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“Do you have any nicknames?”
“My parents call me Bug. Because I used to wear buggy glasses when I was a little kid.”
“Now that is adorable,” he said.
“Now I don’t even own glasses. My eyes corrected themselves. That’s a fun fact about me. Make sure you get that on film, Pete.”
“I got it. What are your favorite foods?”
“I like pasta, pizza, Thai food, any kind of salad, mini deep fried black bean tacos, orange sherbet, Cheerios, olives, almond butter, figs, most fruit, any kind of cocktail, Kraft Singles, waffles, smoothies, chocolate covered cherries, Mexican food, walnut pesto, lettuce wraps…”
“That’s enough. Tell me about your family.”
“I’d love to. I have two brothers and three sisters. My brothers and sisters live all across the country. I am the youngest, so they are all at a different places in their lives than I am. They are busy with their spouses and kids. My parents used to live here in Chicago, but now they’ve retired to Florida. So even though there used to be a whole clan of us here, now it’s just me.”
“Hmm,” said Pete. “Good to know.”
I stared intently into the camera and then launched into what might be considered a desperate plea: “Let me add, I would gladly relocate to the Arizona desert to be with Bellamy at his rock climbing studio. Or better yet, we could settle down in Denver with his dad Larry and his mom Kate. I have no pets, but I would happily aid him in his animal rescue work. Except for snakes. I’m sorry, but my love would never run that deep. But puppies, yes. I will certainly help the puppies. I would get along great with his family and friends, even if they’re difficult. I’m just that kind of friendly, accepting person. And hey, if Bellamy likes Chicago, we can settle down here. Either way works super. I’m flexible. Very flexible. For love, I will bend over backwards.” To prove it, I bent over backwards and did a flip.
“Very nice,” said Pete.
“Thanks,” I said, readjusting the hem of my dress.
“That takes care of the next several questions,” said Pete, looking down the list. He turned over the questionnaire. “Anything else you’d like to add?”
“Sure. I’m a great dancer. Watch!” I spun around a few times and did some tap dancing moves from my years spent at Madame Clara’s Studio, breaking out the jazz hands and tipping an imaginary top hat. I tapped my way over to the hall closet, pulled out a hula hoop, and showed off my wonderful hip gyrations “Beat this!” I yelled, keeping the hula hoop going while I counted to one hundred. Finally, I moonwalked and did the worm, ending in a breakdance spin on my head. “Pick me,” I wheezed, trying to look like I wasn’t out of breath.
“Got it,” said Pete, setting down the camera.
“Well,” I said, getting up and dusting myself off, “that was fun. Should we try it for real?”
“We’re done here.”
“What? You said you’d help me!”
“I am. I mean, I just did. If you send that in, you will get on the show. I promise you
.”
“I’m not sending that in! I want to do it over for real.”
“How do you think I become Chicago’s newest infomercial king?”
“Is that what you’re calling yourself now?”
“Yes. To make it in the entertainment business, you have to be good looking, hard-working, and above all, you have to be a little crazy.”
“But if I sent this in I’d be giving a false impression of myself. You are crazy. I’m sane and cautious. If I get on the show it will only be because I was so ridiculous, and I want Bellamy to fall in love with the real me.”
“The ridiculous side is real too.”
“It’s usually dormant. You bring it out of me.”
“Look at it this way: A politician who wants to do good things sometimes has to do some corrupt things just to get elected. But if he doesn’t get elected, he knows he can’t make any difference at all. So think of this as a means to an end. You’re doing what you have to do to get on the show, and once you’re on there, you can do whatever you want.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Positive.”
