The Next Big Thing (18 page)

“No,” she admitted. “Well, then, don’t call it trivial.”

“Whatever.” Alyssa rolled her eyes. “I’ll go next. Show you girls how it’s
done.
Two years ago, I was dancing in this club—”

“Pole dancing?” I asked innocently.

Regan burst out laughing so hard diet Coke spewed out her nose. “Sorry, Alyssa,” she said, running into the kitchen to get a napkin.

“Kat, you are so mean.”

“Fuck her. She’s jealous,” Alyssa said. She waited until Regan had returned, and then continued talking. “As I was saying before Kat
rudely
interrupted, I was in this club dancing and this man came up to me. Really nicely dressed—designer suit, the whole nine yards. He introduced himself and said he was a talent scout for ICM, and he was looking for some hot new acts to represent.”

“Ooh,” Luisa said. “Let me guess, he wanted to ‘represent you’ in his bed?”

Alyssa glared at her. “Hardly. The guy was legit. He wanted to sign me as a dancer, take me on the road for backup gigs with people like Janet Jackson.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. I couldn’t imagine any legitimate talent scout approaching a random girl at a dance club and inviting her to come on the road with Janet Jackson.

Janelle and I exchanged pointed looks. “So, what happened next?” she asked.

“Okay, so they flew me from
Boston to New York and I met with all these record label execs and danced for them at their offices.”

“What does this have to do with being big?” I asked. “Remember, they want your worst big-girl moment.”

“Wait for it,” she said dramatically. “It’s coming. So, after I dance they were totally going to offer me a contract to go on the road but then this one exec guy goes, ‘Nope, she’s too fat. All our dancers have to wear a four.’” Alyssa sat back, folding her arms against her chest triumphantly. “So there you have it. Because I wasn’t a size four or smaller I couldn’t go.”

Never in my life had I heard a story that reeked of so much bullshit, on so many different levels.

“Alyssa, girl, you are a
liar,
” Luisa said. “They don’t do it like that. The musicians pick their dancers. It’s got nothing to do with some record label guys. If you get to dance with Janet Jackson, it’s ’cause Janet picked you from a casting call herself.”

“Have you ever been a backup dancer for a major act?”

“Nope. But I hear things.”

“Apparently you hear things wrong.”
Alyssa shook her head. “That’s how it happened.”

“Lordy, here we go again. All night, she talks like this,” Luisa griped.

“What’s the point of this?” I asked, trying to head off a fight. “I don’t see why we have to waste our time answering a bunch of dumb questions.”

“My guess is, they need some more footage for this week’s show,” Janelle suggested. “They’ll probably edit it so it looks like we just happened to be sitting around talking about these things.”

“Really?” Regan asked in surprise.

“You wouldn’t believe the things they can do with editing.” Janelle laughed.

Chapter Fifteen

At the end of our fourth week in the house we were given a small treat: pasta with meat sauce and garlic bread for lunch. It was a welcome surprise; until that point our lunches had consisted of either grilled chicken sa
lads with fat-free dressing, or sandwiches on low-carb bread with a side of celery sticks. It got old, quick.

“Eat up. You’re going to need your strength,” Zaidee warned mysteriously, then clicked off of the intercom.

“What was
that
all about?” Regan asked.

“I guess Greg’s going to work us really hard or something,” I said. “Teach us how to bench-press the cameramen.”

We laughed. Greg had become an inside joke. Our visits to the gym were turning out to be largely unhelpful, as Greg seemed more concerned with getting screen time than teaching us proper form. While most of us were sticking to a daily exercise schedule to fatten up our bank accounts, Greg had little impact on us. He was too busy preening for the cameras.

When lunch was finished it was Jagger, not Greg, who came for us.

“Hi, girls,” he said, breezing into the dining room. “Did you have a good meal?”

“Excellent,” Janelle supplied. “Thanks.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, motioning for us to follow him. “The next contest is unique in many ways. It’s called Weight of the World on Your Shoulders. You’ll be competing as individuals, but whether you succeed depends on how the group does as a whole,” Jagger explained, when we’d settled into the living room. “In order to receive your reward, each of you must perform a separate task. All of the tasks have an embarrassment factor. Some higher than others.”

I rolled my eyes. Here he went again with the dramatics.

“But before I divvy up the challenges, how would you all like to get a look at your reward?” Jagger asked, producing a briefcase. Without waiting for an answer, he laid it on the table in front of us and flipped open the top.

“Oh my God,” I said.

The others had similar reactions.

“We get to keep all that?” Regan squeaked.

“How much is it?” Alyssa demanded.

Jagger pulled a wad of bills out and ran his fingers over the edge. “This briefcase contains seventy-five thousand dollars in one-hundred-dollar bills. Finish today’s challenge successfully, and this will be added to your bank. Fail, and your bank accounts will be twenty thousand dollars lighter.”

“Hold on,” Alyssa said. “So, if we don’t complete our assignments we’ll each lose twenty grand. But if we win, we’ll only get . . .” She thought for a minute. “Twelve thousand five hundred dollars. That doesn’t sound fair.”

Jagger grinned. “You’ve underestimated us,
Alyssa. If you win, you’ll be given seventy-five thousand dollars
apiece.
Still wanna call the competition unfair?”

“Uh, no,”
Alyssa said, “I think I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Finally,” I quipped, “my prayers have been answered.”

She scowled at me. “You might want to try shoving a cork in it sometimes, too, Kat. God knows nobody around here wants to listen to you ramble on all day.”

I was about to zing her with a comeback, when Jagger held up his hand for silence.

“I wouldn’t advise you girls to start arguing. Like I said before, teamwork is a vital part of Weight of the World on Your Shoulders.”

I folded my arms across my chest and sank back against the couch. As much as it burned me up, I knew he was right. From the sound of it, we were going to be required to accomplish some pretty tough feats. I didn’t need to waste any more energy on
Alyssa than I already had.

“Let the games begin,” Jagger said, pulling out an opaque black box, with
Fat2Fab
written on it in huge pink letters. “In this box are six envelopes, each containing the instructions needed to complete one of the challenges.” He fished out a small gold envelope and held it up for emphasis, then dropped it back in with the others. “You’ll each take turns drawing. Unseal the envelope . . . and seal your fate.”

I groaned inwardly at the bad pun. “Whatever task you get
you
must complete. No exchanging.”

Once again, the order had been predetermined.
Alyssa was up first. She made a big production of digging around in the box for several minutes before finally selecting an envelope.

“If you would be so kind as to read it to the group,” Jagger instructed.

“Okay,” she said, ripping it open. “‘Get out those dancing shoes and sharpen up your vocals,’ ” she began, “‘because tonight you will perform in front of a crowd of hundreds at Club Mango in West Hollywood.’”

I watched her eyes grow large as they scanned over the second half of the page. “Read it out loud,
Alyssa,” Jagger prompted.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, startled.

It took a lot to shock Alyssa. I couldn’t imagine what was next.

“Okay, where was I? ‘Club Mango in
West Hollywood,’” she repeated, finding her place. “‘
From Fat to Fabulous
has taken the liberty of entering you into Club Mango’s monthly Britney Spears look-alike contest. Pull out all the stops singing and dancing to two of Britney’s biggest hits. Make sure you put a little heart and a lot of soul into your routine. Because in order to successfully complete the assignment, you’ve got to get the crowd behind you.’”

She stared at Jagger. “This is bullshit. I could try my best and there’s no guarantee I’ll win.”

“You don’t have to win,” Jagger said. “All you have to do is get cheered, not jeered.”

“It should really be enough that I enter.” She stormed back to the couch and plopped down. “I can’t control what other people do.”

Maggie went next, drawing a challenge that was easier than Alyssa’s, though still humiliating. She had to walk up and down the Santa Monica Pier collecting one thousand signatures for “National Fat Acceptance Day.”

“Is there such a thing?” she asked, confused. Jagger shook his head. “You’ll be attempting to establish it.”

“I don’t understand why you want me to do this, but I won’t say no,” Maggie remarked, shaking her head.

When Luisa’s turn came, she bounded up to the front of the room. “I cannot wait. A chance to get out of this house!” she said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. Her tone changed as soon as she opened the envelope. “Oh, no . . . It says, ‘Laughter is the best medicine and tonight you will be playing doctor. Crack up the crowd at The Laugh Lizard on the Sunset Strip with your fifteen-minute comedy act. The joke’s on you—literally. Your comedy routine will consist of nothing but fat jokes, supplied for you by
From Fat to Fabulous
’s talented writing staff.’” Luisa stood there for a minute, speaking rapidly to herself in Spanish before finally agreeing to do it.

Janelle went next, drawing the most horrible challenge of all: posing nude for a group of art students at UCLA. Her face went white as a ghost when she saw it, but she quickly recovered.

“Piece of cake,” she said, looking sick to her stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her when she’d rejoined us on the couch. “That sucks.” But what I really thought was,
Thank God it’s not me.

“No, no. Don’t be sorry,” Janelle insisted. “I can do this. Really, I can do this.”

If Janelle handled it the best, then Regan certainly handled it the worst. “I have to dance with the Laker Girls!” she wailed, after ripping open her envelope. “During the halftime show at tonight’s play-off game!”

“Regan, please read the clue out loud in its entirety,” Jagger said firmly.

She ignored him. “I have to put on that tiny uniform and dance in front of all those people!” She burst into tears.

Janelle and Luisa rushed forward to console her. “It’s going to be okay,” Janelle said, stroking her long hair.

“It’ll be over so quickly you won’t have time to think about it.” Luisa agreed. “And you get to go out into the
world
tonight.”

Regan
sighed.

“Think how good it will be to leave this house. Maybe you will get to see some of La La Land.”

“I don’t wanna see Los Angeles!” she cried.

“I want to stay right here where I am, safe in this house.”

Jagger let Regan bawl for a little bit, then he summoned me. I had gotten so caught up in the commotion that I’d forgotten to take my turn.

“Kat, by process of elimination this last golden envelope belongs to you.” He held out the box, making me reach inside to claim my fate.

“All right,” I said, “here goes nothing.”

I tore into the envelope and began to read. It was a poem. “‘Love is in the air tonight/ Beneath the flickering candlelight/ Will you dine with your soul mate?/ Or suffer through a painful blind date?/ At six-thirty your chariot will arrive/ S
teal a kiss and win the prize.’”

I stopped to consider this for a minute. Bad poetry aside, the clue hadn’t made a whole lot of sense.

“So let me get this straight—I have to make out with some strange guy in order to win? What is this? Playboy TV?”

Jagger flashed me a quick sympathetic smile, then focused his attention on Regan. “A car will pick you up in two hours,” he told her. “Make sure you’re ready.”

Regan had temporarily calmed down but at Jagger’s words, she started crying all over again. “Now that you’re all aware of your roles in the Weight of the World on Your Shoulders, I’d advise you to start preparing. Kat, your date will arrive at six-thirty tonight, and Janelle, your posing session will take place Monday afternoon. As for the rest of you . . . it’ll be a waiting game. You won’t know when your time will come.”

Regan sniffled loudly, and Janelle leaned over to give her a hug.

“As you’ve already seen, the hardest part of this competition will be mental,” Jagger said. “Remember, all six of you must successfully complete your individual challenges. If one of you fails, all of you lose. Additionally, the outcome of the game won’t be revealed until all the tasks have been completed. In other words.” He stopped and looked around at us. “You cannot breathe a word to anyone. When the time is right, I’ll announce the results.” With that, he made his way down the hall and into the production room.

Despite Jagger’s suggestion to keep the in-fighting to a minimum, we started arguing the second he’d left.

“I think we should forget this whole thing,” Regan said. “Since we’re all competing together, it doesn’t matter if we win or lose.”

Luisa disagreed. “Seventy-five thousand dollars is a lot of money. It matters very much.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Regan insisted. “Only one of us can win the
From Fat to Fabulous
bank—the one with the most money in it at the end. I think we should forget about it.”

“Are you nuts?”
Alyssa demanded. “That’s seventy-five thousand dollars extra one of us could walk out of here with.”

Luisa nodded vehemently. “Exactly what I’m trying to say.”

“There’s no guarantee that I’ll win it,” Regan said. “I could humiliate myself tonight and for what? If I don’t win the show, I won’t see a penny of that seventy-five grand I helped earn. Plus, I have to do my task tonight. What’s to stop the rest of you from changing your minds and backing out later?”

She had a point.

“Let me get this straight. You’re afraid you’ll humiliate yourself at the Lakers game and then we’ll all decide to blow off our challenges?” I asked.

She stuck out her lower lip. “Yep.”

“We won’t do that,” I assured her, hoping I was right. “We’re in this together. You do your part, and we’ll do ours.”

Secretly, I was glad I’d drawn the easiest task. Sure, I had to go out on a blind date with some guy who, in all likelihood, would turn out to be a giant oaf. I even had to kiss him on national television. But as far as I could tell, my challenge had nothing to do with weight and it wasn’t even all that embarrassing. Besides, I’d never been out on a blind date before and I had no idea what to expect—tonight would serve as a practice run for when I met Nick.

“Girls,” Maggie, ever the mother-figure, interjected. “We have to consider the bottom line. Stop thinking about the money. Stop thinking about your pride. Think about why you came on
From Fat to Fabulous
in the first place—to prove something to the world. To prove that overweight people are just as good as anyone else. What kind of a message will we send out if we quit? I have my son to think about. What kind of example will it set for him if Mommy gives up in the face of adversity?”

I didn’t know about Maggie, but proving something to the world hadn’t been my primary motivation for being on the show. It was in the mix, all right, but it was shoved beneath the more pressing reasons: weight loss, Nick Appleby, and money. In that order.

“Maggie’s right,” Janelle chimed in. She’d remained uncharacteristically quiet during our conversation. I noticed, now, that some of the color was starting to return to her face. “The last thing I want to do is pose nude in front of a group of art students. But you know what? I’m going to do it if it kills me. And”—she gave us a crooked smile—“it very well may.”