The reporter held up a tanghulu skewer with girlish glee and said, "So, now...this one's kinda spicy, right?"

And as the camera zoomed in for a juicy bit of food porn, I tried to push that horrific headline out of my head and give them one of AJ's impenetrable "media mask" smiles. While also trying not to imagine him being cop-marched into some courthouse all handcuffed and humiliated...

"Little bit o' green chili in the syrup," I heard myself say. "The mildest kind."

She slid the skewer into her mouth, pulled it back out minus the top strawberry and did the whole "foodgasm" moan thing that had become her trademark on morning TV.

And after she'd given the viewers that moment they'd been waiting for, she gushed, "Oh, no wonder all the kids were fighting over this! And there are sour ones, too, right?"

That childlike enthusiasm helped me perk up some, too.

"It's like those Mexican candies we like so much out this way," I said. "Sweet, sour, salty. Friend of ours wants us to try prickly pear next."

"Well, we've been sneaking off to get little treats from your truck all day long. And every single thing has been so unique! It's beautiful, too--that mural is a work of art!"

I dove into that topic with real emotion. Ronnie deserved the praise and I was thrilled to have a chance to introduce him to the audience of a network morning show that went 'way back to when TV was first invented almost.

And via the young Black woman, "Belle" Bondurant, who'd made history as the first person of color to host that show. She'd moved up after spending a couple of years doing "human interest" stories, mostly. You know, like asking 100-year-old elders to tell us how they managed to live so long or getting food budget tips from a single mother with 5 kids and a minimum wage job.

She gave me a killer Miss America grin and said, "So, it's all about melding cultures, right? All the cultures out here in the Southwest."

And I went into the little spiel we'd come up with when the media started circling around us even back in Whitman. True story. Just...with a big hole in the middle where AJ should've been.

"My mother's diner was right next to a Korean grocery store for decades," I said. "She bought all her produce from them and over time they got kinda fond of each other's food. And so did I."

"The American melting pot in full effect," she gushed. "The way we wish it would work, anyway."

"Well, it's a tiny little country town where everybody's just making the best of what little they've got. So, we mix a little o' this and a little o' that--necessity really is the mother of invention, I guess."

She said, "Well, you've reinvented the whole concept of soul food." And then she turned to the camera, took a big bite out of one of our crazy corn dogs, and said, mouth still full, "This is Seoul Food, y'all! S-E-O-U-L. Website down below there on the screen. Be lookin' out!"

They kept the camera on her standing there savoring that last bite for a few seconds, and then her crew leapt into action, rushing off to pester someone else.

But she lingered, nodding. "I need to get you on a cooking segment sometime soon. You could get to be a regular, actually--that would be so fun!"

She was a little bit too cute for me. The farthest thing from the stereotypical "angry Black woman" the network could get. And yet she'd undercut that melting pot comment on the sly, too.

So, I was kind of intrigued. And excited that she was so excited but...well, it would've been amazing to have AJ on that cooking segment, too.

But the crazy shit going on back in Korea...

I was trying to brainstorm a way past that as I went trudging back to the trailer. And I was glad the line around it had stayed so long that we didn't have time to think.

I was even grateful for the ceiling to floor cleaning we had to do every day, scrubbing 'til we could see ourselves in the stainless steel.

AJ massaged my shoulders from behind as we finally zombie walked to Wally's box near the announcers' booth to actually watch the rodeo for a while.

Yoli fell asleep against Ronnie a few minutes after we got there. And Ronnie kissed her temple and threw an arm around.

"Bet you never thought it'd be this serious," I said.

And he winked at me and said, "I miss things being this serious. The stuff I do now, the cocktail parties and gallery openings—embarasses me sometimes, calling it work. I mean, the Met Gala, I'm up for now, right?"

"What?!"

He gave me a little smirk. "Trustees of this real important organization suggested they should have some Native people on that carpet. And it looks like they're goin' for it."

"I went once," AJ said. "It was...what it was."

The "I can't even" look on his face made us laugh. And then he leapt up to cheer on a bull rider who'd almost gotten stomped on just as a Call as soon as you see this text buzzed my cell.

I tried to be cool and just said, "Some kinda drama back home—I can't hear myself think up here! You want a beer or anything, bae? Ronnie?"

AJ totally bought it. Said, "There's a whole lot of beer on those steps, Eb. Be careful, okay?"

There really was beer and food and God knows what all else making those metal steps pretty slippery by then. But I raced down waiting for Hae Won to answer even so.

And sent up a silent, "Thank you, Jesus," when she said, "It's starting to look like that article will never be published. They're a little bit leery after...well...we've had a few high profile suicides recently. Two idols and an actor. An actor I knew, too. God, that hit me hard."

"Is that how you got to them?"

"Well, the editors are mostly afraid they'll be sued out of existence if it's published without more solid evidence. I mean, it's all hearsay. And the police haven't actually decided whether to investigate yet."

"But that was the big scary story, wasn't it? That the cops were involved?"

"It's more the reporter trying to get them involved than them actually being involved. All the newspapers are a short step away from becoming tacky tabloids. Using cheap tricks to stay afloat now that social media has made them pretty much irrelevant. And when she sent that private link to the company, trying to scare them into going on the record, the editors got an earful from all kinds of lawyers."

"Yours, too?"

"Oh, ours called the advertising department. And they threatened the editors."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"If my family pulled all their advertising a bunch of others would, too. And that would shut them down. Or at least get a whole bunch of people laid off. Which would serve them right for letting their reporters run with tips from teenage Tiktok influencers."

"Tell me this wasn't something she saw on Tiktok."

"YouTube, this time," she said. "This snarky little geek everyone watches because he's so snarky. She pretty much stole the headline from this really nasty video he posted about how suss it was that AJ went back home to the States so suddenly after that fan killed herself. And it snowballed because it's kind of like how idols go into the military when they're caught up in a scandal."

"Who is this other singer she compared him to, though? The one who went to prison?"

She heaved a huge sigh...but went there.

"He's the son of a really rich family who was mortified when his band didn't do all that well after the debut they bullied his company into. So after losing face, he opened this host bar that got busted for letting celebrities slip drugs into the hostesses drinks and do all kinds of heinous shit to them while they were unconscious. And oddly enough, his family didn't rescue him from the mess he'd made. That's really unusual over here."

"Whoa--they're not saying AJ—"

"Well, the guy we're talking about recruited hostesses by dating them for a while first. Happens a lot. Failed idols lure in girls who struck out like they did. I mean, they've dropped out of school, they have no bankable skills—one of our friends wound up living in a tiny little room in a gosi-tel."

"Okay, translation please."

"They're these apartments that started as study rooms for all the people who flock to Seoul trying to pass those damned tests you hear so much about. But a lot of people live in them now because they're dirt cheap. And just imagine going from being fed and clothed and schooled and trained and watched like a hawk by a manager to living in a room the size of a closet and working at Subway or...well, whatever kind of job you can find with no skills."

"My God..."

"Yeah, well host bar guy had money, still. So he was recruiting these women out of spite in a way. Texted pictures of them knocked out and naked, him and his rich friends. Which is how they finally got caught. Only the police suppressed all that because some of their higher ups were actually regular patrons."

"He deserves what he got, then. And AJ's not some sad psycho who never made good, either."

"It's that airport attack that a couple of detectives are still curious about. I mean, fans have tried to kill idols they can't have so no one else can have them. That's nothing new. But that's three times he's been involved in some kind of scary scenario. So..."

"...where there's smoke..."

"There's AJ. Yes. But please don't say anything to him yet, okay?"

"I'm...I don't know. This is life threatening shit we're trying to hide."

"I know that, but he'll run back here and the whole thing will blow up in his face. Korea takes these things 'way more seriously than they do in the States. In the States he'd get this kinda reckless bad boy image maybe. But over there, the media will gang up on him and make up even more stories no matter what he says. And there are all these ridiculous forums and things where people go into a feeding frenzy based on bullshit, mostly. So that reporter will leak the premise of that story somewhere, eventually. To make her bosses think they're about to get scooped by someone else."

I rubbed my face like I was trying to scrub off my makeup off or something. A frustration thing I do sometimes when I'm really and truly stressed.

"So we're back where we—oh shit, there's Wally--wait," I said. Ducking into a little group of women heading for the porta johns. "I gotta run--keep me posted like I said, okay?"

"But remember what I said, Eboni. If AJ engages they'll go apeshit over there. Let us keep the lid on, okay? We've got people who do nothing but that, day in and day out--amateurs get eaten alive."

I said, "One more day, maybe," slipping behind the big hand washing station by the johns as Wally and Rita stopped at a booth selling all kinds of hand-crafted leather goods.

That gave me a chance to hang up and take off, but just as I got up a good head of steam, someone got hold of my wrist and I found myself spinning around and into the arms of this 'way too tall Black guy dressed head to toe in super expensive Western wear.

Handsome as hell, he was. Sparkly eyes with long, lady killer lashes. Beneath a cowboy hat that cost as much as my car, probably.

And he hit me with one of those deep Barry White growls. "Didn't mean no harm, Miss Lady. Just wanted to get a closer look."

"Almost got a knee in the jewels, too, dude. What the f--"

"Now, now, don't act like that! Slim pickins on the circuit for our kind--give a brother a break, pretty lady!"

He put on this pout that was almost cute. So I shoved away, folded my arms and smirked...but didn't slap the black off him like I'd wanted to at first.

And when he said, "Got us a barn dance Beyonce up in here," I actually sputtered out a little laugh, I'm not going to lie.

So he smiled a little broader and said, "Haven't seen y'all out here before. You'n' your..."

He raised his chin a little bit on the "You'n' your" part. And his eyes hardened. A lot.

So I said, "My what?"

"Pickin's must be even slimmer down your way, too. Good lookin' boy, but I ain't seen many of our women go for that kind no matter how good they look."

That stunned a "wow" out of me. And put me back in "black slapping" mode.

But his eyes got even harder and hotter when he saw that. And he growled, "Well, y'all get all pissed off about us bein' with white women!"

And when I growled back, "I don't give a shit who you go with, son," he caught my arm again. Grip like a vise...

But I snatched away again. And he said, "Oh, I know you're a friend o' Massa Wally. Big boss man for many a year, he was. But there's a new boss out here now--Butch Carter. Second best contractor on the circuit, some would say. But I won't be second much longer, you can bet the farm on that. They thought this was the one sport we'd never have the nerve to mess with, but here I be! Not bustin' every bone in my body, neither. I got the stock that busts up their bones. Sends 'em home with all their front teeth knocked out."

I spun around and stomped off to show him his little speech hadn't knocked me out. And I rushed for the stalls figuring I'd be safer with that killer stock than Buckaroo Barry White back there until someone else poked me on the shoulder and made me let out a little yelp.

It was "Massa Wally," though. Grinning that grin that said his stock had racked up some good numbers. Animals win prizes, too, at these things.

"You know that guy there?" I asked, nodding toward Butch. Who was standing there like he wanted me to tell Wally. Even smiled and doffed his hat when Wally looked over.

Wally squinted. Nodded. "Everybody knows Butch. Made himself a name out here on the small circuits. Git in where you fit in, like they say."

"Yeah, well, you better tell 'im to keep his hands to himself, though," I said.

"He does love the women, Butch."

"Wouldn't call that love, me. Grabbin' on people."

"He's kinda proud, that one there. Dun like to lose."

I was trying to pick up on what he wasn't telling me when this white woman latched onto Butch's arm and he pulled her up close. A little rough, I thought. But she grinned, so...

Wally totally changed the subject. Said, "They got that crazy Chicken Scratch music goin' 'way out there by the stables and stuff. And the young folks are headin' for some kinda thing at the casino, too. Some band everybody's been yammerin' about all day. Mexican fella does a lotta that rap kinda stuff."

"Beats that Chicken Scratch oompa music, though," I frowned. "Maybe we'll give him a try."

He guffawed and said, "Well, there's a bar we like to go not far from here--we'll go dance off some o' that Seoul Food, yeah? Lemme go git Rita away from all them women sellin' food out in the parkin' lot. She'll eat her weight in frybread that one--they're the ones to buy from, too, by the way. Those women from the rez that sneak in under the radar."

"I really like her," I told him. Not so subtle "hint."

And he said, "She's kinda growin 'on me, too. But let's keep that between you'n' me and these critters behind the fence here."

I laughed and shoved off again. And damned if that Butch dude wasn't watching me when I glanced over before easing up those slippery steps.

Those long lashed eyes laser focused on me like he was a human Gort about to zap me into ashes...