Another tech checked the lighting with some hand-held electronic gizmo, readjusted the umbrella things, and checked the lighting again. It was pretty interesting, watching the behind-the-scenes production of a TV show.
Sandy finally made her way over by me, and the two of us claimed our spot out of the way, but with a good line-of-sight to Trip. He looked adorable with his hair all combed and lying flatter against his head than usual. I guessed he was going for a more respectable look. He’d even paired his rockin’ tee with a black sportcoat, the lapels of which he was picking invisible lint from.
The crew did a few test takes before they were ready for the real interview, and soon enough, it was underway.
Perry debriefed the audience, starting out by asking Trip about his latest film projects. After a few minutes of friendly chitchat, he directed the conversation toward Trip’s foundation.
“So, Trip, Earthling Rights Foundation has recently been recognized by Charity-Navigator-dot-org as a four-star organization, and it ranks in the top ten on their ‘Celebrity Related Charities’ list. Have the accolades brought any new attention to ERF?”
Trip had turned into him, but managed to answer with genuine humility. “It certainly has, Perry. The success of an organization like ours depends on making the public aware that we even exist. Catching the eye of the preeminent not-for-profit analysts over at Charity Navigator has been a huge boost for our exposure.”
“I suppose having the name of an Oscar-winning celebrity at the helm didn’t hurt matters, either.”
Damn. Perry was good. Watching him smooth his way from one question to the next was pretty impressive. I had a brief pang of longing, thinking about my abandoned journalism career.
Trip gave a chuckle. “I like to think so, yes. Only because I have a built-in audience to speak to. But it’s not about celebrity. It’s not about me. It’s about a group of individuals helping as many people as we can. We have hundreds of in-house volunteers; kind, generous people who just want to spread a little love where they can. They make ERF happen.” He turned his eyes toward the camera and added, “You do.”
Perry took note of Trip’s tee, acknowledging it with a nod of his head. “You mentioned that ERF is all about ‘spreading the love,’ and I’m guessing that’s where your T-shirt comes in.”
“Yes, Perry. Slanker Knox kindly let me steal their song title for ERF. They’ve generously agreed to donate a portion of the profits from sales of their album Patched Soul, so make sure you buy it, kids.” At that last part, he smiled that spellbinding grin directly into the cameras which, I was sure, would have everyone running for the nearest music store.
All hail the hypnotoad.
Perry chuckled jovially at Trip’s blatant plug, asking casually, “And do you believe that? That ‘a little love’ can make a difference?”
Trip’s mouth quirked into a tiny, calculated grin. He tipped his head slightly, checking himself out in one of the monitors, as he deliberately adjusted his blazer over his T-shirt.
It took me about a split second to realize what he’d just done.
His alteration blocked out some of the lettering, leaving only:
LOVE
L W
visible between his lapels. He must have seen my shocked face, because he raised his lip into a half-smile before answering Perry’s question. “Yes, Perry. I do believe love can make a difference. It can change the world, even. Heck, it worked for me.” Then his small smile turned into a huge grin as he looked past the cameras and right at me.
I almost died. There was Trip, announcing that he loved me to the freaking world.
Well, to the room, anyway. It’s not as though a respectable news station like CNN would bother reporting on the person behind the initials branded across his chest.
A few eyes swung in my direction, and I hoped my face hadn’t turned bright red. Perry had actually twisted in his chair at that, trying to get a better look at the woman who had stolen the infamous Trip Wiley’s heart.
Then again, I couldn’t very well steal what was rightfully mine.
*
Trip was saying goodbye, offering his thanks, and showing the last of his houseguests out the door. He threw the deadbolt, took his fingers off the handle, and turned to find me standing there with my hands on my hips.
“What?” he asked lightheartedly, knowing damn well what I was going to say.
“When did you have that shirt made?” I asked, pointing to the tee in question.
He took a few steps in my direction and wrapped his arms around my waist. He was wearing an evil grin, those perfect, white teeth smiling down at me. “Just last week. But I adopted the motto a year ago.”
“You devil! You did that on purpose!”
“It was either ‘Love Will Win’ or ‘I love bisexual women.’ I thought you’d like the first one better. But on that note, is there any chance I can talk you into a threesome?”