As Seen on TV (30 page)

Very smart choice, Brittany.

The three of us march into a second room, all in a row, all sucking in our stomachs and pushing out our breasts.

And that’s when I see it.

They’ve got to be kidding. In front of me is a large rink. Like a wrestling rink.

Wrestling wasn’t on my list. Why wasn’t wrestling on my list?

Why is the rink red?

Jell-O.

The rink is filled with Jell-O.

The crowd fills up the room. Howard prances around the outside of the rink, his arms flailing. “Welcome to the second challenge—the Jell-O wrestling event!”

“JELL-O! JELL-O!”

Brittany is giggling uncontrollably. “Jell-O? We’re getting dessert?”

“We will have three matches,” Howard continues. “Each girl will get to fight each girl. One point will be awarded for every match won. To win, the contestant must hold down the other girl for ten seconds. First up are Brittany and Michelle.”

“OH, YEAH!”

Miche and a wobbling Brittany enter the rink, both giggling. Brittany waves to the crowd, then slips on the Jell-O and lands on her butt. She grabs the roped wall and tries to pick herself up again.

Miche holds onto the rope for dear life.

One of the male models jumps in to help Brittany get up. Brittany puts her arms around his neck and kisses him on the lips.

She’s plastered.

Howard screams, “On your mark, get set, go!”

“OH, YEAH!”

Miche timidly finds her footing in the Jell-O. Laughing, Brittany lunges at her, and they both tumble to the ground.

Miche screams, “Watch it, moron!”

“CATFIGHT CATFIGHT!”

Miche is on top. Now Brittany’s on top. It’s a swirl of red (the Jell-O) and green (Brittany’s bikini). It looks like a melting candy cane.

Maybe they’ll knock each other unconscious and I’ll win by default?

Miche’s on top, straddling Brittany.

“…FOUR…FIVE…SIX…SEVEN…EIGHT…NINE…TEN!”

Howard rings a bell. “Michelle wins Round One!”

Miche exits the rink but Brittany remains on her back.

“Is she okay?” I wonder aloud.

Miche winks. “She’s plastered. She’s moving in slow motion. You’ll kick her ass, don’t worry.”

Brittany slowly sits up and slithers to the side of the rink.

“Next up…Sunny and Brittany.”

I climb barefoot over the rope. The smell of strawberry is overwhelming. The Jell-O squishes between my toes, like mud.

Brittany is standing by the rope, her head reminding me of a bauble doll.

“On your mark, get set, go!”

Must let go of the rope.

Don’t want to let go of the rope.

I let go of the rope.

Yikes. It’s slippery. I try to use my arms to establish balance. Why does that work, anyway?

Time to get serious. I have to bring her down. She lunges toward me, sliding across the rink, looking like a cross-country skier on a psychedelic drug.

Suddenly her arms are clutching my waist. I fall flat on my face and swallow a mouthful of Jell-O.

Brittany is on my back, piggyback style, her breasts like lead weights pinning me to the ground. I’m breathing strawberry. I’m suffocating. I’m going to drown in a pool of Jell-O.

“ONE…TWO…THREE…”

No way am I letting her win, no way.

In a brilliant judolike move, I use both my arms and knees to flip her off me and onto her back. Jell-O squirts on both sides of her like the splitting of the Red Sea.

That was fantastic. Where did that come from? Has anyone ever done that before? They’re going to name that move The Sunny.

Brittany’s face matches the color of her bikini. Lime green. “I don’t feel so good.”

I jump on her stomach and pin her palms to the slimy ground.

“KISS HER! KISS HER!”

Why are men such pervs? Can’t they see I’m working here? “…FOUR…FIVE…SIX…SEVEN…EIGHT…NINE…TEN!”

“A point for Sunny!” Howard shouts. “Final match, Sunny versus Michelle.”

Oh, yeah! I rock! I stand up and punch my arm in the air.

Brittany holds her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

She’d better not throw up in the rink. I don’t want to wrestle in puke.

The model returns to remove Brittany.

I’m pumped. Bring on the competition! Maybe I can get a role in the next
Karate Kid.
What is it now?
Karate Kid
Part Forty?

Miche climbs over the rope and into the rink. Her once beige suit is now smeared with red. She looks like she got body painted. That, or hit with a chain saw.

“On your mark, get set, go!”

We stroll to the center of the rink, laughing. Suddenly, an intense look clouds Miche’s face and she lunges at me, pinning me on my back.

Where did that come from?

I use my new judo move, The Sunny, and flip her so that she’s lying facedown. I pin her arms behind her back.

“ONE…TWO…”

She squirms away and then, oh my, she uses The Sunny against me!

She’s sitting on my back, her knee jutting into my womb.

“ONE…TWO…”

Ow. When did she get so strong? If I was pregnant, she would have completely deformed my fetus. How does she know such a good hold? Why was I wasting my week on the Stairmaster when I obviously should have taken up wrestling? Or at least tried kickboxing more than once?

“…FIVE…SIX…”

I can’t get up. Why can’t I get up?

I hate Jell-O. I am never having the stupid dessert again.

“…NINE…TEN!”

“Michelle wins!” Howard hollers, then winks at her. “First place Michelle, second place Sunny, third place Brittany. At this point all three girls are tied with two points each. Therefore the loser of the next event will be kicked off the show. And now it’s time for…The Big Ride.”

What big ride?

“BIG RIDE! BIG RIDE!”

“Are you ready for the ride of your life?” Howard shrieks.

We follow him into another room, where a crowd is already waiting, standing around a pool.

We get to swim? I’m going to kick ass if we get to swim. Being a lifeguard is finally going to pay off.

Suspended above the center of the Olympic-size pool are three plastic life-size bulls, like the kind I was too afraid, as a kid, to ride at the amusement park. And these are perched over water.

As we enter, the mechanical bulls electronically move away from the center of the pool, off to the side. Why do I get the feeling we won’t be swimming laps?

“Girls, for tonight’s final competition, please climb aboard the bulls. Your animals will begin thrashing. Every thirty seconds their speed will increase. Last one standing wins!”

This is the dumbest event I’ve ever seen. Who do they think I am? A cowgirl?

We climb onto the three bulls. The facial expression on my bull looks vaguely friendly. I name him Charlie after a pet rock my father bought me after I begged for a dog.

I wrap my arms around Charlie’s neck. This is by far the most humiliating moment in my entire life. The period incident? Now totally eclipsed. How did any decent human being come up with this form of torture?

“On your mark, get set, go!” Howard shouts.

The bull slowly rocks.

My butt slides downward, still covered in Jell-O. I am not letting go. No way. I’m going to win this thing.

Up, forward, down, back, up, forward, down, back.

Faster.

I’m overwhelmed with nausea. Maybe it’s morning sickness.

What’s wrong with me? Why am I worrying about being pregnant at this precise point in time? At the moment when my energies are urgently required by my balancing skills? My fingers are no longer clenched together, but on a slide to Charlie’s horns…now on his plastic neck.

Shit.

That water looks cold. I am not falling in there. I have a baby to protect.

AH! There’s no damn baby!

What? Do I want a baby? So my choice is made for me? Is that it? If I’m pregnant then I can’t go to L.A.? I’ll have to be like my mother and give up everything for my family?

If I don’t want to go, then why don’t I just let go? Fall off the damn bull. Lose. That’s all it takes. I don’t need to be pregnant.

I owe it to Steve. I’ve been a bitch.

I owe Steve? I owe him everything? My entire life? I owe him for loving me?

Stop thinking!

I sneak a peek at the other girls. Brittany looks green.

The bulls’ pace gets faster.

Brittany gets greener. And then…ew. Brittany leans over the side of the bull and throws up. As she’s throwing up she falls face-first into the water.

I win! Brittany’s off the show!

I wonder if the worms came up. Will they float?

The pace gets faster. Why aren’t they stopping the bulls? We won. Jackasses. They’re going to continue with this utter humiliation until we both fall into the water.

Well, I’m not letting go. No way. I’m going to be the last one standing.

The bull charges ahead. I see Miche from the corner of my eye also gripping her plastic animal. Every exposed and not exposed part of my body is flapping and flailing and jiggling and what kind of people consider this entertainment?

Michelle lets go and falls headfirst into the water.

My bull grinds to a halt.

I win!

I punch the air in victory.

“Sunny wins!” Howard announces. “We’ll see you next week for the grand finale,” Howard announces. “And we’ll even tell you what it is.”

A hush falls over the crowd. The only sound is the slurp of Brittany being pulled out of the pool.

“Next week, for your viewing pleasure, we’ll be playing the ultimate
Party Girls
game…Truth or Dare! Please write in truths or dares for either Sunny or Michelle to [email protected].”

The adrenaline pumps through me like speed. I don’t care what it takes—I’m going to win this thing.

O
n Tuesday evening, this is the message on my answering machine: “Hi, Stevie and Sunny, it’s Joy…” Joy? Steve’s mom? Did she just say Stevie and Sunny? “I just want to say hello and see how you kids are doing. My friend Shirley is going to New York this weekend, and I was wondering if you two needed anything. Burdines is having a fifty percent off sale on pillows, so let me know if you could use extras. Have a good day!”

Steve told her? When did Steve tell her? He didn’t tell me he told her. He should have told me he told her. What if I would have answered the phone and lied about not living there?

When Steve gets home, I’m on the couch, watching TV.

“Hey,” he says, kissing me on the forehead. “Have you seen my brown shoes? I couldn’t find them this morning.”

“No, Steve.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Steve.”

“Can you help me look for them?”

What, is he a five-year-old? He’d lose our nonexistent baby for sure. “Does it have to be done this second?” I’m watching TV here.

He shrugs and sits down beside me. “What’s up?”

I guess that’s the end of my relaxing. I press the power button. “You told your parents?”

He smiles. “Yeah. We’re out of the closet.”

What, is he still trying to make me feel guilty for hiding his stuff? He’s so honest and I’m not? “What did they say?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even.

“They were excited. They were waiting for…they were waiting for us to move in together.”

“They were?”

“Uh-huh. I told them we’d go down for Thanksgiving. That okay?”

“To Florida? There’s no time to go down to Florida. That’s next weekend. Who knows what I’ll need to do next weekend.”

“I’m sure they won’t have you working on Thanksgiving. And I haven’t seen my parents in a while. I don’t like to go more than two months without visiting. And the last taping is this Saturday, right?”

“Thanks, Steve, I
know
when the last taping is. Anyway, don’t you think it’s a little late to get tickets?”

“My sister’s minivan can fit six in the back.”

Is he insane? “You want us to drive there? It’ll take two days! I’m not sitting in a car for two days, Steve.” I’m not sitting in a car with fidgety kids, his sister’s or anyone else’s.

He kicks off his scuffed boots onto the living room floor. “It’ll be fun. We’ll play car games. And listen, I was thinking of inviting Dana for dinner, too. It’s time for her to get to know my family.”

“Let’s think about it.” Don’t want to be too committal. They might need me in L.A. next weekend.

How much should I bet that unless I move his boots, they’ll still be there tomorrow?

After calling Miche three times and hanging up on her machine (I block my number so she doesn’t know it’s me), she finally picks up. “Hi, baby! I was just thinking about you!”

Then why hasn’t she called me all week?

“So how’s Howard?” I ask, in a huffy voice.

Silence. “What do you mean?”

“Why’d he leave an overnight bag at your apartment?”

She starts laughing. “Did you see that? Wasn’t that gross?”

I’m not sure how to respond.

“I told you he was stalking me. After the show he told me he forgot some stuff at my place and insisted he come get it.”

I’m not sure if she’s lying or not. “Do you swear?”

“Sunny!” She sounds wounded. “How could you think I would hook up with him? Ooh. No way.”

“Then how did you know all about what we had to do at Roller Dee’s?”

“Are you crazy? I didn’t know anything. What did I know?”

It had seemed like she knew. Hadn’t it? Am I losing my mind?

I think I’m losing my mind. “I’m sorry for freaking out. I think the stress is getting to me.” I laugh. “I thought Howard was giving you the edge or something.”

Now she laughs. “The edge? You’re crazy.”

“If I win, I promise I’ll have you on as a guest star,” I say later in the conversation. I’m lying across the bed, watching myself in the mirror. I’m practicing not nodding when I talk.

“Ditto for me. I can’t believe it’s down to just us. Hilarious, huh?”

“I know. So no matter who wins, we won’t get mad, right?”

“Of course not. I’ll be happy for you. At least I won’t have to move away if you win.”

“But it’s L.A. It’ll be a blast.”

“I know. At least it’s not butt-fuck nowhere. But it’s not New
York. I mean, I guess I’ll go if I win, but I’d rather stay here. What about you? How will your Stevie feel about your taking off?”

“It’s only for a few months. He’d get over it.” Beep. “Miche, hold on, it’s call waiting. Hello?”

“Hey.” It’s Steve. “I’m coming home early tonight.”

“What time?”

“Seven. We’ll go for dinner.”

“Dinner?” I can’t go out in public with him
now.
What if someone sees? I’ve already gotten a warning from Carrie.

“Be ready. ’Bye.”

“’Bye.” I click back to Michelle. “Hi.”

“Was it Stevie?”

“Yeah. So what was I saying?”

“What?” She sounds distracted. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh, right. Steve. He’d get over it.” Get over it or get over me?

“You’d stay with him if you moved to L.A.?”

“Of course I would.” I would. I still love him. Just because my career is important to me, doesn’t mean I don’t want him in my life.

“But then you wouldn’t be able to date all the hottie actors.”

The only hottie actor I want to date lives in Manhattan. Just because I never called him doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about him. “What are you doing today? Want to go shopping?”

“Aw, I can’t. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll call you.”

I spend the day watching TV and reading
US, People, Personality,
the gossip section of the
New York Star, Vogue
and
Elle.
At six, when I still can’t find anything about me, my phone rings.

Someone is sobbing on the other end.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It’s (sob) Carrie.”

Oh, no. They canceled the show. I got kicked off early. Pete blabbed about Steve. “What happened?”

“I…your dad is seeing someone else.”

“That sucks, Carrie. How do you know?”

“I…I just called and some woman answered. And when I asked who is this, she hung up.”

“Wasn’t it his secretary?” Shouldn’t he be at work?

“No (sob). I called him at work and his secretary told me he took the afternoon off. So I called him at home.”

“Maybe you got the wrong number?”

“No, I have him on speed dial.”

“Maybe the maid?”

“No, Sunny,
listen.
I called his cell and he answered and…and (sob) he told me he met someone else.” Sob.

The raw pain in her voice makes my heart break. I knew this would happen, I just knew it. He’s such a bastard. How could he do this to her? How could he do this to
me?
He knows Carrie and I are close. How can I stay friends with her now?

“Sunny, can you come over? Spend the night maybe? I’m going home now and I don’t want to be alone. Please?”

“I…” Who do I choose? I can’t spend the night. She’s my father’s ex. I can’t choose her over my own father. It doesn’t work. I have to be loyal to my family. And she’ll only want me around to get scoop on him.

“Why don’t we meet for dinner?” A compromise. One final dinner. “We can talk. I’ll stop by and pick you up.” Somewhere neutral so I don’t feel like I’m cheating on my father.

At least this way I’ll get out of going for dinner with Steve. I’ll write him a note. He’ll understand. Isn’t this why I love him? Because he’s so understanding?

I pack up my magazines and tabloids to cheer her up. And the Ben & Jerry’s Steve bought me. It’s been calling to me, begging me to eat it and I need to get it out of my freezer.

When I get back to the apartment that night at eleven, the lights are off and Steve is in bed, his back toward my side of the bed. I try to squeeze my arm around him, but he nudges me away.

Well, fine. Be like that.

I wake up at 11:00 a.m. to see him pulling a black sock over his foot.

“’Morning,” I mumble.

He doesn’t acknowledge my salutation.

“Did you get my note?”

Still doesn’t answer.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks up, squinting at me with red eyes. “We had plans.”

Do we have to argue all the time? “I’m sorry, okay? What was I going to do? Carrie was hysterical. I couldn’t not go to her. What kind of person would that make me?”

The kind of girlfriend who was nervous to be seen in public with her boyfriend. I’m awful.

He sighs. “Fine. Whatever. I had an evening planned for us.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t think it was such a big deal. It was just dinner.”

He shrugs but still won’t look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “Carrie was really upset. I didn’t know our plans were so important.” I reach over and gently rub his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

He puts on his second sock and then stands up. Slowly, he pats me on the head. “Fine. We’ll go out tonight. Meet me at Manna at six.”

“Got it.” I kiss him quickly on the lips. “I’m spending the afternoon at the gym, but I’ll be ready. I promise.”

When I try to open the door to Manna, it’s locked. He forgot. He told me to meet him here and he forgot.
Surprise, surprise.

Manna’s not even open on Friday night because of Shabbat.

I hear rattling from inside, and then Steve unlocks the door. He’s in a suit and tie. Was he wearing that this morning?

He’s holding a red rose.

“You’re here,” I say.

He smiles and tilts his head to the side. “Of course I’m here. I invited you, didn’t I?”

Ordered me, is more like it.

The center of the restaurant has been cleared so that only one table remains, lit up with ten long-necked candles.

“My lady,” he says and kisses me.

“This is beautiful, Steve. What’s the occasion?” Maybe I haven’t been as horrible as I imagined. Maybe he’s the one who’s been horrible to me. He did lose my clothes. This could be his way of apologizing.

He purses his lips as if he’s going to say something but then shakes his head. “Just because,” he says instead. He pulls out my chair and I sit down.

One of the waiters pushes through the kitchen doors. “Hi, Sunny.”

I forget his name. “Hi. This is quite romantic,” I say, turning back to Steve.

“Nothing but the best for you. Fred’s in the kitchen cooking us a wonderful dinner as we speak.”

The waiter places a plate of Caesar salad in front of me.

This is all very sweet, but Steve knows how many grams of fat there are in a Caesar salad. He knows I’m watching my weight. Could he not have asked Fred to put the dressing and cheese on the side?

If this place weren’t kosher, there’d be a pile of bacon on here, too.

We make small talk, as if we’re on a first date while I attempt to inconspicuously scrape the cheese and dressing off my salad.

After the salad comes the main course. Maurice sets a plate of ricotta and spinach tortellini in a rosé sauce in front of me.

Come on.

Is Steve trying to get me fat? He wants me to get fat so I won’t win on Saturday? He saw the way I looked in my bathing suit on the last show and he knows that other men are finding me attractive and he can’t deal. He wants me to be bloated and hideous for tomorrow night.

I furiously scrape the sauce off each tortellini and then try to scratch out the cheese stuffing.

“Yum,” he says, after taking a bite and swallowing. “What’s wrong?” he asks, noticing my annoyance. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do. It’s just…it’s a little fattening, isn’t it?”

He stares at me. “Would you have preferred a plate of dry toast?” he asks, suddenly sarcastic.

“Forget it. I’ll just scrape off the sauce. Don’t worry.”

Steve cracks his neck and then downs the rest of his wine. The waiter comes to fill up his glass again.

“Have some more wine,” Steve says.

More alcohol? What, he thinks he’s getting me drunk tonight? So I can be hung over and horrendous-looking tomorrow night?

After the waiter clears away our plates, Steve pushes back his chair and stands up. “Let’s go for dessert.”

Dessert? He thinks I’m eating dessert now? What’s wrong with him?

I put my coat back on, say goodbye to Maurice and Fred, then watch as Steve hails a taxi outside. We don’t say much to each other in the car. Steve’s hand is on my knee. I smile.

“Can you bring us to the Central Park entrance on West Seventy-second?” he says to the driver.

“There’s a dessert place in Central Park?” I ask.

He nods. Crack. He has to stop doing that thing with his neck. It’s getting a little irritating.

The taxi stops at our requested entrance. Steve pays the driver and then takes my hand.

I look at my watch. It’s already eight-thirty. I can’t be out too late tonight. I need my beauty sleep. “Is it safe to be walking around here this late?”

“Sure. I always used to come here at night. Tonight there’s a Beatles memorial concert in Strawberry Fields, which is right near where we’re going.”

The music for “Let It Be” floats through the trees. “Where are we going?” I ask, after a ten-minute walk along a dirt path. There are a few streetlights, but the sky is dark. I’m reminded of being at camp, when I used to walk back to my bunk after a nightly activity.

The wind blows through my coat. The thing I hate most about Manhattan is the sky. Where are the stars? Is there nothing beyond this city?

The shows are about New York. The magazines are about New York. Is that why people like Miche don’t want to leave? To avoid the realization that they’re not the center of the universe? They’re afraid of seeing themselves as small and insignificant?

“You okay?” Steve asks.

My pointy boots aren’t exactly ideal for long treks. “Fine.”

We pass another couple walking in the opposite direction. The woman smiles at me.