The Next Big Thing (A novel about Internet love, plus size heroines, and reality TV)

by Johanna Edwards

  At least I hadn’t puked all over his Prada loafers.

  22

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I was a mess. My hair had fallen in a tangle around my shoulders. My face was red and puffy, stained with streaks of mascara. I sat sprawled out on the cool tile of the bathroom floor, wailing.

  “You okay?” Jagger called, knocking lightly on the door.

  “I’m fine,” I sobbed. Which, of course, I wasn’t.

  “Do you want to talk about it, or do you need some time alone?” he asked.

  I didn’t really want to talk, but I didn’t want to be alone, either. “You can stay,” I gulped, sniffling. I leaned forward and opened the door. He walked inside and sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

  “Anything I can do?”

  “No.” I started crying again.

  Jagger produced a small packet of Kleenex from an inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to me.

  I noisily blew my nose.

  “It’ll get better,” he said. “Hey, I’ve got some good news for you. Because of your kiss with Nick, you guys won Weight of the World on Your Shoulders. I’m making the official announcement tomorrow morning after breakfast. But Zaidee said I could tell you tonight. She thought it might cheer you up.”

  I was beyond cheering up at this point.

  “You know what’s so ironic?” I said, laughing bitterly. “I never even figured out if we were officially dating. I feel like I fabricated the whole thing in my mind. Is it possible I wasted almost six months of my life on a relationship that didn’t truly exist?”

  “Of course it existed. Nick’s a living, breathing human being.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s the problem.”

  Jagger raised an eyebrow. “What, you usually prefer guys without a pulse?”

  In spite of my foul mood I smiled. “Not exactly. What I meant was, while Nick was in England everything was easy and safe. He could be my dream guy.”

  “And you could be his dream girl?”

  “Exactly,” I said. “How fucked-up is that? Am I so much of a freak that I can’t handle a real relationship?” I wiped my nose on a tissue, disgusted. “What’s next, a pen pal affair with a prisoner?”

  “I hear Zaidee’s doing a show about that,” Jagger quipped.

  I shot him a look.

  “Sorry, bad timing,” he apologized. “I was just trying to cheer you up. You’re being awfully hard on yourself.”

  “How can I not be? At least Nick had the guts to be himself online. I’m the insecure, miserable mess of a person who faked everything. I’m the one who said I had a perfect body when what I actually have is…” I gestured at my stomach, “this.”

  Jagger shrugged. “It wasn’t all fake, was it? From what I understand, you lied about your weight, but you more or less told the truth about yourself otherwise. So Nick got to know the real you, he just didn’t have the right overall picture.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better. I’m still a liar. He has every right to hate me.”

  Jagger paused, then took off his mic. “Kat, there’s something you should know. Your boy Nick’s not as—how should I put this? He’s not as pure as he seems.”

  I stared at him in confusion. He was allowed to take his mic off? “Nick agreed to this dinner because it served his purposes; he didn’t give a damn about talking to you. He was all set to snub you for the rest of the show. He acts like he’s some kind of honest, good-hearted gentleman, but from what I’ve seen that’s not the case. Dude’s got an agenda.”

  An agenda? “What kind of agenda?” I asked, swallowing.

  “He told you himself during dinner,” Jagger said, giving me a pointed look.

  “He’s doing this to get Briana’s attention?”

  “Think bigger.”

  “Regan?”

  Jagger laughed, then said, “I’m serious. Just replay tonight’s conversation in your head. You’ll figure it out.”

  He put his mic back on and left before I could drill him for more information.

  ***

  In the morning, Nick’s claims about Donna seemed downright ridiculous. Especially on the heels of Jagger’s revelation that Nick had an “agenda.” Besides, there was no way Donna would sell me out like that, no way at all. Nick had probably Googled my name and found one of the articles about me. I don’t know how I’d been so stupid as to think that wouldn’t happen. Just because Nick and I always swore we never Googled each other, didn’t mean it was true. (It certainly hadn’t been true on my end.) It had been months since I’d been near a computer, but I was sure my name and image was all over it.

  No one had told him about me coming on the show; he’d found it out himself. I couldn’t believe I’d let him trick me into thinking Donna would betray me like that. I’d let my paranoia, an unfavorable trait—which had taken center stage since I’d come on From Fat to Fabulous—completely take over.

  As soon as I felt stable enough to stand up and walk without falling down, I’d head into the Confession Chamber and demand Zaidee tell me the truth. The real truth.

  As it stood I had a big day ahead of me. The producers were giving us an exciting and rare privilege: a phone call to our parents. They’d been hinting for a few days that the “infrastructure of the game” was changing. Lo and behold, we were now going to be allowed “routine, but limited” contact with the outside world via weekly five-minute phone calls. I didn’t care how brief or monitored they were—I was dying to talk to anyone. This week we were allowed to speak with our immediate family.

  A few hours later I made my way downstairs and devoured a handful of saltine crackers and a ginger ale before heading into the Confession Chamber.

  I was eager for things to return to normal. Or as normal as they could be on a reality show.

  Nick was back to avoiding me. Regan told me he hadn’t come out of his room all morning. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what had happened to the sweet, impeccably mannered, intelligent man I’d known online and over the phone. Was I really so vile that I brought out the worst in him?

  “How are you today, Kat?” Zaidee asked, as I sat down in the Confession Chamber’s plush red chair.

  “Well, I got dumped last night. How do you think I am?”

  “Could you elaborate, please,” Zaidee said.

  “I feel like crap.”

  “Define crap.”

  “I don’t think it needs a definition,” I snapped.

  “It might be helpful. There are degrees of crappiness, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes. “There’s something else I’d rather address. Nick told me a story last night that pretty much amounts to a bold-faced lie.” I let out a low, harsh laugh. “Not that I put any stock in what he says, but just to be extra sure, can you clear something up for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “He swears my friend Donna told him about From Fat to Fabulous, but I know that’s not the case. I know he Googled me and found out about the show and then he gave you a call and that’s how he wound up here. I just wanted you to know that he’s a liar.” I announced this as though it were some great discovery.

  “Kat, doll, I hate to tell you, but Nick’s right.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “That isn’t true.”

  “Kat, it is true. Donna did in fact give him the news. I spoke with her myself not too long afterward.”

  I could feel the ginger ale rising in my throat, as a fresh wave of nausea swept over me. “Donna’s my friend. She’s not like that. She wouldn’t have told him. I mean, why would she tell him? Why?” I asked, looking where I knew the camera was, as though I were speaking to her directly. “Why would you do that to me? I was crying now. “Didn’t I mean anything to you? Didn’t you value even one thing about our friendship? One thing at all?”

  “Go on, Kat; it helps to talk.”

  “No,” I said, rising from the chair. “I have nothing to say to anybody. You people can go to hell!” I announced, storming o
ut the door, without even waiting to get the phone call to my parents.

  I was turning into a first-rate drama queen.

  I was Kat the fucking Brat.

  ***

  Later that day, after a long nap, and a longer time just lying on my bed thinking, I decided it was time to make a change. Throwing out sarcastic comments was a part of my personality, and I couldn’t turn that off. But I could sure as hell do something about my slide into immaturity. And I’d better do it quickly.

  I started with Jagger. He was outside by the pool, interviewing Maggie about her lack of weight loss progress. I waited patiently by the back door until they’d finished.

  When the interview ended, I waved.

  Jagger smiled, unclipped his mic, and came strolling over. “Feeling better today?”

  “I’m good, yeah,” I said, making a deliberate effort to be positive. I was determined to put last night’s embarrassing dinner behind me and start clean.

  Maggie came pushing past us, stalking into the house.

  “She okay?” I asked.

  “This is about a lifestyle change,” Jagger said, “and Maggie’s trying to come to terms with that. She wants a quick fix.”

  “Nobody calls it a diet anymore, they call it a lifestyle change. Like that somehow makes it easier, more exciting, less likely to fail.”

  He laughed good-naturedly. “You may have a point there.”

  “So, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a few minutes?” I asked.

  He looked at his watch. “I’ve got a production meeting in five.”

  “Oh, I’m fast.”

  Jagger cocked an eyebrow. “Are you now?”

  “Yes! Well, no. I mean, sometimes.” We were off to a weird start. His coy comment had thrown me.

  “What’d you need to talk about, Kat?” He steered me back on topic.

  “I wanted to apologize for the way I’ve been acting lately. I’ve been a real pain to be around. Very moody and argumentative. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re fine,” Jagger said.

  “This whole Nick situation is really messing with me. Earlier today I blew off the phone call with my parents.”

  “I heard about that. Any particular reason?”

  “I got dumped and stabbed in the back,” I said. I squinted against the bright sun. “My mother probably thinks I hate her now, though.”

  “Given the circumstances she’ll understand.”

  “You don’t know my mother,” I said. “She takes everything personally.”

  “So call her now.”

  “You say that like I can just pick up a phone and dial.”

  “No, of course you can’t. But go up to the Confession Chamber and ask Zaidee if she’ll let you,” Jagger suggested.

  I shook my head. “She’d never agree; I’m not that lucky.”

  “Just ask her. Zaidee can be abrupt, but she’s not evil.”

  “I don’t know, maybe.”

  Jagger tilted his head and looked in my eyes. “Look, don’t let Nick Appleby ruin this experience for you. There’ll be plenty of time to sort through your personal relationships once the show wraps. But you can’t do anything about them now, so why stress yourself out? This is your fifteen minutes; have fun with it.”

  Maybe he was right. It was worth a shot. “Thanks for that. I needed it.”

  “Anytime,” he said, heading into the house.

  True to Jagger’s prediction, Zaidee allowed me to phone home. “We’ve got your mother, Lynne Larson, on the phone. Go ahead and pick up, Kat.”

  I grabbed the receiver.

  “Kat!” my mom shrieked. “Thank God! We’ve been worried sick about you. Your father’s gone to the doctor’s, so he can’t talk,” she rushed on. “But, rest assured, he’s not on his deathbed. Much as that must disappoint you.”

  “What?”

  “It’s very disrespectful,” she told me sternly, “going around saying your father’s dying of a rare disease. Do you hate us that much, Kat? Is that what you’re wishing for?”

  Oh, God. My mind flashed back to the conversation I’d had with Nick, “I have to go away to Denver for a few weeks . . . maybe more. My father’s not well,” I’d told him.

  “Your father was devastated when he found out,” she said.

  “How did he find out?” I asked, envisioning the headline: KAT THE BRAT FAKES TERMINAL ILLNESS. Maybe Donna had blabbed about that, too?

  “Nicholas called,” she said. “He tracked down our number and called to offer his condolences. Poor boy was worried to death. And you,” she scolded, “you care so little about your parents that you go around telling people we’re dying.”

  “Mom, I swear I didn’t mean it that way!”

  “Do we embarrass you, Katrina?”

  “No, it’s nothing like that—”

  “Because I’d say you’ve done a pretty fine job of embarrassing the family. The things you’ve been talking about on national television! Sexual matters and whatnot!”

  “Mom, I’m sorry,” I said. “What can I say? Sex sells.”

  “Yes, but does it have to be your sex?” She continued to chastise me for my “upsetting” behavior.

  When Zaidee finally came on the line to inform us that the call was over, I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief.

  I’d never been so glad to see five minutes end.

  ***

  I was unable to focus on anything but Nick.

  I weighed in at only 197 pounds, but he was all I talked about, thought about, dreamed about. And I was driving everybody mad.

  “What the hell is so appealing about him, anyway?” Janelle asked me as we folded laundry in our room. “Because I don’t see it. Although yesterday Regan and Luisa were saying how hot he was.”

  “I think with those two it’s partly to do with his money.” It had never been about that for me. “Although, in actuality, he’s not rich, his parents are.”

  “I’m not rich, my parents are,” Alyssa mimicked as she came into the room. “Hello! If your parents are rich then, ipso facto, you’re rich.”

  “What do you want?” I asked. I was in no mood to put up with her.

  “Nothing much, just thought I’d come see what you two losers are doing,” she said, brushing aside Janelle’s laundry and taking a seat on her bed. I ignored her dig. She opened her mouth wide, giving an exaggerated yawn. “So, what does your boy toy Nick do that makes him so much money?”

  I bristled. He wasn’t my boy toy. He’d barely even been my boyfriend. “Nick’s the fashion editor for Status. It’s a swank British men’s magazine, kind of like Esquire.”

  “I know what it is,” Alyssa said nonchalantly. “What I meant was, how does Nick have the money for a designer wardrobe? ’Cause magazine pay is barely above slave wages.”

  “It’s not Nick, remember?” I said. “His parents are rich.”

  “How much do you think they have?”

  Uh-oh. I could see the wheels turning. “I have no idea,” I told her. “I know they have a couple of vacation homes. Or, holiday estates, I think he called them.”

  “It might be interesting to know. Maybe you could ask him for me sometime? If you guys happen to talk in the near future,” she added.

  “No problem at all,” I told her in my best sugary sweet voice.

  “That girl is such a royal pain,” I said, as soon as Alyssa had skipped out the door in search of someone else to torment.

  “You realize she’s going to make a play for Nick,” said Janelle, who had been listening quietly the entire time.

  “Let her.” I shrugged. “She won’t get very far. Alyssa’s pretty, but she doesn’t measure up to his impossible standards. No one does.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “For today’s competition we’ve decided to mix things up,” Jagger began. It was the following morning and all nine of us—the original From Fat to Fabulous contestants plus Nick, Matt, and Briana—were milling around in the backyard. Three heart-shape
d booths had been set up in a row. An enormous flat-screen TV sat beside them. “Since we now have three additional guests in the house, we thought it was only fair they be allowed to compete,” Jagger continued.

  “So I present you with today’s challenge, Match Made in Heaven. This revealing competition will test your compatibility. You’re going to be paired up into three teams of two: Janelle and Matt, Regan and Briana, and Kat and Nick. Your success—or failure—is directly linked to how well you know your partner.” Jagger quickly outlined the rules for Match Made in Heaven, which sounded like a slightly altered version of The Newlywed Game. “You’ll begin by filling out surveys on a variety of unusual and enticing topics. Then we’ll meet back here for a quick quiz. The goal is to guess your partner’s answers. Every time you get one correct, you earn five points. At the end of the game, the couple with the most points wins!”

  “Why, you don’t say!” I jumped in sarcastically. Jagger gave me a small laugh. “Today’s prize is going to be a little different, a little outrageous . . . but more on that in a minute.”

  Briana threw her hands up in the air and let out a squeal. She turned and stuck her tongue out at Luisa. “Suckers! Betcha wish you had someone to partner with!”

  Jagger held up his hand. “Not so fast. You didn’t really think we’d leave three of our finest ladies out, now did you? Who do you think wrote the questions for Match Made in Heaven?”

  Regan gasped. “No!”

  Jagger gave her a sideways glance.

  “Oh, yes. Earlier this morning we summoned Alyssa, Maggie, and Luisa into the Confession Chamber where, with the help of our producers, they crafted twenty entertaining questions for Match Made in Heaven. Their goal was to stump you guys. Because every time you get an answer wrong, Alyssa, Luisa, and Maggie will earn five points. At the end of the game, if they’ve earned more than you guys, they’ll be taking home the ultimate prizes.”

  He gave us a minute to digest this information. Then Janelle, Regan, and I were led back into the house to complete our questionnaires while the rest of the group remained outside.