Skinnydipping (50 page)

Harris had said he loved me, and I’d believed him. But maybe none of that mattered now. They’d finally succeeded in separating us. Was I stupid? Naive? Would I soon see a wedding announcement in the paper, with a picture of Harris and Christine? And now I was
pregnant with his child
?

I held my head in my hands and whispered the words: “No no no no no.”

And yet, some small, glowing, radiant part of me was saying …
yes.
The cold bathroom tile felt good, helping to quell my nausea.

I imagined a future on my own. No man to depend on, just me and a baby and my career. I would have to do everything myself. I was completely broke and alone. I was kind of famous at the moment, but if I didn’t win, that fame would be all too temporary. I put my hand on my soon-to-be-expanding stomach. “Are you in there?” I whispered. “Are you really in there? We can get through this. We can do this together. It’s going to be OK. Even if it’s just you and me. I promise, it’s going to be OK.”

The phone rang. I jumped up. Could it finally be him?

“Faith Brightstone?” It was a man’s voice, but it wasn’t Harris. “This is Bill, the therapist from
Domestic Goddess
. I’m checking in with all the contestants to see how you’re doing. How is everything going? Is there anything I can do?”

I laughed. “Bill, how much time do you have?”

chapter thirty-two

I
had to look better than this! I stared at myself in the mirror. My breasts were swollen and tender, a symptom of pregnancy I guessed, and although I’d been too queasy to eat, I was obviously retaining water, which had softened some of my sharper edges and given me a fuller, more curvaceous look. Or bloated look, if I was going to be realistic about it. I put on the cute red dress I’d picked out, but my boobs looked even more gigantic than usual, and the skirt felt too tight. What a disaster. The morning of the
Domestic Goddess
finale, and I had to completely rethink my wardrobe. I ransacked my closet looking for something less fitted and revealing. I finally settled on a red silk blouse and a white suit with a pleated skirt and a blazer buttoned over my slightly swollen midsection. It wasn’t what I’d pictured myself wearing, but it would have to do.

It was a frigid January day, and I had to be at the studio for Sybil’s morning show, along with the other contestants, for a prefinale Q&A. On the way out the door, I grabbed my warmest down parka, said good-bye to Muffin, and at the last minute, put the pregnancy test in my coat pocket. I wasn’t sure why. In case I needed to show Harris? In case I collapsed onstage and the EMTs needed to know I was pregnant? So I wouldn’t feel so alone? This time, no cameras followed me
into the studio or hovered over me when I saw all my old cast mates again. Sybil’s morning show was popular, but nothing like the pressure we’d experience tonight at the live finale.
It’s the warm-up
, I told myself.
Don’t be nervous. It’s just the morning show.

As soon as I arrived at the studio, I hugged Monica, Mikki, and Christophe. I gave Chaz a huge hug—I was so glad to see him again. I smiled at Katie but she looked away. I didn’t even try to approach Shari or Nadine, and although Jodi Sue was on my team, she was giving me the cold shoulder. Linda and Sadie nodded to me, and then Andy walked in the room and squeezed me from behind. “Wow, baby, what’s up with the bodacious tatas?” he said. “What have you been doing right?”

“Eating and sleeping again?” I said. Although it wasn’t true. When Sybil’s staff brought crab puffs and crudités to the green room, where we were all waiting to go on camera, all I could do was nibble on a piece of celery.

Sybil came in a few moments later. She walked by me, then stopped and looked me up and down, as if she was registering that something was different. She didn’t say anything. A momentary pause, and then she moved on. Self-consciously, I buttoned another button on my blazer. The way she looked at me made me paranoid. “It’s so good to see all of you again,” she said in a voice that implied she didn’t think it was good to see us at all.

The show went as smoothly as could be expected. Sybil spent a long time talking up the finale and telling the audience how lucky they were to get a sneak preview. The morning show audience was cheerful and liked to applaud. Sybil interviewed us as we all sat together on the tasteful couches. Sybil didn’t bring up Harris and didn’t look at me at all. There was also plenty of tension between Shari and me. I didn’t look at or speak to her, but our falling-out was the elephant in the room. It had been broadcast for the world to see on the final episode, yet Shari chatted cheerfully to Sybil and the cameras about the extreme challenges of her celebrity baby shower, how much work it was, how much Nadine and Katie and Linda did to help her.

But everybody in the audience wanted to know about our fight. When an audience member asked me if Shari and I were still friends, I paused, then said, “I wish Shari all the best. We’ve had an … interesting and sentimental journey together, and tonight will be the next step in that journey.”

When someone stood up and asked, “Shari, you were so mean to turn on Faith like that, why did you do it?” Shari said something about the pressures of the final challenge and how the whole thing got blown out of proportion and about how the editing made it look worse than it really was. She ended with something about how she knew we’d be friends again someday. I hardly heard her. I tried to smile, but I felt dizzy and sick. I knew it wasn’t true that we would ever be friends again. I was surprised how invested the audience seemed to be in our friendship. I suppose it’s a timeless theme—the betrayal of a friend.

Nobody asked me about Harris. It was clear from the questions that they had been screened. Sybil surely wouldn’t have allowed a question about her son. My fight with Shari was the perfect distraction.

Finally, at the end of the segment, we all gathered on Sybil’s couches and she passed us each a glass of champagne. Even as it was happening, my mind was on tonight—on the finale.

“I would like to propose a toast, to all of you, and especially to Shari and Faith, for making it all the way through the contest. May the best Domestic Goddess win!” Everyone raised their glasses, but I didn’t drink, I put my glass down.

Sybil looked at me, then at my untouched glass. “Are you feeling all right, Faith?” she asked, coldly. “I’d hate to see you get sick right before the live finale.”

“No, I’m fine, just a little … under the weather,” I said.
Calm down, Faith. There’s no way she could know you’re pregnant.
But then I thought:
Doesn’t the devil know all?

After Sybil’s morning show, I walked around the city with Chaz to clear my head and try to quell my nausea before the next piece. He
was nice and didn’t ask too much about Harris. We spent the time trying to get into Sybil’s head. “It’s not about who’s the best,” Chaz said. “It’s about the numbers and the bottom line. Sybil will choose whomever Sybil wants to choose—with the approval of the network. But Faith,” he said, taking my hand, “seriously, you don’t want to win. You want to come in second. You don’t want to work for that bitch.”

“I don’t like to come in second,” I said. “In horse racing, you can lose by a nose and it counts for nothing. Sybil and I don’t get along, but what else am I going to do? I can learn from her. She’s truly committed to perfection. I admire her.”

“Still?” Chaz said. “Oh, honey, she’s a twenty-four-carat twat.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Maybe you’re right, but what else do I have? I need this.” I was tempted to tell him why, since my reasons had completely changed, but I held my tongue.

Roxanne Howard came up to me while I was in the makeup chair and asked me how I was doing. I hardly knew what to say to her—she was the mastermind behind the whole torturous amazing experience, and I was intimidated. Did I despise her, or admire her? Maybe both. I couldn’t even focus on her words. All I could do was obsess. “I’m fine … I think,” I said.

“You’ll be great, honey,” she said. “They love you out there.” I hoped she was right, but would it matter? Sybil’s verdict was the only verdict.

And then I was waiting backstage, and it was surreal. I knew my friends were out there, and I even thought I heard Victoria cheering my name. I saw signs in the audience, “Team Faith” and “Team Shari” and “Faith + Harry,” people shaking them up and down. The lights were so bright, I couldn’t see anything very well—no faces, no Harris. Was he out there? I squinted toward the audience. I couldn’t see them all from where I was standing. My face felt stiff with the thick makeup, my hair perfectly arranged and sprayed. My outfit felt tight and I was beginning to sweat.
Breathe, Faith. Breathe slowly. Calm down. Think about your answers, don’t just blurt out any shit that comes into your head. Everyone’s watching. It all hangs in the balance. Months
of torture have all come down to this. Be smart. Think about what you say.
Then Shari was standing next to me. We didn’t speak or look at each other. We just waited there together for the cue to come onstage.

I was dizzy with the intensity of it. And then the little sign lit up:
ON AIR
. And the show began.

The audience’s cheering was deafening as Sybil came onstage, followed by Alice and Ian and Rasputin, wagging his tail. He obviously wasn’t intimidated by the audience, but even Sybil looked overwhelmed. She smiled her chilly smile at the camera and the world, and even stumbled over her opening words, made nervous, perhaps, by the whole “primetime live” aspect of this show. None of us were used to that. It felt like a sports event. The audience thundered and the lights glared, so that I could hardly see. I was nervous, and excited, and terrified, all at once—because of the contest, and because he was out there in the audience, somewhere. I knew it. I could feel it.

First, they brought out our teams—Andy, Monica, and Jodi Sue, and then Katie, Linda, and Nadine. The rest of the contestants sat in the front row of the audience, looking well rested and excited. Sybil asked them about their experiences with the final challenges, and what they thought of us. I couldn’t even listen to what they said, although I heard some bickering and shouting and the audience laughing. Andy was grinning, obviously the center of attention.

Be careful how you act, Faith
, I told myself.
Be careful what you say. The cameras are relentless. They don’t care if you look good or bad, smart or idiotic, whether you win or lose. It’s all about the best shot, the most scandalous comment, the best possible entertainment.
I felt like I was about to enter Rome’s Colosseum, where people were slaughtered by lions. Our slaughter would be metaphorical—cleaner—but just as devastating … and entertaining. I glanced at Shari. She looked as nervous as I felt. Then I heard Sybil asking each former contestant who should win. Predictably, all of Shari’s team said Shari. I heard Andy say “Faith!” and Monica say “Faith!” and then I heard Sybil ask Jodi Sue. She paused, then said, “Shari.” The audience made the “ooh” sound they make when someone says something scandalous.

“Let’s bring them out!” Sybil said. Backstage, one of the wranglers pushed us forward and the cameras followed Shari and me as we walked onstage together, smiling for the cameras.
It all matters, how you look, how you stand, how you sit, how you speak. Do it right! She could still change her mind at the last minute. Whatever she’s decided, she could still change her mind!

The crowd went crazy, shrieking and screaming and applauding. I felt like I was in a dream. Shari and I waved and smiled with our perfect faces and perfect hair and perfect clothes, and then we each sat down on opposite ends of the long couches, next to our respective teams.

Sybil introduced clips of the final challenges, and I watched with interest, eager to focus on something I knew, something other than this strange, alien experience of live television.

I’d seen the challenges on the last episode, but these clips went into more detail, and it looked like Shari did well, but I was astounded at how much less she had to do than me. The baby shower was charming and the celebrity guests were polished and lovely … but I would have liked to see Shari try to pull off half of what I’d had to do. I couldn’t believe we’d had the same budget and the same amount of time. Could Sybil see how much harder I’d worked?

I squinted toward the audience again. I saw Ruby Prasad, and then… I saw him, just as Sybil asked me a question.