by Julie Murphy
“Byyyyyyyyye, Sierra!” they chirp back chaotically.
“Bye,” I tell her. “I love you. Call me on Monday when you hear back from them.”
Sierra puffs out a frustrated sigh. “Bye. I love you back.”
After a little while longer out by the pool, I get the triplets out and dried off. Each of them takes a turn using the outdoor shower and then letting me wrap them up in big, fluffy towels.
As we file back in the house, Erica stands. “Cin, take a break. I’m going to stretch my legs and make sure my three little mice get dressed. Besides, I might need you to keep an eye on them tonight if you don’t mind? You don’t have any plans, do you?”
I shake my head. “Not a one.”
“I’m choosing my own clothes!” says Mary before she tears off toward the bedrooms.
“This should be good,” Erica says as she follows behind Jack and Gus.
I plop down across from Beck. “Where’d Anna and Drew go?”
She doesn’t look up from her laptop. “Someplace called Euphora for enough face masks to last them the length of the show.”
“You mean Sephora?” I ask.
“Sure, yeah.”
I trace a knot in the wood of the kitchen table with my finger, waiting for my mouth to open and just say the words. I’ve been hoping for inspiration, for something to get me out of my rut. What if it’s here, right in front of me? Sierra’s getting her shot. What if this is mine, wrapped in a reality-TV-shaped box? “I’m in.”
Beck looks up then and closes her laptop. “Say that one more time.”
I nod. “I’m in. Let’s do this.”
Her eyes brighten for a moment and then immediately narrow into business mode. “Leave Erica to me.”
“I want to tell her.”
Beck grimaces. “You sure about that?”
If I’m going to do this, I need to have a backbone. Might as well start with going up against the will of the fiercest woman I know. “I’m sure.”
Erica sweeps back into the room and reaches for a bubble water in the fridge. After a moment, she glances over her shoulder to find both of us staring at her expectantly. “What?”
I clear my throat. “Erica?”
“Yes, dear,” she says as she closes the fridge with a carrot stick in her hand.
“I’m going on the show.”
She drops her carrot and turns fully to face me with her forehead knotted in confusion.
I stand up from the table. “Beck asked me to be a contestant on Before Midnight and I accepted. If you say no now, all you’re telling me is that Anna and Drew deserve to have a chance to find love—or hell, at least get five minutes in the spotlight—and I don’t.” I turn to Beck. “You two can figure out the logistics, but I’m doing it.”
“Cindy.” Her voice is soft and taken aback. For the first time since I’ve known her, Erica Tremaine is speechless.
The rigid posture I’d been maintaining loosens as I cross my arms over my chest. “I know everything you said last night came from a place of love. But now I need respect. I want to do this. Please don’t be the reason I don’t.”
Erica reaches down to pick up her carrot and takes a chomp out of it. I don’t say anything about the five-second rule, because for as much money as Erica pays to have this place cleaned, she should be able to eat off the floor. With slightly more composure, she turns to Beck. “If this goes south, it’s on you.”
Beck nods. “Fully aware, Captain.”
“Sisters,” Erica says. “Sisters vying for the suitor’s attention.” Her gaze drifts past us into the backyard. “I guess three is better than two.”
“Cin?” Drew wraps her knuckle against the fitting-room door. “I couldn’t find the next size up.”
I open the curtain for her to join me and Anna, who’s sitting on a giant beanbag. I told Drew that I had tried on their largest size, but she shook her head and held her phone out to me as proof. “See! It says right there. Now carrying extended sizes.”
I explained that stores like these (trendy little places that are suddenly on the body-positive train if they can make a quick buck) usually only offer larger sizes on their website, but she insisted on checking in person.
I plop down on the leather beanbag alongside Anna. “What I really want to know is who actually considers beanbags to be appropriate dressing room seating?”
Anna crosses her arms over her chest. “This is ridiculous. How are you even supposed to know if something fits you if you can only buy it online? Especially if it’s a brand you’ve never shopped!”
I’m too jaded to join in on her outrage, and I’m also having major flashbacks to every trip we made to the mall in high school. Back then, the options were even more limited.
“I can just work with stuff I have at home,” I tell them. “I don’t need a whole new wardrobe just for a TV show.”
“I remember Mom saying there was a wardrobe department for the one-on-one dates and stuff,” says Drew, but by the look on her face, I can tell she’s thinking what I already know. If we’re having this much trouble shopping in this store, the likelihood of the show having my size on hand is basically nonexistent.
“All right, let’s go,” I say.
I wiggle my way out of the beanbag, and then Drew and I pull Anna to her feet.
We file out of the fitting room full of rejected clothing and make our way to the front door.
“Thanks for coming in, girls!” the shop clerk calls after us. “Sorry you didn’t find anything this time.”
We’re nearly out the door, but Anna whirls back around and stomps up to the counter. “Actually, my stepsister found plenty of things she loved, but for whatever reason, your company doesn’t carry her size in store.”
The woman steps back, startled by Anna’s bravado.
“Um, we know that you, like, have no control over that, but maybe you could pass the message up the chain of command,” I offer.
The woman notices me, seemingly for the first time. “Oh, right, of course. I think we might have some of our basics in an extra large if you’d like to try them.”
“Does my sister look basic to you?” Anna snaps.
“Anna,” I chide. “Come on.”
Anna walks back over and loops an arm through both mine and Drew’s as we walk out together like an unstoppable Red Rover force.
“Anna,” Drew says once we’re in the clear, “that was so unlike you.”
Anna gasps. “I know!” Her voice returns to its normal levels of sweetness. “But it felt good. A little sexy too. I should talk about this on my Instagram stories.”
I lean my head against her shoulder. “Kitty’s got claws.” I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got back to LA, but being back with Anna and Drew feels…comfortable. I guess if I’m doing this reality television thing, at least it’s with the two of them.
I spend the week with the triplets during the day while Anna and Drew get touched up in every possible way you can imagine. Highlights, facials, waxing, manicures. If it can be polished or shined or stripped of hair, they’ve got it covered. I join them for a few things as time allows, like a quick manicure and getting my split ends trimmed, but Erica’s schedule is busy, which means mine is too. I promised Erica I’d at least spend the week with the triplets, and she promised me she’d find a more permanent solution for them while I’m gone. And every night as I’m falling asleep, I have to remind myself that this is what I wanted, and then I wonder very briefly who the mystery man might be. Too bad Prince Charming won’t be able to swoop in and rescue me if the suitor is just another dude bro.
Three days before I’m set to leave Erica’s house for the château, a film crew descends upon me. I knew they would be here to do pre-interviews for the season premiere, but I’m still taken by surprise. I keep expecting there to be formal introductions to the crew, but instead they all just buzz round me like I’m a set piece.
Beck told me to show up barefaced and to have several different clot
hing options ready, so I opted for a white sundress and my mom’s old locket with a picture of my dad inside.
The moment I walk out of the pool house, three very distinct women descend upon me. The first one, a petite Black woman, wears her hair in retro pinup curls around her face with the rest swept into a silk scarf. She runs a hand through my hair without even asking and begins to examine my roots. “Huh, not much damage.”
Another woman, this one tall and white with wavy long blond hair and the kind of makeup that looks like no makeup but actually takes a ton of skill, holds a blush compact up to my face. “Good cheekbones,” she says.
And the third and final woman, with olive-toned complexion and dressed all in black, stands a few feet back with a loose measuring tape clutched in her fist. “Definitely meatier than Beck said she would be,” she says in a thick Eastern European accent.
“Meatier?” I ask.
“That’s Irina,” says the girl with the silk scarf. “She’s wardrobe and has no filter, but compared to other wardrobe people I’ve worked with, she’s more bark than bite. I’m Ginger and I do hair. You’ll mostly do your own hair during the show—other than for one-on-ones—but I’m around for touch-ups. Same goes for makeup.”
The woman with the blush moves to inspecting my brows. “And I’m Ash. I’m technically not supposed to touch your brows, but you’ve got just…” She attacks with a pair of tweezers. “Just one hair out of place.”
I let out a low hiss. “Thanks, I think.”
The three quickly lead me into the main house, where they have a makeshift station set up for all their prepping and primping.
While Ash applies my foundation, a very fashionable woman around Erica’s age steps up to us and says, “Cindy? Hi, my name is Tammy, and I’ll be playing your stepmom today. Maybe we could run lines when you’re done?”
“Um, what?” I look to Ash for an answer, but she’s busy at work on my face. The woman is ushered away before I can ask for more details. “Beck?”
“Coming!” her voice calls from across the room. “Cindy!” she says as she approaches me from the side. “You look radiant! Isn’t Ash the best?”
“The best,” I say quickly, even though I’m not yet qualified on the topic. “But could you please explain to me why some random woman named Tammy just came up and told me that she would be playing the role of my stepmother? And apparently I have lines? I thought reality TV was supposed to be real…ish.”
“It is. Totally. But sometimes, we have to fill in the blanks a little. And Erica can’t play your stepmom for obvious reasons. Do you know how many questions that would raise? It’d be a PR nightmare. Everyone would think you only got on the show because of nepotism and connections.”
“Well,” I say, “that is how I got on the show.”
“The American people don’t need to know that. Sometimes we have to go above and beyond to keep the magic alive. This isn’t really a lie. It’s just an alternate truth.”
“Um, that sounds like a lie.”
“Lips relaxed and parted,” Ash demands.
I let out a groan through my relaxed and parted lips as she applies a sticky gloss.
“And you don’t have lines,” Beck assures me. “We just had to give Tammy some parameters to work in so she’ll have some ground rules and then improvise a little. It’ll be so natural, I promise. You won’t even know the cameras are here.”
I look around at the crew running cords and staging lights all over Erica’s living room. “Not likely,” I say through my still relaxed and parted lips.
“Oh, by the way,” says Beck, “change of plans. Anna and Drew aren’t your sisters anymore. At least not on the show. So make sure the other contestants don’t find out you’re related, okay? That would just get…messy.”
“Wait. What? I thought the whole thing was that we were three sisters vying for the suitor.”
Beck shrugs. “We’re taking a different angle with you and—”
“Beck!” someone calls for her.
“Gotta go!” she says as she disappears into the tangle of crew members.
“Angle? I have an angle? What’s my angle?”
But no one answers. My stomach flips at the thought of going at this alone. Anna and Drew will still be there, but any shot I had at hiding behind them is gone.
When I’m done with hair and makeup, I’m guided to the couch, where some random person shoves a pillow behind my back so I’m forced to perch on my ass.
Beck sits down on an ottoman across from me and behind the camera. “Okay, we’re just going to have a conversation. I’ll ask questions and you answer. If something else comes up, just keep talking. We might have to pause every once in a while, for noise. When that happens, Ash, Ginger, or Irina might swoop in and fix your hair or whatever. Cool?”
“Uh, sure. There are…a lot of people here.” I force myself to breathe evenly before I hyperventilate.
Beck comes to sit down next to me on the couch. “Listen, if we were doing your pre-interview weeks ago like we did for the other girls, we’d be able to ease you into this a little bit more. But as it stands, we’re running against the clock with little time to be precious. I want you to be comfortable, so I can send everyone who doesn’t need to be in here right now outside, and we can do this with a skeleton crew. You also need to know, though, that when you get to the house, it’s going to be this but on steroids. I’m talking vein-busting, ball-shrinking steroids.”
I nod. I hear what she’s saying. There’s no time to ease me into this, and maybe that’s what I need—to just be immersed in something so fully that I can’t even think too hard about it. “They can stay. But, um, could I have a glass of water or something?”
Beck nods and snaps her fingers. “K! Water.”
Within seconds, a gangly-looking white boy is holding a bottle of water with a straw in front of my face. “Sip,” he says.
“I don’t need a straw,” I tell him.
“Yes, she does,” Ash, Irina, and Ginger say in unison.
“It’s paper,” he tells me, obviously bored. “Save the turtles.”
I oblige and take my sip while he holds the bottle for me, and the moment I’m done, I say, “Well, that was awkward.”
Beck waves me off. “That kid just got paid to serve you water. He’s fine. You’re hydrated. We’re all good.” She stands and heads back to her ottoman. “How’s our light? How do we look?”
Irina rushes in. “Lose the necklace.”
I hold my hand over it and instinctively say, “No.”
“It ruins the shot,” Irina says with defiance.
We both look to Beck for a tiebreaker, and I think if Irina takes this necklace off me, I might cry, which is ludicrous, but I’m about as high-strung as an extreme couponer waiting for her grand total right now. “Necklace stays. It’s…approachable-looking.”
Irina mutters under her breath, and I think she and I might go toe-to-toe before all this is said and done.
“Quiet on set!” a South Asian girl with two long braids and a clipboard covered in band stickers calls out.
“Thank you, Mallory,” Beck says.
The whole room goes completely silent. So silent, in fact, that I’m scared I might be breathing too heavily, and what if they can hear it on the mic dangling above my head just out of frame?
Beck nods to the guy behind the camera.
“Rolling!” the girl with the clipboard shouts.
On and off for the next hour, Beck pretty much does a post-mortem of my life leading up to this moment. The only exclusion is any specific details about Erica. Other than that, she asks about everything. My dad’s death. The triplets. Fashion school. Moving back home to California. Eventually Erica enters, stepping in and out periodically, giving her nod of approval, and I try not to let my eyes stray. We pause a few times for planes overhead or car alarms, and sometimes I say something that I’m asked to repeat, but with more “emphasis”—whatever that means.
When we�
��re done, the whole room collectively sighs, and within seconds, the volume of the crew has exploded again.
Beck pats my knee. “You did great.”
“You didn’t tell me you were basically going to neatly display my guts for the whole world to see.”
She laughs. “It feels like a lot, but we need options. Different angles. And don’t worry about all these people. A lot of them just check out while the cameras are rolling until it’s time to do their job again. And anyway, all this is going to get cut down to, like, two minutes of actual footage.” She holds a finger up and listens to something in her headset before running off.
I think all that is supposed to be comforting, but going through the labor of putting my whole life on display is a little bit painful in a different kind of way.
Erica plops down on the couch beside me, and crew members skitter away like little ants fleeing a destroyed anthill. “They could have at least cast someone who looks like me,” she says, motioning to the woman in the kitchen, where Beck is setting up a shot. “Sorry that I can’t actually play your mom,” she tells me.
“It must have been really weird for Drew and Anna.”
She lets out a dry chuckle. “Their fake mom’s name was Natalie. They were very into it, actually.”
“How am I not surprised?”
“I wish I could have been here this morning. Our suitor was having a…situation.”
I nudge her with my elbow. “Wow, talk about vague.”
“You’re lucky I even said that.”
I swivel, turning into her. “Just tell me one thing. Do you think I’ll even like him?”
I expect her to brush me off, but instead she presses her finger to her lips and thinks for a long moment. “You know, up until last week, I would have said no way…but people have ways of surprising you…and the two of you—” She stops suddenly, returning to her poker face, like she’s just realized she accidentally traded producer hat for stepmom hat. “Come on. Let’s get you touched up.” She stands. “We need touch-ups!”
Within seconds, we’re swarmed.
Erica squeezes my hand before leaving me with Ash, Irina, and Ginger.
