Sidecar Crush

We started down the long walkway toward a photo backdrop with the studio logo. As soon as the first set of eyes hit Leah Mae, reporters swarmed like bees around a hive.

The first one to reach us, a woman with platinum blond hair and more makeup than I’d ever seen on one person, held up a small microphone.

“Leah, you look beautiful tonight,” she said.

“Thank you,” Leah Mae said, her red lips parting in a false smile.

“You’ve been quiet since Roughing It wrapped,” the reporter said. “Is it true you went into hiding when you found out the show was exposing your affair with Brock Winston?”

“After filming, I decided to take some time off,” she said. “I’ve been visiting family.”

“Have you seen Brock since the show ended?” she asked. “Did you attempt to continue your relationship?”

“Like I said, I’ve been visiting family. Filming the show was a great experience. I enjoyed meeting the entire cast and we all had a great time, even though it was a challenge.”

We moved on and another reporter stepped forward. Leah Mae kept her hand tucked in my arm and tilted her chin. Too late, I realized people were taking our picture. I tried not to fidget.

“Leah, you’ve been subjected to a significant backlash since the infamous back room episode aired,” the next reporter said. She had more makeup than the first. “Do you feel the vitriol was deserved?”

“There have been a lot of comments and opinions shared about the show,” she said. “I’m just glad people have been enjoying it. Mostly, I try to project the positivity that I’d like to see in the world.”

“Is this Jameson Bodine?” the reporter asked, turning her gaze on me. “How did you meet Leah?”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Leah Mae cut in.

“We’re old friends,” she said.

“Jameson, what do you think about the accusations against your father?” the reporter asked. “Do you believe he murdered Callie Kendall?”

“Well, I—”

“The Bodine family has mourned the loss of Callie Kendall for the last twelve years,” Leah Mae said, cutting me off again. “Just like the rest of Bootleg Springs.”

And before I could say another word, we were moving on down the line again.

The rest was much of the same. Questions about Brock and Maisie. About her connection to Bootleg Springs. About me, or my father. In every case, Leah Mae gave the same non-answers. Her voice was hollow, and her words sounded practiced, like she was reading from a script. She smiled, turned her chin, posed for pictures.

I stayed quiet, merely tipping my head to the reporters. Felt a bit like an accessory and didn’t much like it. But I figured she was just trying to get us through as quick as she could.

A stir went through the crowd, and heads turned toward the entrance. I recognized the couple who’d come in. Brock Winston and Maisie Miller.

Brock was shorter than they made him look on TV. Dark blond hair. A cocky half-smile. He was dressed like he didn’t give a shit that this was a formal event. Sunglasses, a leather jacket, and black jeans.

His wife, Maisie, looked like a porcelain doll. Shiny dark hair, smooth skin, and blue eyes that almost seemed too big for her face. Her bright red dress didn’t leave much to the imagination.

They walked in, all smiles, and were soon surrounded by reporters, much like we were. It was hard to tell what Brock was looking at, with his eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, but I had a feeling he was glancing over at us in between answering questions. Maisie seemed to be pretending we didn’t exist.

By the time we got to the photo backdrop, my back was stiff, and my palms hurt from clenching my fists. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Leah Mae gave my arm a squeeze. “You’re doing great.”

We stood for a minute, and I had no idea which way to look. It seemed as if there were a hundred cameras. I concentrated on Leah Mae, like I was just a pedestal for her to stand on so she could look her best. Despite my brief brush with notoriety, she was the one people were here to see.

There were a few more people to talk to once the photos were done. I wasn’t sure who they were—reporters or people from the studio, or perhaps a bit of both. Leah Mae kept right on smiling and talking like she’d been told by the producer. Didn’t say much of substance or answer hard questions. And she certainly didn’t deny that she’d had an affair with Brock.