Miss Congeniality

by Marie Garner

  “I need to see how you and pretty boy over here shake up,” Jonah said bluntly, ignoring Lance’s cry of protest at being called pretty. “I’ve been reading the papers.” He raised his eyebrow at Brea. “However, you and I both know most of what they report is bullshit. But I need to see how you two connect.” Brea nodded her head; she hated this part of the job. She would be unable to get away from him. They would be ‘dating’ on Maggie Beach this season, and so she was forced to get up close and physical with him.

  “Do you want me to get ready first?” Brea asked desperately in a bid for time. She knew what he was going to have them do: go through some of their lines, and maybe kiss. She was NOT ready for that, especially after all her unresolved feelings from their kiss the other day.

  “No, I want you to get your stuff and go through a couple of scenes while everyone else gets ready.” All righty then, Brea thought, here goes nothing.

  Forty-five minutes later and Brea was ready to cry. Or kill Lance. Either one would make her feel better, although the thought of shedding his blood gave her a better feeling of satisfaction. It had been ridiculously awful. Never one to have stage fright, she seemed to forget everything she had rehearsed the last couple of days when she stared into those green eyes. And he knew it, the bastard, and he played right into it. He ran a finger down her cheek, causing her to jerk back, or put his hand on the small of her back at one point, causing her to stiffen. Jonah kept yelling, telling her to loosen up and fucking act, causing her to become more and more agitated. She knew who was to blame, and he was staring at her sympathetically when Jonah ran off talking about working with a bunch of amateurs. He moved toward her, but she refused the gesture, simply shaking her head and walking off to break down alone.

  A quick crying jag followed by a stint with wardrobe and makeup, and Brea was ready to do battle again. That was what she started looking at her encounters with Lance as—a fucking war. He was making her look stupid and unprofessional, two traits she hated. Brea breathed deeply, smoothing out the skirt which was part of today’s wardrobe, and decided what she needed to do was get away from him. She was going to have a strictly-professional relationship with Lance from here on out, despite the fact every time he touched her she wanted to sink into him. And one of the ways to deal with him was to answer the text message she got an hour ago from Greg Peters, begging for a second date. She and Greg had gone out two weeks ago, but she had written him off as too boring, blowing off his earlier text messages. However, today Brea was thinking he seemed like a pretty good bet. If anything, it would at least give her a couple of Lance-free hours.

  Having made her decision, Brea went onto the set with a new resolve. Although some part of her southern hospitality meant she should apologize for being unprofessional, she knew Jonah wouldn’t want an apology. He wanted perfection, and she was determined to give it to him this afternoon.

  “Ahhh…the princess returns,” Jonah said mockingly, hands on hips and ready to go. She didn’t respond, and he wouldn’t expect her to.

  “Where do you want me?” Brea asked, trying to figure out where they were in the script based on the setup of the set.

  “Over there.” He pointed where Lance was standing. “We are going to try again,” he drawled for emphasis, “and see if we can’t get this scene right.” She moved toward Lance, giving him a slight smile when she stood beside him. She would have slapped that damn smirk off his face if she weren’t already in a bit of a tough spot from earlier, so she decided just to ignore him.

  “Let’s go people! We don’t have all day!” Jonah clapped his hands for attention, signaling Brea’s time to shine.

  Eight grueling hours later, and Brea was thrilled when Jonah yelled, “Cut!” He nodded at her, showing his satisfaction. That was Jonah. He wouldn’t tell you he was satisfied with you; he would just nod. She turned to Raquel and Clare, who were standing off to the side, and smiled in relief. Jonah had promised they could leave after this scene, having gone through four pages of script today.

  “One day down—” Brea started.

  “About a million to go,” Clare finished.

  Brea groaned, “Don’t remind me.”

  Raquel chuckled. “I know, right. You want to go grab some dinner?”

  Brea shook her head. “Can’t. I have a date.” She turned at the growl over her shoulder to see Lance, looking like he was ready to spit nails. She waved mockingly at him and turned back to the girls, hoping he would hear everything she was saying. It would only serve him right.

  Raquel looked confused. “Who do you have a date with? Last we heard—”

  “Greg,” she answered quickly, not wanting Raquel to give away the fact she was single. Best not to give away all her secrets; she was trying to make him jealous, not suspicious.

  “But I thought you said—”

  She was going to strangle Raquel, who wasn’t playing along like Brea wanted her. “That the last date was pretty good,” she cut her off. “He texted today, and I decided to go see him tonight.” Neither girl looked convinced, but she didn’t care about their opinion. She cared about Lance’s opinion, but he was too busy talking to someone else. A lot of good that did, she thought warily; he wasn’t even paying attention. Why she cared, when she was trying to get rid of him, was something to ponder later.

  “I’ll let you know what happens.” She waved goodbye, leaving quickly to get away from their questioning glances. Brea wasn’t stupid. She knew they wanted to ask more, but she didn’t want to talk about it right now. Plus, Lance didn’t even hear, so what was the damn point. Feeling a bit dejected, Brea made her way back to her trailer to gather her purse so she could get ready for her date.

  “Brea, wait up!” Lance was running toward her. She barely looked at him; he had ignored her most of the afternoon, and she just needed to leave.

  “I said wait up.” He grabbed her arm, turning her toward him.

  “What do you want?” she asked, pulling away from his grip and crossing her arms.

  “Nothing, I just wanted to say bye.” There had to be a catch. She waited, and sure enough, he didn’t disappoint. “And wish you well on your date,” he said on a sneer.

  “Ahhh.” She moved closer, crowding into his space. “The truth comes out. Jealous?”

  He scoffed. “He would have to be real competition in order for me to be jealous.” He moved closer, where the slightest movement would result in a kiss. “And we both know who you really want to be with you tonight.”

  She arched her brow. “And who would that be?”

  “Me,” he whispered softly, brushing his lips across hers lightly.

  She pulled back, staring into amused green eyes. “Is that so?” She bit her lip, causing Lance’s eyes to drop down. He licked his lips, leaning down, when a series of beeps sounded from her pocket. She jerked back, the moment gone, before she reached in her pocket to retrieve her phone. Lance stood there, running his hands down his face, watching her as she glanced at the phone display. It was Greg confirming their time, but that well-placed text did a hell of a lot more than confirming the time.

  “Um…” she didn’t know what to say, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “That the loser?” He gestured toward her phone.

  She crossed her arms. “He’s not a loser. And whoever was texting—” she waved her phone in his face “—is none of your business.”

  “Then why are you trying so hard to make sure I know it?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t try to eavesdrop on personal conversations.”

  He rubbed his hands through his hair, causing brown pieces to sprout up. She figured that was what it would look like after sex, causing her body to tingle in anticipation. “Maybe you should just stop trying to pretend like you’re not attracted to me.”

  She held up her hands in surrender. “I can’t talk to you. Your ego is as big as this damn room. Not everyone wants you.”

  “Three things. One, my ego is not the only thing that’s big, whic
h I’m sure you felt the other night. Two, I don’t think everyone wants me. I think YOU want me, just like I want you, and I’m pretty sure if I reached in your pants right now you would be wet and willing. Whatever excuse you’re giving yourself to stop this won’t work forever. And three, try not to think about me too much tonight. Wouldn’t want to make your date jealous.” He kissed her, his tongue running across the seam of her lips. Brea was determined not to react but found herself parting her lips to allow his tongue in anyway, while she wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her closer so she could feel his erection pushing into her stomach.

  She lifted her leg on his thigh. He pushed her back against the wall and rocked against her while he rubbed his hand up her thigh. He moved his lips, pressing little kisses along her neck, and she moved her hand to rub it along the back of his. He continued his ministrations for so long she thought she was going to combust, or drag him to the floor. He pulled back slightly, leaning his forehead against hers. They were both breathing heavily, Lance rubbing his hands down her arms while Brea tried to right herself by pulling her leg down and moving her hands from behind his neck. He kissed her softly and stepped back, releasing her. She licked her lips, tucking her hair behind her ears, not knowing what to say.

  “Don’t think about me too much.” Lance winked and left, his steps echoing through the hallway.

  “Too late…” Brea whispered to the empty hallway.

  “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  “You do?” Brea asked Greg excitedly. Maybe she was wrong about him and the first impressions she had a couple of weeks ago were misleading. “What is it?”

  “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he replied seriously. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. Unbelievable. He sounded like he was guarding national secrets.

  “You do know I am the girl who reads the last page of a book first. I really want to know.”

  “Do you really?” he asked curiously. She rolled her eyes. Maybe he was as boring as she remembered. But she had already agreed, and she was never one to turn down a surprise.

  “Of course. Who doesn’t?”

  “Me,” he replied slowly, his tone suggesting he thought she was a bit crazy. Which she was for agreeing to this.

  Okay. So, here was that awkward moment where the joke clearly fell flat, and the notion of spending an evening with him makes me want to poke out my eyeballs.

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Brea said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Where do you want to meet tonight?”

  Greg seemed to mull it over. “Just come to my house, and then we can go to dinner after that.”

  “Sounds good. See you in a bit.” Brea hung up, determined to make the best of this evening.

  “Wowser!” Greg said when he opened the door to a smiling Brea. He leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks, European style, then looked her up and down again. Brea glanced at the dark skinny jeans and light-blue top, complete with black ballet flats, silver bangle bracelets, and her long beaded chain. She didn’t see anything amazing about her outfit, but Greg clearly thought there was because he wouldn’t stop grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “I like everything about you,” he answered, head bobbing up and down like a puppy. He stepped back to let her in the house. “Come on in, we’ll get to the surprise before dinner.” She walked through the foyer, turning back to wait for him.

  “So, where is this surprise you’ve been talking about?” she asked, following his direction when he pointed toward the living room.

  “In here. You won’t believe the excitement I felt when I found this the other day.” He walked swiftly into the other room, going to the desk at the other end. She stopped in the doorway, observing him rifle through the pile of papers stacked atop it. Brea wasn’t sure how he found anything in the mess, but he soon shouted, “Found it!” He started waving a book wildly.

  “What is that?” she asked curiously, walking closer while he continued to wave it so she couldn’t read it. Brea grabbed it when she reached him, looking down at the book he was so eager to show her.

  “It’s Mad Libs!” he shouted excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  “It is!” She shook her hands, feigning her own enthusiasm. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I am on a date with a damn middle-schooler. Brea watched him, so thrilled he was about to pee himself, not sure how she was going to fake it. This was going to be harder than faking an orgasm. At least then, you had a slight chance of pleasure. This was going to be Hell, pure and simple.

  One excruciating hour later, their game of Mad Libs only slightly more fun than a root canal with no Novocain, and dinner was shaping up to be another horrendous affair. He really was incredibly dull, hence the reason she hadn’t called him following the first date. Greg was a stockbroker, so he regaled her of stories about the market tanking and projected up-and-comers, a topic Brea had zero interest in discussing. Zero. At least he brought her to one of her favorite places, a mom-and-pop pizza place, which had the best supreme pizza and garlic knots. Brea knew the owners, so they always accommodated her by putting her at a table in the back so she wasn’t bothered too much whenever she ate there. It also helped that it was off the beaten path and not a lot of people knew she frequented the place.

  “Don’t you agree?” Brea zoned back into the conversation at his question. She didn’t even know what he said, but both he and the waiter were expecting an answer.

  “Um….sure,” she replied, picking up her drink to cover the fact she hadn’t been paying attention.

  “Great.” He nodded affirmatively, handing both menus to the waiter. She pursed her lips, confused because she hadn’t ordered. Not wanting to make a scene, Brea waited until the waiter walked away before leaning toward him.

  “Why didn’t we order?” she asked.

  “We did.” He pointed toward the direction of the waiter. “I just asked if you wanted to share the Hawaiian pizza and you said yes.” He picked up his drink, sticking his tongue out of his mouth to grasp the straw, moving it from side to side. Brea blinked, certain her eyes were deceiving her as he batted the straw like it was trying to get away from him. He finally bit it, which looked less attractive than what he did before, drinking so rapidly she had to watch his Adam’s apple move repeatedly.

  “Okay…” she answered, rubbing her forehead to ward off the impending headache. She could eat the Hawaiian pizza, even if she had to choke down the slices. Who would want to eat pineapple on their pizza? “I didn’t realize we ordered, but it’s fine.”

  “Well, we had to. I don’t know if I want to pay for this yet, so I figured it was best to share.” He leaned back and folded his hands behind his head.

  Brea crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean you don’t know if you want to pay for this? That is what happens on a date. A guy pays for the meal.” He moved toward her, leaning his elbows on the table to be heard over the chatter of the diners.

  Greg shrugged. “Well, technically, this may or may not be a date. A date generally implies some kind of dinner and the promise of sexual activity afterward. Let’s be honest, you stiffed me after the first one, so I don’t know if I want to make the same mistake twice.”

  Brea narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me you thought the first date was a mistake?”

  “I regretted the way it ended.” She raised her eyebrows, leaning back as the waiter placed the pizza on the table. Brea leaned in, not wanting to be overheard by the people sitting around them.

  “Let me tell you something about regrets, you asshole. I also regret the ending, but not the original one, where I didn’t answer your calls or texts. I regret the revised one, where I stupidly decided to give you another chance hoping something would be different this time around. That you wouldn’t bore me to tears and I would suddenly find you interesting enough potentially to continue to see you. But no,
you had to open your mouth and be a dick once again. I would never have sex with you if you were the last man on Earth and we needed to reproduce to let mankind live on. And another thing,” she jerked her purse over her shoulder while she continued her tirade, “no girl wants to play Mad Libs on a date or watch you stab a straw with your tongue. The sexual undertone does NOT work in your favor.” She stood up, waiting for his reply, surprised when there was none.

  “And by the way, dinner’s on you.” Brea left, head held high, pulling her phone to call Raquel or Clare. She wanted to call a cab, to be alone to recover from her disastrous date, but she had accidently left her wallet at her house, not realizing it until she reached for her phone, so she had to rely on someone else for a ride. Brea hoped Clare would answer because she wouldn’t ask questions. Ten minutes and two phone calls later, Brea knew she’d have no choice. “Hey, girl, hey! Aren’t you on a hot date?” Brea rubbed her forehead, feeling the headache she had been trying to ward off coming on full force.

  “No hot date, more like hot asshole. Can you come get me?” Brea feverishly hoped Raquel wouldn’t give her a hard time, but Brea should’ve known she wouldn’t get off easily.

  “What the hell happened with Greg? You ran out of there with a fire up your ass, so excited you were going to pee yourself to get to your date, and now you want me to come get you?”

  “I wouldn’t be calling you if I didn’t need it. You can’t leave a fellow wedding crasher behind.”

  Raquel scoffed. “That only works if you are at a wedding, which you aren’t. You’re on a hot date. I think this one needs a story before I decide to get in my car and come get you.” Brea was going to hurt Raquel, right after she picked her up.

  “Let me tell you a story. It is about the blonde-headed actress who gets hurt in a terrible accident because she didn’t answer her friend’s 9-1-1.” A 911 was the worst of the worst, their code word for helping each other get out of dodgy situations for years. The women were often the target of some crazy-ass people, and they needed some signal.