Love Song

Tabloid Drama

    My name and picture is splashed over the cover of every tabloid the next morning. Each one is laid out neatly on the table when I come down the stairs to the kitchen table for breakfast. My legs still ache from the performance the night before. I would have a hard time getting up enough motivation to hit the gym before noon. I skim over a few of the headlines: “SAPPHIRE ROSE - QUEEN OF POP”, “TOPLESS AND FEARLESS - SAPPHIRE ROSE DOES IT AGAIN”, and “SAPPHIRE AND JUSTIN SPLITTING UP AT LAST?”

    I toss the last one back down on the table without another glance. Somehow, the paparazzi managed to snap a few pics of me without my top last night. My breasts were blurred out in the image, but it was still obvious. I shrug and take a bite of my buttered wheat toast. A bright colored magazine on my left catches my eye. I audibly gasp, though there’s no one else in the room with me to hear it. The most recent Vogue must have just come out, and my gorgeous, albeit airbrushed, face is gracing its cover this month. I pull it out of the pile and touch the glossy cover. The photographer caught my face at just the right angle, bringing out my sharp features. My lips are slightly parted, painted a rich red. I look hot, I decide, grinning smugly. 

    My cell phone chimes, interrupting my narcissus moment. I put it to my ear, spearing a piece of cantaloupe and tossing it in my mouth.

    “Hello?” I say.

    “Hey! Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Oh my, God, did you see your Vogue cover this morning?”

    Helena. My agent and surrogate mother since my real mother passed away last year.

    “I just saw it. I can’t even believe how amazing it turned out. Seriously,” I squeal, tucking my legs under me on the chair. 

    “Ugh, please, you are the most beautiful woman I know. Stop it,” Helena says.

    I roll my eyes.

    “You have to say that, you’re my agent.”

    “Regardless, honey, you look incredible. The whole photoshoot makes me wanna go get lipo and implants right now before I die of humiliation next to you,” she says.

    The ridiculous thing about that statement is that Helena can’t weigh much more than I do. Yes, she is a bit older, but still beautiful for her age. There’s nothing I would tell her to change about herself. Or any other woman for that matter. My fame depended in part on my ability to remain hot even as I get older and my body starts to wear down. The closer I get to thirty, the harder it is to crawl out of bed every morning. And the beating I give myself while on tour only makes it worse.

    “So, what’s on the schedule for today, Helena?” I ask.

    “Nothing this morning. You know I try to keep your AMs free the day after your concerts. This afternoon, however, you’re doing a live radio interview over the phone with DJ Krew at WROQ. That’s at 2 o’clock. You have an optional dinner theater invite for tonight, but it’s not mandatory. If you decide to attend, however, I have a couple designer dress options lined up just in case,” Helena explains.

    “Always so prepared,” I reply.

    “That’s what you pay me for, my dear,” she says.

    “Okay. Interview at two. Dinner theater tonight--let me think about it and get back to you. I’ve gotta go work out after this. I’ll see what Justin’s schedule is for tonight. I don’t really want to go solo right now with the stories they’re running in the tabloids.”

    “Got it. Call me later. Have a good workout,” Helena says before hanging up.

    I take a sip of orange juice before going down the hall to my personal gym. My trainer only shows up three days a week, and thankfully, today isn’t one of them. I don’t think I can take the added pressure of Ivan yelling for me to push harder this morning. One advantage of working out in your own gym, you don’t have to worry about what you wear while you workout. This morning, I’m in worn out black shorts and an old holey t-shirt. Pulling myself onto the elliptical, I start climbing, getting my feet into a steady rhythm. I grab the remote and turn up the background music, letting it take over my thoughts for the first few minutes.

    After thirty minutes go by, my muscles are screaming for a break. I step off the elliptical and grab a water bottle from the fridge by the door. My phone chimes again, this time it’s a text message from Cal. I grin as I think back to the night before. 

    Good morning. Wyd?

    I text back a quick reply, my fingers swiping across the keypad furiously.

    Morning. Just finished working out. About to take a hot shower…

    I realize my lie doesn’t actually sound like such a bad idea. I walk slowly towards the master bath as I read his next text.

    Mmm...Wish I was there. 

    Not paying attention, I almost run into the bathroom door while typing out a reply.

    Me too, baby. Last night was so much fun...I didn’t want it to end.

    I flip on the light and glance around the sparkling clean master bath. The massive spa tub in the corner sits propped up, requiring two steps to get into it. I pass the clear glass shower on the right and go immediately to the tub to turn the water on. I toss in a couple bath bombs to soak in while I relax. I snap a quick pic to post on my Insta with the caption: “Hot workout requires a Hot Bath afterwards”. Knowing that I’ll get plenty of comments and likes from that, I click to post it with no filter needed.

    What are you doing later? Cal’s text comes through then.

    Might be going to a show. Not sure yet.

    That’s too bad. I’m free tonight and I wanted to taste you again.

    I bite my lip at the thought. Part of me hopes Justin can’t attend the dinner-theater production, so I can play hooky with Cal. Either way, I know I’ll get lucky tonight. Neither of them have it in them to deny my salacious desires. Besides, they both love how much of a s****l appetite I have. I can never get enough.

    Well, I’ll let you know if my evening opens up, shall I?

    Please do. And while you’re in the bath, do something for me?

    What?

    Don’t even think about touching yourself.

    Why not?!

    It’s all a game, I know. The illusion that Cal has some kind of claim over my free will. I do things for him and with him that I wouldn’t dream of doing with Justin. They’re both s****l spectrum opposites. They each satisfy a different part of me, one of them light, the other dark. I play along with Cal’s games as a willing participant, knowing it will payoff in my favor later.

    Because I said so. Gotta go babygirl. 

    I don’t bother sending a reply. Anytime Cal says he has to go, it’s pointless to try to extend the conversation. Being a realtor in LA is like being a surgeon at a hospital. He has to be on call all the time, day or night, for his clients. It’s a competitive market, but he knows how to compete. He’s not afraid to use his good looks to close a deal. 

    Slipping out of my gym clothes, I ease my body into the deep, hot bubbling water in the bathtub. Goosebumps form all over my skin. The bath bombs have turned the water different shades of pink and purple. I lean my back against the wall of the tub. I angle my phone just right and snap another pic, this time posting it to Insta and f*******:. I alternate where I post my content, ensuring I keep my followers on all platforms hungry for more. The tops of my breasts are just barely showing above the water in the picture. That will definitely get some attention.

    No sign of Justin yet this morning, but this is pretty standard. He’s most likely in his study working on his next book. It’s where he spends most of his days now. I flip through pages of comments on my Insta, loving how many of them are complementary to my looks. I got a few haters from the lack of after party last night, but I scroll past these, trying to ignore them. But then, in between a comment full of heart emojis and another comment of clapping hands, I see a comment in all caps, longer than most of the others. It catches my eye, so I read it all the way through instead of skimming like I usually do.

    YOU’RE A WHORING b***h. YOU DESERVE EVERY OUNCE OF UNHAPPINESS THAT COMES YOUR WAY. YOU WILL DIE ALONE IN A CAGE OF YOUR OWN SELFISHNESS. STUPID w***e!!!!!!!

    I sit up so quickly, the water in the tub threatens to spill over the sides. It’s rare that I see comments this vehemently cruel. The username is unfamiliar to me. I click on their profile, but their picture is some generic comic character. I click to report their comment and block them. Not that it will do much, considering they could just create a new one and follow me again. But it makes me feel better for the moment. 

    Feeling sick to my stomach now, I get out of the tub quickly. I open the drain and wrap one of my soft white robes around myself to keep warm. Water drips in my wake as I walk to the bedroom. I climb under the covers and hide there like a child trying to keep the monsters away. I hear the door open a few minutes later, but I don’t move out of my cocoon.

   “What are you doing under there?” Justin asks, peeling back the thick layers of blankets.

   The sheets are soaking wet from my hair, but I don’t even care. 

    “I’m wallowing,” I say, pouting.

    “Self pity doesn’t suit you,” he says, grabbing my hands and lifting me up off the bed. 

    “It does for the moment,” I say, pushing out my lower lip. 

    “What’s wrong?” He asks.

    I pull up the screenshot I took of the nasty i********: comment I received and show it to him. Justin reads it, his smile turning quickly into a frown.

    “Did you report them?” He asks.

    I nod.

    “And blocked them. I’m just feeling a bit down now,” I say, leaning my head against his chest and getting his shirt wet in the process.

    “Rosalyn, we’ve talked about this. You can’t let every internet troll bring you down,” Justin says.

    “I know.”

    “Do you want me to cancel my signing tonight? We can stay home and eat junk food if that will cheer you up,” he says, putting his fingertip under my chin and lifting it to meet his gaze.

    “You have a signing? Tonight?” I ask.

    “Yeah, out in Thousand Oaks. So, I’ll have to leave pretty early.”

    “No, don’t cancel it. I’ll be fine,” I lie.

    “Alright. If you change your mind, let me know.”

    Justin kisses me soft and quick on the forehead before getting up and leaving the room. Back to his study. I pull out my phone to text Cal, but realize he’s probably still busy with a client. I check the time. My interview with WROQ is in a little over an hour. I decide to get dressed and head downstairs to review the questions they will be asking me and get prepped.