Reality Girl: Episode One (8 page)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kelli stood at the end of the couch with her hands on her hips and glared at me. The muscles in her neck were tight and a lone vein pulsed with each beat of her heart. “Do you realize the conditions of your contract afford us the ability to sue you if you fuck this thing up?”

The thought of being sued by the production company scared me to death. I would quickly go from being broke to being destitute. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and hoped to respond. I needed to say
something
. 

“You came home at three o’ clock in the fucking morning,” she snarled. “The driver’s shift ended at midnight. And, just like everyone else here, he’s a union employee.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was all I had to offer.

“Been a lot of that lately. You’re sorry. Well, that fixes it, now doesn’t it?”

I knew it didn’t, but wished it could. I rubbed my tired eyes and tried to wake up. “You never told me I had a curfew.”

“Everything’s in your contract. Did you ever bother reading it?”

I hadn’t. I didn’t feel the need. I stared back at her wondering just how much trouble – financial, and otherwise – I could get myself into if I continued to make her mad.

“I scanned through it,” I lied.

“The premise of this show is that you interact with six men, and we film it. You, Lou, are the star of the show. You’re what draws in our viewers. Your pretty face, Midwest charm, and those great legs of yours. If you’re not here, we can’t film you. If we can’t film you, we have no show. If we have no show, we have no viewers. If we have no viewers.” She tossed her hands in the air. “Who do you think is going to want to pay for an advertisement spot?”

“Nobody?” I squeaked.

She nodded. “Nobody.”

“This thirty-day thing is going to change. I should have known it wasn’t going to work. After this shit-head SEAL leaves, the remaining men will be fourteen days. That’s it. We’ll make it look like a month, fuck, I don’t know. And, from here on out, you don’t get to pick who’s next, I do.”

I wasn’t about to try and argue with her. Two weeks, as far as I was concerned, was far better than four. I wanted the disaster to end as soon as possible so I could collect my paycheck.

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” she snapped.

“Okay to what you said. The two weeks and you pick the guys.”

“Well, hell yes it’s okay,” she shouted. “Do you think I was asking your opinion?”

I tossed the pillow aside, stood up, and folded the throw blanket I had used for the few hours that I had been sleeping. After placing it over the arm of the couch, I turned toward her and cleared my throat.

“Listen. This guy? Rhett? He’s a fucking prick. Last night, he came after me like he was going to hit me. I’m done with him, and I’m done with you yelling at me. If you had someone here that wasn’t a complete jackass, we wouldn’t be talking about me being out all night--”

“Listen,” she interrupted.

“Don’t interrupt me,” I said. “It’s not polite”

Her mouth curled into a shallow smile. “Go ahead.”

“I’m not a bad person, and I don’t want to sabotage your show. But you can’t expect me to be with that douchebag and make it look like we’re getting along, because I hate that guy. And, that thing out at the pool? I haven’t been with a man since my junior year in college, and I really thought this guy was the one. I let loose. That’s not me, so…just…just remember that. I really like sex, but I’m not a skank. Oh, I would appreciate it if you didn’t yell at me.”

Her eyes shot wide. “You hadn’t had sex in two years?”

“I swear.”

She began to rub her temples with the tips of her fingers, and her eyes fell to the floor. “Give me a minute.”

She looked up. “We need one more scene. A departing scene. We can fix the rest.”

“When will he be gone?”

“After his outburst last night? I can have him gone tonight.”

“Just something like an
I can’t wait to see you
, and I hug him or something?”

“Something like that,” she said. “I’ll coach you through it.”

“And, then he’s gone?”

“Never to be seen again,” she said.

“Okay.” I sighed. “Let’s do it.”

“I’ve got another question,” she said.

I met her gaze. “Yeah?”

“Is there someone on the side?”

I shook my head. “I’m not hooking up with anyone, really.”

“Okay.” She smiled and nodded. “Now, all we have to do is fix this fucking mess.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

After a lengthy discussion, Kelli decided I only had to spend one more night with Rhett. The following day he would leave the set, never to be seen again. I couldn’t have been happier. To be rid of him and his shitty attitude would allow me proceed with the show – and with my life – as if he never existed.

I realized it had only been a few weeks, but I felt that the progress I had made was monumental. Driven primarily by the money, and partially by the fact that I – like every other single woman – wanted to find someone to love me, I clung to the first guy that was smoking hot and had a great smile.

What a huge mistake.

I learned quickly – but only after we had sex – that chiseled abs, bulging pecs, and alpha male tendencies were meaningless. What I now found to be crucial in choosing a significant other was
who
a man was, not
what
he was.

“So, here’s the veggies.” I slid the cutting board across the island and smiled at the thought of Rhett’s hatred of all things veggie.

“Thanks,” Rhett said.

He began scooping the peppers, onions, and basil from the board and then dropped them into clumps on the pizza. Watching him was aggravating for many reasons.

The vegetables weren’t evenly spread about; they were in clumps. And, it was all one big lie.

He grinned as he lifted the pizza from the countertop. “Let me get this thing in the oven, and then we can enjoy it.”

I took a drink of my wine and glanced at Kelli. She smiled in return and pointed to a button on her shirt.

I wrinkled my nose.

She unbuttoned it, and then pointed to me.

Dressed much differently than normal, I was wearing pants, a button up blouse, and had my hair in a bun. Although I wouldn’t normally have my top buttoned up to my neck, eating dinner with someone I detested wasn’t typical for me.

I downed my wine and unbuttoned a button.

She mouthed the words
one more
.

Reluctantly, I unbuttoned another, and while the camera was trained on the oven, poured my glass full again.

He slid the pizza into the oven and reached for his beer. While the camera panned to me, he downed the can of beer. After a moment, and only due to the insistence of Kelli, he picked up his glass of wine.

“Here’s to fate,” he said, raising the glass.

Are you fucking serious?

I glanced at Kelli, and then at Rhett. The thought of him made me sick. I lifted my glass in false toast. “Hear, hear.”

I glared at Kelli until she met my gaze, and then rolled my eyes. She shot me a look and then turned away. I took a drink of my wine for the camera, and then glared at Rhett. “It’s going to be a while, let’s go sit down.”

I walked past him, and toward the door leading into the living room. As I passed, he slapped me on the butt.

You motherfucker.

I didn’t bother turning around, or shooting him a shitty look. It would only cause us to reshoot the scene, and that would require me to spend more time with him. Instead, I sauntered into the living room and sat down where I decided I’d be sleeping until he was escorted out.

The couch.

“That pizza’s going to be good. That was fun cooking it together,” he said as soon as he entered the room.

You dick.

I can’t wait to watch you choke down a piece, veggie hater.

“Yeah. I can’t wait to watch you eat it.” My mouth twisted into a smirk, and then I cleared my throat. “I mean I can’t wait to eat it.”

After what seemed like forever, the oven’s timer sounded. I jumped to my feet, ran into the kitchen, and grabbed the oven mitts. Anxious to see Rhett eat what his dumb ass considered to be repulsive, I pulled the pizza from the oven, paced it on the countertop, and wafted the smell toward the doorway.

Rhett was right behind me, and upon walking into the kitchen and getting a whiff of the vegetable-laden pizza, reached for his mouth and appeared to barf.

Do it.

Puke, you pussy.

He feigned barfing for a moment, and then took a sip of his wine. After he took the drink, his eyes shot wide. Apparently not much of wine drinker, he fought to swallow the sweet Moscato.

“Let’s get this baby sliced up. I can’t wait,” I said.

I sliced the pizza. As the camera crew filmed us from every available angle, I plated up the pizza and sat down at the breakfast table. Rhett soon followed, with a beer on one side of his plate and his glass of wine on the other.

After picking all of the vegetables off the pizza, he took a cautious nibble. I, on the other hand, bit one-third of the slice away at once. After his initial bite, a look of surprise washed over his face, and he began to eat the pizza with vigor.

The camera panned back and forth as we ate and drank our wine. I realized my time with Rhett was very limited, and as much as I wanted him to vanish, I felt I needed to get back at him for his phony behavior the night we met, and for being a controlling prick.

I carefully chose the slice of pizza with a huge wad of veggies on it, and then stretched myself over the edge of the table. Resting on my elbows with the pizza held firmly in my hand, I smiled for the camera and struck a cleavage inspired pose for the camera. Something they were sure to want to use.

“It’s our last night together,” I said. “Let’s have some fun. I want to feed you, babe.”

His eyes shot to Kelli. She nodded once. I watched his Adam’s apple raise and then lower as he surely swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat.

He leaned forward and opened his mouth slightly.

I shoved half the veggie riddled slice into his mouth.

With both cameras fixed on him, he bit through the pizza. I pulled the remaining slice away, leaned forward, and kissed him on the cheek.

I hope you choke on it.

He chewed slowly, and then began to gag. I glanced toward Kelli, who was grinning from ear-to-ear. With both cameras still focused on his every move, I lowered myself into my chair, and then stood.

I poured another glass of wine, took a sip, and then looked right at him. With my free hand, I covered my mouth and began to act like I was puking.

He stood up, and his body began to convulse. No doubt partially due to his hatred of vegetables, but primarily because he didn’t take the time to spread them on the pizza evenly, he was gagging on a massive handful of half-cooked onions.

With Kelli almost in tears from laughing, and the camera men standing in wait, he spun toward the sink, but didn’t quite make it.

Not quite.

And, he barfed.

Repeatedly.

I grabbed my glass of wine, downed it, and turned toward Kelli.

Her face washed with disgust, she returned my gaze and shot me a
what the fuck
look. I raised my empty glass, winked, and turned away.

My work here is done.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“What a fucking disaster,” Kelli snarled. “You slept while he packed his bags, and didn’t even get out of bed when he left?”

I set the curling iron down and shrugged. “I was asleep, I didn’t know.”

I was glad he was gone. It was finally over. More than likely I would have a few days before the next person showed up, and I could spend them at the bar with Franky.

“It’s too late to change it,” she said. “But we’ll need you to come downstairs for a few minutes of filming.”

“Of what?”

“Waving goodbye. A few solemn looks. Maybe a single tear. He’s the first. You’ve got a special attachment, and you’re sad to see him go.”

I had seen
The Bachelorette
, and I watched it with the belief that what I was seeing was true, for the most part. I had no idea that scenes were assembled out-of-sequence, and that the entire show was a product of the producer’s making, not what actually happened on film.

The thought of what the public’s opinion of Rhett and me would be – after the show was aired – almost made me sick.

“Fine,” I said. “Let’s get it over with.”

I followed her downstairs, and then to the courtyard.

With Bobby shooting the complete lie, I waved toward a non-existent SUV. 

“Turn toward the house, hesitate, and then turn back to the Suburban,” Kelli said. “Give a long pause, and then turn back toward the house and raise your right hand to your eye like you’re wiping away a tear.”

I cocked my hip and shot her a look. “Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “Really.”

I faced the street, waved again, and then turned toward the house.

One, two, three.

I turned around, gave my best pouty lipped look, and as I faced the house again, raised my hand to my cheek.

“Cut,” Kelli barked.

She reached into her purse, then extended her hand. “Here.”

“What is it?”

“Visine. Put a drop or two in your eyes, and we’ll get a shot of it rolling down your cheek. Sit down on the steps.”

I was appalled. “You’re serious?”

She nodded. “Two drops.”

I walked to the steps, sat down, and tilted my head back. After two drops of the solution, I lowered my chin.

And, as a false tear rolled down my cheek, the thought of lying to the viewers about how I truly felt began to make me feel ill.

“Cut,” Kelli said. “That was perfect.”

“It was bullshit,” I snapped.

“Welcome to Hollywood, dear,” she said with a laugh. “Reality T.V. is all bullshit. Emotion sells. Sentiment gets reaction. Reaction causes buzz, and the buzz prompts more people to view.”

“So, basically, you hired me to tell one big lie,” I said.

“No,” she responded. “Six of them.”

I wiped the Visine from my cheek and shook my head. “So, who’s next?”

“The biker. Les Ketterman.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is he a biker, or a wannabe?”

“He’s the real deal,” she said. “You’ll see.”

“When will he be here?”

“Tonight,” she said. “Around seven.”

The pit of my stomach felt heavy. The feeling of triumph vanished and misery began to replace it. “Does it have to be so soon?”

“Time is money,” she said. “Alright. I’ve got to get to Anaheim, I’ve got a cancer-ridden pre-teen at Disneyland.”

All of a sudden, my personal problems seemed insignificant. “Oh my God, really?”

“No, not
really
,” she said. “But I’ll never admit it
on the record
.”

I shook my head and walked up the steps. As I reached for the door, she shouted out.

“No problems with this one, Lou,” she said.

I pushed the door open slightly and sighed. “None whatsoever.”

“I think we’re going to change the name of the show,” she said.

I turned around. “To what?”

“Reality Girl,” she said.

Great, I’m a walking contradiction.

“Sounds fucking perfect,” I lied.

And I turned and walked away.