Bellamy's Redemption

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

  “Oh my God!”

  “What?”

  “You’re serious. You’re really going on that stupid show.”

  “I told you!”

  “How much time do you have before you have to actually go on it? Are you going to get some implants? ‘Cause you should. And hair extensions. Definitely get some hair extensions. Have you ever considered getting a perm?”

  “I leave Wednesday.”

  “This Wednesday?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re pretty sure about this? Like, it’s really happening?”

  “For the last time, Betsy, I’m sure!”

  “It’s just, most of the girls on there, you know... They’re going to be really hot. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  “You’re not helping things.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Can you help me with this Betsy? Please?”

  “Yes, Emma. Of course. So, Geez. Oh my God! Crazy. Okay, I will see what I can do. What size shoes do you wear? A seven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. A seven. That’s doable. What else do you need?”

  “There’s a whole list.”

  “I’m working right now, so why don’t you email it to me. I’ll get the girls together. Be at my place at 6:30 tonight. Bring some champagne, because I can’t do everything.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. And by the way, congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” I said. We hung up. Next I drove by my office building, hoping I could ditch my portfolio while I was still in the neighborhood. Seeing that my boss’s car was not in the parking lot, I quickly ran in, deposited my portfolio of half-finished design projects on one of the chairs in her office, scrawled a note on the back of a company envelope, taped it on top of the portfolio, and darted back out without anyone seeing me. I was beginning to realize I had no backup plan and I was not leaving things in a good way for myself. “Oh well,” I whispered, sliding back into my idling car and heading to my apartment. “I guess as long as Bellamy chooses me, I won’t need a backup plan.”

  Chapter 9

  My friends were all there, along with someone Betsy knew who had worked for either a designer or a fashion magazine, or both, in New York. Her story was shifty, but I had too much on my mind to get analytical about it. Lucky me, she had stolen a bunch of clothes before she was fired.

  I felt like a queen, propped up on pillows on Betsy’s sofa, sipping champagne. Rachel started things off with an apologetic toast: “To Emma,” she said, raising her champagne flute. “We congratulate you on getting this far, accept your new status as reality TV star, and look forward to some camera time ourselves when we serve as bridesmaids in your two hour on-air wedding special.” Everyone clinked glasses. “And,” she added, looking pointedly at Betsy, “we are sorry we weren’t more supportive at first. Please forgive us.”

  “I forgive you,” I said.

  “Then let’s get down to business,” said Betsy.

  “What do you think of this one?” asked Judijean, fluffing the sleeves of a flowered, velvet and chiffon calf-length dress. “I wore it in my choir director’s wedding.”

  “Velvet and chiffon. What season was that for?” asked Rachel.

  “March, of course,” said Judijean.

  “Have you ever seen the show?” asked Lauren.

  “Of course, I’ve watched it with you,” said Judijean.

  “Well, Judes, that dress is not remotely sexy,” said Lauren.

  “Betsy said to bring nice, formal dresses,” said Judijean. “Which this is. Both. Nice and formal.”

  “It’s cute,” I said. It was not cute. At all. “But,” I continued, “I don’t think it’s going to make Bellamy take notice.”

  “Why don’t you take a look at the gowns I brought,” said Betsy’s friend Maggie, the dress thief. My ears perked up at the word ‘gowns.’

  “Yes, let’s,” I said.

  “This gown,” said Maggie, “would be perfect. Check out the sequins here, and the slit, and,” she spun it around, “look how low the back is.”

  “I love it!” I said.

  “Hang it over there with the other stuff that needs to be tried on,” Rachel said to Judijean, who unquestioningly did as she was told. We have a bad tendency of ganging up on Judijean sometimes when the five of us are together.

  “This one would be pretty on you,” said Maggie, holding up a sparkly gold mini dress. It was covered in sequins and had an asymmetrical band of fringe on its hem.

  “I think it’s a little… loud for me.”

  “Definitely try it on,” said Betsy.

  “It will fit right in on the show,” Rachel agreed, handing it to Judijean, who gophered it over to the other dresses and returned like a loyal dog. I’d never given this dynamic of our group much thought; it only happened when all five of us were together. In groups of two, three, or even four we typically treated her more like one of the gang. It got me thinking about the dynamics of living with all those girls. I had to come in strong and be an Alpha girl, or I was going to end up as the group’s Judijean. I knew from Christine’s slip-up on the phone that Shar had made it onto the show, and she clearly had a target on my back. As someone who is usually rather reserved, I could see myself being bullied and pushed around by a group of tacky, abrasive girls.

  “Can I talk to you all about something?” I asked. I wished Maggie wasn’t there, since I barely knew her, but I didn’t have the luxury of rescheduling this talk.

  “Sure,” said Lauren. “What’s up?”

  “I’m a little nervous to be around all those girls. What if I can’t remember who’s who?”

  “Who cares?” said Rachel. “You’re just there for Bellamy.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Good point. But what if they push me around?”

  “They won’t push you around! They’ll love you,” said Betsy.

  “One of them already has it in for me. She seems to think I’m really plain and boring.”

  “You wouldn’t have gotten on the show if the producers didn’t see something special in you,” said Rachel.

  “The video diary I submitted of myself was a little wackadoo. I’m afraid I only got on because they think I’m more of a freak than I really am.”

  “You’re overthinking this,” said Lauren. “Be yourself and it will work out fine.”

  “I know that we just met,” said Maggie, “but I’d like to add something if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” I said, bracing myself. What had she already seen in me that needed to be corrected?

  “Be yourself,” said Maggie, “but if that stops working for you, try being someone else. Find the person in the room who is least likely to get picked on, and act like they act.”

  “Oh. I never thought of that,” I said.

  “That’s good advice,” said Judijean. She took a sip of champagne, nodding thoughtfully.

  “What if I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong?” I asked. “It’s hard to stop doing something if you aren’t aware what it is that you’re doing.”

  “Well,” said Maggie, “maybe you can find a friend on the show and ask her. I mean, if it comes to that.”

  “Which it won’t,” said Betsy.

  “Don’t worry, Emma,” said Rachel. “You’ll be great.”

  “I don’t think you should ask anyone what you’re doing wrong,” said Lauren. “It will be like relinquishing control. The producers will surely get it on film and you’ll look dumb.”

  “The dumber she looks the longer they’ll keep her on the show,” said Maggie.

  “I thought you were trying to help me,” I said.

  “I am!”

  “But it’s up to Bellamy how long she makes it,” said Judijean, “so she needs to not screw it up with him.”

  “Judijean is right,” I said. “Let’s stop talking about it. I will just be myself and hope for the best.”

  “Good plan,” everyone agr
eed, nodding.

  “Where were we,” said Maggie, unzipping a garment bag and pulling out a navy strapless gown. “This one retailed for almost ten thousand dollars. You’ll definitely want to take it with you.”

  “She sure will,” said Lauren, passing it on to Judijean to hang up.

  “We’d better start the fashion show,” said Rachel, glancing at her watch.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to get to wear all these fancy clothes,” I said, grabbing a heap of clothes and taking off down the hall to Betsy’s bathroom to try them on.

  “You’re going to have to get over your fear of public nakedness,” Betsy shouted after me.

  I ignored her, returning in the navy dress. It was amazing. Insane. Perfect. I stuffed my feet into some businessy pumps for height and spun around in front of them.

  “You aren’t serious about those brown shoes, are you?” Maggie asked, mortified.

  “No, I’m just wearing them so the dress doesn’t drag on the ground.”

  “Whew! You were making me really nervous.”

  “Don’t worry, Maggie,” said Betsy. “Emma has good fashion sense.”

  “That looks gorgeous,” Lauren said to me.

  “I love it,” said Rachel.

  “I think you should wear it when you first meet him,” said Judijean.

  My confidence rising, I went back to the bathroom and returned in the gold dress. This time I made a point to pair it with strappy sandals.

  “Lovely,” said fashion-expert Maggie.

  “Divine,” said Rachel.

  “Immaculate,” said Betsy.

  “You’re all too nice,” I said, blushing.

  “No, we really mean it. You look positively gorg, Emma,” said Betsy. “Now try on this,” she said, holding up one of Lauren’s shiny string bikinis.

  “Um, wait a minute,” I said, hobbling over to the suitcase I’d brought along, and rummaging through it.

  “Are you honestly that bad at walking in heels?” asked Lauren.

  “Not normally, but these are so high. And they’re spiky. What brand are these? They’re really uncomfortable.” I pulled my foot back and looked over my shoulder, examining the bottom of the shoe. “Shoop-de-doops? What kind of a brand is that? Seriously? Whose shoes are these?”

  “Mine,” Judijean said, guiltily raising her hand. “Bud likes me to be a chef in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom.” She shrugged her bony shoulders pathetically.

  “Enough with the evening gowns,” Betsy said. “Take them all with you. Now we need to work on your walk. And you have to figure out which swimsuits to wear. The hot tub scenes are critical.”

  “I was just getting to that,” I said, pulling some swimsuits from my suitcase. “What about this one?” I held up a two piece suit with sea horses on it.

  “Is that some kind of washrag?” asked Lauren.

  “No, it’s a terry cloth bikini. I love it. Feel it,” I said, handing it to anybody who wanted a touch.

  “You’re scaring me,” said Rachel.

  “How about this one?” I asked, holding up another favorite: a purple racerback tank with yellow trim. “There’s a story about this suit,” I began. “Remember how I used to teach water aerobics to old people when I was in college? Well, those old men couldn’t keep their eyes off me when I wore this suit. I had a maroon suit too, but this one drove them crazy. See how the legs are cut kind of high? They loved it. They could barely hang on to their noodles whenever they saw me in it. My biggest fan, Albert, used to call me Grapey, and it was all because of this suit.”

  “They were holding their noodles?” asked Judijean.

  “Are you mad? They’ll kick you off the show for wearing a one piece,” said Rachel.

  “Well, that kind of one piece, anyway,” said Lauren.

  “Kicking me off for something like that would probably be against the law,” I said.

  “Uh uh,” Rachel replied, shaking her head. “That’s why they film it in all those different countries. So they can rule and oppress you without American laws to keep you safe.”

  “You said she has fashion sense,” Maggie said to Betsy.

  “I was wrong.”

  “Okay, I get it,” I said, dropping my purple suit and picking up the shiny blue one instead. “I will wear these slutty suits you brought. I can do it. But I’m not trying them on right now.” I gathered them up into a heap and stuffed them into my suitcase.

  “If you can’t try them on for us, how are you going to wear them on television?” asked Rachel.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Emma, I’m with Rachel on this,” said Judijean. “I think you should try them on here and get our opinion, so you’re prepared once you’re on the show.”

  “Ugh. Fine,” I said. I took the suits down the hall and closed the door. For a moment I stood there just looking at them, wondering if anyone would notice if I never came back. I could hear Lauren grumbling about having to leave soon, so I finally put one on. My already wavering confidence took a nosedive as I stood in front of Betsy’s full length mirror in her bathroom. My body looked pretty good, except for the place where my boobs were supposed to be. I slid the triangles of fabric closer together, then farther apart, trying to figure out which was more flattering. Eventually I gave up and came out of the bathroom.

  “Hmm,” said Lauren, watching me approach.

  “Before any of you say anything, I want you to picture Kate Hudson in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days. Wasn’t she lovely?” I said.

  “Huhh…” said Rachel as I got a little closer.

  “What does Kate Hudson have to do with this?” asked Maggie.

  “I think she is trying to point out to us that Kate Hudson can be attractive without breasts,” said Lauren.

  “Exactly!” I said. I did a couple of pirouettes. Maybe positive energy could distract from what I was missing. “Is this better than good old Grapey? How does my butt look?”

  “Umm. Hmmm,” said Judijean.

  Maggie crossed her arms and looked down at the floor.

  “When you’re on the show, I wouldn’t use expressions like ‘good old Grapey’ if I were you,” said Rachel quietly.

  “Good point, tone down the nerdiness. No offense, Em,” said Lauren.

  “Okay you two, I get it! So what do you think of the suit?” I asked. It was starting to occur to me that perhaps I already was the group’s Judijean. This meant I was going to be even more doomed amongst reality TV women. My confidence was plummeting. The idea of being on television was getting scarier and scarier.

  “I don’t think any of us realized how flat you are,” said Betsy.

  “You’re my best friends. You never noticed? Really?” I reached for a nearby blanket and wrapped it around me, wishing the fashion show was over.

  “I think I have a solution to your problem,” said Lauren, going over to the bags she’d brought along and pulling out a plain black bra. She held it up and began her presentation: “Attention! Everybody stop talking. Betsy, please remain seated. Okay, Emma, this bra is going to be your best friend. It’s inflatable, and I think it looks like a swimsuit top. Don’t you all think so? Close enough, right? I have two more of these. One is red and the other is pink and really lacy, but you could just pretend it’s a lacy swimsuit top. If you mix and match these with different bottoms, it will end up looking like a bunch of different swimsuits. Try it on,” she said, handing it to me.

  I wasn’t about to argue after the non-response I’d just gotten, so I took it back into the bathroom and examined it. Each side had a tiny button inside that said Pump me. I pressed each button five times, watching the cups inflate. Then, just for good measure, I pressed each button five more times. Wow! I was impressed! I switched out my bikini top for the bra and checked myself out in the mirror. To me, it looked like two small flotation devices were strapped to my chest, but I went out to get my (so-called) friends’ opinions.

  “Much better,” said Rachel

  “S
o much better,” said Lauren.

  Judijean just nodded. She looked a little skeptical.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, turning to Betsy and Maggie.

  “It’s your only solution,” said Maggie.

  “She’s right. Not a perfect fix, but better than having nothing at all,” said Betsy.

  “If I was French, I’d embrace my flatness. Wouldn’t it be better to just, you know… be myself maybe?”

  “Non,” said Maggie.

  “Will Bellamy be disappointed if he realizes these aren’t real?”

  “You little slut,” squealed Lauren. “How’s he going to figure that out?”

  “Knowing how slowly you take things, you’ll be engaged by the time he realizes there is nothing there,” said Betsy.

  “What we’re trying to say is, by the time he realizes anything, he will like you too much to care,” said Judijean.

  “And he will thank you for not embarrassing him on television by showing people how flat you truly are,” said Lauren. “Like, if you two get married, and who you are starts to be a reflection on him.”

  I sighed. “Okay. I will wear inflatable bras on national television in front of millions of people and pretend they’re swimwear. I’d better go now. I have tons more stuff to do before I leave.” Honestly, all I could think about was hanging out with Pete.

  My friends helped me load up more gowns, shoes, swimwear, jeans, and sundresses than any normal woman would need in a lifetime, and Judijean even helped me take it all back to my apartment. As I hugged her goodbye I suddenly became sad. Homesick, almost.

  “I can’t believe I might be gone for months,” I said.

  “Let’s hope you are,” she said.

  “And maybe even longer. I mean, probably not, but who knows?”

  “Bellamy’s going to be crazy about you,” she said. “And you’ll be great. You two will definitely end up together. I can feel it in my gut.”

  “That’s sweet of you to say, but…”

  “I mean it! You’re going to be Mrs. Emma Timberfrost the next time I see you. Or engaged at least. I’m sure of it!”

  “Thanks for everything,” I said as we gave each other one more hug and said goodbye.