Chuck faced the illuminated city of night below us. His voice was invested with emotion. I wondered where that was coming from.

“Are you presenting as a woman to establish a career for yourself? Or are you genuinely gender dysphoric? Do you actually want to be a woman?”

I opened my mouth to answer but no words came out. Moments passed as I struggled to give Chuck an honest reply.

“Do you?”

Prodded, I blurted out, “I…I’m not sure. I mean, yes…no! I don’t know, Chuck.” He turned to face me. The anger seemed to rise in his glare. “Help me…”

“Do you think I’m a gullible moron? What’s really going on here, Evie? Is this some kind of clever ruse that you and Debbie pulled on us? Is there a master plan? World domination through cross-dressing?”

“Chuck, I didn’t plan this. It just kind of snowballed. I’ll resign immediately. I’ll clear out my desk on Monday. Please don’t blame Debbie. She was just trying to help me—”

“Fuck the job, Evie. I was beginning to care about you—”

“What? But how? I wasn’t trying to lead you on. I’m fully aware of who and what I am.”

“Are you? Really? I want an answer, Evie. Do you wish you were a woman?”

“I honestly don’t know, Chuck.”

“You need to make up your mind. Soon. That’s if you’re actually going to follow through with embarking on an acting career.”

“It’s not just the money—”

“You’d turn down a million dollars?”

“It’s the…the way people react to me. They like me. They’re interested in me. What I think. What I want. What I say…”

“You’re beautiful. That’s what they’re reacting to.”

“Is that all you see in me?”

He turned back to the city lights below us. A light breeze played with his sandy brown hair. My heart skipped. I realized I wanted Chuck to think I was beautiful.

“The company will really miss your skills. Even Buzz had to admit you’re the best marketing person we’ve ever had. And he normally just notices three things in a woman. Clark called me on Friday. He wants us to meet with him at the training complex next week. Well, he just wants to talk to you. I’m your chauffeur, as far as he’s concerned.”

“You’ll find someone else who’s just as good a marketer. Probably better.”

“It’s late. My legal advice is, sign it. It’s a pretty standard 7-year contract with built-in increases based on the on-going success of the series. Even if it’s cancelled after season one, you’re guaranteed a cool million. Pretty extraordinary for a first-time actor.”

“Can they void the contract if they find out—”

“That’s more of an issue for you. I would think if it got out that you’re not a cis woman, they’d reap the benefits of a lot of free publicity. They might even write it into the show. Frankly, GlobalNet’s audience isn’t the Bible belt. The issue is how you’d cope. Your life would be a 24-hour-a-day news cycle all by itself.”

“So far, the only people who know are you and Mei Ling. Maybe I can keep it a secret until I make a decision. You won’t tell, will you?”

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Evie. If this is what you want, I’ll do what I can to contain any leaks. Don’t worry about Mei Ling. If someone told Misty that her husband was fooling around with her company’s executive assistant…”

“That someone wouldn’t be you, would it?”

“I’ll take you home. Let’s see what Clark wants before we decide how to proceed with your future at Sisters Sportswear.”

Relieved, I rushed forward to hug him. Chuck moved aside and gently nudged me back toward the car. We got in and Chuck gunned the engine. 30 minutes later, we were back at Eastlake Avenue. I expected a kiss. We shook hands.

So it was that, instead of cleaning out my desk on Monday morning, Debbie and I arranged a half day at the office in order for me to sign my contract with GlobalNet at 11AM in their Vine Street headquarters. Debbie insisted on coming along. For moral support, she claimed. Which was fine with me. I was nervous and excited. Holding her hand helped to calm me as we slid into my agent Juan Moskowitz’s car. He picked us up at half past 10, plenty of time to make sure we were professionally punctual. Sitting next to Juan was a pretty young woman Debbie and I had never before seen.

“Ladies, this is my wife, Glynnis.” She waved at us from the front passenger seat.

“Juan, you never told us you were married—” my sister declared.

“You never asked.”

“That’s a good reason, Debbie,” I pointed out.

The four of us were ushered into a small conference room and offered something to drink while we waited. Apparently, another meeting was just ending. After about five minutes, Alastair Knowles, Daniel Dantley, the director of Newport: The Series, and Mary Legler, EVP of the Legal Department, entered, dispensed with the pleasantries, and sat down across from us at the conference table.

After Juan announced that we agreed to the terms of the contract, I signed both copies and initialed certain codicils. Debbie looked over my shoulder and made noises of delight. It was fortunate she didn’t rub her hands in glee. She hugged Juan and Glynnis instead.

The whole thing took little more than ten minutes and handshakes and fist bumps were made all around. Alastair hurried to the door, pulling Dantley along with him.

“You’ll excuse us but we have another meeting at the bottom of the hour—”

“Enjoy your summer, Evie. We start shooting at the end of next month…God willing and the creek don’t rise,” Dantley said as his head disappeared from view in the doorway.

Mary Legler zipped up her briefcase and smiled at Evie. “You’ll get your 10% advance at the end of the week. Don’t spend it all in one place.” She laughed as she hurried to catch up with Knowles and Dantley. Almost at the same moment, the office assistant magically materialized to escort us to the elevators.

“Ladies, I’ve reserved a table for lunch at Jemma Di Mare in Brentwood—”

“Juan, that’s the capo di tutti capi of Italian restaurants in LA!” screeched Debbie as Juan navigated the labyrinthine streets of Los Angeles to arrive at the restaurant on San Vincente Boulevard in Brentwood. A native Angeleno, Juan knew to avoid the paralyzing mid-day traffic by driving in the opposite direction to his destination. He drove north instead of south, passing through the Hollywood Hills, Studio City, Sherman Oaks, and Bel Air before ending up in Brentwood. He made the trip in less than 30 minutes. I was impressed.

Jemma Di Mare was one of those posh eateries where a reservation was definitely de rigueur, even for lunch on a Monday afternoon. Debbie whistled at the well-appointed interior as we were shown to our table.

“Juan, this is going to set you back half a week salary almost—”

“Correction. It’s being charged back to your sister’s account. As of an hour ago, Evie’s a millionaire.”

“You’re going to need a business manager, Evie. I’d keep my eye on these people.” She turned to Juan and smiled sweetly.

“Ladies, order anything you want. Expense is no object. Thank you, Evie. I recommend the lobster fettuccini.” Juan pointed to the entrée on the menu.

“In Applebee’s, they put pictures of each dish on the menu so you can get an idea of what it might taste like,” noted Debbie.

“Debbie, you know what a lobster looks like. Just imagine it being stuffed with fettuccini.”

“O.K., Juan. Evie and I will share the lobster fettuccini—”

“Share?”

“Yeah, it says here it’s enough for two. You need to watch your girlish figure, sis.”

“Debbie’s got a point there, Evie.” Juan handed the menus back to our server and ordered for us.

“So, Evie, it must be a girl’s dream to be dating Trent Foster,” Glynnis allowed. “I read where Trent’s mom says she’s expecting a wedding in the Fall. Has he popped the question?”

“I’ve never even gone out on a proper date with the guy. I rode in a parade with him and went disco dancing with him in Seattle. I hardly consider that a courtship.”

“Maybe you’re more interested in your boss. That dreamy Chuck Connors. He’s worth a gazillion dollars!”

“And then there’s that ballplayer, Richie Morrow,” added Juan as he noisily munched on a garlic knot, his wife nudging him to slow his mastication to a socially acceptable pace.

“People! People! I’m not seeing anyone seriously. Technically, I’m not seeing anyone at all. Trent’s a publicity hound. Chuck’s my boss. And Richie’s just a sweet kid. I’m not interested in guys…right now, that is. Career first, romance later.”

“You told me you wanted to have Trent’s babies,” laughed Debbie.

I threw a handful of garlic knots at her.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished with those. Babe, get our server to bring some more garlic knots to the table.” Glynnis shot him a glare.

Chuck kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut as he drove us the 40 miles to Clark Ruskin’s L.A. Drillers training complex in Costa Mesa. It was the first day of training camp for many NFL teams including the Drillers. Clark had asked us to meet with him right after the morning portion of the two-a-day practice sessions.

“Cat got your tongue, Chuck?”

“Not feeling too chatty this morning, that’s all.” He flashed his credentials to the security guard at the entrance to the parking lot. He waved us through.

“We’ve barely exchanged five words other than Hello, Good Morning, and Goodbye this week.”

“That makes nine words, doesn’t it?”

“I thought we were okay with me signing the contract. The show doesn’t start production until September. I’ll be 100% concentrated on Sisters Sportswear until then. Buzz says he’s got a dozen sales calls lined up from now until the end of July…”

“I know Buzz’s schedule. I’m his boss, after all.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, not at all. I’m…disappointed, maybe.”

“Why? Because I’m not a real woman?”

“Because I look at you and you’re more woman than any cis woman I’ve ever known except for my mother and my sisters. I thought we might have had the beginnings of something…something real.”

“I am real, Chuck.”

“I can’t tell you what to do, Evie. But I can help you if you’ll let me. I can help you find the right therapists, professionals who deal with dysphoric patients—”

“I won’t be your problem in about six weeks, Chuck. Don’t feel you need to “help” me. I can handle this myself. So far, I’m doing just peachy—”

“Here we are. Clark said he’s on the field, watching practice. I hope this doesn’t take too long. I’ve got some stuff back at the office that’s kind of pressing right now.”

We went through the stadium (a miniature NFL field with a single tier of stands that the city of Costa Mesa used for scholastic sports events the rest of the year) and emerged into the mid-day sun and stifling heat. The team was going through its morning session. You could hear the slap, slap, crunch of bodies colliding, footballs being thrown or punted, and the grunts and groans of the players as they ran through different offensive set plays. Standing nearby, dressed in black sweats, a laminated sheet listing all the plays in his right hand, was Clark Ruskin, Misty Connors’ husband and Chuck’s brother-in-law. He was also the majority shareholder in Sisters Sportswear.

We had intended to wait politely at the edge of the field until practice was finished but Clark spotted us and waved us over to him.

“You’re early, guys. Say, Evie, this must seem familiar to you. You’ve run a lot of practices in baseball, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Ruskin. You learn a lot about a player by how he practices.”

“You’re right about that, Evie. And call me Clark. We’re all family here. Right, Chuck?”

“Yeah, Clark.”

“Chuck, you don’t need to stay. I want to speak to Evie alone. I’ll see that she’s driven back to the office when we’re finished here.”

“Alright, Clark. I’ll see you back at the office, Evie.” Chuck walked quickly toward the exit. He didn’t look back, even as I waved bye bye to him. Clark laughed.

“Chuck’s kind of awkward around women. Especially women with an ounce of intelligence. Like you.”

“Awkward? Everyone tells me he’s dated a long line of models and actresses. All beauties.”

“He wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a real woman. Not those brainless clothes horses he spends his time with.”

“You’re saying I’m a real woman?”

“Obviously.” He winked at me and then handed his laminated sheet to a young man with large headset subsuming his rather small head.

“This Trent Foster character. He’s just a kid. Don’t waste your time with him. He’s using you. You’re going places he’ll never even touch. Because you have talent.”

“How do you know that? I’ve never acted in anything before.”

“Danny Dantley’s a good friend. He showed me your screen test.”

“I had like five lines. You can tell from five lines?”

“You lit up the screen, honey. A lot of men will want to get next to you. And maybe some women too.”

“And you?”

“I’m not crass, Evie. I’ve never forced myself on any woman. There has to be a mutual attraction. A commonality of spirit. You and I are similar people. We’re smart, ambitious, multi-faceted, and damned sexy as all get-out.” He laughed again. Just as his laughs subsided, one of his players came within an inch of crashing into him.

“You okay, Mr. Ruskin?”

“Crawford! They asked you to run an out route and you’re running a dig route! Didn’t they show you the route tree in college? Damned rookies. Where did we draft you? Wasn’t the first round, that’s for sure.”

“Sixth round, sir.”

“Figures. Why did we waste a draft pick on you? We could’ve signed you as a free agent for next to nothing. I told them not to pick someone from Rutgers. Name me an All-Pro who came out of Rutgers.”

“You went to Rutgers? I went to Rutgers too. Of course, I graduated about three years before you. Are you related to Ray Crawford? He pitched on the baseball team when I was…when I was there.”

“Yeah, Ray’s my older brother. What’s your name? I’ll tell him I almost bumped into you today.”

“Evie Rivers.”

“Rivers. Rivers. Yeah, there was a kid named Rivers who was like an analytic guy on the team. Couldn’t pitch a lick but was a real brain with the gameplans. You his sister?”

“Sister? Oh, yeah, his sister. Say hello to your brother for me.”

“Practice is almost over, Evie. Let’s talk over lunch. What are you standing there for, Crawford? They’re serving lunch in the cafeteria in about ten minutes.”

“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you, Evie.” He ran toward the other end of the field to rejoin his teammates.

“There’s a nice place about a mile from here that’s got a patio. There’s a great view of the ocean. We can talk while we have lunch. Come.” He took my arm and we walked out of the stadium and to his car, a black Tesla Model X.

It turned out the nice place for lunch was not a mile away but 35 miles away. And the great view of the ocean was beyond a beach, Redondo Beach. On the 40-minute drive, Clark regaled me with an account of his superior talents. He painted a portrait of himself as a combination of Steve Jobs, Jeff Bezos, and Al Davis (the legendary maverick owner of the Oakland Raiders). But, of course, he was better looking than all three of them.

“You notice I’m not asking you any questions about yourself,” he remarked. “That’s because I do my homework. I know everything that’s important to know about you. You have an MBA, you coached minor league ball for The Titans, you’ve just been signed to a million-dollar contract to star in a TV series for GlobalNet. You turned 24 years old in April. You have a younger sister, Debbie, who also works for us. Your father was a widower, now remarried to a woman of Spanish descent. He’s a real estate lawyer who’s wheelchair bound. You grew up in the wilds of New Jersey. Did I miss any bullet points?”

“You just read my resume, Clark. That didn’t take too much detective work.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Well, for starters, why have I never had a steady boyfriend? In fact, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Ever.”

“That’s easy. You’re a woman of very high standards. You don’t suffer fools or little boys. You want a man. A real man. Someone who’s lived, loved, seen how the world works and took it by the throat, achieved success after success—”

“The Drillers finished next to last in the conference last season. Not very successful…”

“That’s what sets you apart from most women, Evie. You know sports. Yeah, my Drillers sucked last year but we’re an expansion team. I made a promise to our fans that we’d win a Super Bowl in 3 to 5 years and I stand by it. As long as my front office can resist drafting longshots like Crawford. What the hell did they see in him?”

“His brother was a great baseball player at Rutgers. Until he tore up his knee doing stupid motocross just before baseball season started in his senior year.”

“I sense you and Crawford’s brother had a thing going on, eh? Was he your college sweetheart? The one that got away?”

“No, of course not. Ray was a guy. He didn’t swing that way.”

“Gay, huh? Ray was gay? Unfortunately, it rhymes with his name.”

“Not gay. He was a guy. A guy.”

“I think we’re having a failure to communicate here. Here we are. Rocky’s Redondo Beach Bistro. Hope you’re not a vegan. Their burgers are to die for.”

Clark was right about the burgers. I scarfed mine and gave serious consideration to ordering a second but decided that would make a very odd impression on Clark. And Debbie was right. I need to watch my girlish figure. Ha ha.

With my mouth full of delicious 80/20 beef chuck, there was little opportunity to carry on intelligent conversation, so Clark and I just moaned now and again from the heavenly flavors we were tasting. Nevertheless, Clark kept staring at me, like a carnivore sizing up his prey.

Clark suggested we walk off our protein-packed lunch by strolling the Redondo Beach pier. It was early afternoon but there was still a large group of amateur anglers along the rails. I started to get a little weepy remembering the summer days when my father would take me fishing in Farrington Lake, near East Brunswick.

“Boardwalks make you emotional?”

“It’s all the fishermen. My dad used to take me fishing when I was 8, 9 years old. We had the best times—”

“Then you grew up and got interested in girly things, right?”

“No. My parents got into a bad car accident. My mom was killed and my dad hasn’t been able to walk since.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know the details. That’s…sad. It must have been hard growing up as a girl without your mother to learn from. That’s probably why you’re into sports so much. Your dad raised you like a son instead of a daughter.”

“But he knew. He always knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just rambling.”

“I’ve got a cabin cruiser. It’s docked in Marina Del Rey. We can go deep sea fishing sometime if you’d like. Would you like to?”

“You know, that sounds like fun. Thank you, Clark. Maybe some weekend when the series isn’t shooting.”

“I’ll put a reminder on my calendar. Fishing with Evie. I bet you’d look great in a bikini.”

“What exactly did you want to talk to me about, Clark. I’ve been with you for almost two hours and I still don’t know.”

Clark took me by the shoulders and kissed me hard. I pushed him away.

“Clark, please don’t. I work for you. I’m not dating you.”

“That can be remedied. I’m planning to take a three-day weekend in Cancun soon. Ever been?”

“No. Isn’t that near Cozumel?”

“Yeah, Cozumel’s an island off the peninsula. Why?”

“Trent was there with some bimbo.”

“What did I tell you? He’s a child. A little boy playing with tonka toys. You need a man. Come with me to Cancun, Evie.”

“What about your wife, Misty?”

“She’s busy with her soccer team. She hardly notices my absences. And, frankly, she probably doesn’t even care.”

“I doubt that, Clark. Does she know about you and Mei Ling?”

“You wouldn’t tell her, would you?”

“I don’t want to get involved. And, Clark, I’m not interested in being your sidepiece.”

“I understand. Quid pro quo. Okay, I’m willing to pay you handsomely to be a consultant with Sisters Sportswear even after you leave for that acting gig. You wouldn’t have to do anything and pick up a nice piece of change. Just be a willing companion to a lonely man. Someone who’s worthy of you. We can be heroes, like David Bowie sang.”

“Is this the elevator pitch you give to all the women you find, fuck, and forget?”

“Is the thought of being with me so distasteful?”

“I’m going to order an Uber to get back to the office, Clark. Thank you for lunch. You were right. The burgers are to die for.”

I looked around to get oriented and then ran as fast as I could. I took off my heels and carried them in both hands, running until I reached West Torrance Boulevard. Finally, I stopped and looked behind me to see if Clark had followed. No sign of him. I took my phone out of my purse and used my Uber app to order a ride.

I was certain Clark would have me dismissed tout de suite but when I awkwardly bumped into Chuck back at the office more than an hour later, he merely nodded and muttered, “you’re late.” Still, I sat at my desk, waiting for the axe to fall.

“There you are.” It was Mei Ling, standing in the doorway of my office. “Do you sisters synchronize your work schedules as well as your monthlies?”

“Huh?” I relied cleverly.

“Debbie came back from lunch five minutes before you. She was looking for you. You can catch her in the cafeteria right now. She’s doing show and tell with everyone.”

I got up from behind my desk and stopped a foot away from Mei Ling.

“I know that you know, you know?”

“Now that you’re leaving, I couldn’t care less. You’re somebody else’s problem. Have fun with Trent Foster. I hear he swings both ways.”

She cackled in my face. Literally turning the other cheek, I shoved her aside and went to find Debbie in the cafeteria.

“Oh, look, she’s here!” my manager Dulcie pointed at me as I crossed the threshold of the cafeteria. Debbie was surrounded by a dozen staffers. They were all ogling her left hand, which was being waved in mid-air in a semi-circle, making cooing sounds.

“Evie, look! Otis proposed!” I ran forward to look at her engagement ring. Grabbing her left hand, I examined the 14K emerald in a two-tone gold-leaf setting.

“Oh my God, Debbie. I’m so happy for you!” We hugged. I almost forgot myself and tried to lift her up in the air like I did when I was her big brother. Well, I guess I still am. Maybe her sister now. Brother adjace.

“When did he pop the question?”

“Over lunch today. We had fish tacos and ate in Almansor Park. He went down on one knee right next to the picnic table. Just like in the movies—”

“Otis’ next time in the office is tomorrow morning. We should all give him the silent treatment just to mess with him,” Dulcie proposed. The other girls laughed and agreed.

“Say, Evie, you sisters could make it a double wedding. Debbie and Otis, you and Trent Foster!”

It was Chuck, his arms crossed, leaning against the doorway, a smirk on his face.

“Why does everybody think I’m dating Trent, much less marrying the guy?”

Chuck politely asked everyone to get back to work and we filed out of the cafeteria. As I passed him, he wondered aloud, “How’s the weather in Cancun this time of year?”

“Clark told you he asked me?”

“I know his act. He didn’t have to tell me. So, you’re going to have to come up with an elaborate excuse when he makes his move. And he doesn’t suffer rejection well.”

“I’m not going with him. I’ll go clean out my desk now—”

“Why?”

“It was nice of you not to immediately fire me when I walked in the door but let’s just get it over with. I’m sure Clark called you right afterwards.”

“Clark? No, I haven’t spoken to him. You’re not fired, as far as I know. Actually, I thought you would take Clark up on his offer.”

“You really have that low an opinion of me?”

“My opinion obviously doesn’t count, does it?” He walked away toward his office and I saw Debbie standing about ten feet away, a concerned look on her face.

“Evie, what have you done?”

Saturday morning. Debbie, Otis, and I were sitting around the kitchen table, discussing potential dates for the wedding.

“A Fall wedding in New Jersey with the leaves turning yellow, brown, and gold. A nip in the air. We could hold it at the Estate at Farrington Lake.”

“Debbie, that’s a great idea. Daddy would love it. Remember when he’d take us fishing in the lake. We’d go out in that rented dinghy with the blue striped bow…”

“I was thinking we’d have it right here in LA. My people come from a radius of about 50 miles. I don’t think they’d be able to travel all the way across the country—”

“The bride’s family chooses the wedding location, Otis. It’s tradition,” Debbie sniffed.

“We should compromise and hold it in St. Louis.”

“Evie, your humor is not helpful!”

The buzzer sounded, announcing someone was downstairs.

“Who could that be at this time of day? And on Saturday.”

I pressed the speaker button and asked the person to identify themselves.

“Evie, it’s Peg.”

“Peg? From GlobalNet?” I pressed the button to unlock the front door.

“I didn’t know Peg even knew where I lived. The studio might have given her my address.”

When I opened the door, Peg was standing there in her usual gypsy/hippie outfit, a garment bag folded over her arm.

“Come in, Peg. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Trent asked me to do him a favor.”

“Trent Foster?” asked Otis, his head swiveling between Debbie and I.

“He’s going to the World Media Awards Show next Tuesday night. And he wants you to be his date for the evening. You’ll need a dress for the occasion. Here.” She held the garment bag up for me.

“I haven’t spoken to Trent since Seattle. Are you sure he wants me to accompany him?”

“He’s paid me a pretty penny to “borrow” this from the wardrobe department. I think it’ll fit you. Just a few small alterations and voilà, it’ll look smashing on you. You’ll be the belle of the ball, on the arm of the hottest actor in the business. Come on, try it on.”

“Otis, can you go to Trader Joe’s and pick up a quart of milk? We’re all out.”

“The closest one is in San Marino, babe. Okay, okay. Otis must never catch a glimpse of big sister’s naughty bits. I’m going. Nice to see you again, Peg.”

After Otis left, Peg took the dress out of the garment bag and placed it under my chin. She held it at arm’s length. Both she and Debbie smacked their lips and pronounced the dress perfect for an awards show. I looked down at the green floral, diaphanous gown and cried, “But it’s practically see-through! How can I pull this off?”

“You might have to worry about Trent pulling it off,” declared Peg as she lowered her glasses and winked.

Our limousine was inching its way toward the entrance to Crypto Arena, site of that evening’s nationally telecast World Media Awards. I was still fidgeting with my dress, making sure the see-through parts didn’t show anything worth seeing. I looked to my right and saw a very nervous Trent Foster, chewing his fingernails.

“Trent, why are you nervous? You’re the odds-on favorite to win your category, Best Actor in a Theatrical Feature Film. Your only competition is that Nathan Adams guy. He’s so yesterday’s news.”

“You never know with these awards. I’ve been nominated a dozen times for various awards and I’ve won a grand total of one. I hate having to keep smiling while they call somebody else’s name. Somebody like Nathan Adams.”

“It’s more a reflection of the quality of the movies they’re in than their acting per se…”

“So you’re saying I keep acting in movies that suck?”

“You might try holding out for a good script rather than accepting the biggest salary—”

“You have so much to learn, young Padawan. Here we are. Ready for the red carpet?”

Like a perfect gentleman, Trent helped me out of the limousine. Fortunately I managed not to rip my dress to shreds or break a heel. I was a little wobbly on my three-inch stilettos but Trent wrapped his arm around mine and we made our way into the lobby, waving to the teeming millions out in TV land.

It took us 15 minutes before we reached the head of the line to get interviewed by someone I’d never heard of. She shoved a microphone in Trent’s face and began the inquisition.

“Trent, so wonderful to see you with your new co-star in Newport: The Series—”

“Premiering on GlobalNet in November,” Trent made sure to mention.

“And this lovely young lady is Evie Rivers, who’s a new face to us. Where did you discover this beauty, Trent?”

“On the beach at Newport, actually.” He laughed. I joined in a beat later. “Yes, Evie’s a true surfer girl. Dan Dantley, our director, was the one who really found her. Isn’t she just adorable?”

“Yes, she is. Evie, reports have it that you and Trent are dating. In fact, Trent’s mom has told the press that we might be looking at a Fall wedding. Is that true?”

Trent rushed in before I could answer. “We’re…we’re seriously thinking about it. Nothing definite yet. Our schedules are so full. We need to find the right time and place.”

“Trent likes Cozumel for the venue,” I chirped, laughing as if it were a private joke between us.

“Oooh, I’d love an invitation. That’s a destination wedding to top all destination weddings.”

“So, Trent, what do we have to look forward to with your new series—”

“Newport,” Trent interjected. “It’s a new challenge for me. I’m looking to play more mature roles. Roles with more adult themes. I’m tired of playing aging teenagers.”

“How old is your character in…”

“Newport. He’s a mature 27.”

“Thank you so much for stopping by, Trent and Evie. Back to you, Bill.” We shook hands with her and were ushered into the arena to be seated.

Awards shows are snore-fests. They’re interminably long and front-loaded with categories no one outside of the most crazed media consumers would even care about. About two and a half hours into the evening, I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. The awards for best actor, actress, and movie were the last ones handed out. There were the awards for the most popular influencers in several categories on social media coming up, then we’d hit the home stretch.

For whatever reason, that was the category the producers of the awards show had chosen Trent to present. So, I sat uncomfortably next to an empty seat as Trent went backstage to await his turn on camera. In the rows around me were such celebrities as Taylor Swift, Nathan Adams, Dwayne Johnson, Beyonce, and Kevin Hart. In fact, Kevin kept trying to get my attention. I finally gave in and finger waved to him. He sat back down and was animatedly explaining to the people next to him who the hell I was. Trent stepped out into the lights as the announcer recited his name with dramatic emphasis.

“We live in an age where the average person can receive counsel on every detail of everyday life through the marvel that is social media. And there are a small number of givers of knowledge who number millions among their subscribers and viewers. In the field of beauty care, these three social media giants have proven to be the leaders in the category. The nominees are: Cheryl Lafferty for her podcast, On the Beauty Tip, Marsha Jackson for her TikTok account, MizMarshaJ, and Bambi Bunson, for her YouTube channel, The Ultimate Bambi Bunson…”

Bambi Bunson! That blonde bimbo that Trent was cavorting with poolside in Cozumel! I hope she loses…badly. I had no idea who the other two were but I was rooting real hard for either of them to win.

“And the World Media Award goes to…Bambi Bunson! For her YouTube channel, The Ultimate Bambi Bunson.”

The audience was a lot happier about this turn of events than I was. Bambi ran down the aisle from her seat way back in the arena. She high fived several people sitting on the aisle as she rushed the stage. I thought seriously about accidentally placing my leg in the aisle just as she passed my row but, I’m not that person. Am I?

She practically tackled Trent when she reached the stage. Trent had to extricate himself from her suffocating full-body hug and place the award trophy in her fat hand. She was almost hyper-ventilating when she finally remembered to give an acceptance speech.

“Thank you to the award committee and to all my subscribers and viewers. I couldn’t have done this without your tremendous support. And, if you’ll allow me a few seconds, I’d like to especially thank this gorgeous man standing behind me, Trent Foster. He’s made me the happiest woman on Earth. No, make that the galaxy! As so many of you know from the videos I shared on my channel, Trent and I just spent a wonderful three days in Cozumel just frolicking in the sunshine. Of course, the most fun came after sundown…”

Trent came forward and tried to back Bambi away from the microphone. “Thanks, Bambi, but that was a bit TMI. Can someone play us off with some music already?”

“One last thing! That Evie Rivers biatch just better watch herself because Trent is my man. Mine, you hear?”

Music blared and Trent dragged Bambi toward the wings. The audience, not sure whether it was a comedy routine or an actual meltdown, laughed nervously. I felt a million eyes on me. The laughter seemed to be aimed at me. I bolted from my seat and ran up the aisle to where I had no idea. I just had to get out of there.

I locked myself into a stall in the ladies’ room. Intermittently, women would enter, do their business, and leave, while I tried to stop bawling. I tried to stifle the sounds of my crying but I probably sounded like a small, wounded woodland creature. After about 20 minutes, I decided I had to either return to my seat and support Trent as he accepted his award or find a way to get home. I dreaded having to order an Uber and facing anyone who might recognize me so I took my phone out and called Debbie.

“Evie! Where are you? We saw you on TV running out of the arena—”

“Debbie, I can’t explain right now. Can you come and take me home?”

“What about Trent? And the limo.”

I almost screamed into the phone. “Debbie! Just come and take me home. Please!”

“Calm down, Evie. I…I can’t go and pick you up right now. I have guests in the apartment—”

“Guests? Who?”

“I’ll have Otis pick you up. You’re still at the arena, right?”

“Yes, Debbie. Please hurry. The show is ending in about 15 minutes. I don’t want to see Trent. Ever again. Ever.”

“What happened, Evie? Is it that routine with Bambi Bunson? Wasn’t that a bad attempt at comedy?”

“No. Nooooo. Debbie, send Otis now!”

“He just went out the door. He’ll be there in 10 minutes, Evie. Evie?”

I disconnected. Carefully, I stepped out of the stall. No one was in the room. I did my best to dab away the mascara running down my cheeks and finger-brushed my hair into some semblance of normality. As I exited, I side-swiped Taylor Swift, apologized, and made a beeline to the street outside the arena.

I walked into our apartment, curious as to who these guests that Debbie mentioned were. Sitting on the couch was Consuela, my stepmom. She smiled broadly and reached out to hug me.

“Consuela, why are you here? Who? What?”

“Debbie called us and told us the happy news about Otis and her getting engaged. We decided to come out right away and see our two beautiful girls. After all, we were planning to come out this summer anyway.”

“Where’s dad?”

At that moment, Debbie wheeled dad in from the bedroom.

“Evie, honey. Come here and give daddy a big hug.”

“Dad was taking a short nap. He was very tired from the plane ride.”

“Why the tears, sweetheart?”

“Tears? I’m not crying—”

“But you have. I can tell. What’s wrong?”

I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around my father. The tears started again.

“Oh, daddy, what craziness have I gotten myself into? I’ve made a mess of everything. How can I face anyone?”

Dad held my head in his strong hands and looked into my tear-filled eyes.

“You’re my sweet girl, Evie. Whatever the problem is, we’ll get through it. I’m so proud of you. Don’t cry. Look around the room, we all love you. We won’t let anyone hurt you. Ever. Do you believe me, Evie?”

My right hand squeezed dad’s hand and I looked up at his smiling face.

“Yes, daddy, I do. I believe.”