned for further info. What’s that about?
Me: They’re pulling together a last minute promo shoot with the full cast this afternoon. They want to have everything ready to go right after tomorrow’s press conference.
Kendrick: Where are you right now?
Me: In a car with Laila, being driven to some secret hideout for tonight.
Kendrick: I’m surprised you agreed to go along with this. But I’m SHOCKED she agreed.
Me: It took half my salary to get her to do it. And by that, I mean I’m literally paying her half my salary out of my own pocket.
Kendrick: WHAT?!?!?!?! WHY?!?!?!?!
Me: Long story. I’ll tell you in person. Trust me, I’m not happy about it. But, in the end, it’ll be worth it.
Kendrick: Yeah, regardless, you’re still getting paid a shit-ton of EASY money, dude. And the show will sell a lot of records for us.
Me: Exactly.
Kendrick: Yo! I just got a text from the show. They’re sending a car for me in an hour.
Me: Then I guess I’ll be seeing you soon.
Kendrick: Be nice to Laila in the meantime.
Me: Now, why would I do that, when she likes assholes so much?
Kendrick: LOL. Okay, Player. You do you.
And then, hopefully, Laila, I think. But, of course, I don’t say that to Kendrick. He’s been cool about me getting with her in Phoenix, but there’s no need for me to rub salt in my best friend’s wound.
“Did Kendrick have any good babysitting tips for me?” Laila asks, when I put my phone in my lap.
“I forgot to ask him. But, like I said, there’s no point. His reply would be, basically, ‘You’re fucked.’”
“You never know. Ask him, anyway. I’ve never babysat a full-grown man-child before, and I need all the help I can get.”
I tap out the message and read Kendrick’s immediate reply. “Kendrick says, ‘Babysitting Savage is all about giving him positive reinforcement when he’s a good boy, redirecting or gently scolding when he’s a bad boy (but only if you catch him in the act). And, most importantly, always give him lots of chew toys so he doesn’t destroy your couch or slippers because he’s got a major oral fixation.’”
Laila giggles. “Tell him thanks. That’s actually very helpful.”
Damn. The look she just shot me was pure fire.
She motions to my phone. “Aren’t you gonna tell him thanks?”
My eyes drift to her lips, briefly. “Uh. Yeah.” I tap out the message and then plop my phone onto the car seat between us. I ask, “So, you want to start hashing out the backstory of our ‘romance’ before tomorrow’s press conference?” It’s what the producers told us to do, so our answers sound credible and consistent.
“There’s no time like the present,” she says. “What’s the story of how we first got together, my darling? Let’s start there.”
“Hmm,” I say. But before I’ve said more, our SUV hangs a right onto a quiet residential street, and, suddenly, I know exactly where we are—and where we’re headed. I gesture toward the distinctive iron gate coming into view at the end of the long street—the one I recognize as the gate in front of Reed Rivers’ hilltop mansion. “Looks like we’re staying at Reed’s tonight.”
“Oh, wow . . .” she says, peering through the windshield. “That’s his gate?”
“It sure is,” I mumble. “Shit.”
“You don’t like Reed?”
“I like him fine,” I lie. But, really, me not liking Reed isn’t the problem. The truth is, I was looking forward to spending the evening alone with Laila. She already mentioned she’s down to get shitfaced with me. And the last time we were both shitfaced, I practically fucked her off a lounge chair. But it’s fine. Whether we’re alone or staying at Reed’s tonight, the plan is the same. It’s now my mission from God to eat this woman while making her eat those fateful words that have plagued me since the night of the hot tub: This will never happen again.
Twenty-Six
Savage
After our SUV passes through Reed’s iron gate and comes to a stop in his large, circular driveway, there’s a flurry of activity already in progress in front of the large house. Several vans and cars are parked there, and an army of workers are coming in and out. One of our bodyguards advises Laila and me to stay put in the backseat for a moment while he “inspects” the area for paparazzi, and when he’s satisfied we’re all clear, he swiftly escorts us from the SUV into Reed’s house, as Laila giggles and makes another crack about the imaginary “spy thriller” we’re starring in.
Upon entering the mansion, we’re greeted by the executive producer of Sing Your Heart Out, Nadine Collins, who explains the workers are busy creating a studio in Reed’s game room, where Laila and I, and the entire cast—all four judges and their assigned mentors—will shoot some promo videos and photos to be released after tomorrow’s press conference—which, Nadine explains, will also take place at Reed’s house, to minimize the potential for leaks.
“I’ve sent production assistants to collect some personal items for your stay tonight, as well as at the permanent location,” Nadine says. “We should have the new place lined up by tomorrow night.”
We thank her and she asks if we have any questions.
“Have you been able to confirm my mentor yet?” Laila asks. As was discussed today during one of our phone calls with the producers, now that Laila has been unexpectedly promoted to judge, both Laila and Aloha will need mentors, both of which will be selected by the producers with an eye toward maximizing ratings.
“We’ve got several mentor candidates we’re in talks with,” Nadine replies. “I’ve got a scheduled call to finalize our decision in . . . ” She looks at her watch. “Damn. I’m late for my call. Reed is out back having a get-together with some friends. He said for you to come outside and join him.” She calls to an elegant older woman who looks to be Latina, and when she arrives, the woman introduces herself as Reed’s longtime housekeeper, Amalia. Nadine tasks Amalia with escorting us outside and getting us fed before scurrying off for her call like a chicken with her head cut off.