33. Nick
Chapter thirty-three
Nick
MusEn is back to “Maddie and I should break up” to get rid of this problem.
Five suits are sitting across the table from me in some sort of power play.
It doesn’t impress me. It makes me feel better that they seemed to think that they needed five of them to persuade me.
I’ve dealt with adversity before and come through it.
This will blow over. It’s YouTube woman getting her petty revenge.
Try performing in a New York City subway station and making five dollars after three hours.
Try looking in a biker bar for a father who doesn’t want you.
Maddie is the one for me, and I’m not giving her up.
“I’m not breaking up with Maddie,” I say. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“It’s either her or your record contract. The label will exercise the morality clause.”
“I thought any publicity was good publicity,” I say.
“You’re just starting, and this type of publicity—that you lied to your fans—is not good publicity.
The label tried the ‘I always liked her’ story, but it doesn’t seem to be swaying fans, so they’d prefer you break up.
Be apologetic and say you’ve realized it’s best for both of your careers.
The fans are out in full force at The Intelligencer .
It can’t be good for her career, especially with signs calling her a ‘report-liar.’”
I gulp. Signs are calling her a report-liar?
On her big day.
These aren’t my fans, though. How could my fans want love to fail? And be so vindictive towards someone I love?
I love.
I love Maddie.
And dating me is destroying her career.
“Give me twenty-four hours to see if I can change the narrative,” I say.
I leave the studio and make my way to The Intelligencer to wade into a group of fans. There are a lot of “Report-liar” signs. I really hope Maddie doesn’t see these, but I’m sure she’s already aware of it.
“Hello,” I say to one group of women holding up a bunch of these signs. I want to tell them that I don’t want them as fans if they can hold up such cruel signs, but that’s not going to help.
Their eyes widen in shock as they realize it’s me. I can feel the energy that pulses through the crowd as they realize I’m here, and they press forward. I stand with my feet planted.
“Nick Devlin?” one asks in disbelief.
“In the flesh,” I say. “Here to ask you to forgive me but also to ask you to let me date Maddie in peace. She really makes me happy.”
“But you lied to us about dating.”
“I didn’t lie about my feelings for her,” I say. “Those only got stronger the more time we spent together. Why are you so upset about the fake-dating contract when now we’re dating for real?”
“How can I trust you? How can I believe in the words that you write?” a female fan asks me.
“If my words resonate with you, it’s because of your own lived experience, so that’s your truth,” I say.
They lower their signs.
“Can I get a photo?” asks one.
“Can I get your autograph?” asks another as she hands me the poster to sign. Seriously.
“I’m not going to sign that.” I sign postcards about our last single that I keep in my pocket and hand those out.
The crowd presses against me. My breathing quickens.
I’m suddenly light-headed. I should have brought security.
But I picture Maddie’s face and her huge bag—which she hasn’t been carrying lately.
Is she reading the comments? Did she see the remark about her bag?
I talk to more fans, making the same argument over and over— please let me date Maddie .
Gradually, most disperse. I don’t recognize any of these fans as the ones who have followed me for years at bars and clubs around New York City, which makes me feel a lot better about my first fans.
I haven’t seen the Cara-wannabe woman yet, and I don’t want to.
Some “fans” are not going to budge. “You lied to us. You took us for fools. We knew she wasn’t your type.”
“But she is my type,” I say. “She’s my girlfriend.”
“How can we believe anything you say now? And she’s supposed to be a reporter who tells the truth? Give me a break.”
Amira texts that YouTube woman put up another video about the protest, and it’s clearly from this morning, given the light.
Heavy drops land on my shoulder. The sky darkens, and the rain pours down.
The remaining protestors try to use their soggy signs to shield themselves from the elements.
And that finally cools their outrage. The last ones leave.
I wait for Maddie, texting her that I’m in the coffee shop nearby and that the protestors are gone.
It’s getting colder, the raindrops turning to soft flurries.
And there she is.
But it’s not the happy Maddie I hoped to see. Her shoulders curve as she sticks her hands deep in her pockets. It’s a very different Maddie from the one I dropped off this morning, who was so excited about her first-page story.
And no big bag.
When did her big bag disappear? Was it after that troll comment?
She pushes open the door to the café. The chime above the door tinkles. And I see the moment she plasters a smile on her face to greet me.
A chill runs through me.
This is the first time I’ve felt like we’re fake dating.
I cross the room to her and envelop her in a big hug, burying my face in her neck. I don’t want to see that charade of a Maddie smile. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I ruined your big day with my fans.”
She hugs me back, and it feels like she’s clinging to me for comfort.
I lead her to a small table at the window. The snow is starting to stick now, blanketing the cars and the lampposts, making everything look clean and bright, including my outlook. I’m sure our love can transform this contract into a positive story.
She unwraps her scarf and takes off her coat but then shivers and pulls her coat back on. It’s cold by the window.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask.
She tilts her head at the window. “Looks like a hot chocolate kind of day.”
There’s my Maddie. She’s not down and out.
I place my order for two hot chocolates at the counter. A display cabinet with enticing chocolate muffins beckons, but Maddie doesn’t look like she has much of an appetite. As I return to the table with the mugs, Maddie is staring out the window, a pensive look on her face. I hand her one.
“What happened today?” I ask.
“I was called into the managing editor’s office, and it wasn’t because of my article.” Maddie gives me a weak smile. “But I would have been fired if I hadn’t uncovered corruption in the Infrastructure Department, so that was good.”
“You would have been fired?”
This is so much worse than I imagined. I knew I shouldn’t date. Dating a musician is not easy.
“It’s still up in the air whether they will keep a ‘report-liar’ on staff.” She has both her hands circled around the mug as if drawing warmth from it. “What about your label? Do they still want you to break up with me?”
“They put out my statement that I was always in love with you, and I negotiated for them to give me twenty-four hours to change the narrative. I managed to persuade most of the protestors to leave.”
“Change the narrative, or…?”
“They threatened to invoke my morality clause if I don’t break up with you.”
Maddie winces. “Nick.” She says my name with so much sorrow.
“But I don’t think the protestors will be out tomorrow. It will blow over, Maddie,” I say.
“They’re not going to be out tomorrow because a Nor’easter is hitting us.”
A waiter stops by our table. “We’re closing up soon so the staff can get home before the storm really hits.”
We nod, and he goes over to another table to tell the couple there.
“They’ve also scheduled a bunch of concerts across the country to separate us,” I say once he’s gone.
She nods. She looks out the window, away from me. She is pulling away.
I’ll be on tour, and she’ll be here alone, facing whatever new rumors swirl up. I can’t protect her.
She was going to be fired. Fired.
I almost cost Maddie her career.
And she was only trying to help me realize my dream.
“Maddie, I’m so sorry. I think…” I can’t say it. I can’t break up with Maddie.
“When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “They just texted me the schedule.”
She nods but doesn’t say anything. The silence is killing me.
“Maybe you should write a tell-all that you dated me to write an exposé,” I say.
“I’m not going to lie to my audience,” Maddie says. “I’ve learned my lesson. Plus, we promised to be nice to each other if we break up.”
There it is. It’s out in the open now. But she doesn’t look any happier about it than me.
We finish our hot chocolates in silence and bundle up to go back outside in the frigid air.
As we push open the door, the wind practically shuts it back in our faces. I push it harder. The wind and door are metaphors for our lives right now. We can push through these headwinds.
I pull Maddie close to me as we hunch over to shield our faces from the biting wind. We make it to the subway entrance. Everyone looks cold and wet on the platform. My phone beeps.
It’s a text from my producer.
Ashley: They insist you break up. They’re offering the Governor’s Ball in June and the following gigs for you. But only if you break up.
“Your face went white,” Maddie says. “What does the text say?”
I turn my phone off. “Nothing. My face was already white from the cold.”
“Let’s break up,” Maddie says.
My heart falls to my feet.
“Did you see the text?” I ask.
“Yes. It looks like the text from my boss.” She shows me the text:
Felicity: I know you’re in love, but this is your career. Look at the investigation you just did. Think of how many people you helped by rooting out that corruption. Dating Nick Devlin is not helping your career. Will it last?
“I want you to have the career that you deserve. You’re a great reporter, Maddie.”
“And I want you to have the career you deserve. You make a lot of people happy, Nick.”
But I won’t be happy. Not without you.