Fifteen

It was never my intention to make you look foolish. For the next two weeks, Jake’s comment sticks in my mind. I would have considered it an outright insult, were it not for the regretful tone of voice he employed when delivering it. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if I am being too hard on him. I mean, is it really his fault that he just happens to be around when bad or embarrassing things happen to me? Perhaps I should forgive him—and mean it this time.

The problem is, now that I actually want to see him, he’s nowhere to be found. I spot him at the final debate in Albuquerque, but after it’s over, I can’t seem to catch up with him. He moves through the crowd smoothly and swiftly, with only a few cursory glances in my direction; it’s almost as if he’s avoiding me.

But tonight will be different, I tell myself as I stand in front of the mirror in my suite at the Bellagio Hotel. That’s because tonight is the night of the MTV Movie Awards. It’s funny how the event I was dreading so much just a few short weeks ago has now become something I’m desperately looking forward to. I figure that if Jake and I are appearing on stage together, that means I’ll be able to command his attention for at least a few minutes, which should be all the time I need to offer up my belated yet sincere acceptance of his apology.

As I dab some perfume on my wrists and behind my ears, my thoughts turn from Jake to Chris. Just the thought of him is enough to make my heart start beating a little bit faster. Another pre-debate hotel-room tryst in Albuquerque marked the first time we’d been together since our self-imposed separation and, perhaps because it had been so long since the last time, things escalated pretty quickly. I can feel us heading for the inevitability of sex, but I’m not sure the timing is right. I do want to sleep with him, more than anything, but part of me can’t help but wonder if it wouldn’t be better to wait until after the election is over, when we no longer have to hide. Only complicating matters is the fact that tonight is our first official “date”—Chris has volunteered to be my escort for the Movie Awards (telling Suzette that it was important for him to cover the mingling of pop culture and politics at the awards for his magazine). Of course, it’s not as if it’s a real date (after all, we still can’t be openly affectionate with each other in public), but Chris and I are treating it as one, as it’s the closest thing we’ll get for the time being.

I’m just picking up my necklace when I hear a knock on the door. I open it to find Chris in a black suit and a crisp, open-collared white shirt.

“Very nice,” I say of his outfit.

“Likewise,” he responds, taking in my baby-blue vintage strapless party dress. I discovered it nearly a year ago in a thrift shop in Providence, and I’ve been waiting for the perfect occasion to wear it. Luckily, Suzette’s Nazi wardrobing techniques seem confined strictly to high-profile political events, so she let me choose my own outfit for the MTV Awards.

“I’ve just got to put my necklace on,” I tell him.

“Here, let me,” he says, taking it from my hand and circling around behind me. His hands graze my collarbone as he sweeps the necklace around my neck. After he clasps it, he bends down and kisses me softly on the shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he whispers.

I swivel my head around and meet his gaze. For a second, I forget about the Movie Awards altogether, and I’m on the verge of telling him to just carry me to the bed, but reality comes crashing back in when he pulls his eyes away from mine and says, “We should get going.”

I nod resignedly, and we leave the room. In the back of the limo on our way to the hotel where the awards are being held, Chris absentmindedly lets his hand slip under the hemline of my dress and run along my thigh. Looking out the window at the kaleidoscope of neon lights, I start to think that perhaps, despite my earlier bout of indecision, the end of this night is a foregone conclusion.

At the awards, Chris uses his press pass to get backstage so he can wait with me before my segment. We’re sitting together on a couch in the green room, watching the many stars of the MTV galaxy mill around, when Jake walks in.

“Abbot! What the hell are you doing here?” he greets Chris as he plops down on the couch next to me.

“Oh, you know,” Chris says nonchalantly over my head, “just gathering material for my story.”

Jake looks thoughtful. “This is what we’re paying you to do? Hang out backstage with the beautiful people? I think I might have to have a talk with your editor when I get back to New York.”

“No way, man,” Chris responds with a smile. “This is hard work!”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Jake mutters, glancing at me. I attempt a smile, but he just looks away. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he tells us, “Well, I’m going to go mingle. Catch you guys later.”

As he gets up, he and Chris do the patented guy high-five/handshake hybrid thing. He doesn’t even look at me before he walks off. Great. So much for having a meaningful discussion. I guess I probably should have said something when I had my chance, but I felt uncomfortable bringing it up in front of Chris. Although I’m ashamed to think it because he’s been so nice and wonderfully attentive, I almost wish Chris would leave so I’d have a chance to talk to Jake.

My wish is granted a short while later when he gets up, announcing that he’s going to try and grab some quotes from the politically minded actors and musicians in attendance. As soon as he leaves the green room, I make a beeline for Jake, who is standing in the corner, chatting up Skylar Williams, the teen actress/party girl darling of the moment. I stand nearby patiently, waiting for them to finish. Skylar keeps shooting me dirty looks as she fawns over Jake. Finally, she flounces away, and Jake turns around, looking surprised to find me standing there.

“Jake, look,” I say quickly, before he can hesitate or offer up some excuse to avoid me again. “There’s something I need to say to you. A few weeks ago, you said to me that you had been unforgivably rude to me during this campaign. And while I can’t help but agree with that statement, I—”

“Jake, Julia, there you are,” a breathless woman dressed all in black and wearing headset rushes up to us and pre-empts my big moment of forgiveness. “We’ve got to get you two ready to go onstage,” she says, grabbing each of us by the arm and ushering us toward the door.

“Now?” I ask incredulously. I can’t believe the time has flown by so quickly; it seems like I arrived only moments ago.

The MTV producer shepherds us to another area just off the side of the stage, where we wait for our cue to go on. After performing my mandatory pre-event skirt check, I turn back to Jake, who’s been noticeably stoic since we left the green room.

“Listen,” I whisper, “what I was trying to say back there was, yes, even though you’ve kind of made my life on the campaign trail somewhat of a living hell, I think that maybe—”

“Jake, Julia, you’re on!” the producer hisses, cutting me off once again.

“Damn it!” I say under my breath as I follow Jake onto the stage. At this rate, I might never get to say what I want to say to him. As we make our way to the podium amidst the cheers, I take a deep breath and decide to forget about my twice-interrupted confession and just focus on reading my lines from the teleprompter.

“Well, Julia, it’s been a rough campaign,” Jake says after the audience’s cheers die down, kicking off the banter that’s been scripted for us by the oh-so-witty MTV writers.

“Indeed,” I agree, turning my head away from the teleprompter to look at him coyly, as I’m instructed. “Full of backbiting, mudslinging, dirty tricks…”

“But now we’re here at the MTV Movie Awards to hand out the award for Best Kiss,” he continues, “so I think it’s high time we kiss and make up.”

As he’s delivering his line, I’m scanning the teleprompter to see what I have to say next. Horrified, I see that it’s instructing me to kiss Jake. After my initial shock wears off, I think ruefully that I really should have expected this. It’s practically tradition at the MTV Awards that the Best Kiss presenters will make out on stage. I guess I was hoping maybe they would make an exception for Jake and me. But, as he puts his arm around me and his face starts to move toward mine, I see that not only is MTV not planning on making an exception, Jake certainly isn’t either. There’s no way I’m letting Jake Bennett’s lips touch mine under any circumstances, so I do the first thing that pops into my head.

Putting my hand up to his face, I gently push him back while smiling sweetly at the audience. When he opens his eyes and gives me a confused look, I cock my head and say in my most smart-alecky tone, “Maybe you should just kiss my ass.” I turn and smirk at the audience, and they go crazy.

Glancing over at Jake, I see that he seems stunned by my sudden ad-lib, so I jump right into reading the list of nominees without looking at him again. After we present the award, he strides off the stage ahead of me without a glance back. I’m hurrying after him down the hallway to the green room, when he suddenly stops and, grabbing my arm, pulls me to one side.

“What the hell was that about?” he hisses. It’s the most he’s said to me in two weeks, and while I’m a bit relieved to find that he no longer seems to be ignoring me, I’m not overly delighted that his voice has returned to its usual tone of anger.

My planned gesture of humility moves to the back burner as I snap back, “I’m sorry, Jake. I came here tonight with the intent to make amends with you, but kissing you? That’s just going a little too far. I mean, I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“What do you mean, you came here to make amends with me?” he asks, studying me critically.

“I meant,” I say huffily, “that I’ve been giving your apology a lot of thought, and I had decided that I should give you the benefit of the doubt. But now I’m not so sure. It’s obvious you’re still the same jerk you always were.”

I whip around with the intent to storm off in a dramatic fashion, but Jake cries, “Julia, wait!” He grabs my arm again, and his hand stays on my elbow until I give him a pointed look and he removes it.

“Look, maybe there’s something I can do to make it up to you,” he says.
“I’m listening,” I tell him, cocking my head to one side.

“I know you’re going to be in San Francisco for a couple of days next week,” he says. “And I’ll be there at the same time for some events. So what do you say we do one final campaign appearance together? No dirty tricks, just a fair debate about the issues.” He looks at me expectantly. When I hesitate, he adds, “We’ll even do it at Berkeley. Your father’s now-infamous alma mater,” he clarifies with a little smirk. “I’m giving you the homefield advantage; you can’t turn that down.”

I shoot him a derisive look for the Berkeley comment, but I finally relpy, “You’re on. I’ll have my press secretary call your press secretary.”

“Perfect,” he says, beaming at me.

Together, we head back to the green room, where I find Chris sitting on one of the couches, looking terminally bored.

“Having fun?” I ask, plopping down next to him. I’m about to lean over and plant a kiss on his cheek, but I remember just in time where I am.

“Tons,” he replies with a sarcastic twinge. “You wouldn’t believe the fascinating insights teen stars have on politics.”

“I can only imagine,” I say, laughing. I lean in close to him and whisper sexily, “You wanna get out of here?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he whispers back, his eyes twinkling as they meet mine.

As we get up to leave, I hear Jake yell our names from across the room. We stop in the doorway, and he races over to meet us.

“Are you guys leaving?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Chris says as I nod. “I’ve had about as much high-brow culture as I can stand for one night.”

Jake chuckles before protesting, “But you’re going to miss all the after-parties. That’s the best part about these shows.”

“We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” I tell him, adding, “Some of us actually have a campaign to run, you know.”

He gives me a scornful look then says, “Suit yourselves.” He and Chris exchange good-byes, and we head out to our limo.

As soon as the driver shuts the door behind us, we practically attack each other with lust. We’re each starting to rip into the other’s clothes when I cry, “Wait!”
Chris pulls back and looks at me, alarmed.

“Maybe we should save some of this for when we’re back at the hotel,” I explain.

He raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“I’d like you to stay the night.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can second-guess them. “Do you want to?”

“Do I want to?” Chris repeats incredulously, his eyes widening. “Oh my God, yes.” He slides back across the seat and kisses me sweetly.

When we arrive back at the Bellagio, we walk through the lobby, barely able to take our eyes off each other and nearly crashing into potted plants and slot machines as a result. We reach my suite and, as I slip the key into the slot, we smile at each other in giddy anticipation.

I enter the room, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that Chris isn’t following me. I turn around to see him hesitating in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, the concern in my voice apparent.

“Well…” he begins, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should come back in a little while. There could be security cameras, and we don’t want to arouse suspicion.”

“The cameras are only in the casino,” I tell him, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“I’ll be back in half an hour, OK?” he says reassuringly, and I nod, handing him the key. He’s probably right, I think as I shut the door behind him. And even if he’s not, it can’t hurt to take as many precautions as possible. It would be a shame to ruin what promises to be an incredibly blissful night with a premature outing of our relationship.

Plus, I tell myself brightly as I walk back across the room, this gives me plenty of time to prepare. Rifling through my suitcase, I briefly curse myself for being the type of girl for whom “lingerie” means black cotton bikini underwear. Then again, even if I weren’t that type of girl, would I really have tons of sexy undergarments with me on the campaign trail? After all, it’s not like I really expected to be in a situation where they might be required.

In light of my lack of suitably enticing lingerie, I decide to opt for the next best thing (or perhaps the first best thing, depending on who you ask): nothing at all. Slipping on one of the hotel robes, I sit on the edge of the huge jacuzzi bathtub, filling it up with water and sweet-smelling bubbles. There are a couple of candles sitting on the sink, and I light them before slipping off my robe and climbing into the tub to wait for Chris.

A few minutes later, I hear the sound of the door opening and Chris’s footsteps padding across the suite. He finally makes it to the bathroom, and his jaw drops at the sight of me sitting in the tub, bathed in candlelight and (partially) covered in bubbles.

“Wow,” he breathes, and a smile spreads across my face.

He kneels down next to the tub and, taking my face in his hand, kisses me softly. As our kisses steadily grow more passionate, I grab his shirt and pull him, fully clothed, into the tub with me. Water sloshes onto the floor, and Chris lets out a surprised laugh.

“You’re crazy,” he says, shaking the water out of his hair. Right before he leans in to kiss me again, he gives me a look of such complete adoration that there’s no doubt in my mind that the decision I’ve made is the right one.