The Next Big Thing (13 page)

“Ha ha,”
Alyssa said, rolling her eyes. Luisa began speaking to her rapidly in Spanish. “Answer your question?”

“I wasn’t being offensive,”
Alyssa protested. “I was just saying there’s a big market for bilingual pharmaceutical sales reps. I wrote an article about it for the
Globe.
”

Luisa grunted.

I cut in, telling them that I worked in public relations. “I almost went that route,” Alyssa said. “A lot of journalism majors do. The pay’s way better than what you can make as a reporter.”

“Not where I work,” I scoffed. “Not only does my boss pay peanuts, but he micromanages the hell out of—”

Immediately, I caught my mistake. I had promised to talk the company up, not bash it.

“Why don’t you quit?” Maggie asked, giving me the perfect opening to correct my blunder.

“Hood and Geddlefinger Public Relations is one of the strongest PR firms in the country,” I boasted. “When we take on a client, we do it right. The people we represent get amazing press. We’re great at spinning articles.”

Everybody stared at me in silence, and
Alyssa cocked an eyebrow. “

I’m from
Memphis, by the way,” I said quickly, immediately following it up with my standard line, “And no, I’m not an Elvis fan.” Only Maggie and Janelle laughed. Regan looked puzzled, and said she thought Elvis was from California.

We were a strange, mismatched group. For the life of me, I couldn’t image how anyone—even the most skilled editor—could craft a show out of our lives. But here we were, smiling and grinning at each other. The cameras were rolling, capturing the minutest details of our existence.

And very soon, millions of viewers would be sitting in their homes, watching this very conversation and hanging on to our every word.

Chapter Twelve

A voice came over the house intercom system, summoning the six of us to the living room.

Janelle winked at me. “Here goes nothing,” she said.

We walked the short distance from the kitchen to the living room, and found Zaidee waiting.

The coffee table was now covered with various pieces of videography equipment. She gestured for us to sit down.

I noticed that a doctor’s scale was positioned in the corner of the room. I didn’t recall seeing it when I entered the house.

“Hello, my lovely little reality girls!” Zaidee enthused. “Welcome to
From Fat to Fabulous.
I know you’re dying to get settled in, but before you do, I want to talk with you for a minute, go over some things about the show. This is a bit on the technical side, but I’d like you all to have a basic understanding.”

She walked over and sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “This is what’s called a mic pack,” she said, holding up a black-boxed microphone like the ones we’d worn at the auditions. “Each of you will be required to wear one of these at all times. I think you’re all familiar with how they work, but I’ll go over it briefly just in case. This part is called the belt pack transmitter,” she said, pointing to the box. “In laymen’s terms, it’s what allows us to receive and record your every word. The wire, which should be concealed beneath your shirt, connects the transmitter to your lavalier mic, or lapel microphone, if you prefer.”

She quickly demonstrated how to fasten it onto our clothing.

“If you’ll go ahead and put these on,” she said, passing them out to us.

With shaking hands, I hooked up my mic pack. I looked around the room—the lights were glaring and the camera crew was scrambling, capturing every move we made.

Zaidee’s words kept playing over through my mind:
record your every word.
After so many years of feeling like a supporting player in a world full of leading ladies, suddenly
I
was the center of attention.

“You are required to wear your microphones every minute of the day. There are two exceptions—you can take them off to sleep and to shower. Nothing else. As soon as you wake up in the morning you’ll need to put your mic pack on,” Zaidee said. “Even if you’re lying in bed staring at the ceiling, I want you miked.”

It seemed a little extreme, but nobody objected.

“What about when we’re, you know,
using the bathroom,
” I asked. A few of the other girls laughed.

“As uncomfortable as it may be, you’ll need to keep the equipment on,” she apologized. “It’s awkward at first, but you’ll get used to it. Before long this’ll be second nature.”

I couldn’t imagine it would ever be second nature to pee with a microphone on, but I didn’t disagree.

“Another crucial rule,” Zaidee
continued. “During your stay in the mansion, there may be times when you’d rather not be filmed. Unfortunately, that’s something you gals are gonna have to learn to live with. Remember, above all else,
From Fat to Fabulous
is a television show. You can’t ditch the cameras just because you’re having a bad day.”

She paused, letting what she’d said sink in. Then she continued, “In addition to our roving cameramen, there are twenty-five cameras stationed throughout the house. Some are obvious, like this one,” she said, gesturing toward the swiveling camera mounted in the corner. “Others, not so
much.” She pointed toward a small vase sitting atop the mantle that I could only guess housed a camera. “So please, keep in mind that at all times we’ll have eyes and ears watching you. Okay?”

“When do we get to see where we’ll be sleeping?” Luisa asked.

Zaidee grinned. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”

On that note, she left, promising that the host of
From Fat to Fabulous
would be in soon to take us on a tour of the house.

Luisa turned to me. “You want to be roomies, Kat?” she asked.

“Definitely,” I said, feeling relieved. I had envisioned myself being the last one picked.

“Maybe we can share the middle bedroom. If that’s okay with everybody else, of course,” I added.

“I wouldn’t go making plans if I were you. I
highly
doubt they’ll let us choose,” Alyssa interjected. “We’re probably going to draw straws.”

I hoped
Alyssa was wrong. Knowing my luck I’d get stuck rooming with Regan.

A few minutes later, a tall, good-looking man with light blond hair and vivid blue eyes entered the room. I wondered where he’d come from; I hadn’t heard the front door open.

He smiled brightly at us as he stood in the center of the living room. He was wearing a pair of leather shoes, pressed black slacks, and an expensive-looking gray sweater. He had the fresh-faced good looks of a J. Crew model, with classic features and an all-American build. I stared down at my blue-jean skirt and red button-down top. It had seemed like a good choice earlier, but next to this Hollywood guy, I felt horribly underdressed.

For a long time, the host didn’t say anything, he just stood there, watching us. The cameramen hovered, filming us from a variety of angles. There were three of them in all, plus a man holding a gigantic boom mic, much bigger than the ones I’d seen them use before. This was obviously a very important moment on
From Fat to Fabulous.
I had a fleeting temptation to break the ice with a joke, but decided against it.

“Hello, girls, and welcome to
From Fat to Fabulous,
” he finally said. His voice was deep and smooth. “I’m Jagger Roth, your host for this magnificent, life-altering adventure. Over the next fifteen weeks you’ll embark on the biggest weight-loss journey of your lives, a journey with some very high stakes involved. For some of you this experience will be exhilarating. For others, it will be devastating.”

He was going overboard just a touch.
From Fat to Fabulous
wasn’t a matter of life and death.

“All of
America will watch your lives unfold. Some of you will crumble; others will rise above the rest. Who knows,” he said, glancing around, “what type of stardom may await? I see breakout potential in all of you. Any one of you girls could become the next big thing.”

“Yeah,” Luisa snickered, “emphasis on the
big.
”

“I see you’ve all spent some time getting acquainted, and that’s good. The information you’ve gathered from your fellow housemates will be of great importance in the next few minutes. The more you know, the better chance you have of winning this next competition.”

We all looked around the room suspiciously, trying to mentally catalogue everything that had been said during the course of the afternoon.

“But before we get started with our premiere competition, allow me to take you on a long-awaited tour of the mansion. Since you arrived in the house earlier today, the rooms upstairs have been locked.” He paused, staring at us deviously. “No more.”

He produced an oversized key ring, the kind bailiffs carry in old black-and-white prison films. “Follow me, girls. Your destiny awaits.”

First Jagger took us to a spacious home gym, located, ironically, off the kitchen. It had been outfitted with three treadmills, two exercise bikes, an elliptical runner, and a StairMaster.

“By working out in here, you can each earn up to a thousand dollars per day for your
Fat2Fab
Bank. All it takes is two hours. Two hours a day and you can earn a grand,” he said.

A handsome, muscular guy came strutting over. “You’ve heard of Gold’s Gym? Welcome to Greg’s Gym!” he boomed, flexing one of his biceps. “I’m your all-in-one personal trainer, nutritionist, weight-loss guru. When you got a problem with weight, you come to
me.
I’m your go-to guy.”

I didn’t see how a Fabio wannabe could help me shed pounds. I made a mental note to stay as far away from steroid freak Greg as possible.

We trailed along behind Jagger as he walked quickly up the stairs. The camera crew followed in close pursuit.

When we reached the top of the landing, Jagger stopped and spun around so that he was facing us. “As you will soon find out, the mansion is equipped with several bedrooms. Some are luxurious, and some are not so luxurious,” he said. “Most of you will be sharing, but one lucky soul will have her own
deluxe
suite equipped with a king-sized bed, private sitting room, and a spacious bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub. The rest of you will be bunking down in one of the two remaining bedrooms—each with its own pros and cons. The fate of the game may rest on your sleeping arrangements.”

Regan gasped.

“What do you mean?”

“All in good time, all in good time,” Jagger said mysteriously. Using one of the keys from the gigantic loop, he unlocked the middle of the three rooms, the one Luisa and I had discussed sharing. He waited in the hall while we wandered inside. The room was bare, but spacious, and had been outfitted with two double beds and a small sofa.

“Not too shabby,” Luisa commented. “I could sleep here. What do you say, Kat?”

“You guys are so naïve.”
Alyssa smirked. “Didn’t you
listen
to what Jagger said? We don’t get to
pick
our rooms, we have to
compete
for them.”

“Not necessarily. He hasn’t told us how the rooms are going to be divided up, only that our sleeping arrangements will impact the outcome of the game,” I reminded her.

Jagger let us look around for a few minutes before calling us into the master bedroom for a quick peek.

“Oh my God!” Regan stopped so quickly I nearly slammed into her. “It’s big!”

That was an understatement. Gigantic would have been more on target. You could have crammed my entire apartment into that bedroom—twice.

“Kat, what do you say you and I share
this
room?” Luisa joked.

“Over my dead body,”
Alyssa said. Jagger gave us a few minutes to look around before summoning us back to the tour.

He gestured across the hall from the master suite to a room he dubbed the “Confession Chamber.”

“You’ll have diary sessions in here every single day,” he announced, rapping lightly on the door. “You may decide to go in of your own free will, or you may wait until the producers instruct you to enter. The choice is yours.” He didn’t open the door to show us the inside. “It is now time to go back downstairs. We have many other rooms to see,” Jagger said, “and important matters to discuss.”

He led us on a lightning-fast tour through the rest of the house, listing the various amenities of different rooms. Every room in the house was the same in one way: None offered the Internet, a television, or a phone. The only perks we had were out back—a large swimming pool and a hot tub.

Well,
I thought wryly as he showed us the pool,
I won’t be using that.

“Twice a week, you’ll meet with me out by the pool to have a private one-on-one interview. Nothing formal, just a nice, casual chat about how things are going for you on the show,” he informed us.

When we reached the kitchen things became markedly more interesting. “While living in the
Fat to Fabulous
mansion, you’ll be required to follow a routine,” Jagger said. “Breakfast will be at nine o’clock each morning, lunch at noon, and dinner at seven P.M. As you can see, the refrigerator is stocked with healthy items.” He opened the door to reveal a stash of fruits and vegetables that hadn’t been there earlier. “But you will only be allowed to snack between the hours of two P.M. and four P.M. At all other times the refrigerator will remain locked.”

“I thought you weren’t going to starve us?” Janelle asked, looking concerned. “Yeah, why shouldn’t we be allowed to eat whenever we want?”

Alyssa chimed in. “It’s not like the stuff in that fridge is going to make us any fatter.”

“Au contraire,”
Jagger said. “You won’t starve. Should you become overwhelmed with hunger pangs or late-night cravings, there’s one place in the mansion that’s always serving.” He moved to the far end of the kitchen and began pulling open a thick, wooden door. There was no sign on the outside, nothing to indicate the virtual treasure-trove that waited inside.

“The Tomb of Temptation,” Jagger announced, looking gleeful. “Go on, girls, take a peek.”

I remembered it from the article. One giant sin-fest waiting to happen. Gingerly, I walked in through the door and came face-to-face with the largest pantry I had ever seen in my life; it was almost as big as the entire kitchen. The Tomb of Temptation was filled with shelves lined with every type of junk food known to man. One wall was packed with sweets: cookies, cakes, candy bars, donuts, pudding. Even chewing gum. The opposite wall housed an assortment of Cheez-Its, nuts, crackers, breads, and every brand of chips I’d ever heard of. “All right, back up slowly and nobody gets hurt,” I joked, making my way out of The Tomb of Temptation and into the kitchen. I needed some breathing room.