With that decision out of the way, I wondered what we should talk about first.
Then Nick started the ball rolling. “Has it been difficult for you?” he asked. “Being in the public eye twenty-four /seven?”
“I don’t really think about it,” I said. “I guess it hasn’t sunk in.”
“You can’t pay for this kind of exposure.”
Exposure? Before I could ask him what he meant, Jagger returned with a bottle of Merlot and began pouring it into two glasses.
“I’ll taste,” Nick held up his hand, causing Jagger to stop midstream. He made a face.
“Perhaps you ought to fetch me a fresh glass and we can start over? Don’t you know how to properly serve wine?”
Jagger looked bemused, but he quickly removed the offending glass and summoned a new one from the kitchen, and poured a small amount. He handed the glass to Nick. Nick sloshed the liquid around, then brought it to his nose and took a deep whiff, before at long last taking a sip. He closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them again and pronounced,
“Excellent. You may pour.” Good grief! What was with his holier-than-thou attitude?
Jagger left, and Nick and I resumed our conversation.
“So what did you mean, ‘You can’t pay for this kind of exposure’?”
“Celebrity. No one sells celebrity like America,” Nick explained. “Being on this program will open all sorts of doors for me.”
“So that’s why you’re here?” I asked, feeling my body tense up. “Because you want to be famous?”
He softened. “No, Kat, it’s not like that.” He took a sip of wine. “But I had to take a considerable amount of time off to be here. I had to make sure there was some identifiable payoff.”
A considerable amount of time? I took a huge gulp of wine. “Why would you jeopardize your job after you found out that I was, uh, big?” I blurted it out before I lost my nerve. “I thought you didn’t like big girls?” I felt humiliated, begging for his approval – on national TV, no less. But I was so glad we were having an actual conversation.
“It’s a bit complex,” he said. “I don’t dislike you merely because you’re fat.” I winced.
I’d rather be called anything but the F-word. “To be totally honest, Kat, I’m not quite certain of how I feel.”
“Right.”
“It’s all been very confusing. But I’m having a good time in California.” Nick raised his glass in the air. “Cheers.”
I raised my glass to his. “What are we toasting?”
“Shoes,” Nick said. “Brilliant, magnificently crafted shoes.”
“What?” I asked, not following.
He swung his feet around the side of the table revealing a pair of black leather loafers. “Prada,” he announced, beaming.
I was completely baffled. Shoes were worth a celebratory drink?
“The square toe is the best part,” he continued, pointing toward the front of the loafers. “I’m amazed you haven’t commented on them.”
He seemed genuinely offended that I hadn’t noticed his decadent footwear. “Your shoes are great. I like your suit, too,” I offered. “It’s really nice.”
“Nice?” He laughed. “For sixteen hundred quid it had better be nice.”
I quickly did the math in my head. I wasn’t sure of the exact exchange rate, but I thought the British pound was worth close to twice the dollar. Which meant his suit had cost over three thousand bucks! That was four months’ rent! I couldn’t think of anything to say. I shopped at Wal-Mart, Target, Old Navy, and Lane Bryant.
“I’m a clothes snob,” Nick admitted, smiling. “Who are you wearing?” I tried to think of a way to deflect the question. My black heels were from JC Penny, and my pants and shirt had been supplied by the show (and came, I knew, from Lane Bryant). As we’d begun to lose significant amounts of weight, Zaidee had brought in outfits for us to select from. Incentive, I guess.
“I’m not really sure. This outfit was a gift.”
“Are those Marc?” Nick asked, catching sight of my feet.
“Marc?” I repeated, confused.
“Marc Jacobs,” he said. “What other Marc is there?”
“No, they’re not. Marc Jacobs is a little out of my price range.”
He was starting to grate on my nerves. I took a big gulp of wine.
Nick ran his fingers along his brow line, smoothing the hairs into place. “I can’t believe I was foolish enough to post you that stunning gown.” Nick laughed. “There’s no chance you’ll be wearing that anytime soon.”
The last thing I wanted was to delve into a heated discussion about the size-four Gucci dress on national television. Fortunately, Jagger picked that precise moment to resurface with our first course of the evening. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as I saw him heading toward the table, a waiter’s tray in hand.
“Roasted red pepper and goat cheese tartlets,” he pronounced, setting two plates in front of us. “Bon appétit!”
Given the circumstances my appétit wasn’t so good, but I was loopy from the wine and thought it best to get some food into my stomach. I picked up the tiny fork and began cutting the tart-let into squares. We lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, engaging in strained small talk through both our first and second courses. All the while, I gulped glass after glass of wine, polishing off one bottle of Merlot and then starting in on another. My tongue felt raw and parched from so much alcohol and I should have had the sense to slow the pace a little.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, Nick whipped out a pack of Marlboro Lights.
“You didn’t tell me you smoke!” I exclaimed, startled.
“Well, you didn’t tell me you were overweight, so I guess we’re even,” Nick retorted, putting the cigarette between his lips and striking a match. “I have one before and after every meal. It helps me digest food better.”
The main dish arrived—steak tips with pumpkin-seed pesto. As soon as Jagger set down our plates. Nick continued smoking.
“I can’t believe you want to do that before you eat. Don’t cigarettes dull your taste buds?”
Nick ignored this. “Was it always your plan to find a man online and mislead him?” he asked, pushing his plate aside and concentrating on his cigarette. “Or was that something you came up with on the spur of the moment?”
I nearly choked on a bite of steak. “Of course it wasn’t my plan!” I couldn’t believe he’d said that. “I only told you I was skinny because it seemed so damn important to you that I look like a supermodel.”
Simmer down, I cautioned myself.
“A girl doesn’t have to look like a supermodel to catch my interest,” he argued. “I do prefer women to be slim, but only for health reasons. I want the woman I love to live a long, fulfilling life.”
Health reasons? I stared at Nick as he continued to nurse his cancer stick.
“You know,” I said, “some women develop eating disorders so they can be ‘slim.’”
“Yes, but fat people are never healthy,” he countered. He took a long, slow drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke out into a perfect O. “There’s quite a difference between being of normal weight and being obese,” he began.
“This is fucking hopeless,” I said, putting down my fork and standing up. I took a few steps and then stopped. “Even if I lost a hundred pounds, I’d never be thin enough for you, would I?”
He started to say something, but I continued on. “Let’s call this off before I make an even bigger fool out of myself.”
I was primed to make a dramatic exit when Jagger came rushing to the table. “Calm down, Kat!” he whispered, putting his hand on my forearm. I felt a strange, exciting sensation when he touched me, even though I knew he was only egging me on for the good of the show. “Don’t give in. It’s not like you to quit.” His expression was earnest and reassuring. “Can you make it thirty more minutes?”
“Thirty minutes!” I exclaimed. “This is going way too badly for that.” I was starting to
feel like I might burst into tears.
“Don’t do me any favors,” Nick said, stubbing out his cigarette. “I’ll be quite fine sitting here alone. Or, Jagger, you can send out Briana Borrail if you’d like.”
“Yeah, I guess she’s more your type,” I sputtered, grabbing ahold of Jagger to steady myself. The bottle of Merlot I’d downed was taking its toll.
“Briana’s a real stunner,” Nick agreed. “Even if she is a bit thick.”
“Thick?” I repeated, clinging tightly to Jagger. The girl probably weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. “You’re joking, right?”
“Thick up here,” he clarified, tapping his head. “The other day she told me they were building a bridge so you could drive between America and Britain. She said this new bridge was going to stretch between California and London.”
“That wouldn’t even be the right side of the country!” I said, swaying. I looked at Jagger—he’d been strangely quiet, silently observing our exchange.
“Yes, I know.” Nick smirked. “She also wondered how I spoke such brilliant English, seeing how I’m not from America and all.”
“No!” I exclaimed.
“Yes! Briana thinks everyone outside of the States speaks French or Spanish.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. Part of me wanted to laugh; the other part felt bad he was making fun of her.
“Hey, don’t look so down, Kat. I was only messing about with you earlier,” Nick said suddenly, tilting his head and looking into my eyes. “Sit back down; let’s finish out our meal.”
“Well, I guess I could.”
“I won’t bite. Promise.” He winked.
Jagger steered me back to the table and deposited me in my seat. “I’ll have dessert out as soon as you guys finish the steak tips. Enjoy yourselves,” he said, slowly backing away.
“Why have you been avoiding me?” I blurted out.
Nick sighed and set down his fork. “You really want to know?”
“It’s a logical question.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. I’m not in the mood to answer it, that’s all.” He paused for a moment. “Although now’s as good a time as any to do this.”
“So what is it?” I asked nervously. Please don’t let this be what I think it is.
“It’s been very difficult these past few weeks, ever since I found out you weren’t who you’d claimed to be,” he explained. “I needed some time to sort through my feelings and decide how I wanted to proceed.” He gave me a halfhearted smile.
I drew in a breath. “And have you figured anything out?”
“You have to understand something, Kat. I’ve spent my life looking for the right woman. I’ve searched high and low, the whole world over. I’ve dated so many people…and perception has always escaped me. No matter how hard I try to find it.”
“That’s because nobody’s perfect,” I mumbled. There was a lump forming in the pit of my stomach. I could feel where this was going.
“Yes,” Nick said. “I see that now. But with you I thought I’d finally found it: the perfect girl who had the perfect mix of all the qualities I’ve always wanted. But I was naïve to believe you were being honest.” Nick sighed. “And so I blame us both for this.”
I was starting to feel sick.
“You’re a sweet girl, Kat, and you’ll likely make some other man very happy one day.” Some other man. Focusing on the ground, I asked, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m afraid so.” He laid his hand on top of mine. I jerked it away. “Please don’t be upset. This isn’t easy for me, either. I’ve invested a considerable amount of time in this as well.”
I couldn’t speak. Nothing I could say would sound right or appropriate. I fingered my lapel mic and averted my eyes from his gaze.
“But you said you loved me,” I finally whispered.
“I loved a person who doesn’t exist.” He paused. “You were never who I thought you were, Kat. I look in your eyes and I see a stranger. And not one I’m interested in getting to know better, I’m afraid.”
I sucked in a breath, stunned by the sharpness of his words.
“It was a silly thing to do, getting involved over the Internet,” he continued. “What can I say? I was bored one night at work and I just stumbled upon you. I thought it had to be fate. You offered the rare promise of something different.”
“I never meant to lie.” Tears welled up in my eyes, threatening to spill over. “It was stupid and I got carried away. I just wanted you to like me. We had so much in common . . .”
As I spoke, my mind starting sifting through the evidence. Nick and I didn’t like the same music or food. I knew virtually nothing about his family. We’d never discussed our goals or dreams, our feelings about life.
He was obsessed with brand names; I’d happily shop at the Gap if their stuff fit. Where were all these traits we’d supposedly shared? “
If your body matched your personality you’d have men queuing up for miles,” he said softly. Seeing my stricken expression, he added, “I mean that as a compliment.”
“So we’re breaking up.” Sour traces of stomach acid rose to my mouth. I swallowed hard, forcing it back down.
“I hope we can be friends,” he offered, sounding less than genuine.
“Sure, we could do that,” I said. “It might be fun.” Fun like PMS. Fun like a hangover.
“I’d like to remain on favorable terms, considering we’re going to be living together for the next month or so.”
“Yes, considering,” I repeated, my voice flat. So Regan had been right—Nick and the other guests would be staying with us until the end of the show.
“There’s something I want to ask you,” I said flatly. There was still one thing that made no sense. “Why did you kiss me the night of the live show?”
“It’s a bit unusual, really,” he began. “Firstly, I did it because I needed to know how I felt. I wanted to kiss you, Kat. Don’t doubt that.”
I smiled. “And how did it feel?”
“Awkward. Strange.”
Strange? That didn’t sound promising.
“And I did it for the game.”
“Game?”
“‘Weight of the World’ or something. I can’t remember the exact title.”
He’d lost me. “What did that have to do with anything?”
“Zaidee showed me the previous episodes and I knew if we kissed you’d win seventy-five thousand dollars. Nobody asked me to do it; I wanted to help.”
Nick was my blind date? It was too stupid, too ironic to be true. But the timing didn’t add up.
“How could you have been my blind date? That was supposed to happen weeks ago.”
Nick ran his fingers through his hair. “What does it matter?”
“It matters.” I strained to collect my thoughts. “Because, it doesn’t add up.”
“I’m not entirely certain, but I believe the plan was for some ex-boyfriend of yours to come on the show. Then when Zaidee found out about me she switched things at the last minute.”
It still didn’t make sense. “But . . . when were you supposed to be here?”
“I was slated to come back in June, but I wasn’t able to take off work until now. Deadlines.”
“Have you been watching me all this time?” I wailed, beating my hands against my face. “Zaidee swore From Fat to Fabulous wouldn’t air in England!”
“It doesn’t. Kat, what are you going on about?”
And then I asked it. The one question I should have asked him right from the start. “How did you find out I was on a reality show?”
Nick stabbed a piece of steak with his fork, swirled it around in pesto sauce, and then placed it in his mouth. He chewed for a minute, then swallowed. “Your best mate Donna told me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked unsteadily.
Nick took another bite of steak and slowly savored it. “You sure you want to hear this?”
“Yes,” I
said, quivering. I felt sober, awake.
“You had that girl sending me those ridiculous e-mails, pretending to be you. Which wasn’t very convincing, by the way. Then one day she wrote the truth, confessing that you weighed fourteen stone.” He paused, then clarified, “Two hundred pounds.”
“You’re lying,” I said indignantly. “Donna wouldn’t do that.”
“Apparently she would.” He turned to face the cameras, and announced dramatically, “Ask Zaidee if you don’t believe me. She’ll tell you the exact same thing.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Why would Donna do that? For God’s sake, she wouldn’t! We’ve been best friends for almost five years. She has a key to my apartment! We trust each other with everything!”
Nick looked visibly annoyed. “Who knows, but she did what she did. I am not lying.”
I felt the weight of it sinking down around me. In all our years of friendship, I’d never once done anything to intentionally hurt Donna. And here she’d plunged a knife into my back!
All those years of me being in the background and Donna being the beautiful, stunning star . . . maybe that was the way she wanted it? I had never one-upped Donna, not with anything. Now here it was, my chance to be in the limelight, and Donna couldn’t stand it.
I remembered our conversation that night at On the Border, the way she’d chided me, insisting Nick was a major catch. Insisting—in a roundabout way—that he was too good for me. And now, given the chance, she’d blown my cover, plunging me into the worst experience I could imagine. Waves of nausea washed over me.
“I can’t deal with this now,” I said, rising. My stomach surged and I dashed into the house, bumping past the cameramen. The scenery spun and the ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
I barely made it to the living room before I bent forward and pitched the contents of my gourmet dinner onto the floor. The thick yellow liquid gathered in a pool, seeping down into the carpet. Without making a move to wipe up the mess, I stumbled past, seeking solace in the nearest bathroom. Nightmarish events aside, there was one bright spot.
At least I hadn’t puked all over his Prada loafers.
22
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Next Big Thing Page 24