The Reality O

by Candy Sloane

  I breathed a sigh of relief and signaled for another shot.

  “We’re twins,” Allie said, indicating her shirt and panties combo. Hers were red lace.

  Yes, Allie wore red panties even when she didn’t know whether anyone would see them. In a lot of ways she’s my hero.

  “I guess we are twins,” I banged my hip against hers.

  “Stop trying to turn me on,” Tongue quipped.

  “Stop trying to turn me on,” Kappa added.

  Cowboy shuffled the cards.

  “You’re not cheating, are you, Cowboy?” I asked with the confidence of vodka in my veins.

  He held back a smile. “Grandma did not teach me that.”

  I glanced over at Scott. He was straining to see the part of me the table was hiding. Desperate to see his V’s V. The other part of me I hoped he’d made scream last night.

  Cowboy dealt again.

  I picked up my cards, more shit. Nothing matched, nothing made sense. The cards were like a foreign language in my hands.

  Allie smiled. She clearly had a good hand.

  Hopefully one of the Gasms was more screwed than I was.

  “Nice poker face,” Kappa said to Allie.

  “Nice face,” she replied, sticking out her tongue and laying her cards on the table. She would be keeping her shirt.

  “Dammit, when am I gonna see some tits?” Tongue asked.

  “Show your cards, everyone,” Cowboy commanded.

  I waited for the Gasms to put down their hands first, hoping, praying, someone had something worse than I did. Kappa had a pair, Cowboy had two pairs—cheater!—and Tongue had that ace.

  The one I should have kept in the pocket of the jeans that were now on the floor below me. I held my cards tight to the chest they would all now see. At least I had on a bra.

  “Chris?” Kappa asked.

  “I lost,” I threw my cards on the table.

  I didn’t want to think about it too much. I couldn’t. I wasn’t like one of those strippers at the club last night. If someone asked me why I was getting naked I had no good answer, other than I was getting paid for it. The same answer they would have given.

  Maybe I was just like one of them.

  I flung off my T-shirt so I wouldn’t be tempted to hold it up in front of me.

  After that, everything went into freeze-frames, snaps like photos in an album.

  All sets of eyes were on me.

  There was an audible gasp.

  The room emptied of air.

  “What?” I asked. “It’s just a bra, you’ve never seen one before?”

  Kappa started to laugh so hard he couldn’t even talk.

  Allie’s mouth was open in shock.

  Scott dropped the mic so it banged against the table, running to cover the lens of the camera with his hand, urging Garrett to stop filming.

  “Your high beams are on,” Tongue said, trying to keep a straight face.

  “What?” I was dizzy, my legs were weak. I guess it wasn’t just a bra I was wearing. I couldn’t even bring myself to look down.

  Tongue put her hands in front of her breasts and made sunbursts out of them, “Your high beams,” she repeated.

  I touched my chest. I felt nipple, diamond hard nipple. I glanced down, trying to keep the sudden wave of nausea and my escalating heartbeat in check. I was wearing a bra but, because I had put it on in the dark, I didn’t notice the two heart-shaped holes cut out for my nipples.

  Peek-a-boob.

  “Look who’s a closet naughty girl,” Kappa finally said.

  The room started spinning, the weakness in my legs transformed to a tingling throughout my whole uncovered body. I was completely exposed, completely humiliated, but how was any of that different than what I’d been through already?

  I’d invited fifteen strangers and America into my sex life, all because I was tired of living with my secret and desperate to make it a thing of the past. Whatever loss of dignity I was experiencing now was already too late.

  I heard Scott’s voice, but I couldn’t make out the words. I couldn’t see straight to even look at him. I crawled under the table and curled into the fetal position. I didn’t know what else to do. I continued to hear voices above me, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Everything was a blur, a murmur.

  Eventually Allie crawled down under the table to join me, my shirt and jeans clutched in her hand. She tried to pass them over to me and, when I didn’t take them right away, she helped me put them on.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” she said, helping me from under the table, guiding me out of the room and into the casino before the Gasms, Garrett, or Scott could say a word.

  “Allie,” I said, noticing she was just in her T-shirt once we were free of the room, free of the cameras. “What about your pants?”

  “I’m sure my outfit isn’t the raciest thing that’s ever hit Vegas,” she said, wiggling her butt.

  I managed a small smile. All the Gasms and Garrett—gross—might have seen my nipples, but at least they’d be blurred from America. That is, as long as they didn’t buy the DVD version of the show that was sure to include all the X-rated extras.

  Fuck me.

  She hugged me to her. “I think it’s time for a massage.”

  I nodded; anything to get me out of there, to take me away even for an hour, to have hands on me that weren’t trying to win ten thousand dollars.

  We were alone besides our masseuses. Face down on identical massage tables.

  No cameras.

  No Scott.

  No Garrett.

  No Gasms.

  Just my best friend Allie and me.

  I could almost pretend we were back in Bangor having a spa day.

  Almost.

  We hadn’t spoken the whole walk over, as we got ready, waited in our robes sipping cucumber water, or even as the masseuses got masseuesing.

  But now I wanted to. I needed to. I’d been pretending for too long.

  With some time to process, I realized my panic attack hadn’t just been about showing off my tootsie rolls, but remembering that this was real. These were real people whose feelings I was playing with. I was a person. Scott was a person.

  If you think you forget that when you’re watching a reality show, try being on one.

  “Allie,” I said into the massage table. It smelled of lavender. The masseuse’s hands were warm and firm on my back.

  “Mmmm hmmm,” she replied.

  “I need to tell you something.” I swallowed, getting up the courage. Maybe thinking if I told her about the clandestine climaxes I’d shared with Scott, I’d be able to make sense of things. “It’s kind of shocking.” I continued to stall.

  “More shocking than you fooling around with Scott?” she said, like it was nothing at all.

  My stomach felt like it fell through the massage table. “How did you know that?” I lifted my head so fast my neck practically snapped.

  My masseuse pushed it back down. “Relax,” she said. “Breathe.”

  Did she hear what Allie had just said? How the fuck was I supposed to do that?

  “I’m not stupid,” Allie paused. I could almost hear her smirk. “Also, I saw him leaving your room the other night.”

  I tried to lift my head again, but the masseuse pushed it down.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t say anything,” I mumbled into the table. At least my burning face was hidden.

  “I was waiting for you to tell me. I kind of thought you would have before now.”

  The masseuse didn’t have to push me down that time. I was glad I didn’t have to see Allie’s eyes.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “It had to be a secret. Scott could get fired if anyone found out.”

  “Oh, I know,” she said.

  My spine turned to ice. “Garrett doesn’t know, does he?” I managed to pull my whole body up and into a sitting position. This time the masseuse didn’t bother protesting. She shrugged and sat on the stool in the
corner of the room. “I get paid either way,” she said, though no one was listening.

  “I’ve been doing my best to keep him busy for you,” Allie said, her masseuse still hard at work, “but I’m not really his type, if you get my meaning.”

  “So you’re not sleeping with him?”

  This made her sit up.

  “You two really don’t get the concept of relaxation,” her masseuse said.

  “Oh, go shove your chakras,” Allie said.

  Her masseuse smiled tightly and joined mine in time-out.

  Allie sighed and ran her hand through her massage oil flattened hair. “Yes, for the first time in, like, ever, you are the only one getting some.”

  “No way,” I said in disbelief. “You weren’t even with one of the Gasms?”

  She laughed. “You didn’t want to sleep with any of them. You think I do?”

  “You’ve seriously just been hanging out with Garrett for me?” I asked, my bare legs dangling off the table. I wrapped the sheet tighter around me.

  “My motives weren’t totally altruistic,” she said, biting on the inside of her cheek. “At first I thought he was cute, and, of course, I thought he could help me with my career, but when he wasn’t interested I figured I owed you at least that.”

  “You’re a good friend, Allie,” I said, reaching out and taking her hand.

  “Not really,” she replied, patting it lightly. “I did get you into all this.”

  “True,” I sighed. “But…” I considered. “If you hadn’t, I never would have met Scott.”

  “Does that mean you guys are serious?” she asked, dropping my hand and leaning toward me, her eyes expectant.

  “I don’t know exactly what we are,” I said. “We’ve had kind of a weird start.”

  She laughed. “Your ‘how we met’ story is beyond epic.”

  I sighed even deeper. It was, more than she even knew.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, staring down at my toes. “I could be with one of the Gasms, I guess. Just get it over with so I can be with Scott, but the thought of that kind of makes me sick.”

  She nodded. “You’re screwed,” she said, “and not in a good way.”

  “No,” I agreed, “not in a good way.”

  “You finally got an orgasm, though, right?”

  My whole face spread into a smile. “More than one.”

  “Lucky,” she mused, pressing her lips together. “Scott sounds like a keeper.”

  “I think he might be, if I can get through tomorrow, anyway.”

  “There’s only one question,” she said, her eyes contemplative. “Is he worth sleeping with someone else for?”

  Scott wasn’t asking for that, but maybe that was what it was going to take. I mean, what reason could I give for not picking any of the Gasms? It would be too suspicious. There had to be a winner.

  I’d had so many meaningless sexual encounters in my life, and they had all brought me to this moment. Could I have just one more?

  Episode Twelve: The Winner?

  I waited up for Scott, but he never came.

  Yes, both meanings.

  When I woke up after not much sleep, the tiny police car light was blinking on the phone in my suite. I dialed into my voicemail. I must have turned off the ringer.

  Crap.

  It was Scott. “Chris, I want to see you,” he whispered over the line. “I need to see you. To make sure you’re okay, but I can’t get away. We’re all stuck setting up for the finale and doing run-through. Just know that you are on my mind every moment…” He cleared his throat. “That’s ten large pizzas, four cheese, six pepperoni.” His voice got louder. “We need them delivered to the Roman Palace theater.”

  He hung up. He’d gotten caught. He couldn’t continue with what he had wanted to tell me.

  I needed to talk to him. To ask him what I should do; who I should pick. Who he cared the least about me being with? If he thought I could get away with picking no one at all.

  I hoped I would get that chance.

  When I got to the Roman Palace theater the stage was set up like it had been at the mansion. A red carpet and a throne-like chair for me stage left. A massive neon sign that read The Orgasm Virgin hung above the stage.

  Scott hadn’t been kidding about all the setup he and the crew needed to do. You could tell with just a quick glance around that this was a major endeavor, and I’d seen enough reality shows to know that, because we were in a room with auditorium style seating, it would be taped in front of a live studio audience.

  Excellent—even more people to see me try to get out of this somehow.

  Allie walked up behind me and took my hand.

  “You figure it out?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “You will,” she said squeezing tight and heading into the sea of seats starting to fill up.

  At that point I didn’t have an alternative. The only option was to make a choice.

  I headed backstage for makeup—the heavy scent of hairspray, the metallic tinge of face powder coating the air. The Gasms sat at their makeup stations, the shine being taken from their noses, body being added to their hair—except for Cowboy, who was back in his laughably large hat. If body got added to that it would break his neck.

  The other Gasms were dressed to type, too. Kappa was in a sweatshirt from his frat. Tongue was in a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt tied at her stomach, the tongue hitting at her belly button.

  One of the crew guys led me behind a curtain before the Gasms noticed me, like I was a damn bride and it was bad luck or something.

  I glanced around for Scott but didn’t see him anywhere. He was probably doing his job—the job that was now possibly hanging in the balance of my decision.

  Where the hell was he?

  I could hear the Gasms talking though the curtain as I sat in my own makeup chair.

  “How are you going to spend the money?” Kappa asked.

  “Ten grand,” Tongue said with a whistle. “Going to Europe for sure. You?”

  “Paying off student loans,” Kappa fantasized. “Fuck, I hope I win.”

  “What about you, Cowboy?” Tongue asked.

  He cleared his throat. Practicing for the big moment he was asked this onstage. “Probably put a down payment on a ranch in Wyoming. Find a place I can settle down.”

  “Maybe we can visit,” Tongue said. “I mean, if I don’t win, that is.”

  “I don’t think lesbians are allowed in Wyoming,” Kappa joked.

  “Neither are date rapists,” Tongue retorted.

  “You always go for the clichés, don’t you,” Kappa said.

  “When people treat you like one, it’s hard not to.”

  While my makeup artist went to work making me camera-ready, the Gasms continued to regale how they were going to spend the money they hadn’t won yet. None of them mentioned me, what they would do to me if they won. It was all about the money.

  I wasn’t surprised, and I didn’t blame them. It’s not like I was looking forward to what Iwould have to do with one of them.

  I’d kind of forgotten about the money waiting for me. Winning for denying my desire was exactly how I had been losing all these years. That was what Scott had shown me. It was okay to want. It was okay to need.

  It was okay to be with someone who made you feel those things, who felt those things about you.

  I glanced around for him again, causing the makeup artist to run a line of thick black eyeliner along my cheek. She groaned and scrubbed it clean.

  Where the hell was he?

  Hair went to work braiding two long, tight blond ropes that fell along my breasts. It wasn’t until someone from the crew handed me the outfit from the first night of filming and I pulled it on that I realized the look they were going for—a dead ringer for Brittany Spears.

  Unfortunately I couldn’t get too upset about it, because the image staring back at me in the mirror when I straighten
ed my glasses was like number twenty on the list of reasons I felt like an idiot.

  Number one was of course that I was even still here, still pretending, still playing this fucking game when there was a guy who had given me everything I was playing for and seemed to want to give me even more.

  Where the hell was he?

  I didn’t have any time to keep looking, because one of the crew guys led me out onstage.

  It was time to end this thing.

  The theater had filled with an audience, and it buzzed with anticipation. All these people were here to watch me choose the person who would give me my first ever real-live orgasm. Could I pretend well enough so they wouldn’t all demand refunds?

  I saw Allie sitting in the front row in one of the center seats. Good luck, she mouthed.

  I guess it was better than saying break a leg—or a hymen.

  I took a seat at my throne, and Garrett headed over to brief me before we started taping. “I’ll be running things from backstage,” he said. “Make sure to stay on your mark and emote well. We have a theater to consider as well as our viewers.” I considered asking him where Scott was, but his usually jackass bedside manner was even heavier on the jackass than usual.

  “We got Farrah Abraham to be the master of ceremonies,” he continued.

  “The one who made that sex tape—Backdoor Teen Mom?” I asked, my voice filled with confusion.

  “Barbara Walters was busy,” he retorted as he headed offstage.

  The Gasms were ushered out and arranged in seats stage right. Kappa, Tongue, and Cowboy were all smiles as they waited to see which one of them would win ten thousand dollars.

  Backdoor Teen Mom burst out onstage to a roaring crowd. I didn’t have time to ask anyone what happened when this was over. If the winner and I went right upstairs with a camera to document discharge or…

  Lights hit my eyes. We were taping, and Scott was still nowhere to be found. My chest felt hollow, every clap and holler from the crowd echoing, bouncing against my empty insides. Maybe I’d been wrong about him.

  “Are you guys ready?” Backdoor yelled to the crowd.

  “Yes,” they screamed back.

  At least someone was.

  “Let’s remember some of the key moments that got us here,” she said, standing back as the lights went down. They rolled film on a big projector behind The Gasms: Allie and I arriving at the mansion, that first night onstage when Allie sent the cheerleader away, Tongue and I kissing on the yacht, MD taking care of me after the volleyball game, all the memorable moments from each episode, but Scott wasn’t in any of it.