Eleven

“I’m counting on you to save me from your fangirl kin.” Mark adjusted his belt and smoothed the front of his navy shirt. A final tuck into his skinny jeans, and his smiling eyes returned to Alex.

“You’ll be fine. They adore you.” Alex grinned, resigned. This comic con fell way short of her planned romantic weekend at home, but at least they were together…in between meet-and-greet sessions, autographs, photo ops, and panel discussions. They would make it work.

A loud chant of “Mark! Mark! Mark!” rose above the partition, his impatient fans urging him to make an entrance.

“Hear that? Bonkers.” Laugh lines gathered by his eyes. “Lex—”

“Ready to sign your life away?” A smiley BBC press rep barged in, slapping Mark on the shoulder.

Mark winced with a barely audible gasp. It passed his lips so quickly, the BBC guy didn’t clue in, but Alex did. Her heart kicked up its pace. What was that?

“I haven’t seen so many fans queuing for autographs since Cumberbatch.” The rep laughed. “Got your game face on?”

Mark’s posture was tense, but his smile suggested otherwise. He shot Alex a confident look. “Let’s do this!”

A bubbly con employee rushed over, his toothy smile and earnest eyes reminiscent of a children’s TV host. “Showtime, Mr. Keegan. Follow me, please.”

He pulled back the curtain and Mark ducked through, his beaming smile welcomed by a roar of voices from the surging crowd. He sat beside a con employee in a yellow t-shirt and with a simple hello and handshake, he magically turned her pale complexion bright pink.

Alex followed, lingering in the opened curtain, not sure where to go. The publicist stood beside her.

“Mark saved my neck, stepping in like this.” The BBC suit nodded. “I didn’t think we could get anyone to replace you-know-who on such short notice. When I called Mark Thursday, I really didn’t expect he’d say yes. If I were dangling from cable cars all week, I would be chilling on my weekend off.”

Alex sighed. “Exactly.”

He returned his attention to the line, now double in size. “Want a coffee, tea?”

“No, thanks. I’m going to wander.”

“Smart. These signing sessions are bum-numbingly boring.” He vanished through the curtain.

Alex’s furrowed gaze darted through the swarm. How would Mark deal with all of this? She had seen him handle a few fans on the street or a crowd of thirty or so program-clutching girls at a stage door, but nothing compared to this disorganized con chaos threatening to engulf his tiny table.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. Is it hot in here? Her fuzzy black sweater stuck to her chest. She glanced at Mark—he wasn’t sweating—and then back at the crowd, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

Cancel that…

Never mind Mark—how would she deal with all this? The noisy, demanding mob, a beast boasting hundreds of prying eyes and just as many expectations rattled her like she was a cornered animal. Time seemed to slow to an unbearable crawl and yet, her chest pounded quickly as if in a race it was desperate to win. Each gasp from her lips grew short and increasingly shallow, mimicking a hectic response that was becoming all too familiar again.

Fuck! Not here! Not in front of all these people…how…how do I get OUT of here? She swallowed heavily as the room swayed around her.

Crap, everyone’s looking at me.

Texting ‘marmalade’ was no use here, not now.

Mark turned around and smiled sweetly, beckoning her forward.

Mark…thinks everything is okay. I can’t let him think it isn’t…I can’t do that to him. A false grin stretched her lips.

He didn’t see through Alex’s act and turned back to his Keeganites.

Everything will be okay, right? If Mark believes it, I should, too…

You…can do this…

She focused on her boyfriend, not the mob…perhaps it was her best chance at riding out this attack?

You can do this. She released her stranglehold on her bag’s strap, her knuckles so white they practically glowed.

Mark gracefully accepted fan art, not once stifling a laugh at how hideous a few of the portraits were. He was effortlessly charming, engaging…interested in every person without being superficial. Shy little kids dressed like Mark’s TV character hid behind their parents, too bashful to say hello. Mark leaned over the edge of the table with a welcoming “Hi, mate!” while coaxing them out from behind a thigh with high fives and compliments about their costumes. He held hands with girls all aquiver and lost for words. He was so good, so patient. His calm demeanour was contagious, even to Alex—her crazed heartbeat, gulps for air, impromptu sweats, now receding…

You can do this…you CAN do this…

You’re…going to be okay—phew!

Each fan arriving at the table left with much more than an autograph—they left feeling heard, understood, and appreciated. Mark’s ease with the fans, his kindness wasn’t something that could be taught. To him, it was as natural as breathing. To Alex, it was just another of his traits that she loved and made her heart swell with pride.

But witnessing fandom from the other side of the autograph table felt surreal, like she had hopped into a TARDIS and time travelled to a strange, parallel universe. Girls crying over her guy, the actor who wasn’t famous when they met, the one who, like a typical boyfriend, dropped clothes around their flat, ate Nutella with a spoon straight from the jar, and left whiskers all over the bathroom sink.

Alex slipped through the curtain and walked along the ‘backstage’ hallway. She squeezed through a break in the perimeter’s bank of tall white panels where the roving rainbow of cosplayers, comic book aficionados, and pop culture purists on the floor of Birmingham’s National Exhibition Centre swallowed her up anonymously. Alex completely relaxed. These folks were her people. Take away the theatre world’s plaudits, the now-celebrity boyfriend, and intrusive paparazzi buzzing around her relationship, and she was still a geek at heart.

She bought some greasy chips in a paper cone and strolled aisle after aisle, window shopping collectibles, superhero sketches, and sartorial offerings for cosplayers. A puckered face drew her in. It was a spooky, over-the-head latex mask of the Silence, one of Doctor Who’s scariest villains. In the Whovian lexicon, the Silence had the ability to make people who looked away from them instantly forget their existence. Alex always thought they resembled the freaky younger brothers of the tortured figure in Edvard Munch’s famous painting, The Scream: a bulbous head, narrow chin, protruding cheekbones, and deep-socket eyes. The only difference between the two beings was the Silence’s pinched mouth, and for the most part, they never uttered a sound, let alone an existential scream.

Alex hadn’t cosplayed for at least a year; her Wonder Woman outfit was balled up in the back of the closet she shared with Mark. Hmm. The mask was tempting, a chance to wade back in without a big commitment. She surveyed the crowd milling past: Spider-Man, or make that Spider-Men—ever so popular, Finnick from The Hunger Games, Catwoman…she’d always wanted to put together a Catwoman costume but had never got around to it. The cosplaying itch flared, but would her oversized sweater and dark jeans look too casual to pull it off? The Silence always wore black suits…

She stuffed several chips into her mouth, the saltiness making her salivate. A finger tapped her shoulder.

“Um, hi?”

Her bulging cheeks turned towards the voice.

“You’re Mark Keegan’s girlfriend, Alex, right?” A freckled-brunette about Alex’s height and barely sixteen years old, dressed in a Hogwarts uniform, stared at her through round eyeglasses that pinched her button nose.

Alex raised a hand to her lips and swallowed the mouthful of chips. “Yes?”

“We thought so!” The girl giggled with her friend, a teen with wide-set eyes and scraggly dark blonde hair, the ends dip-dyed sea foam green. They eyeballed her from head to toe.

“You are SO lucky. You and Mark, I mean…talk about OTP.”

Aw, fangirl slang—one true pairing, a perfect couple. Alex always thought her and Mark were OTP, but then, she would.

“Can we have a selfie?”

This was new. “Ah…sure?”

The pair swooped around her, grinning for the smartphone.

“Thanks, Alex. You’re so cool!” They scampered off, eyes glued to the phone’s screen, reviewing the image just snapped.

Alex knew they didn’t really like her, not for the right reasons, anyway. Her only relevance to their world was the fact that she had bagged their favourite actor, a clear case of celebrity by proxy. She was a curiosity, nothing more.

She turned back to the latex Silence mask, promptly stuffing her credit card into the seller’s hand. Hidden underneath this getup, she could wander around incognito. The Hermione wannabe seemed harmless, but the encounter left Alex exposed and longing for anonymity.

She tossed her half-empty chip cone in a bin and pulled on the mask. Ugh. The thing stunk. A sneeze flirted with her nose but never came, the plastic-y aroma of new shower curtain meets stinky feet flooding her nostrils. She set off into the crowd, invisible.

At half past twelve, Alex turned the corner to autograph alley. The line snaking its way to Mark’s table looked shorter now but was still a few dozen deep and buzzing with excitement. Aw, bless. Still signing his heart out, hunched over glossy publicity photos. He looked stiff, cramped. Mark would definitely need Nurse Sinclair to work her magic with a massage that evening.

Grinning inside the mask, she sidled up to the queue. The Keeganites were still out in full force. Pink-cheeked girls pushed past her, clutching signed mementos and squeeing on a Mark-fueled high. The line inched forward, so Alex did, too.

“The queue ends here.” A stocky guy with bulging pecs, threatening to do a Hulk through his t-shirt, closed off the line behind her. “If you’re holding afternoon tickets, line up at half two.”

Alex bounced on her toes. Yes! When she reached the table, she would whip off the stuffy mask and surprise Mark. He would be hers again, the two of them against this new, strange world, for better or for worse.

A girl, stood in front of Alex, wearing a red wig and cosplaying Black Widow, pointed in Mark’s direction. “Gawd! He’s a total life-ruiner.” She elbowed her blue-haired friend. “Talk about hot.”

Alex chuckled and stepped closer to listen in.

“I can’t even. One glance and…oh, my ovaries, just stahp,” said Smurfy Blue Hair.

Alex gnawed her lip, trying not to laugh. These girls were hilarious, and yeah, she had to agree with them, Mark brought on all the feels—full stahp.

“After I meet him, I swear, I’ll DIE.” Black Widow took a breath and smirked. “And speaking of walking dead, did you see his girlfriend earlier? God, she’s the worst.”

Alex’s eyes bulged. What? The mask was seriously hindering her hearing.

Smurfy checked her makeup in her phone’s camera. “I thought they broke up, or maybe that was just wishful thinking.”

Black Widow nodded. “Why doesn’t he date his Lairds co-star? At least she’s pretty.”

The mask wasn’t hindering Alex’s hearing at all. Nope—these messages were coming through loud and painfully clear. These girls couldn’t be more different from the fans earlier. These girls wished her ill will; they begrudged her…Mark. She swallowed heavily, their ugly words echoing through her head, shredding her self-confidence and souring her stomach.

Smurfy scrolled through her phone. “She must be a good lay. Fuck knows what Mark sees in that butt face of hers.” She held up her phone so her friend could see.

With a clammy hand, Alex grabbed the forehead of the mask and gave it a tug, peeling it from her sweaty skin. The shift adjusted the mask’s tiny eyeholes and she spotted the Mail header. Of course. Her heart broke out into a sprint.

“I bet no one saw her play,” said Black Widow.

“I did. It was shit. Full of clichés, stereotypical characters.” Blue Hair sneered. “She needs to do me a favour: not write another one.”

The girls laughed.

Alex’s jaw dropped. These words stung more than any anonymous online attack. Maybe it was hearing the venomous slurs in person? Or watching their faces contort with disgust only inches away?

They hate me…because Mark loves me.

Their nasty remarks, paired with the suffocating sweatiness of the mask, felt like two hands tightening around her throat. She gasped for air, tears brimming in her eyes—not that this crowd would care. She ducked out of line and fled towards the exit.

• • •

“Mouse, did you order me that bacon cheeseburger? I’m starving.” Mark slicked back his wet hair and sat on the edge of the hotel bed with a white towel knotted at his waist. A second towel was flung open over his right shoulder, creeping down his chest, and the fresh scent of strawberry body wash hung in his wake. “All I had today was an energy drink and some crisps.”

“They said twenty minutes.” Alex stood in front of the TV, fussing with the uncooperative remote.

“My hand is so cramped, I could barely shave. Luckily, tomorrow is just photos…” Mark frowned and slipped off the bed. “Hey, stop playing with that.” His hands pulled her in. “How’s my girl? Did you have fun?”

Alex spun around, her nose coming within an inch of his shifted towel and an angry purple and yellow bruise that enveloped Mark’s entire shoulder and upper arm. Eyes staring, she held her breath. Beads of water trickled down his bare chest.

“Oh, God, Mark! What’s that?” Worst-case scenarios trampled through her mind: a plunge down a mountain, a choreographed fist-fight gone wrong, a spooked horse…?

“It’s fine.” He smiled. “You should see the other guy.”

Alex didn’t laugh—her heart was too busy trying to explode through her chest.

“It looks a lot worse than it feels—”

“What happened?”

“I fell on the ice—”

“I knew those stunts—”

“—during a snowball fight.” He rolled his eyes. “Embarrassing.”

Alex gritted her teeth. “How hard did you fall?” Her hand hovered, unsure if she should touch him.

“It’s fine, honestly. Would I be here if it wasn’t?” He tucked her underneath his chin, his grimace out of her sight. “Did you have fun today? I love your Silence mask!”

“Yeah.” She carefully rested her head against his chest, avoiding his eyes and any contact with his poor shoulder. “It’s a shame it was too late to invite Lucy. A guy was here, taking pitches. She could’ve shown her drawings—”

“She can do that any time. This weekend is for us.” He kissed the top of her head. “I knew you were off having fun when I didn’t see you all day. See? I was right, wasn’t I? This weekend’s been good for both of us, and we still have tomorrow to enjoy.”

“Can’t wait.” Alex shivered.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. You’re—”

“Damp, yeah, sorry babe.” He let her go and removed the towel from his shoulder, patting it gently over his upper half. “Weren’t the fans great? They’re so kind and thoughtful…” His voice trailed off as he walked into the bathroom.

Alex slowly sat down on the bed. Behind the bathroom door, the hairdryer roared to life. “And honest,” she whispered to herself.