America's Next Reality Star

by Laura Heffernan

  “Oh no! Any idea when you’ll be back?”

  “I’m not sure, babe. Looks like at least three weeks. I’ll keep you posted. May not be home for a while.”

  “What about our Book of Mormon tickets next weekend?” I’d eaten ramen and boxed macaroni and cheese for two months to afford them.

  “You’ll have to take someone else. Or you could sell them?”

  No way I’d miss a show I’d been waiting to see for years. One of my friends might want to go. Or maybe my mom could visit for the weekend. “Yeah, I guess. . .”

  Maybe he heard my disappointment, because his tone changed. “Wait. I’m sorry. You should go. You’ve been looking forward to this for months. I’ll pay you for the unused ticket if you can’t find anyone on short notice.”

  Taking his money wasn’t an option, but I appreciated the offer. “You don’t have to do that. If I can’t find someone, I’ll go by myself.”

  “Sorry, babe, I’m about to go through a tunnel. Gotta go.”

  “Okay. Have fun. I love you.”

  “I love—” The roaring in my ear stopped, and he was gone.

  * * *

  The oven chimed.

  I giggled. “Why, what’s that?”

  This whole thing was so over-the-top I couldn’t stop laughing. It was Thursday night, and my friend Brandon had come over to help film my audition video.

  I led him from the closet into the kitchen, narrating. “Well, I just finished baking my fantastic secret recipe chocolate chip cookies!”

  Brandon walked to the trash, and bent low, still filming.

  “Why are you shooting my garbage?” I hissed.

  He laughed. “Honey, I’m showing them your ‘secret recipe.’” The empty Toll House bag perched atop the can for the world to see.

  “Ha!” I waved the bag in front of the camera. “You caught me, America. This is my secret recipe. But, hey, if you cast me on the show, cookies for everyone!”

  “Hey, Jen?” Brandon sniffed the air. “Don’t you want to take them out of the oven?”

  “Oh no!”

  Yes, I wanted to do that. I yanked the handle. With an oven mitt in each hand, I waved smoke away and grabbed the smoldering tray. The cookie sheet clattered on to the cooling rack. Still fanning the air, I turned off the oven. The remaining batches could wait.

  When I stepped back, the black knob stayed in my hand.

  A camera lens entered my field of vision, reminding me I had more important things to do than fume over a broken oven. An awesome video could fix my financial woes.

  “Brandon! What are you doing?”

  “I’m showing America what an excellent baker you are.”

  Blackened lumps lay on the tray. I poked one with a spatula, and it crumbled. Maybe I liked them that way.

  Or maybe it had to do with the oven dial in my right hand.

  Brandon turned the camera toward himself. “Don’t you want to eat those? Mmmmmm!”

  I swatted his arm. “This was a test batch. You distracted me.”

  The fire alarm blared.

  “Oh, shit!”

  I raced to the door and yanked it open. Then I ran around the room, opening the windows, while Brandon waved a dish towel in front of the smoke detector.

  “And this, America, is the beautiful sound of my fire alarm. That’s right! Every time anyone burns microwave popcorn, these dulcet tones fill my ears.”

  Blissfully, the blaring stopped. Brandon stepped closer to the window and peered out.

  “Hey, Jen, can we talk about your ‘view of the Space Needle’?”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, I mean, technically it’s there. Did you want me to put binoculars on the camera lens? Or maybe a periscope? Because that’s what it would take if anyone wanted to see it.”

  I put my hands on my hips and made a face at him, but he ignored me.

  “Oh! I could film you hanging out the window to get a glimpse while I white-knuckle the back of your shirt?”

  “Just what I need. Hey, America, here’s my ass!”

  “That’s not a bad idea. Turn around.”

  “What?”

  “You want people to want to watch you on TV, right? You’ve got a great ass. Let’s show them!”

  “Brandon, you’ve lost your mind.”

  He lowered the camera and stepped toward me.

  “It’s still on! The red light’s blinking.”

  “That’s the off light.” I glared at him. “Fine. Just walk toward the door. I’ll follow you.”

  “Does Mark know about your fixation with my ass?” I grabbed a spoonful of cookie dough and warded him off with it.

  The laughter on his face died. “Actually. . .He doesn’t know it yet, but Mark and I are done.”

  My face dropped. The spoon clattered to the tile floor. They’d always been my example of the perfect couple everyone wanted to be. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I didn’t know.”

  He put one arm around me. “No worries, honey. I haven’t told anyone yet—and you can’t, either. But we’ve drifted apart since graduation. I pretended everything was fine, but we can’t go on like this. I’m looking for my own place.”

  Words caught in my throat. I couldn’t respond.

  “Seriously, cheer up. No way you could’ve known. Hey, why don’t we order—” He sniffed the air. “Go out for dinner? Somewhere less pungent? You’ve got enough footage. The casting people will love your burnt cookies and our banter.”

  “You want to be in the video?”

  “Duh! Why do you think I dropped everything and rushed over here instead of watching The Millionaire Matchmaker while reading my Torts assignment?”

  I popped up on to my toes to kiss his cheek. “Good point. Plus, having a golden Adonis of a man in my audition video can only help. Maybe they only want people with super attractive friends.”

  He flexed into a bodybuilder’s pose. “Want to grab the camera? I could take my shirt off.”

  I threw a cookie at him. He swatted it away. “It’s a good thing I know you’re too modest to do that, or I’d wonder why we’re friends.”

  “And it’s good I know you don’t usually burn the cookies. Grab your coat. I’m starving.”

  * * *

  Dominic returned from his business trip two days before my birthday. He surprised me Saturday morning by picking me up for a mysterious “getaway.” I waited in the living room while he packed a bag for me, trying not to scream out instructions about which clothes hadn’t fit in months. When he finished, he led me down the stairs to the front of the building.

  “Is this blindfold really necessary?” I asked as he helped me into his car.

  “It’s not a surprise if you can see where we’re going, is it?”

  Instead of answering, I crossed my arms and leaned back into my seat. The seatbelt clicked around me.

  “If you’ll stop glaring at the window,” Dominic said, “I’ll hand you your coffee.”

  “Oh! Yes, please!” A moment later, a warm cup entered my hand. Dominic’s lips touched my forehead. “Thank you. So where are we going?”

  He laughed, a low gravelly sound that sent a tingle down my spine. “Nice try. You’ll have your answer soon.” He turned up the radio to discourage further questions. My mind raced.

  Was this it? Did he plan a romantic weekend so he could propose? We’d been dating a long time; cohabitation or engagement was the natural next step. I let myself dream about what he would say, how it would make me feel until the car stopped.

  The music faded away, and Dominic finally spoke. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Tapping my foot, I gathered clues without doing the obvious and removing the blindfold. I wanted to guess the surprise, not ruin it. When Dominic opened the door, cold air rushed in, carrying a whiff of burning wood and evergreen trees. Nearby, tires crunched as a car’s engine drifted by. Where did Dom take me that wasn’t
on paved roads? A few yards away, a car door slammed.

  Maybe we were somewhere in the mountains. Hopefully not a picnic, considering the chill in the air and the frozen ground.

  Before I narrowed down our location, Dominic returned, helping me out of the car and leading me through a room where my footsteps echoed. A ding sounded, metal whooshed, and we entered what had to be an elevator. A moment later, he led me across plush carpet, trying not to stumble and fall. The blindfold was a little exciting at first, but my fingers itched to remove it. Walking was much easier when I could see ahead of me. Something scraped against metal, gears turned, and a door handle rasped. We were in a hotel. Had to be.

  When he removed my blindfold, my jaw dropped. A king-sized bed dominated the room, buried under a stack of fluffy pillows. Real pillows, not those doll-sized hotel ones. My fingers sank into the top one. When I sat on the mattress to remove my shoes, a cloud embraced me. My bed at home would never feel the same.

  Next to the bed, a sitting area waited, complete with one of those expensive couches that looked nice but felt like a rock. In the corner of the room, gleaming wood caught my eye. My hands clapped over my mouth.

  “Oh my God! We have a fireplace”

  Dominic’s muffled voice came from the bathroom. “Did you see what’s in here?”

  “Um. . .What are you about to show me? Because when I mentioned taking our relationship to the next level—”

  “Ha ha.” Dominic pulled me into the room. “Come see the tub.”

  Gold and white marble glinted in the lights. The shower hid behind a smoky glass door tucked into one corner. Next to it, a similar enclosure concealed the toilet. On the other side of the room sat a bathtub roughly the size of my entire apartment. You could fit a basketball team in there. A peek inside confirmed it had jets. We had our own private hot tub.

  I spun around, bouncing on my toes. “Oh, Dominic! It's beautiful. I love it! Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome. Happy birthday.”

  After a brief kiss, I went to change into something without coffee stains from the trip. When my shirt hit the floor, warm hands caressed my belly from behind. Dominic’s hot breath touched my ear.

  “We don’t need to ski today, right? We can just stay, here, order room service, and. . .”

  I turned into him. “Mmmmm. I like the sound of that.”

  Things were heating up when a buzz sounded from Dominic’s pants. “Ignore it,” he muttered, trailing a line of kisses down my neck. I obliged, one hand unbuttoning his shirt. The other hand cupped the back of his neck.

  Dominic’s pants buzzed again. And again. I couldn’t focus on what we were doing. I stepped back.

  “Unless part of your surprise is a new toy, maybe you should answer that.”

  He cleared his throat. “No, it’s just the woman taking my patient this weekend. She tends to overthink things. But if the phone’s bothering you, I’ll turn it off.”

  “Thanks.”

  Frustration twitched across Dominic’s face as he looked at the phone. “Sorry, babe, one second.”

  “Okay. I’m going to run a bath.”

  My apartment didn’t even have a bathtub. The second I’d seen the hip-level marble and the jets, I’d wanted to sink into the tub and let steaming water pound my cares away.

  Dominic scrolled through his phone, probably not really listening. “Sure, sounds great.”

  In the bathroom, hot water poured from the taps while I dug through the provided toiletries. I’d just found one labeled “Relaxing Bubbles” when Dominic stuck his head through the doorway. “Hey, babe, I’m going to go get some champagne. I’ll be back in a few.”

  “We don’t need champagne! Let’s enjoy the tub. . .and each other.”

  “I’m not a bath guy. Have fun, relax. You won’t even miss me.” Before I could protest, the door closed behind him.

  Stupid job, always running him ragged. Poor guy. He needed a permanent position at one of the local hospitals.

  I piled my hair on top of my head before climbing into the tub. The steaming water eased stress I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. Lavender-scented bubbles settled on to my skin. I folded up a nearby hand towel to create a pillow. With a contented sigh, I leaned back against the edge of the tub and closed my eyes, letting the jets do their job.

  Only a glass of champagne could’ve made the moment more perfect. Or my boyfriend.

  Sometime later, I sat up with a start. Jets of hot water no longer pounded against my back. No bubbles floated on the surface of the water. My teeth chattered in the cool air. My mouth reminded me of an old sweat sock, the unwelcome taste of falling asleep without brushing my teeth.

  I stretched and rubbed my eyes. No sounds reached me from the rest of the suite. “Dom?”

  No one answered.

  “Are you there?”

  Silence.

  Weird. I stood, wrapping a thick white bath towel around my body. After my own threadbare towels left over from college, I wished these mini-clouds were complimentary, like the shampoo. How many years would I have to save to buy a couple?

  My phone sat on the bedside table. Dominic’s voicemail answered my call.

  Now he turns it off. . .

  Inside the closet, I found two waffle-print bathrobes. I slid into one, marveling at the softness against my damp skin. The sleeves hung well below my fingertips. Still, I wrapped it tightly and tied a bow, rolled up the sleeves, then dropped my room key into a pocket and went to find my boyfriend.

  It didn’t take long to find him. When the elevator doors opened, Dominic exited, holding a bottle of champagne. “Where have you been? I thought you only went downstairs for a minute.”

  “So sorry, babe, I ran into this guy from college. He just got engaged. Insisted I have a shot with him. I figured you wouldn’t mind, since you were taking a bath. But I should’ve come right back.” He dropped to his knees and held up hands clasped around the bottle, bottom lip trembling. “Please forgive me? Pwetty pwease, with a cherry?”

  I giggled at his exaggerated contrition. My irritation evaporated. After all, I’d been asleep. Not the most exciting date. I leaned forward and kissed his forehead, bringing my breasts inches from his face.

  Dominic peeked inside the neckline of my bathrobe. “Wait a minute. Are you wearing anything under this?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.

  I helped him to his feet. “Come find out.”

  * * *

  We spent the next day skiing. Dominic persuaded me to leave the bunny trail behind and helped me on the more advanced slopes. I only fell a couple of times. He dropped me off at home after dinner, exhausted but happy.

  My thoughts consumed me as I ninjaed my apartment door open. Something brushed my shoulder where it braced against the door. A piece of paper fluttered.

  Distracted, I opened the letter, letting the door fall shut behind me. The happy aura lingering from the weekend evaporated.

  The words NOTICE TO VACATE jumped out at me.

  What?

  As I read the full text, my heartbeat slowed a touch. The property owner was converting the building to condominiums. If I wanted to stay, I could sign a purchase and sale agreement by the end of April. Otherwise, I needed to leave on May 31. Plenty of time to make a decision.

  No way I could buy this place, unless they’d accept a five-hundred-dollar down payment. That would be. . . let’s see. . . about one-quarter of one percent of the purchase price. I had a nice overtime check coming, but even if I didn’t need it for other bills, it would barely cover a down payment on one of those tiny houses on TV with a toilet in the kitchen.

  A vision swam before my eyes. I saw myself in Dominic’s kitchen, baking cookies (in a working oven). He sat at the island, chatting with me. Waking up in Dominic’s king-sized bed every morning. Talking until late at night, the way we had at the hotel. Snuggling when we woke up together in the morning. Maybe getting evicted wasn’t so bad afte
r all.

  Moving in with Dominic would be perfect, and the notice provided me with the motivation I needed to make the suggestion.

  CHAPTER 3

  THE FISHBOWL APPLICANT QUESTIONNAIRE

  PLEASE ANSWER “YES” OR “NO” TO THE FOLLOWING STATEMENTS. IF NECESSARY, WRITE AN EXPLANATION IN THE SPACE PROVIDED:

  HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CONVICTED OF A CRIME?

  HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CHARGED WITH OR PLEAD GUILTY TO A CRIME?

  DO YOU LIKE SHRUBS?

  HAVE YOU EVER BEEN INVOLVED IN A FISTFIGHT?

  HAVE YOU EVER HIT SOMEONE IN SELF-DEFENSE?

  DO YOU HAVE ANY ALLERGIES?

  HAVE YOU EVER BEEN A PARTY TO A CIVIL LAWSUIT OR OTHER COURT PROCEEDING?

  HAVE YOU EVER SET A FIRE INTENTIONALLY, OTHER THAN A CAMP OR COOKING FIRE?

  The following Tuesday, my phone rang. A number flashed on the screen. Where was area code 714?

  “Hello?”

  An unfamiliar female voice spoke. “Is this Jennifer Reid?”

  “Yes.”

  Hopefully it wasn’t someone from the hospital’s billing department. I meant to start making bigger payments, really.

  “Hi, Jennifer! This is Stephanie from ABC Casting.”

  Oh. My. God. It had to be good news. They didn’t call to reject people, did they?

  “The interviewer loved you! And your video was fantastic! We’d like to schedule a screen test. Can you come to Los Angeles next week?”

  Holy crap. It’s really happening!

  “That’s amazing, thank you! I’d love to go to LA.” Something prickled the back of my mind. “If I’m cast, how long will I be gone? I’m not clear on the whole process.”

  “The series will last ten weeks. The tentative schedule has the contestants arrive in Los Angeles on June 11. The winner will be announced near the end of August, and the finalists should be home a couple of days later.”