9. Maddie #2
Does Christina regret giving him up? Did that article give her the break she wanted? How could she hurt him like that? It makes me want to defend him, in my own way.
I release Nick’s back and take my place next to him, on the other side, away from Christina. Nick turns to me and, very earnestly, putting his hand up to shield his mouth from view, whispers, “You don’t have to do this.”
I nod and face the reporters but keep my hood and scarf up, which means I’m practically yelling to make my voice heard.
“He’s a good guy,” I say. “I like that he’s open and honest about his feelings.”
“But Maddie, I’m in the groove. Can’t you put your earplugs in? This could be my next hit.”
I don’t dare look at Nick because I’m afraid he’ll look skeptical.
“He’s good at communication—maybe because he’s a songwriter.”
Christina makes a scoffing noise out loud. She did refer to him as a “fortress.”
“He’s also very supportive of my career,” I say. “He’s made so many sacrifices to support me.”
Nick makes a choked noise next to me.
Another female reporter looks like she’s about to ask me to detail his sacrifices. Also, as much as teasing Nick is fun, he has been considerate at times .
“He’s really sweet, but you can probably tell that from his lyrics.
I sprained my ankle about a month ago, and Nick bought me groceries and made sure I stayed off it,” I say.
“And honestly, how could I say no?” That is the crux of the matter.
Nick has worked so hard for this opportunity, and our fake dating makes sense as the solution.
It is only three months—and then we’ll return to being friends, and the contract will remain a secret between us.
“You sound like a changed man,” Christina says to Nick.
“I learned from my mistakes,” Nick says.
“Seriously.” The other female reporter gazes dreamy eyed at Nick. “So can we ask if ‘Fevered Dreams’ is about Maddie?”
Nick starts.
Poor Nick. “Fevered Dreams” is about liking the girl next door— the girl next door ? I turn to look at his face.
“You wrote that about two months ago, right before you guys got together, right? Did that song give you the courage to tell Maddie you liked her?”
“Yes,” Nick says.
What? My eyes widen. But it does fit so well into the narrative.
“You didn’t realize that?” the interviewer asks me.
I should have stayed hidden behind him.
“I didn’t,” I say.
“It was supposed to be a secret that I fell first.” Nick pantomimes looking crushed. “But she knows ‘Peony’ is about her. I’ve told her never to change her shampoo because I love that scent.” He squeezes my hand again.
I stare at him. No, I did not know that . Is he making this all up? The cameras flash again. Not that they can really see my face since it’s still covered by my parka hood. But I guess they’ve now caught the stuffed coat looking at him.
I turn back to face the reporters and catch that one confirming with the photographer that he captured that shot.
“And ‘Together Forever’ is the song I sang to tell her I liked her,” Nick says.
Okay. Finally, the story we agreed upon: Nick sang “Together Forever” to tell me of his feelings—on the fire escape as we were sitting out there one night chatting.
She asks some questions about that, and then Nick says we have to go, as he hails a free cab.
He shields me again as I climb into the taxi.
He gives the address of the 24-hour deli on Allen Street that has the back entrance into our apartment building on Orchard Street.
The deli is also owned by our landlord, and its supply room has a back door that leads into the laundry room of the apartment building, which has an entrance on Orchard Street.
Only the tenants have a key. The laundry room used to be a speakeasy bar with several exits and entrances in case it was raided.
To enter the basement laundry room while in our building, one pulls a book out of a bookcase that covers the back of the foyer entrance, and the bookcase door swings open, but it can be bolted from inside the laundry room.
Our landlord loves showing it off to tenants once they’ve signed a rental contract.
“We can lose them in there if they follow us,” he says.
I pull down my hood and unwrap my scarf.
He texts Amira to let her know that the press did show up and we gave an interview, but they definitely took photos of us at the beginning before we were aware of them.
I hate photos of myself. I have a much more positive image of myself in my head, and that always gets destroyed when I see myself in a close-up—bags under my eyes, freckles spotting my nose, mascara clumped, and of course, I forget to hold in my tummy.
Not that I need to remember when I’m wearing an oversized parka.
Still, it’s only worse knowing that trolls will tear me apart online. I feel like throwing up at the thought.
Nick pulls me close in the cab and looks into my eyes. “Are you okay? That wasn’t so bad, right?”
“No, but really, ‘Peony’ and ‘Fevered Dreams’ are about me?”
“‘Peony’ is about you. Doesn’t your shampoo smell of peony? I like it.”
Shocked, I touch my hair.
He winks, and I can’t help but smile back. Then he raises one eyebrow, doing his mock imitation of a dashing duke from when he caught me reading a regency romance on the fire escape last summer.
“Are you trying to make me laugh?” I ask.
“Yes. I love your laugh, and you look especially pretty when you smile,” he says.
Those words hang between us. The air feels weighted and like we’re in our own bubble. He flushes and looks away. He looks like he didn’t mean to say that out loud, and I wonder if he meant them for real.
Because I think he did.
Nick loves my laugh and thinks I’m pretty. My smile widens, and I feel like I’ve been lit from within—like I’m one of those lava lamps that is now glowing with bubbles of happiness floating through me.
The cab makes a jerky turn around a corner.
Nick turns his head to look out the back window of our cab. “Are we being followed? I wouldn’t put it past Christina.”
I look out too, but I can’t tell. It’s a bunch of cars, taxis, and black sedans, but nothing identified as a news van.
“Did it bother you to see Christina?” I ask Nick.
“Definitely not,” he says easily and chuckles. “She must hate having to cover me. It’s not that she wants to cover hard-hitting news like you, but she definitely doesn’t want to write a story on an up-and-coming rock star, even if that was her original angle. She wants to be on the red carpet.”
Did Nick find that attractive?
That cold water reality of Christine and how much we differ returns me to my mantra: Don’t fall for Nick.
This is fun and flirty, and I am so, so tempted to give in to these feelings.
But Nick is not for me. I’m not going to be seen as a hard-hitting reporter if I’m the known girlfriend of the lead singer of Orchard Folly, especially if Nick makes it big.
But that might also be a benefit because they might discount me and give me more information.
No. They probably won’t take me seriously and give me an interview to begin with.
This is just for three months to help each other out, and then we’ll remain friends and go our separate ways.
My shoulders slump. That thought is not cheering me up.
How could Christina give up Nick for an article she had the choice to write?
They were actually dating. Nick was her boyfriend.
If he was my boyfriend— No, we’re just friends.
Stick to the facts, Maddie. You’re a journalist. Not a fiction writer.