Skinnydipping (47 page)

It was almost noon, so I went back downstairs, grabbed my megaphone and the stack of programs, signaled the sound guy to start the carnival-music loop, and stepped outside. The entrance looked fantastic. I only hoped Sybil would agree.

And then it was go time. “Welcome everyone,” I said through the megaphone, my voice just slightly quivering with nerves. “Welcome to the Rainbow Carnival! All proceeds benefit the Dreams Come True Foundation! Have a Rainbow Ice Cream and ride the rides!”

Over the next four hours,
the carnival had its highs and lows. A sign fell down, a bank of lights blew out, and the band wasn’t very good. The kiddie roller coaster broke and we had to close it and lift seven kids out of their seats and carry them down a ladder. But when Sybil, Alice, and Ian showed up at the ticket booth, I ushered them inside and showed them around, and at that moment, everything seemed to be working exactly as it should. Sybil seemed particularly impressed when a stilt walker loped by us in his eight-foot-long silk harlequin pants and called out to her: “Have a Rainbow Day, Ms. Hunter!”

At the Rainbow Ice Cream booth, the representative gave them each an ice cream cone, and although she didn’t actually ride any of the rides, Sybil spent a long time walking through, followed by her dog, commenting quietly to Alice and Ian. The VIP reception was over by the time she arrived, but a few celebrities still wandered the crowd with their children, causing a stir wherever they went. Sybil seemed impressed. She actually looked like she was having fun.

I watched her like a hawk. What would she decide? I wanted it so badly, I couldn’t even fully comprehend it myself. I’d never wanted anything more.

When we finally closed our doors and counted our money, we’d raised almost $80,000, most of it from the silent auction. Was it finally over? Was that it? Now what?

I felt like I was in limbo. We still had to meet with Sybil one more time, but I knew we wouldn’t find out the winner yet—not for six more months. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I would be able to wait that long. But of course, I had no choice.

Back at Sybil’s conference room, I was riding high from our success. Andy and I kept high-fiving each other. Monica was tired but smiling. Jodi Sue had returned, but looked petulant. “You guys all did great,” I said. “Really great. I think we did the best we could have possibly done.”

“Do you think we’ll win?” Andy said to the team.

“You mean do you think
she’ll
win?” Jodi Sue said. “
We’ve
already lost.”

I could see that Shari was flushed with excitement, too. Her challenge had obviously gone well. I wished I could have gotten a peek at it. A celebrity baby shower was exactly her element. Nadine, Katie, and Linda looked elated, too. But none of us could possibly know who would be the winner.

“I was very pleased with
the results of this final challenge,” Sybil told us. Nobody dared to speak. “These challenges were the most difficult yet. You had very little time to make these complex events happen.”

She turned to me. “Faith, your carnival was fun. It was exciting and dramatic, and had all the elements of a successful event. It wasn’t without flaws, however. There were some raised eyebrows in the VIP event, and I don’t believe you properly managed Monica, whom I’m afraid to say might have been enjoying the wine a bit too much. Some inappropriate things were said.”

Monica blushed but didn’t say anything. I kicked myself for not checking up on her more often during the event, but I’d had my hands full at the door and on the floor.

“I also noticed some shoddy workmanship on the banners, and there were some technical glitches with the lighting and music. Also, I understand one of your team members walked out on you, which speaks to your management skills.”

I nodded, mutely. What could I say? She was probably right. A good manager wouldn’t insult her employees.

“However,” Sybil went on, “the programs were beautiful, the food was quite good for carnival food, the crowd really seemed to enjoy the rides and games, and perhaps most important, you raised $80,000 for the Dreams Come True Foundation, a truly impressive amount. Rainbow Ice Cream was also quite pleased with the publicity they received from this event. They said, and I quote, ‘The Rainbow Carnival
was up to our high standards.’ Congratulations, Faith, on a job well done.”

“Thank you,” I said, beaming. “It wasn’t easy, but I feel like we really pulled it off.”

“Shari,” Sybil said, turning to her. “The baby shower for Natasha Darius was spectacular. You managed to compile quite an impressive list of celebrity attendees, along with all of Natasha’s friends, and everyone raved about the beautiful décor, the delicious food, and of course, the centerpiece of the event, the stunning four-tiered pink champagne cake, covered in fresh flowers. The photographer doing guest photos was a lovely touch, and the baby fashion show was brilliant. Your team appeared to work well together, with no internal squabbling, which speaks to your superior management abilities. Also, many celebrities donated large sums, and your event brought in $43,000 for the Babes in Arms Foundation. Very good job, Shari.”

I could tell Shari was annoyed that my event had brought in more money, but she looked haughtily proud nevertheless, probably still coming off her celebrity-contact high.

“Of course, while the charity component was important, it was not the sole determinant of the winner. That will be up to me. You won’t find out who has won the competition until we come back for the live finale in January,” Sybil continued. “I wish you safe travels on your journey home, and I’ll see you in January.”

She stood up and walked out, followed by her dog. As the cameras followed her, I realized that it was finally over. I could go back to my actual life now. Unimaginable. Back to Muffin, whom I missed more than I could express.

It was oddly easy to leave. I took off the microphone pack, picked up my already packed bag, and after a few quick good-byes, walked out of the building and climbed into the car the production company had arranged to take me home. Alone in the backseat, with nothing but my suitcase, I suddenly broke down into tears. The emotions had been so intense, and after white-knuckling everything for the past two months, it was finally miraculously over. I sobbed from exhaustion,
from emotion, from feeling so frayed that there was barely any of me left. The car ride was so quiet, peaceful … lonely.

I watched the city go by the window, the streets full of people. I knew my apartment would be empty until I went back out to pick up Muffin, but I was tempted to just crawl into bed and sleep for a week, not talk to anyone, just try to forget, try to pass the next six months in solitude. When the driver pulled up at my building, I wiped the tears from my face, thanked him, and went inside, up the elevator, and then I wheeled my suitcase down the hall toward my apartment door. And, there he was, holding a bouquet of roses.

“Hi,” he said.

My heart stopped. I smiled, in spite of myself. “Hi.”

chapter thirty

H
arris was a hand holder, a hugger, and an amazing kisser, and he made me feel safe. Muffin actually liked him, which was definitely in his favor. We became inseparable.

I saw Harris several times a week at first, and then almost every day, but our relationship was a secret. We couldn’t imagine what Sybil might do to me if she knew. I worried about the footage from Sybil’s home, but so far, I’d heard nothing, so I hoped for the best. We were careful. My friends weren’t allowed to meet him, or even know who he was, no matter how much they begged. I felt like he was my secret. We lived in our own private little world. It was beautiful.

I was ecstatic to be free from the confines of that horrible reality show, and being out of that Loft made me realize exactly how awful it really had been. At the time, I’d handled it, because I had no choice. Now I appreciated my freedom like I never had before—the fact that I could go to the bathroom without a camera waiting outside, sleep without a microphone pack, was a miracle. I could go out for coffee with my friends, I could walk down the street alone, I could spend a quiet morning doing absolutely nothing. Sometimes I felt like I was still in shock, like I had post-traumatic stress disorder, or like my life wasn’t quite real.

During my sixty-day absence, my bakery business hadn’t done so well. Alanna had fulfilled all the orders from the trade show, but the business had become too expensive to keep going, so after talking with my business partner, Stefan, I temporarily shuttered it, since neither of us knew whether I’d be free to continue with it. It all depended on whether I won the show. It wasn’t time to try to grow the business anymore. My whole life was in wait-and-see mode.

But that was OK with me. It gave me more time, and my favorite way to spend the evening was with Muffin on my lap and Harris’s arm around my shoulders. I was rapidly falling for the son of the Domestic Goddess herself. Life was pretty good, even with all the uncertainty.

I was still obsessing almost constantly about the finale, and who would win, and how it would go, and what Sybil had decided, and what Shari might be up to, but I was happy, too. I hadn’t been really happy in a long time. My life was finding its rhythm again.

Harris and I spent the last week in August at the beach together, in a house his mother owned but rarely visited. “She’s not really a beach person,” he told me. “She’ll never even know we were here.” One night, after a bottle of wine, Harris took my hand and led me out to the ocean’s edge. The moon was out and the dark water shimmered. We dipped our toes in. The water was cold, but the August heat was oppressive. Then Harris gently lifted my dress over my head, peeled off his own clothes, and dove into the surf. I didn’t need an invitation to follow. That night, we made love for the first time, under the moon, covered in saltwater and sand.

We shared everything, in long rambling conversations. The show, our strange relationship and how it had developed, and our parents—such as they were. He told me all about growing up with Sybil, and how hard he’d tried to stay out of the spotlight, and how she’d bribed him to help her with the show by promising she would never ask him to appear on television again.

He told me how close he had been with his father, and how hard it had been when his father died. Harris had been just fourteen. “Someday, when I have children, I’m going to make up for what I missed,” he said.

Life in his house was always about his mother, her fame, and her brand. After his father died, he felt sorry for his mother because she had no husband, but he said she used that against him, guilting him into things he didn’t want to do. And then there were her boyfriends. “I never knew if the next man to come into our lives wanted her because of her, or because of her fame and money,” he said. “After a while, I didn’t care. I had to get away from all that to figure out who I was, apart from ‘Sybil Hunter’s son.’”

I told him about my parents, too—my painful relationship with my father, how he’d been absent through most of my childhood and how I was never able to connect with him, and my dysfunctional relationship with my mother, her drinking, her wild tantrums, her constant money issues, her condescending attitude. I told him how they had both disappointed and hurt me over and over again until I’d finally decided to break off communication, for my own sanity. I was so relieved that he didn’t encourage me to reconnect with them, as so many others had. “If they hurt you, you don’t need them in your life,” he said. “Family is about love, not blood.” I smiled to myself, and let myself daydream, for just a moment: What if Harris was my family? Could that ever happen?

As we were lying in bed on the morning right before we had to leave the beach house, he said, “I think I fell in love with you when you told Christine you could see her muffin.” He laughed. “That still cracks me up. I’ve never heard anybody talk to her like that.”

I snuggled up against him and he held me tighter.

“I love you, you know,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

I closed my eyes. For the first time in my life, I felt like the person saying those words to me was actually telling the truth. I wasn’t quite ready to say it back … but I thought I might actually love him. If I said it out loud, would I jinx it? Could I really trust him with my heart? Would he hurt me, the way Vince Beck had? Would I hurt
him
? Would I leave him, like I left the others? I decided to wait. Better to be completely sure, without a doubt. And until the
Domestic Goddess
finale, I couldn’t really trust myself to be sure about anything.