Losing to Win

by Michele Grant

  “We have breakfast set up at the dorm.”

  The dorm. Jesus, it was like a bad training camp flashback all over again. I quickly went into the closet and put together a variety of clothes, shoes, and toiletries for a few weeks. After years of weekly travel, I had the art of packing down to a science. I was rolling a tie and sliding it inside a shoe as my phone rang again.

  “You’re popular this morning,” Ren said and motioned to Jerry to roll again.

  I flashed my trademark “don’t you want to get like me” smile. “I’m popular every morning.” I thumbed on the phone. “This is Mal.”

  “On camera already?” Pierre’s cultured tones flowed across the line.

  I glanced up at the camera. “As a matter of fact, I’m staring into the red light as we speak.”

  “Ah, well. I’ll keep it short. You talk to Cari this morning?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “She called me to go over the terms of her agreement. I got the impression she was looking for an escape loophole.”

  “You got the right impression, but she decided to stick it out for now.”

  “Okay, good. I think this is going to be a great experience for both of you.”

  “Are you matchmaking?” Underneath the Italian suits, Pierre was a romantic Southern gentleman at heart.

  “Do I need to be?” When he started answering questions with questions, it meant Pierre had something else to say.

  “Go ahead and say what you gotta say.”

  “You’re better with her.”

  I frowned. “Wait a minute, now.” Not only did I not agree with that assessment, I didn’t appreciate it, not one bit.

  “You don’t have to like it for it to be true. Sorry, but you’re a better athlete and a better person when she’s around. This is not only your last chance at the NFL, this is your last chance with Cari. I’m telling you not to blow either one.” His voice was crisp, as if he wanted to be clear that this was not a topic he considered to be up for discussion.

  I shared my major concern with him. “What if I can’t have both at the same time? I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

  “Well, my friend, only you can make that decision, but I’ll tell you this: you have many business ventures to keep you challenged professionally. There is only one Carissa Melody Wayne.”

  “Noted.” I was done talking about something I had no control over today.

  Briskly, Pierre continued. “All right, then. I’ll be on set later this week. Unless you need me sooner.”

  “It’s been a while since I was your only client and needed my hand held,” I teased.

  He laughed. “My first and best, though. Stay outta trouble, Mal.”

  “Trouble? Who, me? I’m always good.” I hung up as he snorted a response. Putting one last pair of socks in the bag, I zipped it closed and looked around for the matching laptop case. Striding past the camera, I couldn’t imagine that the people of America would be interested in watching me packing a cell phone charger and iPad. But hey, whatever. Tossing in my MacBook Pro and a few peripherals, I scanned the room to see if there was anything else I couldn’t live without for a few weeks. Satisfied I had the necessities, I set the laptop case on top of the rolling bag and turned toward the door.

  “Everyone ready?” I asked with feigned cheer as I snatched up the car keys. “Let’s get this party started.”

  8

  Bad jou jou

  Carissa—Tuesday, May 24—Noon

  “I thought this was going to suck and it really does. And by ‘this’ I do mean this whole reality show experience,” I stated flatly while staring into the camera. Niecy was seated beside me. We were perched in the “confessional,” a small room they had set up with a sofa, a backdrop, and a candid camera so that contestants could plunk down and give their recaps of the action taking place. We were dressed in skintight forest green yoga capri pants and truly unflattering electric blue tank tops that read Losing to Win across the chest. Both Niecy and I were well-endowed in that area, so the letters were stretched and appeared to be screaming in frustration. Not a good look. In fact, the entire town was peppered in the blue and green Losing to Win logo. Good for the town, bad for us.

  Niecy was a natural-born diva from Savannah, Georgia. She ran a successful lifestyle and beauty blog. She believed that a Southern lady was never fully dressed unless her hair was done, her lipstick was fresh, and her earrings dangled. Though Niecy was a solid size 22, she was curved in all the right places and thought it was unladylike for a woman to jiggle in public. She was the kind of woman who was referred to as striking. Statuesque, great bone structure, a smile she kept perfectly white, and full lips generally painted with a shade of mauve pink lip gloss from Lancôme. She had flawless skin the color of toasted wheat and thick hair she wore in long spiral twists that fell past her shoulders. Usually.

  Today, we both had sad ponytails that may have been cute several hours ago but had long since lost the sexy. On top of that, the hairstyles were magnifying every feature of our makeup-less faces. Who looks fresh when sweaty and sleep deprived? Neither of us, unfortunately. This was, I could truthfully say, the first time I’d seen Niecy sans some semblance of war paint. Truly, this experience just kept getting better. Yes, I was leaning heavily on snark and sarcasm to make it through.

  So far today, I’d been yanked out of bed at 4:00 a.m., moved into a dorm room with Mal as my suite mate, and been asked a series of what I considered to be very personal questions with a camera in my face and a fuzzy microphone hovering over my head.

  Jordy and Suzette had the suite across the hall. Niecy and XJ were down the hall. No one was pleased with our accommodations. We were grown folks with real estate of our own, living in housing meant for teenagers. Skinny teenagers at that.

  We were introduced to our nutritionist, Hannah, who spent what seemed like hours discussing the evils of processed foods, sugars, and fat grams. White foods were apparently the devil. White breads, rices, potatoes: all sent by Lucifer to keep jiggly junk in our trunk.

  From there we met with the three trainers attached to the show. Jacob, Darcy, and Paul were the perkiest damn skinny people I’d ever met. They took fitness—oh, I’m sorry, “total wellness”—very seriously. They used words like “amped” and “super-fun” in real sentences. On purpose. This was my life now. Marcy, Darcy, Bliss, Ren—it was a bit much.

  Having met our fitness team, we each sat down with our team and came up with a goal weight. Their goals and my goals were not the same but I wasn’t in the mood to argue. We also came up with a projected plan of how much I needed to lose weekly and monthly.

  Then we had been given three bites of granola, a piece of turkey sausage, and a small bowl of fruit for breakfast. No coffee. No tea. Carrot-ginger juice, which I hated at first sip.

  “Niecy, what has been your favorite part of the day so far?” Marcy, the associate producer, asked from off camera.

  Niecy and I exchanged glances before she answered with considerable sass. “Could there be anything more fun than being squeezed into spandex and weighed on camera?” We snickered at the remembered humiliation because at this point, what else could we do but laugh? Along the way, between housing and granola, we had been introduced to what they called the “weigh-in ceremony.” Yes, the reality was as much fun as you’d think. We were lined up in front of the panel and, of course, the omnipresent cameras. The panel consisted of Jim, the trainers, the nutritionists, and a guest judge. We were spared a guest judge today but had that to look forward to in the weeks to come. When your name was called, you stepped forward onto the invisible scale. On the huge screen behind the panel, they flashed your starting weight, your current weight, and your goal weight. This went into a formula with your age and created a point total that would be deducted from your final score. Since the person with the highest point total won, you clearly wanted this number to be low. The more weight you lost, the better your chances to win. Good times.

  “What abo
ut you, Carissa? What’s been your favorite moment so far?”

  “Oh, the two straight hours of cardio—for sure. Nothing says summertime fun like an hour of the elliptical machine followed by bicycling and treadmill.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  I spoke the answer that popped in my head. “My thighs are still quivering and I truly believe the only reason thighs should quiver is if multiple orgasms are imminent.”

  “Rissa!” Niecy barked out a laugh and nudged me with her shoulder. “You realize you just said that on camera.”

  “Oh, shit.” I kept forgetting that I shouldn’t put quite so much real into this reality show. “Can you edit out the orgasm part?”

  Marcy shook her head, eyes twinkling. “I think you can count on that making the final cut.”

  I closed my eyes. “My mother is going to see that. Think before I speak. Got it.” I opened my eyes and smiled. “Anything else, or can Niecy and I go munch on the seaweed and celery we’re no doubt getting for lunch?”

  “One last thing. What are your thoughts about the rooming situation?” Marcy asked.

  Niecy piped up, “We didn’t live in the dorms after freshman year when we were in college, so you can imagine how excited we are to live in one now.”

  I nodded with much attitude. “And having us share suites with our partners? Nice. I see you all have this rigged for maximum dramatic potential.”

  Clearly Marcy was on a fishing expedition. “Does it bother you being in close quarters with Malachi, your ex-fiancé?”

  I shot her a look. “You know, you could stand to be a wee bit more subtle. I’m not taking the bait. Whose idea was it for partners to share suites?”

  Marcy smiled. “We thought that would foster solidarity between the teams.”

  “You thought it would cause more drama,” Niecy corrected.

  Sensing she’d gotten all she was going to get from us, Marcy signaled the cameras off. “Thanks, ladies, lunch is being served in the cafeteria and then you have your first competition this afternoon.”

  “Oh, goodie.” Niecy smirked. “I can’t wait.”

  As I lay face down in a shallow pond of what I hoped was just mud, I again wondered how my life had come to this. Raising my face and arms toward the heavens, I railed. “Seriously, Jesus? What did I do to deserve this? I’m a good Southern Christian lady. I attend church on Sundays. I may have committed an illicit deed or two in my past, and I’m partial to many adult beverages, but really?! If you just let me get through this with a sliver of dignity left, I will swear off Bienville sauce and fruity martinis except on Mardi Gras. I’ll endeavor to do the right thing for the rest of my days. I’m begging, here.”

  The entire cast, crew, and slew of onlookers dissolved into laughter at my dramatics. Malachi, who had finished the course minutes ago, jogged back across the obstacle course from hell. He leaned down and extended a hand.

  “Babe, you were supposed to leap over the rock, tip across the logs, and then jump over the swampy area. Jump o-ver.” He motioned with his whole body. “O-ver.”

  I shot him a look of regal disdain as I grasped his hand. “You think I meant to land face first in this muck? Like I’m already not glam enough for TV? Is that what you really think, Mal?”

  “Um . . .” As he pulled me up, I saw the smirk on his face and couldn’t resist. With the little dexterity I had left, I yanked him off balance and slid a foot behind the knee that wasn’t surgically repaired. I didn’t play fair, but I didn’t fight dirty either.

  He went down like a fir tree at Christmastime. What I hadn’t calculated was his considerable weight landing directly on top of me and both of us winding up splattered with the swampy mess. And there we were in a bit of a compromising situation in front of town and television. Filthy. In more ways than one.

  Mal stared down at me and his eyes narrowed before he flung his head back and roared with laughter. I snickered and then joined him, giggling helplessly. I put a hand on his chest and rolled so that he was in the mud and tried to lift myself off of him. His hands gripped my hips and held me in place. Straddling the ex for all the world to see? Awesome. My life was so much win right now.

  “Carissa, if you wanted to get down and dirty? All you had to do was ask. I would have preferred that you’d picked a less public place to show me what you had in mind, though.” His bad-boy grin was in full effect.

  I scooped up a handful of muck in one fist while sliding the other up his chest with an innocent smile on my face. His brows raised as I leaned over him. When my lips were a breath away from his, I took the fistful of mud and smashed it into the top of his head.

  “Just a little something to cool you down, Malachi,” I announced before jumping up to run the rest of the obstacle course.

  “Woman!” he bellowed, climbing out of the muck.

  I was already gone. I scaled the rock wall like my life depended it. I looked over my shoulder once and ran for the finish line with all the adrenaline my thirty-something, oft-neglected body had left.

  Mal caught up with me just after I crossed the finish line, my hands raised in victory. His arms came around me and he swung me around. I looked up at his handsome, mud-streaked face and blinked with fake innocence. “We finished.”

  “Yes. In third place and muddy as hell. You know how much I hate to lose.”

  I rolled my eyes and patted his filthy face. “Yes, your aversion to losing is something I know well. But Mal, there’s always tomorrow. I promise to do better tomorrow.”

  “Actually, you two have a chance to make up the points you lost right now!” Jim Swindle’s overly cheerful voice cut in loudly.

  I really had to remember that cameras were pointed at me 24-7. With a sigh, I turned toward Jim. All the other contestants were lined up beneath the Losing to Win banner. They were staring at Mal and me with undisguised amusement. I decided to ignore them for now. “How would we do that, Jim?”

  “Well, you two can decide to accept the blind challenge. If you accept it and complete it, you automatically take the lead.”

  “What’s the challenge?” I asked suspiciously.

  Jim gave me a pitying look. “Well, now—that’s why we call it a blind challenge. You have to agree sight unseen.”

  “We’ll do it,” Mal announced.

  “Wait a minute, Big Baller, you do not get to decide for the both of us. You’ve done that before and that did not turn out well,” I sniped.

  He glared down at me. “Actually, you made a pretty big decision for the both of us a few years back and that didn’t turn out so well either.”

  “Turned out just fine.”

  “Says who?”

  “I say. That’s who.”

  “And you’d be wrong. Again. Not that you’d ever deign to admit it,” he snapped.

  “We are so not going there. I’m not going to eat goats’ balls or roach intestines just because you hate to lose.” I crossed my arms and matched him glare for glare.

  “Um, I don’t think roaches have intestines, Rissa,” Jordy called out, breaking the tension. Everyone dissolved into laughter as Jim stepped toward us.

  “That’s an entirely different reality show,” he said, shaking his head. “Believe me, the last thing we’d have you do on Losing to Win is any kind of eating challenge.”

  Realizing Mal and I were still toe to toe, I took a step back. “Oh. Good point.” I thought for a minute. “You know what? I’m dressed like this, have been dipped in mud, and smell like a swamp. I’m sweating what’s left of my pleasing personality away in this hot-ass Louisiana sun, I’ve eaten the equivalent of a side salad all today, and I’m stuck being roomies with my ex. How much further downhill could it go from here? Bring it on, Jim.”

  In my peripheral vision, I saw Bliss hopping up and down with unmitigated glee. Dammit. I was in for it now. Whatevs. Like the true Southern Belle I was, I squared my shoulders, stuck my chest out, sucked in my stomach, raised my face to the camera, and flashed the smile that had w
on me Junior Miss Belle Haven more years ago then we need to count. “Whatcha got?”

  Mal slid back to stand next to me and squeezed my shoulder. I looked up at him. He was staring down at me with a mix of admiration, pride, and pleasure. “You heard the lady, Mr. Swindle. Bring it.”

  Jim smiled wide, almost blinding us with his teeth. “Carissa Wayne and Malachi Knight, you will be playing ‘truth or dare’ tonight! We’ll prepare the questions and the dares. You’ll have to complete five rounds. If you forfeit or walk away, you stay in last place. If you complete all five rounds to the judges’ satisfaction, you move to first place and you win this week’s cash prize.”

  I rolled my eyes for the umpteenth time that day. “What are we? Back in junior high again?”

  “Who are the judges?” Mal asked.

  I nodded. “Oh, good question, Mal.”

  Jim bared his Zoom-whitened teeth again in his Hollywood version of a smile and pointed. “Your fellow contestants.”

  “Yes!” Suzette said with a pump of her fist. Even though she looked like holy hell and basically had had Jordy carry her through the obstacle course, she seemed to be enjoying my abject humiliation and discomfort with genuine giddiness.

  XJ, who had stayed pretty quiet all day, just shook his head. “Wow, this is not your day, Cari.”

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed. I caught Niecy’s eye and glared at her. “This is all your damn fault!”

  She blinked twice. “Beg pardon? How do you figure? What did I do?”

  “All that snarky attitude you were giving the camera in the confessional earlier. The bounce-back bad jou jou landed on me.”

  She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “Better you than me.”

  “Jou jou?” Jim asked uncertainly. “What is jou jou?”

  This time my grin was wide as I walked past him toward the refreshment table. “Yes, Jim, le jou jou: the Louisiana equivalent of karma. Something you should worry about . . . a lot.” I grabbed a bottle of water and emptied it over my head. Looking over my shoulder, I asked, “Is it time for our next two bites of food yet?”