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“Yes!”
“And none of these dowdy little pantsuits,” he said, frowning and wiggling his finger up and down at me.
“I will never wear this again.”
“Well, then we’d like to give you a chance.”
“For real?”
“Yes,” said Shane.
“Oh my! Thank you! I’m so excited! I won’t let you down,” I said. A rush of relief flooded over me. Had they said I was going to be on the show? For real?
“This is fabulous,” said Christine, raising her eyebrows in exaggerated delight and reaching across the table to give my hand an affectionate squeeze. The mood of the room switched from doom and gloom to sisterly giddiness.
“I’m Renata,” said a cute woman in her late twenties or early thirties, reaching across the table and patting my arm. “I’ll get you over to the hotel for the next part of your interview.”
I stood up and thanked the people around the table. I was in a daze. Next I followed Renata outside to her Audi. Before I knew it, we were at a hotel and I was in a suite with six other women.
“Congratulations, ladies. Help yourselves to something to drink. Mark will be here in just a little bit,” said Renata, leaving us alone.
I surveyed the suite. It was stocked with fresh flowers in vases and champagne on ice. The six other women were all very, very pretty. I had the sinking sensation that they were my competition.
“Hi,” said one, coming forward and holding out her hand. Her nails were perfectly manicured, something I only did if I was going to be in a wedding. “I’m Shyla.” She was blonde, tall, and thin. Wispy, almost. I could feel my brain preparing to start dumping names, the way I saw my clients sometimes do when I’d mentioned too many paint colors in one day.
“Emma,” I said, shaking her hand.
“I’m twenty-one,” she said, smiling from beneath her lashes in a cute, practiced maneuver. “I work at a doggie salon. What do you do?”
“I’m an interior designer,” I said.
“Oh. So you, like, decorate for a living?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, ignoring her tone.
“That sounds fun. How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Oh! Oh my gosh. Wow. You aren’t already married?”
“No.”
“Hi, I’m Freddie,” said a cute little blonde, raising her eyebrows like she knew she was rescuing me. She held out her hand. Another manicure. Also, everyone else was dressed in fun, slutty dresses. I felt like such a frump in my stodgy business suit. “Frederica, actually, but I go by Freddie. Don’t feel bad that you’re twenty-seven,” she said, smiling brightly.
“I don’t,” I said back, trying to be as bright and cheerful as she was. I assumed we were already being observed by some camera h
iding in a plant, and I wanted to seem resilient, despite my elderliness.
“Good. Because I am twenty-five, so I am practically in the same boat you are. So you said you like to decorate? That’s neato. I like to bake cookies and cakes.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
“Are you coming here for the right reasons? Because I really want to find love. I mean, no offense,” she lowered her tone to a whisper, “I’m sure you really want to find love too, but I am afraid that some of these girls might not be here for the right reason. You know what I mean?”
“I guess. But I assure you,” I said, a little louder than I needed to, “I am totally here for Bellamy!”
“Hello,” said a redhead, giving me a bear hug. “I’m Shar. I will warn you right away, I like extreme sports. If we have to jump out of a plane, I am going to be first in line. Bellamy is going to pick me over all y’all because I’m fun.”
