CHAPTER NINETEEN
VIGGO RASSMUSSEN
You must focus your gift, Lila. Concentrate or it will consume you. (Lila hands him a small piece of paper) What is this?
LILA MURPHY
It’s the receipt for my gift.
VIGGO RASSMUSSEN
I can barely make out your terrible penmanship , but it’s a piece of paper with “screw you, Viggo” written on it.
LILA MURPHY
Same thing.
Vampire Falls. Season five, episode two – “Two Heads Are Better Than None”
Roxy closes her eyes for a few seconds. She’s counting to ten. She smooths her hair back then puts her hands on her hips.
“What did we say about sticking our body parts in small spaces, babe?”
“Two times that’s happened! Bringing it up now isn’t helping,” I say.
Roxy tries pushing my legs, then blows her hair out of her face.
“Try shuffling your arse back,” she says.
“Don’t say it like that,” I say.
“Say what like what?”
“Arse. It sounds like you’re thinking fat arse.”
“Your arse is great,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just do it, please.”
I frown and wiggle my arse, but the chair just rocks side to side. Roxy pushes on my knees, but nothing budges, and I’ve managed to sweat through my tights, increasing the friction between my legs and the chair. She moves behind me and tries pulling me up, but I’m a hundred per cent wedged.
“You OK?” asks the worst possible voice at the worst possible moment.
I reluctantly look up at Charlie Chamberlain, who’s looking at me like he’s watching a documentary about talking dogs.
He and Vivian (why? Why, universe?) have joined the fun, coffees in hand.
I try to casually cross my legs, but of course this is not possible, neither casually nor in any other manner, so I fold my arms instead, resting my cheek on my hand.
“Fine. You OK?” I ask, casually.
“Who did this to you?” says Charlie Chamberlain, smirking. “Wait. Haven’t you got stuck in a chair before?”
“No, it was a pool triangle stuck round her neck and under her arm, remember?” clarifies Roxy. “Then a vending machine.”
“I don’t think anyone’s interested in your catalogue of my mishaps, Roxy,” I say, glaring at her.
Sadie steps up and puts a hand on my arm, surveying the situation.
“Are you OK?” she asks. I nod, and she leans in. “Do you need to pee?”
I realise I so need to pee, and nod again, and she gives me a little cuddle around the chair.
I look up at my audience, which now includes a few convention guests who are helpfully filming the situation for posterity.
One of my butt cheeks has gone to sleep now.
Thanks for abandoning me, left butt cheek.
I’m glad someone can relax at a time like this.
“Have you tried rubbing butter all over her,” giggles Vivian, “then giving her a good push until . . .”
She makes a popping sound with her perfect cupid’s bow lips. Roxy looks at me, her eyebrow raised.
“What?” I ask, my stomach dropping.
“Worth a try? You’re really wedged in.”
“What’s worth a try?”
Roxy swallows.
“The butter thing?” she says, looking to Vivian and Charlie Chamberlain for confirmation.
“Oooh, yes please,” says Vivian, clapping her manicured hands together. “I’ll go ask for some.”
“Nobody is rubbing butter on me!”
Vivian’s shoulders sag in mock disappointment but a wide smile is still on her face as she rejoins the taskforce. Charlie Chamberlain steps up and peers at me. Is this how those old Victorian sideshows felt? It’s not great.
“Have you tried pulling her?” he says. Roxy folds her arms and raises an eyebrow. “Pushing her?”
“No, Charlie, I have not tried either of those straightforward methodologies. Thank goodness you’re here.”
“Are you . . .” We all look round at Fake McKinley who’s also joined the fun; he frowns at the group then looks at my legs, “stuck in there?”
“How’d you guess?” I say, rolling my eyes.
“Everyone’s talking about it back there. And it’s on TikTok.”
I look at Roxy, who takes a deep breath and turns to everyone.
“OK, can anyone actually help?” A few murmurs from the group but people mostly shake their heads. “Piss off then. I’m pretty sure the Dax St. James photo session is about to start.”
A few gasps then people turn and rush out the door, including Sadie and her supervisors. If you want to clear a room at a convention, tell people they’re about to miss their photo op. Roxy looks at her phone, then frowns, biting her lip when she makes eye contact with me.
“I’m so sorry, babe, but I need to answer this,” she says, backing away.
“What?” I blink at her. “Roxanne Fu, you are not leaving me alone like this?!”
“I’ll be right back, I swear,” she says, backing away. “And you’re not alone, Fake McKinley’s with you.”
“Roxy?”
She holds up her finger and turns away, ducking her head as she answers the call and merges with the autograph crowd in the foyer. I blink at the lack of Roxy in this particularly classic Eliza fuck-up, then turn to my assigned guardian who looks down at me, his arms folded.
“So,” he says, “this is unfortunate.”