by Jordan Cooke
“Never you mind that, little lady, I’m doing quite well at the moment.”
Corliss wondered just how much the actors on the show made. It must have been a lot. “Where do we go next?”
“We’ll hit one last store and then on to another spa!”
“JB, another spa?! Isn’t that too much?”
“Corliss, we’ve only addressed the parts of you no one ever sees. Now we have to put on the finishing touches.”
Bella Vista Day Spa—6:21 P.M.
Corliss and JB sat side by side in big white terrycloth robes. A gaggle of spa technicians fluttered about them. Corliss was getting a full-on beauty makeover: a mani-pedi, a facial, and blond highlights.
“Okay, my bad, this will never be too much,” said Corliss, swooning. “Every part of me is getting attention.”
“Except your naughty bits!”
Corliss was mortified. She nodded in horror toward the lab technicians. How could JB embarrass her in front of total strangers?
“Oh, they don’t care. Yon Sun here specializes in Brazilian bikini waxes.”
“She does?” Corliss didn’t know what a Brazilian bikini wax was, but she sensed it was something only people in Brazil could speak openly about.
Yon Sun smiled and nodded.
“See? If Yon Sun was embarrassed every time she took out a big plastic spatula dripping with hot wax and began to spread it liberally on the area of the female anatomy better known as—”
Corliss clamped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want to know!”
JB giggled. Yon Sun joined him. So did the other lab technicians. Everybody there thought JB was a riot. Except, at the moment, Corliss. She was about to reprimand JB for the last time when two spa technicians slipped her feet into silk socks filled with warm paraffin. Suddenly she felt so gooey-good, her eyes crossed a little.
“Good look for you,” said JB. But Corliss wasn’t going to pay attention to his teasing anymore. She’d decided she’d block JB out and succumb to the pleasure…
The Sea Mountain Inn—7:46 P.M.
JB hurried back to the table. He’d been away for almost fifteen minutes and he wondered if Corliss had noticed.
“Where’d you go? I almost thought you ran off to make over someone else!”
“And cheat on one makeover subject with another?” he said. “Not my style. I just got turned around looking for the bathroom and the next thing I knew I was in the kitchen shelling shrimp.”
“You crack me up, JB.”
“I aim to please,” he said, turning toward Corliss. That’s when he realized how different she looked. Her hair was now a shade lighter and it hung in soft ringlets around her shoulders. Her skin was burnished shades of pink and gold. She wore a cute little camisole top she’d picked up at bebe and skinny Diesel jeans the color of midnight. Sure, she was still sporting her prescription granny glasses, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“Why were you thinking that?”
“Because I have a keen interest in Italian architecture?”
“Liar. You think I look weird.”
“Quite the contrary! I think you’re a babe waiting to happen. You’re a babe who’s just about to take off the training wheels. You’re pre-babe-a-licious.”
Corliss waved all this away and looked at the ocean below. “It’s gorgeous here,” she said breathlessly. “Thank you so much, JB. Today was amazing. I don’t know what I did to deserve all this. I called my uncle when you were in the bathroom and he insists on paying for the entire makeover.”
“Really?”
“Well, the parts he approves of.”
“Fair enough. In any event, you are now prepared to conquer Trent Owen Michaels.”
“You think so?”
“I do! And I did it all out of the goodness of my dweeby little heart.”
Corliss smiled shyly. “I bet it’s not as dweeby and little as you say.”
“But it is! And it’s located in my concave chest—just in case you ever want to know.”
But Corliss wasn’t taking the bait. “Your chest isn’t so concave. In fact, I think with a few push-ups you might fit into a large boy’s size at Gymboree.”
“I’ll make a note.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“You weren’t really in the bathroom, were you? You came back to the table looking all guilty.”
“Me?” JB fidgeted in his chair.
“Yeah, and you went to the bathroom at the spa half an hour ago. You either have a bladder the size of a tic tac or you’re up to something.”
JB hung his head. He knew he’d have to make up an excuse—and quick. “I, uh, went to the reservation office to use their computer.”
“To check your e-mail?”
“No.” He looked across the restaurant patio and saw a little boy sitting with his mother. “I’m bidding on eBay for a gift for my mother’s birthday.”
“Oh my God, that’s so sweet.” Corliss’s face softened.
“Mom’s crazy about garden gnomes. Those little cement elves that stand out on the lawn looking all, like, tubby and mystical?”
“Totally! Indiana-no-place is garden gnome central.”
“She likes this one in particular—from her childhood. It’s got a furry cap and a big gold belt that says HUG ME. But she’s never been able to find it, so I’ve been searching online.”
“That’s so sweet of you. I can’t believe I suspected you were up to no good!”
“The best news is that I found that very gnome on eBay two days ago, but now I’m in a wicked bidding war. That’s where I was. Sorry about keeping you waiting, Corliss. It’s only because I love my mother so much.”
Corliss made a pouty face and looked at JB with puppy dog eyes. At least, as far as he could tell through her thick glasses.
“Strangest thing. When I was online waiting to put a bid in, I Googled our show and guess what?”
“What?”
“Someone’s writing a blog about it.”
“Seriously? We’re not even on the air.”
“Right? And it’s got all kinds of inside dirt about production and stuff. I thought you might want to let Max know.”
“Hmm, that’s probably a good idea, JB. Thanks. Then I can resign with a feeling of completion.”
“I still don’t think you should resign. We’re just starting to have fun, right?”
“I know. But I’m so conflicted. That’s a psychological term for ‘I have no freakin’ idea how I really feel.’”
The waiter arrived. “Have you both decided?”
Corliss pointed at the menu. “I’ll have the salmon, thank you.”
“Excellent choice, Corliss,” said JB as he sat up tall and ordered. “I’ll have a grilled Tofurkey burger.”
Corliss laughed. “JB, you weirdo, we’re not at some vegan diner. This place is a famous fish restaurant.”
“Then they can fish me a Tofurkey burger.” JB looked to the waiter. “Can’t you?”
The waiter didn’t flinch. “Of course we can. The only thing we couldn’t fish you would be a more charming and lovely dinner companion.” He smiled at Corliss and left the table.
“See?” said JB. “‘Charming and lovely!’ Today’s makeover is already beginning to work its magic.”
Corliss’s mouth hung open. “Wow,” she said, looking a little fearful. “Me? Charming and lovely? I’ve been called ‘okay’ and even ‘not offensive from certain angles,’ but never ‘charming and lovely.’”
“You know what this means? We better eat fast.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve got a date with Trent Owen Michaels tonight.”
“T-t-tonight?”
“Yes, Corliss Majestica—tonight.”
Trent’s Condo—8:59 P.M.
Corliss could hear the shower running as she let her
self in.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She wanted to kill JB for ever making the suggestion.
First, how is Trent Owen Michaels ever going to look at me as an alternative to Tanya? Second, how could I stoop so low?
Sure, she was feeling pretty great about her new look. And, yes, she was styling pretty in her itty-bitty Juicy shorts and top, complemented by silver-and-white Puma Miharas. But none of this mattered: She was still a slimy secret agent.
Corliss forgot all her negative feelings, however, when Trent wandered into the room wearing nothing but a towel.
“Corliss? Is that you?”
“Hi, Trent,” Corliss managed weakly. She gulped. His white-blond hair was slicked back against his neck. Tiny beads of water trickled down his pecs. Corliss felt light-headed. It was like looking at an Abercrombie & Fitch layout, but in 3-D. “Um, I guess you’re wondering how I got in.”
“No. I was wondering when you got to be so smokin’.”
Trent scratched his slippery six-pack. Corliss felt her knees go wobbly.
“S-smokin’? R-really?”
“Yeah, if you just, like, ditched those granny glasses, you’d be a real babe.”
“Well, I plan on ordering contacts tomorrow,” she said a bit too loudly.
“Excellent. You are totally approaching hotness in a serious way.”
Corliss tried not to look at his rock-hard bod. “Thanks, Trent, and you—you—you—”
“What is it, Corliss? You’re, like, pale.”
“No, it’s just—don’t you want to put some clothes on?”
“Oh,” said Trent, looking down as if he’d forgotten he was wearing only a tiny piece of terrycloth. “Good idea.” He went into the bedroom and Corliss sighed a sigh of relief.
Thank God! I can’t concentrate with all that boy flesh on display.
Trent returned a few seconds later wearing a Speedo. Corliss gulped.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“Um, so, Trent. Sorry to just barge in and all—”
“Is everything okay? You and me don’t usually hang out. Unless I’m with Tanya and you all of a sudden show up.”
“Oh, yeah. The restaurant. Sorry about that. The thing is—the thing is—” Corliss didn’t know how she was going to go through with this.
Trent’s mouth hung open as he waited for her to speak. “I know what the thing is,” he said, moving to the large white canvas couch as a fire in the huge fireplace shot up.
“Wow, how’d you do that?”
“It’s on, like, a switch. Have a seat, Corliss. I think I know what you’re gonna say.”
“You do?”
Trent sprawled on the sofa and put his big feet up on the glass coffee table. The lights lowered in the room.
“Another switch?” said Corliss, fearing for her life.
“I can turn on the Jacuzzi upstairs with a snap of my fingers.”
“Oh, no need for snapping those Jacuzzi fingers!” Corliss realized she was starting to not make sense.
Trent patted a place next to him on the couch. Corliss hesitated, then ran over quickly before she lost her nerve.
Corliss’s brain raced. Take a breath. Pull yourself together. Make conversation like someone who isn’t developmentally impaired. “You have a nice condo,” she said, now inches from the still nearly naked Trent. “I guess everyone’s condo is different,” she blathered on. “I especially like your conch shell coasters and the bronze seagull wall mountings.”
Trent grinned his crooked grin. Light from the fire glinted off his perfect teeth. “You don’t want to talk about my mountings, do you, Corliss?” Trent slid closer to her. Corliss gripped the sofa.
He smells so clean!
“I d-don’t?”
“No. You want to talk about why you, like, showed up at the restaurant that night when Tanya and I were having dinner.”
What?! Corliss couldn’t believe it. Was her cover blown? How could this gorgeous lunkhead have figured out my secret mission? And what if he tells Max?! I’ll be fired! But wait—that would be a good thing. Wow, sometimes things just work out on their own…
Trent moved closer, within inches of Corliss’s nose. “The reason why you showed up is ’cause you want to be with me, right?”
Corliss’s face fell. Now what? Guess I’m back to being a secret agent.
“Uh…yeah, Trent. That’s it. I—I—I want to be with you. So much. Like a whole lot. Like this much,” she said, swinging her arms wide and knocking a driftwood candelabra off the glass coffee table. “Sorry. Ha! I have a total lack of coordination.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Trent said, moving closer.
His nose is so perfect!
“But here’s the thing, Corliss.”
Corliss gulped. “Yes?”
“While you have achieved a level of babe-dom from, like, out of the blue…”
“Yes,” said Corliss, who could now see inside Trent’s persistently open mouth.
“…my heart belongs to Tanya.”
“It does?” Corliss answered, not hearing what he was saying.
“She makes me, like, a decent dude, Corliss. Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“Tanya’s, like, a total virgin. I respect that in a girl—that she doesn’t want to have sex until Jesus says so. And we promised each other not to get serious until the time is right.”
“You did?” Corliss couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“Yeah. And then when the time is right we will, like, you know—do it. I used to be this total player, Corliss, and now all I want to do is sit by the fire and cuddle with Tanya.”
“This fire?” said Corliss, dreamily looking into Trent’s crystalline eyes.
“Yup. So I hate to turn you down, Corliss. Because I’m totally flattered to be hit on by a babe who was, like, not at all a babe and now almost is.”
“Wow, Trent,” said Corliss, snapping out of it and standing up. “You really impress me. You are a decent dude.”
Trent smiled his crooked smile and a big lock of wet blond hair fell in his eyes. “You are too, Corliss.”
God, if he only knew what a slimy secret agent I truly am! That does it. Tomorrow I march up to Max on set, find the courage I have in my new dead-skin-cell-free body, and tell him to take this job and…well…put it somewhere that doesn’t hurt too much.
Somewhere in Malibu Canyon—1:30 A.M.
: The
’Bu-Hoo
MBK here, kiddies. Did ya miss me?
Welcome back to The ‘Bu-Hoo! I’ve got more inside skinny on those delightful ’Bu tykes. Goes a little sumthin like this…
That adorable geek JB was seen being escorted back to his beach condo tonight by none other than…M2 assistant Calamity Corliss!! Dork and newly made-over dork were lookin’ mighty cozy (was it dork love???) until former dork peeled off toward…Trent Owen Michaels’s love lair! Twenty minutes later, our girl (looking mighty rumpled) was heading back to JB’s! Exactly the kind of behavior you couldn’t get away with back in the Midwest, girl…
SEE KEYWORDS: moonlight, curfew, Tofurkey breath
And what about that twiggy talent Tanya Ventura? Can the Baby Jesus keep her virgo intactica? Better say another Hail Mary just to be safe…
Meanwhile, back in the Woods of Holly…
Anushka “Let’s Order Another Round” Peters plots her competition’s demise! She doesn’t know how she’ll take Tanya down, all she knows is she’s going down hard!
If that weren’t enough intrigue…last standing writer Petey Newsome is shadowing Calamity Corliss! Everything she says or does goes into his little book. Can you say stalker?
And look what’s in the UBC garbage! An American Express receipt with M2’s name on it. It’s charged to the Beverly Center Godiva store in the amount of $6,397, but it’s got a signature that looks nothing like M2’s! Who’s the lying diabetic? And what will M2 say when the bill lands on his desk�
�?
CUE: bloody screams!
AND FILE THE FOLLOWING UNDER: TRAIN WRECK
JB, aka Secret Boy, plays it dangerously close to the online edge. Just what exactly is he doing when JEEBSTER@TMAIL hits cyberspace? He’s fronting to his friends about it, but that secret ain’t safe fer long…
I am burrowing deeper and deeper inside The ’Bu for the pleasure of you, dear readers. CAN’T YOU FEEL THE LOVE?
Yours’ Bu-liciously,
MBK
Five
Malibu Beach—8:33 A.M., the Next Morning
Max Marx, wearing peach Prada board shorts and a melon Marc Jacobs tank tee, was looming over Petey Newsome. Petey, of course, was dressed head to toe in black.
“You call this a climax?” Max howled in disbelief, shaking the latest script revision in front of Petey. There was fire in Max’s eyes and his famed whisper was inexplicably gone. His assistants—many of whom were dressed similarly to Max in board shorts and tank tees in an effort to establish what Max called “’Bu solidarity”—glowered at Petey.
“Yes, Max, I call it a climax. It cost me two nights’ sleep and my Adderall prescription for the year. I haven’t eaten since Tuesday, my back is completely locked, and my hair’s falling out in clumps.”
Max huffed. “Is this the face of a person with empathy?”
“Doesn’t look like it, Max, no.”
“The climax of the pilot episode of The ’Bu has to be unlike anything anyone has ever seen on network television!”
“But I tried to do what you said, Max,” said Petey, without a lot of conviction.
“Tried, maybe. Failed—certainly.”
“Max, with all due respect,” Petey said without a lot of sincerity, “I’m not contracted to write for forty-eight-hour stretches. I thought I’d do you a favor and—”
Max’s eyes flashed, his nostrils flared. His assistants flashed their eyes and flared their nostrils, too. “No one does Max Marx any favors,” said Max, his whisper returning. “Least of all a writer.” He spat out the word like poison. “Now you’d better call your agent. You’re going to need another job by sunrise tomorrow.” With that, Max threw the script in the sand.