The male smiles but doesn’t say a word.
“Thank you, Sam. You’re finished for the day. We’ll be in touch with you soon to let you know your results. You’re free to go home, but remember not to discuss this with anyone per the nondisclosure you signed today.”
Hulk follows me out with the camera.
“Well, Sam, how’d it go?” the host asks as Hulk continues to film.
“Easy peasy,” I say with a wink.
“Fantastic. Hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you?”
“I really hope so. Put in a good word for me, would ya?”
The host glances behind him. “I’m sorry, you must think I have some clout around here.”
“Ha. We all know the host is the real boss, right?”
“Riiiight. It was great to meet you, Sam.”
He shakes my hand, and Hulk makes the sliced throat motion, which I assume means it’s over. The host bends over to pick up the clipboard and waves to me as I stumble toward the door. I’ve already forgotten his name and I’m pissed at myself for not coming up with a nickname for him. Was it Brian? Dammit.
“You can wait in the hall for your friend. She’ll be in the next test group,” Hulk tells me.
“Really?” I touch his arm excitedly. “I’m so glad she gets a shot. She’ll be so happy.” Hulk grins and glances down at my hand on his arm. I realize I’m still touching him and immediately pull away.
“It was nice to meet you, Sam.”
“You too, Hulk.”
“Really? You’re still calling me that?”
“Would you prefer Hoagie?”
“I’d prefer Hogan, but I guess I haven’t made myself very memorable.”
I shrug. “Do something so I don’t forget you then.”
He smiles and takes a step toward me, bending slightly to whisper in my ear. “I could let you squeeze my ass since you’re so fond of it. But I’m working. Maybe next time.”
His breath in my ear is warm and smells minty. Goosebumps break out up and down my skin. Before I can respond, he heads out the door. Hogan. His name is Hogan.
IT’S BEEN TWO ridiculously long weeks and neither of us has heard back from the show. Carmen and I both race to the mailbox every day in hopes of something to tell us yay or nay. I take a part-time job at a bookstore near Carmen’s apartment. It doesn’t pay very well, but I get to touch and feel books all day, and that alone makes getting off the couch worth it.
I sell my lousy car to get some extra money to pay for necessities like cellphone service and books. I barely used it anyway, and it cost me more than it was worth. Walking home from work, my cell chimes with a text.
CARMEN: You got a notice in the mail. It looks official. Hurry the “f” home!
I start to jog but stop, not only because I’m out of shape but also because I’m not sure I’m ready for another disappointment. What if it’s a kiss-off letter? I know better than to count on anything. My job at the bookstore is fun and a great distraction, but minimum wage isn’t going to get me back on my feet anytime soon. I take my time climbing the stairs. As I make the turn to the third floor, I notice Carmen standing in the doorway, waiting for me.
“Hustle it up, Sammy! I’m dying here.”
I sigh as I continue my laborious ascent.
Carmen hops down four stairs to get it to me faster. I stare at the envelope. “Did you get anything?”
“I didn’t make it. I’m not surprised.” She waves it off. “But I’d be willing to bet a million bucks you did! Now open it. I’m so excited I could burst.”
“You didn’t make it?” My mouth hangs open.
She shrugs as if she doesn’t care. “Open it!”
“Fuck them then. If you didn’t get in, I’m not going either.”
“Oh yes you are! If you get on, it will be just as good as going myself. Now come on. Please?”
“Can I at least go inside?” I question, motioning toward the door.
“No.”
I slice open the letter with my finger. “Fuck!” Paper cut. That can’t be a good sign.
Carmen bounces excitedly as I read it aloud.
“I’m still not in for sure,” I say to Carmen with a shrug.
Tears pool in her eyes. “Oh my gosh! This is the best news in the history of all the news. I felt it in my bones. I knew it. I get to watch you on television! I get to see my best friend in the world make her dreams come true on my TV screen.”
There’s an ache in my chest. This was her dream, not mine. I pull her arm in close as I stuff the letter in my back jeans pocket and ascend the stairs.
“I’m not in, Carmen. And to be honest, I’m not sure I want to do this anymore. I mean, it doesn’t sound that great. I really like working at the bookstore and I’m happy right now. I think I should just forget about it. After observing it all firsthand, it actually sounds like a dumb show idea.”
“You shut your pretty little mouth,” she admonishes, spinning me to face her and sticking her finger in my face. “I know what you’re doing, and I want you to stop it right now.”
I stare at her in fake surprise. I may be good at picking up on lies, but I suck at telling them.
“You’re saying all this stuff because you don’t want me to feel bad. I know you, Sammy. You have a heart of gold. While I appreciate the sentiment, you need to stop this poop right now.”
I purse my lips at her use of the word poop.
“I want you to listen to me.” She makes direct eye contact with me. Her face is so humorless it makes me crack a grin. She shakes her finger. “Stop laughing. I’m being serious. I want you to go. I need you to do this! You need to. It will be good for you.”
“Carmen, I—”
“No excuses. I saw you at the auditions. You were wearing your game face. I know how competitive and talented you are. You’re a natural. I know it, they know it, and pretty soon, the whole world will know it too. Besides, I have selfish reasons for wanting you to go. I need you to become best friends with Bryce Donahue. I completely froze when he spoke to me. I want a second chance to make an impression. He could tell I was nervous, and he kept rubbing my back. I need to see him again so I can actually form words. Don’t you see? By doing this you’re helping me. He could be the future father of my children.”
I shake my head as I make my way into the apartment and flop on the couch. “I’d love to help you make a love connection, but something in my gut is telling me this is going to change my life, and not for the better.”
Carmen curls a leg under her as she folds down next to me. I cross my arms and stare blankly at the wall.
She takes a deep breath. “That sounds like fear talking.”
I huff loudly. “I’m not scared. I don’t do scared.”
“That’s what I thought. The Sam I know jumps in feet first and asks questions later. What’s really holding you back?”
She’s already guessed her not being accepted isn’t why I don’t want to go. Carmen gets me better than anyone. “Money. Trips to L.A. aren’t cheap.”
She waves me off. “Covered. What other excuses do you have?”
“You are not paying for my flight. It’s bad enough I’ve been living here and eating for free.”
“You’re not getting out of this by using money as an excuse. If that’s your best reason, I’ll pay.”
I sigh frustratingly. “I just sold my car. I can cover the flight.”
She blinks at me a few times and then a slow smile spreads across her face. “You’re going to be on TV.”
“Maybe.”
“Time to book your trip.” She practically hurdles over the couch to get to her laptop. She’s not going to let me back out now. As she pulls up different websites for cheap flights, I feel a bit of adrenaline coursing through my veins. Anticipation of traveling and getting out of this town flutters in my chest. I’ve never been anywhere on my own. Is this really happening? Carmen has a smile plastered a mile wide on her face. She’s so damn unselfish.
“Thank you, Carmen. You say you’re lucky to have me, but honestly, it’s always been me who’s been the lucky one.”
“Don’t make me cry, Sammy. My period is due any second and I’m a hormonal mess. Let’s book your flight before I grab that chocolate ice cream in the freezer and ruin my diet.”
“No tears. You can cry after I win this thing. Because that’s what I’m going to do.”
She stops typing. “Now you’re talking. It’s time for you to do some homework. You need to learn everything you can about the art of lying.”
MY EYES DART from left to right, then up and down. I glance back at the revolving door that spun me into this castle. I can’t believe I’m here. Tightly clutching the handle of my suitcase, I peer up at the ornate ceiling of the fancy schmancy hotel where I’m staying. I had to pay for my flight but not for the room. Thank God because there’s no way in hell I could afford a place like this on my own. I’ve traveled before with my family and I’ve stayed at expensive hotels, but nothing this nice. I wonder how much it is to book a room here.
I’m bumped from behind and thrust forward slightly. I regain my footing and glance back to notice a clump of hair as someone spins around.
“Dude, I’m so sorry—whoa. You’re not a dude.”
I can’t help but laugh. He’s even more out of place than I am.
“Nope. Not a dude.”
“I wasn’t looking. Sorry. I’ve never been to L.A. This place is fucking nuts.”
He speaks my language.
“I’m DJ. Don’t mean to be rude.”
“Sam.” He’s average height and slender, with high cheekbones. His hair is long and falls freely around his shoulders. Shit, his hair is better than mine. He reminds me of a character from a historical movie. I instantly form a nickname for him. He’s Braveheart. He doesn’t resemble Mel Gibson, but his hair does.
“Dude, are all the hotels in L.A. like this? I’m from Arizona. I live in the desert.”
“I don’t know. First time here. I’d guess this is one of the nicer ones.”
“Are you here for…” He stops and looks around as if he’s making sure no one is listening. Leaning in, he whispers, “The fabulous?”
My eyes narrow immediately and an alarm dings in my head as I assess him. Does he really not know the name of the show? He acts slightly clueless. He may be harmless, but if he’s here for the show, then he must be good. I’ll have to keep a close eye on him and be careful what I say from here on out.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I respond with a shrug. “I gotta go check in. See ya. Enjoy you’re stay.”
He lifts his chin in a half nod and waves me off with a hand that’s clasping a Tour the Stars’ Homes brochure. When I’m certain he’s out of earshot, I stroll up to the front desk.
“Reservation for Sam Wittaker.”
“Welcome to L.A., Sam. Could you spell your last name?”
I spell it as my gaze shifts back to Braveheart. He’s still standing in the middle of the lobby, but he’s pulled out his phone and started taking selfies. He’s definitely amusing.
“Here you are. Samantha Wittaker. You’re here with Seamore Productions, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll just need to see your ID.”
I reach into my purse and hand it to her. She studies my face and the ID before handing it back to me, along with a folder and key cards. “Make sure you read through the itinerary as soon as possible. Let us know if there’s anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable.”
“Thank you.” I roll my luggage to the elevator. I need to call Carmen, but I want to get to the room first.
The elevator doors open as I stuff my driver’s license back in my wallet. I raise my head and lock eyes with Hogan. Hogan. I still remember his name.
“Well, hey there, Sam. Welcome to L.A.”
A dumb-ass smile spreads across my face, and even though I feel it, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Why does he make me weak in the knees? Maybe I’m lightheaded from the amazing smell coming from his skin. The stubble on his face frames those perfect teeth and a smile that makes me want to lick his mouth. Dammit. Control yourself, woman!
“Hey. What’s up, Hulk?” I remember him, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He shakes his head in amusement and holds the elevator door for me.
“Were you getting out?”
He shrugs. “I was going to until I saw you. Now I think I need to go back up.”
“Don’t do anything on my account.”
“I don’t want you to get lost on the way to your room. I need to make sure our important contestants are taken care of. The bigwigs would have my ass. Floor?”
Rolling my eyes at him, I glance down at my room card. “Seven. Do you always lay it on so thick?”
“Too much?” He smirks.
“I may be blonde, but I’m not stupid. You’re going to have to stop hitting on me if we start working together.”
“Hitting on you?” His eyebrows lift as he holds a hand to his stomach. “Is that what you think I’m doing? I guess people take things too seriously where you come from.”
He’s pushed one of my buttons. “Where I come from? I’m from New York, bub. Not only do I know how to take a joke, but I also know when someone is crossing a line. Don’t be embarrassed. I get hit on all the time. I didn’t mean to hurt your ego by shutting you down, but you don’t need to fumble with a cover-up.”
“My ego is small and hardly affected by you. But for the record, I was only trying to be pleasant. I apologize if you think I took it too far.”
I eye him skeptically. His expression is stern. I review my choice of words and realize I may have come across like too much of a bitch for someone who barely knows me. “Let’s just forget about it. I certainly don’t need to piss off the guy who gives me airtime and films me from my best angles.” I smile and he presses his lips together into a fine line before turning his back to me.
I think I’ve offended him. I sigh. “Hogan, I’m sorry if I came off the wrong way. I can’t help it. Sometimes my mouth takes over and before I know it, I’m snippy and defensive, especially when it comes to comments about where I’m from.”
He pivots to face me and crosses his arms as a slow devious smile spreads across his lips. “So you do remember my name.”
The ping of the elevator announces our arrival at the seventh floor. I point at him as I roll my luggage out the door. “You’re interesting, I’ll give you that. But I’m not going to fall for your charm.”
“The fact that you find me charming is all I need to hear.”
He winks as the doors close and I’m left standing there, speechless for the second time with him. My lips unwillingly twist into a grin. I need to stay away from him. He’s a distraction I can’t afford; a fun distraction, albeit, but nothing worth losing the game over—that is, if I’m really and truly in it.
I find my room, open the door, and step out of my Chucks. The room is nice, but smaller than I imagined it would be. I toss my purse on the bed and roll my head to crack my neck. The flight was long and I had a middle seat. I hate the middle seat.
I pry my cell from my jeans pocket and check the time, trying to calculate the hour in New York. Time change is so confusing. I shoot her a text.
Sam: I’m here. Can you chat?
It’s no more than delivered when my cell rings. I answer, “Hey. I made it.”
“Tell me everything. How was your flight? What’s your room like? What’s the next step? Has anyone told you anything?”
“Slow down. You’re making my head spin. I haven’t even opened the itinerary yet.”
“Well open it!”
I’m about to sit down when I rethink it. “Just a minute. Hold on.”
I toss the phone on the mattress and rush toward the headboard. I pull back the sheets, lift the mattress, and peer underneath before moving the nightstand. Nothing moves, and there are no black marks.
<
br /> I lift the phone back to my ear as I slide down onto the bed. “Okay. I’m back.”
“No bugs?”
“None I can see.” Carmen knows how paranoid I am. When I was fourteen, my dad returned from a business trip with unwanted guests. Cost us a fortune to get rid of the nasty things. It made me paranoid. I never want to go through that again.
“Read me the itinerary. What does it say?”
Opening the folder and pulling out what’s inside, I explain. “There’s an informal dinner in dining room B tonight at 7:00 P.M. Breakfast at eight. Lunch at noon. I’m scheduled to meet with their team tomorrow morning at nine back in room B. That’s it really. There are also a couple of flyers with facts about L.A. and the area, background information on Seamore Productions, and a coupon for a free drink and appetizer in the bar from five to seven.”
I hear her clapping and picture the excitement on her face. “Make sure you read everything. I bet they put that stuff in there for a reason. Pay attention. Remember your homework on liars and the moves people make when they’re not telling the truth.”
I huff lightly and smile. Carmen emailed me everything she could find on FBI profiling and the art of negotiating, and I read every bit of it. There’s nothing worse than feeling unprepared.
“I will.”
“Make sure you call or text me later.”
“Done.”
“And Sammy? Have fun. Don’t be a poophead. Enjoy it.”
“Yes, Mom.”
As soon as I say the word, I realize I forgot to call my dad back three days ago. Shit. “I gotta go. I have to call my dad. If I don’t, he’ll know I’m avoiding him and all his flags will go up.”
“Got it. Love you, girl. Talk to you later. I’ll be sitting on my phone!”
“Alright. You too. Bye.”
Staring at my cell, I consider how to lie to my father. I pace the room for a few minutes before unpacking my brush and untangling my hair from the flight. After I’ve unloaded my entire bag, hung my clothes, sorted my toiletries, and bitten off my middle fingernail, I give in and dial the number. Maybe he won’t answer and I can leave him a message.
The Fabulist Page 4
