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“No, really,” I said.
“So,” said Shyla, “if I don’t get on this, I would be really happy t
o be on that Sisterhood of Skank show. I heard that pays pretty well. This doesn’t pay anything, but it’s still a great career move. Did they tell you about that show? That Sisterhood of Skank show? I totally bet you could get on there too if you changed into something a little more normal. It might be fun if we were on it together, if this doesn’t work out. I mean, at this point though, it looks like this is really going to happen. Are you excited? I’m going crazy inside!”
“Emma Van Elson?” said a tall, thin man who looked exactly like the farmer from American Gothic.
“That’s me,” I said.
“Come along with me. I’m Phil Smith, and I am going to go over some things with you.”
I followed him down the hotel hallway, into a room that was set up like an office. A large camera was pointed at the table and I noticed another camera affixed to the ceiling. A scary looking man in a suit was already seated at the table. He nodded at me but did not even get up or introduce himself. I felt like I was in an interrogation room from a cop show on television. Sure, it was a little nicer, but still intimidating. I looked around me and saw that one wall was a large mirror, and wondered if it was a two-way mirror. I found myself suddenly sweating and short of breath. I was beginning to wonder what I was getting myself into, and how much I would unquestioningly submit to before deciding this process was unacceptably invasive. I wasn’t entirely sure why I was going along with it, honestly. I guess I felt special for being chosen, and I wanted to see how far I could get. Oh, and because of Bellamy. It was weird how I kept forgetting about Bellamy.
Phil Smith cleared his throat and looked down at me. “Make yourself comfortable, Emma,” he said.
As if that was possible.
For five hours I was grilled first by him about details of my life, and then by a woman named Fran. It wasn’t until eleven o’clock that night that we were all done being interviewed. Freddie was gone for good. That meant there were six of us remaining, and they needed just five more girls. We ordered room service with an uncomfortable air of suspicion surrounding us: One of us would likely be an alternate. The rest of us had likely made it. The atmosphere was tense as my competition speculated on who was going home.
“It’s gonna be me, Shyla, Angie, and Vanessa for sure,” said Shar. “Either Mylar’s going home ‘cause she’s got a kid, or Emma’s going home ‘cause she’s too businessy.”
“Hello! We’re sitting right here,” said Mylar.
“I see you. What’s your point?” asked Shar.
I was too busy focusing on my meal to add to the conversation. I just kept telling myself that it was all about Bellamy, and that people can endure huge amounts of pain and torture if it’s for true love.
“You’re too quiet,” Shar said to me.
“I’m eating,” I said.
“Why’d you wear that suit?”
“Quit bullying me. It’s a nice suit. It’s from Ann Taylor.”
“Ann Taylor’s for old ladies.”
“Ann Taylor is for ladies. Young and old. I guess that’s why you don’t like it,” I said.
“If you make it on the show, which you won’t, you’ll be the first one he sends home,” she said to me.
“Do you really think this is all I wear? Do you think I’m going to wear this for elimination ceremonies and dates and hot tub scenes?” I asked.
She shrugged, turning from me and addressing us all: “Y’all might as well give up now.” She looked around the room, aggressively trying to lock eyes with each of us. “He’s going to pick me. I’m just saying. I’m not even trying to be egotistical, but look at me. I’m gorgeous, I have a hot body, and I’m fun. I’m not afraid of nothin’. I like horses, NASCAR, mudding, beer. I’m what every man wants but they didn’t even know someone like me existed. As far as I can tell, none of y’all are any fun.”
Angie pushed away her food and began polishing her toenails with her feet hooked on the edge of the table. A small flap of dead blister hovered over her half-eaten cheeseburger. The pungent aroma of feet and nail polish filled our surroundings.
“Ooh, I like that color,” said Vanessa. “Mind if I do mine as well?”
“Go ahead,” said Angie. “I have these blingies to stick on them when you’re done, if you want some.” She held up a plastic sandwich bag of pink crystal decals.
“Thanks,” said Vanessa, unfastening her super expensive looking shoes and parking her feet alongside Angie’s.
“I can’t believe we have to go back home soon. I want to meet Bellamy now and stay out here in California. This hotel is heaven,” said Mylar.
“Aren’t you in a hurry to get back to your kid?” asked Angie.
“Not at all. Cason’s doing fine without me. He’s with my parents. They’re crazy about him. It’s ironic, you know? They never liked me or my brother much, but now that they’re grandparents they suddenly love kids. Whatever. I’m just glad they like him so much because I really need a break sometimes. He’s a great kid, but ever since I had him, life has been pretty dull. I wouldn’t trade him in for anything, but I get depressed about him. He’s boring. He likes to read picture books and play with cars on the floor. It gets really tiring. Does that sound horrible? Do I sound like a horrible mother? Like, when I look back on my life, sometimes it seems like it has all been a bad dream. The last few years anyway. I miss being young. You know what I mean?”
