As Seen on TV (34 page)

“Listen, Sunny, and this has to stay between us. It was never fixed. It’s possible I might have given Michelle the impression that I was rooting for her, but that’s because—”

Because you were screwing her?

“—she seemed the best contestant to host the new show. Brittany and Erin were both wrong for it—Brittany’s a lush and Erin’s an airhead—and I knew you had a boyfriend.”

He knew? “You knew?”

“Of course I knew.” He laughs. “You don’t think Miche told me?”

I don’t get it. “So why didn’t you kick me off?”

“Who cares? As long as the viewers didn’t know, what difference did it make? And it worked. You got seventy percent of the votes.”

What? “That’s impossible. I’m all over the newspapers this week as the biggest liar in Manhattan.”

“I guess they don’t care. Or maybe they feel bad for you because Steven dumped you. They want you, Sunny.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want it. Give it to Michelle.”

“Sunny, you’re hot right now. Understand me? Hot. They want you.”

“I don’t want
them,
Howard.”

Then again…

An idea begins to shape in my head. If I’m so hot, then
maybe…but would it work? Would the public be interested? Do I have what it takes to pull this off?

“What about a different type of show?” Howard presses on, his voice taking on a sickening groveling tone. “The Sunny Lang Show? It can be a talk show. Or you can be the new Dear Abby. I’m even going to give Carrie a job. What about a reality show about living together, if you and Steve get back together? We can put a camera in your apartment. The single in the city trend is on a downturn, anyway. You’re our future, Sunny. You’re a star!”

“I think I’ll pass. But good luck. I’m sure Michelle will make an excellent host. And that she’ll love L.A.” Lots of rich older sleazy men to sleep with in Hollywood, I’d bet.

“Who said anything about L.A.?”

“You did.”

“I did? Well that’s been changed. We’re doing single-in-suburbia. In Springfield, Nebraska.”

I start laughing and I can’t stop. Michelle in Springfield, Nebraska?

Where exactly
is
Springfield, Nebraska?

At eight that evening I’m having a cup of coffee in Karen Dansk’s office.

“This is an impressive proposal, Sunny. Very impressive.”

“Thank you.” I still can’t believe I was able to put an entire business plan together in only ten hours. I can’t believe she agreed to meet with me so soon. When I spoke to her this morning, I think she was just as excited about the idea as I was.

“A women’s news program, focusing on various issues relevant to women.”

“Exactly. Each week would be a half hour, dealing with a current and pressing topic.”

“And you want to make the pilot about the dangers of Purity tampons.” She raises an eyebrow. “Weren’t you their spokeswoman?”

I nod. “And that is why we’ll grab the audience right from
the start. Why would a spokesperson turn against the product she’s been endorsing? But it wouldn’t just be about Purity. There’s been a lot of controversy regarding the tampon industry and I’d like to look into women’s concerns. Perhaps delve into the whole why-menstruation-is-such-a-taboo issue, as well.”

Karen flips through my business plan. “I like your other ideas, too—depictions of women in the media, deadbeat dads, keeping fit over sixty, women’s cancers…fantastic. You even have a marketing plan in here, complete with demographic and competitor information. Any idea of the staff you’d want to put together?”

“I have some people in mind.” Namely an independent casting agent whom I’m sharing an apartment with, a Purity-obsessed reporter who’d rather spend subzero-degree winters in New York than sit on a beach in Florida, and a soon-to-be-out-of-work cameraman.

“Who would be the lead reporter?”

“I was thinking we should feature two reporters, a young twenty-something and a more mature, seasoned female journalist to layer the show with different perspectives. I already have the ideal fresh-faced younger journalist in mind.”

Karen scratches her head. “Great. Hmm. What do you think about Betty McDonald for the seasoned reporter? I hear
American Sunrise
is replacing her.”

I smile. “I think she would be perfect.”

“And as producer, you’ll be doing the hiring.”

Producer.
I like the sound of that. I smile.

She smiles back. “I have a board meeting Monday afternoon. I can’t make any promises, but I think they’ll go for it.” She stands up and shakes my hand. “Happy Thanksgiving. Will you be seeing your family?”

“Actually, I am. I’m going to my sister’s.” This afternoon Dana called me back to tell me she didn’t want me to spend the holiday alone and that she was looking for a last-minute e-ticket to New York. Everything was sold out from Miami to
New York, but she found one first-class ticket from New York to Miami.

“How much?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Three grand,” she said, and giggled. “I bought it. I used Dad’s MasterCard number.”

Dad. Just as I thought, he hasn’t called. Not one how-are-you, I-hope-you’re-doing-okay, you-can-get-through-this call.

Nothing.

I haven’t heard from Michelle, either. You know what? She and my father make a perfect couple, with their I-don’t-give-a-shit attitudes. Carrie is so better off without him.

Karen pats my hand. “Well, have fun. And be careful with those turkey bones.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously. “Maybe we’ll do a segment on life-saving procedures. Particularly mouth-to-mouth. And the victim will be male. Have any sexy actors in mind?”

I shake my head. “Nope. Not one.”

“I
can’t believe I’m moving to New York!” Dana exclaims gleefully. We’re in the car, driving up Washington Avenue, heading toward the beach, the Florida sun streaming through the window. “I’m going to need all new clothes. I might go cold-weather crazy. Wooly sweaters. Furry earmuffs. Leather pants. Tweed. Oooh.”

“Don’t go crazy until it’s official, okay? If it works out,” I add, “we should get an apartment on the Upper West Side. You’ll like it there. Lots of eligible bachelors for you to go through.”

“Okay, I won’t go crazy,” she says, pulls into a parking spot outside Pam’s Café. “How large an apartment?”

“Why are we here?” I ask. “I thought you wanted to go to the beach.”

“I want a skinny latte.”

I groan. Why did she have to choose the spot where Steve and I met? “But do we have to get it from here? There’s a Starbucks up the street.”

“I like
this
coffee.”

Sometimes she’s so inconsiderate. “You know this is where Steve and I met.”

“So what? They make good lattes. Just run in and get me one.”

There she goes again, only thinking of herself. If we live together, I bet she leaves all the dishes in the sink and expects me to wash them.

I’m about to open the glass door, when I see…

…Steve.

He’s inside, crouched beside the cash. It looks as though he’s knocked over a tray of chocolate and candy lollipops, and is trying to hastily pick them up.

What the…?

I turn back to the car. Dana shrugs, smiles, waves and takes off.

How did she know he was going to be here?

The welcoming bell chimes as I open the door.

Steve raises his head and we lock eyes. My heart stops.

He drops the lollipop he’s holding and it shatters into shards as it hits the floor. “Damn,” he says, then laughs.

I join him on the ground and help him pick up the pieces. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” After we’ve collected the candy pieces into a napkin, Steve stands up and gazes down at me. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“How did you…”

“Your sister called me.”

She did? “Steve, I am so sorry for everything.”

He nods. “Let’s sit down.”

My heart has started again and is now beating loudly and erratically, as though R2-D2 has been trapped inside my chest. “I am so sorry,” I say again and start rambling. “I love you and somehow I lost sight of that. I got caught up in the show. And the thing with Matt…nothing happened. I know it looked like something did, but it didn’t. I swear I’ll never watch
NYChase
again. If you still want to marry me, nothing would mean more to me.”

He shakes his head and draws a circle on the table with his thumb. “You didn’t think I’d believe all the hype in the news, did you? But I don’t want to marry you.”

R2-D2 explodes and remnants of his metal limbs fire their jagged edges into various parts of my body.

The back of my eyes sting and my throat clogs. “Oh. Okay. I’ll leave.” I pull away from the table, trying not to look at him.

“Wait!” he says, taking my hand and pulling me back to the table. “That’s not what I meant.”

I slide back into my chair. I don’t know how many other ways there are to interpret “I don’t want to marry you.”

“I still love you,” he says. “But…we have a lot of work to do.”

I nod, afraid to speak in case my prickling eyes turn into Niagara Falls.

“We said some horrible things.”

My cheeks burn. I open my mouth and then close it again. My throat feels tight, but I try to speak anyway. “If I could take any of it back, I would.”

His eyes look older. Sad. “I know. So would I.”

Slowly, he covers my hand with his. “We can do it.”

I turn my hand, and our fingers touch. “I know we can. And I won’t ever forget how important you are to me. So the marriage talk is on indefinite hold?”

“We’re not ready. I’m not ready.” He half smiles to himself. “I realize I asked you for the wrong reasons. Everyone else was pressuring me and I was afraid of losing you. But we’re not ready to be married, never mind start a family.” He laughs. “Maybe we should start with a dog.”

I laugh, too, mostly with relief. “I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“I’ll do my share to take care of it, I swear. And I hope that one day we will get married. It’s just that…”

“That maybe there’s no rush?”

A lock of his hair falls over his eye, the way it used to before I made him cut it. “Right. No rush.” He squeezes my hand and makes a little circle with his thumb on my palm.

“I’m willing to wait.” I answer. “But let’s not take a decade, okay?”

He nods, and then breaks into his sheepish grin. “There might be one tiny problem. I’m not sure what I did with the ring. I think—I’m pretty sure—it’s in my sock drawer. You didn’t happen to see it, did you?”

I smooth the lock of hair and say, “Why don’t we go home and look for it?”

9:30(TRS)
Party Girls!™
(CC) Reality show 30 min 381042 TV14

M
ichelle’s huge fake smile is molesting your television screen. “I’m thrilled to be the Ultimate Party Girl,” she says. “And I’m thrilled to be next season’s host. After these messages I’ll tell you where the next season is going to take place.”

“How did she win when everyone we know voted for Sunny?” you say, finishing your miso soup. You dump it in the paper bag it came in and open your order of sushi.

“I know. We both voted for Sunny. Michelle’s so fake. I wanted someone a little more real. This is supposed to be reality TV, you know?” Your roommate is in the process of bleaching her nonexistent mustache, preparing for a date with Slimey. She keeps peering at the clock. “Hey, did you see the blurb in today’s
Personality?
” she says suddenly. “The headline reads, It’s My Party And I’ll Pose If I Want To.”

You pick up the paper and read aloud. “After ratings tumbled for TRS’s reality TV show,
Party Girls,
executive pro
ducer Howard Brown decided to eliminate two of the girls through a series of competitions. A third girl will be eliminated through an audience survey, the results being aired this week. Though no longer on TV, the two exiled girls aren’t sitting idle. Erin Soline has already accepted an offer from
Playboy.
After being spotted getting her stomach pumped at the Memorial Hospital, Brittany Michaels has filed a civil lawsuit against the network for damages caused by excessive alcohol and insect consumption. The network had not yet unveiled who the new host will be, but the general consensus is that Sunny Lang will land the much-coveted position. Lang and her boyfriend Steven Stein have been spotted PDA-ing all over southern Florida—” Ooh! There’s a photo. He’s cute. “—Insisting that she and Matt Rowler are just friends, Lang also claims that Rowler is married. Although Rowler’s publicists deny the allegation, a woman asserting to be the ex-lover of his wife claims that Rowler, afraid that public disclosure would detract from his sex-symbol appeal, insisted on keeping the marriage secret.”

Switch.

Michelle reappears on screen.

“Welcome back everyone! I know you’ve all been dying to know where we’re shooting the next season of
Party Girls
and who the next Party Girls will be.” She lifts her finger and starts twirling her hair. “We’ll be leaving the big city to find out about what Saturday nights are like in the—” she gulps “—suburbs.”

Did she just say
suburbs?

“And the special chosen place is—” clichéd drumroll “—Springfield, Ne…Nebraska!”

You almost choke on your sushi.

“Omigod,” your roommate says. “That’s here.”

Michelle continues, “If you live in the vicinity and have always dreamed of being a wild, single girl featured on TV, we’ll be holding auditions next Saturday night at The Old Town, um, The Old Town—”

“The Old Town Ale House!” you and your roommate shriek.

“—Ale House,” Michelle finishes. “Check out our Web site for the exact address and bring with you a completed application form, which is available online.”

“Omigod,” your roommate says. “You have to try out. You’d be perfect!”

Audition for a TV show? You? “What about you?” you ask. “Why don’t you try out?”

“Can’t. I have a boyfriend, remember?”

Should you try out? Will being on TV be so terrible? Can you digest worms? Will you get to be in
Personality?

Can you do this?

Why not?

What do you have to lose?