The Next Big Thing (26 page)

“Sure, fire away. I’ll try anything. Well, just about.” I wouldn’t eat a bowl of live roaches. This wasn’t
Fear Factor.

“What if I arrange a romantic dinner for the two of you? Candlelight, wine, the works! That way you could have some private, uninterrupted time together.”

I was stunned. “That would be amazing,” I said. “You could
do
that?”

“Of course,” Jagger said, winking. “Anything for one of my leading ladies.”

I groaned inwardly. Right when I was lured into thinking Jagger was a decent guy, he’d start up with the smarmy attitude.

“When could we do it?” I asked, trying to steady my pulse.

“How about seven o’clock?”

“Seven?” I repeated. “As in, seven o’clock
tonight
?”

“Yep, tonight’s the night.” He rose from his chair, signaling that our interview was over. “Be downstairs in the living room at six forty-five sharp. I’ll arrange everything.”

I stared at him in shock. That was less than an hour away. Janelle was right; they did like to keep us on our toes!

“Wow,” I said. “Thanks, Jagger! I can’t believe it—a private dinner for just the two of us!”

“Yep. Just you, Nick, a couple of cameramen, and the sound guy!” he quipped.  
 
 
“Whatever you do, don’t throw yourself at him,” Janelle warned, as she applied eyeliner to my left lid. “Don’t lay all your cards on the table. Let Nick show you his hand first.”

“Oh, God, this is going to be a disaster,” I wailed.

I was upstairs preparing for my “private, uninterrupted time” with Nick. Janelle, who was much better with cosmetics than hair, had graciously offered to do my makeup. Luisa was curling my hair.

“Hey, chill out,” Luisa advised. “What are you afraid of?”

“A whole
bunch
of stuff,” I said. “What if I laugh so hard I spray wine out of my nose?”

“At least you’d be laughing,” Janelle said with a shrug. “If you’re laughing that’s a good sign.”

“What if I choke on a piece of food and Nick has to give me the Heimlich maneuver? He’ll have to put his arms around my body and then he’ll feel how fat my stomach still is! Oh my God, I will
die
of embarrassment if that happens!”

“Girlie, you need to calm the fuck down!” Luisa said. “You keep this up, you’ll be so nervous you’ll puke on his shoes.”

Great. One more thing to worry about.

“Everything’ll be fine,” Janelle said soothingly. “Just relax and be yourself. You guys had a great thing going over the phone and online, so build on that. Don’t focus on all the stuff that can go wrong.”

Which was pretty much everything.

“Okay,” I agreed, taking a few deep breaths.

Janelle gently applied eyeliner and shadow to my right lid. She finished up with some mascara, then topped it off with blush and lip gloss. I got dressed (in all black—I wanted every ounce of its slimming power), and it was six forty-five on the nose.

“Wish me luck,” I said, starting out the door.

Luisa gave me a tight hug, and Janelle patted me softly on the back. “Not that you need it, but good luck,” she said. “You’re going to have a
wonderful
time tonight.”

For the life of me, I hoped she was right.

Chapter Twenty-One

When I first started chatting online with Nick I never would have predicted our first date would take place in front of all of America.

Even though I was a few minutes late, Nick still hadn’t arrived.

I darted into the downstairs bathroom for one final appearance check in the mirror, and was surprisingly satisfied with the reflection. My hair was curled into soft waves and piled elegantly on top of my head; my face was delicately made up to show off my best features, and my body? Not so bad! The outfit was decidedly slimming, true. But my weight had dipped to 199 pounds, making me nearly thirty pounds lighter than when I’d first joined the show.

To some people, 199 pounds might sound pretty hefty, but for me it was thrilling. I was in the hundreds! I was only one pound away from the big two-double-0, but
still.
That one pound gap felt as wide as the Grand Canyon. I was ready to knock Nick dead!

My nighttime cameraman Tate stood dutifully by my side, filming my every move.

I returned from the bathroom, and still no Nick. According to my watch, it was two minutes till seven o’clock. I remembered Jagger’s instructions to be here at six forty-five sharp. Obviously, it wasn’t being strictly enforced. After what seemed an eternity, the double doors to the living room swung open, and in
he
came.

My heart caught in my throat. Oh. My. God.
There were no words to describe what it was like to be here so close to him, at long last, in the flesh.

Like me, Nick was dressed in all black—but he was wearing an expensive-looking suit with a black shirt and a shiny black tie. His dark hair had been cut shorter since the last time I’d seen him, and it was slightly spiked.

Just being near him made me weak in the knees. I tried to push them out of my mind, but memories kept leaping into my mind. The things we’d said to each other, the things we’d promised, the things I’d felt for him. And the things we’d
done
. I went blood red as I stood face-to-face with the man who had described touching and kissing me, covering every inch of my body with his fingers and tongue. All the times we’d had phone sex, when I’d brought myself to orgasm over and over again aided by the sound of his intoxicating voice and words.

I had told him everything – everything there was to tell – about myself. Every secret, every feeling, every desire. And now here he was, standing right in front of me.

I took a deep, shaky breath.

Well.

This was reality, all right.

“Lovely to see you, Kat,”
Nick said, smiling slightly. He extended his hand and I shook it.

“Nice to see you, too,” I managed, removing my sweaty palm from his and wiping it casually against my pants. I felt in desperate need of a syringe of Botox—
Alyssa had said a few shots in your palm is enough to paralyze your sweat glands for six months.

We stood awkwardly for a couple of minutes; then Jagger came sauntering in.
I had never been so relieved to see him in my life. Jagger was dressed in a white tuxedo and his hair was slicked back. He gestured toward me with a little bow.

“Greetings, Mademoiselle Katrina,” he said in a French accent. “Monsieur Nicholas. I will be your Maitre D’ for the evening. Follow me please,” he instructed. “Your adventure awaits.”

I was hoping our “adventure” would take place at a fancy restaurant somewhere in downtown Los Angeles, but we weren’t venturing outside the mansion’s backyard. Literally.

Jagger led us outside where an elegant table for two had been erected. We would be dining in full view of the
From Fat to Fabulous
household. And, as Jagger had promised, two cameramen and a woman holding a boom mic were present. I wasn’t fazed; I had given up on privacy a long time ago.

“Tonight we’ve prepared two separate menus for you,” Jagger explained once we were seated. “One menu contains a decadent four-course meal prepared by one of
California’s most celebrated chefs. The other contains a two-course, macrobiotic dinner intended to help keep you, Kat, on track with your diet. Which one you choose from is entirely up to you.” He handed us each a menu.

“I’m not trying to slim,” Nick said, without even flipping his open. “I’ll take the gourmet meal.”

I peeked inside the menu at the two-course macrobiotic fare.
Rutabaga Delight followed by Fish Fillet with Organic Mustard Sauce.
They had some nerve using a word like
delight
in the same sentence as
rutabaga.
I couldn’t think of anything that sounded
less
delightful. Then again, seeing how I was far too nervous to eat, what difference did it make?

“I’ll have the second option—the macrobiotic health-food dinner.”

Nick nodded his approval.

“Ah-ha! Not so fast,” Jagger said gleefully. “I said you could choose
one
of the menus—I didn’t say you could choose
both.
I’m afraid you’ll have to come to an agreement on which one you want. You’re both going to be dining from the same menu.”

Nick flipped open his menu, then wrinkled his nose. “We’re staying with the four-course gourmet meal,” he announced.

I hate it when someone speaks for me.

“Actually, Jagger, we need a moment to decide.”

“What on earth for?” Nick demanded. “Rutabaga Delight sounds positively unpalatable.”

“I’m trying to be
healthy.
” I wasn’t sure what offended me more, that he’d insulted my decision, or that he’d spoken for me without asking my opinion first.

“One night won’t make much difference,” he said.

“Actually, it will. Everything adds up!”

We were off to a terrible start. Nick shot me a stony glare, and I decided it wasn’t worth the argument.
Pick your battles,
I scolded myself silently.
He’s right, one night won’t matter.

“You know what, let’s take the gourmet dinner.
Why not?”

With that decision out of the way, I wondered what we should talk about first.

Then Nick started the ball rolling. “Has it been difficult for you?” he asked. “Being in the public eye twenty-four /seven?”

“I don’t really think about it,” I said. “I guess it hasn’t sunk in.”

“You can’t
pay
for this kind of exposure.”

Exposure?
Before I could ask him what he meant, Jagger returned with a bottle of Merlot and began pouring it into two glasses.

“I’ll taste,” Nick held up his hand, causing Jagger to stop midstream. He made a face.

“Perhaps you ought to fetch me a fresh glass and we can start over? Don’t you know how to properly serve wine?”

Jagger looked bemused, but he quickly removed the offending glass and summoned a new one from the kitchen, and poured a small amount. He handed the glass to Nick. Nick sloshed the liquid around, then brought it to his nose and took a deep whiff, before at long last taking a sip. He closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them again and pronounced,

“Excellent. You may pour.” Good grief! What was with his holier-than-thou attitude?

Jagger left, and Nick and I resumed our conversation.

“So what did you mean, ‘You can’t pay for this kind of exposure’?”

“Celebrity. No one sells celebrity like
America,” Nick explained. “Being on this program will open all sorts of doors for me.”

“So that’s why you’re here?” I asked
, feeling my body tense up. “Because you want to be famous?”

He softened. “No, Kat, it’s not like that.” He took a sip of wine. “But I had to take a considerable amount of time off to be here. I had to make sure there was some identifiable payoff.”

A considerable amount of time?
I took a huge gulp of wine. “Why would you jeopardize your job after you found out that I was, uh, big?” I blurted it out before I lost my nerve. “I thought you didn’t like big girls?” I felt humiliated, begging for his approval – on national TV, no less. But I was so glad we were having an
actual conversation.

“It’s a bit complex,” he said. “I don’t
dis
like you merely because you’re fat.” I winced.

I’d rather be called anything but the
F
-word. “To be totally honest, Kat, I’m not quite certain of how I feel.”

“Right.”

“It’s all been very confusing. But I’m having a good time in California.” Nick raised his glass in the air. “Cheers.”

I raised my glass to his. “What are we toasting?”

“Shoes,” Nick said. “Brilliant, magnificently crafted shoes.”

“What?” I asked, not following.

He swung his feet around the side of the table revealing a pair of black leather loafers. “Prada,” he announced, beaming.

I was completely baffled. Shoes were worth a celebratory drink?

“The square toe is the best part,” he continued, pointing toward the front of the loafers. “I’m amazed you haven’t commented on them.”

He seemed genuinely offended that I hadn’t noticed his decadent footwear. “Your shoes are great. I like your suit, too,” I offered. “It’s really nice.”

“Nice?” He laughed. “For sixteen hundred quid it had better be nice.”

I quickly did the math in my head. I wasn’t sure of the exact exchange rate, but I thought the British pound was worth close to twice the dollar. Which meant his suit had cost over three thousand bucks! That was four months’ rent! I couldn’t think of anything to say. I shopped at Wal-Mart, Target, Old Navy, and Lane Bryant.

“I’m a clothes snob,” Nick admitted, smiling. “Who are you wearing?”               I tried to think of a way to deflect the question. My black heels were from JC Penny, and my pants and shirt had been supplied by the show (and came, I knew, from Lane Bryant). As we’d begun to lose significant amounts of weight, Zaidee had brought in outfits for us to select from. Incentive, I guess.

“I’m not really sure. This outfit was a gift.”

“Are those Marc?” Nick asked, catching sight of my feet.

“Marc?” I repeated, confused.

“Marc Jacobs,” he said. “What other Marc
is
there?”

“No, they’re not. Marc Jacobs is a little out of my price range.”

He was starting to grate on my nerves. I took a big gulp of wine.

Nick ran his fingers along his brow line, smoothing the hairs into place. “I can’t believe I was foolish enough to post you that stunning gown.” Nick laughed. “There’s no chance you’ll be wearing
that
anytime soon.”

The last thing I wanted was to delve into a heated discussion about the size-four Gucci dress on national television. Fortunately, Jagger picked that precise moment to resurface with our first course of the evening. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I saw him heading toward the table, a waiter’s tray in hand.

“Roasted red pepper and goat cheese tartlets,” he pronounced, setting two plates in front of us. “
Bon appétit!
”

Given the circumstances my
appétit
wasn’t so good, but I was loopy from the wine and thought it best to get some food into my stomach. I picked up the tiny fork and began cutting the tart-let into squares. We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, engaging in strained small talk through both our first and second courses. All the while, I gulped glass after glass of wine, polishing off one bottle of Merlot and then starting in on another. My tongue felt raw and parched from so much alcohol and I should have had the sense to slow the pace a little.

Suddenly, out of nowhere
, Nick whipped out a pack of Marlboro Lights.

“You didn’t tell me you smoke!” I exclaimed, startled.

“Well, you didn’t tell me you were overweight, so I guess we’re even,” Nick retorted, putting the cigarette between his lips and striking a match. “I have one before and after every meal. It helps me digest food better.”

The main dish arrived—steak tips with pumpkin-seed pesto. As soon as Jagger set down our plates. Nick continued smoking.

“I can’t believe you want to do that before you eat. Don’t cigarettes dull your taste buds?”

Nick ignored this.
“Was it always your plan to find a man online and mislead him?” he asked, pushing his plate aside and concentrating on his cigarette. “Or was that something you came up with on the spur of the moment?”

I nearly choked on a bite of steak. “Of course it wasn’t my plan!” I couldn’t believe he’d said that. “I only told you I was skinny because it seemed so damn important to you that I look like a supermodel.”

Simmer down,
I cautioned myself.

“A girl doesn’t have to look like a supermodel to catch my interest,” he argued. “I do prefer women to be slim, but only for health reasons. I want the woman I love to live a long, fulfilling life.”