Your Perfect Life (15 page)

Rachel gives me a warning look. “Don’t worry about me so much.” She reaches out to touch the Gucci diaper bag. “I see you’ve been making some changes too. Does John know about this?”

“It was a gift from a very stylish, generous benefactor.”

“And what was wrong with the JujuBee one you already had?”

“Everything,” I say, and we both laugh while Charlie and Destiny eye us warily.

“Listen,” Charlie interrupts and puts his hand on Rachel’s back, and my stomach drops. “We’ve got to get Casey to set.” Then looks at me. “Are you guys staying for the taping?”

I nod, even though a part of me wants to leave.

“Destiny, can you get Rachel set up in the control room so she can watch?”

“Sure, I’ll take you guys there.” Destiny points her finger toward the hallway I’d walked a million times. “This way.”

“Thanks,” I say and try to ignore the pang in my heart. Watching Rachel and Charlie together hurts more than it should.

Later, after Destiny has introduced me to the people I’ve worked with for years, I can tell they are trying to put on a happy face despite having to share such a tight space with a babbling baby.

As Rachel throws to a tape of an interview she did with Jennifer Garner, I watch her carefully, trying to figure out what she’s doing differently than me. And I decide that there’s a warmness to her that I’ve never had. In the clip, she’s playing
with Jennifer’s kids, something I wouldn’t have thought to do. When I interviewed Rebecca Romijn last year I made sure her twins were nowhere in sight—I didn’t want her to be distracted. But as I hold Charlotte tight, I wonder if in my scramble to the top, I’d failed to see what’s most important to the people I’m interviewing. Which is what should be most important to me.

Destiny arrives at the control room promptly at the end of the show and escorts me down to the set. “What’d you think?” Rachel asks brightly as I walk up, but she already knows the answer. She was awesome.

“You were fantastic,” I say, and mean it.

“Thanks.” She tilts her head self-consciously and I find myself thinking how odd it is to watch myself do it. It’s always been a quirk of Rachel’s. In high school, after each football game, she’d bound up to me, breathless, tilting her head and asking what I’d thought of her halftime performance.

“So, New York, huh?” I ask, pulling her aside. “When were you planning on telling me?”

“We just found out, I was going to tell you today, promise,” she answers sheepishly and looks away.

“Right.”

“I was, I swear. Are you pissed?”

“No, of course not,” I answer too quickly, not wanting her to know that I am in fact a little pissed. Because if I admit it, I’ll just end up looking petty. I lean in and whisper, “I’d just like fair warning if my body is leaving the state, thank you very much.”

She smiles at my attempt at a joke. “Are you at least happy for me?”

“Yes!” I answer with more enthusiasm than I feel. “And more important, I’m happy for me. This could mean big things.”

“Yes it could,” she answers simply, leaving me wondering if she knows more than she’s letting on.

“But you have to do me one favor. And it’s a big one.”

“What?”

I touch her lips with my finger. “Promise me fettuccini Alfredo will never pass through these ever again.”

CHAPTER 18

rachel

I white-knuckle the armrests as our plane lifts away from Los Angeles, the girls, John—my life.

The panic I’m feeling now is worse than any I’ve experienced this past couple of weeks, which means I’m very close to hyperventilating. If this plane crashes, no one will ever know what happened, will ever know that I died in Casey’s body. God, that sounds so terrible. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block it out. Sure, Casey will try to convince John that we switched bodies, she’d swear on our friendship, on my grave, on anything, but he’d just give her a sympathetic look, chalking up her behavior to that of a grieving best friend, never knowing that his real wife went down with the rest of Flight 2525.

“You’re gripping those armrests so tightly it looks painful.” Charlie’s voice jars me out of my panic. I’ve noticed Charlie has that way about him, always knowing what to do or say to make me feel better, even if he doesn’t realize I need to feel better. It can be as simple as paying me a compliment after, unbeknownst
to him, the makeup girl has given me a total complex earlier that morning. Has Casey noticed that he has this quality? It’s one I’ve craved from John for as long as I can remember. The feeling that I’m supported no matter what.

“Sorry, slight fear of flying,” I lie, wishing that I could confide in him. That I could tell him everything. That I’m not Casey. That I’m an ordinary girl with love handles, three daughters, a husband, even a book club. Yes, in that order.

“Let’s get you a drink,” he says, and smiles.

As he motions to the flight attendant, I watch him. He’s only grown better looking since I met him. He’s not handsome in a George Clooney kind of way, but in a construction-worker-meets-fraternity-boy kind of way. His thick dirty-blond hair is always slightly messy, his face always a day past needing to be shaved, but his shirt is always tucked in, his shoes always matching his belt. And his brown eyes literally melting you. But none of this is upon first glance. You might pass him on the street and not even notice him because he’s not particularly tall, his features not particularly distinct. But when you look at him, really look at him, you can see it.

He couldn’t be any more different looking from John if he tried. John is almost six foot four, his dark hair not nearly as thick, his face more angular, his features more sharp. And I can’t remember the last time his blue eyes melted me.

“Yes, let’s get me that drink,” I say with a smile. And decide that for at least right now, I have no choice but to embrace this life. I push thoughts of my girls from my mind and focus on the present. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing these days? Living in the present? Focusing on the here and now?

The hours fly by as each drink goes down a little smoother than the last. We talk about everything. Well,
he
talks about
everything because I’m basically interviewing him and not letting him ask me any questions. Because I have no idea what he’s told Casey and what he hasn’t, I play it safe and ask him to tell me stories about himself that I don’t already know. He tells me about his older brother, the lawyer, the one he thinks his parents are more proud of. His dad is a lawyer too and wanted both of his boys to follow in his footsteps and run his firm when he retired. But Charlie said he didn’t have it in him. He fought it until he couldn’t fight it. And then he dropped out of law school because he could no longer lie to himself that it felt right.

I want to tell him that I dropped out too. That I never admitted to anyone that when I became pregnant I didn’t feel conflicted. There was never a “what do I do?” moment. John, on the other hand, was completely thrown. He was excited, but also scared shitless. He said it was too soon and worried if we’d make it. He loved me, but said he hadn’t planned to propose to me until we were both established in our careers. But as he’d paced back and forth in front of his futon couch, his hands flailing wildly, I was calm. I knew in my heart having the baby was the right thing, whether John married me right away or not. I easily chose the baby over the career, which surprised me more than I think it surprised Casey or John, although I never told either of them that. I always thought I’d go back.

I’d been so career driven. Always the one who chose studying over barhopping. Casey and my other roommate would roll their eyes at me when they stumbled home drunk and I was still burning the midnight oil. The photo I found in Casey’s apartment brought me to tears because I remembered that night so clearly. It was taken on a rare night when I let Casey talk me into going out. And I recalled thinking how good it felt to be out getting hammered and wondered why I always took things
so seriously. Why couldn’t I just wing it like Casey always did? Things always seemed to come so easy for her.

When I found out I was pregnant it was almost a relief because I wasn’t going to have to try and potentially fail. That’s what I was always so scared of—failing. I was fantastic in the college studio, but what would happen when I was in front of the
real
cameras?

I think of my interview with Ryan McKnight. Turns out, I would’ve been great. Really great.

“What about you? Tell me something personal about you. You’re always deflecting.” Charlie tries again to get something out of me.

“Deflecting, huh? Where’d you learn that one? Dr. Phil?” I laugh.

“Still deflecting.”

I take a long drink of my champagne. Somewhere over Kansas we’d decided it was time to celebrate our success—that we were on our way to the Big Apple to bring
GossipTV
and “our” careers to the next level.

“I’m happy. Right now, in this moment. I am very happy,” I say without hesitation.

“Well, I’m happy to hear you say that.” He puts his hand over mine and I let it rest there, let myself feel the heat of his palm, the electricity flowing between our hands. And I wonder for a moment what it would feel like to kiss him.

“Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but aren’t you Casey Lee?” a young, petite blonde stammers then covers her mouth. Charlie quickly removes his hand from mine like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous. I never approach anyone. And I live in L.A.; well, you know how it is. I see people all the time, but you, I look up to you. I hope to have a career like yours one day.”

I smile, thinking she reminds me of Casey at that age. So pretty, so ambitious. She would’ve approached Mary Hart back then. I wouldn’t have had the balls.

“It’s okay, what’s your name?”

“Darlene, but I’m thinking of changing it.”

“Don’t,” I say too quickly and she gives me a confused look.

“Just stay true to who you are,” I say, thinking of the makeup artist, of Dean, of Fiona. Any of them would stab Casey in the back for a buck.

“That’s great advice, thank you. I just have to tell you, your interview with Ryan McKnight, oh my God, it had me in tears. And I think he’s a total douche bag to cheat on his wife like that. But I still bawled.”

We all laugh.

“Could I bother you for an autograph? I know, how lame of me to ask, right? You’re trying to enjoy your flight with your boyfriend and I’m interrupting.”

I don’t correct her but grab the pen and paper she’s thrust in front of me.

I decide Charlie can be my boyfriend, if only for this moment, while I sign the autograph. I’m already pretending to be someone I’m not. Why can’t I pretend that too?

CHAPTER 19

casey

“What about this?” Audrey steps out of the dressing room in a low-cut shimmering top and a pair of skintight Rock and Republic jeans.

I think of Sophie in the barely there miniskirt. Why do these young girls feel they need to show so much skin to feel pretty? Are women like me to blame? I’d never wanted to see myself as a role model, but it’s becoming harder to deny. “Let’s keep looking,” I say as I grab a shirt off the rack that will cover more of her. “Why don’t you try this top with these?” I say, handing her a looser pair of jeans.

“Okay,” she says as she disappears back behind the curtain and I start fingering through the sweaters neatly stacked on the table. Audrey’s date with Chris is tonight and I promised to help her find the perfect outfit. I may not change a diaper very well, but one thing I do excel at is shopping.

Audrey saunters back out and I can tell by the look on her face that we have a winner. It’s a long striped T-shirt paired with
a belt, and it looks perfect with the jeans I picked. Skinny, but not painted on. I grab a short faux leather jacket I’d been eyeing earlier. “Try this with it. And maybe we could find you some black flats to tie the whole outfit together. I think Tory Burch has a new pair out.”

“Oh my God, Mom! It’s perfect!” she squeals and turns to hug me. “Since when did you get all fashionable? Did you ask Aunt Casey for advice or something?”

I poke her playfully. “Something like that.”

Audrey twirls around and I can’t help but smile. In a strange way, I’m slightly jealous. I struggle to think of the last time I’d been on a proper date. Probably when Charlie and I drove up the coast to have dinner, because I insisted we go somewhere where no one from work could see us. He’d picked me up and we’d driven to Santa Barbara, having dinner at an Italian restaurant off State Street. We’d talked for hours, only stopping when we realized we were the last patrons. He took my hand and led me back to the car, leaning me against the passenger-side door, kissing me there, passionately. I could still remember the faint taste of garlic, wondering if it was from him or me, and then letting myself go and enjoying the moment. But that was before everything changed between us. And now, I’ll probably live my whole life attempting to live up to the perfection of that date. Which is most likely why I’ve given up trying.

Bursting through the door an hour later, Audrey is still brimming with excitement. “I’m going to jump in the shower now so I have plenty of time to get ready.” Audrey drops the bags onto the table and starts up the stairs. “Will you help me straighten my hair later, Mom?”

“Of course,” I reply, excited that she wants me to be part of
her special night. I was hoping she would, but didn’t want to push it.
The one thing I’ve learned since being her mom is that having a teenager is a bit like dating a new guy; you can’t let them know how bad you want it.

She races past Sophie at the top of the stairs, who is standing sullen with her arms crossed. “Did you get me anything?” she asks. “Or was today all about Audrey?”

I shake the bag I’m holding. “Maybe. But you’ll need to wipe that look off your face.” I smile and pull out a pair of black sequined boots.

“Mom!” She runs over and grabs them out of my hands and starts pulling them on her feet. She looks up at me. “How did you know?”