Sandra was stripped to her underwear soon after. “I didn’t, but I need to. No one look at my downtown.”

“I need to take you all to get waxed.” Marie sashayed out of her jeans.

“No thank you, waxing is medieval. Do my stretch marks look terrible?” Fiona pointed to a nonexistent mark on her side.

“You look beautiful.” Kat folded her clothes and handed them to the headphone guy.

“Can I leave my shoes on? Or do I have to go barefoot?” Janie’s red shoes matched her fire-engine-red panty and bra set.

“Does it make a difference?” Quinn, we all tried not to notice, filled out his gray boxer briefs exceptionally well.

She nodded. “With my shoes on I’m almost as tall as you. Between the two of us I’m sure we can draw some attention.”

“Lady, you’re going to draw attention, but it will have very little to do with your height.” Mr. Headphones regretted his words almost as soon as he said them as he found himself face to neck with Quinn.

“Watch your mouth and keep your eyes to yourself.”

“Okay.” Fiona pulled Quinn back a little. “Okay. We’ll measure testosterone levels later. Let’s just get in there before the hour is up.”

Chapter 28

Sandra explained the typical order of the show: opening monologue, sketches, celebrity guests, live musical performance or comedy bit, celebrity guest, dancing, then Jell-O wrestling.

We snuck in during the live musical performance to cover the sound of our entry. The audience relegated to the front was absolutely crazy, but fun crazy. They weren’t pushing or shoving. It was more of a club atmosphere rather than a show or a concert. Two other sections of audience were further back—in seats and fully dressed. If I hadn’t been so keyed up I might have enjoyed myself. As it was, I had only one goal: get noticed by one of the dancers to get on the stage.

The group of girls surrounded me and Quinn helped us push to the front. The stage where the dancers were located was closer to the audience. Nico and his celebrity guest were further back. There was no way for me to get close enough for him to see me.

The dancers, however, walked back and forth during the live performance, pointing to people in the audience and motioning for them to come up on stage. People who were chosen were few and far between. I noted that only seven or so audience members had made it thus far, and all but two of them were completely naked.

I made to unclip my bra, but Fiona stilled my hands. “Not yet! I have an idea!” Fiona pulled me to Quinn then hollered something in his ear. His eyebrows jumped, looked at me, then shrugged.

Before I was quite aware of what was happening, Quinn had picked me up. “Climb on my shoulders,” he bellowed over the music.

I nodded and climbed up his hard torso and bicep with the help of Janie and Sandra. I sat on his shoulders, dually balancing and trying to get the attention of the nearest dancer.

I placed my thumb and forefinger to my lips and made a loud whistle, perfected after years of hailing cabs in Chicago, then waved my hands in the air as one for the girls approached.

She was a short, curvaceous brunette and, at first, laughed at my antics. But then I saw recognition flicker across her face. She stilled, squinted at me, then pointed.

She mouthed the words Elizabeth Finney?

I swallowed, nodded. She smiled. She waved me up and, even over the loud live performance, I could hear my group of girls squee. Ashley gave Quinn a high five as he deposited me back to the floor. I wobbled up to the stage and was immediately permitted entrance. The brunette crossed to me and offered her hand.

“I’m Erin. What are you doing in the audience? Why aren’t you backstage?”

I held Erin’s hand like it was a lifeline. “I only have an hour and I need to talk to Nico.”

“What? In front of everyone?”

“Yes. I don’t know. I don’t care. I just need to tell him.”

Her brown gaze moved over me, a question on her face. “I won’t be able to get you to the other stage, they don’t connect. But I can get you a microphone.”

The live music ended, and the crowd thundered with applause. I glanced up briefly and noticed that I was standing, in my underwear, on stage, in front of a live, studio audience of maybe over five hundred people—if not more—and a viewership of millions.

I nodded, squeezed her hand as the applause receded. “Do you think it will be okay? Okay for me to interrupt the show?”

She smiled. “Yes!” Her voice quieted to a whisper. “Nico loves surprises! Just wait till the part where we’re supposed to dance, after the next interview. It’ll only be another five minutes or so. Let me get the microphone.”

She winked at me, left me in a crowd of maybe fifteen na**d people and ten dancers in bikinis. But I didn’t notice any of them because Nico was speaking, and I wasn’t the only one watching him.

The entire studio hushed. He commanded their attention with his twinkly eyes and easy smiles. But, I noted, he didn’t look like my Nico. He looked like The Face. He even sounded a little different. He introduced his next guest. Everyone was enraptured. I craned my neck, tried to find my girls, and found them watching the show.

They laughed at his jokes, magnetized and transfixed by his charisma, and I wondered why this man—this talented, amazing, generous, smart, funny, kind, sweet man—was at all interested in me. Self-doubt turned in my stomach, but then I reminded myself that the self-doubt, my questioning the veracity of his feelings, was why he’d left me four days ago.

I steeled my resolve. By the time Erin returned with the microphone I was ready. I was ready to lay it all out there; I was ready to believe in him and us.

The music started, which signified the end of the last celebrity interview, and Nico stood to shake the hand of his guest. I watched on the big screen as he turned to the camera and the audience, wagged his eyebrows.

His voice resounded over the speakers. “I don’t know about you, but I think I could go for some Jell-O.”

High-pitched female screams and catcalls filled the studio, and I couldn’t help but laugh at this caricature of himself. He wore a figurative mask, was playing a part, looked like a naughty little boy who was asking for dessert, and the audience was eating it up.

The main camera switched to the stage where I stood and focused on all the dancers while Nico turned his back to the audience and started to take off his suit. Those audience members who were previously na**d had been given some underthings for minimal coverage, likely so the show would make it past censors.

Erin and the other dancers did a little routine, and I wondered when I should interrupt. I kept looking to her for a sign. I didn’t have to wait very long. Before I knew what was happening they surrounded me and said—in unison, into their headsets—

“Cut the music!”

The audience wwwwooooo-ed and clapped, obviously thinking this was all planned. Abruptly, not three seconds later, the music stopped. Erin met my gaze, a big grin on her face, and she nodded, whispered, “Go for it!”

I stole glances at the rest of the dancers and found them issuing me equally reassuring smiles. I gulped, breathed out, and stepped to the front of the stage, switched on the microphone. The audience was still applauding.

I endeavored to speak over them, knew it was now or never. “Can I—” I winced at how I sounded; hearing my voice over the microphone caught me by surprise. The crowd started to quiet down, and their attention shifted to me. I felt the full force of two thousand or more eyes upon me. I gathered another steadying breath and planted my feet on the stage. “Can I have a moment of your time, Nico?”

The studio fell into a hush, and I watched as he turned around, completely perplexed, his shirt half-unbuttoned.

“I’m over here, on the other stage.” I lifted my hand and waved. A few stragglers moved to the side so he could have a clear line of sight.

From thirty feet away I saw the crack in his façade, I detected his confusion, my Nico. He leveled me with stunned green eyes. I pushed down my doubt and gained a step toward him, as far as I could manage without jumping off the stage.

“I promise this won’t take very long. I just wanted to ask you something and it couldn’t wait. But first,” I tried to swallow, failed. “I need you to know that I love you. I love you so much, being without you hurts like . . . getting Tasered or punched in the stomach. I know this because recently I was punched in the stomach.” This sentiment elicited a good amount of laughter from the audience, but Nico’s mouth didn’t move, and his expression didn’t change.

I gave him a nervous smile then continued. “I can’t stop thinking about your smile. I want to keep it in my pocket, keep it just for me, and take it out and look at it a hundred times a day.” A few women aaawwwwed and one or two guys yelled out something less than polite, but were quickly hushed by a nearby neighbor.

I could discern the heavy rise and fall of his chest, even from my position and the distance between us. His eyes were tangled with mine, beautiful thorny vines. I couldn’t read them, but I could see that he was as singularly focused on me as I was on him. The crowd, now silent, completely faded away. It was just him and me, Nico and Elizabeth, and I was cutting myself completely open.