Chapter 10 Catarina #2
“Not sure still,” I said dryly, into the mic. My morning drunkenness was rapidly converting into a hangover, my head starting to throb.
“I think what Doctor LeBlanc—oops, I mean Vidal! Sorry, LeBlanc just fits you so well—is trying to say, is let’s see if there are any questions about the research she mentioned.”
Crickets.
I took a deep breath and summoned all of my available mental energy to stay focused with a straight face.
“Alright, looks like you gave a perfect speech, Doctor L —“ she cleared her throat. “—Vidal! Now let’s get Bustin’ Dustin LeBlanc up here so he can take a few questions with his new wife!”
I felt my body heat rise, as the crowd got up for a standing ovation.
To reiterate: The crowd (standing room only) stood. On their feet. They clapped like they were at a Tony Robbins seminar.
Somehow, music started playing. The lights flickered on and off as the crowd started cheering.
Did they have someone sneak in here and set up a light show?
Where did they get the lights? This would have been great if I were a rock star.
The problem, though, was that I wasn’t a rock star.
Today was supposed to be about cancer awareness. I sighed.
Well, at least there were a few more people in the room who would be aware.
Dustin, in his charcoal grey suit and looking fine as ever, strode up the stairs to the stage, offering a few waves like he was the King of England or something.
Smiling, he wrapped his arms around me and swooped me toward the ground like we were doing the finishing move of a world-class tango dance, and kissed the hell out of me.
I hung on to his shoulders for dear life—I had to in order to avoid hitting the floor.
When I registered which song they were playing over the loudspeaker, I opened my eyes, wanting to give my thoughts to Dustin.
His mouth was covering mine, though, and instead of saying anything audible I just moaned into his mouth. My stomach fluttered, and for a split second, the crowd faded away and all that registered was an overheated feeling in my body.
The crowd clapped and wooo’d and after a few seconds Dustin scooped me back up to my legs and raised my hand with his.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered to him out of the side of my mouth. “Do we really need to kiss like that in front of everyone? There are literally cable news stations here recording this right now.”
The applause seemed to grow louder, and there were whistles mixed in too.
“Exactly.” Dustin smiled and moved his head a little closer to me so only I could hear him. “After the video got out last night, we’re in this together, honey. We’ve got to give the people a show. It’s go big or go home.”
I giggled as a stray thought crossed my mind. “It reminds me of that scene in Hunger Games. You know, the part where Peeta and Katniss pretend to be a couple to sell a dream to the people of true love so one of them doesn’t have to die.”
“Holy shit,” he remarked. “It’s exactly like that! And your name is Cat!”
“Ha! That’s true.”
“Personally, I think you put Jennifer Lawrence to shame. What do I know, though?”
“If I put her to shame, you do something awful to Peeta.”
“Doctor?” the voice came through on the microphone, now that the applause had died down. “Did you have time to answer a few questions about you two as a couple?”
Dustin grabbed hold of the mic and chimed in. “Of course we do. Anything for the good people of Las Vegas.”
The crowd cheered. I had to hand it to Dustin. He knew how to work a crowd.
“I’m going to start this off,” the moderator said. “How on earth did you two meet? We’ve all seen the video from last night, and the story just seems a little unfathomable. Good girl doctor meets bad boy—no offense, Dustin—hockey player. It’s like something out of a movie!”
The crowd hooted and hollered again.
Dustin nodded, passing the microphone to me.
“The funny thing about true love is that you just never know when it’s going to strike,” I said, stealing the sound bite I heard from his chat with his coach earlier.
Dustin smiled in agreement.
I felt my stomach churn. I was lying through my teeth, which went against every bone in my body. I was used to giving people the truth whether it was good news or bad. Even—well, especially—in the cases where they only had a few months to live because of a terminal illness.
And then there was also no denying now that my distinguished lecture on cancer research had been hijacked into something resembling a morning talk show.
“True love conquers all,” the moderator repeated. “Now tell me, how exactly did you two meet? Is it like your snapchat alluded to, you met in college?”
“Well, it’s a bit of a forbidden romance,” Dustin explained, taking the microphone.
“She was a grad student at the University of Michigan, and I was visiting there my senior year of college. We met out at the bars one night, you know, and we’ve just stayed in touch since then.
You could say that last night was a sort of rekindling. ”
He was so good at lying off the cuff it was scary.
“To say the least!” The moderator said. “That video made it seem like you were having a ton of fun!”
“Oh yes,” Dustin winked, and I could practically see the women swooning in the back rows.
“Anyway,” he continued. “We’re really happy to see everyone so enthused about cancer research this year. Donate big, save a life, and feel good. Fuck Cancer!”
The crowd was silent for a moment, as if stunned and not knowing what to do with that F-bomb.
“Shoot, I forgot I was on national TV. I meant to say, cancer sucks!” Dustin said.
The crowd clapped like crazy, and we got the hell off of the stage before we could do any more damage or dig ourselves into a deeper hole with more grandiose lies for which we would have to invent a deeper back story.
We shook a few hands and took some pictures with the press as my hangover set in.
This was really happening.
I did feel a lot like Katniss from Hunger Games. Except this wasn’t a movie. And Dustin was a great deal more sexually attractive than Peeta. And, you know, we didn’t have to fight to the death, which was good. But we were putting on a show for the people.
After everyone filed out of the room, Dustin got a call from someone which seemed to distress him.
“Yes. Of course, we can make it. Goodbye.”
“Who was that?” I asked.
“News travels fast,” he said. “The owner of the Chicago Tigers wants to meet you.”
I recoiled. “Why would he want to meet me?”
He rested his hand on my shoulder and massaged it, which felt surprisingly good. “Because, Cat, he’s ninety-two years old, a hands-on owner, and feels the need to vet every single one of his players’ life choices.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Do you have another speaking engagement this weekend?”
“No, I was just going to stay until tomorrow and fly out.”
“Change of plans. We’re flying out today so we can have dinner with him tonight.”
“I’d rather stay here.”
“When Jerry Bells invites you to dinner, that’s not an invitation. That’s an order.”
I hesitated.
“Come on. You can sleep on the plane.”
I breathed a sigh, and supposed compromise was a big part of marriage. Right?