by P. J. Morse
A cluster of other women I remembered from the audition video were already sitting in the corner, making small talk. I saw Topaz by herself, already looking bored and above it all.
Cookie dropped her suitcase and threw her arms in the air. “Bring it on, Greg!” She was even more animated in person: borderline hyper.
“They are going to love you, girl,” Greg declared. He dropped to his knees and wrapped a narrow belt around Cookie’s waist. Attached to the belt was a square mic pack. I was used to singing into a microphone, not carrying one around with me. It looked bulky and heavy, and I noticed that the women sitting in the corner all looked uncomfortable. They had been squirming around to get used to their new appendages.
“C’mere, Katherine,” Greg said. “Now, you can’t be shy, or you’re gonna get eliminated. You could stand to watch and learn from Cookie here.”
Cookie tossed her mane. “It’s not hard. I’m just here to get Patrick’s attention.”
I giggled. It seemed to be the safest response.
Greg wrapped the pack around my waist. I was glad I took Muriel’s advice and wore low-riding pants and a high-cut top, which seemed to be the standard uniform for these shows. The only thing I was missing was a navel ring and a tramp-stamp tattoo.
I wiggled my hips, trying to get used to the pack. “You’ll forget about it after a while,” Greg reassured me.
I followed Cookie as she sat down in a director’s chair near the other women. Not only would standing in her shadow help me blend, but she was also the most likely stalker since she was the only contestant who seemed to care about the Nuclear Kings. I plopped down beside her and wondered how one broke the ice on reality shows. Then I just said, “I’m Katherine.”
“Cookie,” she held out her hand. “This is so awesome!” She pointed at the mansion in which we would be staying. She was right. We were toward the back of the house, but I could see a pool — and a gratuitous one at that because the place already offered a view of the water. We were indeed in the lap of luxury, as long as we didn’t mind being filmed all the time.
Then Cookie turned toward me. Her hazel eyes were huge, made even larger by a fringe of false eyelashes. “So, what brings you here?”
I blushed. Time to work it. “Well, I’m a big fan of the Nuclear Kings.”
“Really?” Cookie said. “You have a sweet face, honey, but you are gonna get busted! You’re like, a generation behind!”
“No! No!” I protested. I didn’t need to be busted for a lack of authenticity on the first day. “I’m from Patrick’s hometown.”
Cookie pulled her head back. “Gardenia?”
I was impressed, but I also started sniffing the air for eau de psycho. How many Nuclear Kings fans would take the trouble to know or even remember the band’s hometown, years after the band broke up? I went for more information. “You’ve heard of Gardenia? The Nuclear Kings are everything back home. I still hear about them all the time. I feel like I was born too late!”
Cookie laughed. “This may be the only area where age puts me ahead! I was there for their early shows. Saw ‘em every time they were in Houston.”
“Yeah — I wish they played Gardenia every once in a while. Of course, there’s not much there. Like a gas station and a video store.”
“I can imagine. It’s like, desert, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“Did you ever see Patrick? Meet him?” Now Cookie’s eyes lit up, all hungry for the scoop on the Nuclear Kings.
I rolled out Muriel’s story, which she had me rehearse a million times until I thought I was her. “Well, he came into my parents’ video store once. I could barely ring up his rental. I was quaking in my boots! I felt like such a kid!”
Cookie leaned in, and her eyes glittered. “Once, he came into the club where I dance. And all the girls, we fought for him. He chose me. He pointed at me! Good tipper, too.” She shrugged. “I see this show as finishing what I started. I’m a realist. He may not remember me, but he will if I can get closer.” Then she glanced at a small knot of other women who would soon be standing between her and Patrick.
“What are you lookin’ at?” Topaz asked. She began to pick at something that had lodged under her index fingernail.
“Nothing.” Cookie offered a serene smile. “I’m Cookie. And you are?”
“What the hell kind of name is Cookie?” Topaz shot back. “I thought we weren’t getting nicknames on this show.”
I heard a woman cackle. I turned to see Tina, the woman from Miami who had been in Playboy, standing by Topaz in a gesture of mean-girl allegiance.
It never occurred to me that fighting might start even before the cameras rolled. I stuck to my plan of staying quiet and observing. “Well, what’s your name?” Cookie asked.
“Topaz.” Even her cheekbones seemed to sneer.
“Sounds stupid to me.” Cookie tossed her hair back.
“I don’t know. Jewels versus junk food.” Topaz looked at her nails. They reminded me of gold talons.
“Ooooh… looks like I showed up late to the party,” a voice said. I turned and saw Lorelai. With the confidence of a reality-show vet, she pulled up a chair by me and crossed her long legs. “Ladies, let me give you some advice. You don’t need to expend the energy until the cameras roll.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Topaz said, looking away to indicate that she wasn’t grateful in the slightest.
“I just don’t see why you’re being so nasty,” Cookie said.
“Look at Miss Manners over here,” Tina chimed in for the first time. “Look, honey, we’re here to win, not to make friends.”
It had been only five minutes, and the cameras weren’t rolling, but Tina already busted out one of the most overused lines from reality television.
“You forgot one thing,” Cookie pointed out. “We’re here to win Patrick Price, not just to win. If you just wanna be on TV, then why don’t you go on back to the hole you crawled from? Katherine and me, we actually like the Nuclear Kings.” She even gestured at me to make sure I was on board.
I nodded vigorously to show agreement. I wasn’t sure of the wisdom of taking sides early on, but my cover called for me to be a rabid Nuclear Kings fan. And I did not take to Tina, Topaz, and their alpha-bitch personalities.
Tina said to Cookie, “Isn’t it sweet that you’re a fan? Is it so bad that I’m here because I think he’s hot?”
Lorelai started laughing, not just at Tina, but at all of us. “It doesn’t matter why you are here. I like him, too, but you guys are really overdoing it.”
“Know-it-all,” Topaz grumbled.
“For your information, I have been on one of these shows, and I know how it works,” Lorelai shot back. “You keep this up, you are going to tire out, the producers will tire of you, and you will go home. I’m just doing you a favor. She’s the smart one.” Then she pointed at me. “She’s just chilling out. Five will get you ten that she will turn into a frickin’ beast once that camera is on.”
I laughed at the idea of myself turning into a “frickin’ beast,” and I was pleased to find Cookie laughing along with me. I saw other groups of women forming, and they were already looking over, either like they wanted to join our crowd or at least get in on the action. “Well, we’ll just have to see if the beast comes out tonight,” I said. “House is nice, isn’t it?”
“Oh, now it’s a tea party,” Tina giggled. “Tea party conversation! Oh, this house is so lovely! Would you like some jam for your scones?” She faked sipping from a teacup and sticking out her pinky finger.
“Ignore her,” Cookie advised.
Lorelai flashed some temper in my defense. She pointed at Topaz and told Tina, “Your little friend figured out how to shut her mouth, and I suggest you do the same. Besides, the first day, the whole point is to drink a crap load and try to get some face time with Patrick.”
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I cheered, slapping my hands on my knees. I saw Cookie grin.
“Crap load? What the hell is that? Crap load?” Tina was stunned that Lorelai wouldn’t curse. “They didn’t tell me this was the fucking Sound of Music!”
Lorelai continued to be the repository of reality-show knowledge. “You can curse until your face turns blue, but they will beep you out. And if you aren’t around that long, you don’t want to be remembered for being Miss Beepity-Beep-Beep. Maybe, just maybe, you want to be remembered for what you say. You can get drunk, you can puke, you can write on the walls in crayon, but the producers will not be happy if you cuss. I suggest you think of some alternatives.”
One of the figures in black must have notified Greg that trouble was already brewing, for he rushed up. “Ladies, ladies! Let’s just simmer down. You want to save at least a little energy before you get into the house. Lorelai here has been on a show before, so trust her.”
“You mean we can’t cuss?” Topaz asked, rolling her eyes. “Fuck that. That’s what beeps are for.”
Greg pointed a finger at her. “Yeah, fuck that. Fuck that all you want — ” all of us snickered at that, even Topaz “ — and then you get beeped, and you ask me at the reunion show why you didn’t get that much camera time. Now, we’re going to the front of the house because Patrick is on his way. Round it up.” He made a gesture as if he were picking up some unruly newborn kittens.
Cookie, Lorelai and I began clapping and squealing. Even Tina smiled. I saw Topaz’s face relax ever so slightly. I made a mental note to keep an eye on her and her temper, although I really wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of spending much time around either her or Tina.
We stood up, stretched, and began to walk to the front of the mansion. I overheard one woman say, “I need a drink, like, so bad.”
Kevin was already out front, giving us all the once-over. He tried to fluff my hair and encountered all the hairspray I put in it. “Amazing transformation,” he said.
“You ain’t kidding,” I whispered. He smiled back.
Then Kevin and Greg started looking at each of us and arranging all 20 of us carefully, some of us standing on red-velvet risers and the rest of us on the ground. You would think it would have been simple to place us in 2 rows of 20, but not in Kevin’s world. He looked at our faces and compared us as we stood side-by-side. I was moved multiple times for various reasons, such as being too tall, too short, too red-haired or not red-haired enough.
I paid attention to who wound up in the middle and who got stuck with the sides, out of camera range. Greg eventually placed me on the ground, since I’m pretty short, but not smack in the middle, in Patrick’s line of sight.
Kevin would mutter to himself as he arranged us. I felt like we were in an especially complicated class photo. I looked over and saw that Dawn, the sweet little flight attendant, had made it, but she was on the outer edges. Andi and her exaggerated proportions had turned up by Cookie. Tina was already complaining about her spot. “I’m not that much taller than what’s-her-face” — she pointed at me — “why can’t I be on the ground?”
“My name is Katherine,” I told her.
Tina ignored me and kept whining. “She’s not that short! And you can’t see my cleavage!” She tried to leap up a bit to showcase her chest above the head of the woman in front of her.
Now I had a full-fledged enemy. I also noticed that Topaz, who was by Tina, gave me a touch of snarl. Unlike Tina, she hadn’t had her lips plumped and could move them properly.
Kevin reached up and touched Tina on the shoulder. “You are beautiful. Stunning. It’s not your position that will make him notice you — it’s you. You just keep that in mind.” With his deep voice and ability to look you right in the eye, never looking away unless he had to, Kevin could convince anyone that she was special. He must have made Tina think he really cared because she stopped talking.
Then Kevin stepped back. “Ladies! You just remember — you play to the camera, and you play to Patrick, okay? Use your eyes. Make them smolder. Now, everyone mic’d up?”
We nodded obediently.
“Patrick’s gonna arrive in just a few moments,” Kevin declared.
We all cheered.
“It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Kevin said. “Now, you gotta give it your all. Passion! What you showed us on those tapes, you gotta bring here!”
His pep talk was cheesier than a brick of Velveeta. But on that day, we were all so giddy — some with the prospect of romance and some with the prospect of fame — that we all yelled back, “Bring it!”
Then we waited. And waited. They must have really wanted to make sure we were committed to Patrick. I hoped I had on enough sunblock, as my skin started to sweat and tingle. I thought I saw a ring of perspiration forming under Cookie’s armpit. I felt sweat forming under my mic pack. I couldn’t imagine what biological hazards were brewing in Tina’s thong.
To pass the time and to get to know a few more potential stalkers, I began chatting with the woman next to me, a brunette in a hot-pink stretch tube dress that had a flouncy bottom. “When is he gonna show up?” I asked.
The woman in the tube dress replied, “My sister was on Sexy Single Dad, and she told me they always make you wait on these things. Wanna drink?” From under the ruffle of her dress, she brandished a flask that had a pink zebra print. “No wonder you’re sweaty. You’ve got on too many clothes.”
Given the heat, I thought I had been pretty smart about my outfit, at least at first. I had borrowed most of my clothes from Muriel, who dressed more for fashion, whereas I tended to dress for comfort. I was in tight jeans to suggest a down-home Gardenia, California, desert style, but I was in a low-cut turquoise top with a sweetheart neckline, plus a black choker necklace and high heeled boots. The look was “Ginger Barbarella.” Unfortunately, probably the only getup that would have made me feel better in that heat was my birthday suit.
After I took a small sip to be hospitable, the brunette asked, “So, who are you?”
“Katherine.” I was still having trouble calling myself that.
“I’m Stacy. I’m with Casey and Tracy. We rhyme!” She pointed to two other women and took a long gulp from the flask. “Are you in a crew?”
“I guess so.” I almost pointed to Cookie and maybe Lorelai, but I decided to wait. “I didn’t know there were crews.”
“Oh, yeah! My sister told me that having a posse helps your storyline. Drinking up doesn’t hurt, either.” Now she waved the flask. “Maybe we’ll let you in… too bad your name doesn’t rhyme with ours.”
“I appreciate that, Tracy. So what do you think of Patrick?”
“It’s Stacy,” she replied, plainly irritated. Then she paused. “And who’s Patrick?”
“Patrick, you know.” I waited in case Stacy remembered, but she didn’t. “The dude on the show. The Atomic Love dude,” I explained.
“Oh! Yes, yes, love his music. Like looooove it!” Then she started humming the tune from a song by Pearl Jam. “Even floooowwww…” She flashed some rock devil’s horns to show just how rock ‘n’ roll she was.
Now it was my turn to correct her. “That’s Pearl Jam.” I was wondering how many of these women could identify a Nuclear Kings song when a black stretch Hummer pulled up.
Chapter Seven:
The Premiere
I marveled that the Hummer could turn along the winding road that led to the front of the house. Then I noticed the cameras in my peripheral vision, and I just started to go wild, jumping up and down on my heels. “Patrick!” I squealed.
Fred, the black Santa who delivered me to the mansion, stepped out of the Hummer’s driver’s seat. As he walked to the other side, he beamed because the extravagant limo was clearly an upgrade from the Cadillac. Then he opened the door to the back of the Hummer.
Patrick Price stepped out. I had watched some of the recent videos he made with the grunge-rock supergroup the Modocs, and he had aged well. Unlike many men who became famous in rock, he never had a girlish face. With his bone structure, his features had become more chi
seled over the years, but he still had sleepy eyes that made him look like a boy who just woke up. He had wisely shaved his head, as opposed to covering up what was probably male-pattern baldness with a cap or extensions.
Not only that, but he clearly worked out, and his arms looked almost exactly the same as they had on Muriel’s poster. He was even wearing a tight black T-shirt that looked similar to the poster, a sign that he was either proud of retaining his physique or that he was chasing his glory years. Given the fact that he was on a reality dating show, I assumed the latter.
The only downside of Patrick’s appearance was that he was trying to work a goatee, something I never, ever liked on a guy. I thought of a T-shirt Shane loved to wear: “Free Mustache Rides Upstairs!” For the first time, I wondered if I might have to kiss him and how I was going to navigate the facial hair. Then I wondered how I was going to navigate all the other kisses he would be receiving from my competitors.
Patrick walked to a mark on the ground and scanned each of our faces. “You know how to make a man feel like a king!” he yelled, leaning back. “Whoo!”
We all responded with a “Whoo!”
“Now, you guys know that last season’s Atomic Love, well… it kind of blew up in my face,” Patrick began.
“Bitch!” Cookie shouted, as if any relationship that began on reality television ended well. On the first season of Atomic Love, Patrick chose a stunning Brazilian bikini model, Ana. As Wayne put it, “Her English wasn’t so hot, but it’s not like she was there to, you know, talk.”
Alas, soon after the final episode, Ana had been spotted around town with the editor of a lad mag, Gent, who kindly put her on the cover, and ratings for Atomic Love were good enough for Patrick to get another season.
Patrick laughed at Cookie’s heartfelt response. “Someone here has my back! But I’m putting that behind me because, well, the future just got a whole lot brighter today.”
More jumping, more stomping, more chest thrusting.
