Profile (Social Media 5)

“Does she have money on her app, Vaughn?” a reporter from an internet blog asks me.

He’s nice, and funny. And never too serious about what he prints. “Her coffee worries are over, yes.”

Now they chuckle with me and I turn away and start walking down the street to the Starbucks. Half of them follow, but they stay behind me. Like a little train of leeches—annoying, but harmless.

See, this is how you handle the media. You don’t have to give them what they want, you just have to give them something they can use. Now they have two factoids about Grace to run with. Tomorrow everyone will be drinking that coffee concoction and the blueberry muffins will be sold out.

The day after tomorrow, they will be after the personal details of someone else and no one will give a shit about us until the next movie comes out, or I get nominated for an award, or Grace gets pregnant.

God. that makes me smile like an idiot and when I look over at Ray, he’s shaking his head. “What?” I ask him.

He holds up a hand. “Nothing.”

We turn right at 16th Street and head down towards the Starbucks.

“But,” he continues, “you have a stupid grin on your face. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you are in love.”

“I am in love.” I let out a breath. “I love this girl. I’m gonna marry her again and get her pregnant, and spend the rest of my life bossing her ass around and pissing her off.” I glance back at Ray. “She likes it. But she also likes to fight it.”

“Mmm-hmm. If you say so, boss.”

We walk the rest of the way to Starbucks in silence. The reporters stay outside as I go in to order. Ray blocks them and they don’t put up a fight. They figure if they’re nice, I’ll give them something else before I go back inside our building. And I probably will.

Life is a give and take. I’ve always known this. You can’t always get what you want, so you have to just try to get what you need. And right now, I need for the media to leave us alone. Or at the very least, not be out to destroy us.

I sign autographs while I wait for Grace’s drink. Cups mostly. I sign the apron of each employee and some napkins. And thirty minutes later—yeah, it’s a long time to be stuck in a Starbucks signing autographs when all I want is to think about the woman I love, but it only benefits both of us in the end—Ray and I walk back to wake Grace up with a nice iced coffee and her favorite pastry.

I turn back to the media before going inside her apartment building. “I need a little advice.”

“Sure, Vaughn!” I hear from the crowd. “Ask us anything!”

“What kind of ring should I get her? We didn’t have time to get rings.”

They start calling out suggestions. I nod for each and make a small comment like, ‘“Yes,” or “Oh, I like that idea.” That kind of thing.

They eat that shit up. They’re happy now. I gave them two factoids and I asked them for help. They feel needed and necessary and none of what I actually said makes any difference to Grace, or me, or the world.

But it matters. The media is a part of my life. The media is the reason Kristi’s brother called that hotline and let me know where she’d run off to.

Sometimes I need them, sometimes they need me. And I never forget that, because that’s the secret to navigating this absurd world where what my wife eats for breakfast is print-worthy news.

I scan their faces and come back satisfied with my performance… until I see that bitch from Buzz Hollywood. She’s not happy at all. She wanted to ambush me and she failed.

I give her a wink to let her know I won, and turn to go inside. Smiling all the way upstairs. I pass Bigmy, who is standing guard at the top, and then I knock.

Chapter Two

THERE’S a knock on the door and I twist my head to try and see where it’s coming from, but the pain in my neck is sharp. And penetrating. It shoots down my arm like white-hot lightning and I moan.

“Shut up.”

My mind almost shuts down, that’s how badly that voice shocks me. It can’t…

The knocking stops me again.

“You know the rules.”

“No,” I say. Or at least I try to say, but I can’t say anything. I realize I’m gagged and my heart starts to beat wildly. Erratic thumps inside my chest overtake all my coherent thoughts. I imagine all the ways in which this can kill me. I imagine my heart exploding and my breaths come faster, deeper, like I can’t suck up enough oxygen to save my life.

I’m pulled up into a sitting position and he whacks me on the back like I’m choking instead of suffocating. “See,” he says. “You’d die without me. I saved you again. How many times have I saved you?”

The knocking continues.

I try to open my eyes but my head is swimming. This is not happening. This is not happening. I fall forward and hit my head on the floor in front of my feet. The tendons on the bad side of my leg scream in pain, the stretch too much for me. I wiggle, realize I’m bound too, and then thrash around so I can change position and relieve the stress.

“Sit up, Daisy.” I’m pulled into an even more uncomfortable sitting position and that’s when I know this is all real. That’s what makes it set in.

Daisy.

I’ve been running from this man for ten years. I’ve been trying to force myself to come to terms with what he is, what he did, what he wanted… and now that I’ve moved on and let it all go… he’s back.