by Sarah Gagnon
Immediately, Jasmine’s counter starts ticking upward. I guess that means viewers at home are already dialing in their favorites. My counter is silent. Highlights from Claire’s date play on the screen. She’s up to ten votes. “Punch in number one now if you think Claire deserves a second date.” There’s a flurry of beeps and Claire’s number stops at 2,633. I’m next. I think I’m gonna puke. I can’t stand to twist my head around to see Jasmine’s count.
Scenes from my date unfold on the screen.
I’m going to be sick.
I’m going to die.
I shift in my seat. The purple dress sticks to my butt. I need to stand up. I need to run. I look across the stage. Jeremy is watching me with sad eyes. Then Rod Bing says the dreaded words.
“If you think contestant number two deserves a second date…” He pauses. I squeeze my eyes shut. “…vote now.” The whole world wobbles. I clamp my teeth down on my tongue and force a polite smile as my number rises. How many people are at home, judging me? I can’t believe I ever thought this was a good idea.
4,310. That’s my number. So few, but still more than Claire’s. That’s something, I guess.
One was my mother, and I don’t have any other relatives that would vote. In fact, I’m surprised I got more than one vote. What was I thinking? This is humiliating. My eyes water and I have to widen my lids to keep the moisture in place.
The show moves on to Praline’s footage. They cut her date down to less than thirty seconds and she only gets a few votes. Occasionally I get a small ding over my head. Can I just go home now? I have the strongest desire to be in my tiny foldout bed at home. Pull my blanket over my head and forget this dream. None of this is real. Jeremy’s a dream and this voting thing is a nightmare.
Except that when I look across the stage, Jeremy is still watching me, and I think he wants to run over and scoop me up. Part of my brain might be shutting down. For a split second I envy Praline and her coma. “Vote for number four now…”
I twist in my seat to watch Shelley Anne’s number soar. A guy in the audience screams out “boobs!” He holds his touchpad over his head and hits Shelley’s number. That damn super suit is getting Shelley more votes than any of us. After her number climbs into the six digits, I look away. I’m still number three and there has to be a twist to the voting. Six more girls to go.
A few drops of water slip down my face. Sweat from the lights. Just sweat. I don’t wipe it away because I don’t want to draw attention to it. Number five and number six have small numbers. I’m neck and neck with Mel, but I’m holding onto the third place slot. Then comes Brie, the gambling clone. In seconds, she beats out Shelley.
Which means…she beat out me. Which means…I’m not in the final three.
I wait for the twist that will change the numbers around. Jasmine’s counter is recording six-digit numbers. Wait, now seven. Please make it stop. The hurricane is edging up the coast, maybe there’ll be an electrical storm and the system will short out. Maybe Jasmine’s counter will explode and set her hair on fire. I dig my nails into my palms and pray for that.
“All right, last chance. Anyone who hasn’t decided, now is your last chance to record your opinion.” Rod Bing pauses for a dramatic ten seconds of silence. But on stage the tiny clicking of the boxes overhead is deafening.
“That’s it, folks.” The audience stands and cheers. No one chants my name. “Numbers four, eight, and ten, please stand up.” Balloons and confetti release from the ceiling and the mess rains down on me. Spotlights illuminate the final three and I’m left sitting in the dark, stunned.
I lost.
“For the rest of you, it’s time to say goodbye.”
The lights flicker. Jeremy stands up. “What about this?” He pulls a big red card from behind the loveseat and holds it over his head.
Rod Bing opens his arms wide and walks across the stage as the audience quiets. Lights flash over his shiny suit. “You know these opinionated musicians are hard to please.” The crowd snickers. “We’ve given Jeremy a save card.”
My pulse thuds in my throat. I can barely breathe. Claire reaches over and grasps my hand.
“What do you think, Jeremy? Did the audience do a good job picking, or is there someone left behind that you want to use your save card on?”
“I’ll use the card.” No hesitation. My belly flips. Please, no puking this time. He crosses the stage, hazel eyes set on me.
The audience shouts out different names, but he stops in front of me. “Monet, this is for you.”
I take the red paper. He quirks a half smile and offers his hand. I stand on the stage next to him. So shocked to be chosen.
Only a few people clap. Most are still trying to convince him to pick one of the other girls.
I’m frozen.
Black clouds spot my vision. Jeremy grips my arm so that I don’t slump to the floor. I can’t make out any one voice, but I get the gist. “Not her.”
Why? What’s so bad about me?
Then the crowd starts cheering again. Jasmine, Shelley, and the gambling clone stand next to us. I kick the confetti away from my feet. I wanted to be chosen, but I wanted the viewers to think I’m good enough for Jeremy, too.
Rod Bing motions for Claire to stand up. “Go ahead and say goodbye to Jeremy on your way off stage.” He points to the door at the back of the living room setup.
Jeremy shakes Claire’s hand and gives her a brief hug. I watch as the rest of the girls embrace Jeremy and walk off. Then it’s my turn. Our cheeks brush together as I lean into him. “It’s almost over,” he whispers as he gives my hands a final squeeze when I pull away. I cross the stage and walk through the door.
Back stage is dark. I stand there blinking, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
Jasmine bumps into me from behind. “What the hell is this?”
Then the lights slowly come on. The ten of us stand there, blinking at the scene. There are people in front of us. It takes a minute to register. They’re the people from our episodes. We exited the stage only to find ourselves on another mirror image of the first, only this one is populated with people we don’t want to see.
There’s a grating sound and the stage vibrates. The whole floor beneath our feet starts to rotate around. I’m almost knocked down as we start moving. Shelley grabs hold of me for balance. The whole stage moves until we’re back in front of the audience again.
Then chaos breaks out. My father, sperm donor, whatever the hell he is, stands on the other side of a yellow line. I recognize Claire’s dance instructor. Everyone talks over each other. I can’t hear anything. I thought the show was over. There’s even a guy in a white lab coat over there. What are we supposed to do, brawl?
Two guys in security uniforms wait along the side. Rod Bing stands behind them, pretending to cower. A woman screams in Spanish and steps up to the yellow plastic tape. Security tells her to move back, and then she launches herself at Claire. I stumble to the side as the two crash to the ground. I catch the Spanish word for slut and I’m guessing this is Claire’s dance instructor’s wife. Security strolls over, nice and casual, letting them get into it.
I look across to where my father stands, wondering what he thinks of all the theatrics. He shakes his head in disgust. The white lab coat guy approaches Shelley. I want to get closer to hear. Then-bam-I hear his voice over the loud speaker. A screen over our heads flashes to each zoomed-in conflict. The new guests are all wearing personal mics and the producers switch between broadcasts.
Lab coat says, “I want to offer the studio audience a discount of twenty percent for utilizing my plastic surgery services. Just look at Shelley Anne, and tell me you wouldn’t like curves like that for yourself.”
Shelley tries to shush him. “He doesn’t mean that I’ve had work done.”
“What? But you had an appointment just last month.”
She makes a chopping motion at her neck. “Patient confidentiality,” she whispers.
He shrugs. Then the view
shifts. I glance back at Claire, who’s finally pinned the wife. Her dress is up around her waist, flashing lace panties. Security carries them both off stage while the dance instructor follows behind, asking them to “Please be calm.”
Then my father walks toward me. How did they even get him to show up here?
“Monet,” he says as he walks closer. The gray hair around his temples makes him appear more distinguished and I understand why he hasn’t had it colored. I take a step back, but he hugs me anyway. Or at least, tries to. His body stays stiff. This is too weird. As soon as he’s close to my head he says, “Smile for the fucking cameras, daughter. Company stock already dropped after your episode.” He squeezes my arms. Okay. I get it. I step back from his embrace. His mouth lifts in a half circle. It’s supposed to be a smile, but it doesn’t look like one. He narrows his eyes. Oh, right. I’m not smiling. I start, but no. What the hell am I doing? I don’t even know this man. He’s never done anything for me.
“So, where have you been my whole life?” I ask.
“Oh, I wanted to see you. Of course I did. Your mom kept us apart.” He gestures his arms out wide in frustration. A show for the audience.
“That’s bullshit.”
“You’re my daughter. Family is of utmost importance to me.”
I get it, he’s got a high profile job. Makes a lot of money. Being outed as a deadbeat dad on national TV didn’t do much for public relations and company stock, apparently. I glance around, trying to see if Mom is over there, too. I’d rather let her deal with this asshole. Sadly, I’m on my own.
I sigh. “Just get out of here. You’ve never been there for me, you don’t know me, and don’t bother trying to say that you do.” I take a deep breath. I never fantasized about having a father and I don’t need to start any what-ifs now. He looks up at the screen to see if the cameras are still focused on us. They’re not. Purple contacts is busy crying while some guy screams at her.
“Looks like our moment is over,” he says. “If you’d cooperated, I could’ve gotten in a plug for Global Fission. That doctor managed to get his ad in.”
I gulp down my anger. “Aren’t you at all curious about me?”
“Why would I be? You’re lucky enough to get my DNA. You know I didn’t get to have another kid. Leaving your mother was supposed to provide me with opportunities. Then I find out some food additive has made me sterile.”
I swallow the bile back. Our first in person conversation and this is what he chooses to say.
“Speaking of that, how do I even know you’re my real daughter? They messed up your sex. Maybe they messed up whose sperm they used.”
Wow. I’m almost going to cry. I clench my jaw. He does not deserve that much of a reaction. I turn away. He doesn’t need my response. He has his own ideas, nothing I say will make any difference. I search the audience for Jeremy, but he must have left to get ready for the concert.
“No answer for that?”
I look back at him. My poor mother was married to that. “Honestly, I didn’t know you existed, and now that I do, I don’t even care.”
I walk across the stage to a raised seating area where Jasmine’s watching the battle below. I can’t believe they still haven’t found anything in her past to bombard her with.
“Enjoying the show?” she taunts.
All this rage swirls around in the front of my skull. My asshole father, and now Jasmine. I take one look at her smug ass expression and my fist connects with her jaw.
There’s a big thwack and her head tips back.
“You punched me. You fucking punched me?”
Huh. I look down at my burning knuckles and shake out my fingers. “Uh, yeah. I guess I did.” The audience is screaming and pointing at us. Finally someone cheers my name. My happiness lasts all of two minutes. One of the cameras picked us up and there it is on replay right in front of me.
“I want her arrested!” Jasmine screams to the security people. Instead, they smile at me.
How could I have lost it like that? Now I’m immortalized on TV for this. Shit. Then FBI agents swarm in from the back entrance. I freeze.
“She’s right here!”
Jasmine points at me, but they run past me to the brawl.
“Brie Logan?”
The gambling clone looks up, takes in the approaching officers and sprints toward the audience. They chase after her. She’s almost out of the room, but then more feds emerge from the door right in front of her.
She’s down on the ground with her arms twisted behind her in seconds. “Brie Logan, you are under arrest for criminal tax evasion. You have the right to an attorney…”
The rest of the contestants still on the stage stare at the officers as they drag her away. Rod Bing steps out to the center of the stage, shaking his head and clapping his hands. “And that is a wrap.”
I should’ve known the show would go this far. Eleanor talks with Claire against the back wall and I make my way over.
“Can we just go home now?” Claire asks.
“Hey, did you forget about the concert?” Eleanor asks in an excited voice. Yeah, like that’s going to make us feel better.
“And then in the following days those of you who aren’t part of the final three will be giving opinions about who Jeremy should select.” Eleanor smiles like we didn’t just go through hell. “That way, if one of the girls has been a real bitch to the other contestants, they’ll get a chance to return the favor.” I wonder if Eleanor knows how much we all hate Jasmine. She must have seen me punch her. No one in the room missed that replay.
Shelley joins us. “Final three? Isn’t it four with Monet?”
“Nope. Since Brie will be in prison, she’s out.”
I stare at Eleanor, waiting for a bit of remorse. “This feels awfully planned.”
She shrugs and points us toward the back exit of the studio. “Either way, the numbers work out.”
I can’t believe these people. This time, when we leave the stage, we’d better actually get out of here.
“Jasmine! Come on.” I turn around and see Jasmine talking to a lady from the audience. Her jaw has a big red mark from where I hit her. I cringe. I’m more upset about losing my control than actually hurting her. Jasmine is borrowing the lady’s phone and is bitching at someone on the other end. Probably her lawyer. Once again, I don’t have any assets, so she should save herself the effort and not sue me.
We file out the back of the studio door. Artificial light from the city illuminates the dark gray clouds. Wind frizzes Jasmine’s hair around the edges of her face. She catches me looking and glares.
We drive to Madison Square Garden. Fans line the sidewalk, screaming Jeremy’s name. They press against the glass, vying for a glimpse of who’s inside. I turn away from the smooshed noses and flip my hands over, flexing each finger. I’m an artist. I made my own money. I’m good enough to win this competition. Jeremy and I get along, we care about the same things, and I want him like crazy. The audience just didn’t witness all the time Jeremy and I spent together.
The rain picked up while we were inside getting humiliated. I feel like the hurricane is chasing me down. I let the rain soak my beautiful dress as we step out of the limo in the back parking lot.
“Hurry up!” Claire grabs my wrist and drags me toward the door. Maybe she’s worried I’ll end up like Praline. The wind whips my hair back and forth, yanking out my misery.
4,310 votes. Hardly anyone believes I’m good enough to date Jeremy.
Red carpet, black tile, white tile. One foot in front of another. “You’re all a sorry bunch,” Eleanor says. “I’m taking you to a concert, front row seats, not a funeral.”
I think her comment is particularly shitty after what happened to Praline, but I lift my head and try to take in the distant domed ceiling. Fake gold paint outlines the edges. The real metal would’ve been scraped off years ago. Once the government managed to pass a law giving them the right to use precious metal for expenses, they started harvest
ing everything. I bet The Metal Society would love to restore the room. My seat squeaks as I sit. I shiver and my teeth knock together. With my luck I’ll be trampled to death when Jeremy arrives. I’ll get one last glimpse of him before feet cover my head.
Claire nudges my arm. “Look at that.” She points to a man at the back of the stage talking into his earpiece. “He’s holding a weather track pad.”
“So what?”
“Do you think they’re going to cancel the concert?”
“That would suck. I mean, we should at least get our consolation prize.” The girl behind me kicks the back of my seat and I turn around to glare at her. She scrunches down and pulls her legs close.
On stage there’s a raised platform with computer screens all plugged into a central mixer. All the different colored wires coil on the ground, making Jeremy’s spot look like a nest, or maybe an engine.
The general lighting dims and the central walkway illuminates from underneath with pinpoints of light. Screams fill the room as Jeremy jogs down the path. Red and blue beams of light hit under his jaw, accentuating the angles of his face. He’s a god walking on top of a universe of stars. He raises his hands above his head when he reaches the stage. The shouting rings in my ears. A rainbow flickers over him as he removes a button-up shirt to reveal a very tight T-shirt underneath. I bite my lip. He’s so perfect.
The arena goes into absolute darkness and the noise dies out in anticipation. In the black, the sound of a wave rushes over us and fills in with clear tings of notes. Individual, different, sad. His voice fills the space. “I found you in the sea/ Beauty cutting through me.” The lyrics are new.
When the lights come on, he’s glowing in the center of his instruments, concentrating on the screens, flipping buttons and punching in code. He’s so intense. I close my eyes for a minute and let the music transport me to his ocean. I’m the girl in the sea.
Jasmine leans forward in her seat at the end of the row. “Psst, Eleanor. I thought I was getting a special seat on stage for having the most votes.” I focus only on Jeremy’s face and his rapidly moving hands. Eleanor doesn’t acknowledge Jasmine’s request.
