I drank the last few ounces of tequila from my bottle and threw it across the room. I hadn’t stopped crying since I landed in Fayetteville, and no matter what I did to try to make myself feel better, I only felt worse.
I reached for another box of Kleenex and realized I was still wearing the promise ring Phillip gave me. It was a Cartier, a three carat cushion cut diamond with a beveled bracket, a supposed symbol of his undying love.
He’d given it to me in London, after he took me to lunch at Pied à Terre and Buckingham Palace. As we stood outside together, arms embraced, foreheads touching, he told me that he loved me, that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me, and that my new promise ring would have a wedding band to match in the near future.
He said he was going to marry me…
I still believed that he would call and tell me he was sorry, that he wanted to be with me and had finally hammered out his divorce, but several days passed and he never did.
I texted him every morning and every night, but he never texted me back. I called and called and called, and it always went straight to his voicemail.
I looked up at the TV and decided to take a cue from Titanic. I twisted his promise ring off my finger and walked over to my balcony.
I pitched the ring as far as I could manage and looked around for the paparazzi. Surely they’d followed me from the private airport to my mid-scale hotel and there would be photos of me tossing that ring away in the news tomorrow. Surely everyone in America would feel sorry for me, and by the end of the week my first scandal would be more than over.
I raised my hands in the air and waited to hear the click clicking of the cameras, for a group of them to rush under the balcony and start taking close-up shots, but nothing happened.
Fayetteville was quiet.
There was nothing but a chorus of crickets chirping amidst the cool night air.
Disheartened, I stumbled back into my room and opened another bottle of tequila.
I drank three more shots and passed out on the carpet.
I sat in the backseat of a cab and tried to stifle my sobs with the sleeves of my jacket. Everything around me was falling apart and I knew it would take much more than a public statement and a six week hiatus to put it all back together.
On Friday, Cover Girl issued a statement regarding my behavior, saying, “The actions of Miss Ross are in no way indicative of the character we seek in our valued spokespersons and we have unanimously decided to revoke her campaign contract for the upcoming year.”
On Saturday, after I drunkenly-tweeted my twenty million followers that I wanted Phillip to come back to me and that he should hurry up and divorce his wife, Katy called to let me know she was quitting.
Effective immediately.
The only person I had left was Joan. She’d agreed to come to Fayetteville and be my new personal assistant if I patched things up with my mother first, but I figured she would overlook that part of our agreement once she saw how distraught I was.
I looked out my window and winced as we passed another “Arkansas, The Natural State” sign. Things were beginning to look familiar, and as hard as I tried to block out the memories of my past, they played out right in front of me: There were the River-bend Gardens—where Taylor and I shared our first kiss, the Farmer’s Market—where Jessica and I went every weekend to do the bakery shopping for my mom, and Tiffany D’s Ice Cream Parlor—where my dad took me once a month to lecture me on the laws of life before he passed away.
When we pulled into the main streets of town, I slouched down in my seat to avoid my mother’s Sweet Seasons bakery. I knew it was closed on Sundays and that no one would strain to see through the cab’s windows, but I didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone noticing me.
When I finally sat up, I saw that we’d passed Autumn Wonder, where Joan asked me to meet her.
“Stop!” I yelled. “Can you drop me off at that coffee shop back there please?”
“Right away ma’am,” the driver made a reckless U-turn.
I sent Joan a text and eyed the colossal Autumn Wonder store. It had to be new, really new—even the ones in New York City didn’t look as nice as this one.
The cab driver looked at me through the rearview mirror and put the car in park. “That’ll be $24.89, ma’am.”
I handed him my credit card and he shook his head. “I don’t have a credit card machine, ma’am.”
“Ugh! I forgot I was in Fayetteville,” I sighed and handed him a hundred dollar bill. “I see you all have yet to catch up with the rest of the world. Keep the change.”
I slammed his door shut and adjusted my blonde wig. I popped a mint into my mouth and tried to walk in a straight line. I whispered “One, two, three…sober!” and made my way inside.