Brooklyn Monroe Wants It All by Karen Booth

Chapter Seven

How many menwould respond to an anonymous request to get a stranger pregnant? It turned out that the answer was thirty-seven. Twenty-four hours into her PR nightmare, thirty-seven men had expressed interest in hopping into bed with Brooklyn with the express purpose of putting a baby in her.

She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or disappointed. It was either a glimmer of hope. Or a sign that the world had been knocked off its axis.

Brooklyn decided to focus on the positive, rather than the insanity of her situation—she had options. Thirty-seven of them, to be exact. And she kept that in mind when she climbed out of her car in front of the Good Day USA studios, only to be met by a man with a sign saying, “Sperm are precocious! Not FREE!”

Oh, boy. Here we go.

“You’re horrible!” he shouted at her as she bustled toward the door.

“Do you know what precocious means?” She pointed to his sign.

“What? It says precious.”

You, dear man, need spellcheck.“Whatever you say.”

Before she could reach the relative safety of the studio, he and his sign were inches from her face. “What makes you think you can just ask men to get you pregnant? We don’t owe you anything.”

She wasn’t anywhere close to being used to this, even though she’d suffered through a similar comment out on the street after work yesterday. That guy had cast her a judgmental look and simply said, “You wish.”

Thirty-seven men disagree with you, buddy.“I’m well aware that sperm are a very special commodity. If they weren’t, they’d be a lot easier to come by.”

The man’s jaw went slack, but no words came from his mouth.

Brooklyn was dumbfounded. What in the hell did he want from her? He’d taken the time to come to midtown Manhattan at the ass crack of dawn, he’d made a sign decrying her apparent insensitivity, which even included a little cartoon drawing of spermatozoa, and now he wasn’t going to say a thing? “I’m very sorry I offended you.” She reached for the door handle.

His scowl softened. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” He nodded slowly.

“Okay?”

“I didn’t expect you to apologize. I thought you’d launch some feminist tirade at me.”

Oh, if only he knew the amount of feminist tirade material she had stashed away in her head, especially after he’d gone out of his way to ruin her morning. “Nope. I’m just trying to get through the next few hours. Have a nice day.” She hurried inside, flustered.

Was this an omen? Another damn sign? Alec wouldn’t ask the question in such an indelicate manner, but she was about to endure a lot of unpleasant scrutiny. All she could hope was that she’d be able to explain herself coherently and that would make this all go away. Then she could get to vetting thirty-seven men. Or stick her head in a hole. She was undecided on that.

She checked in at the security desk with the help of a very friendly guard named Maddie, and a dismissive snort from another guard named Jerome. Soon after, a production assistant greeted her, whisking her back to a dressing room, where a makeup artist was waiting. Brooklyn had already done her own at home, but she was given another coat of powder and a freshening of lipstick, then the woman made a quick departure. As soon as she shut the door, Brooklyn was left alone in the windowless room.

She plopped down on the couch and closed her eyes. Good God, she’d needed some actual quiet. The last twenty-four hours had been nothing but having to face everyone else’s response to what had happened. Here, for this brief moment, she only had to live with her own judgment. And she chose to not be brutal with herself. She knew the truth of what was in her heart. If anyone wanted to interpret it in a negative way, that was their problem.

Of course, it was easy to say that you’d be strong and face whatever criticism people wanted to launch at you. It was quite another to actually do it. She was a person with real vulnerabilities. Like everyone.

A knock came at the door and Alec poked his head inside. “Good morning.”

Brooklyn shot up out of her seat, admiring him. She’d never get used to seeing him in makeup, but he really did look handsome in the gray suit and overly starched white shirt he was wearing. He looked great in the morning, a talent which she did not possess. “I’m good. Just enjoying the quiet. No phones ringing. No emails piling up in my inbox. No strange men out on the sidewalk protesting my apparent dismissal of the value of their sperm.”

“Did that actually happen?”

“Ten minutes ago, outside.” She waved it off. “It’s fine.”

“Do you have any last-minute questions for me before the interview?”

Brooklyn didn’t like the idea of Alec asking uncomfortable questions, but she also trusted him to treat her like his former girlfriend rather than the woman who’d made herself into an internet joke. “Just be kind. That’s all I ask.”

He unleashed his dazzling smile and Brooklyn tried not to think about how it made her feel so damn wistful for what might have been. “Of course,” he said. “Always.” He gestured to the door with a nod. “Come on. I’ll walk you on to the set.”

They stepped out into the hall, and she saw a man pushing a baby in a stroller toward them. He was accompanied by a woman Brooklyn immediately recognized—Lela Bennett, the silver-haired founder of Lela B Cosmetics and an all-around badass of beauty. She was also Good DayUSA’s beauty expert.

Alec waved to them as they approached. “Do you know Lela Bennett?” he asked Brooklyn under his breath.

“I don’t. But I can’t help feeling like I should.”

Lela and the shaggy-haired man pushing the stroller stopped.

“Lela Bennett, I’d like you to meet Brooklyn Monroe. She’s the founder of Posh Post,” Alec said.

Lela’s face lit up, and she eagerly stepped closer and shook Brooklyn’s hand. “Oh, my gosh. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

Brooklyn couldn’t have been more flattered if she’d chosen the words that came out of Lela’s mouth. “Then we’re even, because I’ve been dying to meet you since that ad campaign you did when you launched Lela B. It was so incredible.” Lela had been featured in ads in major magazines, plastered to the sides of buses, and even on the electronic billboards in Times Square, looking very sexy while showing off her glorious head of gray hair. Lela was a woman who fully owned her age, and Brooklyn wanted to be that sort of person, but how was she supposed to do that when her age was the thing she was racing against? She didn’t want to be at war with anyone, but it felt as though she was embattled with her own body.

“Aww. Thank you,” Lela said. “Brooklyn and Alec, this is my husband, Donovan. And our granddaughter, Skye.”

Donovan was handsome enough and had a warm smile, but the flip Brooklyn’s heart made was for Skye. It happened any time she was around tiny humans. “Nice to meet you, Donovan.” Brooklyn crouched down in front of the baby. “Hello, Skye. Aren’t you just the cutest thing ever?” Indeed, the baby was completely adorable—bright eyes, round cheeks, and pudgy wrists. Brooklyn turned back and looked at Alec. “Isn’t she sweet?”

He nodded once and only once. “She is.” It was as if Brooklyn had asked if she was wearing a cute hat, which she was.

“She’s amazing.” Donovan peered down at his granddaughter. “It’s mind-blowing when your child has a child of their own.”

“I never really understood the appeal of being a grandparent, but I totally get it now,” Lela said. “We can love her as much as we want, then give her back when she’s cranky. We watch her once or twice a week. We both really look forward to it.”

Brooklyn watched as Lela and Donovan exchanged the most loving glance, and Brooklyn tried not to think about how behind she felt. Lela was probably only ten years older than her, but she was already a grandmother. And she’d found love. “Lela, would you like to have lunch sometime? Maybe Posh Post and Lela B can partner on something.”

“I’d love it,” Lela said, pulling out her phone. “Let me get your number.” She punched it in as Brooklyn rattled off her information. “I hope this isn’t an uncomfortable subject, but I heard about the note you put in Posh Post’s recent mailing. That was an interesting way to get some publicity.”

“That was an office joke gone awry. That’s why I’m here today. Alec is going to help me explain my way out of this predicament.”

“If it helps at all, that first Lela B ad campaign, the one that I modeled for, wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows. I got hate mail. People were pissed,” Lela said.

“Really?” Brooklyn didn’t want to sound so happy about this bit of news, but as someone who had also drawn ire, she felt as though she was in good company.

“You would not believe how triggered people were by a sexy woman with gray hair,” Donovan said. “It really opened my eyes to how much women are held to a very narrow standard.”

“We got lots of comments about no one wanting to see a grandma’s side-boob,” Lela said.

“But plenty of people also loved the campaign. And it made Lela B cosmetics fly off the shelves. We couldn’t make the stuff fast enough.” Donovan put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “For what it’s worth, I thought those photos were incredibly hot.”

Lela blushed. “My point is that the masses will launch all kinds of judgment at you. It doesn’t make any of it right. It’s also not all bad. Some good can come of it.”

“I would love to talk about this more at our lunch,” Brooklyn said. “Maybe next week?”

“Sounds fantastic. Just text me.”

No matter what happened in the interview, Brooklyn already felt better about coming to do the Good Day USA interview. If nothing else, she’d had the chance to meet a woman she seriously admired.

“I have to ask. Did anyone actually respond to the note?” Donovan inquired.

“Surprisingly, yes. I got a bunch of emails,” Brooklyn said.

That seemed to get Alec’s attention. “Was it all like the guy outside with the sign?”

Brooklyn shook her head. “Nope. I mean, I got some of that. I definitely offended a few people. But I also got positive responses. Guys who were open to the idea.”

“How many guys?” Alec asked, seeming extra inquisitive and even a bit horrified.

“Thirty-seven.”

Lela’s eyes went wide with astonishment. “Wow. I haven’t even kissed thirty-seven men, let alone, you know… thought about having sex with them. I mean, good for you.”

Alec reached for Brooklyn’s arm. “Hold on a minute. Thirty-seven? Are you serious?”

Brooklyn reared back her head. Why did he have to sound so surprised by the idea? “Yes, Alec.” She wanted to ask why in the hell he would even care. He’d been clear that he wasn’t interested in the job himself.

“Mr. Trakas,” the production assistant from earlier stepped out into the hall. “We need you and Ms. Monroe on set.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s us,” he said to Brooklyn.

“Okay,” she answered, unable to shake the feeling that Alec was once again casting judgment on her, and that the final verdict was that she was ridiculous.

“Good luck,” Lela said.

“Thanks,” Brooklyn replied. I think I’m going to need it.