“What do you do?” I asked.
“Whatever I feel like.”
I nodded and took a bite of my salad.
“Next up,” said Caj, “are salted caramel brownies, maple bacon scones, and pistachio milkshakes. Love me some food blogs, right? Fashizzle! Boo-yah! But if you’re going to be bulimic, stay away. As a model, I know firsthand about eating disorders, and I cannot condone that kind of unhealthy lifestyle. I saw a lot of girls lose their cookies, and lose their life. It’s no joke! You can’t put a price on good health and good eating habits. You know what I mean?” She looked around at all of us. Her wooden spoon hovered over her head, a blob of batter clinging precariously. “And you,” she said, pointing the spoon at me while I crunched on my broccoli, “you’re not anorexic, are you? Because that is just as unhealthy!”
“I’m not,” I said.
“Okay. Well, I really, really wish you’d have a cupcake. A cuppy cake. A cake cup. I don’t have to make just sweet ones. Have you ever had a savory cupcake? Like cheddar and chive? It is to die! Anyway, you should have one. I would just feel better, you know? I guess I’m the mother hen! Laugh out loud, right? What can I say?” She wiped her hands on her apron and shook her head in amusement over herself. “I just love a stocked kitchen! Huh? Yeah? Look at this place, am I right or am I right?”
What happened to the cool girl from the limo last night, I wondered.
“Caj, we’re so lucky you’re here,” gushed Marissa. She was drunk already. Her face was bright red and she was spilling champagne on her chest as she spoke. “I mean, you model, you bake, you sing. What can’t you do?”
“Oh, stop,” giggled Caj.
“No. I’m serious. You’re amazing. How did you get into modeling?”
“Do you really want to hear that old story? Well, I guess. Okay, so I thought when I was a little girl that one day I would grow up and own a bakery, and that was going to be good enough for me. But when I was thirteen my older brother was looking at college campuses. I went with, of course, because thirteen is too young to spend the weekend alone. We were touring Northwestern and there was a talent scout there from an agency called Bluebelles, which is not even in business anymore, and they signed me. Bluebelles! Isn’t that dippy? They were an agency based out of Nashville, and their thing was young girls ages eight to eighteen. They were strictly commercial. That means lots of smiling, lots of wholesomeness. My first few years I was in catalogs and commercials, always wearing silly flowered dresses with big bows in my hair. That’s what they like down south. And everything, I mean everything, was monogrammed! The dresses I modeled were designed with special, I don’t know what you want to call them, lace bibs I guess, just so you had a place to monogram. They were awful! Then I got signed by Elite models when I was sixteen.”
“Wow. Cool,” said Marissa. I looked up and saw that everyone was listening to Cashmere’s story, and they were all impressed. Meanwhile, more cupcakes had come out of the oven and been frosted, and more cupcakes had gone in.
“Who wants to try these? They’re chocolate with a peanut butter cup in the center, and another melted on top. Just a little something I came up with on the fly,” said Caj, holding up a tray.
“Oooh, lemme have one,” said Marissa.
“Take more than one,” said Caj. “On deck are cornflake crusted mini frittata muffins with chunks of aged cheddar cheese. Num num!”
“They sound yummy,” said Mylar, taking a break from flirting with one of the camera guys. “I totally can’t resist peanut butter and chocolate.”
“Only witches can,” said Caj.
“Me, me, me too! I’ve gotta try some,” said some other woman I hadn’t even noticed before.
Pretty soon all the cupcakes were gone.
“Vanessa, tell us something about you,” said Amy, who was unaware that she had two kinds of frosting in her hair.
“I’m too full to talk,” said Vanessa. Then she broke into her same story from the previous night about how parents never want to vaccinate their kids anymore, and what a struggle that is.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that Bellamy would be showing up soon to pick up Angélique for their date. I slipped away to brush my teeth and hair before he arrived. When I returned to the living room, Angélique was sitting on the corner of a chair, dressed in an unusual strapless dress covered in a squirrel print. Since she is French, it worked.
“Where do you sink Bellaneese and me are going?” she asked us. Her accent was cute, but so heavy that she was nearly impossible to understand. I predicted just to myself that Bellamy would get frustrated and send her packing.
“To the zoo?” barked Shar.
“Probably dinner and dancing,” said Amy.
“Oooh! I love zee dancing,” said Angélique.
There was a knock at the door and Bellamy stuck his head in. “Hi,” he said. It took me a moment to recognize him since a huge cowboy hat was blocking the view of most of his face. He smiled and came into the living room, removing the hat and holding it to his chest like he was at a prairie funeral. He was dressed in black jeans with a rope belt, cowboy boots with genuine spurs, and a rodeo shirt. I thought he looked ridiculous. I noticed Angélique’s expression turn to puzzlement, but then she attempted to regain her composure. The other girls seemed a bit more impressed by his ensemble.
“Bellamy, dammit, you look hot,” said Shar.
“Thanks,” he said, turning red.
“Like a hot, dirty cattle thief from Wyoming, or a freakin’ movie star,” Shar continued. She was spitting with each word.
“Yup. Thanks, Shar.”
“I say it like I see it,” she said.
“You all look… nice,” said Bellamy, surveying the room.
But he was lying. Nearly everyone was a mess, covered in frosting and crumbs and cupcake shrapnel. The alcohol was flowing again, and several of the girls were only semi-conscious. Many wore expressions of irritation and mortification that he was seeing them like this. I’m not sure how his arrival was coming as such a surprise, or how they were forgetting about the ever-present cameras. It wasn’t as if the camera guys, who had also each consumed a week’s worth of calories in cupcakes, were easy to block out.
“You look beautiful,” Bellamy told Angélique, taking her hand. They went outside where a Clydesdale was waiting, tied to a small white wicker carriage. We all followed after to watch.
“You are so lucky. That should be me,” yelled Shar, as Bellamy helped Angélique up into the carriage.
“Zee wagon and horse are so nice,” said Angélique.
“Cool,” we heard Bellamy saying, and then away they went, off into the distance.
“That should have been me,” Shar repeated to anyone who would listen. She got up, peeled a cupcake wrapper off the back of her pants, examined it, gave it a lick, and tossed it to the ground.
I continued to watch Bellamy and Angelique recede from view. Honestly, being in that rickety carriage, inches from a giant horse butt, didn’t look so great to me. Aside from right here with Shar, I couldn’t think of many worse places to be. I wondered if maybe it was time for me to have a talk with the producers about going home. As we filed back inside and I was mulling this over, there was a knock at the door.
“I got it,” said Mylar, jumping up and opening the door. There on the ground was an embossed envelope. She snatched it up and tore it open. “It’s a group date! Okay, listen up everyone! Shyla, Delores, Emma, Cashmere, Deb, Aubrey, and Vanessa: Do you like to play? I do! Be ready tomorrow morning at 9 am. I can’t wait! P.S. Six of you will have a Deluxe time. One of you will not. ~ Bellamy. What could that mean? ‘Do you like to play?’ I can’t believe that I’m not on here! I’m so sad!”
“This sucks,” said Shar.
“Oh no! One of us is going home tomorrow morning,” said Cashmere.
“It won’t be you, so why are you worried?” asked Marissa. “Plus, from the sound of it, if you don’t go home, you get more jewelry. I would like to
have been included, even if it meant I might go home. Obviously he doesn’t like me. No one ever does. I don’t even know how I got on this show. That bitch Nickie was right. I don’t deserve to be here.”
“I don’t think it’s very fair that Emma and Vanessa got jewelry last night, and now they’re both going on a group date tomorrow morning, while I’m stuck here,” said another woman I didn’t recognize.
“This isn’t about what is fair,” said Vanessa. “This is about who Bellamy has a connection with. Grow up.”
“What do you think we should wear tomorrow?” asked Shyla.
“Something cute but versatile,” I said. I was picturing a sundress and sandals.
“I am just so thrilled he noticed me,” said a plain girl in the corner.
“What’s your name again?” asked Shar.
“I’m Deb. Deb Danners from Duluth.”
“What kind of jewelry do you think we’re going to get?” asked Vanessa.
“Lately I’ve been really into diamond barrettes,” said Caj. “They’re just so simple and understated, you know? That teensy bit of sparkle peeking out. I love it. So that’s my guess.”
“I’ll bet we’ll get earrings,” I said, already deciding I could commit to another day of this.
“I used to be a blackjack dealer,” said Deb, opening up like a flower that had finally seen a ray of sunshine. “Who wants to play blackjack?”
“I do,” I said. Shyla, Mylar, and Vanessa joined me. That’s where we still were five hours later when the door opened and one of the assistants wheeled out Angélique’s luggage, signifying that she was not destined to be Mrs. Bellamy Timberfrost.
Chapter 14
“Oh no,” said Delores.
We had all just been handed scripts for the play we were about to perform in. We were dressed as barmaids, our hair braided in tight pigtails, wooden clogs on our feet, and polka music blaring in the background to get us in the mood. We were waiting next to the stage that looked like an Irish pub.
“This is confusing,” said Vanessa. “It says here that we’re in an Irish pub, yet they‘re serving lager. Wouldn’t they be serving ale? And these pigtails seem German to me as well. And the music! That’s not Irish! Are we Germans on vacation? What century is it? Why are we speaking English? Furthermore, what’s up with these wooden clogs? None of this makes any sense. I’d like to speak to the director.”
“Don’t you all look fun,” said Bellamy, appearing before us in Lederhosen and a long red wig.
I smiled at him before looking back down at my script. My line was “Take this corned beef with you down the road, why dontcha? And keep your paws off me!” I was pretty sure I could handle it. I scanned my surroundings for a loose cellphone. I was getting desperate to talk to Pete. I had to explain that it would be a few more days. I was sure he would understand, if I could just talk to him for a minute.
“Okay!” yelled the director. “Are you all ready to make your acting debuts?”
We all stood up and gathered around him. None of us, even Shyla who’d had acting lessons, looked very confident.
“I want each of you to commit to your roles. Got that?” asked the director. “Commitment is the key to success when it comes to acting.”
We nodded. Most of us were still trying to memorize our lines.
“Just like commitment is the key to success in a relationship,” he continued. “Right, ladies?”
We nodded again as a collective group. The wooden shoes were killing me and barely staying on my feet, but I tried to keep a neutral look on my face.
“Just like you came into this committed to Bellony Wintergreen, you are going to be committed to this scene. Right?”
We all looked at one another in confusion.
“Okay, ladies! Commit to your character and take your places!”
We lined up, with Cashmere first in line. Bellamy took his place at a table on the stage. I noticed a small crowd of onlookers gathering to watch us and I felt myself start to break out in itchy hives.
“Ready? Action!” yelled the director.
“Oh how I love the Mother Land,” Bellamy said stiffly in what he imagined to be an Irish accent.
Caj stomped up on the stage and set a big mug of beer down on the table. “Here is the pint you asked for, m’lord. Will you be having a bite to eat?”
“I’ll have a spot of tea, if you don’t mind,” said Bellamy.
“Well then, alas, I shall be on my way,” said Caj, stomping off as Deb from Duluth stomped on stage.
“I reckon you have spun a yarn or two to many a young lassie, but ye shan’t spin a yarn at me,” said Deb. She set a plate with a baked potato down in front of him. Then she curtseyed and was on her way.
“Nice touch,” whispered Shyla, who was next in line.
“Potatoes? Potatoes?” roared Bellamy. “I have seen enough potatoes to last me all my days! Come feast or famine, I shall dance me a jig and eat no more potatoes ever!” The director nodded emphatically at Bellamy’s delivery.
Shyla stomped up on stage, losing her shoe on the way. She hesitated, unsure if she should go back and get it or continue on. She turned, went back to retrieve it, and burst into tears. I froze, panicking on her behalf. Crying was definitely not part of the scene.
“I’ve seen your likes around these parts,” she sniffled to Bellamy, “and you have no right to demand my father’s land.” She forgot to set the plastic slab of ham she was carrying down on the table. As soon as she got off stage she remembered she still had it, and she slid it across the floor, where it skidded into the table leg by Bellamy’s foot. He bent down, picked it up, and smacked it down on the table. It was almost like it was supposed to have happened that way. It was a pretty nice save on his part, but the diversion made him forget his next line.
For a long moment, there was silence. The onlookers fanned themselves nervously. In the far distance there were traffic sounds and the faint squabble of a fire truck. I wondered if I should barge on up to the stage. It might be better than all this silence. But then, before I had to decide, he remembered his line and delivered it with gusto: “I will take your father’s land, and I will take your father’s daughters. Hear my cry, wenches. Hear my battle cry.” He looked up at the heavens and pounded his fist on the table.
It was my turn. Miraculously, I made my way up the steps and onto the stage without losing my shoes. I took a deep breath, setting the platter of corned beef in front of him. “Take this corned beef with you down the road, why dontcha? And keep your paws off me!” I yelled. Then I stomped my foot indignantly and left in a huff with my hands on my hips. As I exited, I heard a sprinkling of applause from the audience. I joined Shyla offstage. She was still crying, her heavy stage makeup streaked from where she’d tried to wipe away the tears. She had already unbraided her hair and kicked her shoes to the side.
“Are you okay?” I asked her.
“You were great,” she whispered. “I am so going home.”
“You weren’t that bad,” I whispered. “Even under pressure you still remembered your line.”
“Thanks. I hope you’re right,” she said, blowing her nose into the hem of her dirndl.
“Wait, wait, I forgot my line,” we heard the woman named Aubrey saying. “And these shoes! These shoes hurt so bad! I’m getting splinters in my toes. Can I take a look at my script and start over? Please?”
“No, just do your best to remember,” said the director.
“I’m telling you, I don’t remember it at all. Can’t you give me a hint?” She was crying now too; I could barely understand her through the blubbering.
“Now that she forgot her lines, I’m totally thrown off,” said Delores. “This is unfair to me. The momentum is, like, gone.”
“I think you’re safe,” I said to Shyla.
“If you’re done you can go change,” said one of the assistants. Shyla and I got up and went back to the dressing room. There were juice boxes resting in a big cooler of ice, and thi
ngs to make sandwiches.
“This is so lame,” said Caj, fixing herself a slice of Swiss cheese and tomatoes on rye. She had changed back into white jeans, zebra striped sandals, and a gold strapless top.
“You really think so?” asked Deb. “I think it’s exciting!”
Aubrey joined us, hiccupping tears away. “What. A. Disaster,” she said.
“Nice. Seriously. Thanks a lot,” said Delores, following right behind her. “I would have been great, but because of you, I blew it. By the way, your line was the shortest: ‘Your porridge, sir?’ I mean, come on! Please! You had three words. Yet still you ruined it. You are totally pathetic.”
“Please stop yelling at me,” said Aubrey.
“Yeah, she feels bad enough,” I said.
“Butt out! This is none of your business, Blondie! I’ll yell at whoever I feel like yelling at,” said Delores. “You haven’t even heard me yell yet.”
Vanessa arrived last on the scene, beaming. “He kissed me,” she said.
“He did?” asked Caj. She set down her tomato sandwich and held her hand to her gold shiny stomach like she might be sick.
“Bellamy kissed you?” sniffed Aubrey.
“Yes! Can you believe it? Bellamy kissed me!” said Vanessa. She couldn’t stop smiling and fanning herself, and her Southern accent had gotten turned up a notch from the excitement. “Y’all, I just gotta say, it was amazing. He is a great kisser! His lips are so soft. Like two velvet flower petals, but, you know, masculine.”
“How did it happen?” I asked.
“We were the last two on stage. I delivered my lines, and as soon as I said the part about my luck being a’changing, just like that, he kissed me.”
“Did the director tell him to?” asked Shyla.
“No,” said Vanessa. “He just did it all on his own. And then, he gave me these,” she said, holding back her hair and showing off dangling sapphire earrings. “I guess this means I am safe for another round.”
“Oh my God,” said Aubrey. “You get a bracelet at the cocktail party, now this. Clearly, you’re his favorite.”
Bellamy's Redemption Page 14
