The F List - Alessandra Torre Page 0,44

remember what she was wearing last night when she had come into my room. Not the bikini. A collared shirt, turned inside out. I remember tracing my finger over the back of the embroidery, about to ask her about it, when she pushed my hand away.

Now she stood and crumbled the napkin in her hand, then licked the sugar from the tops of her fingers. Between us, Dana stood like a court marshal, her gaze darting between us. Emma took her time in moving to the trash can, her bare foot (pale blue pedicure) stepping on the lid lever with almost excruciatingly slow precision. Dropping the napkin in, she moved past me and to the sink. I stayed in place, hyper-aware of her behind me as she turned on the water and washed her hands. She was a thorough washer, and I could see the irritation building in Dana's eyes as she watched the entire process through narrowed slits of dark eye shadow. Finally, the water flow ended.

“I’ll be in hair and makeup.”

I didn't turn, didn't look, but heard every sound Emma made as she left the kitchen and headed down the hall.

Dana’s gaze flicked to me. “Did you have a good night, Cash?”

The question was loaded with meaning, none of which I wanted to dissect. I grabbed my coffee cup and left.

48

#confessional

CASH

My parents were Catholic, when they decided to acknowledge a religion, so the confessional was a concept I was familiar with. MTV’s was set up in the laundry room, with sheets hung in front of the washer and dryer, two microphones sticking in your face, and a small loveseat crammed in between the cabinet and the wall. The loveseat was roomy for one, but crowded for two. Emma wedged herself in as best she could, our legs pinching together, then opted to sit on the arm of the sofa.

“There, is that okay?”

“Her head’s cut off,” an operator mused. “Can you scoot back, honey?”

“Or slouch,” another remarked.

There were four crew members, plus Dana, who crouched in front of the camera, a headset on, her coffee cup cradled in both hands.

After five minutes of discussion and testing, we managed a shot that included all of Emma yet hid the fact that my elbow was brushing against a jug of detergent.

“Emma, why did you punch Cash?”

Beside me, she shifted, and I watched as the toe of her sandal twitched. She had a chip in the polish of her big toe, and that shouldn't have been endearing, but it was. "I don't know. He was there. He was annoying me. I—"

“Wait.” Dana stood, blocking the shot. “This isn’t working. I need to feel more animosity between you too. Cash.” She looked at me. “It’s been less than 24 hours before you were cold-cocked by this bitch.”

I frowned. “Don’t call her that.”

“It’s okay,” Emma drawled. “The shoe fits.”

I leveled Dana with a glare. “Don’t call her that.”

She slowly squatted back down, and from this angle I could see a slice of bright purple underwear up the edge of her shorts. "Yes, keep that irritated look on your face. Just—point it toward Emma. You guys hate each other, remember?"

Emma cleared her throat. “Anyway, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I did it.”

"Because you were mad at him? He was laughing at you," the moderator prodded. "You had just accused him of hiding the phone message because he was afraid of competing with you, and he started to laugh."

“Yeah,” Emma managed. “I was mad. He was being a jerk.”

I scrunched up my face at that.

“Cash, do you view Emma as competition?”

“No.” I hastened to explain. “I mean, not that she isn’t good enough to be my competition. But we have different audiences. There’s no reason why my agent can’t also represent her. I’m not going to lose a sponsor over her. They could have both of us.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you,” Emma said sweetly. I looked over, and she gave me a sardonic smile.

“What?” I countered. “What was wrong with what I just said?”

“It’s just interesting that now you’re all of a sudden Mr. Helpful and Accommodating. Oh, Emma,” she intoned, in a masculine voice that was no doubt me, “there’s plenty of followers for all us.” She twisted to me, her eyes sharpening, and I wondered how much of this was for the cameras, and how much was authentic. “If we can all succeed together, why do you constantly attempt to keep me down?”

“What are you talking about?” I turned to face her, my