Ship It(90)

I go over to Paula’s assistant Donna and say, “Whatcha got for me this time?” and she pulls this really beautiful vintage Alien T-shirt out of her bag. I can’t believe it.

“I love Alien!” I say. “It’s my favorite movie!”

“So I heard,” she says.

I take off my T-shirt and slip the new one on. It’s soft and fits perfectly. I turn around and Rico gives me a thumbs-up. “Thanks,” I mouth at him from across the room.

Then Paula’s hollering at us to get ready, and we gather our things and follow her toward the stage. It’s showtime.


MS. GREENHILL LEADS me to the side of the stage. I’ve stood on the sidelines before, but never while knowing I had to step out from behind the curtain. I peek out and see the ballroom is huge, packed solid with fans. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.

Ms. Greenhill takes me by the shoulders and looks directly into my eyes. “Claire, there is no one better suited to this than you right now. I want you to know that everyone here believes in you. You’re going to be great. Now take a deep breath and hold it.” I do. “And let it out slowly.” I do. “Now go get ’em.” She slaps me on the shoulder, and I stagger out from behind the curtain and make my way step-by-step onto the stage as the applause and cheering erupts from the audience.

The lights are very bright—almost blinding. I don’t look at the crowd, just train my eyes on the podium at the end of the stage and focus on making it without tripping. When I get there, I put my hands on the hard wood surface of it, feeling it cool and steady under me as I lean into the microphone.

“Hello, everyone,” I say, and I hear my voice projected supernaturally loud over the ballroom as the audience hushes. I think about how much more power I have, standing here on this stage, with this microphone in front of me, than anyone out there. I could say anything right now and they would all have to listen. My heart thumps with nerves.

“My name is Claire Strupke. Some of you know me as heart-of-lightness. I want to welcome you all to the Demon Heart panel at San Diego Comic-Con.” The audience cheers wildly. I look into the crowd and I happen to see Tess in the fourth row, staring at me with huge, wild eyes. I wink at her, and she just looks even more shocked. Seeing her makes some of my nervousness subside. Just imagine you’re talking to Tess. “Please welcome to the stage, from the show Demon Heart, Jamie Davies, Rico Quiroz, and Forest Reed.” I can’t be the only one who noticed that Forest’s name got slightly more cheers than the others, including a distinctly male whooping. This is going to be interesting.

The three of them come out and take their seats behind the table. Rico and Forest smile encouragingly in my direction. Doing great so far!

“So,” I say, “Demon Heart is at a critical point, having completed its first season, but not yet picked up for a second. That’s unusual, for a show to not have a second season order this late in the year, isn’t it?”

Jamie shoots me a look. “Yes, it is, thanks for bringing it up,” he says drily. There’s an uneasy laugh in the audience. Those are the first words he’s spoken to me since that night in Seattle.

I shake it off and continue. “Fans are eager to know what’s in store for the future of Demon Heart.”

And here it is. The moment of decision. I could ask, Can you address the issue of queerbaiting and how your show has contributed to it? Or In a world in which bisexual representation is so rare, how do you feel about the possibility that one or both of your leads might be bisexual? Or even something snarky like How do you feel about your show being the poster child for heteronormativity?

I look out at the crowd, who are getting restless. Are they waiting for me to ask about it? Will they feel let down if I don’t? I lock eyes with Forest, who is watching me intently, waiting. It’s unfair that we ask this of him. That he feels like he has to put up a false front just so he can get the role he wants. Is he not an actor? What does it matter if his last character is gay? It doesn’t mean they all have to be. But those are questions for the people in charge of his next project, not this one.

I turn my gaze to Rico.

“Rico, the first question is for you. How do you manage to memorize your lines that are in demontongue? That seems like it would be really hard.”

Rico laughs and starts answering the question, talking about his elaborate and hilarious process involving making recordings of the lines and listening to them in his sleep. As he answers, Forest looks at me strangely, like I surprised him. He should be grateful; I’m saving his ass here. I’m doing this for him.

My next question is about how Forest learned to use the battle-ax. My next is about the costumes they wear. I start asking them questions about themselves that I know they have great answers to because I’ve spent so much time with them. I get Rico to talk about how much he loves those videos where returning soldiers surprise their dogs. I get Forest to discuss his love of Voodoo Doughnuts. I ask them questions a regular moderator wouldn’t know to ask, and they’re giving great answers, funny and authentic and real. I can feel the audience lapping it up.

Finally, it’s time for the audience Q&A. There’s a scramble as fans stand to move toward the microphone. I feel a little nervous for Forest. He might still get a SmokeHeart question, but at least it won’t come from me.

The audience’s rush to the microphone sounds a little physical, with some screeches and grunts and expletives, but the lights are too bright to see too much. One of the stagehands flicks on a spotlight that hits the first person at the mic.