Reuniting Reality

by Nikki LeClair

  Immediately, a boom comes over our heads and I realize she’s brought a camera with her. I can see Oscar from the corner of my eye.

  Diana steps on her toes, and tries to peer over my shoulder into my room. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything…”

  “Nope, just got off the phone. About to jump into the shower.”

  I plant a smile over my mouth.

  She comes off her toes and looks back at me, clearly disappointed. “Oh. That’s good then.” She perks up and rests a hand on my doorway, “so! I just wanted to apologize about Adam showing up. I didn’t think he would actually come after our phone call yesterday.” She giggles and shakes her head, “he’s such a knight in shining armour.”

  “Great. Anything else?”

  “And I brought you the chocolates.” She shoves the box in my hands and smiles. “A peace offering, of sorts.”

  I lift the lid and see that there are only four peanut clusters left. “You ate more than half the box…”

  “Oh God, no,” she laughs. “I could never. I watch my figure exceptionally. Adam ate them this morning, had to dip them in his coffee cause they were so brittle though…”

  “Well thanks,” I reply, and I begin to shut the door on her. “I’ll see you later.”

  Diana’s hand comes against the door fast, and she stops me from shutting it. “I’m hoping that maybe we could talk, one on one? Over coffee? I think we need to get some things off our chests. What do you say?” Her tone suggests she's trying very hard to be serious but her question makes me laugh. Her voice hardens and her tone changes. “What’s so funny?”

  “I don’t have anything to get off my chest, Diana,” I say, remembering that I am the new and improved Julie Duncan. “I have no problem with you, and what happened, anymore. So we don't need to do coffee.”

  I watch her click her tongue at me as her eyes peer into mine. She removes her hand from the doorway and folds them over the front of her pink ski jacket. “Your boyfriend, Julie, what’s his name again?”

  “Simon,” I answer frowning.

  “Simon, what?”

  “Simon, none of your business.”

  She smirks at my comeback and I try not to irk at how lame it actually was. She leans closer to me. “Some people are saying you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  I swallow a sudden lump down my throat and look away from her as an arrogant expression washes over her face. “That you’re lying. That he doesn’t exist.”

  Damn it.

  “Who says that?” I demand, my eyes narrowing at her.

  “People,” she shrugs.

  I clear my throat loudly. “Well, he is real. Now if you excuse me, I have to shower.”

  “CUT!”

  I jump at Oscar’s shout and Diana backs further away from my door, patting down her hair as she looks over at him and the camera crew. “That was good? I was good?”

  “Perfecto.” Oscar gives her a thumbs up and then looks over at me, a grateful smile appearing. “Julie, thank you so much for running with the scene. I know it wasn’t on the schedule, but it’s going to serve as a nice touch.”

  “How many more of these impromptu scenes should I be expecting?” I fold my arms over my chest as Oscar laughs my way.

  “You never know with reality TV!”

  He begins to gather the small crew with him as Diana and I watch. After a few seconds, he bids us farewell and hurries down the hall with the crew.

  I’m left alone with Diana, watching as the crew disappears around the corner.

  Diana speaks slowly, her eyes dart my way spitefully, “I have a feeling, this reunion is going to be fantastic.” She raises a razor sharp eyebrow my way and it makes me frown at her.

  What—what is she hinting at?

  God, I hate her.

  “Hey.”

  We look back down the hallway, and spot Declan coming down towards us. He looks from me to Diana as he slows down near my room. “Di, Oscar wants you back in your suite for interviews.”

  “Great!” She flashes him her Queen Bee grin and then looks over at me. “Armin says your boyfriend is planning to join us for a few days too. How exciting.” Her smile turns from bright to snarky. “We get to meet Simon, the famous skier, who has no last name.”

  Damn it. I said maybe, Armin, maybe.

  I give her a phony grin as she pats Declan on the shoulder and then sashays away from us.

  What I wouldn’t give for her to be run over by a maid's cart right now.

  “If he’s planning to stay here, you better head down and tell Oscar. He needs to fill out these release forms and—”

  “He’s not coming,” I cut Declan off. He slowly gives me a small smile as he exhales. “What?”

  “He’s not real, is he?”

  “He’s real!” I exclaim. “Why does everyone think he’s fake?!”

  His look tells me he doesn’t believe me and I feel it provoking me. “I’m not going to bring him on this show full of people who are manipulative, and mean. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Fair enough,” Declan nods once as he begins to pass me.

  Thrilled our conversation has ended, I turn to head back into my room when he calls out my name.

  He’s standing a few feet from my room, hands out of his pockets. “Makeup and hair will be in your room tomorrow morning. I’ve booked you and Reagan for a spa thing, cameras will be rolling.”

  I step out of my room. “Reagan agreed to it?”

  He smirks, “She thinks it's with Jill.” He shrugs his shoulders before turning around and heading down to his room. “You’re done for the day. Oscar’s filming with the other girls. See you tomorrow.”

  How did he know about the spa thing? Did he overhear us at breakfast?

  Oh, who cares?

  I’m done filming, which means I get to spend quality time with my mini bar.

  I get to the spa downstairs right at 10 am. It’s a beautiful venue, towards the back of the lodge, built over a part of the hill in a dome. I wait for Reagan near the front desk, in a room made completely of glass except for the marble at my feet. There are a series of doors behind the front desk, but the glass is frosted and I can’t see through it.

  The reception desk has a tray of cucumber water with edible flower petals floating gracefully in each tall glass. I’m already fitted with my mic and mic pack for the manicure portion we’re doing first. There are only two cameras with us, the others are with Diana and Adam. Oscar’s with them too, and Declan is with us. He stands off to the side with the camera crew which had just filmed my entrance.

  Last night, as I made myself vodka and water cocktails, I googled.

  I typed in “Olympic Skiers named Simon” and several results popped up. The first three were older, and married. There is one, a Simon Friburg, an American skier born of Swedish parents. He’s young, with wavy blond hair and according to a year old post from a celebrity gossip site, a big partier. When I clicked on the news tab on google, I noticed the last newsworthy piece about him was over a year ago.

  Perfect. I decided if I have to talk about my boyfriend, his information is what I’ll be using. Sparingly, of course.

  “Okay, when Reagan gets here, I want you to bring up her friendship with Diana,” Declan says as he walks over to me. I slip my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. “And bring up what’s going on with Jill and Diana too.”

  “Reagan and Diana aren’t friends,” I tell him.

  “Oh, they most certainly are,” Declan says, he takes his phone out of his pocket.

  “Reagan would never be friends with someone like Diana,” I smirk at his disillusion.

  “Then what’s this?” Declan asks showing me his phone. I’m bombarded with Diana’s Instagram page. Several pictures of her with Reagan show up. One of them is at dinner with friends, one of them shopping with two men, one is definitely Adam.

  My hands grip his phone as my mouth hangs ope
n.

  How could Reagan be friends with Diana?

  “This doesn’t make sense,” I mutter, going through the rest of the pictures.

  Declan’s shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for his phone. “I know, that’s we want to get it on camera. The whole story,”

  “So that’s why you’re tricking her?” I scoff. “You want an awkward, jealous interaction between the two of us. My former best friend, best friends with my frenemy.”

  “Oscar wants it, yeah,” Declan answers with a tone that tells me I should know this already. “It was the only way I could convince him to shaft Jill aside, so you could get Reagan one on one. But, I need you to get something out of her.”

  “Wait,” I shake my head as I let his words sink in. “You’re doing me a favor?”

  He’s trying to help me out?

  “Call me a sucker for happy endings,” he says slipping his phone into the suit jacket he wears. My doubting look makes him smirk, “Or maybe, I can’t watch how pathetic it looks anymore when you try to talk to her on your own.”

  The doors to the spa open and we both look over our shoulders to see Reagan come in. Her hair is thrown into a loose bun at the very top of her head and she carries her cellphone in her tiny hands. Upon seeing me and Declan, she frowns, stopping in her tracks.

  “Great,” I whisper exhaling. “Wish me luck.”

  Declan’s face scrunches as he shakes his head a bit, and lightly touches my arm. “You won’t need it.”

  He walks away from me to Reagan and as I watch as they speak. She makes a series of unhappy faces, only glancing at me once and when she replies to Declan, I can barely hear what she says. But he cocks his head back as if he’s surprised by her and after a minute, he gathers his composure before speaking over her.

  “Ladies?”

  The receptionist behind the table looks from me to Reagan with a large smile over her face. “Are we ready for our manicures?”

  I force a smile over my face, even though my body feels strained from the heaviness of Reagan’s unwelcoming glare. I look over at her, holding my smile, “This is going to be fun, eh?”

  After they film us walking, and sitting down in the manicurist chair several times, we are finally able to get the appointment going. Cameras hover over the manicurists’ heads and I worry that if one of them lifts their heads, they’ll suffer a concussion. After Reagan chooses a light blue nail polish and I choose a black one, I notice Declan standing off to the side, motioning for me to start a conversation.

  How he thinks I can get anything out of Reagan is beyond me. She’s acting as if I’m not even sitting beside her. Yet, if she really is friends with Diana, it would explain the extra icy responses and looks.

  “So, Reagan, how’s work going?” I ask as the manicurist begins to wipe my nails clean.

  “Good, busy. We’re coming up on a busy season because it's when the housing market is the highest,” she replies, “generally. What about you? What are you up to?”

  Smashing up cricket homes, and letting loose giant hairy spiders.

  “I mean,” Reagan adds before I answer, “other than the marathons and new boyfriend.”

  “Oh right, those. Well, yeah that’s basically it.”

  “How long have you and, is it Simon? How long have you guys been together?”

  “Few months,” I say, “two or three now…”

  “And you’re going away together already?” Reagan wonders. “Wow, you really must have changed.”

  “Why do you say that?” I ask. The manicurist pulls my hand closer to her and I lean closer towards the table.

  “Didn’t Adam have to ask you three times to marry him?”

  “Well, yeah but that was different. That was marriage. And we had only been dating six months,” I defend. “Going away for the weekends isn’t marriage.” Reagan shrugs, but I can tell she doesn’t share my opinion.

  “So he’s an Olympic skier?” Reagan then asks.

  “Yup, Simon Friburg,” I proudly smile her way. “Really sweet guy. I mean, I don’t know if it will go anywhere but it’s fun.”

  Towards the end of these seven days I’ll dump Simon and that will be the end of that.

  “What about you? How long have you been seeing, uhh…”

  “Charlie,” Reagan tells me. “And it's been about seven months.”

  I’m genuinely impressed. “Wow. What does he do?”

  “He’s a sports agent. He’s older, but he’s really sweet. He has all this money because he comes from a well to do family but he still takes the subway to work every day. And he always donates half his commission to different charities.”

  Her mouth twitches, and I realize she’s trying to hide a bashful smile. This makes me grin, “You really like him, don’t you?” Reagan turns to look at me. The first time she gave me her full attention in the last two days. “I can tell.”

  She says nothing to me as she looks back at her nails. “Don’t you like Simon?”

  “Oh, well yeah of course,” I answer shrugging. “But I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  “Are you still in love with Adam?”

  If I wasn’t sitting perfectly still for the manicurists, her question would have frozen me. Even the manicurist looks up at me quickly. I know her question is for the show but I can’t help the way my stomach twists slightly at hearing “Adam” and “love” in one sentence.

  Slowly I turn my head to look at Reagan, “No. Definitely not. Why would you think that?

  Reagan shrugs, “You guys were married.”

  I’m suddenly extremely uncomfortable with the cameras on me.

  And with Reagan.

  Is she asking for the show? Or is she asking for Diana?

  I exhale and my breath goes some of that dreadful feeling from before. “Speaking of Adam and Diana…You’ve been spending a lot of time with them.”

  “Not really,” Reagan shakes her head casually.

  “It looks like you and Diana are the best of friends,” I quip.

  “We see each other from time to time,” Reagan replies. I raise my eyebrows but refrain from the eye roll. “Did you hear what happened with Jill and Diana last night?”

  I perk up. “No, what?”

  “Adam and Diana were having dinner and Jill and Brooke were at a table across the room. Apparently, Adam waved them over to join them, hoping to make peace between Jill and Diana. They got on the topic of Jill’s new organic veggie line and Adam told her he had heard she had plastic surgery work done and was offended she didn’t go to him because he would have given her a deal.”

  I make a face. “Jill did not get work done, please. She would never.”

  “I don’t think so either, anyway, they had a huge fight. Jill called their marriage a sham, said they deserved to be having have their dirty laundry aired for what they did to you. Called Diana a scumbag. Diana tried to throw a glass of wine at her but missed and hit Brooke.”

  I’m flabbergasted and if it wasn’t for the manicurist holding my hand firmly, I would have grabbed Reagan and demanded to know more. “What dirty laundry?”

  “Adam’s alleged affair, the fact that they see a couple’s therapist…”

  “Adam had an affair?” I can’t help but gasp.

  “Yeah...where have you been living? It started circulating a few months ago,” Reagan explains. “It was all over Twitter and their Facebook fan pages.”

  “Angie doesn’t let me on social media; she’s scared I’ll throw myself off the roof of her condo building still.”

  Reagan laughs and then backtracks, “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s funny,” I smirk, “now anyway.”

  “He says there is no affair, but, he doesn’t have a very good track record so...” Reagan side-eyes me.

  Adam having an affair surprises me, but God knows why.

  I wonder who it’s with.

  I mean, after
what happened during the proceedings if he was having an affair with anyone it would be...well, me.

  We get foot massages next, which is a struggle for me because I giggle and rip my feet away almost every minute. Our topic of discussion changes from the other cast members, to Finley and Angie, then to my mother, who Reagan seemed glad is still overseas after five years. She has only met her once but the meeting didn’t go very well.

  Throughout the massages, Reagan is texting and smiling at her phone.

  As our massages end, Reagan tells me she’s going for a facial as I head in for a beer soak. The filming ends as I enter the room to change for my soak, with the cameras scheduled to roll again when I’m done.

  The soak is set for forty five minutes. It’s in a beautiful small room with wooden walls and floors, pod lights set low and tea lights lit throughout. There’s a calming woodsy scent throughout the room, which reminds me of a sauna. The tub is Elizabethan style but wooden, with a shiny finish. The beer has already filled the tub, and there’s a brownish foam sitting above with floating multi colored petals. It’s set at just above a lukewarm temperature so I’m able to stay in it for the full thirty to forty five minutes. There are coals in the back of the room which set off a nice steam, like a sauna.

  I toss my clothes and belongings in the small change room outside the door and then hurry across the room to slip into the tub. Yet, when I put both feet into the soak, I shiver. It’s cool, borderline cold. I hear something shuffle outside the door of the soak room.

  “Hello?”

  There isn’t a response.

  “The soak isn’t quite warm.”

  Nobody replies so I hop out. Covering my now goose-bumped chest, I scurry across the room to the change room, where I pry the door open and look out.

  The small white room is empty.

  I reach over for the complimentary robe that had hung on the wall but the hook is empty. I grab at the bench where I threw my clothes but they aren’t there.