Home. That’s what our little apartment is. With keepsakes and pictures and clutter. Home. My home.
Then we’ll make up and live happily ever after. If he wants to get married, I’ll get married. I know I’m young, but I love him and if marriage is what he wants, then I’ll be his wife.
I will even call up Ronald Newman and see if I can still have that Soda Star job.
At nine-twenty I call Steve. He’s not home, so I leave him a message telling him to watch the show and that I’ll call him later. And that if he wants to talk to me, he can try me at my dad’s or leave me a message on our machine. I’ll call in and check the messages.
At nine twenty-nine, the VCR is set to go. (In case Steve doesn’t get my message in time.) I thought I would be watching it with my father (my last TV hoorah!) but I’m still alone. Where is he, anyway?
Is he out with Michelle? The thought sends creepy-crawlies up my spine.
Nine-thirty. I turn the TV to TRS. Here we go. The cure to my life starts…now.
part 6
“This sucks,” you say. Sunny is walking across the bar with a sweater wrapped around her waist. “We already saw this. What is this, the best of?”
“I guess they want to show all the good clips of Sunny and Michelle so we can make a decision and vote.”
“But I wanted to see the Truth or Dare game. Didn’t they say it was going to be on? Why did they cut the Truth or Dare game?”
Switch.
Michelle is smiling, dancing with a group of guys.
Switch.
Sunny is making fun of the guy she met in Europe.
You’re not in the mood to watch repeats. Your whole life is about repeats. You can’t believe your roommate didn’t stop you from calling Fuckhead last time…didn’t stop you from getting into a cab and going over to his apartment.
You’re never drinking again.
Okay, not true, you’ll drink again, but you’re pulling out your phone jack before you do. NO MORE DRUNK-DIALING. Ever.
And no more sleeping with Fuckhead.
You need something new in your life. New experiences, new fun, new men.
No repeats.
“Thanks for watching, everyone. Now it’s up to you, the audience,” Howard says, pointing to you, “to decide on the Ultimate Party Girl. You can call 1-800-555-GIRL or e-mail [email protected] to cast your vote until midnight Tuesday. Votes will be tallied and then announced on next week’s episode, along with the location of the next ultimate party city!”
“Let’s call!” your roommate says.
“Okay,” you say. “Who are we voting for?”
24
In the Heat of the Night
I’m nauseous. I can’t believe it. They did a best of Sunny and Michelle. They showed the harmless parts of Saturday—us getting ready, Michelle dancing in the cage—and they interspersed it with the most horrific clips of the last six weeks—me getting my period, Michelle helping me in the bathroom, Michelle dancing, me being a bitch to that guy from Nice. The episode could have been called, “The Let’s Make Michelle Look Good and Sunny Look Socially Inept Show.”
I have to call Carrie. I know I’m supposed to be white-outing her from my life, but she’s the only person who will know what the hell happened.
She answers the phone in a high-pitched voice. “Adam?”
Oops. I should have blocked the number. “No, it’s Sunny. I’m at my dad’s.”
“Oh,” she says. And then I hear a sob.
See, that’s why I can’t be friends with her anymore. My heart breaks for her, and I say, “I’m sorry, Car, I shouldn’t have called you.” It must be painful for her to talk to anyone remotely connected to my father.
“No, don’t hang up! I want to talk to you. Are you okay?”
I sigh. “I’ve been better. I can’t believe they didn’t show my announcement.”
“I know. I figured you’d be disappointed. They were afraid that your confession would reflect poorly on the network. Make them look like they weren’t being honest with their viewers.”
Reflect poorly? Why would a scandal-hungry corporation send their best scandal to the cutting-room floor? What am I going to do now? There goes my proof of love. How will Steve know I really changed? “But they love controversy—what about ratings? The network wasn’t lying, I was.”
“It was Howard’s call,” she says, and coughs. “I have more bad news for you.”
Like a broken pen spilling ink across a bedspread, apprehension diffuses through my body. “What is it?”
Her voice falters. “You’re not going to like it.”
I brace myself against the armrests. “What?”
“I just saw an early copy of tomorrow’s gossip section of the New York Star. There’s a picture of you and Matt.”
What? I’ve wanted to be in New York Star for the past two months and now they feature me? “Where was it taken?” For one horrific moment I envision opening the paper to see myself half-undressed in the arms of the famous TV star—and his wife.
“At his bar on Friday night. You didn’t tell me you went to his bar.”
“What are we doing in the picture?”
“Dancing.”
Okay, calm down. Dancing’s not so bad. Dancing can be explained.
“He’s sucking your neck.”
I sink to the floor and bang my head against the cold tiles. It’s over. Steve is never going to speak to me again.
“That’s not all.”
There’s more?
“There’s an entire article about you. And Steve. About how you moved to New York to move in with him but now you’re cheating on him with Matt. The reporter saw you leave his bar with him.”
I’d stick my head in the oven, only it’s electric, not gas. Maybe I should go back to Bow Bridge and jump off.
“Apparently a reporter who was at Matt’s bar heard your confession on Saturday,” Carrie continues. “He started calling sources—your family, your friends, your ex-co-workers. He even spoke to someone you used to work for in Florida, Liza something.”
I can tie a brick around my leg to make the operation faster. “Liza? What did she have to say?”
“She said you told her you had to move to New York because your grandmother was sick, but then Liza saw you the next weekend on television. And here comes the bad part.”
Here comes the bad part? The bad part is still coming?
“She claims she has a forward from you about how Purity tampons have asbestos in them. I hate to tell you this, but you could get into a lot of trouble for sending that e-mail. You were a Purity spokeswoman. They could sue.”
Just what I need. “I can’t deal with being sued right now. I just can’t. Can you tell Howard to tell his buddies to back off?”
Silence. “I don’t think I’ll be talking to Howard any time soon.”
“Why? Did he crawl back under the rock he came from?”
“I got fired.”
Shit. “Why?”
“Why? Because I vouched for you, Sunny. I wasn’t supposed to hire someone who had a boyfriend.” I hear her sob again. “I’m sorry. I know you’re having a hard enough time without having to listen to my crying.”
I feel sick. I am the most selfish person on the planet. How my declaration would affect Carrie didn’t even cross my mind. Not once. No wonder Steve doesn’t like me anymore, never mind love me. I don’t even like me anymore.
“Carrie, I am so sorry. How can I make it up to you?”
Another sob escapes her. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Figure yourself out, okay? Are you all right at your dad’s? If you need a place to stay, you can come here.” Another sob. And then a giggle. “We can be miserable together.”
I giggle with her as tears spill over the rims of my eyes.
Final count of things lost since Friday: job, boyfriend, apartment, all consideration for others, self-respect. And what about what I’ve done to Steve and Carrie? I got Carrie fired. I’ve c
uckolded Steve in the press.
I can’t call Steve now. He’s never going to speak to me again and I don’t blame him. He’s better off without me. I don’t deserve anyone.
When I hear my father’s key in the door at eleven-thirty, I’m still in the love seat, staring blankly at the screen.
“You’re still here,” he says, and hangs up his coat.
“Haven’t moved,” I say. What I need right now is a long talk with my dad. Maybe some hot cocoa. A nice pat on the head. I need him to tell me how much he loves me, and how everything is going to be all right. If he’s ever going to be that guy, I need him to be it tonight.
He loosens his tie and disappears into the kitchen. I can hear him open a bottle of water and pour himself a glass.
“Can I have some water, too, please?” I ask.
Ten seconds later he hands me a cup of water. I take a deep sip, trying to fill myself up.
“Listen, Sunny,” he says, standing beside me. “I have plans tomorrow night that might end up back here. You’re planning on heading back to your place, right?”
Unbelievable.
He has a date—with Michelle? With some other woman half his age?—and he doesn’t want me screwing it up. I’m sitting here devastated, and he’s worried about me screwing up his date. My hands start to shake and I put the glass down onto the table.
“Don’t do that, Sunny. Can’t you use a coaster?”
“Sure,” I say in a flat voice. I can’t believe my life is over and he’s talking coasters. He won’t change, I see that now. He’s the type of person who will always put inconsequential things—furniture, clothes, meaningless flings, meaningless fame—first.
And then it hits me, what Steve tried to tell me at Bow Bridge. I’ve been so busy worrying about turning into my mother, I never even noticed when I turned into someone else.
My father.
I stand up and start collecting my stuff. “You know what, Dad? I’m going to take off.”
“Now?” he asks, surprised.
“Yeah. I’m not feeling too wanted here. I’d rather spend the night at Carrie’s.”
“Carrie’s? Sunny, you shouldn’t still be seeing Carrie. It’s a little inappropriate.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. What about Michelle? I want to scream. Sleeping with my friend—correction, ex-friend—is inappropriate. Dating my counselor in the first place was inappropriate. Cheating on my mother was inappropriate. Letting her die alone was inappropriate. Your whole life is inappropriate, you asshole.
Instead I say, “I like Carrie, Dad. I’m sorry you don’t, but I do.”
He shrugs. “So go.”
I walk out of his apartment, and realize, as the elevator hits the ground floor, out of his life. Because I’m not going to waste my time banging my head against a brick wall anymore. If he wants to see me, he can call me.
But I’m not holding my breath.
Carrie lends me sweatpants and a sweatshirt and we spend the next day under a feather duvet, at opposite ends of her king-size bed, feeling sorry for ourselves.
I call in for my messages, but only Dana and Millie have called. No Steve.
I feel as if my skin is stinging, as if I was submersed in boiling water.
On Monday night I can’t sleep. The apartment feels claustrophobic and I need to get out. But there’s nowhere for me to go.
Or maybe there is.
I tiptoe out of the bed and rummage through her top drawer.
“What are you doing?” she asks, half-asleep.
“Looking for a bathing suit,” I whisper back. “I’m going to go swimming.”
She nods into her pillow. “That’s a good idea,” she says as if it’s perfectly normal to go swimming at midnight. “You love to swim. Top drawer.” She falls back asleep.
Swim At Your Own Risk the sign says.
The gym is empty except for the man at the reception desk. The surrounding darkness and the pool’s glowing lights make the water seem ethereal. Holy.
Inhaling the smell of chlorine, I feel at home. Slowly, I climb down the ladder, allowing myself to be enveloped by the velvety water. To be a part of it.
I’ve missed the water. I swish my arms beside me, above me, and watch the bubbles flowing around me, a flurry of life.
I swim to the deep end, then submerge my head. When I touch the bottom, I do what I haven’t done in years. I open my mouth and scream. I scream and scream and scream, emptying myself entirely.
I rise to the surface and float on my back. I breathe in through my nose, deep, long and slow. My lungs fill with air and then slowly, I squeeze it all out and dip under the water. And then I breathe in and expand again.
I feel calm, peaceful. This is so much better than the Stairmaster.
When I get back to Carrie’s, I climb into her bed, loving the smell of the chlorine in my hair. I fall asleep quickly, a smile on my lips.
The next morning I wake up at nine, centered and alert. I make Carrie an omelet and coffee and serve it to her in her room.
“Rise and shine,” I say, opening the blinds. “We’re spending the morning searching through job boards.”
She groans. “You mean we have to get on with our lives?”
I nod. “It’s time.”
I’ve ruined my chances with Steve, I know that now. Maybe one day, when I’m proud of who I am again, I’ll meet up with him. And maybe he’ll have forgiven me and we’ll be ready for something real. But right now I have to at least start my new life. Alone.
“Why don’t you call back that company that gave you a job and then reneged?” she asks ten minutes later, as I surf the Internet in the living room, trying to figure out what we should do when we grow up. “Soda something?”
I shake my head. “Maybe I’m not cut out to be a TV star, but I don’t think after all I’ve been through, I can go back to writing business plans for boring products I never even get to produce. I think I want a job that makes the world…you know, a better place or something? I’ve spent the past few months being completely self-indulgent, and I kind of want to make amends.”
She nods and types “nonprofit” into the search option. “Bookkeeper with nonprofit fundware software experience? Prestigious not-for-profit seeks accounting manager?”
“No and no. Is there anything where I can utilize my business development skills?”
“And your TV skills.”
We’re sitting on the couch, the laptop on her lap. “What skills?” I ask. “Jell-O wrestling?” I half smile.
“TV industry knowledge, then,” she says.
“Why don’t we look for something for you?”
“It’s not going to be easy getting another job in this industry. It’s a small world and I just got fired.”
“So then we’ll apply your people-casting skills to another area.”
She yawns. “My people-casting skills will have to be put on hold. Right now I’m going back to bed. ’Night.” She giggles. “I mean, ’morning.” After she retreats to her room, I call Dana.
“Where have you been?” she barks at me. “What have I told you about not calling me? Where were you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No need to fill me in,” Dana says huffily. “You’re all over the newswires today, did you know that? They know that you and Steve broke up and that you’re now homeless. Do you want me to read it to you?”
“No.” I don’t think I can stand the sound of my own name anymore. “I don’t care what they say.”
“So what happened with Steve?”
The sound of his name sends a punch to my stomach. “Nothing. It’s over. He hasn’t called me back. He probably hates me. I guess I’ll spend the weekend moving my stuff out. Not sure where I’ll put it all. But he’s going home for Thanksgiving, so at least I won’t have to see him. I’m trying to look ahead. I’m too young to have a ball and chain anyway, right?” I attempt a halfhearted laugh, but it comes out sounding strangled.
Silence.
“The Purity one? Really?”
“Yup. I am no longer associated with M.U., so feel free to rip apart their cancer-causing tampons.”
After I hang up the phone, I feel a new wave of guilt. How could I have promoted those tampons to so many women when I suspected they were dangerous? And why is Dana the only person who seems to be concerned about their threat?
As soon as I hang up the phone, it rings. After the third ring I realize that Carrie isn’t planning on getting it. I wouldn’t normally answer someone else’s phone, but I see on the caller ID that it’s Howard. Maybe he’s calling to give her back her job.
“Hi,” I say. “Let me get Carrie.”
“Sunny? I knew you’d be there. Let me tell you the news. You won the vote!”
“The what?”
“The audience vote. We need you to come to the taping on Saturday.”
This makes no sense. “You told me my career was over. That I was finished. You fired Carrie for lying. And…well, Howard, Michelle told me the competition was a farce, that she was slated to win from the beginning,” I bluff. “And don’t try bull-shitting me. I saw your overnight bag at her place. I know what was going on with you two.”
“Listen, Sunny, and this has to stay between us. It was never fixed. It’s possible I might have given Michelle the impression that I was rooting for her, but that’s because—”
Because you were screwing her?
“—she seemed the best contestant to host the new show. Brittany and Erin were both wrong for it—Brittany’s a lush and Erin’s an airhead—and I knew you had a boyfriend.”
He knew? “You knew?”
“Of course I knew.” He laughs. “You don’t think Miche told me?”
I don’t get it. “So why didn’t you kick me off?”
“Who cares? As long as the viewers didn’t know, what difference did it make? And it worked. You got seventy percent of the votes.”
What? “That’s impossible. I’m all over the newspapers this week as the biggest liar in Manhattan.”
As Seen on TV Page 33