Page 21 of Grunt: A Marine Romance

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SELENA LEANED BACKin the chair and allowed her makeup artist to put the finishing touches on her mascara. She loved the first day of shooting. The celebrities were usually so excited, especially since the reality of the training they were about to endure hadn’t hit them yet.

“There you go, Miss Marcil. Beautiful. The purple eyeliner brings out the golden flecks in your eyes.”

Selena blinked and stared in the mirror. Her eyes did seem brighter than normal, despite the fact that she was exhausted. For the road trip, she had rocked a natural makeup look even though she would’ve preferred to scrub her face clean. But she had been aware of the cameras in the back seat. “Thank you, Heather.”

She had already changed into her greeting outfit. Nothing fancy, the producers wanted to make it seem as if it was a casual meet and greet. Selena wore a peach-colored sweatsuit paired with Louboutin high heels and some gold hoop earrings. She left her chair, grabbed her purse, and hurried out to Bret’s truck for their journey up the hill to their celebrities.

As she approached the truck, Bret shifted on his feet. He hadn’t changed his clothes at all. She guessed that wardrobe wanted to portray him as a rough and tough Marine to keep him distinct from the other dancers.

“Something wrong?” she asked. So much for the rough and tough theory; she could see that he’d been doused with foundation and gel. He must’ve been livid.

“Not a thing. Ready?”

She just climbed into the truck. “You know, pink is a great color on your lips. Maybe next time we could add some gloss for shine.”

“Very funny.”

The celebrities’ house was only minutes away, up the street. A van followed behind them, carrying camera equipment. They turned into the tip of a driveway. As if the gates were expecting them, they opened and Bret drove through.

“Here we go,” Bret sighed.

Then reality kicked in. Christian Louboutin heels hurt. Selena hobbled along the paved driveway in her heels, praying that she didn’t face plant and crash into the camera. Why did it always need to be an inch from her face?

“Okay, Bret,” the director said. “You need to pretend that you’re a huge fan of your celebrity. Act surprised!”

Bret rang the doorbell.

The beveled-wood door opened—Latin guitar legend Xavier Quintana stood in front of them, his gorgeous television star wife, Robyn, beside him.

Selena took the lead. “¡Dios Mio! Xavier Quintana? I’m your biggest fan. I love dancing to your music. ‘Loteria Queen’ is my favorite cha-cha song ever.” Selena didn’t even have to pretend—she was thrilled.

Bret reached out and shook Xavier’s hand. He turned his attention to Robyn. “Nice to meet you, Robyn. My name is Bret Lord.”

“Cut!” the director yelled. “Bret, this is a television show. Speak a little slower, seem a little more enthusiastic. Maybe give Robyn a hug.”

Selena stifled a laugh. Bret just gave her a dirty look.

The door shut, and Selena and Bret made their way back down the staircase.

Bret rang the bell, again, and immediately Xavier opened the door. Selena once saw on MTV that this guy had some dude whose sole job in life was to hold his boss’s umbrella, yet El Rey opened his own door? So much for reality. Xavier wore his own brand Xavier Tomás white tracksuit with what looked like 4-carat diamond studs in each ear.

Selena repeated her same enthusiastic intro and Bret stuck out his hand. “Hi, Robyn. I’m so excited to meet you.”

“Cut!” the director shouted. “Okay, let’s do it again. Xavier go back inside.” The director grabbed Bret’s hand. “Bret, son, I want to hear you scream or shriek. Tell her you’re her number one fan.”

“I don’t scream or shriek. I’m a man.”

Selena rebalanced her oversized handbag and dance shoes, took a deep breath, and made her way down the stairs. She knew Bret’s only hope to get through the shot was for her to project enough cheesiness for both of them.

Take three. Bret rang the bell and Xavier opened the door.

“Oh my God!” Selena shrieked as brainlessly as she could. “I can’t believe I’m dancing with you. I love your music.” She leaned in to hug Xavier. His breath reeked of rum.

Xavier’s head cocked to the side and he embraced her. “Thanks, girl,” he said, way too loud. “I hear you’re the best chica on the show. I need to win this fiesta. You game?”

“Hell, yeah—”