Chapter Ten
Tristan
I knew before I’d hit my last note how bad I did during round six. I couldn’t blame the judges for saying how bad it was. The truth was, I would have lost respect for them if they hadn’t. I had so much shit in my head and I couldn’t let it go. I think it all came out in my song…and it wasn’t pretty. I stood there and listened to the judges, knowing that the camera was on my face, and I tried not to give anything away. I was scared to death that if I let my face move, it would betray me to millions of people and the whole world would know how disappointed I was in myself. I wished I really didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. That would have made it easier. I should have gotten high before I came; that would have made me numb.
I didn’t look at Elly’s face when it was all over. I could see her in my peripheral vision and I knew she was watching. As bad as it was to have to face the judges, it would have been a hundred times worse to see the disappointment in her eyes. She probably would have blamed it on me being high. I blamed the poor performance on sobriety. So far, it sucked. After I filled out the rehab papers, I had dumped everything. I flushed it down the toilet, or I would have been digging it back out first thing in morning, or maybe sometime during the night. I woke up with a pounding head and my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold my own dick to pee.
All day long, I went back and forth, telling myself that I didn’t want to do this shit and Elly could go fuck herself if she didn’t like it; and then telling myself that I should do it if for no other reason than I didn’t want to be my parents someday. I considered calling my guy. I had enough cash to get something to get me through at least for a couple of days.
I’d get pissed at myself for dumping it all. I should have saved just a taste of it…but I hadn’t, and I didn’t call him. If I was going to commit to this rehab shit, I was committing to it. I was brave about it for a few hours at a time, and then I’d freak out again. Before the show, I’d downed two beers. It was enough to take the edge off, but they lasted about an hour and then I was climbing the walls again.
I didn’t think I was a junkie. I was not sweating and twitching and hallucinating and shit, but my mind was spinning and it hurt to think. I went out on stage feeling like that, and as soon as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake.
I was sitting on the stage during the results show, again trying to keep my face neutral. I hated knowing that fucking camera was pointed at my face. I was in worse shape than I’d been in during my performance. I was pissed at everyone and everything. I’d already snapped at half the crew. I avoided Elly because I was really pissed at her. This was all her fault. I was doing fine until she came along and fucked everything up.
When it was my turn, I swore the host enjoyed once again replaying my horrible performance and the judge’s reactions to it. I’d never been a violent guy, but for some reason, I firmly believed I could whoop the shit out of this little man without giving it a second thought. I had to actually will myself not to punch him right there on stage and in front of the cameras. The last young teenybopper we had hanging on, the one that looked like daddy’s little princess, was in the bottom three again. She landed there a lot, but she always made her way back. She never looked worried. I wondered if she was a good actress or if she was just that confident. The host finally looked at me and said, “I’m sorry Tristan, but you’ll have to go join Hayley in the bottom three.” He didn’t really look sorry. You think with all the money they paid him to do his job, he’d at least be able to fake it better.
I got up, went to the death chair, and waited for my fate. Within the next ten minutes, Brooke was sitting next to me in the other chair. She looked pissed; I don’t know if it was because she was in the bottom three, or because she had to sit next to me. Her performance last night was as bad as mine. I wondered if it had anything to do with the fight we’d had the night before. I probably should have felt bad about that, but I didn’t. She was the one throwing around accusations and threats. She should have left it alone.
Ten long minutes passed with another commercial break and a promotional trailer we’d shot for a car company. Then the host finally sent Hayley back to her seat. She looked like she hadn’t doubted that she was going back. I was trying like hell to, if not feel confident, at least look it. I knew that fucking camera was on me. I was reminded of the old adage that news people used: If it bleeds, it leads. During the elimination rounds, they kept a camera tight on the faces of those in the bottom three, hoping to spot blood.
I glanced over at Brooke. She had tears dried on her face and she had her stool swiveled so her back was both to me and the cameras. She apparently hadn’t told anyone what she was threatening to about me and Elly—not that I gave a shit if she did or not. If I win this thing, that’s great. If I get disqualified for having the best sex I’d ever had, it was still worth it. Besides, as long as Elly didn’t confess, as long as she didn’t have pictures or audio tape, we could deny it.
When the host called us both to the center of the stage, he asked the judges if they thought the voters had gotten it right by putting the two of us in the bottom. The judges agreed that by last night’s performance alone, we should both be going home. Then the host went on to say that the votes had been closer than they’d ever come before. The one of us who was staying had only beaten the other one by less than a hundred votes. Considering that millions voted, that was a slim margin. If I wasn’t going home, I was doing it by the skin of my teeth, as I should be.
At last, after all the host’s time-filling drama he said, “Brooke, I’m sorry, honey, but you’re going home tonight. Tristan, have a seat.” I suddenly realized that I’d been afraid to breathe all night. I took a big, deep breath and went to take my seat. I hoped that my face didn’t betray how worried I had been.
Brooke was crying, but silently. I had to give her kudos for taking the microphone and singing her song. She did have a pretty voice, and she was a pretty girl. I didn’t doubt that someday she’d find someone willing to bank on those two things. She’d be okay.
When the show was over and everyone was scattering for the night, I went to look for Elly. She was standing in the back of one of the conference rooms talking to that other chick that works the contestant room. I walked up to her with the rehab papers in my hand. They were completely filled out and signed. I could hear them talking about going out the following night for someone’s birthday.
As I approached them, they both stopped talking and looked up. Elly looked like she was going to have a heart attack and the other girl, who sensed something was up, or maybe even knew, said, “I’ll give you guys a minute.” After she walked away, Elly was still looking around the room like a paranoid schizophrenic. I swear she almost looked like she was hearing voices.
“What the hell are you looking for?” I asked her.
“I was making sure that no one saw us. Damn it, Tristan, I keep telling you that we can’t be seen together. I can’t afford to lose my job, and I don’t want you to get disqualified.”
“And I keep telling you that I don’t give a shit,” I told her. “Here!” I shoved the papers against her chest. She took a step backwards; maybe it was from the shove I gave her. Giving me a dirty look, she brought them up and looked at them. She flipped through them and saw that I’d filled them out completely and signed them. She looked surprised, and then happy. She hadn’t expected me to agree to it.
“This is great, Tristan…I’m so glad….” she started. I wasn’t in the mood for more talk.
“Yeah, yeah…blah, blah, blah. I did my part. I want my reward.”
“What?”
“You said if I cut off the other women and filled out the papers we could have sex. I want my sex.”
“Not here, Tristan. Come on, you’re putting us both at risk here. Besides, filling out the paperwork isn’t the same as committing to it.” She backed away from me a bit.
“I’m committing. I will leave them with you so you can go turn them in. Are you backing out of your part now?”
She looked around. “No…just not here…we’re going to get caught….”
I sighed. “For the millionth time, I don’t give a fuck about that,” I told her. There was an empty office next to us. I grabbed her arm and pulled her in after me, closing the door behind us. She looked like she was having an anxiety attack. She really needed to lighten up.
She looked terrified. “Tristan, someone is going to come in here. This is too risky.”
I turned back around and locked the door. Before she could protest, I shoved everything that was on the desk off into a chair, picked her up, and sat her on the desk. She was looking at me like I’d lost my mind.