The Fabulist

by Dawn L. Chiletz

  He licks his lips and raises his eyebrows curiously. “I see. You seem pretty set on that opinion.”

  “I will not now or ever go to bed with you. I suggest you march back onto the elevator and see if you can catch up with Cocoa.” I air-walk my fingers toward the elevator and his lips clamp together.

  “Cocoa?” He laughs.

  “She’s more your type. And for the record, I didn’t need you flying over to my table with your superhero cape flapping behind you. I can take care of myself. I don’t need you or any man to fight my battles for me.”

  He widens his stance and plants his feet firmly on the ground. His expression is filled with amusement. If he takes a single step toward me, I may knee him in the balls, show be damned.

  “Noted. I guess you have me all figured out, don’t you?”

  “Unfortunately, men rarely surprise me.”

  He yawns and covers his mouth. “While I find this conversation extremely fascinating, albeit confusing, I have a very early morning tomorrow. I’m exhausted. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my room, 712 to be exact, to get some rest.”

  My eyes bulge. “Your room? I thought you were, well, I mean you said…”

  He’s holding back a smile as he strolls to his room, two down from mine. He slides his card in the lock. Holding the door open, he turns back to me. “You have a little something in your teeth right here.” He motions to his bottom lip. “Goodnight, Samantha.”

  The door closes behind him and I stand there for several seconds, trying to process what just happened. I am a monumental idiot on a divine scale. I touch my teeth as I slide the key card through the lock. Inside, I rush to the mirror, and sure enough, I have an herb of some kind between two lower teeth. I close my eyes and press my forehead into the wall. I pace the room and decide I’ll never be able to sleep if I don’t make things right. Why does this keep happening with him?

  I slowly amble toward his room, then circle back to mine. I wander over to his door again and lift my hand to knock but shuffle away, biting my lip. I have no idea what to say. I never apologize, yet I’ve had to twice with him. I should just forget it and go to bed.

  After a few seconds I realize I can’t let it go. I need to get this over with. I rush to the door and pound on it forcefully. He doesn’t answer. I hear no movement. Maybe he went to sleep. I take that as my cue to forget it and mosey my ass back to my room. As I’m about to swipe my key card, his door opens. His hair is wet; he’s attempting to dry it, and he’s wearing the hotel robe.

  “Is there something you need?” he asks as he drapes the towel around his neck.

  I sigh as I move slowly toward him. “I need to… apologize. I was way out of line.”

  He squints. “I imagine you get hit on a lot.”

  “Not really. I guess I’m just used to a certain type of guy. I suppose I need to work on not assuming the worst in everyone.”

  He leans on the doorframe. “Do you need to talk? Do you want to come in?”

  I wave a hand. “No, no, but thank you. I hope you can forgive me for being presumptuous. I promise it will never happen again.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re a breath of fresh air. I’d take twenty unnecessary confrontations with you over one serious flirtation with a woman with less backbone.”

  “Thank you for being so generous. Anyway, I promise you I will stop jumping to conclusions.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t hold grudges and I wasn’t offended in the least. Just know that I take my job very seriously and would never cross an inappropriate line. I have goals here, just like the rest of you.”

  I nod my head. “I totally get that. Well, goodnight then.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Hogan…”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the future will you please tell me immediately if I have something in my teeth? Don’t let me go on camera like that.”

  “You got it.”

  I smile and close the door behind me, leaning the back of my head against it. I will not cross that line ever again. He’s obviously way more professional than I give him credit for. I wish I could say the same for me. The whole time I was speaking to him, I kept wondering if he was naked under that robe and what it would feel like to have a body that hard pressed against mine. Why does he have to be so damn hot? I keep saying I need to avoid him, but the truth is, I’m drawn to him. I can’t help it.

  I need to place him in my mental friend zone. This is a job for both of us, and he’s obviously as interested in me as I am in Tex. Ugh. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a friend like him on the inside. He has nothing to gain by being nice to me. Maybe I need to be a little friendlier with everyone. I can be nice. I can be sweet. Maybe I should hide my inner bitch for a while. I can play the game, just like the rest of them.

  BREAKFAST STARTS AT seven, so I finish getting ready around six thirty. I didn’t sleep well. I couldn’t stop thinking. As much as I want the job opportunity, there’s a small part of me that wonders if all this is worth it. I’m riding the crazy train and the only stops have been Embarrassment City and Troubleville.

  I decide to wear black slacks, heels, and a white silk blouse, noting the need to be careful at breakfast so I don’t spill anything on myself. At seven on the dot, I head down in the elevator. I glance at Hogan’s room as the doors close. There’s no sign of him. We’re sitting at the same tables we were assigned to the night before and I’m relieved to see a familiar face in Granola. Hogan is setting up the microphone at the podium. He has an earpiece in his left ear and is testing the microphone with another cameraman.

  In my newfound determination to be friendlier, I approach him. “Good morning.”

  He spins to face me and smiles. “Good morning. I trust you slept well?”

  “Not really. Thinking too much, I suppose. You?”

  “I slept like a baby. I always do, but I’m used to life on the road.”

  “Any words of wisdom for today?”

  He ponders for a moment and responds in a soothing tone, “Smile. Be yourself. You’ve made it this far because of who you are. I know they like you. Realize that and own it. Don’t ever be afraid to ask for what you want.”

  “Hmm. Thanks, that’s good advice. See you later.” He’s given me a lot to think about. As I approach my table, I consider what he meant by asking for what I want. Can I negotiate?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse High-Rise and BM chatting again. She’s more reserved than usual. Either she hasn’t quacked yet this morning or I’ve become so used to it, I haven’t noticed. They are deep in conversation. I’ve never seen him talk so much. I wonder what they’re discussing. I decide to say hello, since I’m “friendly Sam” today.

  “Good morning. Nice suit,” I say, pointing. It’s different from yesterday’s but still tailored. “Thank you. Have you met Brenda Meyer?”

  I hold back a small choke. BM’s initials are actually B and M. Score. “Nice to meet you. What time are your interviews?”

  “Mine is at eight. Are you as freaked out by all this as I am?” she asks, cackling nervously. I try my best not to cringe.

  “Definitely. When is yours?” I ask.

  High-Rise pauses. “Not until eleven. I think I might get a nap in beforehand.”

  “A nap sounds awesome. Well, it was nice to see you both. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  I scratch my head as I saunter away, then press my hair back into place. I straightened it this morning, but it’s humid, and I wonder how long it will last. As I stroll to my table, Braveheart catches my eye. He rotates his head pointedly toward the chair I sat in last night, and I stare at him curiously as I sit in it. I lift my napkin and a note falls out. I hurriedly move it to my lap and unfold it. I’m glad Granola left the table. I assume she’s in the restroom.

  I scratch my nose but feel ridiculous. My cell buzzes with a text from Carmen, wishing me good luck. After my run-in with Hogan last night, I called her. I didn’t tell her what
happened. I just wanted to hear her calming voice. Texting back thanks, I turn it to vibrate.

  College appears as I’m placing it back in my purse and nods repeatedly at me, as if knowing I send text messages too has somehow made me cooler.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Nada. Just tired. Trying to work while I’m here is a nightmare.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a software engineer, but right now I’m doing sales. It’s a recent promotion.”

  “Wow, sounds like a great job. What brought you here?”

  “Umm… Money, TV, the exposure. People will know my name one way or the other, and who knows what doors it’ll open up for me.”

  “Good thoughts.”

  Granola sits down next to me without saying a word. “Are you okay?” I ask. She seems a bit pale.

  “My daughter-in-law just went into labor, and I’m upset I’m here instead of there. I’m hoping I can catch an earlier flight home after this is over.”

  “Good morning, fabulous people.” Bryce’s voice slices through the chatter and immediately silences it. “While breakfast is being served, I’ll be walking around with a camera asking you questions. Just be yourself. I heard Chef Nowar has quite a treat for you this morning. A special recipe just for you.”

  Chef Nowar describes his creation and half the words he uses confuse me. I feel like I need a cooking dictionary to understand him. Bryce waves to get Hogan’s attention and they appear to be starting at High-Rise’s table. I take a few deep breaths and shrug off my nerves. Hogan told me to be myself and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If I don’t make it, who gives a fuck? This experience will not change or define me. I won’t let it.

  After ten minutes, Hogan and Bryce make their way to our table. “Good morning, Finola Hawthorne. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

  “Same to you, Bryce.”

  “Finola, what would you say is the biggest challenge you’ve encountered since you’ve been here?”

  “Biggest challenge? I’d have to say the food. It’s wonderful but a bit rich for my taste. I think my stomach will take a while to rise to Chef Nowar’s palate.”

  Bryce leans down closer to her. “He likes to use fancy words, but don’t let him fool you. Brioche is just another word for French toast. Just take lots of small bites.”

  “Thank you, Bryce. I look forward to having you explain the menu to me from here on out.”

  “Sam Wittaker, nice to see you. Have you had a chance to meet the other contestants?”

  “A few.”

  “So tell us, who do you think is your biggest competition?”

  I ponder his words as I glance from Granola to College, BM to Tex, Stuck-Up to High-Rise. Braveheart flips his hair, and Cocoa pushes her boobs a bit higher. As I consider them all, I find I don’t have an answer for him. “You know what? Everyone obviously has something special about them or they wouldn’t be here. But I don’t see any of them as my competition. I’m here to win and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “We love your confidence.” He faces the camera and motions to me with his thumb. “She’s definitely one to watch.”

  Bryce moves on to College and the other two people at my table. I haven’t given them much thought because there’s nothing about them that stands out to me. I’m glad Bryce asked me that question. I feel infinitely stronger than I did a few moments ago. This shit is right up my alley. I can handle whatever they throw my way.

  I need to get out of my own head. I’ve been handling this the way I think they want me to instead of how I handle everything in my life. One day, one moment at a time.

  Hogan nudges me slightly as he passes and gives me a nod. I sense he’s as happy with my answer as I am. I lean back into my seat and relax. They can take me or leave me, but either way, I’ll be just fine.

  During a brief meeting with Braveheart by the dumb tree, I offer up a small amount of info to appease him. I tell him a bit about what I know about Granola and College, emphasizing that I don’t think either of them want it as much as we do. He seems pleased with the tidbits but concerned I can’t give him their names. I avoid using their nicknames. He doesn’t need to know how I remember people.

  Before I know it, it’s time for my interview. Seated in front of me in a conference room are three people: two men and a woman. Herman Matthews is one of them, but I don’t recognize the others. They introduce themselves as executives for Seamore Productions, but their names are lost on me.

  I sit down at a table five feet away from them. A female is behind the camera. I’m a bit disappointed it’s not Hogan for some reason.

  “Hello, Sam. We have a few questions for you. We would appreciate total honesty.”

  “Of course.”

  “We think you have potential. There are certain things about you that make you special. Do you have any idea what we’re referring to?”

  I blink repeatedly and squeeze my hands together on the table. “I know what makes me special. I’d like to think it’s my sparkling personality and drive to succeed.”

  “Let’s talk about that sparkling personality. What we’re really interested in is the spark.”

  My eyes move to travel over each of their faces as I reflect on his emphasis. “My spark?”

  “Sam, let’s not beat around the bush. We know you’re a fierce competitor. We know you have skills when it comes to discovering the truth. We don’t doubt any of your abilities. But what we’re searching for is something to make the show more… interesting. We think what makes you interesting is the drama that seems to follow you.”

  I fucking knew it. This is all about what brings in ratings rather than finding the right fit for the job. “So you want me as long as I create problems?”

  “We have a great selection of ‘characters,’ if you will. We already have a beauty queen. We don’t need two unless you’re willing to up your game.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me exactly what you want?”

  “We like you, Sam. We think you’d be great on the show as long as the Sam that shows up is the one who speaks her mind, swears, and isn’t afraid of a confrontation or two.”

  I close my eyes and swallow hard. I want to show them that Sam right now, but I refuse to give them what they want. “To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. I joked with my friend, Carmen, that these shows were staged.” I point at them. “You aren’t interested in talented people but rather those who are more qualified to be on Jerry Springer. Carmen begged me to apply. She told me I was wrong. I should have known better. Thank you, but no thank you.” I stand to leave.

  “Hold on a second, Sam. Don’t do anything rash.” The gentleman next to Herman sighs as he briefly clamps his hands together and leans forward. He flips open a file folder and shuffles through a couple of papers. “Carmen Moran? Is that the friend you’re referring to?”

  The minute they say her name, I’m reminded of how much their rejection hurt her. I no longer care how I present myself. I’m done. “Yes, it is. She wanted to be on your dumb-ass show from the start, but you barely gave her the time of day. I guess she wasn’t ‘exciting’ for you either. Well, fuck your version of exciting. I don’t need to be anything other than who I am.”

  Herman laughs and glances at the female, who crosses her arms and smirks at me. “Sam, who you are at this moment is exactly who we want you to be.”

  I’m halfway to the door already. My head falls back as I glance at the ceiling. “I can’t pretend to be this way.”

  “Are you sure about that? What if we made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

  I turn and glare at him. “What are you saying?”

  “How badly do you want Carmen to be on the show?”

  I search for meaning in their eyes, glancing from one to the next as my mind tries to understand.

  “We know Carmen brings out a defensive side of you. We’ve heard all about it. If you agree to give us what we want, we’ll agree to let Carmen
have a place on the show.”

  “What? You’re blackmailing me?”

  Guy number two laughs. “Not blackmailing. We’re negotiating.”

  I grasp a hold of the chair and slide down into it. “So what you’re saying is if I make a public ass of myself on the show, Carmen gets invited back?”

  “Sam, we only want you to be who you normally are. It seems”—he flips open another folder—“Carter Walsh brings that out of you as well. We like what we see from you when he’s around.”

  “You mean Stuck-Up? He gets a spot just because he’s a sexist pig? Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re adding High-Rise because he’s tall.”

  “Do you have names for everyone?” the female asks through a chuckle.

  “I… well… yes.”

  “It’s things like this that make us want you even more. All we’re asking for is the girl we see when she thinks no one is paying attention. That’s all. If things get boring, we may need you to start an argument or two. But understand, Sam, you are just as much in the running for this position as any other contestant. Anytime you fail a challenge, you have the potential to be removed. We can’t guarantee you or Carmen anything more than to be on the first show. We may seek excitement, but we don’t fix results.”

  My fingers are restless. My palms are sweaty and I can’t help but clench my jaw. If I agree to this, then Carmen gets to fulfill her dream of being on a reality show. How many chances like this come along in a lifetime? Could I do this for her? Could I be their drama pawn to make Carmen happy? It’s not like I’ve ever cared what people thought of me. “If I agree to this, Carmen can’t ever know that’s why she made it. Ever. You’ll need to tell her that you reviewed her tapes and fell in love with her or something. You’ll be lucky to have her.”