Press Release, page 24
I try to blink away a new damn burst of tears and fail. “I’d decided such a thing was impossible for me, until that bloody Cian Malley showed up.”
Gilly pats my shoulder as I drop my head into my hands. “Impossible is defeat talking. Defeat and Meg McGrath do not mesh.”
She’s too right. Defeat is the enemy. Defeat is handing my position over to Cian without a whimper. I’ve got a horse in this race, my time and expertise on the show. One of Cian’s texts burns in my brain.
Is there any chance, any at all, where you can see a way not to cut me loose? Can we find a way to work through this? To work through it together?
Jack and Gilly’s relationship shows me the way. Partnership. Equal power. Cian and I share the top spot.
Pride is a tall stone wall. I’ve built mine strong and unassailable. The thing about walls is they do protect you, but they also keep out what might be wondrous to let in.
Jack hovers over both Gilly and me, his helmet switching back and forth between the pair of weeping females next to him. “What’s wrong then?”
I don’t want the sweetness of Jack O’Leary and Gilly out of my life. I don’t want to step away from the show or Bobby, Maureen, the exquisite sets that transport me to times past, or the marvelous stories Deidre LaRochelle’s spun into gold. I’m not willing to give up the rush of pride experiencing the monumental fan support for my people that I’ve helped build. The Chieftain’s Son is my world and my life’s blood, and damn if I’m not fighting hard enough to remain a part of it. My bottom line is as clear as a picture window. Staying with my tribe is the only choice that makes a lick of sense. Pride be damned.
“It’s a chick thing,” says Gilly. The girl has my back. It’s time I have hers as well.
Jack digs a hand under his helmet to scratch.
It’s a rare thing for perspective to shift so thoroughly in the space of a heartbeat. Trusting the wisdom threaded through one’s emotion is terrifying. Yet here I sit with a pair who told logic to fuck off and took the gamble on their heartbeats. When I was offered such a leap, I didn’t know quite how to deal with it. Cian didn’t make matters any clearer by withholding fundamental truths from me.
I’ve a conclusion to draw. If I plan to push for equal billing with Cian, is the “we” Cian and I started worth trying to fix, or is Meg McGrath as a “me” the smarter choice going forward?
Gilly nudges me. “It’s okay not to keep everything to yourself, Meg.”
Is it her writer’s proclivity for sniffing out truths or Gilly’s easy caring for others that allows her to read my knotted emotions? Whichever it is, she’s got me. The woman is a life lesson in herself. She’s proof love adds to success. It doesn’t weaken your drive to achieve, it fortifies you.
I dip my mouth as close as I can to Gilly’s ear without giving her a kiss. “I need your take on something, writers being keen on subtext and all.”
Her eyes widen and she gives a teeny “go on with you” nod.
Before I chicken out, I tap on the thread of Cian’s messages and hand her my phone. My heart races as she skims over his words.
“Someone’s groveling hard,” says Jack.
Gilly and I whip our heads to face him. My cheeks flame as hot as one of the propane-driven Tiki torches on Dash’s ridiculous boat party. The man’s helmet seemed to face away while the eyes inside locked on my texts.
I fight the instinct to hide my head in my hands. “Groveling, you say?”
Gilly chews her bottom lip. “There’s a definite build to his intention and a plea woven in.”
“But do you get the sense he’s genuine or is it more bumbering?”
Gilly’s face squinches up. “Bumbering?”
“Messing about with the truth. Deceiving. Pulling a fast one,” says Jack. “It’s from the play, ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’ I played Earnest in Dublin before Randy in 6B.”
“Please tell me there’s video.” She nudges him, then faces me. “Given the shit Cian pulled on you, it could go either way,” she says, handing me the cell. “Which way do you want it to go?”
There’s the question. I want Cian to have been straight with me. I want the nightmare of losing the show erased. I want to believe the connection between Cian and me was mutual and equally unsettling to both of us because it happened too fast. How can real materialize over days rather than weeks, or in our case, hours? I look between Jack and Gilly. Sometimes real shines brighter than time.
“Don’t discount the groveling,” says Jack. “It doesn’t top of our list of manly choices.”
“Which means,” I spin my hands in circles for him to elaborate.
“If Cian’s belly crawling, I’m betting he’s got something to say you might want to hear.”
Gears in my head that misery ground to a halt moan as they take the first precious turn toward full movement. Soon they’re back, spinning at full power.
Gilly grabs my hand. “I say talk to him, but trust your instinct to walk away if your bullshit meter hits red.”
“True enough.” Jack lifts his helmet far enough to give Gilly a quick kiss. He’s incognito again before anyone is the wiser of the star trooper’s identity.
They’re right. In a bizarre way, I’ve got the upper hand. Cian wants to talk to me, and I have an earful for the man. I will not accept a demotion and fade silently to the number two position, but I am willing to entertain the notion of an equal partnership. Cian’s experience is nothing to be scoffed at and tossed away, but neither is my investment in the show. The only way Cian Malley can redeem himself to me and not nullify what’s happened between us is for him to support my idea of a shared job title and responsibilities.
In creating the Ship of Dreams, the two of us proved to be a successful “we.”
Is “we” the same for him?
If it is, Dash Everett will need to be convinced Cian Malley should be by my side, not blocking me from view.
I press fingers into my temples. Can my ego and trust bear the idea of sharing?
Like two halves of a deck of cards shuffled into one neat stack, my time with Cian plays through my mind. When I tease each moment away from the rest, there is no stink of sabotage. His advice and support made me shine brighter. In retrospect, it feels not as if he were preparing me to take a fall but building me up to avoid a plunge.
“Two more minutes in this plastic hell and I’ll start throwing punches,” mutters Jack.
A trio of masked characters prance across the stage. Masks. Masquerade. Hidden truths. I’ll never discover why Cian didn’t come out with the truth from our start if I avoid a showdown with him. He owes me solid truths about the game he’s been playing with me. As daunting as a face-to-face with him feels, I see no alternate means of a path to keep me with the show.
Gilly threads her arm through Jack’s armor and rests her head on his shoulder. The silver bucket on his head rests against the top of her white metallic tiara.
What do I want in life, Gilly? I want to remain a part of The Chieftain’s Son for its entire run.
I reread Cian’s texts with the fresh perspective supplied by Jack and Gilly. Do I dare trust him? Do I risk playing the fool to try for what I want as my future? I’m sacrificing a massive slice of security to offer Cian a way back in. To open to the rare possibility of seeing if I could one day let the man into my life terrifies me, but my gut tells me to give it a go.
This massive risk I’m taking hinges on the Cian Malley I thought I’d come to know to be real.
“I’ve now realized for the first time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.”
I’ll be holding you to that, Mr. Malley.
Chapter 22
Ship of Dreams
Dozens of times throughout the night, my finger twitches to text or call Cian. I stay my course to face him in person at the Ship of Dreams panel. I need the chance to read his raw reaction to my plan of sharing the number one P.R. spot.
“You need me, Cian Malley. You need me, Dashell Everett.” I chant my new mantra on the way to the pre-panel gathering.
Security is double-teamed for the confluence of two massive shows. For a fleeting second when I flash my I.D. badge, I worry Dash slapped me on a banned list. Thankfully, I pass muster, receive a wristband, and enter the small gathering room from which we’ll be escorted under guard into Harborside Hall.
Deidre, Bobby, Jack, and Niks are hob-knobbing with the Star’s Shadow crowd. My gaze flicks from them over to the gaggle of True Time Network execs. I spot Dash. One of Cian’s assistants reviews info on a tablet with Sala Singh. Chip works the room, handing everyone a paddle with Jack and Niks on one side and Sala and Malachi, the couple from Star’s Shadow, on the other. Despite her ire at the panel being pulled out from under me, Deidre didn’t back out of moderator duties. Her devotion to the show and the characters she created won out in the end. She is the perfect pick to guide fans on the quest to decide who True Times’s quintessential love couple will be.
Bobby waves me over. I take a circuitous route through the crowd to troll for Cian. The man is a phantom. My element-of-surprise plan will be a bust if the object of the surprise is missing in action. There’s no logical scenario for why he isn’t here. I’ll bet he’s already in Harborside Hall, waiting to pounce on the name tags so his people land the most desirable positions on the dais, a Malley move I’m familiar with.
An arm threads through mine, and for a heart-stopping moment, I imagine it to be Cian. A full body flush rises from my toes to the top of my scalp. Gilly’s California accent brings me back to reality.
“Did you get a load of Doolin?” She jerks a chin to the corner of the room where he’s planted himself.
I bray out a laugh akin to one of Doolin’s adopted donkeys back at The Clan. “Have mercy.” Our resident Irish teacher/curmudgeon is decked out in a garish pink and purple Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, slip-on sandals he won’t get a lick of use out of back home, and an electric blue baseball cap with San Diego splashed across the front. I wonder if Deidre dressed him while he was asleep. I’ve never seen the man in anything but a dozen shades of dignified brown or gray.
Doolin’s getup takes a nibble out of my tension level. Since Gilly is well-versed in my Cian dilemma, I’m not shy to ask, “Have you seen Cian?”
Gilly does a rapid scan of the group and crinkles her nose. “He must be here.” She bumps my shoulder. “Maybe he’s scared of your right hook.”
Before the two of us shuffle over to The Chieftain’s Son folks, the call rings out it’s time to move the party into Harborside Hall. Adrenaline fountains through my core. Whatever my future with the show, I want to remember this moment. I own the triumph. I conceived this brilliant panel. Cian and I teamed up to flesh out details, but my beloved show wouldn’t be headed for Harborside Hall, the Mecca of Cali Con, without Meg McGrath. I have every right to be proud.
“Pictures, Meg,” says Gilly.
Too right she is. I take a series of shots with my phone of our march to glory. Gilly grabs my cell to include me in the photo spread.
We flow into Harborview Hall surrounded by security. Deidre and the two couples hover offstage of the dais while the rest of my team and the True Time contingent grab reserved seats in the first row.
I grab Gilly’s arm. “Sit with me.” If anyone had told me a week ago I’d cling to Gilly for support, I would’ve laughed them off.
Event center folks set out name tags on the dais. Niks and Jack claim the first two positions next to the moderator podium, the power seats. Is the placement our consolation prize from Cian?
I scan the first row, the base of the dais, and the True Time offstage throng. Cian is nowhere in sight. It’s then the rumble of the crowd resonates in my bones. I turn to take in the massive cathedral that is Harborside Hall. The seats fade so far into the darkness, there’s no spotting the end of them. Jumbo screens are placed at intervals from the dais to perch over the audience. Energy in the room sets my blood singing a victory tune. My darling show soared above the clouds in its first season.
Bobby sidles up next to me. “Well done, bringing us to the winner’s circle, Meg. Thank you.” My dear friend kisses my hand. “There’s an insane amount of people in line outside, hoping for seats. However high Dash set your bar, you’ve soared far above it. Don’t forget that.”
“Thank you, Bobby, for…” Words stick in my throat for a moment. “All of it.” He treats me to one of those Bobby Provost smiles that make you believe you’re top of the heap. What brilliant luck a small town Cahersiveen girl was granted passage on this journey. It’s glorious, and God willing, not over for me yet, even if I do have a bit of pride to swallow with my plan to share the reins with Cian.
Bobby’s eyes dart to Dash, who’s holding court with a cadre of men in ties. “Speak his name and the devil appears.”
I bump shoulder with him. “You sound more like my Gran every day.”
He laughs and leans close. “Heads up. Something’s brewing with the big boss in the form of a very large bee up his ass.”
“No ideas?”
Bobby shakes his head. “If he tries to rain any more shit on you, I’ve got your back.”
“Then I’m as safe as I can be. I think the Everett shitestorm has already done its worst to me,” I say, smiling. Dash knocked me down. The question is, will he accept my terms of getting back on my feet?
My moment of comradery with Bobby is overshadowed as pandemonium shakes the walls of Harborside Hall. Our two power couples and The Chieftain’s Son North Star, Deidre LaRochelle, are introduced and take their place on the dais. A trio of serious movie cameras capture every moment. My mind races with the publicity opportunities this panel will spawn, then stops with an abrupt halt, a runaway car colliding with a brick wall.
None of these ideas will matter if I can’t find Cian and set the wheels in motion for me to stay with the show.
Deidre’s got the crowd eating from her hand before she’s done with her preamble. She takes off, posing the series of questions Cian and I wrote to pit Donal Cam and Nieve against Starry Night and Event Horizon. A tally chart appears in the lower right corner of the screens. So far, the couples are in a dead heat. A draft flutters across my skin as fans behind me raise paddles en masse to answer Deidre’s latest “best” question. I swivel to see the smiling faces of Niks and Jack on a stick inches from my nose.
“And The Chieftain’s Son scores another win for most swoonworthy male lead,” Deidre announces. A chant of “Donal Cam. Donal Cam,” breaks out on the left side of the hall, quickly answered by “Event Horizon. Event Horizon,” in a pocket near the center. The crowd is as completely sucked into the competition between the True Time power couples as I knew they would be. My Ship of Dreams panel claims the heart of every romantic and, dare I say, skeptic in the room.
“And now,” says Deidre. “Let’s talk kissing.”
The floor vibrates beneath my feet as stomping provides percussion to the chorus of hoots and cheers behind me. Deidre prompts the couples for their input on the topic.
Niks waves her hands. “Oh, no, Deidre. I never kiss and tell.” She rests her head on Jack’s shoulder, gazing up at him with those huge, round, blue Scandinavian eyes. Thank goodness Gilly laughs.
“Oh, but we do,” chirps Sala Singh as she pulls Malakai Bono into a kiss that would curl anyone’s toes.
Pockets of both boos and hurrahs erupt in geysers throughout the hall.
Deidre, master of the game, salutes the Star’s Shadow couple. “Fine acting, you two.” She deftly negates their PDA and refocuses the crowd to our team. “Now Jack and Niks, back to”—she plays to her audience—“How do you folks say it, IRL?” She winks. “Rumor has it, Jack, there’s a certain special event on your horizon with a lovely lady.”
Gilly isn’t laughing now. Neither am I, despite Deidre’s clever name play of Star’s Shadow leading man, she’s gone too far off book. Oh, God no. Do not mention Jack’s slip of the lip about having a fiancé. Social media’s already splattered with the false lead.
To my surprise, it’s Niks who waves her hands wildly as if to ward off Deidre’s insinuation. She pushes Jack away. “No, no. Don’t put my horse in the cart.”
The audience roars at her misuse of the phrase.
Niks looks puzzled. “No? My horse isn’t in the cart.” She turns to Deidre. “Who’s in the cart?”
I thoroughly enjoy Niks’s deflection of the fiancé issue until a hand rests on my shoulder.
Dashell Everett looms over me, blocking my view of the dais. “A word, Meghan.” He nods toward the side of the room near the door we came in.
Holy God. Has the hour of my sentencing come? Did Cian confirm I said to fuck off his offer of the number two position? My mind races to our confrontation at the True Time party. Did I say anything irreparable?
Damn Cian for not being here. He’s turned coward, unable to watch Dash give me the boot. Damn the man for not giving me the chance to paint a different scenario for our future than the one dictated by Dashell Everett. Damn me for playing the fool and not calling Cian as soon as I came up with my new plan.
I do a decent acting job as I casually stroll with Dash into the shadows near the wall. Anger crosses Bobby’s face, and he rises from his seat as we pass. With a curt shake of my head, I keep him from following. This is my battle to win or lose. If I hide behind Bobby, any power I may gain will bear the taint of dependence. Such a chink in my armor spells potential to be exploited by the likes of Dashell Everett in the future.
Dash can’t keep from fidgeting when we reach the edge of the room. He runs a hand through his hair as he shifts from foot to foot. I’ve never seen the cool exec display nerves. It’s bloody unsettling.
“Meghan,” he says, then clears his throat as if he swallowed down the wrong pipe.
I play the counterpoint to his unease and feign nonchalance as if I haven’t a care in the world. I’m on the brink of making a play to push my way into a role on the show I can live with, working by Cian Malley’s side, not under him. Bless the darkness of Harborview Hall for hiding my face when I imagine being under Cian.
