I sigh. “Yes, Route 66 ordered him to chauffeur me around for the foreseeable future. Apparently, the paparazzi have gone mad — they’ve been gathered outside Eileen’s film stage since word leaked about the Wildwood interview.”
Ghosts stir in Harper’s eyes and I wonder again about what put them there. “Felicity? Just… Be careful, okay? They’ll do anything to get their story. Anything. No matter who they destroy in the process.”
“I’ll be careful, Harper. I promise.”
* * *
Stage 1 at AXC studios,the permanent filming location ofThe Eileen Show, is a constant flurry of activity — PAs rushing around with clipboards and headsets, cameramen and lighting technicians making last minute adjustments before they start rolling. Sitting in the wings backstage, I watch the madness unfolding and try not to succumb to the panicked feeling I always get before interviews.
All eyes on me. The center of attention.
It makes me want to crawl under the closest rock and hide.
You’re Felicity Wilde,I remind myself, attempting to slow my ragged breaths.No one can touch you. Not anymore.
My eyes slide to the empty chair beside mine. Twenty minutes till showtime, and still no sign of Ryder. Beyond the stage I can hear the studio audience filing in, finding their seats as the show-runner leads them through a list of things they should expect during filming. From here, it sounds more like rules for a roller coaster than a talk show.
Stay in your seat at all times.
Keep track of your personal belongings.
Please, no flash photography or video of any kind.
It’s hard to believe I’ll be out there in front of them in a matter of minutes — my first televised appearance since I fell off the face of the earth. I try to remember all the pointers Francesca gave me, the game plan we spent last night going over in my apartment. Things got rather heated, at one point, when she suggested Ryder and I fake a relationship in front of the cameras to sell more tickets. When I flat-out refused, she basically threatened to sue me again. At least, until I pointed out that my contractual obligations begin and end with the tour. Twenty-five shows — nothing more, nothing less.
Frankly, Francesca, any press events I agree to do are a courtesy. If you continue to push the issue, I’ll walk off Eileen’s set so fast, it’ll make your head spin.
After that, she stuck to her repertoire of basic tips.
Don’t fidget.
No touching your hair.
Avoid over-hydrating.
Cross your legs.
I’m sure there was more advice, but it’s flown right out of my head now that I’m sitting here. I try not to think about all the people out there in the audience. My breaths are coming faster and faster as the clock counts down.
Seventeen minutes.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Tomorrow, when the world wakes up to watch the most beloved morning talk-show in America, my anonymity will officially be over. By primetime, the interview will be playing on a loop across every social media platform and major news network.
WILDWOOD REUNITES FOR NATION-WIDE TOUR!
This is just the first in a series of sit-downs Francesca has planned for the next two weeks, before the tour departs. The first time I’ll have to smile for the cameras and pretend everything between Ryder and me is picture-perfect. That, in spite of our tumultuous past, we’ve managed to forge a friendship of mutual respect and understanding.
I’d laugh at the absurdity, but I can’t summon even an ounce of amusement.
Five minutes before showtime, Eileen appears in the wings looking glamorous in a white wrap dress, her mocha skin shimmering under the low backstage lights. When she spots me, her teeth flash in a welcoming, ultra-white smile.
“Felicity Wilde, as I live and breathe!” Her arms come around me in a warm embrace. “Two years is too long, honey!”
“It’s good to see you again, Eileen.” I try to focus as I return her embrace, but the world feels somewhat muted. The roar of my pulse between my ears is unrelenting.