Life is Sweet (30 page)

 

PAULA:

(
laughs
) I'll bet! Your producers have told us, Rebecca, of the very moving story of your sick father, who is waiting for a kidney transplant. We want to play a little bit of the interview the two of you did for our audience.

 

EXCERPT OF INTERVIEW OF REBECCA HUDSON DESCRIBING FINDING HER FATHER AGAIN.

 

We thought it would be nice to let you say hello to him, and all the folks at the Strawberry Cake Shop, in Leesburg, Virginia. Look at your monitor.

 

SCREEN SPLITS. BECCA LEANS FORWARD TO LOOK AT PROVIDED MONITOR. ON OTHER SIDE, A BIG CROWD AT THE BAKERY. AFTER A PAUSE, THE CROWD WAVES AND WHOOPS.

 

REBECCA:

Oh my God!

 

WALTER JOHNSON, REBECCA'S FATHER:

Hi there! You doing okay?

 

REBECCA:

Of course. Is that Erin and Pam with you? And Olivia!

 

CAMERA PANS, STOPS ON SEVERAL FACES SHOUTING HELLO TO HER.

 

REBECCA:

How's business?

 

WALTER:

We're doing good. Don't worry. Just worry about staying alive up there, away from bears or what-have-you.

 

REBECCA:

I'm trying my best. You take care of yourself, too.

 

PAULA:

How fantastic that we could provide a little reunion here on the show for you. And those cupcakes look delicious! We should have booked you for a cooking segment.

 

REBECCA:

It so happens my schedule freed up this week....

 

PAULA:

(
laughs
) Right now, we have to go to a commercial. When we come back, easy holiday decoration ideas . . . made completely from gourds! We'll talk to—

 

ABBY:

Paula?

 

PAULA:

Yes?

 

ABBY:

I'd be delighted to come back, too. Anytime.

 

PAULA:

Oh. (
Uncomfortable chuckle
) Of course. (
To camera
) I'll be back with holiday gourds right after this message.

 

 

Becca sank against the backseat of the hired town car, relieved to be heading back to the hotel. “Thank God that's over.” She hoped that their television appearance took care of any
Celebrities in Peril!
obligations for the day.

Abby flicked her an annoyed glance. “I can't believe you. Did you arrange in advance to hog that interview?”

Becca smiled at the memory. “You mean the thing with the hookup to my shop? That was a total surprise.” It had been such a treat to see everyone. Although she wished Matthew had been there. She hadn't spotted him in the crowd.

“Right.” Abby's voice dripped with skepticism. “You had
no idea.
”

“I didn't.”

Abby crossed her arms. Becca could see where she was coming from. It was bad enough to have to awaken before the crack of dawn and get dressed and made up to do that stupid morning show, but then to be ignored probably rankled her.

“Where did this long-lost sick dad come from?” Abby asked.

She made it sound as if Becca had invented him as a publicity stunt. Which was something Becca could imagine Abby actually doing. “Renee must have told them about him. You know how she is. They taped me talking about Walt for my show intro.”

Abby's eyes bulged. “So that's why you didn't want to form an alliance. You're already working the sick-dad sympathy angle.” She slid down the seat in a pout. “There's no way I can win.”

“Honestly, Abby, what does it matter? It's only a goofy reality show.”

“You just don't get it, do you?”

Becca had no idea what
it
referred to. “I'm not sure.”

“Of course you don't.” Abby practically twitched in disdain.

“It was always smooth sailing for you. Your very first show was a hit, and that was it. You never had to claw your way up doing cereal commercials and playing tiny parts or not getting called back after auditions. You had it easy, and then when the going got just a little tough, what did you do? You quit.”

“I didn't quit right away. I wasn't getting any work, though. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't have scrounged up that one good guest spot on
Malibu High School
.”

“If it weren't for me?” Abby snorted. “Hardly.”

Becca drew back. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that's
not
the way it happened. I had nothing to do with your getting that role. They just gave it to you because the director thought it would be like a rematch or something—only with you playing a bitch to my mean girl this time. It pissed me off that they even put you on the show.”

“Pissed you off?”

“Well, yeah. The mean girl was what
I
did well. I at least had that going for me. I'd played second banana to your Little-Miss-Perfect Tina all those years, and now here you came to steal my thunder. That's why I begged them to have you and not Mallory die in the car wreck.”

“
You
told them to write me out?”

Abby sniffed. “I told my agent working around you was causing me psychological stress. I was one of the original cast, and at that point I was just a junior on the show. I had a year to go on my contract.”

Becca frowned. She'd known she and Abby hadn't been best friends anymore at that point, but she never would have guessed that Abby was actively working behind the scenes to have her fired.

“I can't believe you did that. I thought it was me. That I was no good.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “You are so naïve. What does good or bad matter? It's persistence that counts, and strategizing. Just like now. To hold on, you have to think of some way to make the producers want to keep you.” She tapped her fingers against the armrest. “I guess I should thank my lucky stars that we're going to be one cast member down thanks to smoke inhalation. That gives me another week, at least.”

Becca could barely follow the woman's rambling monologue.
Abby got me fired.
All these years, she'd felt as if she'd failed, been rejected. Instead, she'd been sabotaged.

The car pulled up to the hotel entrance to drop them off. Abby reached for the door handle. “I'm warning you, Becca. If you're not going to work with me, the gloves are going to come off.”

Looking into that heart-shaped face from her youth, Becca felt ice in her veins. She hoped her expression didn't give her own feelings away. Gloves off? Ha. Her own gloves were already off, and the brass knuckles were being slipped on. “I understand.”

Abby opened her door, and frigid air blew in. Becca didn't move.

“Aren't you getting out?” Abby asked.

Becca shook her head. “Not just yet. I have a little errand to run.” She leaned forward and asked the driver, “Is that okay?”

“Fine by me,” he said. “Your producer hired me for the day.”

Abby's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where are you going? It's not even eight in the morning yet.”

“I know. If anyone asks for me, tell them I'll only be gone an hour, tops.”

Abby was still frozen in mid-exit, her face contorted in mistrust.

Becca smiled. “Do you mind? You're letting in the cold.”

Abby finally got out and closed the door. Becca asked the driver, “Could you take me to the nearest grocery store?”

If the way to survival was strategy, she was going to start plotting now. She had one simple goal: to outlast Abby.

Chapter 25

The new location the company had scouted was farther up the mountain, and though professional workmen had done most of the heavy preparation before “the talent” joined in with their hammers, screwdrivers, and laughable muscle power, by the time they had erected Prefab Rustic Shelter #2, they were all pooped. Also, for a few harrowing minutes it had looked as if they might lose a Walton to cardiac arrest.

To guard against high winds, this cabin was secured to the rocky earth beneath it using guy wires. All that was keeping them from being blown off the mountain were a few metal ropes that had been hammered into place by bedraggled former child stars. This wasn't a comforting thought.

Abby seemed to be having a hard time holding it together since they returned from Anchorage, Becca had noticed. One minute she'd been a gung-ho Bob the Builder, and then she'd stubbed her toe on a support beam and started to unravel. Now she was back to worrying about moose. “If the next challenge is a moose hunt, I'm going to lodge a protest with PETA.” It was as if she expected the producers to insert a laugh track every time she said
moose.

The strange thing was, Abby had snuck back exercise equipment—arm weights and a jump rope—from their Anchorage hiatus. When she wasn't whining about her sore toe, she was simulating Rocky's training montage. In thirty-second bursts, she would pump iron with the intensity of a person determined to bring a moose down with her bare hands.

No one joined in the moose speculation, so Abby retreated to the corner and frantically jumped rope for fifteen seconds. The rhythmic thwacking sound of the plastic rope was getting on everyone's nerves.

This, Becca decided, would be the perfect time to bring out her own secret weapon. “Anyone want to help me make a cake?” she asked.

Heads lifted in interest as Becca produced a contraband box of cake mix.

“We aren't supposed to bring food!” Abby shouted across the cabin. “You're cheating!”

Becca blinked. “Is it any worse than the energy bars you've smuggled in with you?”

Abby stared daggers at her. Becca felt a little bad for snitching on the energy bars. But she'd known Abby would want to grandstand against the cake experiment before the cameras. And, as Abby herself had said, the gloves were off.

“Preparing it in the Dutch oven over the fire will be a challenge, but by the time Renee views the tapes of what we're doing, we'll have already devoured it. I'll take all the blame.”

Within seconds, a crowd gathered around Becca, while Abby executed another furious jump rope blast on the other side of the cabin.

While in Anchorage, Becca had studied YouTube videos about campfire cooking, but given her lack of hands-on experience, the primitive cast-iron tools she had to work with, and the open fire, Becca worried the strawberry cake gambit would be a disaster. To her surprise, within an hour and a half she'd managed to produce an almost-presentable cake. She saved the last of the frozen strawberries she'd hidden and mixed them into the frosting she'd sneaked in.

“This is the kind of cake my mom used to make on my birthday,” she told the group as they beheld the finished product. “Just like it's always happy hour somewhere, it must be someone's birthday somewhere, right?”

They decided that instead of “Happy Birthday,” they should sing everyone's theme songs. One by one, starting with the earliest, they belted out a song corresponding with everyone's signature show. Instrumentals were tricky, but attempts were made to harmonize.

Poor Abby, who had been doing her best to boycott the cake event, couldn't bring herself to sit out the songfest. It was too showbiz for her to resist. She even plastered on a big grin and put a stiff arm around Becca's shoulder when the group got around to “Me Minus You.” For once, Becca smiled and sang the inane lyrics lustily and loud. She owed that show a debt, especially now. As she looked around at the goofy grins on everyone's faces, she felt almost guilty for the years she'd cringed at the tune, at the aggressive fans, at the weird nostalgia. The show had been her bread and butter, had allowed her to avoid the worst struggles many faced. Despite it all, it had given her a great life—something her mom could have told her all along.

“What was the theme song to
Malibu High School,
Abby?”

Abby, thrilled to be at the center of things at last, lit up as if surprised. “Oh, you remember it.”

The cabin mates exchanged questioning glances. Nobody remembered.

Awkwardly, Abby ended up performing the instrumental theme song on her own, two choruses, with jazz-hand enthusiasm winding up to a manic finale. Everyone clapped when she was done, but only after a pause that Becca was willing to bet would feel like an eternity when it aired on television.

She smiled at Abby, whose razzle-dazzle quickly deflated. “Sure you won't have a piece of cake?” Becca asked her.

The supply plane flew in the latest news from home the next morning, but it was late, so there wasn't much time to open mail before the next cabin challenge was revealed. Becca got a letter from Matthew, and she rushed to her bunk to skim it. As much as she hated being away from Matthew, she loved getting letters. It seemed so much more intimate to read his cramped scrawl rather than the usual Times New Roman font in an e-mail.

 

 

She was with him on the avalanches. Probably best if she didn't tell him about the guy wires bolting their cabin down to the mountain.

 

 

Speaking of fortunes . . . Since your appearance on
The Morning Show
, the Strawberry Cake Shop has been booming. Erin is holding down the fort like a champ. Walt mans the register when needed, and occasionally blows a tune now for the crowd. He's enjoying local celebrity status. Regulars say the cupcakes aren't as good as when you're here, though.

 

There was more, but Becca got tugged away from her bunk by a crew member who'd been sent to fetch her. In front of the fireplace, everyone was gathered in a circle, and Renee revealed the next challenge to them: a scavenger hunt. This time, there would be no teams. Each contestant would be on his own.

On his own with a videographer.

To make the moment of hearing their next task more dramatic, Renee always ended her directions with the question, “Are you up to the challenge?”

Usually, Becca had difficulty working up the proper solemnity and camera-ready determination. But not this time.
Am I ready?
Olivia was getting a horse, the store was doing well, Matthew was waiting for her, and Walt might have a donor. The wind was at her back, and she was ready for anything.

“I am up to the challenge,” she declared.

After everyone had made their vow of readiness, the game was on. Becca turned and found herself almost bumping into Abby. Abby had received a care package in the mail, and now she opened her jacket to reveal what it was—one of the T
INA
T
HINKS
Y
OU
S
HOULD
G
ET A
L
IFE
T-shirts that Gecko Girl had been selling on Megan's Musings. Becca looked at herself in her awkward teen phase, making a sour face. Her gaze lifted to Abby, who was smirking at her. “Like it?” Abby vogued for the three nearest videographers.

Becca laughed, much to the other woman's consternation. Abby's triumphant smile melted.

“I love it!” Becca said. “Maybe I'll sell those in my shop when I get back.”

She gave Abby a quick, dismissive pat on the shoulder and went to collect her snowshoes.

 

During other challenges, Becca hadn't particularly cared if she didn't pound the most nails in while erecting the shelter, or that she captured fewer fish than the other team, or whether or not her team won the sled relay. It had helped that there was usually someone else melting down during each event—a former child star falling off a rafter after od'ing on “vitamins,” or throwing a hissy fit, or burning down Cabin #1.

But during those events, she had been in a group, or at least a pair. She hadn't felt pressure on herself, because others were proving themselves less competent and more ill-behaved than she was. And she also hadn't wanted to win so much.

During the scavenger hunt, however, it was just her tromping around on snowshoes with a retrieval list and a bored videographer. They had a GPS to keep them from getting hopelessly screwed up, direction-wise, but Becca still felt anxious. Abby's determination to best her preyed on her mind. Out in the white wilderness, buried beneath layers of gear and goggles so that her own heartbeat felt amplified in her hood, each sound registered as a threat. Every crunch was potentially Abby snowshoeing up behind her. The whistle of wind through evergreen was Abby's victory whoop. A raptor's screech was Abby saying, “I begged them to have you and not Mallory die in the car wreck.”

Mindful of the camera tracking her, she tried to keep a lid on the crazy. To stay on task. She had to locate a lot of unsavory things—including a live bug, a bone, and a feather. The sub-zero temps didn't make scavenging easy. She tried to keep her cursing and groans of disgust to a minimum as she hunted, but it was difficult. For the bone, she was going to snap one off a little squirrel or chipmunk who had been mostly devoured. But her bulky, insulated gloves made her so clumsy, she finally ended up stuffing the entire grisly little carcass into a Ziploc baggie.

It was the last item. “Let's head back,” she said.

The videographer nodded. He was probably regretting not going to law school.

It felt as if she had been stumbling around in the snow forever, so she was surprised to learn she was the first person to return. Maybe her Abby paranoia had helped. She got a high-five from the director and crew and retired to a fireside chair with some cocoa.

As the others straggled in, Becca watched for Abby. Daylight started to wane and there was still no sign of her. Finally, security formed a rescue party and set out with dogs, sleds, and high-powered searchlights. Several of the contestants made distressed noises about Abby's welfare, as well as a wisecrack or two about ravening moose herds. Then they all settled down to a game of Monopoly.

They were still playing when Abby was half-dragged through the door, weeping and shivering beneath her polar gear. The players reluctantly pushed their game table away from the fireplace to give Abby maximum warmth. As she pulled off her frosted glasses, she gawked at the table in outrage. “I was out there, maybe dying, maybe being devoured by who knows what, and you guys were playing a board game?”

“They wouldn't let us join the search party,” Becca explained. “Something about insurance risk.”

“Besides, there were only two sleds,” someone else said.

Abby's jaw dropped. “If it had been one of you—Becca, for instance—
nothing
would have kept me from going out to look. Nothing.”

The rest of the contestants exchanged glances. Some looked abashed, while others just seemed impatient to get back to the game. Meanwhile, Becca noticed that the director and his crew were reviewing footage in a monitor in anticipation of the night's big bonfire. Abby's videographer was gesticulating at the tiny screen, and looked pissed.

Abby glanced over, too, and her moral indignation morphed into growing hysteria. “I could have died out there! They sent me out without a GPS. It's a miracle I found my way back at all.”

“You didn't,” Becca pointed out. “They had to go find you.”

“I was only a mile or so away.”

A mile in this wilderness was like thirty miles of normal terrain. It was amazing that she hadn't suffered some kind of injury. Most of the cabin mates admitted that it would suck if Abby got kicked off the show because they forgot to put a GPS in her treasure hunt kit.

At the bonfire ceremony, the contestants all gathered around a fire blazing in a clearing to await Renee's dramatic arrival in her scarlet Inuit-style gear. They stood holding their torches, which stank of the lighter fluid the tips had been soaking in all day, to make them less likely to punk out on camera. Because of the smell, Becca always felt slightly woozy at the bonfires.

“You all have shown resourcefulness and resilience during this trying week,” Renee intoned solemnly. “Every one of you is a winner. Has-beens? I'd call you better-than-evers!”

Then came the demerits. Becca got a slap on the wrist for the cake. Abby, who had been tearful since the ceremony started, smirked at her across the blaze.