Spoiler Alert (Spoiler Alert #1)(13)
Unapologetic Lavinia Stan: But why make that narrative choice? It’s so much less interesting than what Wade or even Virgil did.
Book!AeneasWouldNever: I suspect it has a lot to do with how the showrunners view women.
4
HER CELL BUZZED FROM ATOP THE HOTEL ROOM DESK, and April rested her forehead against the faux-wood surface. She lifted her head, only to drop it again with a muted thud.
Without even looking, she knew who was calling and why. At some point, her mom was going to hear about the date with Marcus happening that night. It was only a matter of time, but April had appreciated every minute of it.
And now, her time was up.
One glance at the display confirmed her fears, and she heaved a sigh before tapping the screen. “Hi, Mom.”
“Honey, I just saw a picture of you on Entertainment All-Access. I think.” Her mother sounded both startled and confused. “You were wearing some sort of old-fashioned dress?”
April had wondered yesterday whether JoAnn’s favorite show to watch during dinner prep would feature the story. Evidently, she had her answer. “That was me. In my Lavinia costume. You know, from Gods of the Gates?”
“Oh, my heavens.” Her mother blew out a breath. “April, I don’t even—”
A lengthy silence followed, in which JoAnn likely blinked in shock at her daughter’s sudden, unexpected fame, absorbed the news, and contemplated where to begin the conversation. With curiosity? Concern? Pity? Advice?
Eventually, she’d cover all of the above. April knew that already, as well as she knew what her mother’s advice would entail.
At long last, her mother chose an opening query. “How in the world did this happen?”
That was a question with many answers, some more existential than others, but April settled on the bare facts. Minus a bit of context, in the vain hope they could both avoid the inevitable.
“Well, I have a Twitter account where I post pictures of myself cosplaying Lavinia, and Marcus Caster-Rupp saw one of the photos Wednesday night and asked me out.” She kept her voice calm, as if her world hadn’t exploded in the last several days. As if her heart hadn’t been skittering in her chest since the moment she’d risen that morning. “I’m staying at a hotel in Berkeley this weekend while I get my new apartment ready, and he happened to be in the area. So our dinner is happening tonight, but please don’t tell anyone. I’d like to keep the whole thing as private as possible, under the circumstances.”
As private as possible meant not very private. And that was putting it mildly.
As soon as her Twitter exchange with Marcus went viral, her mentions became . . . incomprehensible. Overwhelming. Filled with commentary both heartening and stunningly ugly. And even though she’d muted all the main threads long ago, new followers and tweets just kept coming, as did interview requests and blogger and media questions.
Her current amount of exposure was more than sufficient, so she’d refused all requests and ignored all questions. Then, just when the hubbub had begun to diminish, the official Gods of the Gates Twitter account had picked up on the story and obviously seen the date, true to Marcus’s prediction, as a great PR opportunity. To her dismay, they’d started promoting the shit out of the blessed event.
Which meant yet more notifications. More DMs. More threads to mute.
At that point, the story had reached her former coworkers. Because of the continued internet uproar, two of her now-ex-colleagues had seen her picture in one of the many stories available online by Friday.
They’d chatted to her about it in hushed corners of the office, and she hadn’t minded their winks and nudges. But their sympathetic winces and pitying pats on the arm—such terrible things people said, April; I can’t imagine how you must have felt—had set her teeth on edge.
When she’d walked out of her old workplace, box of belongings in her arms, she’d done so through a gauntlet of gawking and whispers.
No more hiding, she’d repeated through a suddenly tight chest. No more hiding. Folk goddamn trio.
Then the story had leaped from Twitter to Facebook and Insta, and from there to Gods of the Gates blogs and even a few entertainment news programs.
Including Entertainment All-Access, evidently.
She was trying not to follow the spread of her newfound fame, but how could she not? Even when each post, each televised clip, ratcheted the tension in her muscles until her shoulders ached?
“I see.” JoAnn probably had seen the entire story only moments before, displayed for the public’s viewing pleasure on television screens nationwide. “Are you okay, honey?”
Ah, concern and pity had made a simultaneous entrance into the conversation. Lovely.
“I’m good. Just figuring out what to wear for—” Shit. Rookie mistake. Normally, April never, ever introduced clothing choices into any discussion with her mother. “Just looking forward to tonight. Marcus plays Aeneas, one of my favorite characters.”
Her mother ignored that gambit.
“They showed us part of that conversation on Twitter.” JoAnn’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “I’m not sure posting pictures there is a great idea.”
It was more or less the same advice April had received for more than thirty years: If people are cruel, make yourself smaller and smaller, until you’re so inconsequential no one can target you.