I finally focus myself and my eyebrows lower as I look at my brother. “No way, in hell.”
Finley jumps up from his chair. “Jules, I know this isn’t ideal. I wish they had some kind of different offer. I even emailed back asking if they were interested in just doing an interview with you. Silver Studios said no. Reunion show or nothing.”
I scoff as I fold my arms over my chest. “Then it’s nothing. It’s absolutely, a hundred percent nothing.”
“Julie, it’s really good money,” Ange says softly.
I glare at her, “I don’t care!”
“You need money!” Ange protests. “And if you won’t ask mom and you don’t want to do anymore pet store appearances or grocery store openings then this is it. If you do this, it may set you for a long time. You could invest it, with someone trustworthy this time, and—”
“—Enrique was trustworthy,” I interrupt proudly.
“Jules, the man ran off with all of your money, and Adam’s.” Finley stands with his hands on his hips. “That is not trustworthy.”
I shrug as I recall the frantic phone call I got from Adam after it happened. “Knowing that Adam lost all the money he took from me, kind of made my year.” I smirk but Ange and Fin stay serious. My smile slides off my face. “I am not doing the reunion show.”
“Don’t you miss Regan?” Finley asks. “Cause I’ve been in touch with her manager and she’s definitely doing it.”
“She is?”
Finley nods, “Yup.”
Reagan Davidson. Interior Designer to the stars, and former best friend. The only person on that show that ever really cared about me or my life. And I was so broken, so angry, I blew that friendship apart without looking back. Until it was too late.
After what I did, I doubt she would ever speak to me again.
Now I’m depressed and angry.
Great.
I get up from my bar stool and leave the kitchen. “I’m not doing it.”
“Come on, Julie,” Finley begs loudly. “This is an incredible opportunity.”
“I said no!”
“Just think about it!” Fin calls back. “You can’t keep living in this kind of reality!”
“Oh yes I can!”
I cross the living room, and walk into my bedroom, where I slam the door. Engulfing myself into darkness as I lean against the door.
There is no way in hell I’m going back to the show, and the people, who destroyed my life.
Chapter Two
I never wanted to do DFM, Daughters of Famous Mothers. I didn’t like the idea of having a camera crew follow me around for months to record my every move. But my mother, and Adam, who at the time was just a boyfriend, urged me to do it. I didn’t have anything else going on in my life, just a small job at a radio station doing a weekly 30 minute segment on community stories in New York. Something my mother wasn’t too happy about.
“You’re a damn Duncan,” she would always snap. “You won’t get anywhere on the radio. You need to make a name for yourself outside of covering silly, community events that nobody even cares about.”
High and mighty Lydia Duncan, a woman who was once heir to a mediocre chocolate franchise, until she gave it to my cousin and cashed in on several good investments after my father died. Now she’s a socialite, and married for the fourth time to a French photographer.
It was originally both Angie and I that the producers of DFM wanted. Angie wouldn’t do it without me, and Adam was struggling to open his own practice. I thought Adam so noble back then, when he wouldn’t take any of the trust fund money I offered him. By the time the deadline to accept Silver Studio’s offer crept up on us, Adam had proposed for the third time, and I accepted. The show threw more money at us if we featured a lavish wedding and I knew Adam saw it as his big break. He managed to convince me to do it. Of course, my mother’s nudges helped too.
Angie backed out of the deal once she was accepted to business school but neither the producers nor my mother cared at that point. Finley became my agent after my mother fired the one the show first assigned to me, she didn’t trust him. Out of everything that happened during my year and a half on the show, Finley becoming a success was the only good thing.
Adam and I began to fight constantly towards the end of the first year of filming. First, it was over trivial things, like him wanting to make the move to L.A. to expand his plastic surgery firm, and me wanting to stay in New York. Then we fought over dinners, friends, the possibility of having children. I sought solace in Reagan, and Declan Gentry, the co-producer of the show. A friend of mine.
Or so I thought.
By the start of the second season, I knew my marriage was over and I was a mess. The director, Oscar Pollina, loved it. DFM became the most watched reality television show among women between the ages of 21 to 55.
Right into our first month of filming season two, I found Adam in a compromising position with another cast member. Diana Harris.
That’s right, the Diana Harris. The daughter of famous retired fashion icon Anna Rowen and retired movie executive, William Harris. The man who created Glass Gate Films. She’s a model extraordinaire, with an Instagram account littered with pictures of her on the runways of hot shot labels.
Diana and I were never friends on the show. In fact, we bickered more than anything but I never thought she’d seduce Adam right under my nose.
I wanted to break my contract and leave the show but legally, I wasn’t allowed.
So I stayed, I let the cameras catch my every move as I filed for divorce. It was humiliating.
Adam was insufferable. He threw back every offer my lawyer gave him. He showed up late to meetings, he never faxed over paperwork. I knew it was for the show, but I was at my wits end.
I suppose the final blow came when Adam admitted that someone I trusted, someone I confided in, had orchestrated the entire affair. Someone I cried to, and someone I…I felt was different, and compassionate. Someone I spent time with and someone whose surprise birthday was thrown by Adam and me. Someone I bought a really expensive wrist watch for, which Adam took credit for.
Someone I let kiss me, after a night of too much wine and beer, because whenever I was around him, I felt…good, safe.
Declan Gentry.
I couldn’t handle that news, and I left.
I broke my contract. I threatened the studio with suing them for ruining my life and marriage. I threw a latte at Declan when he showed up to a meeting at the studio one day. I stopped returning Reagan’s phone calls. I turned her away when she showed up at the condo, I cut her out.
I thought more people would be on my side. Yet, people lashed out when I left, saying horrible things online about me. As if they had a right to view my despair and humiliation weekly as I went through my divorce.
“Any publicity is good publicity. It's cliché but it's true, darling.”
Those were my mother’s words when I called her, out of desperation, one evening after a meeting with Adam and his lawyers. I don’t know why I expected her to have any sort of sympathy. She just shrugged during her two divorces, and shed nothing but frown lines with plastic surgery from Adam.
To add to my misery, I ended up losing in the divorce and having to cough up everything I had to Adam. Adam, who at the time was booking more A-list stars than he could handle. He didn’t need my tiny trust fund money, but he was as angry and humiliated, his reason different from mine.
He made phone calls during our divorce proceedings, proclaiming his despair and sudden new re-awakened love for me. He was still with Diana, but the show was ending, ratings had dropped and he was in a panic.
If it hadn’t been for Ange, stumbling upon a phone message from him to me, I would have stupidly met him that one night and…and God knows what would have happened.
About a month after the divorce was finalized, I got the call from Finley about Enrique. He had cleaned out everything in my investment account,
and my trust fund. Right before it was all to be switched over to Adam. He also took all of Adam’s investments and disappeared. I never spoke to Adam after that, though he tried to call again.
That was, is, my slightest victory.
Now here we are, three years later, and on my way to a grocery store opening.
So, I guess the moral of my story is if someone ever approaches you with a contract for your own reality TV show, run. Run far, and run fast.
No good ever comes from these kinds of shows. Trust me.
“I can tell you’re thinking about the offer.”
I look over at my brother, whose eyes are straight ahead at the road in front of us. Both hands on the wheel as he steers his Jaguar. It smells waxy in the small sports car, and I’m constantly slipping on the front seat from the newly polished leather. “I’m not thinking about the offer, I’m thinking about how I wished everyone involved in that show would die.”
Fin smirks. “You are not.”
“Fine. I’m not. Just one person in particular. Or two, maybe three…”
He doesn't bother asking who, but as we slow down to a stop at red lights, he gives me his attention. His hazel eyes scour over me. “Julie, I know this is crappy. Believe me, if I could somehow figure out another way to get you that kind of money, I would. And trust me, I have been trying. But you won’t give interviews, you won’t do any daytime guest spots, you won’t even do one episode of that game where people do trivia with C-list celebrities.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look at the dashboard.
Fin goes on. “You also won’t take any money from mom, and you know it’s not fair to keep coasting off Angie.”
“I tried to give her some money,” I retort, “more than once. She won’t take any ever.”
“That’s because she feels bad that you’re just scraping by.” Fin turns back in his seat when the light goes green and coasts through the intersection. “The point is, Jules, you need to start making more money. These gigs don’t pay you enough, and you can’t hide in Angie’s condo forever. It’s depressing, and weird. The life you’re living now isn’t much of one. You’re hiding from reality.” He pauses and gives me a glance. “You’re thirty two years old; it’s time to get a life.”
I wiggle angrily in my seat before snapping, “You mean it's time to go back to my old life?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Fin snaps back. He frowns; his eyebrows come together in a way that reminds me of our mother. “I’m not doing this to be a jerk, Jules. I love you, you’re my sister. But getting you these small jobs is getting harder, and frankly, not to sound like mom but, they’re beneath you.”
“I’m not doing it,” I protest. “You have no idea how it feels to get thrown into that kind of spotlight where people already think you’re a sell out for being on ‘reality’ TV and then to have to go through a ridiculous divorce because you trusted the wrong people. You can’t imagine how low I felt. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Every time I think about it, I just want to run away.”
He’s silent, and I pretend not to notice that he gives me a quick glance before making a sharp left that sends my shoulder into the door. I can feel my eyes sting with hot tears, and I blink them away quickly.
“For the record, I think what that producer did to you was disgusting.”
“Well then, you should understand why I won’t do the reunion.”
I can’t face Adam, or Diana. Or even Reagan.
Especially not Declan.
Fin looks at me quickly. “Did you think about it as your comeback?”
“I don’t want a comeback.”
He’s getting frustrated. I can see it from the way he stiffens in the driver's seat. His hands grasp the steering wheel tighter and he bites his bottom lip. “You don’t want to show yourself off to Adam, or Diana, Declan? You don’t want to throw it in their faces that you’re the fabulous singleton they all wish they were?”
“Did you just say ‘fabulous’?” I can’t help but snicker as I glance at him.
He smiles, his cheeks flashing red in embarrassment. “Don’t bust my balls. Just answer my question. Don’t you want that?”
I think for a moment. “No I don’t, because I’m not living that life. I may be ten or so pounds lighter with a decent haircut but that’s about it. Diana and Adam are blissfully happy, Hollywood's golden couple. Hot shot plastic surgeon and all-star runway model.”
Fin makes a face, and struggles to hide a smile.
“What?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you,” Fin says.
He slows down the car and I look ahead only for a second. We’ve arrived at the small grocery store. Colorful balloons blow around the entrance and a large white banner says “Grand Opening!” above the glass entrance. There is a small crowd of people outside, and I spot Edwin in the very back.
“Tell me,” I say to Fin quickly as he undoes his seatbelt.
He rests his forearm on the steering wheel as he turns to face me. “I don’t know if you can handle it.” There’s gusto in his voice as he teases me.
I ball my fist and slam it into his shoulder. “Just tell me!”
“Ow! Jesus.” He rubs his shoulder for a moment. “I ran into Diana’s manager at my boss’ Christmas party few months back. We hit it off, she has too much to drink and we—”
I lift a hand in his face as I stop him. “I don’t need to know about your nightly rendezvous.”
Fin’s face twists up. “I wasn’t going to tell you about our night—never mind. Anyway, she has too much to drink and ends up spilling the beans about Diana. Diana has never been on a runway in her life. Not once, no designer wants her because of her diva reputation. She’s only booked a few gigs in Japan.”
I shake my head at him. “No, that can’t be right. I saw pictures.”
“Photo-shopped,” Fin explains. “You’ve only ever seen them on her social media platforms right?” I nod my head and he goes on. “Right. Because they don’t really exist. No designer will come right out against her because of who her mother is, they respect her and stuff. That’s not all. She and Adam? In couples counselling. She’s gained twenty plus pounds in the last few months too. She’s not hiding because of some secret fashion project like she tweeted. She’s hiding because she looks like crap.”
My jaw has completely unhinged.
This can’t be true.
“I know,” Fin lets out a laugh as he sets his forearm back on his steering wheel. “Karma. And this morning, Diana’s manager shoots off a CC email telling us all that Diana is ‘too busy’ to join the reunion as per discussed and wishes everyone luck as they film it.”
I frown. “She’s not doing the reunion? I don’t believe that at all.”
I can’t believe it. Diana fought to get on the cameras. She would hog the spotlight in every scene. She once snagged the schedule so she could cut into scenes she was never scheduled into.
Fin nods with a gleeful sigh. “Yup, and I bet it’s because she looks like a goblin.”
I laugh.
I suddenly feel warm and bubbly inside.
I know it's wrong, and I know it’s awful, but the woman wronged me. This is Karma. Looks are everything to Diana, and it’s because of who her mother is. Famous retired fashion icon, Anna Rowen, who walked the runway with all the greats like Cindy Crawford, Cheryl Tiegs, and Iman. I bet it kills Diana that she isn’t able to join the ranks of all those women.
“And like I said, Reagan is doing the show. Her manager confirmed to us all this morning. She’s already signed the contract.” Fin looks at me expectantly, a single eyebrow rose. “I know you miss her, Jules, and I know you feel like an ass for what you did. This could be your chance to mend things with her. Maybe that’s why Reagan signed on to do the show? Maybe she’s looking to talk to you too?”
I chew on my thumbnail.
It would be great to have Reagan back in my
life. Lord knows I miss having someone other than Fin and Angie to complain to. During the divorce proceedings I had lost something precious to me, which I thought was money. But it wasn’t that, it was Reagan. Because right after everything had ended, when I was alone and sobbing into my pillow I had no friend to call.
“I know Reagan misses you,” Fin lets me know. “Her manager told me she was asking if you had signed the contract.”
“Really?”
Fin nods slowly.
I take a long breath and look out the window at the grocery store, and the small crowd. Nobody in the crowd but Edwin looks under sixty five.
I must be insane.
“Okay.”
Fin grins at me. “Really?”
My stomach flops nervously as I point a finger at him. “But I’m not signing anything until I add some things. And I want to pick my own sponsors this time. And it’s only for seven days, tops.”
“Done, done and done!” Fin has already reached into the cup holder between us and started tapping away at his phone. He’s all smiles. “I will set up the meeting tomorrow morning at the studio with the producers and—”
“No!” I scream as I grab hold of his arm. He jolts a bit as he gazes at me like I’m crazy. “No, I’m not going to the studio. They want me to do this, they can come to the condo. And no producers. Not a single one.”
“Jules, you know the guy didn’t exactly put a gun to Adam’s head—”
“Are you seriously going to defend him?” I shoot back angrily. “When you were the one who wanted to go on a smear campaign so he would get fired?”
Fin frowns. “I’m not defending him! I’m just saying, if he’s’ already scheduled to produce and co-direct—”
“You want me to do this or not?” I demand.
“Alright,” he gives in quicker than I thought he would. “Let me see what I can do.”
I nod in approval, and pat down the back of my hair which I’m sure has flyaways from the static on this seat. I then grab the door handle and push the door open. “And I am not going on that Goo game show again.”
Reuniting Reality Page 2