6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

MY LITTLE TURNIP, A MAYOR'S WIFE

Sneaking around Rivers' house at midnight was not my idea of a good time. Hell, I wasn't even sure why we needed to take such drastic measures to remain incognito, but Brenda- the drama queen -Carole had been insistent.

"What if the paparazzi get a shot of you and Rivers?" she'd asked earlier that afternoon. "Those pictures could go viral, and the whole damn storyline would be ruined."

As we tiptoed through his perfectly manicured lawn like a gaggle of home intruders, I worried one of his neighbors might spot us and call the police. On top of that, we were in a red state. Lord knew their motto was shoot first, ask questions later.

We truly looked like the motliest of crews. Jordan was wearing all black, in a sweatshirt with BALENCIAGA slashed across the front in bright, neon-green lettering. For pants, he'd selected a pair of black jeans that clung so tightly to his thighs, it was a wonder he could even walk. He was wearing black sneakers, which would have been fine, except he'd purchased ones that lit up when he walked, sending rainbow-colored beams of light across the yard.

Behind him, Preston was in a pair of ill-fitted overalls and a baby-blue, button-down shirt. Suddenly they stalled behind Aunt Lurlene, and when I turned around, Jordan was bent over, picking a flower out of Rivers' garden. He poked it into the pocket of my father's overalls, and the full moon lit up Preston's reddening cheeks like a spotlight. My father coughed nervously and turned his gaze to a patch of grass in the distance, pointing.

"I think Mayor Rivera's got himself a mole problem," Preston said before clearing his throat.

"The entire lawn looks like something out of Better Homes I couldn't be held responsible for my lingering gazes.

When he returned, he was holding a glass of water and a handful of little brown pills. "These won't get you high, but they'll help with the pain. I don't like the idea of you taking someone else's prescription. You could get hurt."

"For fuck's sake, it's just a Vicodin. Chill." I snatched the pills and tossed them into my mouth. What I had assumed was water turned out to be a flavor explosion. It was crisp and sweet, with an almost fruitlike flavor. I eyed the glass, then Rivers.

"I do wish he'd watch his mouth," Aunt Lurlene said to Jordan. She took a seat in the plush recliner on the other side of the coffee table. "You'd think he was brought up by Protestants with the way he cusses."

"I don't know what this is," I said. "But it's probably the single-greatest thing to ever touch my tongue."

Jordan took a seat on the sofa to my right, flicking on his tablet screen. "The boys back home will be devastated, I'm sure."

"Lemon rosewater," Rivers said. "It's Beau's favorite." He stared into the kitchen. "I'm sorry about all of that. It's not the first impression I'd been hoping for. I take it you're not too fond of Fudge at the moment?"

"Too much sugar," I said. "I'm good, thanks."

He laughed, resting his hand against the back of my head and gently stroking the spot that had almost been crushed in by his grill. I could have slapped his hand away if I'd wanted, but he'd probably just put it right back.

"Fudge is the pig," he clarified, staring apologetically toward the crate. "He's a good boy, really. It just takes him a second to open up to new people. He'll love you before long, I just know it."

Aunt Lurlene cleared her throat, and when Rivers and I broke eye contact, all three of them were staring at me with ranging expressions. Jordan had a subtle smirk. Preston looked absolutely bewildered. As for Aunt Lurlene? Somewhere along the way, she'd shapeshifted into a real-life embodiment of the heart-eyed emoji.

I looked away, hoping the heat spreading across my cheeks wasn't too noticeable. There was a picture frame on the coffee table, and when I reached for it, Rivers brushed my hand away and grabbed the picture for me.

"Careful," he warned affectionately. "You're still shaken up, Firecracker. Don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I can reach for a picture frame, Riv. I'm not completely helpless."

In the photo, Rivers and a woman were standing in front of a church. He was wearing a tux that clung to him like a second skin. He didn't look much younger than he did now, so I knew it couldn't have been more than a few years old. The woman was wearing a white gown—strapless, showing off her golden shoulders. Her makeup was simple, wearing just a bit of foundation and a layer of maroon lipstick. She wore her hair in a beautiful updo, and there was a small silver tiara resting in the center. In the middle of the tiara was a purple gemstone, just like the one I'd been given when I was crowned Muscadine Queen.

There was a kid standing in front of them, maybe three or four years old. Despite both of their gleeful grins, the kid looked completely put-out by the entire situation. He had his arms crossed against his chest, and his nails were digging into his jacket. He wore a tux that matched Rivers', but the jacket was unbuttoned, and his shirt was untucked. I was pretty sure there was a strawberry Twizzler poking out of his pocket.

"Cute kid," I said.

"That's Beau," he said, tapping the boy's face. "He wasn't too happy that morning because he had to miss his cartoons, but he came around in the end."

"Came around to what?"

"The wedding," he said. "We didn't get married until he turned four. We'd always planned on it, but then something would come up and we'd just put it off." His finger moved from his son's face to the woman's. "This is Sabrina."

"Sabrina," I said, trying to place her. "She looks familiar."

"She moved here when me and you were in senior year. She was two grades below us. She won Muscadine Queen after you left. Beau's got her crown up in his room. He likes to wear it sometimes."

"Maybe I'll bring mine out of retirement and we can all show them off in town sometime," I said. "So, you're married?"

He shook his head. "She died last year." His voice cracked on the words. He sniffed in a heavy breath and plastered on his politician's smile to hide away the hurt.

"I'm sorry." I knew the words weren't much, but I meant them. We may not have been friends, but I wasn't a monster. I was fully capable of basic human empathy. He tugged the frame out of my hand and set it back on the coffee table, but he didn't move from his place in front of me.

"She was a big fan of yours. Beau is, too. We used to play your band's albums around the house, so you guys were something we all shared. It was almost like you were part of the family. I think that's why Beau's still so enamored with you."

"Well, he has impeccable taste. I have to give him that. I have a very lovely face—or so I've been told."

"Yup." He licked his lips. "Why do you think I'm still so enamored with you?" He smiled, opening his mouth to continue, but whatever he was planning on saying died on his lips when the doorbell rang, and the sound caused a chain reaction. Rivers jerked his hand away and stood up, rushing for the door. In the kitchen, Fudge oinked, attempting to exit by throwing himself against the crate walls. Clearly, he wasn't the pick of the litter, because the gate wasn't even latched. As Fudge continued frantically trying to escape his easily-escapable pen, somewhere upstairs, a child screamed. In the hallway, Brenda/Carole's heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she ranted about walking into absolute pandemonium.

"I don't know what the hell is going on here," she said. "But I can assure you, I don't like it." She came to an abrupt halt when she spotted me wincing in pain and rubbing the back of my head. "We're not going to pretend you have a brain tumor for a storyline, so you can chill with the theatrics, Meryl Streep." She spun on her heel and stomped toward the rocking chair beside the fireplace. Darting her eyes in a disastrous Bermuda Triangle of sorts, they shifted between the seat, the coffee table, and Rivers himself. "Aren't southerners supposed to be gentlemen? I'm not sitting half a mile away from the men of the hour."

He grabbed the chair and brought it closer, setting it beside the coffee table. "Is this better?"

She eyed the chair before nodding her approval and plopping down. Unfortunately, Rivers wasn't fast enough, and the chair's arch rocked forward, smashing his foot.

"Son of a gun!"

The second the arc rocked back, he was able to remove himself from the chair's line of fire, and he clunkily hobbled back toward the loveseat. He plopped down, crossing his leg over his thigh and rubbing his foot. Without thought, I swatted his hand away and pulled his bare foot onto my lap, gently rubbing it in hopes of alleviating a bit of his pain. He'd comforted me and my aching ass earlier. The least I could do was rub his fractured foot.

"I can feel the heat from here. I knew this was a good idea." Brenda/Carole laid her messenger bag on her lap and unzipped. Once opened, she pulled out three manilla envelopes. She chucked one directly at Jordy. Thankfully, Preston was able to intercept it before the gargantuan packet of papers took out an eyeball. She tossed a second packet to me, but my hands were busy introducing themselves to Rivers' foot, and the unnecessarily heavy file crashed into the center of my forehead.

"Why?" I cried. "You could have just handed it to me. We're less than three feet away."

"Where's the fun in that, cupcake?"

"You okay, Firecracker?" Rivers said, placing his hand on top of mine, fusing me to his foot.

"About as 'okay' as your face looks," I said.

"That good?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, snapping a picture of his agonized expression before holding it out for him to see.

"Well, at least we're broken together."

"Love is in the air," Brenda/Carole sang. "Alright, I'd like you to open your packets to page one. We don't have much time, so I figured we could take turns reading aloud."

"Jesus on the cross, can you just summarize it?" I said.

"My assistant spent five hours compiling this today. I think the least we can do is…" She sighed, flinging her own packet over her shoulder, sending papers raining down. "Fine. You win, but I expect you to take that damn paperwork home and study it like scripture. Both of our careers depend on it."

"Sure," I said, planning to do nothing of the sort.

"Phillip and I were speaking earlier," she announced to the room. "What we've captured so far has been great. The town setting is stunning, and we've got ourselves an eclectic cast." She pointed at Aunt Lurlene and winked. "You and your wigs? Perfection. More of that, please." Jordan was next to receive a finger aimed in his direction. "You too, kid. Your sass knows no bounds." Finally, her attention landed on Preston. "But you? Listen, you're giving me nothing. You just sit there sulking half the time, and when you're not pouting, you're just all-around off-putting. I'm going to be honest with you; you've been a real thorn in my side."

"The hell are you talking about?" he grumbled. "I ain't even been on camera."

"Call it a wild guess. You've got this general sense of unlikability, and the viewers will be able to smell it from a mile off. I would have recast you already, but the only person that even closely resembles Phillip is the pilot who flew us in, and Phillip eye-fucks him anytime he's around. Trust me, our viewers love a good queer romance arc, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say they're probably going to draw the line at pseudo-incest."

"Oh my God, I do not," I groaned, hiding my face in the closest barrier I could find. Unfortunately, it was Rivers' chest, and I jerked my head away just as quickly as contact had been made. "Hands to yourself, Rivers Rivera."

"You leaned against me," Rivers said, smirking. "Maybe you ought to keep your hands to your self." He eyed me up and down. "Or you can stay where you are. Your call."

"So…" Brenda/Carole said. "Full disclosure: this is my first foray into reality television. I'm sure I'm probably crossing hundreds of boundaries by even suggesting we stage scenes, but I'm even more sure that I don't give a damn. We need this show to be a success."

"What do you mean, staging scenes?" Rivers said.

"Phillip and I came up with a solution, but we'd like all of your input. A meeting of the mindless, if you will."

"What the hell did she just say?" Preston said, sulking like a petulant child.

"Language," Aunt Lurlene scolded. "You've been getting really lax with that mouth of yours around your new boyfriend, Preston. Don't think I won't wash it out with soap while he watches."

"Boyfriend?" Preston said.

"Ignore her," Jordan said. "Bernadette, I mean. Not Grandmama. You'll want to listen to her." He tweaked my father's cheek. "I'd hate to see you bent over the sink with a mouthful. " He waggled his eyebrows at him, scratching lightly at his beard. Preston scoffed and slapped his hand away.

"Stop that. Stop it," Preston said.

"First off!" Brenda/Carole said, trying to regain everyone’s attention. "We're going to need something to set the mood. If we're going to expect them to believe this, we'll need to build up your chemistry."

"Who's chemistry?" Rivers asked.

"Yours," she clarified, flicking her finger between Rivers and me. "Honestly, I wasn't too sure about the pairing. I mean, Phil is a global superstar—"

"A what?" Jordan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was in the biggest selling boy band of the early-aughties," I reminded him, though I wasn't sure why he kept needing reminding.

"Yep," Preston said. "And are no longer. What happened there?"

"My ex-boyfriend cheated on me, left the band, and then used a twenty-year-old, botched TRL performance as ammunition to not ask me back for the reunion. That's what fucking happened. Do you want to know what's about to happen, Preston? I'm filing a petition for emancipation. Today." I declared. "Honest to God, it's just one insult after another with you."

"Don't listen to him, Daddy," Jordan said, but my father just winced, scooting a few inches away from Jordan. Jordy must have seen that as my father was playing hard to get, because he followed right behind him, bouncing over on the sofa until their knees knocked.

"So," Brenda/Carole said with a commanding voice, "if we're going to make this romance believable, we're going to need everyone on board. Everyone in this room needs to treat their relationship like it's real."

"Romance?" Aunt Lurlene held her hand to her heart. "Sun and stars. It sure would be nice to see you with a boyfriend, Turnip," Aunt Lurlene cooed. "I've been hoping and praying for it for years. My little baby boy with his heart of gold, and an empty dance card." She smiled at me. "I worry about you. All alone in that mansion of yours. You need someone to love you the way you deserve."

"I'm not sure what a dance card is, but Phillip's had plenty of boyfriends," Jordan said, springing up from his seat with a hop. He made his way over to Aunt Lurlene's side and plopped down on the floor, resting his arms on her knee and smiling up at her. "Phillip loves love." Her hand was still clutching her heart, and for a moment, I thought I spotted a tear forming in her eye. "There was Terry. You would have loved him, Grandmama. I wasn't sold on the idea of him dating a married man at first, but I came around."

Suddenly, every eye in the room was on me, and Preston's mouth was gaping. "A married man? So, you're a homewrecker now?"

"It wasn't cheating. They had a polyamorous relationship—and I don't have to justify a damn thing to you, thank you very much," I said.

"That's true," Jordan said, meeting Preston's gaze. "The polyamorous part. Not what he said about you." When my father smiled at him, Jordan blushed so brightly, I thought it might permanently stain his cheeks. "Then there was the guy who wanted to help him convert."

"Fuck a duck, and screw a canoe. Dammit, Jordan," I said.

"How does one screw a canoe, exactly?" Jordan said.

"Convert?" Aunt Lurlene said, squeezing Jordan's hand. "Did he try to get him to become…" She peered around the room before leaning down, whispering, "a Catholic?" She shook her head, and when our eyes met, I could see nothing but her shame reflecting back. "Oh, Turnip. No. I'm an open-minded woman, but I draw the line at Catholicism."

"What's wrong with being a Catholic?" Rivers said.

"Aside from the chaste lifestyle they expect homosexuals to lead, there's all of that kneeling and standing and sitting they make you do. It's terribly taxing on the knees. I won't stand idly by and watch as he gives himself a hernia for the Lord of lords. If he's dead-set on forming a relationship with our Almighty, I'll take him down to Tallulah Episcopalian on Sunday, but that's as far as I'm willing to budge."

"To being straight," I interrupted, desperate to right this derailing train. "He wanted me to convert to being straight."

"Why the heck would your boyfriend want you to become straight?" Rivers asked.

"He had a conversion kink."

"That's…" Rivers drew his brows together, and a look of absolute disgust washed over his face. "That's a thing?"

"It was for him."

"How does dating a gay man… None of this makes sense, Firecracker. I don't think gay men turning themselves straight is a thing. Did he try to send you to one of those conversion camps?" His jaw tensed. "Did he?"

"Why are you so invested in this story?" I asked. "Calm down, Rambo."

His right eyelid twitched. "Did he tell you to pray it away? You can't. It doesn't work like that."

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously. I'm not some religious extremist, Rivers."

"It doesn't make any sense, though," Rivers said.

"That's what I told him," Jordan agreed. "Didn't stop him from dating the guy for six months. He used to make Phillip watch straight porn and… " He brought his hand to his lap and pumped the air in front of his crotch.

"Jordan Maxwell Miller!" I leapt off the couch, ignoring the dull throb radiating through the back of my skull. "That's enough. No one wants to hear about my masturbatory habits." I turn and glare at Rivers. "Shut up, Mr. Mayor. Just shut up."

He lifted his hands in surrender. "I didn't say anything."

"He wound up calling it a day when the guy switched it up to lesbian porn. Apparently, Phillip had just been staring at the men in the videos to guide him toward completion."

"Good," Rivers said, batting his eyes dreamily at me. "I'm proud of you."

I groaned.

Jordy cuddled up closer to Aunt Lurlene. "Then there was the time he lived as an adult baby with his daddy-dom."

Falling back to the couch, I covered my face with my hands, ignoring the stinging sensation in my ass. "Why are you like this? That was for three months. It was only supposed to be a Grindr hookup, but the guy held me at gunpoint—"

"As I recall, he held you at Roman Candle-point."

"Roman Candle-point?" Rivers said.

"He aimed one at my stomach and threatened to light it. What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Adult baby?" Aunt Lurlene asked.

Jordan nodded, resting his head on her knee. "He wore a onesie and had a pacifier with baby elephants on it. The man set up a playroom for him and everything. It was precious."

"It was kidnapping," I muttered.

"You should see the pictures," Jordan said. "He was scowling in most of them, but there's this really cute one of him playing with Barbies with the biggest smile on his face. I don't think I've ever seen a more content soul in my life."

"Her name was Elenore, and she was the only friend I had for a quarter of a year. You were supposed to come and get me, but you went off gallivanting, doing God knows what."

"You texted me telling me you were going on a cruise. How the hell was I supposed to know he'd stolen your phone?"

"He signed the text message 'sincerely, Not Phillip's Kidnapper.' "

"Exactly. What kidnapper is going to sign a text message that way? For that matter, who signs a text message? Besides, he sent snapshots of you. You seemed happy." He squeezed Aunt Lurlene's knee. "I was rooting for them. I'd never seen him so at peace. What was your safe word again, Phillip? Puberty, was it? Penetration? Penile enhancement surgery?"

"Perpendicular, you son of a bitch. It was perpendicular, and you know it."

Rivers cleared his throat. "So, about the show. Was there something I can do to help? I'm guessing that's what this meeting is all about. Do you need to punch me in the face or something?"

"Why the hell would I punch you in the face? I'm not an animal."

"Just thought it might help," he said, sounding a bit sad. "Figured you might want to make me the villain or something. Give the viewers someone to hate."

"Well, baby," Aunt Lurlene said. "Why would anyone hate you? You're the sweetest soul I know."

"You should probably get out more," I said to her.

"Listen, Lake," Brenda/Carole said. "I assumed Phil would have filled you in on this before I got here, but it seems the burden falls on me. Our subscribers? They demand a viewing experience. Nostalgia of the highest caliber. They're not tuning in to see Big Ben over there awkwardly hit on Phillip's geriatric father." Jordan squeaked his displeasure. Preston, though? Preston looked bloodthirsty. "They want passion. Drama. That's where you come in."

"Pardon?" Rivers said, cocking his head to the side.

"We're going to need you two to fall in love," she clarified with a dastardly grin. "For the next two weeks, you two are going to be attached at the hip. Give the girls and gays someone to swoon over."

"Boyfriends? I—You want us to—I mean…" He jerked his head in my direction, eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. "You want me to court Phillip? You want us to f-fall in love?"

"Pretend!" I said, my voice much more frantic than I'd intended. "She wants us to pretend to fall in love."

"You—I mean, you want us to…"

"Quit," I hissed. "Stop staring at me like that."

Aunt Lurlene choked back a sob. "My little Turnip. A mayor's wife."

"Wife?" Rivers shouted into my ear, his voice filled with terror.

"I just explained that we're only pretending. Stop being purposefully obtuse," I said.

"He'll be Tallulah's First Lady," Aunt Lurlene continued, beaming at Preston and Jordan. Pulling out her flip phone, she clicked a few buttons and brought it to her ear. "I always knew he was destined for greatness."

"What the hell are you doing?" I said.

She peeked up from her phone, her shoulders squared, jaw tensed. "Language," she said. "Don't worry, baby, I just need a minute to book the venue. I hear weddings these days require months and months of planning."

"M-marriage?" Rivers stuttered, staring at the wall and looking absolutely shell-shocked. "We're getting married?"

"I just told you this was for the show. And would it kill you to try to look a little less disgusted at the prospect?"

Aunt Lurlene snapped her phone shut and scowled. "Straight to voicemail. The nerve."

"It's after midnight," Jordan said. "Most people are asleep at this hour, Grandmama. We can try again in the morning."

"Whatever happened to customer service?" Aunt Lurlene mused with a sigh.

"Marriage?" Rivers repeated. I tried to hold back a groan, but it was pointless. I didn't know how I'd suddenly become the only voice of reason in the room. I needed to rein in this shitshow before they all spiraled out of control.

"Number one, I wouldn't marry you if you were the president, much less a small-town mayor. This is for the show, nothing else. Number two," I said, scowling at Aunt Lurlene. "If you so much as think about booking a venue, caterers, or a band, I'll make sure your edit in this show is merciless. And last, but certainly not least," I continued, pointing at Preston. "I fully support the idea of recasting you in both this series, and my actual life."

"There's no need to be an asshole," Jordan said.

"You're fired," I snapped. "As soon as we get home, you're out. You've been nothing but a thorn in my side since we got here."

Jordan snorted. "Yeah, you just go ahead and try."

"Married?" Rivers asked yet again.

"For the last time, I'm not—"

"Who are you gonna marry, Daddy?" a new voice asked. To my left, there was a young boy. He was maybe seven, eight, or sixteen-years-old. He was wearing a pair of bright neon-pink pajamas with cartoon kittens dancing across the fabric. The boy didn't wait for a response, choosing instead to snuggle into Rivers' lap. He laid his head against his chest, rubbing his eyes. When he spotted me, he smiled widely, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. "You're Phillip Firecracker."

Before I could respond, the kid yawned and closed his eyes, falling asleep within seconds. As he slept, Rivers combed his fingers through the boy's hair, smiling down at him.

"This is Beau," he said. "You'll have to excuse him. He had a really long day. I've never seen him pass out so fast. He'll be upset about it in the morning. I think he's pretty much your biggest fan. He's one of your Phillip's Firecrackers on Facebook and everything."

"He is?" For the life of me, I couldn't remember ever seeing a kid in the group. It's not like I would have forgotten, either. There were less than thirty members, and I stayed in contact with all of them. "That can't be true. I know everyone in the group."

He chuckled, leaning down and planting a kiss on his son's head. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, he's only nine-years-old. He's got an alias."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal," Jordan interjected.

"Maybe," he said. "But I monitor it heavily. He's only allowed in the group. No friend requests, no wall posts, none of that. He sure loves you, though. Has a poster of you in his room," he said. "Cost me a pretty penny, that picture."

"Hogwash," Aunt Lurlene said, taking a sip of her tea. "I gave it to you free of charge."

"Yeah," Rivers agreed with a chuckle. "If by free of charge, you mean as a bribe to legalize gay marriage in the city of Tallulah."

"Well," she said, setting her teacup on the end table. "I'm a woman of equality. You can't fault me for supporting gay rights."

"Never mind the fact that gay marriage had already been legal for six years."

"I don't understand what that has to do with anything. I didn't then, and I still don't."

"So," Jordan interrupted, staring at Rivers. "You'll help?"

"This is what you want?" Rivers said, staring at me.

There was literally nothing in the world I wanted less than to pretend to fall for Rivers, but it seemed we didn't have much of a choice. "I… I'd really appreciate it, Riv."

Rivers rested his hand on my knee and squeezed. "It would be my honor, Firecracker."