“Ugggghhhh,” I say again, because that’s what this whole situation has reduced me to. “Okay. I’ll negotiate with Mr. ‘Keep the LoveTrain Chugging’ for our private time—”
“Not so sure I love hearing it said likethat.”
“—and we’ll agree to therapy with Monroe Coco, counselor to the reality stars.”
That part doesn’t sound great, either, but better than being followed every minute of every day.
We just stand there for a moment, because I don’t want to talk to Rich right now, and I especially don’t want to walk away from Jason, even though I know it’s not like I need to be standing at his side twenty-four seven.There are several cameras focused on us now, and one of the sound guys is headed our way with mic packs.
Jason scuffs his sneaker in the dirt, looking down. “Would you be willing to do counseling in general? Not, like, this stunt with Monroe, but . . . real counseling? If things don’t get better?”
My throat feels thick, and I pause before answering.Therapy has always seemed well and good for other people, but I’m not into the idea of sharing my feelings with strangers—which is pretty ironic right about now. “I’ve always thought that kind of thing was a crock,” I admit. “Most couples I know who’ve done it broke up anyway.”
Jason nods, still staring at the ground.
“But,” I say quickly, “if we needed it, if there was even a chance it would help, then yeah. I would definitely do it.”
He looks over at me, and the small smile is back on his lips. “Yeah, me too.”
I never would have expected that from Jason, who is, if anything, less likely to talk about his feelings than I am. Yell about them, sure. Vent them at the top of his lungs, absolutely. But sit down and discuss them with a stranger? Not so much.
I can’t imagine this, but the fact that he’s willing to means everything. I reach over and squeeze his arm, and he leans closer to me, and I wish we could just wrap our arms around each other and kiss and—
Nope.There are two cameramen standing there with cameras pointed, ready to follow us wherever we go and record us even if we went back into our tent.
It’s time to negotiate with Rich.
One of the cameras splits off to follow me, while one stays behind on Jason. What drama do they think they’re going to catch when we’re not even together? I try my best to ignore them as I stride across the camp. I don’t see Monroe orTiberius anywhere, but the other Not-Wives are already up and being filmed. Genesis is being interviewed apart from the others, probably bitching about Destyny and/or promoting her Bling Me, Jesus!™ jewelry.
Destyny and Calista have cameras on them as well, and as I pass by them, I hear Calista moan, “—and they don’t even have a single nail artist here! At a wellness retreat!”
Destyny nods in sorrowful agreement. “It’s hard to imagine healing our souls while our cuticles suffer.” She looks down at her tall silver heels, the edges of which are covered in reddish-brown dirt. “Our footwear too.”
I decide not to point out that she’s got rust-colored dirt smears on both ass cheeks of her white booty shorts.
“You’re an artist, though, right?” Calista asks. “Maybe you can paint our nails!”
Destyny stiffens as if Calista has slapped her. “I only paint tomatoes,” she says archly.
I can’t help but pause at that statement. Does she only paint pictures of tomatoes? Only paintontomatoes?
I shake my head and continue past Kate, who is in an entirely different designer workout outfit than yesterday, her shiny dark hair bound back in a sleek ponytail. She’s lifting one of her legs over her head as she stretches. Because of course she is.
Her sparkly chandelier earrings catch in the sunlight. “Hi,” she says, somehow stretching even further. “So sorry to hear about you and your boyfriend having problems.”
She doesn’t even try to disguise how very not sorry she is to hear this.
I want to give her a verbal smackdown, but the cameras are right there, the producers just dying to get a shot of me and Kate getting into some catfight over Jason.
“Thanks,” I say through gritted teeth and move on.
Finally, I reach Rich, who is looking over a shot list with another producer. He smiles when he sees me. “Emily. What a pleasant surprise.”
Ughhhhh.
“If you want us to do that therapy with Monroe,” I say, putting on my best negotiation face, “we’re going to need some favors in return.”
He fakes looking intrigued. Clearly he expected something like this. “Favors? Of course! You know we’re only trying to do what’s in everyone’s best interest here—”
