Bellamy's Redemption

Home > Other > Bellamy's Redemption > Page 2
Bellamy's Redemption Page 2

by Holly Tierney-Bedord


  “Go on, tell America,” said Bobby Maze, a huge smile plastered on his face.

  “Sure. I, um, I am coming back to your homes,” Bellamy said, awkwardly reading the teleprompter, “for my second chance… at true love. Join me this summer… for Bellamy’s Reduction. …Excuse me, I mean Bellamy’s Redemption. And ladies… if you would like a chance to be a contestant on Bellamy’s Redemption, and win… a chance… at being with me, please call the number… at the bottom of your screen.”

  “Thank you, Bellamy. Well done. Ladies and gentlemen, once again, Bellamy Timberfrost!”

  The audience clapped, somewhat less enthusiastically this time.

  “And be sure to join me tomorrow night when Antonio and Alanna join us together to share their side of the story!”

  Pete clicked off the television. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was not normal for him.

  “You can talk again,” I said.

  “Emma, Emma,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “I have to get to bed. We’re taping at five o’clock in the morning.”

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me stop by.” I picked up my empty Capri Sun and Pete’s empty radish plate and took them to the kitchen.

  “You’re so clean,” he said, following me.

  “Not really. What’s tomorrow’s product?”

  “The Spin-Chop-Dryer. It’s a gadget that spins vegetables until the dirt falls off, and then chops them into chips, and then dries them into a healthy, fat free snack, all at the touch of a button.”

  “It sounds great.”

  “I’ll get you one.”

  “Cool. Thanks Pete. Good night.”

  “Good night, Emma.”

  I let myself out and went back to my apartment. I fixed myself a cup of tea and picked up a decorating magazine, but I could not focus on either. My mind was racing with thoughts of Bellamy’s Redemption. I had to get on that show.

  I stood up and examined my face in the mirror in my foyer. Shoulder length blonde hair. Brown eyes that made everyone think my hair color was fake. It occurred to me that I was the exact opposite of Alanna Rutherford. If Bellamy had loved her, could he settle for me?

  I got out my yoga mat and sat on it, in case I became inspired to exercise. If past seasons were any indication, hot tub interviews were likely to be an important part of the show. I was going to have to get in great shape if I was going to be on television. I moved my tea out of the way and did a couple of crunches. The snow was still falling, and as I lay there looking up at it swirling prettily outside the tall old windows, I felt the most wonderful mix of hope, excitement, and peace. I just knew that Bellamy and I were going to meet. Getting him to fall in love with me seemed a little more difficult, but I’d figure that out when the time came.

  Chapter 2

  I spent the morning of my day off playing on the computer, drinking coffee, and watching the city get buried under snow. At 11:30 Betsy called me and invited me to meet her for lunch.

  “I’m not working today. I’m snowed in,” I told her.

  “Snowed in? We don’t live on the Minnesota prairie. How are you possibly snowed in? Call a taxi.”

  “Well, I was going to have to drive around today, and it sounded kind of scary. I decided last night that I’d play hooky today.”

  “In that case, you should have stayed longer last night. Judijean was kind of drunk, in case you hadn’t noticed, and she started sharing all these nasty secrets about Bud’s family. Did you know that his mom is in jail right now for shoplifting? By jail I mean prison. Actual prison. At least I think so. Can you imagine that? I have seen her a few times and she is a fancy old bitch. I can’t imagine her in prison. You wouldn’t think anyone fancy could have given birth to Bud, but she’s honestly kind of elegant. Or so I thought. Are you there, Emma?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Oh, it’s just, you weren’t reacting. How much would you have to shoplift to go to prison? A ton of stuff, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How weird is that? So when they keep hemming and hawing about a wedding date, it’s not so Judijean can lose weight as we thought…”

  “I never thought that,” I interrupted. “She’s totally skinny.”

  “Her butt could be smaller,” Betsy said, and then continued where she’d left off: “And it’s not because Bud is going to get hair implants. It’s because they’re waiting to see when Bud’s mom will be released. Like, maybe with good behavior she’ll be out by spring.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I think she must have done it more than once or stolen something really expensive to have gone to prison. Stealing a bra is not going to get you locked up. Right?”

  “Yep. Sure.”

  “Yes it would or yes it wouldn’t?”

  “It wouldn’t.”

  “Okay. Cool. I mean shoplifting is not even that big of a deal. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes. I mean, no, it’s a big deal.”

  “Remember when we stole that gum back in second grade and your mom made us return it, and the old man at the grocery store called us rif-raff?”

  “Oh yeah. I guess so.”

  “Emma, I don’t feel like you’re paying attention to me at all. What’s wrong?”

  I sighed. I hated to admit it, but I was thinking about Bellamy. I’d had a dream about him, and its essence had lingered on throughout my morning until Betsy had called and destroyed it. In the dream he and I had been riding about in bumper boats, splashing one another and giggling. I’d been a size four instead of a size six and my hair had been at least three inches longer. It had been a really good dream. “Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

  “You aren’t still thinking about the show last night, are you?”

  “Not the show so much as Bellamy. I’m glad he and Alanna aren’t together, because… I know this sounds crazy, but I think I am going to apply to be a contestant on Bellamy’s Redemption.”

  “Really?”

  “Why are you saying Really like Really?” I asked.

  “Well… How do I put this delicately?”

  “Betsy, you’re my best friend. Just spit it out.”

  “I thought Rachel was your best friend.”

  “You both are. Say what you have to say.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  “Fine.” She drew in a deep breath and I flinched, afraid of what was coming. “Emma, you are way too much of a prissy little snob to handle going on a show like that. It would be a disastrous embarrassment to you.”

  “Ouch Betsy! You think I can’t handle it? That just makes me want to do it even more.”

  “You totally missed the point if ‘handle’ is the word you’re going to focus on. I think you’re very strong, and you can handle anything. What I meant is that you’re prissy, and stuck up, and fussy, and demanding, and a perfectionist, and most girls who go on shows like that are sloppy trainwrecks, and not only wouldn’t Bellamy pick you, because you simply aren’t what guys consider to be fun, but being there and having it filmed and broadcasted would make you crazy. And they always have messy kitchens on those reality shows. You hate messy kitchens. See, this isn’t going to work.”

  “You think I can’t be a trainwreck? You think Bellamy wouldn’t pick me? Is that how everyone thinks of me? I’ll show you! I’ll show all of you!”

  “Calm down.”

  “I am calm!”

  “Emma, hear me out. Guys want the party girl. That’s not you.”

  “Alanna wasn’t a party girl.”

  “No, but she was gorgeous.”

  “So, I’m not?”

  “Of course not, Em. No offense, but none of us are.”

  “I thought we were.”

  “That’s sweet, but no.”

  “You think I’m not fun?”

  “Not in a hootin’ hollerin’ cowboy hat and bikini top wearing way. Which is, hello, what
guys want.”

  “Bellamy is different.”

  She started laughing. She laughed and laughed until I set down the phone on my windowsill and watched the continuous swirls of snow cascading down like feathers. Her laughter went on, a gobbly little song echoing against the pane of glass. When finally it trailed off and I heard her chirping, “Emma? Emma?” I picked up my phone again.

  “You’re being pretty harsh, you know.”

  “I know, but I have to be. It seems like you’re serious and I need to stop you.”

  “I am serious. I have this feeling about him, which, you know me, I never get feelings, so I am taking it seriously. I think he is my future husband. I really do.”

  “Well, fine. Apply. But what are you going to do if they actually want you to go on the show? You have an amazing job. Are you just going to up and quit it?”

  “I have to admit, when I decided last night that I wasn’t going to work today, this wave of relief flooded over me. It was kind of a wake-up call. I think work is becoming too much of my life. Maybe going on the show would be healthy for me.”

  “Healthy? You’re turning into such a hippie!”

  “Betsy, you’re so extreme.”

  “Am not! Fine. Apply.”

  “I will. And as for my job, this will be just a small break. No big deal. You know, even if they told me I couldn’t come back and I had to start over from scratch, I have so many client referrals that I think I could get rolling again really easily. You know, branch out on my own. Actually, this could end up being the perfect opportunity to start my own business. See, everything about this plan is solid.”

  “Well, Emma, it sounds like you have it all worked out. I have to grab some lunch before I run out of time. Good luck. Let me know if the application process is easy. Maybe I’ll go on the show with you; I’d love to travel all over the world. Wouldn’t that be fun? Me and you on a show together, flying around to exotic places. Maybe Rachel would come with too.”

  “Betsy! This is serious. Rachel is married! This is a genuine search for true love.”

  “Okay. Got it. So it will be just you and me doing it then.”

  “You wouldn’t. What if he picked you instead of me?”

  “Then I guess your feeling was wrong.”

  “You’re the worst friend ever.”

  “You’re lucky to have someone so honest in your life. Anyhow, I was just kidding. So, you totally don’t think someone could go to prison for stealing little things like lipstick, right?”

  “Why are we talking about this again?”

  “Huh? I’d better run! Bye!”

  We hung up and I set down my phone on the countertop and turned on the water to make tea. I glanced around me at my perfectly clean sink and the white porcelain tea cups hanging on their tiny hooks beneath the tall black cabinets. Betsy had a point about messy kitchens. I drew in a deep breath, tore open the wrapper of a mint tea bag, and tossed the wrapper onto the floor. It lay there, making me nervous and sick. Next I took one of my kitchen towels, crumpled it into a little ball, and wedged it between the faucet and the wall. It looked completely stupid. I knew once I removed it, it would have creases in it and microscopic bits of dust and germs. I pretty much had to wash it again now.

  The kettle began to whistle, so I made my tea, depositing the used tea bag directly in the middle of my kitchen table once the tea was done steeping. A tiny puddle of water spread out around the bag, threatening to permanently discolor my tabletop. I averted my eyes and went to my living room, settling onto the sofa and making note of the time. If I could handle my kitchen being in disarray for twenty minutes straight, I could handle anything Bellamy’s Redemption had to throw at me.

  Chapter 3

  I wasn’t sure if I was more disgusted or impressed that I ruined a French antique just to prove a point to myself. I reminded myself that I had considered painting the table black to match the cabinets and to contrast with the white tile floor. Now I had no choice.

  But first, I had to make my video! I’d been concerned that there would be tons of paperwork, tests, and forms to fill out. I’d even thought I may have squandered too much of my day off to complete the whole application process. I was psyching myself up to call off for the following day as well, but when I logged in to the network’s website, it appeared that submitting a video of myself was the only step required. Honestly, applying for a job at Target was trickier and more intimidating than signing up to be on national television, travel the world, and marry a stranger. (Well, not really a stranger. Bellamy is not a stranger.)

  The website for Bellamy’s Redemption was very encouraging. All they wanted were energetic, happy candidates. That seemed easy enough. They had a list of questions that a friend or relative should read, and that I was supposed to answer as cheerfully as possible. I was feeling so good about everything that I was barely thinking about the table.

  I had ten to fifteen minutes to make a great impression on them. Fortunately, I know a thing or two about making little movies since I always shoot a walkthrough video with commentary of finished design projects for my portfolio. I decided I would throw in some of that footage so they could see how professional I am, and so I could show off some of my cute work clothes.

  Logically there was only one person in the world who should help me with this: Mr. Television himself, Pete! So I ran next door and woke him up from his nap. He said he’d be right over to help, but to someone as laidback as Pete, that means whatever he wants it to mean. After forty-five long, torturous minutes he showed up at my apartment with his video camera and a brand new Spin-Chop-Dryer. “I told you I’d snag one for you,” he said, setting it down on the table stain, oblivious to the huge amount of drama that stain represented.

  “Thanks,” I said. His maniacal, beaming face was in a burst shaped bubble on the corner of the box.

  “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to come over with my video camera?”

  “Funny, Pete. Do you think this dress is right?” I was wearing a clingy, champagne colored cocktail dress that has seen me through many a rehearsal dinner and blind date. Now it was hopefully going to help me through the most important interview of my life. My hair was up in a twist. I thought it looked kind of messy-chic. Maybe the show’s producers would mistakenly think it was longer than it really was.

  “You look good. But take your hair down.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. And put on more lipstick.”

  “Really? I never wear much lipstick.”

  “Trust me. I’m in television. You have to grab their attention.”

  In this aspect, I did trust Pete. So I shook out my hair and touched up my lipstick.

  “You realize that me coming over here and doing this for you does not in any way mean I am supporting your decision to try to get with this Bellamy guy, right?”

  “Okay, got it.”

  “I just wanted to make that clear.”

  “Why is everyone so opposed to this idea?” I asked.

  “You’re better than this.”

  “Better than what? What’s so bad about wanting to have fun, and travel the world, and end up with someone wonderful?”

  Pete looked like he was going to say something relevant or deep, but instead he simply said, “Put on a push up bra.”

  “I’m already wearing one!”

  He started laughing. He shook his head and his eyes crinkled up, and I got the feeling that he was possibly in love with me. “Alright,” he said. “Did you print out the questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Give me the list, and stand over there, yes, right there, and I am going to start filming you right away. We could rehearse, but sometimes the first take, the unrehearsed take, is the best, and I don’t want to miss out on that. We can splice the best parts together later.”

  “Okay. You know what you’re doing,” I said, standing in front of my fireplace.

  He picked up the sheet of
questions, cleared his throat, and read number one: “Emma, tell me a little bit about yourself, including your age, occupation, and living arrangements.”

  “Are you taping me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh! Okay.” I took a deep breath and smiled, suddenly nervous. “I’m Emma Van Elson, I’m twenty-seven, and I live in Chicago. We’re in my apartment right now,” I gestured around me, “which I decorated. That’s what I do. Interior design.”

  “Why don’t you give us a tour?” Pete suggested.

  “Well, certainly,” I said, feeling like a cheerful robot. “Here we are in my living room, and this is my office alcove, and my kitchen…” I stood in front of the table, hoping to block the box containing the Spin-Chop-Dryer. It stood out like a tacky, colorful cube in my monochromatic home. “And here we are in the foyer,” I said, “and through that little arch are my bedroom and the bathroom.” I beamed, glad I’d recently had my teeth professionally bleached.

  “Let’s check it out,” said Pete, slipping past me, backing down the hall to my bedroom, and waggling his finger at me.

  I followed after him, continuing to smile for the camera, sucking in my stomach and keeping my arms from touching my body so they wouldn’t look fatter than necessary.

  Pete wiggled his shoulders a little, signaling that I ought to loosen up.

  “Oh, sorry,” I mouthed. I pressed my elbows to my side, telling myself that guys liked girls with a little meat on their bones. When I glanced down to check how fat they’d become, Pete stopped walking and lowered the camera. “This is not the Emma I know. Lighten up a little. What’s with the arms?”

  “Do they look chubby?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Am I being too stiff?”

  “Yes, just relax. Have fun with this. Pretend this first one is a throw away and just say what you’re really thinking. We can always reshoot it. Just have some fun. Okay?”

  “You’re right. You’re totally right,” I said. I took a deep breath and fluffed up my hair.

  “So let’s start over from here. Give me a tour of your whole place, and say whatever is on your mind. You need to stand out. The producers aren’t looking for someone who is going to be a good match with this guy. They want good television. There’s a big difference. Flirt like you’re a little bit crazy.”

 

‹ Prev