Chapter 21
Chapter twenty-one
The media took that photo to print real fast. Despite the legal action threatened by the label as well as my team, the tabloids still ran the photo along with the headline: Cas Wilder Eats Panties.
It’s been the craziest forty-eight hours, and now I’m sitting in a recording studio green room about to do an exclusive interview about the photo that’s gone completely viral.
This isn’t my first rodeo, but it’s the first time I want to punch out every person who opens their mouth to trash the mysterious woman from the photo.
The producer counts us down, and then the interview begins:
Michael: “I’m here tonight with Cas Wilder, rockstar and social media sensation. We have an exclusive scoop on why Mr. Wilder’s team has pursued legal action against the tabloids running a photo where he appears to be eating a pair of black lace panties.”
He smiles at the cameras for his perfectly timed dramatic pauses.
Michael: “So tell me, Cas, what is it about this situation in particular that’s caused such an uproar?”
Me: “Thanks so much for having me, Michael. I think the biggest thing my team and I want to drive home about this particular photo and why we asked for it not to be published is because it’s harmful rhetoric.”
Michael: “Harmful rhetoric, Cas? That feels a bit extreme. Tell us why you use those words to describe the situation.”
Cas: “There’s an ongoing investigation against the person who took the photo. I’m limited in what I can share.”
Michael: “Very well. What can you tell us? I understand there are a lot of upset fans right now. Let’s start there.”
Cas: “Ahh, yes. The fans. Some of them are actually quite happy for me, and the ones who aren’t are probably a little disappointed to hear I’ve taken myself off the market. I’m happily involved with the person in the photo and I want to give them the respect they deserve.”
Michael: “We love to hear that, Cas, and we wish you the best in this new endeavor. Can you tell us more about your mystery woman and the harm this photo is causing?”
I nod my head in understanding. This is my cue to drop the juicy parts of the story.
Cas: “You see, Michael, the person who took the photo is actually an estranged ex who has been harassing my new friend for a while. He was actively spying on her at the time when this photo was taken. He then sold it, profiting off her trauma. I can’t imagine it’s easy for her to see the photo circulating everywhere—a reminder of the deep violation she suffered. ”
Michael: “Oh, that’s rough. Ex-boyfriend baggage is never fun to deal with, especially when they can’t take a hint the relationship is over.”
This earns him a hard glare from me. They were warned I’m not above walking off an interview. It wouldn’t be the first time and it probably won’t be the last. Michael holds his hands up passively. “Loosen up, big guy, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, laughing into the camera.
Cas: “Anyway, because this individual has caused an immense amount of trauma and mental anguish, we respectfully asked the paparazzi and papers not to run the photo or the story. I didn’t want my girl to be revictimized by seeing this. I couldn’t care less about me, but she’s been through enough.”
Michael: Aww, that’s sweet. I gotta tell ya, we here at the studio agree. If they were asked not to run the headlines in order to avoid the revictimization of someone who was previously involved in an abusive relationship, it seems wrong to do it anyway.”
Cas: “Hold on. Who said she was in an abusive relationship?” I whisper through gritted teeth.
Michael: “For anyone else who thinks they might need help, here’s the national hotline information.”
Cas: “That’s great and all, and I truly am an advocate for women’s safety, but I don’t want to spread misinformation.
This isn’t about the possibility she may have been in an abusive relationship.
It’s about standing up for a woman who was being harassed and threatened by a man who then took a photo with the intent to blackmail her in order to cause further harm.
It’s about not revictimizing someone who has an active legal case. ”
Michael: “Very well said, Cas. I for one am impressed. One last question for you, if you don’t mind.”
I narrow my eyes at him in warning.
Michael: “Never mind. It looks like we’re out of time.
Thank you so much for joining us tonight, Cas.
For the viewers at home, you can see Cas at one of his sold-out shows, or for those of you traveling to the Big Apple for New Year’s, you can catch him there performing live for the New Year’s Eve ball drop extravaganza. ”
“And cut,” the producer calls.
I rip my microphone off, toss it at Michael, and storm off the set.
I don’t give a fuck if I was rude or over-shared details.
Everyone can piss off. Patrick and Todd might be breathing down my neck to be cool and behave, but I’m ready to burn down several buildings in response to them running this photo.
I was also told if I do, then my contract is toast. I fucking hate being a good little puppet—it doesn’t suit me.
There’s a car waiting to pick me up and take me to the hotel so I can get on the tour bus.
I climb in, greet the driver, then quickly find myself lost in my thoughts.
I made it very clear to everyone what my terms were for this interview, and that little cockroach, Michael, really pushed the limits.
I’m not happy with the condescending attitude he had.
Where did they get off pushing the agenda she’s recovering from an abusive relationship?
I don’t even know if it’s true, and the media shouldn’t be embellishing stories for views.
I’m especially pissed about this insertion of their own made-up narrative about her situation.
It’s victim-shaming. Even if it was an abusive relationship, it’s no one’s business but hers.
That’s fine if the studio wants to be a bunch of dicks about the situation, I’ll send them a little thank-you gift.
The real question is, how do I pull this off?
Who will have access to the information I need to give them a metaphorical middle finger?
I run through all my contacts in my head trying to find a match—and then it comes to me.
Arty. He’s perfect for the job and I still have his number from my trip. I scroll through my emails and find the number then call him.
“Arty,” I say casually when he answers. “You’re my favorite intern, and I need your help with something again. That chicken penne tip was perfect.”
“Okay, sure. What do you need me to do?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.
I need you to send the studio a gift but it has to be our little secret. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I gotchu, Cas,” Arty agrees.
“I want you to go to this website I text you, and then I want you to order the most obnoxious dildos you find. I mean the weirdest, craziest shit. I want you to order five.”
“Got it, five super embarrassing dildos,” he repeats.
“Have them sent to the studio as a gift. For the gift tag personalization, write: Since you wanted to behave like a bunch of dicks, I figured I’d send you a few more for inspiration. XOXO. Cas Wilder.” I wait for Arty’s reaction.
“This is going to be so fucking funny,” Arty laughs. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”
“Nah, nothing else, just the dicks.” I hold back a snicker. “Thanks, Arty.”
“You’re welcome. Bye, Cas.”
“Bye.” I hang up, and honestly, I can’t believe how easy that was, but Arty seems like the kind of guy I would typically be friends with. He doesn’t ask questions, is always along for the ride, and comes in clutch as needed.
This week is going to suck. We leave tomorrow for a few more stops before a bigger show in Chicago.
These next three shows this week are going to be grueling.
I’ll be busy touring, and Vivienne has already left for Texas.
They flew in early and planned to leave late for girl time plus some tourist shit.
I shouldn’t be jealous. I love that she has Roxy and the two of them are having the time of their life, but I want to be there with her too.
Hence why I’m terrible at relationships.
I can get clingy, jealous, and slightly possessive.
I know nothing about her plans prior to the tour, but I did manage to pose as her assistant and set up meals for her and Roxy at the hotel hosting the convention.
I also asked them to place any flowers sent for delivery to her in the room, along with a bottle of champagne.
That reminds me, I need to order the flowers.
I swipe to where I saved the flower company from the hotel’s website to place an over-the-top order and fill out the card.
It reads: Congratulations on the start of what I can only hope is a successful tour.
Roxy, please take care of my girl and keep her safe.
The fan club is depending on you. Vivienne, my muse.
I can’t wait to see you again, darling. I promise to be waiting for you when it’s over.
Hmmm. That’s catchy, I can’t wait to see her again.
My brain starts doing its thing, mixing this line in with the lines I already wrote for the don’t be a one-night stand chorus.
It’s for the best. I need a way to distract myself for the next week.
I was going to sleep, but maybe I’ll work on her song instead.
My phone chirps from my pocket, and I realize it’s the camera system I installed at Vivienne’s.
More alerts start popping up until they cover my screen.
I click open the first one and see Jackson strolling up the sidewalk to Vivienne’s house.
When he reaches the front porch, he walks right to the camera, looks into it, and says, “Bye Cas. Did you really think cameras would stop me? How many more did you hide? I guess I get to go searching and find out. Where should I start?”
That motherfucker. I should have fucked him up when I caught him the second time.
I clench my fists, ready to pummel his face in.
Against my better judgement, I open another clip.
It’s Jackson walking right toward the camera in the kitchen that gives me views of the entry hall, living room, kitchen, and family room.
He looks around, trying to find another camera.
He smiles. “Nice try, Cas. That was sneaky of you.” He jumps up on the counter to the top of the cupboards where I hid the camera, smiles, then the stream cuts off again.
I open more, watching as he takes out all the exterior cameras before moving upstairs.
Each one makes me progressively more irritated.
By the time I get dropped off at my tour bus, I’m seeing nothing but violence in my near future.
This motherfucker thinks he’s so goddamn cute.
Wait until he meets the version of Cas I keep locked away and buried.
That’s right, ya boy wasn’t always a rockstar.
I’ve known the other side of life. Thankfully my foster family helped me out of a real bad generational crime situation, but that doesn’t mean I won’t turn back to that part of who I am.
Jackson is bringing out my dark side, and he’s going to find himself regretting it.
Once on the tour bus, I let the team know I’m back and ready to go.
Then I plop down on the sofa to open the last video.
The final video starts in Vivienne’s room.
I clench my jaw as anger rushes through my nerves.
It shows Jackson smelling, touching, and licking Vivienne’s underwear.
Then he pulls out a pair of EMT scissors and begins cutting all of it and tossing it on her bed.
When he finishes destroying every last pair, he moves on to her lingerie, repeating the actions before throwing it on her bed.
Finally he goes to her closet and returns with an armful of bras.
He cuts them up too. As if it’s not enough, he stabs each one of her pillows, slicing them open.
Then winks directly at the camera, takes off his pants, and masturbates all over the cut-up fabric. When he’s finished, he blows me a kiss.
“Your move, Cas.” He laughs maniacally before smashing the scissors through the camera’s brains, causing it to short-circuit.
I’m going to fucking kill him. He dares challenge me. Jackson wants my attention, and now he has it. This isn’t a grudge match anymore. It’s war.