Reality Jane (15 page)

“Dunno, Sweet Cheeks,” he replied, “but I know good caviar when I see it. And that shit’s eight hundred bucks a tin.”

“Caviar—it’s just so decadent,” I said, as if we were buds. “I’ve always wanted to try some.”

“You know, Sugar Plum, they’d never know the difference.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, you only live once.” He giggled in his funny voice. “And they’re busy in the Jacuzzi.”

“I don’t know—apparently I’m a porker.”

“Fugdat!” he said convincingly. “Besides, we didn’t get a meal break.”

“We did skip dinner, and a girl’s got to eat.” I smiled devilishly.

“These guys will stand guard. Right, guys?” Danny said to the camera techs—all two of them—as he rubbed his palms together in excitement.

If I couldn’t have her money, or her clothes, or her private jet, the least I could do was get a wee taste of her sweet life
. “Let’s do it!” I whispered to Danny.

Danny and I gently pushed the door open, tiptoed toward the food table, and began picking at the fresh beluga and yellowtail sashimi. Great big grins of gourmand delight overwhelmed our faces. My mouth watered as I spooned the delicate black caviar capsules onto my tongue. They were salty and potent and sensual, all wrapped into a balmy bud.
Yum.
After a giant nosh of that, I turned to the cheese plate, then to the fruit, then to the truffles, then—

Squawk!
My radio beckoned from its holster. “Jane, what the hell are you doing?”

It was Karl. And I was busted mid-chew in Dag’s bedroom with truffle powder under my fingernails and a slimy black beluga egg stuck to my chin. Danny was suddenly AWOL.

“I need to see you here. Now!”

Gulp.
I swallowed warily and walked over to the camera hidden inside the bronze horse statue. The horse had a mocking expression on its muzzle. Even her damn knick-knacks were pretentious. As if I was adjusting a wire, I leaned over the statue and delicately scurried out of the room.

“What were you doing in there?” Karl spat as I closed the door.

Alex the hotty host was sitting beside him.
What the hell was my replacement Adonis doing here?
Embarrassment rattled through my body. Not only was I about to be scolded and God knows what else—maybe a good stomach pumping—in front of the hottest guy in France, but it was all for gorging on left-over table scraps like Aunt Bunny at Barney’s Buffet.
“Hi, Alex, remember me? I’m a big fat food whore.”

“Well?”

“Um, I was,” I sputtered, obviously flustered, which was
nothing new for a meeting with Karl. “Danny and I were checking one of the cameras.”

“That’s what the techs are for!” Karl screamed.

“Well, we noticed that one of the dogs pulled out one of the wires,” I said, thinking myself rather clever for such quick thinking. “Just thought we’d jump on it.”

Karl looked at me sideways—also nothing new—and to add to the calamity, I was wearing a very tight cream-colored shirt with a beer label forcibly unraveling at the seams, with a tiny beluga egg sitting squarely on my chest.
Nice!
Great look for a public flogging. (There’s that word again!)

“Fine, then, just keep that heiress under control. She’s going to be a major pain in my ass.” Karl turned from me abruptly, toggling from tirade to total apathy in a nanosecond—and continued his tour with Mr. Adonis, who seemed to be smirking.
Fabulous!

To sum up my day:

• Missed first and most important meeting of show—
  check.
  
• Missed chance with hotty surfer dude after the humiliating morning meeting—
  check
  .
  
• And now, busted for pigging out on cast’s priceless munchies in front of Adonis-host-boy—
  check
  .
  

Off to a great start!

The wine was going down swell for a one o’clock in the morning pity session; my professional life was going down like a missile over Tripoli. My legs dragged my carcass to the sink. The water, cranked on hot, ran until it was mostly steam exiting the tap. I threw my hair in a band, tossed a towel over my shoulders, and leaned over the sink for an extraordinarily cheap facial.
Ahhhhh!

Knock, knockity, knock, knock.

“Huh? Who’s there?” I said, slightly startled.

“It’s Alex. I saw your light on.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s one in the morning.

“What? Oh, okay, coming. Just a second.”

This guy must dig homeless chicks or sloppy epicurean grub-poachers.

I looked in the mirror for a quick once-over while water dripped from my chin. This was not going to work. First, I was pretty sure Raggedy Anne on crack was not the look he had in mind: swollen lips from the beluga salt, eyeliner smudged six ways from Sunday, and red splotches on my cheeks like a blush-stick gone wild.

Knock. Knock.

“Hurry it up. Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

“Oh, coming!” I tried to say sexily.

I slipped on a kiddie-sized pink t-shirt and a pair of old boxers, fingered my hair into a ponytail, squirted lotion into my hand, and peeked through the door while rubbing eyeliner off with my fingertips.

“Hi. What’s going on?” I poked my head out the door, trying to disguise my panting.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He leaned towards me, as though inviting himself in.

“Okay? What. . . uh. . . yeah, I’m
okay
. Come in,” I said, covering my mouth, certain my breath smelt like Camembert and he was some sort of heavenly apparition.

“I was wondering what happened to you.” His eyes darted around as if he thought he’d been followed, then he slipped by me to get comfortable.

“How come you’re still up?”

Actually, how come you’re here? Did I win the Cosmic Justice Sweepstakes? Is Ed McMahon with you?

“Karl. He flew in late tonight from LA, so it was our only time to discuss how he wants me to handle the talent.”

“Aren’t you
talent
too?”

“No, I’m the host. Don’t lump me in with those crazy beyatches.” He winked.

“Someone has to give you a hard time for your cushy job,” I said, pretending to be cool while continuing to rub the mascara grease from my eyes. I hoped that, by some miracle of God, at
least my face had an
au naturel
glow to it.

Alex grabbed the chair beside the desk. I sat on the edge of the bed, self-consciously crossing and uncrossing my legs, and trying various lady-like positions to make my healthy thighs look not so healthy. Meanwhile, my heart was doing triple axel salchows at the prospect of a James Bond ringer sitting within three feet of my sheets. As a late night bonus, he was wearing a basic gray Hanes t-shirt that read “Joe’s Fish Supplies,” and it looked like the real deal.

“Have you been crying?” He reached for my towel, which I was neurotically using to dab at my face like someone locked in a sweat lodge.

“No,” I said, thinking,
Should I? Would it help my chances? Because I do good cry.

It was sort of sad that I could have someone so luscious in my grasp, who came to
me
, unprompted, unasked, unexpected, and still be so insecure about it. I should’ve been bouncing around my hotel room, singing Billy Squier, “Everybody wants me!” Instead, I felt like Roseanne Barr at Fashion Week.

“Karl totally over-reacted with you. He’s a bit of an ass.” He shook his head and laughed. “I think it’s awesome you had the cajones to go in there to deal with tech stuff. It’s not like you were eating their food,” Alex said with a chuckle as I tried to contain my surprise.

Of course! Why would this gorgeous specimen of a man show up to my room if he actually believed I was pigging out on celebrity scraps? “Right, yeah, total misunderstanding. The stupid wire was loose. I could see it,” I muttered, staring at my kneecaps, half giggling.

“Got any more of that wine?” He grabbed a plastic cup from the desktop. “Can’t sleep. I’m still on LA time. Guess it’s good we ran into each other tonight.”

The fluorescent light bounced off my leg stubble as if it had been hit with the glitter gun. I needed an hour with a blow dryer and a push-up bra, or even just two minutes with a comb.

“So, who are you eye-balling?” Alex said, giving me the once-over and drinking his wine.

“Huh?”

“You know, any dudes on your list?”

“What do you mean? I just got here. I’m not—”

“Come on, pretty girl like you could have any guy you want. Especially with this ratio. What is it, ten guys to every girl? Thank God for the chambermaids.”

Slightly redeems himself with the pretty comment, then wham with the maids.

“Nope, no one. But, uh, the way things are going, someone might pop up,” I said, smiling playfully. “What about you? You’re sorta cute. I’m sure one of the maids is looking for a ticket out of scrubbing toilet sludge.”

“Touché. But seriously, I don’t mix work and pleasure. Too dangerous. Never works.” He continued to sip his wine.

So, why are you here, dumb ass? And please please please can we mix business and pleasure? Just this once!

He changed the subject, telling me about his time modeling, his TV career, his extensive travels, and his patch of land in Colorado overlooking a lake, where he was building a cabin to get away from it all.

“So, I have a question,” he said, leaning forward and placing a hand on my thigh.

Not a great hand, but a good one. Maybe small, but can’t let such a minor detail ruin the moment.

“You’re not one of those girls who just wants to shack up and get married, are you?” he said in a complete deadpan. He was serious.

“
What?
” I tried not to look offended.
What the hell kind of question is that?
“No! I’m complete on my own, thank you. I don’t need a man to make me happy.”

“Really,” he said, definitely cocky. “Because you know, it seems every girl I meet over the age of 25 is hell-bent on landing a man and getting on the baby train.”

“Well, I’m different.”

Okay, not entirely different. If I had my way, I’d be on a mountaintop exchanging vows with an explorer named Craig. Not the asshole Craig, but the imaginary Adonis Craig—the one I’d invented in my head about three minutes after he spoke his first words to me. And since he’s imaginary, I’ll just have to find
someone else, whom I’d prefer to find sooner rather than later. So what’s wrong with that? So I want a man I can love! And up until two minutes ago, Alex was in the running! Shit! Women really do size up men for marriage within the first five minutes.

“Lydia said you were cool. Now, tell me about this explorer guy you’re with, your boyfriend.”

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Okay, it makes sense now. He’s playing it cool because Lyds told him about Craig. Ha! Craig? Craig Who?

“No, we broke up,” I said casually. “It was awhile ago.”

Tension gone. Mood relaxed. The thought that Alex was anything less than perfect slipped away into a mass of lusty thoughts. As we talked, he leaned in closer and closer until I could feel his breath on my face. Our cheeks touched lightly and his hands slowly and subtly made their way onto my hips. Before I knew it, he had my hair pinned over my head and his other hand scrambling up my t-shirt. It was happening so fast.

Jesus, what if they’ve planted a camera in MY room?

Nothing about this night seemed real. A hot—no, a gorgeous man—wanting me, needing me, fondling me, and this after possibly seeing me slurp down a can of salt-soaked fish eggs.

Pinch me. Was I working on a reality show or starring in one?

H
e thrust his naked torso against her pelvis and began a dry-hump. As they throbbed and heaved in unison, her head knocked against a priceless oil painting.

“Dags, you’re so fucking hot,” he grunted forcefully. “I love you. I love you.”

“Just do me!” Dagmar moaned.

“Marry me. I want you to marry me. Please,” Dominic panted as he continued to bang her against the wall.

“Yes! I’ll do it. I’ll marry you! Yes! Yes!” she screamed, biting at his navel.

My face turned white. Was I seriously watching two filthy rich heirs have sex? I turned to my compadré in the control room, blinking stupidly. He was operating Spycam while I directed.