InHap*pily Ever After (Incidental Happenstance) (21 page)

            Ryan’s head
snapped up. “Did you just say you’re leaving tomorrow?”

            “That’s the
plan.”

            “My parents’
annual holiday dinner is on Sunday,” he countered.  “They’re expecting us both
to be there.”

            Lexi cringed.
The Stallworth ‘Annual Holiday Dinner’ was marginally more fun than having a
root canal…maybe. It was a hundred people crammed into the banquet hall at the
country club; mostly retired lawyers and business types who loved to listen to
themselves talk. Only a dozen or so of the guests were Lexi and Ryan’s age, and
they usually spent most of the evening trying to hang together in an attempt to
avoid being subjected to listening to the old-timers giving them advice on
everything from how to advance their legal careers to where to vacation on
their honeymoons. Although she maintained a stoic face, she was turning
cartwheels on the inside that she’d be able to skip out on a year of that
torture. “I’m one person in a hundred, Ry. I think the dinner will go on just
fine without me for one year.”

            “That’s not
the point,” he argued. “You’re their future daughter-in-law. How’s it going to
look if you blow off their biggest social event of the year?”

            Lexi pretended
to ponder the question before answering. “Umm…like I’m in LA soaking up some
rays, getting in a shopping spree, and appearing on a late night talk show?”

            Ryan grunted
and turned away, but Lexi grabbed his arm before he could storm out of the
room. “Come on, Ryan, really?” she said. “They’ll all wish they were me! You’ll
get all kinds of bonus points with the living dead because your ‘society lady’
is taking advantage of a free trip to LA. They’ll be positively green with
envy. It’ll give them something to talk about besides what a nice place
Martha’s freaking Vineyard is this time of year.” He groaned, but the corners
of his lips just barely tipped up in a suppressed smile. Ryan was fully aware
of her dislike for this annual tradition—he complained about it every year too,
but seemed to forget how painful it was until he had to go through it again.
“Think about it.” she added. “You get to tell them that I got a personal call
from Tony Granger asking me to appear on his show. You’ll actually get to talk
for a change! And they’ll listen!”

            “OK, you have
a point, but it’ll suck being there without you,” he conceded. “It’ll be even
more boring than usual.” He stuck his lips out in a pout, and she stretched up
to kiss them.

            “I’ll be back
before you know it,” she assured him. “Barring a Monday-only sale at Jimmy
Choo, I’ll be back late that night.”

            “No way I’d
let you go if you were missing New Year’s Eve,” he said grudgingly.

            “No way I’d go
if it meant missing New Year’s Eve,” she smiled.

            It was just
another talk show; just another morning news program on which to make an
appearance. But it came in the middle of her holiday, and damn it; after what
she’d gone through the past couple weeks, she deserved a break. Still, it was
the only appearance they were making in Melbourne—many of the shows were in
rerun over the holiday season—and it was Dylan’s hometown. She didn’t really
have a choice.

            Tia had been
watching the news program over the past couple days, just so she’d have an idea
about the personalities that would be interviewing them. Dylan had also agreed
to be their ‘musical guest,’ meaning he’d play a song or two in front of a live
audience outside the studio after the interview was over.

            The weather
couldn’t have been more perfect; a lovely 74 degrees with thin, puffy clouds
floating lazily in the sky. Tia donned a bright yellow sundress splashed with
purple and orange flowers, a fabulous pair of orange heels, and pulled her hair
up into a casual knot; Dylan tossed on a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt.

            There was
already a crowd gathered as the car approached the studio, and Tia giggled when
she saw the velvet ropes that hung from brass poles to create an unobstructed
pathway from the street to the door. A large platform was set up in the plaza
alongside the studio, and a crowd was already beginning to stake claim to the
areas closest to the stage.

            As she did
before each appearance, Tia gave herself a mental pep talk. Dylan, as he did
before each appearance, massaged her shoulders to help her relax and then
planted a loud smacking kiss on the back of her hand for moral support. She had
really unwound over the past few days in the privacy of his parents’ house, and
the thought of being thrust into the spotlight once again rubbed like sandpaper
over the ends of her nerves.
Get over it
, she told herself.
Get
through it, smile, be charming, and be done.
God she was looking forward to
the next week when they’d have some time alone.

            The car came
to a stop and Dylan pulled her in. “You’ll be brilliant, as always,” he said
matter-of-factly.

            “I’ll be the
same as always, anyway,” she smiled. “I don’t know why I’m extra nervous…I
guess because it’s your hometown and I…”

            “It’s just
another interview, love,” he said. “The same as all the others.”

            The driver
opened the door and the excitement of the crowd instantly filled her ears.
Dylan stepped out and gave a quick wave before offering Tia his hand and
helping her out of the car. He was right, she knew. Just because they were in
another country didn’t make it any different than all the rest. She put on what
she called her “celebrity smile” and stepped out onto the curb.

            The crowd
whistled and cheered and Tia waved enthusiastically, shaking hands and signing
the notebooks and bits of paper being shoved toward her from both sides of the
ropes. She and Dylan zigzagged across the walkway, giving equal attention to
both sides. “I love you Tia!” “You’re so lucky!” “Hey Dylan, I’m your biggest
fan!” Many of the shouts and comments blended into each other, but a few stood
out and made Tia feel almost giddy. Dylan took her hand and twirled her,
putting on a little show for the crowd and Tia laughed—she couldn’t help but
feel good when she got such a welcoming reception.

            They almost
reached the door to the studio—had it ever taken so long to walk just a few
yards?—when she heard the comment from her left side. “You don’t deserve him,
you loser! You should’ve let Penelope have him! Scarlet letter for you!” Tia
turned her head, her smile fading, and saw the projectile coming. She put up
her hands to block the impact, but it was too late. Something hard smacked her
face just under her left eye, and she was showered with some sort of red liquid
that got into her eyes, blinding her. Instinctively she opened her mouth to cry
out, and the unmistakable coppery taste of blood was on her tongue.

            Dylan was at
her side in an instant and security an second later, shielding her with their
bodies and ushering her toward the door. Another bomb came flying in and
exploded at her feet, and she slipped to the ground, landing hard on her knee
and scraping her elbow when she hit the pavement. She was pulled up
immediately, and another group of guards grabbed the still screaming woman from
the crowd, stopping her from hurling yet another of the blood bombs. But the
damage was done. A very shaky Tia was hustled into a private room where the
door was closed on the cameras that had filmed their arrival and subsequent
attack.

            “What the
fuck?” Dylan yelled as he used his own shirt to mop the offensive slime from
her face. “Baby, are you OK?” He turned to one of the security guards who’d
escorted them in. “Get me some water and some towels!”

            There was a
small crowd in an instant, with bottles of water and a large bowl pilfered from
a staff lounge. Dylan poured water on her face as she held her head over the
bowl and attempted to rinse her eyes. Tia grabbed one of the bottles and tipped
it to her mouth, washing out the offensive taste and spitting into the bowl.

            “Oh my God,
I’m so sorry,” Lana, one of the reporters, said. “Are you OK?” Apologies were
being tossed around from all directions, and towels were being thrust into
Tia’s hands. “Are you bleeding?”

            “Not my
blood,” Tia managed, coughing and wiping at her face.

            When she finally
cleared her eyes and could see, she looked up at the crowd that was gawking at
her and wanted nothing more than to close them again.

            “Tia, look at
me,” Dylan commanded, and as soon as she did, she burst into tears. “I’m so
sorry, baby girl,” he said, taking her into his arms. She sobbed into his
shoulder and uttered just one word. “Why?”

            The door burst
open and another security guard rushed in. “Sheep’s blood, according to the
offender,” he said, “in a balloon weighted with a rock. There’s an ambulance on
the way. Are you alright, miss?” He tossed a first aid kit onto the table and
knelt before Tia. “Where are you hurt?”

            Tia sucked up
some courage from a deep well she didn’t even know she had. She realized that
although she was personally attacked, the attack wasn’t
personal
. The
woman who did this didn’t know anything at all about Tia Hastings; she was just
a fan of Penelope’s. What she did was rude and immature and hateful and a
thousand other ugly adjectives, but it was directed at Tia the quasi-celebrity,
not Tia the person. She had to understand that; had to
believe
it, or
she wasn’t going to be able to do this. It was just one step further than those
who threw hurtful words, and she couldn’t dwell on every negative comment or
action that had nothing to do with the person she was on the inside.
The
show must go on
, she thought with a sarcastic snicker. She sat up, wiped
the tears from her face, and turned toward the officer. “I’m fine. Just a few
scratches from when I fell and a bump on my cheek. I don’t need an ambulance.”

            “You’ll get
checked out,” Dylan insisted. “You took a nasty spill.”

            She raised her
hand to her face and felt the tender spot where the rock had connected. “I’d be
fine with an ice pack and a couple Band-Aids, I think.”

            “She’ll get
checked out,” Dylan said to the cop. He turned her face and took her hand from
her cheek, his eyes flaming. “Bloody hell, there’s already a bruise! Oh
sweetheart…” he took one of the remaining clean towels and soaked it with cold
water, holding it to the swollen spot just below her eye. “Can someone get me
an icepack, please?” He was trying to sound calm, but the frantic anger in his
voice was clearly evident. He turned to the guard and hissed between clenched
teeth, “Did you get the bitch?” 

            “We got her. 
This is a serious offence, Mr. Miller, and you can be assured that all
necessary charges will be filed.”

            “I bloody well
hope so.”

            “I don’t want
to press charges,” Tia said quietly.

            “What are you
talking about?” Dylan hissed. “You were attacked. Damn right we’re pressing
charges.”

            “I’m not
pressing charges. I can’t take this personally—she doesn’t know me.” She
brought her hand to Dylan’s face and tried to smile in an attempt to douse some
of the anger burning in his eyes. “I’m OK, Dyl, really.”

             He pressed
his lips together and shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later.” 

            “I’d really
rather not,” she said, “I think I’ll just try and forget the whole thing.” She
turned to one of the producers. “Bring in the cameras. We can do the interview
in here.”

            “Fuck the
interview! As soon as the medics get you checked out, I’m taking you home.”

            She turned to
him. “No, Dyl. We came here to do this, and I’m not letting some random person
with a Penelope complex scare me out of it. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a scraped
knee and a little knot on my cheek. Believe me, I’ve been through worse.” He
opened his mouth to argue, but she raised her hand, and he shook his head and
let her finish. “Look, she’s one of the haters. They’re out there. They’re always
going to be out there.  I want to let her and all the rest of them know that
what they do has an impact on us. That we’re not made of stone, and we’re
certainly not made of glass. I’m not going to go skulking away because of one
crazy person. There are a lot more people out there who came to see you…to see
us…and we owe them. Maybe some of the others will figure out that we’re real
people too. I want to do the interview.”

            Dylan growled
and pushed his fingers through his hair. His face twisted in disgust when he
pulled them out; smeared with blood. He pressed his forehead to Tia’s. “What am
I going to do with you, woman?” he croaked. “You really want to do this?”

            “I do.”

            He tossed his
head back in surrender and shrugged at the producer who hovered nervously by
the door. “I guess we’re going to do an interview, then.”