The Inevitable Fanfiction

Chapter 8
“Dude, you cannot call these kids losers. This is America man – ” Randy says, getting worked up.
“Don’t give me that American rubbish, Jackson. If he’s a loser, he’s a loser.”
The poor contestant on stage stares at the bickering judges.
“You wanna take this outside?” exclaims Randy, ready to jump out of his seat and take Simon on. Paula has never seen her usually even tempered friend so angry.
She holds his hand gently, begging for him to calm down. When she turns to Simon, his jaw is set in anger and his hands are trembling. Paula touches his shoulder and attempts to cover up for them all.
“He’s just having a tough day,” she says.
“I’m not having a tough day!” Simon snaps, pulling away from her touch.
However, she goes to hug him, surprising everyone including herself. His face takes a hundred and eighty degree turn, allowing her to hold him, leaning against her. Soon enough, he is fighting a smile; oh how he loves her attention. When they redirect the concentration to the other contestants, Paula looks up at him concerned.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“I might need another hug,” he says innocently. Paula shakes her head at him – yes, he was just fine.
By the time they had reached their next show, both Simon and Paula had done some serious reflection on their relationship. Simon had spent nights staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, thinking of her, while Paula could not go through one day without something reminding her of him. He has even started to sneak into her dreams – that cannot possibly be good.
“I hate you,” Paula spat. Simon had pressed her up against her dressing room wall, hips against hers.
“You want me,” he grinned back.
“I hate you,” she said again.
“I want you,” Simon replied softly and stole her lips with his.
“Mm.”
Paula’s eyes had flown open, where she had been found herself staring at the ceiling yet again. “I really hate you, Simon,” she’d mumbled, trying to fall back asleep.
The Brit on the other hand tries to analyse Paula for the millionth time that week. He tries to piece her together; her teasing personality, her anger towards him, the attraction he knows she has for him and the adoption papers he saw back in her house. She wanted children, did she? Well that was a disappointment because he certainly didn’t at this point of his life. He had finally gotten something going, something that he needed no distractions from. However, if the right woman came along, he would gladly re-evaluate his priorities. If. He’s sure Paula wouldn’t be that woman though. And because of this, he doesn’t think twice about making his latest resolution. He will be on good terms with Paula; whether that means being friends or bedding her, he isn’t sure yet, as both sound alluring, but he will do whatever it takes to achieve his goal.
The week zooms by and all four days that the judges hadn’t seen each other blur into one. Simon has been making an effort to be nice to his colleague, attempting a truce, but he fails miserably each time he watches her toss her hair or shimmy her shoulders to a song. His eyes linger on her legs, one crossed over the other, the way her fingers slide up and down her straw so very teasingly, as if mocking his desire for her. So she was arrogant and she loved getting her way, but bloody hell, she had a sexy way of doing it.
“Simon, what do you think?” Paula asks softly from beside him, just as Justin Guarini sings the last notes of his song. Her fingers land on the back of his hand to get his attention, and she most certainly succeeds. In a flash, his eyes are boring into hers wondering just how she managed to affect him. Why was it the smallest touch made him feel almost vulnerable? How did she manage to get under his skin like this? He hates it. Positively loathes it. Loathes her.
“He was alright, better than last week, definitely,” he says after what feels like an eternity.
“I think so too.” Paula smiles slightly as she removes her fingers from his hand, not so accidentally letting their skin brush for a moment more than necessary.
She wants to be professional and to be respected in her profession – she really does, but there is only so much one woman can take. Simon manages to grab her attention, forces her to watch him from the corner of her eye making her feeble beside him. It is so frustrating that by the end of the episode, she flees the studio. Simon, in a huff too, storms away but much to both their dismays, they find each other in the hallway.
“Speak of the devil,” Paula mutters.
Simon scowls. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?” he asks.
’You’, she thinks. “I could ask you the same question.”
“Right then.” He rolls his eyes in irritation knowing the only thing that could calm him now was a cigarette.
“Get that the hell out of my face!” Paula shouts as the smoke blows in her direction.
“No one asked you to stand here.”
She realises that they are both standing opposite each other, leaning against the walls of the narrow corridor. People are bustling around ahead of them, but they are well out of the way.
“Fine... I’ll leave.” She walks away with her head held high and her heart sunk low. Simon watches her back for a moment but he cannot enjoy the view today as he usually would; he is far too perturbed.
When he has finished two cigarettes and has just lit his third one, he walks out to the car park, ready to leave. He uselessly tries to distract himself of his upsetting thoughts – he thinks about maybe getting a puppy, about his house needing some life to it – anything. With no avail, he sighs as he sees Paula just about to enter her car. Brian is hugging her goodbye, and she hugs him back half-heartedly, her mind more on her mother’s voice across the phone.
“Mom, I really don’t want to talk about this now... No, really, I’m fine – Give me a second.”
“Bye, Paula,” says Brian.
“Bye, dear.” She kisses his cheek before he steps into his own car. “Mom, I’m at work; there are people around and I really don’t want to talk about my personal life or adoption right now.” She says all this under her breath, eyes scanning the area.
She spots Simon at the exit of the building and tightens her jaw; he definitely heard.
“Can I call you back when I’ve reached home? Yes, I will call back... Bye, love you.”
“What, Simon?” Paula snaps as soon as her phone is flipped shut.
“Nothing at all,” he raises his hands in mock surrender, his cigarette thrown to the floor and stubbed with his shoe. “I was just leaving.”
Paula chooses to stay silent getting into her vehicle. She expects Simon to do the same but there he is, looking at her through the window. The engine purrs to a start and she rolls down the window.
“What?”
“If you don’t mind me saying this – I think you should be nicer to your mother – ”
“I do mind.”
“ – Because some day she might be the only one you have left,” he finishes.
Paula takes a sharp breath, and a minute passes until she can respond. “You don’t know me or what my life is about,” she says quietly.
Simon leans against the window frame so that their faces are almost level and their noses are almost touching. “I know that you can’t keep a man around long enough to have a child with you,” he spits, straightening up and walking away.
He doesn’t care for her reaction – it makes him satisfied to have hurt her. She will probably cry, he thinks. Unpredictable as ever though, she manages to surprise him. Her car door flies open and she marches up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around with such force, Simon wonders where she stores it all.
“F*** you, Simon. You know nothing about me, not a damn thing. Go to hell.”
“Gladly, if it means getting away from you.”
They storm off in different directions, each into their respective cars. Paula makes it out first, feeling a small sense of childish pleasure within her fiery state of mind. She only calls her mother back to tell her that their conversation will have to be saved until tomorrow while, in his home, Simon drinks a few drinks too many. By night, they both collapse on their beds loathing the very thought of the other.

***
The following days are no better; the tension is palpable and war has declared itself amongst the judges and hosts of American Idol. Everyone seems to be on Paula’s side except of Brian who stays far away from it all while Ryan attempts to make peace between them. Nothing seems to be working though because neither Paula nor Simon are willing to back down this far into the game. She manages to render the audience of her side too, as she tells AJ how well he has done in the competition and that he is simply amazing at what he does.
“Simon, could you please say something nice?” Asks Brian.
“I’m sorry, I’m still surprised at what Paula said. Amazing, are you joking?” Simon says to her, eyes wide and flaring. He proceeds to ridicule the bottom three contestants standing before him, making Paula angrier than ever.
Randy says his usual constructive commentary while Paula waits for the opportunity to defend the contestants and her own case.
“You know, I just want to say that it was your talent that brought you here tonight. To this competition, right now. And it’s going to carry you further and further along.” She sees an opening. “And I want you to also remember this guy – ” Paula gestures at Simon. “ –will never know the highs that you’ve experienced performing in front of all these people. And you know what? The only high he’ll ever experience is if he smokes his own T-shirt.”
The audience cheer as if she had just won a Nobel Prize. Simon tries to find the insult in that but she sounds so stupid to him, talking about smoking his own shirt. He hates how she is dragging her personal feelings into this and tries to regain some professionalism. He explains that AJ has been out-sung and out-performed many times in the rivalry. “Words are hollow. Paula, you’re a choreographer. Devote some time to him – ”
She interrupts, wanting to be one up. “Yeah, I’ve also won Grammys and music awards.”
“Words are cheap,” argues Simon. The fact he has seen her backstage, taking the initiative to help out the contestants on more than one occasion escapes his memory for the one significant moment.
“This is what happens when you’re breastfed by your father,” Paula says, and the audience is louder than ever. Simon stays quiet for the rest of the show, causing Paula to feel more victorious than she had in a long while.
Paula is practically dancing to her dressing room when Nigel pops out of his office. “A word please, Paula,” he says softly.
Immediately she starts judging all she had said, hoping she hadn’t been too rude. She didn’t think she’d get into trouble. It isn’t in her nature to hurt people, but then again, Simon isn’t ‘people’. Still though, she didn’t think she had said anything that would scare viewers away. That’s all this would be about, right? She isn’t too sure of herself anymore as she walks into Nigel’s office and sits down in front of him.
“Paula about today’s show...” Nigel starts hesitantly, touching the tips of his fingers together. “There is something you need to know about Simon-” His tactic changes, making Paula confused.
“Listen, Nigel, if you felt that I was too unprofessional today, I’m sorry and it won’t happen again.”
“No, no, it’s not about that. I’m not about to lecture you on how you should act. You’re an adult and I think Simon Fuller quite likes the attention yours and Simon’s rivalry brings to the show. What I want to tell is on a personal level... Personal for Simon.”
“Okay?” She seems unsure as what could be coming her way. Was it that Simon is really soft of the inside and is crying his eyes out at the moment? She doubts it.
“I don’t think you should mention his father. Eric Cowell passed a few years ago and Simon never really got over it, you know.”
“Oh God.” A lump rises to Paula’s throat and tears fill her eyes. “I had no idea.”
“I thought you had better know,” Nigel shrugs.
“Th- thanks.” Paula leaves his office in a daze, feeling dreadful. She needs to apologise.
In front of his dressing room door she hesitates and knocks. “Simon? Simon, can I come in?” There is no answer. “Oh God, Simon,” she sighs.
She finds out that he has already left the building, and according to Randy he had mist in his eyes. How she wishes she has his phone number, or a clever way of getting it from somewhere else. How she wishes she knew where he lives, so she could show up at his doorstep and beg for his forgiveness. All of his nastiness put together is not equivalent to all the bittersweet memories she might have just flooded into his mind. All she can do is hope that next week comes as quickly as it can.