“You two…?” I say. I take a sip ofmy coffee.
“For a while. But all thepublicity. All the interviews. All the attention. It was too much for me. Tad’sa great guy. But I wanted a life. A real life. Not this nonsense that heconstantly has to craft for the world. Every time we went out, he had to alwayslook so clean. So manicured. So happy. He was like a Ken doll that looked sopretty in his little, tightly-bound packaging.”
As he speaks, he gazes off, asthough he’s recalling the days when they were together, but he shakes out of itand quickly says, “Not to say it has to be like that. I just…I was young, and Ididn’t really know who I was. I don’t think that environment is very helpfulfor someone who’s still trying to figure things out. Having everyone’s eyes onyou doesn’t exactly make it easy to figure out who you are. Something I imagineTad’s had to deal with quite a bit.”
I nod, feeling it’s best not toexpand on Brent’s thoughts, because right now it doesn’t seem wise to tell himhow impossible it seems to be to have a meaningful relationship with Tad whenhis life lies so far outside the norm.
“It’s a challenge,” I say. “Buthe’s worth it.”
It’s more of a crafted statement,like something I’d say to a reporter rather than to someone I could actuallyconfide in about the situation. But in truth, there’s not really anyone I canconfide in about this. I’m on my own.
We gaze into each other’s eyes, asthough reading each other’s thoughts, as though he can see just how much I’mreally struggling. And though I can’t know that he’s actually detecting mystruggle, it feels like he understands more than anyone else I’ve interactedwith. Because he’s not Jordan Spears. He’s a regular guy who never wanted thesort of life that guys like that aspire to.
“Yes, he is,” Brent admits. “Andhe’s very lucky to have you.”
“Hello? Can you hear me?” Debrawalks in, her phone against one ear, her hand over the other. In a white skirtand gray blouse, her hair in subtle waves to her shoulders, she appears totallytogether. Like she has an amazing life without worries or fears. It’s awonderful illusion, appropriate considering her line of work.
As she looks up and spots us, shesays, “Oh, sorry,” before heading back out. I imagine she’s calling aboutmother. To make sure she’s okay.
“Poor thing,” Brent says. “She’slucky to have a friend like Tad looking out for her mom.”
“What?”
His eyes widen like he’s surprisedby my question, but I’m struggling to understand how Tad can be credited foranything to do with her mother when he seemed so uninterested in Debra’sfeelings while he was demanding that she fly in to Dallas to handle this PRcrap.
“Oh, shit. I assumed he had toldyou.”
He glances around like he’sworried about saying any more, but then he says, “He called me a few monthsago. Asked if I could get her into this special program in Toronto. They’reworking on this experimental treatment for pancreatic cancer she has. I’ve madea few friends in the medical field over the years, so fortunately, I was ableto get her in.”
“Really?” I ask, trying to wrap mymind around why he acts like such a cold-hearted jerk when he’s really agenuinely kind person.
“Oh, yeah. Tad looks out for hisown. Like I said, he’s a great guy. It just wasn’t meant to be between us, youknow?”
Evidently a better guy than I givehim credit for.
“Just don’t mention what I saidabout Debra’s mom to her.”
“Why not?”
“Tad didn’t want her to know hewas involved. He can be a little…modest about things like this. You know hegives to shit-tons of charities every year, but he does his best to keep it outof the press.”
“Bad for his bad-boy image?”
“Maybe. Who knows with Tad,right?”
I clearly don’t. I feel guiltythat I was quick to judge him about Debra’s mom. Once again, I’m forced toquestion my initial assumptions.
Brent and I chat a bit more untilit’s time for Tad’s interview with Emily Carter.
One of Emily’s assistants leads usback into the auditorium, which has cleared out. Lights and cameras are set upin a corner, where Emily sits in a chair across from a loveseat as she directsher crew. A tiny woman with a blonde bob, she wears a matching pink skirt andblouse. When she spots us making our way across the auditorium, she rises andapproaches. Her smile, which takes up half her face, and the vacant look in hereyes reminds me of her sorority girl past. It’s amazing that she was drawn to acareer in journalism instead of cheerleading. And while I don’t trust thegentle performance she puts on as she greets us, I’m not as on-guard aroundEmily Carter as I was with Henry Mason or Kira Wilde. She’s not the kind ofreporter that’s looking for a big scoop. Her interviews are fun andinformative, but rarely confrontational. She appeals to people because she’slikeable, not because she generates controversy, which is why I’m sure Debrathought she’d be perfect for this interview.
“Kirk, will you grab some chairsfor everyone?” she asks one of her assistants. “Tad, you can just sit rightthere.” She motions to the loveseat across from the chair she was seated in.“Did anyone need anything? Water? Snacks?”
She continues asking if we needanything as she directs her crew with the finishing touches on their setup. Herblonde hair bounces at her shoulders as she carries on several conversations atonce.
As the crew and Emily settle, Inotice Kiernan fidgeting with his hands. He glances around uneasily. I’m sure thisis nearly as stressful for him as it is for Tad. Although Tad’s doing a goodjob of appearing composed and at-ease. But knowing him better than I used to, Ican detect his discomfort. I’m sure it’s not just because this interview isabout a troubling subject for him—one I’m sure he would prefer people outside himselfand Kiernan not know anything about.
Forty-Nine
