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Kate radiated that barely harnessed energy I associated with Hollywood overachievers. And she was definitely that. Her reality TV shows dominated the cable home and garden networks. The last time my assistant counted, Kate produced and directed six hugely popular shows. And Vacation Dream Homes was poised to be her seventh hit.
I waved her toward the open door, and she jumped in, ignoring the running board, her ponytail drawn through the back of her ball cap bouncing merrily as she disappeared inside the dark interior.
An ominous feeling caused me to hesitate for a split second, like getting into this SUV was joining Satan on the trip into the inferno. I didn’t want to do this TV show, but my PR department somehow got wind of my plans to buy a vacation home in Texas. One of my team knew someone on Kate’s team, and as a result, here I was selling my soul for a few million dollars in free advertising across all six of her existing shows.
I should have lied and told them all I was going on sabbatical in Tajikistan.
But even a billionaire like me couldn’t afford to turn down this advertising deal. My company was launching a new lower price point line of anti-aging products in drug stores nationwide. It was Bio-ID for the masses. And Kate’s viewers were my consumers.
I sighed with resignation, put one Gucci loafer on the running board, and heaved myself into the leather seat. Time for my ride into hell.
“Here. Four extra-large shots. Soy. And two Splenda.” Kate pushed my preferred coffee drink into my hand. It was in a stainless-steel cup, similar to the ones I had at the office in California, and had the new TV show’s logo on the side.
“How did you know?”
“Your assistant is very thorough. He included the coffee order along with your home wish list and the other details we requested.”
I took a sip. It was heaven in a cup. “Thank you.”
“It pays to keep the on-air talent happy.” She shrugged and pulled a clipboard from a backpack that rested on the floorboards by her feet. She shuffled the pages and texted madly on her phone while I enjoyed the scenery.
I’d left my cell at the rental and loved how liberated I felt without its near-constant ding-dinging. I couldn’t remember the last time I rode in a car and looked out the window like when I was a kid.
The Texas hills rolled past. Spring weather had brought the wildflowers to life along the sides of the road. The bright pops of yellow and purple were a beautiful contrast to the red-brown sand, gray limestone, and green cedars and live oaks. Each bend in the road revealed a new vista over a small valley or dry creek bed. The land was both wild and welcoming.
We left the hills above Elmer and approached the town square. An old courthouse dominated the center. The building was incredibly grand for a small town, but I had learned on my last trip that these elaborate courthouses were not uncommon in Texas. The three-story façade was the same white limestone as my rental house, paired with red brick gingerbread and slate-roofed turrets. Old oak trees anchored the corners of the stately building.
I craned my head to drink in the sights of the quaint downtown. It was exactly how I remembered from my prior trip. Quirky and charming. A hodgepodge of shops, galleries, and cafes that catered to the tourist crowds that flocked to Elmer on weekends and holidays. Not a Starbucks or McDonald’s in sight. The historic buildings were a mix of clapboard, brick, and stone, and larger-than-life murals in vibrant colors decorated many of the walls.
At a stop sign, we waited while a woman in head-to-toe white Lycra workout gear and a fuzzy shearling vest with matching boots wheeled an ostentatiously large baby carriage through the crosswalk. She looked straight out of Beverly Hills. Maybe this town wasn’t far enough out for me to escape reality.
I followed the mother’s progress down the sidewalk. At the entrance to the Bluebonnet Café, an older man in pressed jeans and polished cowboy boots doffed his Stetson and opened the door for the woman, who flashed a blinding smile at him. The interaction summed up this town. The tourists were here, and they were grateful for the locals’ hospitality.
At the thought of local hospitality, the image of my water nymph with an attitude from yesterday popped unbidden into my head. She had been Venus rising from the sea but for the dead rat in a plastic bag. All wet, lush curves. And real tits.
I couldn’t remember the last pair of those I saw up close, let alone touched. The plastic surgeons in California must camp out at the airport and give free boob jobs to every new arrival that lands at LAX.
Teasing her was the highlight of my week... month. And so out of character for me. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking. But I would treasure the image of her striding from the pool, naked and glistening, for years to come.
“Sorry about that. One of my other shows is shooting on the East Coast, so I’m putting out fires from afar.” Kate held her cell up, and it vibrated to punctuate her statement.
“Understood.” Normally, I was just as bad as Kate. My head bent over a device all damn day.
“Let’s get you up to speed. Shooting is scheduled to run for eight weeks. You will be house hunting and exploring the area, all with the help of the locals we have lined up. This show is a combo house-buying and travel show. We are telling two stories. You falling in love with a house. And the viewer falling in love with... “ She looked down at her clipboard, flipped a few pages, and looked back up. “Elmer, Texas.”
They had covered this in the many, many emails that flew between my assistant and Kate’s people. I had skimmed most of them, but to me, the show was secondary. I came to buy a house. I couldn’t care less about the signed agreement with the network. Show up and smile was what the people in my PR department said. So that was my plan.
“Today we’re doing a quick meet and greet with your real estate agent. She is adorable. We’ll let you two talk and get to know each other while the cameras run. No real script at all. Let things evolve naturally, and we will clean it up in post.”
“She?” The sound of a metaphorical needle skipping on a record screeched in my head at Kate’s unexpected gender reveal.
The agent whose name I’d sent them was Darrel something. My college buddy used him to buy his riverfront vacation house in Elmer. The agent had a reputation as Mr. Texas Hill Country real estate.
“Yeah, your guy was a no-go. He is from Austin. We need a local.” Her fingers poked her phone screen in a blur of movement, and she barely glanced away from the device to look at me.
What happened to keeping the talent happy? I requested Darrel, not some person I’d never heard of. Well, shit.
The SUV lurched onto a pothole-riddled drive, and I steadied myself by clutching the armrest with one hand and saving my coffee from spilling with the other. Out the window, I saw a parking lot full of TV equipment and a few RVs. The trepidation I’d felt getting in the SUV returned with a vengeance.
