Reality TV Bites (20 page)

I nod. “Yeah, and that's why I couldn't stay with any of them. I didn't love them.” I glance up at Dave. “I tried really hard, and I thought maybe I could be happy without love, but I wasn't.”

Dave takes my hand and twines his fingers in mine. I tighten my hold on him and whisper, “I don't know if I
can
fall in love.” When I look at him, his face is open and nonjudgmental. I can go on or I can leave it at that. He's not
going to pry; he's not going to judge me; he's not going to coo and offer me pity.

“My brother got in some trouble when he was a kid. Stole a car at seventeen, arrested for heroin possession at nineteen.”

“How old were you?”

I should stop now. I shouldn't tell him this. But I can't get it out of my head. It's eating me up, and I have to let it go or it's going to take over. And if Dave hears this and he still wants me, then maybe this is someone I can really trust. Maybe Dave and I have a future.

I hear myself say, “We're four years apart, so I was fifteen. My parents were really busy—parties every night, galas, benefits—and they didn't pay that much attention to what we did. Gray started hanging out with these junkies, you know? They'd be in his room all night shooting heroin.”

“You didn't tell your parents?”

“I don't think I really knew what was going on, but even if I had, I wouldn't have said anything. I had a crush on one of the guys Dave hung around with. Chris. He was older, you know, and I thought he was really cool. I wanted him to like me.”

Dave's hand grips mine harder. “You don't have to tell me this,” he says quietly. “You don't owe me full disclosure.”

Exactly what I'd been thinking. I swallow. “I want to,” I whisper and take his other hand in mine. “I want you to know me, and I don't want anything between us. You don't believe me, but I really like you.” The words are incredibly hard to say, and I'm trembling inside as I squeeze them out. “If I act kind of aloof, I think it's because I don't want to get hurt.” I meet his eyes and hold his gaze. “You could hurt me, Dave.”

He nods and squeezes my hand. No platitudes, no promises that he won't. We both know that's not how real life
works. Life is hazardous. I've never achieved anything worthwhile without first risking everything, and if I want this to work, I have to take the risk.

“Chris hurt me. I don't know, maybe it was my fault”—I hold up a hand—“and don't give me that bullshit about how I was too young and wasn't to blame. I wanted him to notice me. I was a cheerleader, and I went around in my little cheerleader outfits.”

He shakes his head. “Ruthless.”

“I know. If the guys were out by the pool, I'd decide my tan needed work and put on a skimpy bathing suit.”

“Did your brother see any of this?”

“Yeah. But he was so strung out. I think he said something to Chris one time about me being jailbait, but that didn't stop him—us.”

“You were a virgin?”

“Yeah, and believe it or not, there was a time I didn't have a lot of experience. I mean, I guess I knew what he wanted, but I didn't really get it. Sex was something to make him like me, but when we finally got to that point, I was scared.”

“He raped you?” Dave's grip on my hands hasn't tightened, but his voice is hard, angry.

“No. I didn't say no. I didn't know how to, maybe. He fucked me and he was gone. He got what he wanted and moved on, I guess. I was freaked out, crying and afraid I might be pregnant, and Gray finally forced me to tell him what was wrong, and I think he went after Chris. I don't know exactly what happened, but I think they were kicking each other's asses, and the police showed up and Gray had heroin on him and went to jail.”

“Fuck,” Dave whispers.

“I know. And all these years Gray's blamed himself for not watching out for me, and I blame myself for him going
out that day. If I hadn't told him what happened, he wouldn't have been arrested.”

“You don't know that.”

“I ruined his life, Dave. You don't know how hard it's been for him to get past his record.”

“Hey”—Dave pulls me to him, hugging me against his warm, bare chest—“Gray made his own choices. He had the heroin on him and he went after that guy. You're not responsible for that. You were a kid, and you were in over your head.”

“I knew what I was doing,” I murmur into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. I close my eyes, feeling very tired suddenly. “I always know what I'm doing.”

“Yeah? What are you doing right now?”

“Sleeping.”

“In my bed. Naked. With me.”

I smile. “Yep.” I pull his mouth down to mine. “See, I know what I'm doing.”

Sex seems different in the morning. What was really hot the dark night before
feels kind of awkward when you wake up next to the guy in bright sunlight. Another bit of advice: Don't stay the night. A lot less uncomfortable that way.

Not that I follow my own advice in this case. I don't have anywhere to go anyway. But I guess Dave does because when I wake up, he's not beside me. His side of the bed is cool, and I don't hear him moving around. Immediately my stomach clenches. Is this it? Now that Dave's seen the real me—warts and all—he's not interested?

I get up and pad into the living room. His clothes are gone, and mine—technically also his, but the ones I was wearing last night—are slung over a chair. I stare at the T-shirt and boxers. It's hard to believe that a week or so ago, I was a wildly successful interior designer, drove a BMW, wore Versace and Gaultier, and dated European royalty.

Look at me now. I'm jobless, my car is in a cornfield somewhere in northern Illinois, I'm naked, and my commoner boyfriend—if he
is
even my boyfriend—has taken off. I walk into the kitchen. And he didn't even make coffee before he left.

Guess there's nothing to do but get dressed and make it myself. Then I'll call Rory to come pick me up. I turn to leave the kitchen but can't stop myself from glancing at the counter next to the sink. The dish soap is knocked over, the sponge is still sopping wet and in the sink, and the cutting board is on the floor.

I bite my thumb, warmth oozing through me at the memories. I'm still standing there, staring at the counter, when the door opens and Dave walks in. In one hand, he's got a tray with two cups of coffee, and in the other a paper bag.

He stops when he sees me and smiles. “This is nice.”

“I was about to get dressed. Where were you?”

“Went to get breakfast, but I don't think I'm hungry anymore.” He sets the bags on the kitchen table and pulls me into his arms. Suddenly all my fears and worries—my job, my car—are gone.

Back in bed, Dave tells me that before he picked up breakfast, he filled a canister with gas for my car.

I set my bagel on his chest. “So food, shelter, fuel…did you pick up anything for me to wear?”

He grins. “Sorry, Fashion Girl. The mall isn't open this early on Sunday.”

“Oh, my God.” I sit bolt upright. “Where's your phone? Can I use it?”

“Yeah.” He hands me a cordless phone. “What's wrong?”

I shake my head. “The pictures with Nicolo came out yesterday morning, and I haven't talked to my parents or Gray yet. Even Rory doesn't know what happened to me after
I left her place. I better call them before they stick my picture on the back of a milk carton.”

“I'd buy that milk.” He kisses my forehead. “Go ahead. I'll take a shower, then we can go get your car.”

I dial Rory first. I don't have to explain as much with her, and chances are, my parents have called her looking for me.

Hunter answers. “Dave?”

Fudge. Caller ID. Forgot about that. “No, it's Allison. Is Rory there?”

“Yeah. Why are you calling from Dave's?”

I wish I could bury my head in the pillows. I hadn't really considered whether I wanted this thing with Dave to go public, but I guess the decision's been made for me. “Hunter, it's kind of a long story.”

He's silent. I hear the water in Dave's bathroom start and the sound of him brushing his teeth. Come on, Hunter. I know you're not Einstein, but you can figure this one out. Finally, Hunter takes a sharp breath on the other line. “
Oh.
Holy shit! Um, okay, here's Rory.”

“Allison? What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“Then why is Hunter acting like C-3PO on crack?”

I sigh. “I'm at Dave's.”

“Are you serious? Wait. Are you at Dave's or
at
Dave's?”

I roll my eyes. “I'm
at
Dave's.”

“So you're
at
Dave's or at Dave's?”

“Rory, we had sex, okay?”

“Aagh! I can't believe it! Is this some kind of Jedi mind trick—no, you wouldn't do that. Was it good? No, wait. I don't want to know that about Dave. Okay, how about, did you do it more than once?”

“Rory, have my parents called you? I left my cell on your
kitchen table, and I forgot to call when I got to Dave's last night.”

“Yeah, I bet you did. Actually, your mom did call yesterday evening. She didn't sound worried, but she never sounds worried.”

I close my eyes. It's when Mitsy least sounds worried that she's the most frantic.

“But she was spelling a lot.”

Bad news. “What did you tell her?”

“That you stayed here Friday night and went out to hang with Gray yesterday. Did you find him?”

“No. I had a…transportation problem. Then there was the butterscotch pudding—never mind, I hope they didn't call in the SWAT team yet.”

“SWAT doesn't deal with missing persons. They—”

“Okay, Rory, I have to go.” I hear the shower turn on in Dave's bathroom.

“But wait! I want to know how you ended up at Dave's. I want details. Pudding? Come on!”

“Later.”

I hang up and dial the number for my parents. My dad answers on the second ring. “Holloway residence. This is Donald.”

“Daddy, it's me.”

“Allison! Where the hell are you? Your mother has been calling all over, looking for you.”

“I'm fine. I left my cell at Rory's and I haven't been home because there's a flock of reporters outside my place. Look, can I ask a favor?”

“Go ahead.” That's my dad's business voice. He sounds like that whenever he's thinking he might get the losing end of some stock buyout or something.

“Can I hole up at the lake house for a week or so? Just until my profile goes down a bit?”

“Sure, but what about your job?”

I bite my lip. “Um, well, Daddy, I'm sort of looking for a new job.”

There's a long pause. “Do you want me to call Baxter?”

Baxter is my dad's attorney.

“I don't know yet. It's kind of my fault. I—I violated my contract.” Silence. “See, when I signed the contract for the
Kamikaze Makeover!
show, there was a stipulation that none of the contestants could fraternize with the producers. I sort of fraternized.”

“Nicolo?”

“Uh-huh. And Dai Hoshi found out and threatened to sue if Miranda didn't terminate my employment.”

“Why the hell would you violate your contract? Oh, hold on. I need a drink. Here's your mother.”

The shower is still going, and Dave's singing some Green Day song.

“Allison?” My mother comes on the phone. “What's your father T-A-L-K-I-N-G about? Do you know what I'm going through right now? Lucinda Chippenhall is trying to get me kicked out of the Junior League.
Me!
She says my family is a disgrace. What did you do to her?”

I explain my whole story to her, feeling pretty much like I did when I was thirteen and threw a party while they were out of town. It started out with a few friends, but then some of the high school guys came and brought beer and pretty much trashed the house.

“But I don't understand why you don't simply ask the P-R-I-N-C-E to talk to Dai Hoshi and work this whole thing out.”

“Mom, did you
see
the paper and the cable news shows yesterday morning? I'm not talking to Nicolo.”

She huffs. “Oh, now's a fine time not to talk to him, after he's had his hand up your skirt. And for God's sake, Allison. It's not as though you're a virgin. If you'll have sex with our pool guy when you're home from college, you'd think a prince would be a step up.”

I hear my dad say something in the background, and my mom says, “Donald, just stay out of it. We did it your way with Grayson, and look how it turned out. Now we do it my way.”

Great. Mitsy's way. This ought to be fun.

“Look, Mom, I have to go.”

“Why do you refuse to go out with nice men?” She sounds exasperated. “Look at Tad! Look at Bryce. Now look at Nicolo. If you're going to sleep with someone, why can't you sleep with someone E-L-I-G-I-B-L-E?”

I grit my teeth and stare at the ceiling, wishing she'd shut up and stay out of my life for once. “Mom, now isn't such a good time for me. I had a rough day yesterday and—”

“Where are you? Why does the caller ID say ‘Tivoli David'? Who's Tivoli David?”

“Dave. He's a—friend.”

“Oh, for Pete's sake, Allison! It's been twenty-four hours and you're already sleeping with some other guy? Who is he this time? A trash collector?”

Okay, I'm seriously about to lose it. In the calmest tone I can manage, I say, “No, he's an ad exec and a friend of Rory's.”

She sighs. “Honey, you know I love Rory, but her friends are not exactly the kind you want to associate with. How much do ad execs make? Who are his parents? If Lucinda Chippenhall hears about this—”

“Mom! Screw her and the Junior League and all of it! I'm not going to marry Dave. I just needed a place to stay, and he offered. I have to go now.”

“So now you're
living
with this guy?”

“No, I'm not living with him. Dad said I could crash at the lake house. There's nothing going on with Dave, okay? He's a nonentity, so put him out of your mind. Now, can I go?”

“I hope you mean that because I don't want to see you make a mistake. I mean, marry this guy, and where would you be?”

“Got it, Mom. He can't afford me, okay? I'm hanging up.”

I know for a fact I make more money than Dave. In April, Rory was helping Hunter with his taxes, and I saw his W-3 or whatever that thing is called. Hunter makes about the same as Rory, but that's still less than I make—made. Hunter's been at Dougall longer than Dave, so it stands to reason Dave makes less than Hunter, which is even more less than I make—made (do not tell Rory I said “more less” because she'll go off on the impossibility of something being both more and less, but we know better).

I get a weird tingly sensation on the back of my neck, and I have a sinking feeling Dave is behind me. I listen for the shower, but it's silent now. Oh, God, don't let him have been there the whole time.

“
You
can't afford you, Allison,” my mom says. “What are you going to do about your job? Who's going to hire you now that you've been featured in pornographic TV shows and pictures?”

“Mom, are you supposed to be helping? Because I'm not feeling better here. Look, I'm going to the lake house, and I'll call you from there. You know I'll be okay for a while even without a job. Good-bye.”

She sighs heavily. “Hold on, here's your father.”

“Allison, don't dip too deeply into your trust fund. That money needs to last. You might want it for something important.”

Have I mentioned my trust fund? It's one reason I'm not quaking with fear over being jobless. I'm no Paris Hilton; still my trust fund is probably the equivalent of five years of Dave's salary.

“Dad, I have to go.”

“I want you to do something for me when you're at the lake house,” my dad tells me. “I ordered some flags, and they'll be arriving later this week. Would you accept delivery and put them up?”

Not the flags again. What is it with this small flag complex?

“If you can't get the flags up, have the delivery guy do it. Offer him a hundred bucks or something.”

“But don't sleep with him!” my mother yells in the background. Why couldn't I be an orphan?

I hear a rustling in the closet behind me, and coward that I am, I still don't turn around. “Accept delivery on monster flags and put said big-ass flags up. Got it, Dad. Anything else you want me to do to make sure the neighbors know they're vastly inferior to you and your manly flags?”

“Smartass,” he says, but he's laughing. “Call us when you get settled. Love you, darlin'.”

“I love you, too.”

I hang up and slowly turn to look at Dave. He's standing, shoulder jammed against the bedroom door, and his face tells me everything.

He heard.

“Ready?” he says.

Okay, I'm lying in his bed, naked under this sheet and I have yet to shower, brush my teeth, or even stick my hair in
a ponytail. Forget the fact that I have no clothes and we'll need to make a stop at Neiman's for some makeup. “Do I look ready?”

He shrugs. “Hurry up. It's time to go.”

I frown at him. “Dave, I know you probably heard that, but I didn't mean—”

He looks away. “If you want a ride to your car, I'm leaving in five minutes. Otherwise, find some other nonentity to take you.”