“Pete the infomercial guy?” asked Rachel, raising an eyebrow.
“Yep, that’s him.”
“I saw his commercial the other night when I couldn’t sleep. For the PressNSteam clothes iron and pore cleanser contraption. He is so hyper! What’s wrong with him?”
“Have you tried that thing? It’s great. Smooth clothes and clean skin, in one easy move,” said Betsy.
“I don’t think that’s him,” I said. “He does some kind of fruit and vegetable drying thing. I don’t think he does any pore steamers.”
“No, that’s him,” said Betsy. “Your neighbor Pete has all kinds of products he endorses.”
“Really? I guess he is the infomercial king,” I said, feeling a twinge of pride for him.
“Oh Emma, tell me nothing has happened with you two,” said Rachel. Ever since she got engaged and then married last year, and moved out to a giant house in Suburbia, she has forgotten what it’s like to have to date. She thinks all men are atrocious losers and that Betsy and I are sleeping with anyone who looks our way.
“It hasn’t. He’s just my neighbor.”
“Don’t sleep with him,” said Betsy, seriously, very seriously, shaking her head slowly left and right.
“He does infomercials,” said Rachel. As if I hadn’t already gotten the point.
“I hear you both loud and clear. I haven’t slept with him and I am not going to. And I doubt very much that I will ever be on Bellamy’s reality show. And in the meantime, I will be sure not to sleep with anyone, or even date, in case I should humiliate either of you by choosing someone who is a loser.”
“Oh, come on, Emma,” said Rachel.
“We didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” said Betsy.
“I know,” I said. But I didn’t. I felt annoyed and defensive. In particular towards Betsy, who is single herself, and who I thought could still relate to me.
“The important thing,” Rachel said, wise from three glasses of wine, “is to be true to yourself. Silence the voices of the outside opinion-holders and be true to the voice within your soul. What they think doesn’t matter. Follow your heart and it will work out right.”
“She’s right,” said Betsy. “Don’t worry about what anyone else says or thinks. Even us. Do what you know is right.”
“In that case, I think I am going to go home,” I said, stuffing my arm in my giant coat sleeve.
“Emma, are you upset?” asked Betsy.
“No, but I have a lot of catching up to do tomorrow since I missed today, and I need to get enough sleep tonight.”
“It’s only seven o’clock,” said Rachel. “We haven’t even ordered food yet.”
“Well, I have to go,” I said, giving them each a quick little hug and making a break for the door.
I stepped out into the cold, wrapping my coat tightly around me, stomping my way home through the fresh, crisp snow. I was glad to be alone. “Who do they think they are?” I whispered under my breath. “Just because Rachel is married, it doesn’t mean she is wiser, or better than me.” I found a ski cap in my pocket and pulled it down over my ears, continuing my horrible habit of talking to myself: “Betsy’s in love with her boss, who is married, and who is an asshole. So she should really shut up.” I kicked at a mitten someone had dropped, but I missed it, instead kicking a splattering of snow at myself. “So they criticize every decision I make, and then tell me to just be true to myself. Really?”
“Are you talking to yourself?” said a voice to my left. I spun around.
“Oh, Pete! I’m glad it’s just you,” I said, my heart beating in my throat.
“Yes, it’s just me. I’d hate for you to disgrace yourself in front of someone important.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean, you know I’m not crazy. A stranger might have been worried about me.”
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, falling into step beside me.
“I met my friends for a drink.”
“And it didn’t go well?”
“They like to give me advice. Sometimes it gets on my nerves. What are you doing out here?” I asked, noticing he was carrying a grocery bag.
“Just had to pick up a couple of things,” he said. I couldn’t be sure, but in the faint glow of the street lights he seemed to be blushing. He tucked the bag under his opposite arm, away from me, and put his chin down into his collar, bracing against the wind. We walked in silence; it was too cold and windy to talk.
When we reached our building, the snow had begun coming down even more heavily than before. “You might be lucky enough to get out of work again tomorrow,” said Pete, holding the door for me.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“You never know. Tonight we’re supposed to get almost a foot of snow.”
“Wow. How do you always know so much?” I teased.
“Television. You ought to get one. It’s like, information just streams into your home through it. It’s pretty cool.”
“Speaking of television,” I said, as we waited for the elevator, “my friends tell me that you truly are the infomercial king that you say you are.”
“You didn’t believe me?”
I shrugged. “I believed you, but I failed to grasp the enormity of it.”
“I suppose I am starting to be that for real,” he said, laughing. “An infomercial king.” He shook his head as if he was as surprised by it as anyone. I got the impression he was a little embarrassed by his success. He pressed the elevator button again. We waited and waited, but couldn’t even hear it moving.
“Come on!” I said, pushing every button at once.
“So. You were talking about me with your friends,” he said.
I rolled my eyes, ignoring this. “Do you think it’s broken again?” I asked.
“Looks like it. Let’s take the stairs,” said Pete. We started up them together, on our journey to the seventh floor. He was a step in front of me and through his plastic shopping bag I could clearly see a half gallon container of orange sherbet, a jar of almond butter, and a box of chocolate covered cherries. All my favorites. I looked down at the steps in front of me, biting my tongue. We finally reached our floor, both of us a little out of breath. Our building is so old with such high ceilings that seven stories are like ten or twelve in a modern day building.
“We should make a deal that we both just take the stairs from now on,” said Pete. “To get in shape.”
“Good plan,” I agreed, since it was the shortest sentence I could think to say.
“Hey,” Pete said casually, as we arrived at his door, “Alanna and Antonio are going to be telling their side of the story tonight on the late show, if you want to come by.”
“You know their names now,” I said, smiling.
“I pay attention,” he said.
“I see that,” I said, glancing at the bag of groceries and back up at him.
He looked at the bag, and saw I could see right through it. He kind of deflated in self-consciousness and vulnerability, right before my eyes. I felt a little guilty. But I can’t say I didn’t enjoy his rare lack of confidence. Something about the way he reacted made my heart beat faster. His vulnerability made me picture what it would be like to have sex with him. We were so predictable and human that I felt ashamed for the both of us.
And this moment became one of those unexpected, defining moments where a change will happen, or the opportunity will pass.
I thought of my friends, mocking him, and my pre-conceived ideas that he was probably a player, because he was too cute and flirtatious not to be. I told myself that He’s the Infomercial King, and it doesn’t get any worse than that. In that nanosecond I further reminded myself that the only power I had over him was that I was the one girl who wouldn’t give in to him.
Yet here I was, looking from a melting tub of sherbet into his eyes. His blue, beautiful, needy eyes. And all I wanted was to be with him.
“I would like to, but I really can’t stay up late tonight,” I s
aid. “Maybe some other night?”
“Sure,” he said lightly. “Have a good night.” He went into his apartment and closed the door firmly after him. I went to mine and did the same.
Chapter 5
Pete was right about the snow. I awoke at 5:30, intending to get to my office very early, but when I tried to look out my windows to get a feel for what kind of day lay ahead of me, they were completely covered with a frosty coating of snow and ice. I got on my computer and discovered that the entire city was in a snow emergency and people were instructed not the leave their homes except in the most dire of circumstances.
I’ve got to admit, I was ecstatic. A tad worried about the work piling up, yet ecstatic nonetheless. I emailed my boss and a couple of my clients, and then I crawled back into bed. It was so dark and cozy in my apartment that I slept soundly until my cell phone woke me at eleven thirty. I got up, surprised at myself. Even in college after partying all night I never slept past ten o’clock in the morning.
I turned on my coffee maker and checked my phone. I didn’t recognize the number or even the area code. I felt disappointed. I think I’d been expecting it to be Pete, even though he would have just stopped by and knocked on my door if he needed something. “It’s really better if you don’t go down that road. That Pete Road. Just… don’t,” I told myself. I dialed the code to check my messages and waited.
“Hello. This is a message for Emma Van Elson. My name is Christine Leary and I am calling on behalf of the television show Bellamy’s Redemption. We received your application this morning, and we are really delighted by your video. We feel that you’ve got a likeable, memorable presence, and that your general appearance is favorable for television. We feel, based on what we saw, and how you answered the interview questions, that Bellamy might be as excited about you as we are. More importantly, we think you would be a great presence on Bellamy’s Redemption, or one of our other upcoming shows. We would like you to return our phone call as soon as possible, so we can continue to the next steps in the interview process. This process moves very quickly and filming starts soon, so please return our call as quickly as possible so you may continue to be considered as a candidate. Thank you, Emma! I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon! Buh-bye!”
“Oh my God!” I whispered. I listened to it again. And again. I ran over to my computer, googled Bellamy, and took a long, hard look at him. Yes, he was as cute as I remembered.
Was it really possible that I was going to meet him?
Was I really going to be on television?
I did some jumping jacks and ate a stick of celery while my mind raced.
“You’d better tone up,” I told myself.
I began to dial Betsy’s number, but stopped. “You’re still mad at her and Rachel,” I reminded myself.
I considered calling Judijean, but she would blab it to Lauren, who would blab it to Rachel and Betsy, and then I might as well have told them in the first place.
I paced around my living room, wringing my hands. Should I call Christine Leary back immediately? Should I wait for a little while? I decided I was too nervous to call her back; I needed to talk to someone else first.
I was so excited that sexy Pete became just plain Pete again, and I had to tell him.
I put on my robe and slippers and ran down the hall to his apartment with my phone in my hand. I knocked on his door, dancing from foot to foot, unable to stand still. There was no answer. I tried again. It seemed impossible that he could have gone anywhere in such terrible weather. I needed him to be there now before the thrill began to die away. As I was losing hope, I heard the sound of boots clomping up the stairwell. I definitely wanted to wait if it was him, but I definitely didn’t want to wait if it was one of my other neighbors, like Mr. or Mrs. Harding, who always asked for help with pukey chores like cleaning their oven or kitty litter box. Deciding I could not take such a chance, I turned and headed back to my own apartment.
“Emma?” said Pete, just as I had opened my door to slip back inside. I turned, and there he was, bundled in winter cuteness, a cup of coffee in his mittened hand.
“You went out in the blizzard?”
“My coffee maker broke.”
“You don’t have a spare? One that doubles as a weight bench or a scalp massager?”
“Is that an infomercial dig?”
“You’re right. That was mean. You could have used my coffee maker instead of going out into the worst storm ever.”
“Okay. Next time I’ll ask you first.”
I began to doublethink whether I should share the message with him. My excitement over it was fading. I felt like it might actually be a little rude to share it with him.
“Were you stopping by?” he asked.
“No, I was just out in the hall… exercising,” I said.
“Exercising?”
“Yeah. Exercising,” I said lamely. “You know… running.”
“In your robe. And slippers,” said Pete.
“Yeah. It seemed like it was too cold to wear my regular workout clothes. So I wore this.”
“Do you often work out in the hallway?”
“Sure,” I said. “I mean, no, not usually. But it was too snowy to go to the gym.”
Pete took a sip of his coffee and nodded.
“Well, I guess I had better go. Have a nice day,” I said, reaching again for my doorknob.
“Why would you work out in the hall when you have a spacious apartment all to yourself? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Well, like I said, I usually go to the gym.”
“You never mentioned that before.”
“Well, Pete, we don’t share everything.”
“Okay.”
“But on a nice day, that’s where you’ll find me. On the treadmill. Treading along.”
“Really.”
“But today, well, you know, there are weather warnings, so the gym was not an option.”
“Of course not.”
“And I don’t like to sweat in my apartment. I’m kind of a neatfreak.”
Pete had been at his door and I had been at mine, but right then and there he came up to me, all tall and snowy, scruffy and coffee-ish, closer and closer until he was just inches from me. He looked down at me, making me feel very small. A clump of snow fell off his sleeve, onto my ankle.
“Brr,” I said.
“Would you like to go out sometime?” he asked me. Quietly, seriously. His eyes locked into mine. His mouth was relaxed, so soft I wanted to kiss it, but his eyes held an urgency I hadn’t seen before.
I realized I was nodding. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, I would like that.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“Okay.”
“Eight o’clock?”
I nodded.
“I will come by here and pick you up?”
I nodded again.
“Good,” he said. “See you then.”
“Yep.” I smiled and nodded. I went inside my apartment and closed the door.
My heart was fluttering. Racing. I hadn’t felt so dizzy over a guy since my crush on cutest-guy-in-the-class Charlie Denson back in seventh grade. I skooched right down the wall onto my butt, my feet sliding out in front of me. “I’m in trouble,” I said. I sighed and rested my forehead against my cool palms. The floor was freezing cold beneath my butt. I shivered. My heart wouldn’t stop racing. “Pull yourself together,” I whispered.
I stood up and checked my reflection in the mirror in my foyer, to see how bad I looked. Ugh. I looked even worse than I’d feared. My hair was a mess, piled in a sloppy sideways bun on top of my head. My face was flushed. My robe was hanging open with some cheap, stained pajamas peeking out beneath it. I took a deep breath. “What are you doing?” I asked myself. “You are about to get your big chance with Bellamy. Bellamy Timberfrost! The Bellamy Timberfrost. The hot, famous guy, who until very recently was just some famous person you would never know. Now you are very possibly going to meet him,
maybe fall in love with him, and maybe even marry him. You can travel the world, be on TV, and maybe even get a Diamonds by Deluxe engagement ring. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Don’t ruin this opportunity by getting sidetracked.”
But my speech had not convinced me. I sat down on my sofa and gave myself part two of the speech: “Pete Vincent, on the other hand, is sleazy. Everyone says so. Do you really want to be Mrs. Infomercial? He is charming you with his charm. Charm is his thing, his special talent, and that is what’s going on here. He sells crap for a living, and now he is selling himself. He can sell anything to anyone, and Emma, You Are Falling For It. Wise up, sister.”
I waited for the truth of these words to sink in, but they hovered instead. The problem was, I didn’t want to believe them. Instead another thought came in, pushing them away. “Don’t talk that way about Pete,” it said.
I laid down and buried my head in the pillows, irritated with myself. Was I simply a boy-crazy idiot? Maybe. Although I typically didn’t get crushes on anyone, now here I was, liking two guys at once. What was the matter with me? Perhaps my hormones were having a flare up. Maybe I was going through menopause.
While I lay there, contemplating my next move, my phone rang again. It was in the pocket of my robe, so I took it out and answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hello, is this Emma Van Elson?”
“It is.”
“Emma! This is Christine Leary. Calling from Slice of Reality Studios. How are you?” She spoke like we were old friends.
“I’m good.”
“Fabulous, fabulous. I’m so glad I caught you. So, we saw your audition and it was wonderful. We all thought you were great. Do you have a couple of minutes to talk about your application?”
“Um, sure,” I said. I stood up and began to nervously pace. I tried to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible.
“So you must have watched Bellamy’s journey as he tried to win the heart of Alanna?”
“Yes, I saw it.”
“A real heartbreaker, wasn’t it? Now, first of all, I want you to know that what you saw on television happened several months ago, even though it just aired, and Bellamy has healed. What he went through showed him that he is ready for true love, and that he has it within him to fall in love. He realized after what he went through with Alanna that the special process we incorporate on our show helps people truly find love, and he is ready to try again. And he believes it will happen for him again this time. He is taking this process seriously, and truly seeking a lasting, loving relationship.”
Bellamy's Redemption Page 4