Reese: A little sweet from your fish . . .
Paisley: Cute but kind of lame attempt at explaining.
Reese: Be happy you got them at all. I was tempted to stuff them in my own bag.
Paisley: Well, thank you. I love everything.
Reese: When do you get here? I’ve been through enough interviews and promo ads for USA Swimming that I’m about to lose my mind.
Thanks to Bellini, I’m on the earliest flight ever out of Los Angeles, and of course it wasn’t a direct flight. I got to stop in Denver. And even though Denver is a huge airport with a lot to do, it’s also a huge airport and therefore has delays. My flight is about two hours late. I had to call ahead to make sure Bellini’s room was prepared for her and blessed by a priest. The hotel manager was very kind. Bellini, on the other hand, was irritated I wouldn’t be there when she arrived. I held my tongue from lashing out at her, explaining I could be there if she’d let me travel in her private jet with her, like every other personal assistant.
Paisley: You realize you have a big weekend right? Like you have to swim . . .
Reese: Minor detail.
Paisley: Are you ready?
Reese: I’m always ready baby. It’s not my first rodeo.
Paisley: Well it’s mine. I’m kind of a nervous wreck over here. I don’t know how you do it.
Reese: I just think of your tits at the end of the pool, I try to race to them as quickly as possible.
I snort and shake my head. Typical man.
Paisley: You’re ridiculous.
Reese: I’m really not. Have you seen your tits? Like actually looked at them? Well, I have, but only briefly. You haven’t given me clearly enough time with them, but from what I could observe in my short time, I not only deemed them the sexiest pair of tits I’ve ever come across, but they literally can make anyone have a boner.
Paisley: Is that so?
Reese: Let’s see. They’re pierced, round, perky and the perfect size for my hand. Yup, by far the best.
“Excuse me, I’m sitting there,” someone calls out, pulling me away from my phone.
Standing above the old lady is a petite, sun-kissed, honey-haired girl. Her hair is just below her chin and framed in beach waves. Her eyes are a dark green and her makeup is beautifully on point, accentuating her features so they stand out but not offensively.
“Ma’am, I’m in the window seat,” the girl says again to the old lady who hasn’t moved. She glances at me, looking for help so I poke the elderly woman, praying she isn’t dead.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
She still doesn’t move or acknowledge either of us, so panic sets in. Holy shit, she’s dead.
“Umm, I think I will get a flight attendant,” the girl says.
“I will ring the call button.”
The line of people looking to get in their seats is held up and due to the miniscule space planes offer, she is unable to step aside to allow others to pass.
“What is the hold up?” an angry man waiting to board shouts.
“Someone won’t take their seat,” another passenger offers.
The poor girl bites her bottom lip and looks around for help.
“Maybe you can climb over her?” I offer.
“Let me see. Can you take my bag?”
“Sure.” Grabbing her purse, I set it on her seat and then offer a hand. She’s mid-step over the elderly woman when the flight attendant makes her way toward us.
“Is everything okay?”
The girl retreats her foot back to the aisle way and says, “Um, this woman is not moving. We’re not sure if she’s responding.”
“Oh dear.” The flight attendant takes a closer look, at the same time as I do. It doesn’t look like she’s breathing. “Have you spoken to her?”
“We’ve asked her to move,” I whisper for some reason. “But she’s unresponsive.”
“Okay, let me get the paramedics.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” the old lady says, springing up from her seat like a spry chicken, scaring the crap out of all of us. “Can’t an old lady find out more about this one’s pierced nipples from her boyfriend? Her texts were just starting to get good.”
A couple men tuning into the conversation stare at my boobs making me feel incredibly self-conscious.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” the flight attendant asks, some irritation in her voice.
“Of course I’m fine. Now move it along so I can sit back down.” The girl at the window seat stares at her blankly. “Go on, chicky. I don’t have all day.”
Scrambling, the girl scoots in and I squat on my seat, letting her in as well. We all take our seats as the waiting passengers grumble over the wait they had to endure. I duck my face away from them, avoiding eye contact and hiding my phone from the prying grandma next to me.
“For what it’s worth, your boobs do look like they could be prime meat for any man,” she says before putting on obnoxious set of earphones over her head and pressing down the play button on her Walkman.
“Oh my God,” I mumble to myself.
“She seems like a fun companion,” the girl next to me says, talking out the side of her mouth.
“Could be worse,” I whisper back, not sure if the lady is actually listening to a cassette player or if she is pretending to. “Could be a smelly dude with flaky skin.”
Shivering, the girl laughs. “So gross.” She sighs and looks out the window. “Here I am, sitting on a commercial flight when my boss is taking a private jet to Omaha. How is that fair?”
Private jet? That seems too coincidental.
“Your boss is taking a private jet to Omaha?” I ask. “So is mine.”
“Why does this feel like a
Parent Trap
moment?” She laughs. “Should we both pull up a picture of our boss and show one another on the count of three?”
“Could be a magical moment.” I laugh. “Let’s do it.”
With a smile on my face, I search for a picture of Bellini on the Internet and wait for the girl to do the same. When she’s ready, I count down. “Three, two, one . . .”
Flipping our phones to each other, we both display a picture of Bellini Chambers. Mine is of her holding Pope Francis on a sidewalk, an obvious paparazzi shot. The girl next to me picks a picture of Bellini with her mouth wide open, clearly screaming at another human being, most likely Pocket.
Together, we laugh and grab each other’s phones. “Man, I wish I pulled up this picture. Where did you find it?”
“I always have it in my photo album, so when people ask who I work for, I can just show them the picture and instantly receive their condolences. It’s easier that way.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Melony, also known as Melon by the Satan’s Mistress. I’m her hair and makeup artist.”
I laugh and take her hand in mine. “Paisley, aka Mauve, the assistant.”
“Oh, it’s great to finally meet you.” Melony turns in her seat so she’s facing me. My phone dings in her hand and she looks down at it. “Oh, you got a text from Reese . . .”
Her voice trails off and my heart drops to the floor. Her eyes widen as they look up at me.
Shit!
“I didn’t mean to look. I’m sorry.”
Quickly we trade phones and I look down at the preview text. It reads clear as day.
Reese: I can’t wait to fuck you once you get here.
No, no, no. My heart beats rapidly against my ribcage; fear tickles the back of my neck as my entire body heats up into a state of pure panic.
I’m speechless. There is no way to cover this up. It’s clearly Reese King texting me. There is no mistaking that. Not because he is in my phone as Reese King, but because in my phone, he’s Reese with a swimming Emoji next to his name. Doesn’t get more obvious than that.
I can’t move. My body is frozen in place. Is this girl going to tell Bellini? She did call her Satan’s Mistress, but still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t loyal. Was Melony actually here to spy on me? Was Bellini aware of my situation with Reese? Did she not fall for my lesbian line?
I feel like I can’t breathe.
“It’s okay,” Melony says, resting her hand on mine.
“What?”
“I won’t say anything. Almost everyone in production knows their relationship is fake, so you don’t have to worry about me saying anything. Good for Reese actually. You’re hot.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. “I would say it’s not who you think it is, but it’s a little obvious, isn’t it?”
“Pretty much. The Emoji kind of clued me in.”
“I’m so embarrassed.” My face heats up, and I can’t help but start to sweat over the whole situation. “No one knows. It’s still new, like really new.”
I want to bite my nails, fidget in my seat, bury my head in the smiling daisy sweater next to me.
“Don’t worry.” Melony smiles. “I’m friends with Reese; clearly I am not with Bellini. Trust me, your secret is safe with me.”
I can’t help but eye her skeptically.
“Will this make you feel better?” She pulls up a text message on her phone, makes it out to Reese and types. ‘Guess who I’m sitting next to on the plane right now? I will give you one guess, someone who has your name listed in their phone as Reese. *swim Emoji*’ She keeps her phone open and says, “Just watch.”
Within seconds, a text appears and we read it together.
Reese: Hmm, one guess? I’m going to have to go with my girl, Paisley. Black hair, fantastic rack, eyes that will cut you in half with their beauty.
Want to talk about stomachs doing somersaults, yeah, mine is trying to medal in gymnastics right now. Melony types back quickly.
Melony: Ding, ding, ding. You’re a winner.
Reese: What’s my prize? Please tell me it’s her.
Melony: That’s not for me to decide.
Satisfied, Melony says, “See, told you.”
“What, is he telling everyone?” Once again I feel raw panic.
Just as I’m about to text him, my phone beeps with a text.
Reese: Don’t worry, Paisley. Melony is good people and won’t say a word.
Wishing I had a little more privacy from prying eyes. I text him back.
Paisley: How many people have you told?
Reese: Just Hollis. He’s my best friend who is really close with Melony. Believe me, they are both trust worthy. This won’t get out.
That’s easier said than done. I didn’t even tell my best friend, but that was also because he would most likely disown me and then slaughter me in my sleep. An uneasy feeling creeps inside my belly, making the plane feel that much smaller. My breathing starts to become labored and I feel like a panic attack is coming on.
“Hey, are you okay?” Melony asks, heavy concern in her voice.
“I feel like,” I wave a hand in front of my face, “I can’t . . .” I don’t finish my sentence because my phone starts ringing in my hand. I look down to see Reese calling me.
“Answer it,” Melony says.
“We’re about to take off.”
“They haven’t told us to turn our phones off yet, answer it.”
“Yeah, answer it,” the old lady says. I knew she wasn’t listening to any music.
Taking their advice, I press the green button. “Hello?”
“Hey baby.” Reese’s voice instantly calms the heavy weight on my chest. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about Hollis and Melony knowing. They will keep this a secret, I promise.”
I nod my head, knowing he can’t see it but still needing the movement. “Okay.”
“Are you scared?”
“You know I am. You know what kind of stakes I’m facing here.”
“I know, but no one is going to find out, and better yet, Melony will be able to cover for you since she is your roommate in Omaha. We can use this to our advantage.”
“He’s right.” Melony winks at me, clearly able to hear our conversation. Stupid loud phones.
“Are we okay?” he asks, worry in his voice.
“We’re good,” I whisper into the phone.
“Okay, well, I’ll let you go. Have a safe flight, text me when you land.”
“All right, bye.” I hang up and stare at my phone for a couple seconds, wondering if this is going to trip up my plans. Maybe I should just end this before it gets worse—before it blows up in my face—because by the looks of it, it probably will.
“Don’t overthink it,” Melony says, reading my thoughts. “Hey, how about you get to know me a little more? That will put you at ease. I’m telling you, I’ve been hoping for a girl like you to join the team. I need an ally. I think Pocket has it out for me.”
I laugh at that. “I think Pocket has it out for anyone who even looks at Princess Asshole.”
“You got that right.”
I spend the rest of the flight talking to Melony, comparing horror stories, and learning that we have a lot in common. I wonder if this girl was meant to be my soul sister. Reese is right; she’s very trustworthy, and not just because she says all the right things, but because there’s something about her eyes that says she doesn’t hand out trust very easily. I can appreciate that.
**REESE**
“I have an interview lined up for you after your races with ESPN. They want to do an exposé on you and your journey from your first Olympics when you were sixteen to now and the changes you’ve seen in the sport along the way.”
I don’t absorb a word Ashley says to me over the phone. Something about an interview, honestly, I don’t give a fuck. It’s late, Paisley’s plane landed hours ago, and I’ve only received one text from her, letting me know she landed. Ever since then, radio silence.
“And don’t forget, you have a photo opportunity with Bellini before the meet. Production will be there. I was able to gain clearance through USA Swimming as long as we offer them footage.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I respond.
I have the call on loud speaker so I’m able to flip through my phone while I talk to her.
“Are you even paying attention to me right now?”
“I am. Interviews and photo opp with Bellini. Check.”
“Can you please look interested in the girl tomorrow? If we are going to pull off this fake relationship, you have to do more than just stand next to her.”