1. Andrea
“What are you going to do?” My PR rep, Ollie, asked me this gently while sitting across from me on the ridiculously expensive sofa which wasn’t at all comfortable but Jeff had wanted because he’d seen it in a music video. Ollie had been good enough to come over this morning, bearing fruit and bagels.
“We’ll do what all the other reality couples do. Get divorced.” My tone was flat and void of emotion despite the deep wound of betrayal lodged in my chest.
He put his hand over mine, sympathy reflected in his weathered face. “You should consider making a public statement.”
Right. Because it wasn’t enough to have my husband cheat on me, but the news of his infidelity had been splashed all over the Internet and picked up by the tabloids. My world had been rocked after finding out he’d cheated with our twenty-two-year-old co-star in an alley after his last concert.
“Can I disappear and never say a word?” I loved how supportive most people had been since the video had gone viral, but there were others online who used any excuse to be nasty. They were the crowd dissecting my relationship like armchair therapists.
“You could disappear, but it would mean it’s only his narrative out there for the world, only his version of reality.”
Fucking reality. For two years my reality had been cameras documenting our lives while Jeff’s mediocre band played small venues around the country and pretended to be rock stars. He’d lapped up every second of newfound fame, accepted product endorsements by the dozen, and clamored for every acting crumb passed his way.
It seemed as though we’d done more public appearances with cameras in our faces than spent actual time together over the last twenty-four months. And after he’d invested in a new bar two months ago, he’d put in many late nights there. The perfect cover for a cheater.
City of Angelshad taken off on the Drago network after the first season. We’d gotten to the point where Jeff and I had bought a million-dollar home, drove the types of cars that required high-grade gasoline, and I’d been told by the producers to trade in my Target wardrobe for name brands. In two seasons we’d become grade C+ reality star celebrities.
He’d promised he wouldn’t change from the midwestern boy next door who’d captured my heart at sixteen, but over the last two years, we both had. And it hadn’t been for the better.
I’d come to resent the cameras in my face and always having to be on, while he’d been so desperate for the attention he’d often called the paparazzi to tell them where we’d be. The most intrusive part had been the photogs stalking my stomach over the past six months, apparently hoping I’d announce a pregnancy. This was especially heartbreaking since I would’ve given anything for it to be true.
At the beginning of this last filming season, I’d been ready to walk away from City of Angels. To go back to concentrating on our marriage and starting a family. But Jeff hadn’t kept his promise about choosing me over the show. Then again, it wasn’t the only promise he’d broken.
“Someday it won’t hurt.” It was my new affirmation.
“You’re right. Someday it won’t hurt. If you ask me, it’s an early midlife crisis. He’s eager for attention, and Paula gave him the ego boost he was seeking, meanwhile she’s searching for an identity and will happily take on the one he provides her even if it costs her in the long run.”
Jeff’s willingness to do absolutely anything for attention wasn’t news. As if his cheating wasn’t bad enough, he’d done so with someone I’d befriended and defended from the others on the show. I’d considered Paula young, na?ve, and sometimes irresponsible, but I’d always seen the good in her. Hell, she’d even spent last Easter with us.
My stomach heaved at the memory. Had they been sleeping together three months ago? I had no timeline. No answers. Partially my own doing. Too blinded by my initial shock and despair, I hadn’t asked any of those questions when I’d confronted my husband. He’d admitted to the affair, said he might be in love with her, and told me he’d needed time to figure his head out, whatever that meant. I hadn’t seen him since.
We’d have to talk again eventually. We shared a home. Cars. A dog. As if on cue, Callie, our shepherd mix, laid her head on my lap. At least dogs were loyal.
“Any chance you’re considering forgiveness?” Ollie didn’t say this with judgment but only genuine concern.
“I can’t.” Even if Jeff begged for forgiveness, I couldn’t overlook the way he’d changed. There’d been problems from the beginning of the show and over the last year especially, but this was the last straw. The Jeff I’d known and loved since high school was gone. In his place was this celebrity-status-chasing poser who glued himself to his phone to find out earnings of others and everything we needed to do to keep up with the Joneses.
“Take your time and address your fans when you’re ready.”
I’d never get used to the idea I had fans. I was a normal person who’d appeared on a show as myself. It wasn’t as if I’d displayed any talent or anything. Disappearing sounded better than a statement, but there were genuine people out there who’d been invested in the two seasons, and me, and I wanted them to know how I was doing.
“I’ll write an Instagram post tonight.” Then probably never log in again.
“Want me to look it over? We have a team?—”
I stopped him. “No, it’ll be from me. Unfiltered and honest.” I was done having a team do anything for me, unless it was my makeup. Boy, did I need an army to help on that front these days. My eyes were puffy and my skin lackluster from not sleeping or eating over the last few days. At least my job had been understanding about my taking time off this week.
“Here’s an idea. How about after you make your post, you go out this Saturday looking hot and unbothered? Deacon Miller is playing SoFi Stadium here in LA, and I have an extra ticket.”
I chuckled at the irony since Jeff would’ve given anything to see the legendary rock star in concert. He practically worshipped the guy.
Ollie wiggled his brows. “It would bother your ex to see pics of you there.”
Hearing Jeff dubbed my ex sounded foreign. Like I was living in an alternate universe and any moment things would go back to the way they used to be. But every morning when I woke up, the situation hadn’t reverted. How did you go, in a matter of hours, from believing you would spend the rest of your life with someone to knowing it was over? My brain couldn’t deal with the whiplash.
My eyes rolled. “Is this the person I’ve become? Doing petty things to annoy Jeff?”
He put his weathered hand on mine. “No, and that’s what makes you special, Andrea. But you do need to kick your ass into gear and show some pride. Not for him, not for the world, but for you. From the first time I met you both, I thought this fucking girl can do better than this self-absorbed wannabe celebrity, and I’d like to see you get out there and smile again. It’s killing me to see you this way.”
It was killing me too. But as much as I’d have loved to prove to the world I could put on my big-girl panties and carry on, I didn’t know how to start.
Unauthorized tears running down my face only underscored my losing battle. I wiped at them angrily. “I’m tired of being pathetic.”
“You’re not pathetic. You’re grieving the loss of a marriage and the life you thought you had.”
I inhaled a shaky breath. Not for the first time, it occurred to me that perhaps I’d been grieving the loss of the relationship for a while. Wondering just where in the hell the person I’d fallen in love with had disappeared to. “I do want to control the narrative to my own story.” Which meant I needed to take action. Fake it until I could make it. I had three days to get it together in time for the concert. “All right. I’ll go.”
He leaned back, a smile splitting his face. “Excellent. I’ll book a glam squad to get over here on Saturday.”
* * *
Come Saturday afternoon,the reflection in the mirror surprised me. While on the inside I was numb and barely treading emotional water, the outside said, “I’m hot and ready to party like I’m single.”
Never had I worn a skirt this short, let alone one made of leather. My boobs were cinched up in a crop top which showed off abs which were flat thanks to the “my husband cheated on me so I’ve only drunk wine” diet. My plain brown hair was now highlighted with golden streaks which livened it up. And my makeup was really wow. Dramatic colors I’d never choose for myself painted my lids and played up the emerald-green eyes Jeff used to say were my best feature.
Nope. I refused to think of him. Turning around, I surveyed my ass, which I had to say was looking good, even if it was barely covered by the skirt. “How will I go up stairs?”
Portia, the stylist Ollie had brought over, snorted. “Carefully. You want boy shorts for under? Or, if you ask me, wear nothing.”
“Boy shorts, please.” Baby steps into what I was deeming my fake rebound phase. Because I might appear as though I was ready to move on, but my heart was far from in it.
Ollie walked in wearing a crushed velvet suit of deep plum only he could pull off. He whistled at my outfit but then, reading my expression, waved a finger in the air. “No, ma’am. Get that look off your face right now. Tonight is Deacon’s last show of the tour, and it’s going to be epic.”
“I’m not sure.” Suddenly facing the public seemed like a monumental task.
“Come on. I mentioned you’re coming tonight to Deacon.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. As if Deacon freaking Miller, bona fide sex symbol, rock star, and notorious bachelor, would give a shit about little old me. “Uh-huh.”
Ollie held out his arm. “Time to get out there and show the world what Jeff was stupid enough to lose.”