The Inevitable Fanfiction

Chapter 12- In Honour of Our Finale
I stare at the papers in my hand blankly. This is not a sight I should have to see in the mail, first thing in the morning. There is an envelope with the words ‘Mr. Simon Cowell’ on it, and a folded piece of paper inside. I take it out cautiously. The words glare up at me.
‘Paula Julie Abdul and Jeremy Richard Hunter invite you to come join the celebration of our marriage.’

Below it, the receptions are listed along with their timings and other nitty-gritty details. There is also an RSVP option, but apparently, I don’t have much of an option. I will be in London at the time anyway, for Britain’s Got Talent, and don’t have any excuse to get out of this.
Damn weddings. Damn marriage. Damn it all to ruddy hell.
And to think tonight is the Idol Finale, and I have to see her and probably him as well.
I throw the invitation onto my table carelessly and just as I’m about to bin the envelope, I notice there is something else inside. It is a similarly flourished paper, but smaller and instead of fine print, it is a handwritten message. I’d know that penmanship anywhere.
‘Dear Simon,’ It starts.
‘This is probably the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Maybe you would say the same for yourself. These past few weeks on Idol haven’t been the same – I think we both know that. I’ve missed our banter and how you would tease me. Now, if you ask me to admit that on TV, well…. Just kidding. I would do it in a heartbeat, Simey.
Tonight is the finale, and I’d like to think our time apart as over with. This is our last season together, and I want to share it with you. I hope you’d like the same. When I say Idol has changed my life, I mean it. Without it, we wouldn’t have helped so many kids achieve their dreams. Without it, we wouldn’t have many of the friends we have today. Without it, I would have never met you. You’ve given me the best gift anyone could give me. You gave me you.
I know you’re still curious as to why I decided to marry again. And you deserve to know the truth... I didn’t want to ruin my relationship with Jeremy, and there was a big chance of that if I said no. He is the kind of guy that doesn’t like to be told ‘no’. And I think it could work with him. I know it’s probably not what you wanted to hear, and I’m sorry.
I’m inviting you to come for the wedding because… you are my maid of honor, after all. Kidding! (I can only hope you’re smiling right now). I understand if you don’t want to be there – I wouldn’t blame you. I don’t know if I could do it, should the positions be reversed. But the happiest day of my life can’t be perfect without my best friend there.
Cheesy as it is,
And so it goes, and so it goes,
And you’re the only one who knows, dear.
For whatever it’s worth,
I love you, Simon.
-Paula.’
I read and re-read the message, noting her American spelling, poetic sentences and meaningful words. Somehow, I don’t believe I will be binning this.
Paula and I have managed to remain civil without being friendly for the past few weeks on Idol. But she is right; this will be our last show on Idol ever. This is our last season and after this I probably won’t see her as often. If we can get back to where we were though, as friends, I’d hope we can meet up occasionally. She’d have to come to England with Hunter sometimes anyway – she would have in-laws to visit. I find myself rolling my eyes.
Sinitta walks in with a weeping Zac in her arms. Thank Heavens he isn’t one to wail. He sniffs and rubs at his puffy eyes while his mother rubs his back soothingly.
“Bad dream,” ‘Nita mouths over Zachary’s head and I nod understandingly. I stroke his head gently and soon enough he calms down.
“What’s this?” Sinitta asks, reaching for the papers on the counter. I hold my breath, afraid what she’d think if she reads the note from Paula. Luckily, she picks up the invitation instead. When she isn’t looking, I quickly grab the note and slide it into my pocket. “Oh, how lovely.” She smiles a tad too widely.
“Will you go with me?” I ask, not wanting to face it by myself.
“Sure, darling.” She pulls me by the lapel of my shirt and kisses my lips tenderly. I lean in again and hold her lips to mine. Zac, who is between us, shuffles uncomfortably and we pull away. She giggles and cuddles him close.
Sinitta and I have progressed I think, getting as far as snogging on my couch. But, we’re taking things slowly. It’s better that way.
“You’re coming to Idol tonight, yeah?” I ask, sitting on the sofa in the large living room. She sits opposite me, rocking Zac from side to side lovingly.
“Yeah.” She smiles.
I’m glad because the closer it gets to the finale, the more interviews we have to do – and I hate being spotted alone when everyone else has someone by their side, especially since this is the very night of the finale.
A little after breakfast, when both the children are up and about and Sinitta is using the gym in the left wing of the house, my phone rings.
‘Ryan S.’ flashes on the screen and I click the ‘talk’ button.
“Hello,” I greet.
“Hey, buddy,” Ryan replies.
“How are you?”
“Good. You?” He asks.
“Just fine,” I reply.
“You’re going back to England on what-”
“Friday,” I finish.
“Oh – that doesn’t give us much time. Do you want to come over today, play some tennis or something?”
“I don’t want to leave Sinitta at home – can we play here?” He goes silent and I know what he wants to ask so badly; ‘She’s still there?’
“Sure, what time?” He asks instead. I can tell he is excited.
“Around lunch would be fine.”
“Alright. See you then.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Time flies by and soon Ryan is outside my gate. I buzz to let him in. He gives me a quick hug and kisses Sinitta on the cheek.
“You’re still putting up with you-know-who?” He asks her, winking.
“I know! Even I’m surprised,” She giggles, as I feign hurt. She leans into me and kisses my cheek when I rest an arm on her shoulders.
Ryan raises his eyebrows but says nothing. For now anyway.
With our rackets and bottles of water, in our sweatshirts and shorts we make our way to my huge tennis court.
“So what’s with you and Sinitta, Cowell?” Ryan asks, never one to beat around the bush. He hits the ball and it flies above the net. I hit it and again it flies.
“Nothing you need to know about,” I quip and he laughs.
“Defensive much? Dude, you’re all about kiss and tell – why all the secrecy? And what about…” He stops to run and hit the ball again. “Paula?” He finishes.
“Paula’s getting married, Ryan.” I reach the racket out but miss the ball. I am short of breath already as I pick it up from the floor and throw it across the net to Ryan.
“I thought you guys had a good chance. Last year, you know?” He serves.
“So did I.” I return the serve.
“What went wrong? Was it the kids issue?”
“You’re awfully nosy today, aren’t you?” I ask, but I don’t mean it. While I feel vulnerable putting myself out there, it is nice to talk to someone about it who isn’t my mum.
“It was, wasn’t it?” He assumes.
We hit the ball over the net a few more times before I answer.
“Perhaps partly.”
“You wouldn’t sacrifice that for her?” Ryan asks, sounding genuinely surprised.
“I don’t know, Ryan. I really don’t know. She is a woman deserving of a lot of things – but I’m not sure I could give her this one,” I say bitterly.
“I’ve seen you with Sinitta’s kids and those kids in Africa. You’d be a better father than you think, man.”
He hits the ball over the net but this time I don’t attempt to hit it back. I throw my racket down onto the floor and grab my water bottle. There are some benches at the side of the court; I sit down on one of them, wiping my now sweaty face.
“I’m a good uncle. The moment Maggie starts to scribble on the walls with her felt-tips is the moment I lose it. You can’t lose it when you’re a father!” I say this, as I would be expected to say, but I don’t seem to mean it any longer. And Ryan sees right through me.
Ryan sits down on the bench beside mine and takes a swig of his water.
“Despite your big head, you don’t give yourself enough credit when it’s due. Offer it all to Paula – offer it to her on a silver platter.”
I steer the conversation slightly telling him about mine and Paula’s deal and how it is over today. We play tennis for about an hour more and disgustedly, I admit he won. He slaps me on the back in a friendly way but I know he’s grinning like an egomaniac Cheshire cat.
He waves to Sinitta as we pass the living room, where she is watching TV. She smiles back. At the doorway, he insists on hugging me even though he’s sweating under his newly changed clothes.
So I let him, patting his back firmly and just as I pull away, he whispers something in my ear.
“She can’t let go of you that easily – you’ll see,” He says but runs out of the door like a retreating deer and gets into his car.
I roll my eyes good-naturedly and wave, laughing at his flee.

***
In the studio, everyone is either smiling too widely or close to tears. Everyone from the crew; from Debra, to Ryan. Even I feel a little emotional knowing this will be our last season together. It hadn’t really sunk in before, but now it’s all real and undoubtedly a hard pill to swallow. I can’t digest it properly.
I see those two radio DJs and they smile at me as I walk through the corridor. It’s no surprise that they’re here. It is only after a while I realise that my feet are leading me to Paula’s dressing room. When my hand rises on its own accord to either knock or open the door, I backtrack. This is going to be awkward. And Lord knows I hate awkward. Especially when it’s with someone I’ve known for so long, consider my closest friend in the whole of U.S. and adore to pieces. My brain says ‘no’ over and over, but my hand knocks anyway, and then twists the handle.
“Come in,” Paula’s voice calls sweetly.
I open the door slightly and poke my head in. She is facing the mirror and her ‘help’ is zipping her dress up. I get a great view of her back. She sees me through the mirror and gives me a shy smile.
“Come here,” I say and open my arms out.
She spins around and runs the few feet that separate us and pushes herself against me. I get a good view of her dress – it’s red in colour, tight at the chest and hips, loosening up close to her knees. Her hair is long, black and wavy. In other words; utterly stunning.
There is not even a centimeter of space between us as our arms hold each other for dear life. She holds my torso and her face is pressed in my shirt. “Come here,” I find myself repeating, as if she isn’t really ‘here’ yet.
I rub her back, which is bare on the top half. I like the feeling of her skin against mine. My other hand plays with the ends of her hair, twirling it between my fingers. In that one moment, there is no Sinitta and no Hunter. There is no finale. It is just her and me with gawking staff buzzing around us.
“I missed you,” Paula whispers, so softly I almost didn’t catch it.
Usually she does not like to show so much affection when so many of her staff are around, but obviously today is a special occasion.
I note that most of her things are gone, or wrapped in either boxes or newspaper. It really is the last time.
“I missed you too, pet,” I reply, somewhat cooing in her ear.
We refuse to let go of each other.
It was harder than I imagined actually, which is pretty damn hard; Weeks sitting beside Paula Abdul was a normalcy when we were friends. But sitting next to the Paula Abdul I know so well and yet having to pretend she meant nothing more than an acquaintance to me was hell. I’m glad we get to spend this last show as the friends we really are. The friends who know each other inside and out, who have been to hell and back with our jabs and other peoples’ jabs directed at us.
“Paula, my love– ” Another Englishman’s voice sounds and the door flies open. There Jeremy Hunter stands, with Paula’s purse in hand.
Paula’s hand that is resting on my chest pushes me away quickly as if we had done something most immoral here. While we had, it was definitely not today.
“Hi, honey,” She says and takes her purse from him, kissing his lips quickly. She glances at me but I look away, wanting to show her it hurt.
“Cowell! Long time no see,” Jeremy takes my hand and pats my back as if he had seen nothing more than a mere embrace. Actually, that is all it was. For some reason, this surprises me.
“How’ve you been?” I ask, politely.
“Wonderful. Top of the world, actually,” He brings Paula close to his side and she looks everywhere but at me. “And you, mate?”
“I’m excellent.” I give a half smile. Formalities sicken me. “You’ll be in the audience?”
“Yes. I know how much this last show means to Paula. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” He gives her shoulders a squeeze and she gives a weak attempt at a smile.
“Yeah. It’s hard to imagine life without the show now, right Paula?” I ask.
“Definitely.” This time she meets my eyes, her deep brown ones are intense as ever.
We aren’t talking about the show. Life is hard to imagine without her. But Hunter doesn’t need to know that.
“See you out there,” I say and clap the man on the shoulder, which is higher up than mine. I hate that he is taller than me.
“See ya,” Paula says quietly. I look down at her and tap her chin quickly with my fist. It’s an affectionate gesture, one saying ‘It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it.’
When the show starts, Paula holds onto both my hand and Kara’s with Randy on Kara’s other side. The four of us, linked by the hand, walk out on stage together for the last time. I sort of wonder if as an onlooker, maybe Simon Fuller or Nigel Lythgoe even, if Kara deserves this goodbye as if she had been on the panel for the decade that the rest of us have. Ah, what does it matter anyway? Paula, Randy, Ryan and I are here still – we stuck it out through the whole series, which is more than I can say for my other shows. It does sort of feel like a family living together for so many years and then deciding to go their separate ways.
“Please welcome for the last time on American Idol: Randy Jackson, Kara DioGuardi, Paula Abdul and Simon Cowell!” Ryan exclaims.
Paula squeezes my hand tight as we walk out. I squeeze it back. It’s hard for the both of us.
When Ryan introduces us, there are clips from all the season put together for us.
“Randy Jackson, and his dog pound, always there to call name everyone ‘dog’ and ‘man’. Even the girls! But he’s a music man, and he knows what he’s dawging about, right?” Says Ryan and the clip rolls on the big screen. Many moments of Jackson calling contestants, Ryan and me ‘dude’ and ‘dawg’ play and when it ends the crowd is on their feet.
“And Kara, the latest edition to our Idol family – like the contestant’s auntie, who’s just been married in. She has finally gotten used to our antics.”
Kara’s clip is fairly boring comparatively, showing her and the ‘Bikini girl’ sing-off and talking over and singing louder than many contestants. The crowd claps and the stage-hands have to gesture for them to stand. Paula and I result in biting the inside of our cheeks to keep from laughing.
Instead of coming to us next, Ryan pretends as though he is very disheartened to have to show a montage of his moments on the show. Mostly it’s him being silly with the contestants and his and I barbing comments at each other. This time I clap loudly and the audience is screaming and hooting. I bet he just loves that.
He shows only a short clip each for Paula and I, which makes me curious.
“And last, but not least. I think it’s only fair they are shown together – that’s how they are in real life anyway.” He pauses to snigger and if I could still frown, I would. “I think everyone should see just how far you’ve come, don’t you think?” He winks at us and Paula looks down at the monitor between us, blushing. Surprisingly, she is the one that leaves her hand on my knee. I cover it with my own.
We watch as the longest of all the clips play, with separate bits of her and then me at the beginning, moving onto season one. There she proceeded to call me names and yell things at me that to this day, I don’t understand.

Ryan’s voiceover says “And then… They became friends.” Flashes of Paula hitting my chest, us giggling and kissing played on the screen. “After that… we wished they still hated each other,” Ryan’s voice continues.
They play the kiss scene we had filmed in season two and the audiences ‘aww’s. I giggle and pinch Paula’s side as if to say ‘remember those good times?’ A clip of me talking plays on the screen that I don’t remember saying that. I said to Paula “If you and I ever get married, we’ll book her.”
That one pangs at my heart more than I’d be willing to admit.
The short film ends and Ryan gives us a sappy puppy face.
“Now I might be going on at a long shot, but guys, America would love to see you kiss one more time and the mom and dad of American Idol.” I can’t help but wonder if the parents reference was purposeful on Ryan’s part.
Paula shakes her head, flustered and giggling. I shrug my shoulders, gesturing that it is fine with me. The crowd is going crazy, screaming and Paula looks back at Jeremy like asking for his permission. Paula’s mother and father are both there, side by side despite the fact they are divorced. I see Jeremy shrug and smile, unfazed. I should look back at Sinitta but I don’t want to see her hurt expression.
She leans in to me, touching my chin with her fingertips. I kiss her lips in a friendly way, letting go quickly. I wink at her after and she smiles cheekily.
The smiles fade soon though, because for the next half of the show, she is either crying or barely refraining from doing so. Randy hugs her more than once, the big teddy bear as Paula calls him. I hold her hand for the most part. Stupid as it sounds, I missed her hands.
“Simon,” Paula whispers beside me. I turn to her and she looks heartbroken. “I’m going to miss this – I’m going to miss you… So, so much.” Her tears fall and she holds me. I stroke her hair softly.
“I’m going to miss you too, Paula. But we’ll see each other, yeah?” I hope so anyway. She nods and mumbles something, snuggling closer. “What?” I ask.
“We’re going to England on the same day. I was hoping we could-” She doesn’t need to finish. I know. She wants to share a flight.
“Consider it done,” I say. “How many people?”
“Like four or five…” She looks down, playing with the buttons of my suit. “Nice,” She mouths at me. I chuckle.
“Five, it is. Do I have to deal with your sister?” I raise an eyebrow, not too keen on that part. Wendy loves to get under my skin, and does quite a job of it. It’s all in good fun, but these Abdul women all have me on edge.
“Yeah. Wendy is counting on it,” Paula winks and I’m reminded of how sexy she is. Not that I ever forgot.
“Do that again,” I say and this time she leans in close and does so. “Cheeky,” I pinch her cheek.
Ryan’s voice interrupts us.
“Let’s bring out all our idols, shall we? Kelly Clarkson… Ruben Studdard… Fantasia Barrino… Carrie Underwood… Taylor Hicks… Jordin Sparks… David Cook… And Kris Allen!” The eight idols come up on stage, in chronological order. Behind them, I’m guessing all the top twelve contestants from every season, and one extra from the top thirteen last season stand behind them. My eyes scan and I find him. Corey Clark. I grit my teeth and hold Paula’s hand protectively. She leans into me.
“We’re moving on right?” She asks softly.
“I think so,” I say.
I look down at our joint hands and how I feel so comfortable with her head against my shoulder and wonder if we are moving on or holding on to whatever time we have left?
She looks up and me and then down, in the same direction as my eyes had been moments before. She is wondering the exact thing.
The Idol is crowned, Kevin – I knew it.
Paula and Kara cry a little as we stand on stage beside the Idols and Ryan and Simon Fuller. The emotional part will be over soon, and most people will be either high on alcohol or the environment. The night and early morning will be filled with parties and clubs and while tiring, a tipsy Sinitta by my side is never boring.
We have a million people to hug goodbye and Paula being Paula, she will find that millionth and first. I manage to snag Paula’s wrist just as she is leaving the stage. She spins on her heel to look at me. I pull her close and whisper in her ear.
“At some point tonight, we’re going to lose track of each other. I just wanted you to know that you are, aside from my best friend and many other wonderful things, Paula, you’re a pleasure to work with. By far, my favourite reality judge ever, no matter how many temper tantrums you throw.” I wink. “My little diva.” I kiss the side of her face and she smiles. I used to call her ‘diva’ out of malice in the earlier seasons. Just proves how far we’ve come, I suppose.
As she walks away, finding Jeremy’s hand, she looks back at me and mouths ‘What’s that on your neck?’ She points to her throat. ‘Oh, it’s your belt!’ Giggling, she walks on.