It Girl

by Nic Tatano

  Just reading that sentence made me blush. Though the thought made me smile.

  Anyway, as I've managed to "sleep in" on this Sunday morning till ten, I'm encouraged that every poll I've seen has Bradley in the lead by a fair margin. Either viewers think Number Six is the hottest of the bunch, they think we make a good looking couple, or they've taken my subtle-as-a-train-wreck hint and want to avoid making me even more sarcastic on The Morning Show.

  For what it's worth, I blew about two hundred bucks yesterday voting with my cell phone until my fingers got tired. Hey, a girl needs to support the veterans, you know? And every time I voted I couldn't help but think I was taking another buck out of Dexter Bishop's pocket.

  But before our usual brunch I wanted to swing by the set of Dance Off just to get the lay of the land.

  The network has several studios in its complex, a few for sitcoms, two for talk shows, and a big one for its long running soap opera Seduction Place which offers me the opportunity to occasionally run into some of the most perfect looking men on the planet. (It requires me to walk down a ridiculous amount of hallways, but I need my cardio.) The Dance Off studio lies at the opposite end of the building from the newsroom. Our Sunday morning news panel show is done in Washington so on any given weekend the whole place is pretty deserted. Since there are only a few security people and a skeleton crew manning the newsroom, I knew I could probably sneak in without being seen.

  Automatic lights kicked on as I headed down the hallway toward the door of studio 5-A, which featured a colorful sign with the Dance Off logo. I opened the door and moved into the dimly lit empty studio, which was set up to be half movie theater and half dance hall. One side featured about five hundred seats for the audience, with the front row about one foot off the ground.

  The other side featured a Lucite podium and two large round tables with bright red tablecloths. Twelve chairs surrounded each table, while a simple folded white place card sat in front of each chair.

  Hmmm. Assigned seating.

  Let's see where they put me.

  I moved toward the tables and started to walk around the first one, searching for my name and that of the man I now referred to as Number Six. I found his card first. To his left, the card of a has-been child star. To his right, that of the drug rehabbed singer. I quickly checked the rest of the cards.

  I wasn't even at this table.

  Sorry, Dexter, this just won't do.

  I moved to the second table and quickly found my card. Dexter had put me next to one of the dancers who did absolutely nothing for me.

  I grabbed my card, carried it to the other table, swapped it out with that of the singer, and brought hers over to my original seat.

  ***

  The audience was buzzing with ten minutes to go before we went live with the selection show. I'd arranged for Layla and Savannah to have seats in the front row, since they insisted on coming to every episode in order to watch me dance. But I know all they want is a shot at Bish the Dish so they made me promise to introduce them.

  Fine. Have at it. Knock yourselves out.

  Dexter was standing next to his podium talking to the director so I walked over to him and gently touched his forearm. "Dexter, can I borrow you for a minute? I have some friends who'd like to meet you."

  He offered a smile as the director nodded at me and headed back toward the control room. "Certainly. Lead on."

  I walked toward the front row and saw my friends sit up straight like they were in a 1950s Catholic school. Of course they weren't dressed like most of the audience in tee-shirts and fanny packs, since, let’s face it, we have become a nation of slobs. Layla wore a revealing red silk top with a short leather skirt that rode up her thigh; Savannah went for an asymmetrical look with her hair pinned up on one side. She'd done her eyes like an Egyptian princess while choosing an emerald green halter dress with a slit that showed off her boobs. If she moved in just the right way. And I knew at some point she would.

  I led Dexter to Layla and started with her. "Dexter, this is my best friend Layla. We've known each other since high school."

  He smiled at her and nodded his head a bit. "Pleasure."

  "Oh, the plezh-ahh is all mine," she said, mimicing his accent while wearing the biggest smile I'd ever seen.

  "She's a personal trainer."

  She whipped out a business card and handed it to him. "I'd be honored if you'd drop by for a body analysis. No charge, of course."

  Yeah, right. Body analysis my ass.

  He took the card and put it in his pocket while his eyes took inventory of her body. "I think I can work it into my schedule."

  I rolled my eyes at her, then continued. "And this is Savannah. She's a public relations consultant."

  And, judging from Dexter's sudden transition to a puppy dog look, she is made of solid Kryptonite.

  He locked on her like a heat seeking missile as he took her hand. "Oh my. Aren't you lovely."

  Unlike Layla, Savannah kept her cool and gave him a soft smile. "Why, sugah, y'all are so sweet to say that," she said, turning up the Southern accent to the level she refers to as "exponential magnolia." Savannah has always told me no man outside the South can resist her little Scarlett O'Hara thing, as her thick, sultry drawl would make Vivien Leigh sound like a longshoreman from New Jersey by comparison.

  "And what a charming accent," said Dexter.

  "My accent … why, yours just puts the peach in my cobbler."

  He furrowed his brow. "My dear, why would you endeavor to put fruit in your rubbish?"

  I shook my head. "I think you two need an interpreter. How about we head over to the United Nations after the show?"

  "Silly boy," said Savannah. "Cobbler is a Southern dessert. Ah just called y'all a main ingredient in somethin' sweet and delectable that you put in your mouth." She smiled, playfully bit her tongue while giving both eyebrows a quick lift.

  Dear God, the woman speaks porn.

  And now Dexter was the one to blush. "Well, that, uh, clears it up nicely. You work in public relations, do you?"

  "Ah do. Veronica will tell you ahm very good at bringin' out the best in people." Then she waved her hand like shooing a fly. "Pffft. But y'all are already successful and don't need help in that department from little ol' me."

  "One can always improve oneself," said Dexter. "Perhaps you might have some ideas for me."

  Savannah licked her lips as she leaned forward. (What a surprise.) The slit in the dress opened as if on cue, Dexter's eyes dropped and bugged out as he took in the view. "Oh, ah have ideas already about what ah can do for y'all."

  The floor director's yell thankfully broke his trance or the scene could have been taped and ended up on late night cable. "Ten minutes!"

  "Well," said Dexter, "I must be off. But—"

  Savannah's hand shot out toward him with a business card. "Call me," she said simply. "Tomorrow. At two."

  "Absolutely," he said, though his look said, Yes, Ma'am. "You ladies enjoy the show." He turned and headed back toward the stage.

  Layla shook her head as she looked at Savannah. "Well, so much for my complimentary body analysis."

  ***

  I headed for my newly assigned seat along with all the other contestants, pretending to be looking for my name card. The game of musical chairs continued as I reached the seat to the right of Number Six.

  My jaw dropped. The drug rehabbed singer was back in her original seat.

  At that moment she politely slid in front of me. "Excuse me, I'm sitting here."

  "Sure," I said. I looked at the remaining seats and saw Dexter smiling at me.

  Then he shot me a wink.

  I glared at him as I moved around the table, then discovered that not only was I not sitting next to Number Six, but I wasn't even at his table.

  Seats were quickly being filled as I headed for the other table and found my card.

  Next to Sergio.

  I looked up at Dexter. He licked one finger, then used it to wr
ite an imaginary number one on an invisible scoreboard.

  ***

  And then there were two.

  With seven minutes to go in the show, ten couples had been paired up.

  You guessed it, like the last kid chosen for a game of wiffle ball, I was still available.

  But so was Bradley.

  He was still sitting next to the stoned singer while Sergio occupied the seat next to me and continued to shoot me looks more appropriate to a seventies lounge lizard in a polyester leisure suit.

  Dexter had been giving me sly winks during every commercial break.

  And with one break to go, he dropped the final tease.

  "When we come back, we'll pair up our final couples. We'll find out who you, the viewers, think is the best partner for Veronica Summer. And she might be surprised at your decision. Back in a flash."

  "Annnndddd … we're clear!" said the floor director.

  I had exactly two minutes to rectify this.

  I got up and walked quickly over to Dexter's lucite podium. He smiled as I approached. "Is there a problem, Miss Summer?"

  This was now about more than spending a ton of time with a guy who I found incredibly attractive. This was about control, about Dexter not pulling my strings like some puppeteer. About showing the entertainment division I had a set of brass ones and could not be pushed around.

  It was time to play my trump card. And play it with a reporter's trick attached.

  I moved around the podium, put my thumb over his lapel microphone so no one in the control room could possibly hear me, leaned up and whispered in his ear. "You put me with Bradley or America is going to find out this show is fixed. Got it?"

  He looked side to side to make sure no one was in earshot. "You wouldn't do that to your own network," he said in a barely audible voice.

  Caught.

  "I'll take that as a confirmation the show isn't on the level."

  Dexter's eyes widened and filled with fear. His lower lip began to quiver, as if he'd been hooked like a trophy bass. "I … "

  "I have good friends at the competition who would love an exclusive." I looked right into his eyes with my best barroom death stare. "So, do we have a deal?"

  He gave me a slightly worried look as he gently removed my hand from his microphone. "You'd better return to your seat now, Miss Summer."

  I spun around and headed back to my table, then slid into the chair next to Sergio just as the floor director yelled, "Ten seconds!"

  And one minute later, I found out who was running this show.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "We're clear!"

  The floor director's words signaled the end of the show. The audience applause died down as people got up and filed for the exits.

  And then my partner for the next few weeks smiled at me. "So, ready to work?"

  "You're the boss," I said, hoping Number Six would use that title in places other than the dance floor.

  I felt a gentle tug on my arm and turned to find Dexter. "Before you leave, we need to talk."

  I playfully batted my eyelashes at him. "Yes, I suppose we do."

  "Meet you in the green room in ten."

  "Fine."

  ***

  I'm never late for anything. In this business, there's one simple rule: you miss one deadline, you're in trouble. You miss two, you're out of a job.

  But in this case I was a little tardy getting to the green room. Okay, more than a little. I wanted to make Dexter sweat a bit.

  The green room isn't really green. That's just the industry name we give to a waiting room for guests. In reality, it's simply a comfortable place with a bunch of couches around the perimeter, a kitchen always stocked with drinks and snacks, and a large flat screen hanging off one wall. I opened the door and found Dexter sipping a soda while pacing back and forth like an expectant father. "Nice of you to drop by," he said, with a little sarcasm as he stopped and turned to face me.

  "I was talking to my friend. You know, Savannah? She's like a sister to me. Always takes my advice. Where to invest money, how to shop. Who to date, that kind of stuff."

  "You already made your point on the set, no need to rub my face in it."

  "Just wanted to make sure we're clear on things."

  "Yes, it's quite clear you're not some fair damsel in distress. You're more like a damsel who causes distress."

  "Oooooh, I kinda like that, Dexter. So, what did you want to talk about?"

  "Well, since we're going to be working together for the next few months I'd like to bury the hatchet—"

  "Where? In my back?"

  "Please let me finish."

  I nodded and folded my arms. "You have the floor."

  "Thank you," he said. "I realize you may be angry that I've had a great deal of influence on your current situation. I want to apologize for not bringing you in on the original discussions."

  "That barn door has sailed."

  His face tightened. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the colloquialism."

  "It's a combination of slang from the newsroom. Stolen horses, ships leaving port. Never mind. Anyway, continue."

  "I think it best that we call a truce."

  "Okay. And what would the terms of said truce be?"

  "No more surprises from me. And you'll do your absolute best to win the competition."

  "Sounds fair enough." I walked over to him and extended my hand. He shook it.

  "I must say, Miss Summer, you're unlike any woman I've ever encountered in the media."

  "That's why they pay me the big bucks."

  "One more thing … your dear friend, Savannah … "

  "Don't worry, I won't say anything. She's old enough to make her own decisions. But treat her badly and I'll beat the crap out of you."

  "I believe you would. But she has nothing to fear. I've never treated any woman badly."

  "I'll bet." I turned and headed for the door. "Well, see you tomorrow."

  "Oh, by the way … "

  I stopped without turning to face him. "Yes?"

  "You would have been much better off with Sergio."

  Now I had to turn and face him. "That sleazeball? Why, he's a better dancer?"

  "He's a better person. That suave Latin lover persona is simply for the cameras. He's actually quite the opposite. As well as being an excellent dancer, better than Bradley. But you're old enough to make your own decisions."

  ***

  Savannah, who was old enough to make decisions not only for herself but the rest of the world, daintily ate her cajun chicken salad as a light breeze blew through the outdoor cafe. We've always loved dining alfresco and she likes this little place because she can sit next to the sidewalk to people watch. Well, men watch to be more specific. And she doesn't mind the looks she gets in return.

  "It's so nice to see you looking so rested," she said, as she watched a tight pair of jeans walk by.

  I pointed to my face. "Hey, my eyes are up here."

  She smiled as she turned back to me. "Sorry. Just enjoying the atmosphere of the restaurant."

  "I would think with Dexter tucked away in your pocket you wouldn't bother looking anymore."

  "Doesn't matter if I look at the menu, as long as I eat dinner at home. Anyway, you look good."

  "It's nice not to get up at two in the morning. You even sleep better knowing you don't have to get up."

  "And all your pre-taped stuff went well?"

  "Yeah, no problem."

  "Too bad they can't do that on a permanent basis."

  "Great idea but they'd never go for it long term. This is a unique situation, so I'll enjoy it while it lasts." I selected a few strands from my dinner-sized portion of linguine with white clam sauce, twirled it into a spoon and popped it in my mouth.

  "You eating for two today?"

  "Not unless you're expecting a virgin birth. I've got my first practice session this afternoon and I know I'll be burning it off, so I'm splurging."

  "I'm so glad you got the guy you wanted.
Though I still think Kyle would have been a better choice."

  I took a sip of sparkling water and dabbed my mouth with a napkin as a cute guy walked by and checked out both of us. "Speaking of better choices, do you really think Dexter is a good fit for you?"

  "Good fit? Sweetie, I haven't even slept with him yet."

  "Stop taking things literally. You know what I mean."

  "One never knows unless one casts her net upon the waters. And I'm not turning down a shot at Bish the Dish."

  I shook my head. "He's not right for you, Savannah. I mean, look at the stuff he's pulled with me. He obviously can't be trusted."

  Her cell rang, Tara's Theme from Gone With the Wind interrupting the conversation. She looked at it and smiled. "Right on time."

  I glanced at her caller ID and saw Dexter was calling. "You've got him trained already."

  "One must maintain the upper hand at the start of any relationship." She speared a piece of chicken and took a bite as the phone continued to ring.

  "Only at the start?"

  She shrugged and smiled.

  I pointed to the phone. "Uh, aren't you gonna answer that?"

  She swallowed, then took a sip from her wine glass. "Why?"

  "Well … because you told him to call you at two. And it's exactly two o'clock. And he's calling."

  "So? Boy can follow directions. I never said I was going to talk with him. I just wanted to see if he'd call. If he was interested."

  "The guy practically drooled on the set last night and you're wondering if he's interested?"

  "I don't need to be an investigative reporter to know that half the men who say they'll call never do. And y'all should know that the best way to keep a man's interest is to ignore him."