Chapter 7
Christmas comes and goes. As much as I love being at Grandma Hebo’s, I feel antsy. Almost as antsy as Paige, who is acting like she’ll either end up in lockdown or take up chain smoking before too long. I’ve never seen my sister do so much pacing and fidgeting. Maybe it’s our grandmother’s strong coffee. I swear that brew could grow hair on someone’s chest.
“Really, Mom,” Paige complains as we’re outside working on our grandmother’s firewood—our mom’s idea, probably in hopes that it will tire us out. “I don’t see why we can’t go home a day early.”
“You know your grandma expects us to stay the full five days.” Mom swings the ax, solidly hitting the round of wood and splitting it in two, which I must admit is impressive. “It’ll hurt her feelings if we leave any sooner.”
“But we’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
Mom waits as Paige picks up the split pieces. “I remember a time when you girls couldn’t wait to get up here, and then you never wanted to leave.”
“When we were in grade school.” Paige lobs the wood toward the pile that I’m neatly stacking, nearly hitting me in the foot.
“Hey, watch it,” I warn as I jump to avoid getting any broken bones.
“Sorry,” she grumps back at me.
“Come on, girls,” Mom urges us. “Just because you’re going to be TV stars doesn’t mean you have to turn into spoiled divas. Don’t forget your roots.”
“Yeah, right.” Paige holds up her hands and frowns. “Dirt, pitch, broken nails…like I’m a real diva, Mom.”
“I still like being up here and helping Grandma,” I say. “It’s just that I wanted to make it to the desert to take photos before the show goes into production. This is supposed to be our vacation time, remember?”
“And I just want to get back to civilization to check my phone and Facebook and maybe even watch a little TV,” Paige says. “I feel so disconnected up here—seriously, I think it’s making me crazy.”
So much for a reality check. Somehow we make it through another day, and I’m actually a little sad to leave as Grandma Hebo kisses me on the cheek. I promise to come back on my own next summer, maybe stay a few weeks if I can and get her stocked up with firewood.
“Travel safely,” she tells us.
Then as we’re heading home and I’m half asleep, Paige lets out a shriek that makes me think there might be a semitruck coming straight at us.
“What?” Mom slows the car, as if she too thinks we’re headed for death and disaster.
“I finally managed to get a connection!” Paige shouts. “And there’s a message from Fran Bishop.”
“So?” I lean into the backseat, wishing my sister wasn’t such a drama queen. Although considering what we’re getting into, I suppose it’s a good thing.
“What does it say?” Mom asks. “Is something wrong?”
To my surprise, I feel slightly worried. What if the show has fallen apart already? I can’t believe that this actually troubles me, but it does.
“No. Something is totally right. Erin and I are invited to a New Year’s Eve party that’s actually going to be an episode on Malibu Beach!” she exclaims.
“What are we supposed to do there?” Now I’m feeling a bit unnerved. Malibu Beach is way out of my comfort zone.
“Debut.” Paige says this word in a dreamy way.
“Huh?”
“Fran says it will be our first debut on national TV, and she wants to meet with us tomorrow to give us some wardrobe and makeup direction as well as some scripting ideas.” Paige makes a face. “Does Fran think we’re totally ignorant or something? I know how to do wardrobe and makeup, and I certainly don’t need someone telling me how to talk. I mean, it is a reality show, is it not?”
“She’s probably just being careful,” Mom says as she turns from the back road onto the main highway. “You girls are still new to all this. I’m sure she just wants cover all the bases.”
“Or else she’s worried about me,” I say quietly. “Do you think Fran really expects me to go to this New Year’s party too? I’m only the camera girl, right? And Malibu Beach isn’t our show.”
“She said both of us,” Paige clarifies. “We’re supposed to come to the studio at five o’clock tomorrow. I better call her and confirm that we’ll be there.”
I want to point out that this is not exactly what I’d signed on to do. I mean, agreeing to play camera girl with my sister is one thing. Making an appearance on one of the most popular (and IMO, shallowest) reality shows on TV wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the contract. Although I do recall a clause agreeing to do publicity, and I suspect Malibu Beach might fall into that category. Still…I am feeling more than a little nervous at the moment, and I’m wishing that I’d talked Mom into staying another day or two at Grandma Hebo’s. Then I could have avoided this Malibu Barbie party altogether. Of course, Paige would’ve been furious.
“Those shoes do not go with that dress, Erin.” Fran is pointing at my feet with a troubled expression. We’re at the studio, and Fran is getting us all set for our “big night out.”
“Maybe it’s the dress,” I suggest, since I like the shoes a whole lot better than the magenta cocktail dress that Fran has selected for me. In addition to these straps, which feel like they’re slicing into my shoulders, it’s so tight that I doubt I’ll even be able to sit down.
“That dress happens to be a Miu Miu.”
I imagine a cat with a hairball as I give her a very blank look. “Sorry, I’m not too well versed on designers.”
Fran frowns at me. “Then you better start doing your homework, Erin.”
“Miu Miu is Prada,” Paige explains in an authoritative tone, which I’m sure is meant to impress Fran. “The Miu Miu line was originally targeted at the younger market because it was more affordable, but it’s been so popular that even older women like it.”
Fran nods. “That’s right.”
“Well, I wish this Miu Miu was a muumuu,” I mutter as I struggle to shimmy the short, tight dress down my thighs to what feels a more respectable length, if that’s possible.
Fran looks at me with a creased forehead. “Maybe it’s not that the dress is too small, but rather you are too large.”
Did she just say that? I want to throw something. I can feel Paige looking at me now, as if to say, keep your cool, Erin…don’t fly off the handle. But it’s too late. I’m already mad. “Are you saying I have to be a size four to be on TV?”
“You said it, not me.” Fran is thumbing through the dress rack now, her back toward me.
“Because I am not into the anorexia thing. Not at all. I’m just fine with my body the way it is. And if you expect me to lose weight just to be on this stupid—”
“No one’s telling you to lose weight, Erin,” Fran says. “Just chill, okay?”
“Well, just so you know,” I continue, “I never wanted to be in front of the camera. I only wanted to work on the camera crew, and maybe that was a mistake.”
“That’s not what Helen said.”
“Then maybe I should speak to Helen.” I’m struggling to unzip the tight dress, deciding that it’s time to make a fast getaway.
“You signed a contract, Erin.” Fran looks slightly angry. “A contract some girls would kill to sign.”
“I did it for Paige.” I peel off the detestable dress, then just stand there feeling humiliated in my underwear, which is not nearly as cool as the underwear Paige is wearing. But why should that surprise me? “And now I regret it,” I continue hotly.
“Come on, Erin.” Paige urges me with a worried look. “Lighten up, will you?”
“And I’d just as soon not go to this New Year’s party,” I tell Fran as I hand her the dress. “I agreed to do On the Runway—to play my role as camera girl. I never said I’d make a fool of myself on Malibu Beach.” Seriously, what am I doing here?
Fran takes the dress and turns away. Paige is giving me one of her big-sisterly I’m warning you looks. The
“don’t spoil this for me, or I will make you miserable.” Not that I’m worried. I grab up my clothes and am starting to get dressed when Fran comes back.
“Oh, don’t start getting all snippy on me, Erin.” Fran actually smiles—but it’s a catty smile. She’s holding up a black dress with a little more coverage on top and some flare in the skirt. “This is Miu Miu too, but it’s a size six. And I think it will go with your shoes.”
“It’ll look great on you,” Paige says happily. “Come on, try it.”
“It’s a classic,” Fran tells me as she takes it from the hanger and begins putting it over my head. “And maybe you are too, Erin.”
Okay, I’m not sure how to react as she zips the dress, which is much more comfortable than the first one, but I’m thinking maybe Fran is a little passive-aggressive. Like that old aunt who pokes at your weight until you cry and then buys you an ice cream sundae to make you feel better. At least the black dress fits and seems to look okay—or so they are telling me.
After Paige tries on several dresses, all which look fantastic, Fran finally settles on a red number for her. It’s got a name I can’t begin to pronounce, but I have to admit Paige looks fabulous in it. Well, except for all the cleavage that’s showing.
“So the girls are going to get a little airtime of their own, huh?” I ask my sister, pointing to her chest while Fran is consulting with the hair and makeup stylists.
Paige just laughs. “It’s just a little skin. You really need to lighten up.”
Well, maybe I would lighten up if I didn’t know that Mom expected me to babysit. I wonder what she would say—not that she’s commented too much on our clothes these past couple of years. That was Dad’s domain. He always said that his daughters had too much self-respect to go out in public looking like prostitutes. Not that Paige looks like a prostitute, but she certainly doesn’t look like Laura Ingalls Wilder either.
“You need to dress like ladies so you’ll be treated like ladies,” my dad used to tell us. I suppose his influence on me was even stronger than he knew, because I still think of his words when I pick out my clothes. I wonder if there’s some way I can continue to remind Paige of Dad’s wishes. Yet, when it comes to fashion, I doubt that Dad’s advice carries much weight.
With shoes, dresses, and accessories finalized and bagged up for us to take home, we are back in our street clothes, moved on to hair and makeup. I sit with Vivian the makeup expert, and Paige is with Luis the hair guy.
“I try to go more natural with my makeup,” I tell Vivian. Not that she’s listening.
“This is a New Year’s party,” Fran points out from where she’s standing behind me. “You’re supposed to look glitzy and glamorous, Erin.”
“That’s right,” Paige encourages her. “Just close your eyes and go with the flow.”
“Right…” I do close my eyes. I take a deep breath and try not imagine myself being seen on national TV looking like a tramp. To my surprise, the makeup’s not too terrible. A little dramatic perhaps, but for a party I suppose it’s okay. And I have a feeling everyone is tired of hearing me whine. It’s weird because I don’t usually consider myself a complainer.
“Time to switch places,” Fran announces as she continues to prep us from her notes on the latest happenings, mostly romances, on Malibu Beach. “Mia Renwick and Benjamin Kross are still dating,” she continues, “but it got a little rocky before Christmas, and some suspect that Avery Stratton has been making moves toward Benjamin.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Paige says quickly. “Avery is too nice to step in and do something like that.”
“I’m just saying.” Fran continues. “So here’s what I’m thinking. Paige, I want you to focus on Mia since she’s the one organizing the fashion show that you will be covering in your first On the Runway episode. Besides, it’s a sure way to give you more camera time, and viewers will be curious to see how you two hit it off. Plus, Mia should be very interested in spending time with you since, no doubt, she’ll want her fair share of camera time on your show.”
I sleepily close my eyes as Luis puts hot curlers in my hair. I could so use a nap right now. And yet, I’m supposed to be at work, right? That’s when it hits me that this is my job.
“Also, I thought Erin could cozy up to Avery. Maybe even find out what her interest in Benjamin is. Just for fun.”
“Why would Avery even want to talk to me?” I ask without really thinking.
“Like I said, you and Paige are the new stars of On the Runway. Naturally, all the cast—primarily the girls—will want to score points with you. These girls are very savvy about the industry. They know Malibu Beach won’t run forever. The smart ones are already looking for the next opportunity.” Fran rambles on and I know I’m not paying as much attention as I should. Whether it’s the heated rollers or the time of day, I am so sleepy that I can’t imagine staying up until midnight. I wonder if I’ll be able to sneak in a nap.
“Mostly I want you girls to just be yourselves,” I hear Fran say as Luis begins to remove the rollers, and her voice jars me back into the present. I think I actually dozed off and I feel a little guilty. I hope I didn’t snore. But Fran seems oblivious as she chatters on. “I’m starting to see why Helen wanted both of you on the show. Your personalities as well as your physical looks are actually quite complementary to each other.”
I figure this is her way of saying I make Paige look even better than she already does, but I won’t mention this.
“So, really, just be yourselves…only more so.”
“More so?” I ask Fran, hoping she thinks I’ve been awake this whole time. “How do you mean exactly?”
“Well, you’re obviously the conservative sister. You’re cautious and careful and that’s okay. Go ahead and play that up. It’s actually kind of cute and funny.” Fran goes over to stand behind Paige, placing a hand on her shoulder. “On the other hand, Paige is more dramatic and adventuresome. She’s confident and competitive and I want her to just take it up a notch.”
“A notch?” Paige looks like she’s noodling on this.
“Yeah, take it to the next level.”
Paige’s eyes narrow slightly as her brows arch—I know my sister, and this is her watch-out-for-me look. “Okay,” Paige begins. “Let’s say I’m talking about Mia’s dress tonight. Are you suggesting I should go ahead and give my honest fashion critique and maybe a bit more?”
“Precisely.” Fran nods.
“And if a catfight breaks out?” I query.
Fran just laughs. “Then a catfight breaks out. That’s the nature of this beast. But the difference here is that Paige takes the high road. She plays the lady—she is simply expressing herself. She doesn’t pull hair or scratch. Right, Paige?”
“I certainly hope not.” Paige looks slightly worried now.
“And if she, say, manages to offend Mia?” I watch Fran consider my question.
“Then Paige simply makes light of it and moves on. It will be Mia who will end up looking silly for overreacting.”
I shake my head doubtfully. Something about this plan feels half-baked. But then I wonder if that’s how Fran wants it.
“Absolutely.” Paige continues talking to Fran. “If a person wants to be offended, that’s their choice. I will make it clear that I’m only doing my job. Just like any fashion critique, I just want to teach and make this world a more beautiful place. And, really, what’s wrong with that?” She giggles as if this is some game.
“And a fashion critique doesn’t get down and roll in the dirt,” Fran points out.
“Yeah…right.” I try not to imagine one of those Malibu Barbies, or perhaps several of them in combined force, grabbing my fashion-expert sister by the hair and dragging her into a big, ugly fight. And if that does happen, what am I supposed to do about it? Jump in and save her?
Chapter 8
“I think I might’ve fallen asleep while I was getting my hair done,” I confess to Paige as she drives us home.
; “Hopefully you didn’t drool.” She glances at me as if to check. “Your makeup still seems to be intact.”
I shake my head. “I’m just not cut out for this kind of thing, Paige. I’m worried I’m going to ruin it for you.”
“You’ll be fine, Erin. You just need to relax.”
“According to Fran, I’m supposed to be myself,” I remind her. “And I have a feeling she thinks that’s an uptight, slightly neurotic worrywart.”
Paige laughs. “Might make for good TV.”
“Right…”
Fortunately, once we get home, we have enough time for a real nap. Even Paige thinks this is a good idea. “Just don’t mess up your hair and makeup,” she warns me. “Although I’m sure there will be stylists at the set—just not our stylists.”
“Meaning they might try to make us look bad?”
“You never know.” She waves her finger. “Reality television is kind of a cat-eat-cat world.”
“Clever.” I roll my eyes and head for my room.
But after what seems only a few minutes of sleep, someone is knocking on my door. “Hey, Erin,” says Mollie as she lets herself in. “Your mom said you might be asleep.”
“Yeah.” I nod and sit up. “I was.”
“Sorry.” She holds up her hands. “But I was lonely, okay?”
“It’s okay. But why are you lonely? No big plans for New Year’s Eve?”
“I thought Tony and I were going out tonight. But now that’s all changed.” She frowns. “And it’s partly your fault.”
“My fault?” I sit up straighter, putting pillows behind me.
“Yeah. We were going to double with you and Blake.”
“Me and Blake.” I frown at her. “What are you talking about?”
“Blake thought you were going to go out with him.” She sits down on my bed, releasing what seems a dismal sigh.
“But I told him—”
“I know, I know. But Blake is slightly delusional. Anyway, once he figured things out he pulled the plug on whatever it was he had planned for the four of us tonight.”
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