“Really?”
“This video is your one chance to meet this guy, so make it memorable. And have fun. Remember, we don’t have to go with this one if you don’t like it, so let loose and have some fun.”
“You’re right, Pete. Thank you.”
He pointed the camera at me again. “Action!” he said.
I smiled and started talking. “Hello! I’m Emma. This is my bedroom. It’s pretty large. I think Bellamy would be really happy here. On my bed.” I sat down and patted the spot beside me, raising my eyebrows a few times. “And check out all the closet space. I don’t like sharing, but I would clear off this shelf right here,” I dramatically swept a pile of sweaters onto the floor, “for Bellamy.”
Pete gave me a thumbs up, so I went out into the hallway. “More storage. This is a pretty nice place, don’t you think? And here is my bathroom. This is a genuine clawfoot tub. Speaking of claws,” I held up my short, red fingernails, not my greatest asset, “I’d love to run mine down Bellamy’s back.”
I sauntered back through the archway, over to the fireplace, where I twirled around twice and did the splits. “Here’s my fireplace,” I said, pointing to my crotch.
“What?” Pete asked.
“Shhh,” I said, pressing one of my scarlet fingertips to my lips and winking coyly. I stood up, gracefully I think, and went into the kitchen. There I fluffed a dishtowel and straightened a trivet before turning to Pete’s camera and continuing: “Oh, hello there. And here is my kitchen where I make homemade potpies all the time. All the time. Wouldn’t that be nice on a snowy day like today? A potpie? Ask Bellamy if he likes potpies. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t.” I rubbed my belly and gave a knowing nod. Pete pointed the camera at the window for a couple of seconds, taking in the bleak city sky, and when he turned back to me, I had on an apron and I was holding a wooden spoon in my hand, an angelic smile on my face.
“Tell me about your past, Emma,” Pete said, referring to the questionnaire. “Have you ever been in love?”
This question wasn’t so fun. I’d been going to ask him to skip it all together. But if I wanted a fair shake at this, I supposed I’d better answer it. “I have. Twice. But neither time worked out. Next question.”
“What went wrong?” Pete asked.
“Oh, you know, the usual.” I smiled, casually returning the wooden spoon and apron to their places, trying to erase the image of spilled sweaters from my mind.
“And by ‘the usual’ you mean…”
“Well, the first time we were pretty young. We met when we were freshmen in college. So it doesn’t count as real life. And the second time, well, he didn’t want babies, like ever, and I would like about ten, so there you have it. We had to break up.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m kidding. I don’t want ten. But I would like some. Someday. And he was sure he didn’t. Seriously.”
“Okay, and how long ago did you break up with that guy?”
“About a year and a half ago.”
“Were you together long?”
“Two years.”
“Did you live with him?”
“No! Of course not,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Interesting,” said Pete, nodding thoughtfully. He turned back to the sheet of paper in his hands. “Do you have any celebrity crushes?”
“I’m not particularly impressed by celebrities,” I lied. “They’re just people like us who have more money for plastic surgery. I don’t even watch television.” Well, at least that was almost true. “I mean, except when Bellamy is on. Bellamy is different. I can tell.”
“What about infomercials?”
“Yes, Pete. I am a big fan of the guy on the Spin-Chop-Dryer commercial. He is my one exception.”
“Cool,” he said, smiling. He continued on, “If you could travel to any destination in the entire world, where would you go?”
“Ooh! That is a good question! Well… I’ve done some traveling, so I think it would be best to go some place new… Madrid! I would like to go to Madrid.”
“Why Madrid?”
“Because of the spice markets.”
“Spice markets?”
“Oops. I meant Morocco.” I started laughing. “I think you should edit that part.”
“So that’s more embarrassing to you than the whole ‘fireplace’ thing?”
I shrugged. “This whole thing is embarrassing. You might as well leave it in.”
“What is your ultimate fantasy date?”
“Another good question…” I adjusted the strap of my cocktail gown, trying to think on my feet. I didn’t know if I could answer this honestly. A perfect date could be anything if you were with the right person, and the most well-planned, beautiful evening in the world could be awkward and dull if you were with the wrong person. “I’d love to jump out of a plane,” I said, nodding firmly. Really, I would hate it.
“Any nicknames?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you have any nicknames?”
“My parents call me Bug. Because I used to wear buggy glasses when I was a little kid.”
“Now that is adorable,” he said.
“Now I don’t even own glasses. My eyes corrected themselves. That’s a fun fact about me. Make sure you get that on film, Pete.”
“I got it. What are your favorite foods?”
“I like pasta, pizza, Thai food, any kind of salad, mini deep fried black bean tacos, orange sherbet, Cheerios, olives, almond butter, figs, most fruit, any kind of cocktail, Kraft Singles, waffles, smoothies, chocolate covered cherries, Mexican food, walnut pesto, lettuce wraps…”
“That’s enough. Tell me about your family.”
“I’d love to. I have two brothers and three sisters. My brothers and sisters live all across the country. I am the youngest, so they are all at a different places in their lives than I am. They are busy with their spouses and kids. My parents used to live here in Chicago, but now they’ve retired to Florida. So even though there used to be a whole clan of us here, now it’s just me.”
“Hmm,” said Pete. “Good to know.”
I stared intently into the camera and then launched into what might be considered a desperate plea: “Let me add, I would gladly relocate to the Arizona desert to be with Bellamy at his rock climbing studio. Or better yet, we could settle down in Denver with his dad Larry and his mom Kate. I have no pets, but I would happily aid him in his animal rescue work. Except for snakes. I’m sorry, but my love would never run that deep. But puppies, yes. I will certainly help the puppies. I would get along great with his family and friends, even if they’re difficult. I’m just that kind of friendly, accepting person. And hey, if Bellamy likes Chicago, we can settle down here. Either way works super. I’m flexible. Very flexible. For love, I will bend over backwards.” To prove it, I bent over backwards and did a flip.
“Very nice,” said Pete.
“Thanks,” I said, readjusting the hem of my dress.
“That takes care of the next several questions,” said Pete, looking down the list. He turned over the questionnaire. “Anything else you’d like to add?”
“Sure. I’m a great dancer. Watch!” I spun around a few times and did some tap dancing moves from my years spent at Madame Clara’s Studio, breaking out the jazz hands and tipping an imaginary top hat. I tapped my way over to the hall closet, pulled out a hula hoop, and showed off my wonderful hip gyrations “Beat this!” I yelled, keeping the hula hoop going while I counted to one hundred. Finally, I moonwalked and did the worm, ending in a breakdance spin on my head. “Pick me,” I wheezed, trying to look like I wasn’t out of breath.
“Got it,” said Pete, setting down the camera.
“Well,” I said, getting up and dusting myself off, “that was fun. Should we try it for real?”
“We’re done here.”
“What? You said you’d help me!”
“I am. I mean, I just did. If you send that in, you will get on the show. I promise you
.”
“I’m not sending that in! I want to do it over for real.”
“How do you think I become Chicago’s newest infomercial king?”
“Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”
“Yes. To make it in the entertainment business, you have to be good looking, hard-working, and above all, you have to be a little crazy.”
“But if I sent this in I’d be giving a false impression of myself. You are crazy. I’m sane and cautious. If I get on the show it will only be because I was so ridiculous, and I want Bellamy to fall in love with the real me.”
“The ridiculous side is real too.”
“It’s usually dormant. You bring it out of me.”
“Look at it this way: A politician who wants to do good things sometimes has to do some corrupt things just to get elected. But if he doesn’t get elected, he knows he can’t make any difference at all. So think of this as a means to an end. You’re doing what you have to do to get on the show, and once you’re on there, you can do whatever you want.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Positive.”
“Did I look good enough? Should we try it again with a different outfit?”
“You look beautiful.”
“Should we add footage of me at work?”
“No, I don’t think you need it.”
I sighed. “I need to pick up my sweaters before I have a heart attack.”
Pete laughed. “Wildly knocking those sweaters over was definitely the most shocking move you made. Even more than the fireplace comment. So… I will put this on a disk for you. Be right back,” he said, exiting my apartment and leaving the door wide open.
Instantly, as I followed him to close it, the thought occurred to me: “He’s a slob. This is why we could never be a couple.” As if I needed a reason.
Chapter 4
Despite my status as “snowed in” I braved the blizzard to meet Betsy and Rachel for drinks when they got done with work. I didn’t have time to change clothes so I threw on winter boots and my ankle length, all-business, no-style winter coat over my cocktail dress. When I approached the bar, I saw that they were already seated at a tall table by the front window. Rachel with her long, red hair and pale blue eyes, made me think of ghosts even when we were children. Betsy, because she looked exactly like the cover of my older sister’s book Heidi, always made me think of Switzerland and cows with bells tied around their necks.
Rachel still looks much the same as she did when she was a little girl: skinny, serious, haunted. She has her work persona and a softer home persona. It has always been that way. In school she was competitive and ruthless. The most likely to cheat off your paper, the least likely to need to. She was the only one of us whose mother had worked in the professional world, and she seemed advanced beyond the rest of us because of it. But if you went over to her house, back then or now, she’d be baking cookies and wearing her dog strapped to her in a cuddle pouch.
Betsy is buttery and blonde. Shiny like the sun. Sassy and fun. Brutally honest yet forgivable since there is never any real malice attached. Easy. I mean that in the good and bad ways. Uncomplicated. A little bit slutty. I love her dearly but wouldn’t want her hanging around any guy I liked if I wasn’t around.
They have both been prettier than me throughout our lives, but I finally feel like I’m in their league. Being skinny and a late bloomer has its advantages.
They waved to me and I went in to join them.
“We bought you a glass of wine since you’re in mourning,” said Rachel, gesturing to the empty chair and glass of Pinot Noir.
“Thank you,” I said, taking my place.
“Most people spend their day off in pajamas, but Emma likes to lounge around in a sequined mini dress,” said Betsy.
“Tell me you have some different shoes in your bag,” said Rachel.
“No, just these wooly things,” I said, holding my feet out in front of me.
“I haven’t told Rachel anything yet about your plan, but can I please tell her now?” Betsy said.
“You two aren’t supposed to have secrets without me,” said Rachel.
“Well, now you have to tell her or it would be rude,” I said. “Just kidding, Rachel; I’d have told you anyway. We don’t have any secrets from you.”
“Emma is thinking about trying to get on the show they’re doing about Bellamy getting a second chance at love,” said Betsy.
“Really?” asked Rachel. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
“I’m just thinking about it,” I said, sipping my wine. In reality the copy of my audition had already been taken to the post office and was being overnighted to Hollywood.
“Would you actually want to be on television? I thought you, um… frowned upon that sort of thing.” said Rachel.
“Oh, please! Am I that stuck up? Anyhow, it’s not about going on television. I just really, really like Bellamy. We all thought he was amazing. Didn’t we?”
“Sure, Em. He was fine,” said Betsy.
“Just fine? Try adorable. He was adorable.”
“You’re talking about him like he’s a cupcake. I’ve never seen you this excited about anyone,” said Rachel.
“He’s special,” I said. Rachel and Betsy exchanged glances.
“We’re concerned because usually these shows are entertaining, but once they wrap up people forget all about them. And you haven’t,” said Rachel.
“Rachel’s right. Why are you still hung up on him?” asked Betsy.
“Still hung up on him? It all happened yesterday!”
“Technically, no,” said Rachel. “It aired yesterday. It all happened many months ago.”
“To me, it’s still very fresh. Why are you two ganging up on me?”
“We’re not,” said Betsy. “We’re just asking you to check back into reality, please.”
“Totally,” said Rachel. “From one successful, professional, too-good-for-reality-television woman to another, come back down from the world of the weird.”
“Oh,” I said. I don’t like to be called weird. It makes me feel… weird.
“Thank you for seeing our point, Em,” said Betsy, taking my ‘oh’ as an affirmative acknowledgment of my wrongdoing.
“Well, even if I do apply, which I probably won’t, the odds of them choosing me to go on the show are pretty slim,” I said, sipping my wine.
“You’re right about that,” said Rachel. Her eyes brightened. “On to other news, I have a new assistant and she’s wretched!”
“Oh no! Wretched’s the worst thing a person can be. Why did you hire her? Tell us everything about her,” said Betsy, trying to conceal her delight.
I relaxed, happy the subject had changed, and nibbled some roasted almonds from the complimentary bowl on our table. Despite my germaphobia, I can’t resist free nuts.
“She is twenty-two and incredibly naïve. Today, now remember, this is day one, she mispronounced my last name to a customer, mispronounced my boss’s name, and told someone on the phone, no one important, I hope, that our company has been ‘struggling’ but is ‘recovering nicely.’ She was wearing what appeared to be a brand new J. Crew outfit that she probably couldn’t afford, but her car is a rusty piece of shit covered in bumper stickers with sayings on them about how much she loves drugs. One was like, Bob Marley or something and the other was like ‘Be Free and Smoke Weed’ or something like that. Another one said something about trees. That is not the car she drove to the interview!”
“I’m so glad I’m not that immature anymore,” said Betsy.
“Anyhow,” Rachel continued, “she came back from lunch with her sandwich wrapped up in a napkin and for the rest of the afternoon she tried to discretely eat it when she thought no one was looking. I think it was egg salad. That can only mean she is really poor, wouldn’t you agree? And what is up with the secret eating? I mean, why didn’t she eat it during her lunch break like a normal person? Do you think this means she has an eating disorder o
n top of all her other problems? Or worse, does it mean she has poor time management skills? To eat a sandwich, under her desk, on day one! I don’t know what the story was on that. Then, it gets even worse, she raised her hand to ask me a question, and then got embarrassed and turned red and tried to pretend she’d been stretching… Oh, it was not good. Not good at all! And all this clumsiness was crammed into one day. Who knows what tomorrow is going to look like.”
“She was under the desk?” I asked, trying to focus on the story instead of Bellamy.
“Her hand was under the desk. The sandwich was under the desk,” said Rachel.
“She’ll come around,” said Betsy. “What do you think she meant about your company struggling?”
“I think she is clueless. We can’t possibly be struggling. I mean, they just bought me a new chair for my office. They would be cutting back on stuff like that if we were in trouble.”
“You might want to google it,” said Betsy. I nodded, wondering what kind of sandwich Bellamy liked best.
“Our company can tell if you google them. They’ll be like, ‘Rachel, why are you googling us?’ I’m sure I would have heard if there was a problem.”
“Your company knows if you google them?” I asked.
“I think so. I think companies know everything about their employees,” said Rachel.
“That’s horrible.” I took another drink of my wine, wondering if my company knew everything I googled. That would be creepy. It would make them like Santa Claus or God. Yuck.
“If you like your privacy so much, you shouldn’t be thinking about going on a show that films your every move,” said Betsy.
“It’s probably not going to happen. Pete was telling me that they look for people who are really, really out there, and I don’t know if that’s me. Even if I’m trying my hardest to be a wacko, it probably just looks like some sweet, boring girl, playing a psycho.”
Bellamy's Redemption Page 3