The Fabulist

by Dawn L. Chiletz

  It rings once. Ugh. Twice. Not answering. Three times, and my hopes rise slightly, but on the fourth, he picks up.

  “Hey, sweetheart. I’m glad you called. I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

  Closing my eyes tightly, I attempt to remember to breathe. “Hi, Dad, of course not, just busy.”

  “How’s the store? Their stock took a real nosedive. Have the closings affected you in any way?”

  “Uh…” I stammer. “I’m sure they’ll bounce back. That sort of thing usually happens at first, but they’re still the number two retailer in the U.S. It shouldn’t impact them for long.”

  “So how’s my girl? I’ve missed you. Mom was just asking about you.”

  Ugh, my mom. “She was?”

  “As a matter of fact, she suggested we have a family dinner next weekend. What do you think? Alex said he could make it.”

  I swallow hard. It’s more difficult to lie in person. “I don’t know. I’m sure Mom just misses getting in some jabs. It’s been a while since she had a chance to rip me to shreds. Alex will be plenty of company. I’m sure she really only wants to see him.”

  “That’s not fair. Your mother has a hard time expressing herself. I think you two are more similar than you think.”

  “Dad, please don’t compare me to her. You might as well just tell me I’m a shitty person.”

  “Sam…”

  Needing to end the conversation, I lie the only way I know how. “Oh shoot, Dad, I didn’t realize the time. I need to go.”

  “So dinner?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “For me?” he asks sincerely.

  He knows I can’t resist him. “Let me check my work schedule and get back to you. I’ll try, okay?”

  “Love you, peaches.”

  “Love you too, Pops.”

  I fall back onto the bed and cover my eyes with my arm. Dinner with my parents would be a disaster. It usually is, but it will be even more so if I tell them I lost my job. I won’t be able to lie to them and my mom will take extreme pleasure in tearing me a new one.

  I check the nightstand clock. It’s almost six. I decide to change into something less casual and get a quick free drink before dinner. My nerves need a calming shot, maybe two.

  I take a five-minute shower and toss my hair up in a messy bun, then throw on a sundress and sandals and head down. The place is bustling, and I grab the lone stool left at the bar. While I wait for the bartender to notice me, I open up the folder and read the information on Seamore Productions.

  The company was formed ten years ago and has made a real name for itself in the film and television industry. The CEO is Cathlin Kroll. She’s tripled profits in the last three years. I can’t help but love that she’s a woman. Good for her. There’s a small picture of her in the bottom corner. She seems like someone to be reckoned with. I bet she doesn’t take shit from anyone either.

  “What can I get for you?” the bartender asks.

  “Does the free drink include a shot?”

  He smiles at me. “You’re new here. Traveling?”

  “Yep.”

  “Business or pleasure?”

  He’s cute. “Both, hopefully.”

  “Ahh, I sense a bit of New York in that lovely voice of yours. Shots aren’t really included, but for you, I’ll make it happen. What’ll it be?”

  “Whiskey. Straight.”

  “Really? You sure you don’t want a lemon drop or something?”

  “If I wanted a lemon drop, I would have asked for one.” I try not to let my inner cat out. I smile like the soft girl he thinks I am, with my tousled hair and sundress.

  He shrugs. “All right, you asked for it. It’s strong stuff, sweetheart. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Sweetheart. Ugh. I do my best to appear unaffected. He pours me a double and I smile coyly before I down it. I don’t even flinch. He seems slightly taken aback.

  “Thanks. I needed that.”

  He nods and moves to the next person at the bar. I clench my jaw and my face tightens. “That’s right, move along,” I mumble under my breath.

  “You talkin’ to me?”

  Braveheart is standing next to me dumbfounded. “Dude, you didn’t even see me before you brushed me off. That’s a first.”

  I chuckle. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

  “Hmm…, they have people for that. You know, they shrink your brain and stuff.”

  “Yeah, I’m good. No doctors needed.”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you with your hair up like that. You look nice.”

  “Thanks. You too.” I motion toward his hair. He’s pulled it back in a ponytail and traded his shorts for khakis.

  “Want to make a good first impression with the zectutives.”

  He means executives, obviously. “Are you here on business?” I ask innocently.

  He smiles, leans on the bar, and his voice changes radically. “The same business you’re here for, Samantha Wittaker.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “How do you know my name?”

  “I make it a point to know everything I can about my competition.” He rubs his chin. “See that brunette on the right, sitting at the table alone?”

  The woman he’s referring to has caught the attention of a slew of men nearby and they’re ogling her. “You mean the one with the big tits?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Yeah, that’s her. Her name is Courtney Davis. She’s an aspiring actress and model. A natural all-around flirt. She’s smart, though. Don’t let her fool you.”

  “Good to know.” I decide to call her Cocoa for her hair color. I refuse to call her Tits, even though I really want to.

  “The man at the end of the bar, wearing glasses and a button-down polo? His name is George Sheldon. He’s from Texas and smart as a whip. He’s a contract negotiator for a medical company and thinks he knows everything. I’m guessing that will be his downfall.”

  I sit up a bit straighter and narrow my eyes. George just became Tex. “Not that I don’t appreciate the info, but why are you sharing all this with me?”

  He tilts his head and blinks at me repeatedly. “Do you watch much TV, reality shows in particular?”

  “A bit,” I lie.

  He sneers. “You’re a horrible liar. What’s the one thing most of them have in common?”

  I shrug and stare at him, squinting slightly.

  “You get further when you have an unknown ally. I pegged you from the moment I saw you in the hotel lobby. I had a feeling I could trust you and I’m not often wrong. Now you just need to stop playing games with me. Do you want in or not?”

  “This is our secret?”

  “From this point on, we meet in private and publicly pretend we’ve never met.”

  Having an ally doesn’t sound like a bad idea, especially one who seems to know so much about the other contestants. I haven’t formed a solid opinion about Braveheart, but if he continues to come across like a dumb surfer dude, people might not see him as a potential threat. It could work to my advantage to befriend him. I’m certain he’d use me as much as I’d use him. I study him for a few seconds before holding out my hand. “Done.” We shake. He nods briefly, turns, and wanders away. I swivel back to face the bar and run my fingers over my empty shot glass. I may have agreed to be his ally, but whether or not I share anything with him remains to be seen. I trust no one.

  I MAKE MY way into room B for dinner and am pleasantly surprised to discover assigned seating. I pick up my place card and locate table five. There are cameras set up all around the room. Five tables, five cameras. Hogan is standing at the back of the room speaking to Bryce and a guy wearing a backwards baseball cap. Bryce seems to be telling them something serious. They are intently focused on him. Bryce is one of the few people for which I no longer need a nickname. For the last few weeks, all I’ve heard is Bryce this and Bryce that. I know the man’s entire work history, as well as his dog’s name, and his sister’s occu
pation. Carmen might be slightly obsessed.

  I wander over to my table. I don’t recognize either of the other two people seated there. I pray I don’t know the others either.

  Taking the seat facing forward with my back to the camera, I notice the mature woman to my left is meticulously cleaning her spoon and appears unaffected by my presence. To my right is a young guy who seems to be fresh out of college. He’s happily texting and laughing to himself. I’ve never felt so happy to be at a table with strangers. I prefer not to have to converse. It’s a short-lived dream.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here? We meet again, eye candy. Who’d you have to fuck to get a seat at my table?”

  I let out a long frustrated sigh as Stuck-Up Suit #1 takes a seat across from me. I want to hurl myself across the length of the table to strangle him, not only for the way he spoke to me but also for causing my two previously oblivious dinner companions to suddenly glare at me.

  I slowly unfold the silverware from my napkin and pick up the steak knife. Banging it forcefully on the table, I cause my dinner companions to jump. “I’m going to tell you this one time and only one time, so listen carefully, asshole. Don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, don’t refer to me or imply anything in my direction, or so help me God you’ll regret the day you ever met me. I’ve been around knives my whole life and I know how to use them. Capeesh?”

  “Is everything all right here?”

  I recognize his voice immediately, but I refuse to take my eyes off Stuck-Up. I’m also fairly certain I haven’t blinked. I’m pissed as fuck.

  “Ms. Wittaker, I’ll ask you again: is everything okay here?” I can see from my peripheral vision that Hogan is regarding me cautiously. Stuck-Up seems vaguely uncomfortable.

  The older woman speaks up. She motions to Stuck-Up with an extended open hand. “This young man verbally attacked her when he sat down and she had no choice but to defend herself. He was extremely inappropriate. I’d like to request he be moved from our table. He’s made us all very uncomfortable.” She gently taps my hand, causing me to release my white-knuckled hold on the knife and put it down.

  Hogan curls a finger to Stuck-Up. “With me please.”

  Stuck-Up tosses his napkin on the table and straightens his tie. Glowering at the woman, he says, “I certainly didn’t mean to offend you, grandma.”

  She huffs loudly and adjusts the napkin on her lap.

  Hogan and Stuck-Up move toward the producer and then Hogan hurries away. I notice him momentarily glance in my direction before he focuses back on the camera in front of him.

  “Thank you,” I say to the woman at my table as two more people join us. The other guy, who I’ve now named College, is back to scribbling on his phone.

  “No thanks necessary. Nothing makes me angrier than when a man assumes a woman hasn’t earned a position due to intelligence. I’ve encountered too many men like him in my workplace and in my lifetime and I’ll be damned if I’ll put up with that here or anywhere anymore. You had every right to defend yourself. He’s lucky I didn’t cut him myself.”

  I immediately find her fascinating. “I’m Sam. It’s nice to meet you and I appreciate your candor.”

  “I’m Finola, and you’re very welcome.”

  As much as I want to remember her name, all I know is it rhymes with granola and that’s what she becomes. I like granola. It’s crunchy and adds something special to whatever you’re eating. It fits and I like it as much as I like her. She’s tough, elegant, and has obviously been around. I bet I could learn a lot from her.

  I place my napkin on my lap. Once my breathing resumes a normal pattern, I concentrate on the other guests in the room. To my dismay, High-Rise and BM are here. They’re sitting at a table together, chatting. Braveheart is at a table with Stuck-Up. That should be interesting. Tex and Cocoa are seated together at another table. She seems to have his attention as well as that of every other guy as well. I stare a bit too long.

  “She’s beautiful,” Granola says to me as she leans closer.

  “Yes she is. I heard she’s smart too, although I haven’t spoken to her.”

  “Whether or not we all move forward remains to be seen, I suppose.”

  I nod as a gentleman in a chef’s hat steps into the room.

  “Good afternoon. I am Chef Eziekiel Nowar. I will be creating all your meals. I studied in France and Italy and have been creating dishes from around the world for my current client, for whom I’ve been personal chef the last two years. I also own restaurants in L.A. and Louisiana.

  “Tonight I have prepared a honey goat cheese date with walnuts. Dates can often be too sweet for an appetizer, but you’ll find that the combination of my own goat cheese with walnuts cuts through the sweetness to form the perfect bite. Dates are considered a fruit and can be eaten fresh or dried. I use fresh food in all my dishes and if something is to be dried, I will prepare it that way myself.”

  As he’s explaining the dish, it’s placed on the table in front of us. It’s all very elegant. He explains there will be a different wine pairing with each course but that other beverages are available as well at our request. Wine sounds fabulous to me.

  I savor every single bite of the honey goat cheese date with walnuts. I haven’t eaten this way since… well, never. It’s amazing. I could get used to having a personal chef.

  After dinner and dessert, Bryce makes his way to the podium at the front of the room. “Good evening, and thank you for joining us tonight. We are going to be filming from this point on, so please keep in mind that anything and everything you say can and may be used during the show. I hope you all enjoyed the meal. Chef Nowar is fantastic and we’re very grateful he’s here to share his talents with us. As you know, tomorrow the final interview begins. Please take a moment to glance around the room.”

  He motions in a circle and I notice there is a camera assigned to filming my group, but it’s not Hogan. He’s filming Cocoa’s table. Figures.

  “Some of the people here will be your competition. We’ve narrowed down the number of contestants. Ten or more of you will be cut. I can’t stress enough how important tomorrow’s process will be for you. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep. Thank you all for coming, and enjoy your stay.”

  Within seconds, people are moving about the room. Granola taps me on the shoulder and wishes me luck in the morning. College simply rises and leaves, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He probably missed a ton of messages during dinner. I was surprised he was able to put it down long enough to eat.

  Stuck-Up makes his way toward Cocoa and I can tell he’s trying to schmooze her. What a douchebag. I remain seated and slowly finish my glass of wine, observing the interactions of the other contestants. One of the last people to leave besides me is High-Rise. He hasn’t said much either. He’s barely spoken to anyone besides BM and she appeared to be doing most of the talking. After my glass is empty, I stand and place my napkin on the table. High-Rise moves toward me.

  “Why, hello again. It’s nice to see so many familiar faces. What did you think of everything this evening?”

  Right off the top, I take in the quality of his suit. It’s a fantastic fit. I’m guessing he paid quite a bit for it. “The food was amazing. What did you think?”

  He smirks. “I’d have to agree.”

  We stand there awkwardly sizing each other up. I decide it’s time to leave. “Good luck tomorrow. See you later.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Strolling toward the door, I glance over my shoulder to see High-Rise approach Bryce, who smiles and shakes his hand. Something about him feels off to me, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  As I exit the room and make my way to the elevators, I notice Cocoa talking to Hogan. He’s smiling and nodding while her hands move about dramatically. She reaches out and touches his arm and he takes a step closer to her. I glare at them briefly before turning away, shaking my head. I hope he gets in trouble for making passes at the contestants.
<
br />   I jump on the first elevator that arrives. It’s heading down. Dammit. Oh well. Better than having to stand there and watch the Cocoa and Hogan Show.

  The doors reopen back on the dining floor and Hogan and Cocoa step inside. Fantastic. His hand is on the small of her back. I cringe, pursing my lips and moving to the back of the elevator.

  “You said six, right?” he asks her.

  “Yes, please. Thank you. My room is 625. You wouldn’t happen to know if that’s to the left or the right, would you?”

  “I believe it’s to the left.”

  “Good to know.”

  Could she be any more obvious?

  “Courtney, have you met Sam?” He motions to me and she shoots me daggers framed by a half-smile.

  “No, I haven’t. Nice to meet you.”

  I simply nod. This is the slowest elevator in the universe.

  The doors open on six and she steps out. “See you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be there,” he replies with a wink.

  “If you’re looking for something to do, you know where to find me.” She blows him a kiss as the doors close.

  I clear my throat and lean forward, pushing seven two additional times.

  “In a hurry to get away from me?” he asks.

  “You have no idea,” I respond, averting my eyes and wrinkling my nose.

  “Did I do something to upset you?”

  “Not at all. I don’t like elevators.” I need to up my lie game. It’s so weak. I decide to be straightforward. “I’m surprised you didn’t jump all over that.”

  “What?”

  “Her,” I say, inclining my head at the door. “She was clearly giving you an invitation.”

  He eyes me curiously, then smiles. “Nah. I have something better in mind.”

  The door opens on seven, and he places his hand in the path to hold it for me. I move, eager to get away from him. As soon as I step out, he steps out behind me.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, pausing to turn and face him.

  “I thought we were going to bed. After everything that went down tonight, I think we deserve it, don’t you?”

  “Excuse me?” I lurch forward and give him a push on his chest. He’s a little too close for comfort. His chest is hard as a rock. “Um, if you think you have a shot with me, you’re sadly mistaken. I don’t do man-whores. Even if you’d saved me from a burning building, I would never feel I owed you anything, much less sex.”