Craving Perfect

Home > Other > Craving Perfect > Page 18
Craving Perfect Page 18

by Liz Fichera


  I cleared my throat. “Welcome back, everybody, and thanks for staying with us.” Like before, my eyes remained superglued to the teleprompter. David put his forefingers on either side of his mouth, a reminder to smile.

  I smiled. Sort of. My cheeks felt like they were cracking beneath all the make-up.

  I cleared my throat again. “We’ve got a beautiful day for you today. Highs today into the 70’s, lows dipping into the 50’s.”

  David’s eyes grew bigger as he pointed to one of the green screens behind me, but I didn’t budge from the desk. I didn’t push away from my chair. Or stand.

  I couldn’t.

  Blame it on yellow sandals. And my wobbly knees.

  My hands gripped the corners of the desk like it was a buoy in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. I was planted in my chair and staying put.

  I ignored David’s stunned expression and continued to read the teleprompter. There was no way I was going to stand in front of those screens and point to states and maps and arrows and low pressure squiggly lines like I knew what I was doing. At best, I’d look like an escaped chimpanzee doped on Red Bull.

  “Tonight, look for clear skies, low humidity and very little wind…” I smiled sweetly as David’s eyes turned into the equivalent of a major freak out.

  Jeez, he was pissed.

  But he continued to listen; I didn’t give him any other choice. I imagined that he was secretly contemplating what bodily harm to do to me once I finished the weather report.

  “Stay with us, folks. We’ll be back right after this short commercial break.” I tilted my head and gave the cameras a final smile before the red light above the camera turned off.

  As soon as it did, my head dropped to my desk, landing on the fake wood with a soft thump.

  I did it…I did it! I screamed inside my head. I actually freaking did it!

  David stormed over to my desk. “What was that all about?”

  I lifted my head.

  “Why didn’t you walk over to the map?” His eyes blazed. “We had all four of them ready to go for you. All you had to do was point.”

  Despite three layers of lip gloss and lip liner, my lips, like my throat, tasted dry. “I wore yellow sandals today.”

  “What?” He stepped back, his eyes lowering to my feet.

  “I wore the wrong shoes.” My shoulders shrugged. “Would have looked bad.”

  David rolled his eyes. “The audience doesn’t see your feet, Callie. You know that! They don’t see anything below your waist.” He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  I felt my face drain. Had he realized that I was an imposter? I swallowed. “Well, I get tired of watching the weather people stand in front of the maps. I’d rather see the maps. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t our viewers? The weathermen are always standing in front of all the good parts, like tomorrow’s temperatures.” It was sort of true. And it was the best excuse that I could dream up on short notice.

  David shook his head, annoyed. “Yeah, well your audience tunes in to see you, not the maps. Next time you decide to play producer, how about giving me a heads-up, okay?” His eyes demanded my agreement.

  “Sorry, David. You’re right. I should’ve let you know. My bad.”

  With his jaw still clenched, he stormed back to his place behind the camera where he counted down the last segment of the half-hour program.

  And all I could think of was, I did it. Grace Mills did it.

  Sure, I may have been the new resident of Callie Collins’s body, but it was all me behind the laminate-oak desk with the empty prop folders. I actually did the news, even the weather, and I didn’t stumble, faint, or vomit. Maybe being a news anchor and weather girl wasn’t such a bad gig after all.

  I leaned back in the chair and allowed myself a tiny, contented sigh. If only my college Communications professor could have seen me, the same one who gave me a D for my oral presentation on Indian cuisine. Looking back, I deserved the grade. It probably didn’t help that I’d vomited in his trash can prior to delivering my speech, which really wasn’t much of a speech. I more or less just read a few recipes out loud to the class.

  David’s fingers finished the countdown. I could already taste a raspberry scone. Maybe even two. And I wouldn’t be stingy with the powdered sugar either. That was a given.

  Still beaming from my first (mostly) successful newscast, I opened my dressing room door to find a bouquet of irises waiting for me. They fanned out inside a crystal vase on a table near the window. The fresh aroma competed with the other toxic smells that had already taken up residence in the room. But I could still smell the flowers. Next to lavender, irises were my favorite. How would anyone know that?

  Perched in the middle of the flowers was a business card with my name in small print. I plucked out the card.

  Callie,

  Sorry for being such a bitch this morning. Still friends?

  Hugs,

  Alexandra

  “Alexandra?” I plopped down into my chair and kicked off my shoes. “Well, that’s different.” I didn’t know she had it in her.

  Fingering the note, I suddenly felt guilty. I’d been treating her so coldly since I stepped off the treadmill the second time.

  I reached inside my purse and pulled out a pink cell phone. I didn’t know her phone number but, as expected, Alexandra’s phone number was on speed-dial. She probably put it there.

  I pressed the number 2 key and waited for the ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Alexandra. It’s Gr—” I stopped myself. “It’s Callie. I just got your flowers. They’re lovely. You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “No trouble, silly. Just wanted to say I’m sorry about this morning. I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about the calorie diary.” A male cough filled the background before Alexandra muffled the mouthpiece.

  “Sorry. You’ve got company. I’ll call back—”

  “No biggie.” Her tone was uncharacteristically sweet.

  “Well, I just wanted to say that I should be the one apologizing. I know you were only looking out for me. Anyway, the flowers are beautiful and we’re absolutely still friends. No harm done.” My eyes drifted to the infamous calorie counter diary in the silver can next to my dressing table. I padded over and plucked it from the trash. “Hey, where are you, anyway? We missed you on the set today.” Well, maybe just I did.

  Alexandra cleared her throat. “I decided to take the day off to do some shopping. Hope you don’t mind, but I do some of my best thinking when I shop. It’s my mental therapy.” She laughed but even for Alexandra it seemed a little forced around the edges.

  “No problem. Hope you’re having a nice time.”

  “Fab. Hey, how’d the newscast go?”

  “Went well, I think. I didn’t faint this time.”

  Alexandra sighed. “Callie, you’ve only done the news a million times. Enough with the fainting, already.”

  “Yeah, well, I was under the weather the other day.” I paused to wrinkle my nose. “Sorry about the pun.”

  Silence.

  Alexandra didn’t get my pun. We’d have to work on that. More baby steps…

  Instead, she asked, “So, what’s on tap for tonight? Maybe I could get us a couple of appointments at the tanning salon? We haven’t been in a while.”

  Tanning salon? In Arizona? Fortunately, I had a valid excuse.

  “I’ve got to be at a happy hour tonight. It’s a benefit for a women’s shelter. It’ll be at Mario’s.”

  “Mario’s?”

  “It’s a great little restaurant.” My chin lifted. “It’s in the middle of old-town Scottsdale. Great place. You should meet me there.” Then I wished I hadn’t said anything.

  “Sounds like a total snore, Callie. Let’s meet at Chocolat instead. The crowd is a bit…” Her lips smacked. “Better dressed.”

  My chin pulled back and I couldn’t help feeling a little insulted. I loved Mario’s. “Well, I
know someone who might be there…”

  “At Mario’s? Fat chance.”

  “Remember the dark-haired guy who works at the gym? Carlos Flores—.”

  “I’ll be there,” Alexandra blurted before I even finished my sentence. “What time?”

  Returning to Mario’s was a bad idea, I knew that, but I was curious about Carlos. All I wanted was a glimpse. He was one of the few parts of Grace Mills that I wanted to remember.

  I harbored a recurring secret fantasy that maybe Carlos and I could be friends, even though he’d been about as friendly as thunder when I’d seen him at Goldie’s Gym. So different from how he treated me when I was Grace Mills. But maybe, just maybe, Carlos might learn to like Callie Collins, even a tiny bit. The prospect of a possible friendship lifted my spirits.

  I parked in one of the last available spots at Mario’s and scanned the cramped parking lot for Carlo’s black pick-up as I walked toward the front entrance. It was a hard vehicle to miss, with its oversized silver-rimmed tires. But tonight it was missing.

  My stomach sank with that realization.

  But then I remembered the parking spots in the rear, behind the kitchen, and my emotions continued their internal roller coaster ride.

  Carefully, I trudged through the unpaved parking lot, wondering if I’d ever get used to stiletto heels. My ankles didn’t seem to think so. At least I had changed into black shoes to go with my crème-colored linen pants, although I still thought those yellow suede peep-toes were adorable.

  An enormous poster stretched across the front door of the restaurant:

  Tonight, Mario’s Restaurant and Channel 2 News will team together to support the City of Phoenix Women’s Shelter. Join us for Happy Hour and help this wonderful charity assist thousands of women each year. All proceeds from Drinks and Appetizers will be donated to the Shelter.

  It took me a few blinks before it finally registered that it was my photo in the right corner of the poster. It looked like one of those professionally done glamour shots, where everything in the background was kind of golden and fuzzy and perfect. Too perfect.

  I leaned closer. Callie—I—looked incredible, even though my face looked a little airbrushed.

  Instinctively, I reached up to smooth my hair as I pressed against the restaurant door. It opened into a bright waiting area with wooden benches on three sides and a hostess station in the center. Ten people waited to be seated.

  “That’s Callie Collins!” someone whispered from one of the benches the moment I entered. Instantly, my cheeks flushed hot. It was impossible to pretend that I hadn’t heard her.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right,” another voice whispered back.

  I proceeded toward the empty hostess station and then I froze, grabbing it with both hands.

  What’s the protocol? I’d never been noticed before by strangers. Until becoming Callie Collins, I’d never really mattered.

  The whispering continued.

  Turning slowly, I smiled in the direction of the voices. The people seated on the benches stopped fidgeting and the waiting area grew uncomfortably silent as they waited for me to say or do something.

  “Miss Collins?” asked a teenage girl with a shiny complexion. She rose from the bench between a man and a woman—her parents, I presumed. “Can I have your autograph?” She held out a paper takeout menu.

  Just to be sure, I pointed a finger at my chest. “Me?”

  The girl’s mother blinked wide. “You are Callie Collins, aren’t you? You look just like your picture.” She nodded at the poster on the door.

  “Even prettier in person,” the man piped in.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s me. I mean, I’m me.” I paused to take a breath and slow my words. “I mean. I am Callie Collins.” A stifled giggle erupted behind me.

  And the girl and her parents stared back at me like I just might be a tiny bit crazy. Quickly, I said, “I’d be happy to,” fumbling inside my purse for a pen.

  “Here’s one,” the girl offered. “And if you could write it on this corner.” She pointed to a blank spot above the appetizers section.

  I took the menu from her, along with the pen. “Thank you,” I said as I scribbled my name on the paper, reminding myself to write Callie Collins. Then I returned everything to the girl.

  “Thank you!” she gushed. “We watch you all the time!”

  “Really? Well, I appreciate that.” I felt my face flush all over again.

  “I’m going to be on TV too one day,” she added.

  I smiled at her. “I’m sure you will.” Then I nodded toward her parents and walked to the safety of the darkened bar where I drew back a breath. It was like walking off a stage. And it would be a painfully long time before I ever got used to being a celebrity, if I ever warmed up to it at all.

  No one had ever requested my autograph after tasting a piece of my crumble cake.

  Alexandra was already seated at the bar. It was impossible not to be blinded by her shimmery, silver halter top and skintight shiny leather pants. With one thin leg crossed over the other, her foot bounced as though it was keeping time. From the amount of visible cleavage, Alexandra might as well have been topless.

  I hung back in the doorway for a moment, watching her.

  All of the men in the bar swarmed around her like a school of guppies, waiting patiently for any acknowledgement from her that they could simply exist in her world. Even the bartender was captivated. Just like at the gym, Alexandra made being beautiful look so easy, so effortless. I envied that.

  How did she do it? Clearly I should have been taking notes. She was the teacher; I was definitely the pupil.

  Alexandra lived for compliments and attention, and she expected both. Who could blame her? She’d probably been fawned over since the day she was conceived.

  “Callie!” Alexandra waved from the bar.

  Like spotting her was impossible.

  I bit back a smirk.

  A dozen shiny silver bracelets sprinkled down her forearm as she continued to wave, while eight pairs of male eyes reluctantly left her to gaze at me.

  At first they seemed irritated by the interruption. But then their expressions softened.

  As usual, my skin flushed all the way down to the hollow of my neck. It was difficult not to run for the safety of the parking lot.

  But then I remembered who they were staring at.

  So I swallowed my shyness, pulled back my shoulders, and smiled till my cheeks stretched.

  The man planted on Alexandra’s right stood immediately, offering his chair.

  Grateful, I nodded at him and sat down.

  “Boys, you all know Callie Collins from Channel 2, don’t you?” Alexandra paused, waiting for recognition. Her question was meant to be rhetorical, which I realized just as I was about to open my mouth and introduce myself.

  The tilt of Alexandra’s head told me that introductions wouldn’t be necessary.

  Instead, each of the men began to introduce himself—and I did my best to memorize faces with names. And other things.

  “Hi, I’m Randy from Scottsdale…” Beautiful blue eyes.

  “My name’s Blaine…” Way too much cologne.

  “Ethan…” Nice dimples.

  “…Mark.” The whitest teeth I’d ever seen.

  We went around the circle until the introductions were completed. I hoped that I wouldn’t be quizzed later.

  As they continued talking all at once, my eyes drifted discreetly around the bar and through the door to the restaurant, looking for Carlos.

  Carlos. Where are you?

  “What would you like, Miss Collins?” the bartender asked.

  “Huh?” I blinked, turning. Conversation around the circle paused.

  “You’ve got to try the margaritas!” Alexandra shouted, even though she sat beside me. “They’re yummy!” Her words slurred. “I’ve already got a major buzz on.”

  Great. A drunk Alexandra.

  “Sure, how about a margarita?�
� I said to the bartender. Then I lowered my voice. “And please, call me Callie.”

  The dark-haired bartender nodded. His eyes twinkled over his smile in the same warm way Carlos’s had. I wondered if he was one of his many cousins, part of the same cedar tree.

  Then I turned back to Alexandra, who had already read my mind. “Haven’t seen him yet.” She sipped from her drink.

  I feigned surprise. “Who?”

  But Alexandra rolled her eyes. “You know who…” Her tone was playful. “You can’t play stupid with me.”

  I cringed inside. I hated to think I was playing stupid. “No, I don’t.” Unfortunately, I was still the world’s most pathetic liar.

  “Mr. Hot-As-A-Thousand-Tamales from the gym, that you-know-who.”

  I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. I didn’t like that Alexandra knew my secret. In fact, I didn’t like that she knew Carlos existed. I stared into my margarita glass, which had appeared when I wasn’t paying attention. The blue glass reminded me of my date with Carlos. Quickly, I lifted the heavy drink and took a greedy sip.

  Fortunately, the bar grew more crowded and Alexandra lost interest in me. Most of the men gravitated toward Alexandra and me, including the eight hunks already seated around us. Alexandra did enough talking for the both of us and for that I was grateful. Beautiful or not, I just couldn’t stomach small talk.

  In the corner of the bar near a hardwood dance floor no bigger than a Twister mat, a four-piece Mexican band began to play. Several couples stood to dance. They all did that fast, two-stepping Latin move that Carlos taught me. He’d made it seem so easy.

  “What do you say we grab a couple of these losers and show them how to really dance?” Alexandra slurred behind her hand.

  My nose wrinkled from the tequila on her breath. “Maybe in a little while.”

  “Oh, come on, we’ve gotten down on most of the dance floors in Scottsdale. What’s wrong with you?” She pulled back her chin and pouted, studying me with her steel-blue eyes that, underneath the bar lights, matched her margarita glass.

 

‹ Prev