Part 21 (1/2)

I stared at the woman. Was she actually getting misty? If my fingers gripped any more ferociously to the sides of my fancy modern chair, I would rip off the veneer and be left with metal rods.

Stan nodded and slapped his knee with his index card, as though grateful to have made it through such a harrowing interview. ”America, if you're anywhere but in front of your television this Sat.u.r.day night at nine o'clock, eight central, you are missing out. I'm telling you, these two people and, heck, the whole team of Thrill Me are going to knock your socks off. Thanks for coming in today, guys. Avery Michaels and Charlie Garrett, everybody!”

The crowd cheered, and peppy theme music played in the background. Bunny held my hand in hers as she turned to the camera. ”Join us after the break when we get down and dirty about the growing back-to-school epidemic: cyberbullying. Back in a moment!”

The cameraman waved us off, and I saw the monitors cut to a commercial for a bathroom cleaner. Two production people were on us like flies, removing our mics and directing us off the stage.

”Thanks, kids,” Stan said. He clicked his tongue to his cheek and made a pistol with his fingers, which he fired at a grinning Vic.

”Come back and cook for us sometime,” Bunny said, though her words were swallowed by a woman who was standing in front of her and touching up her lipstick.

Margot took one look at my face and intercepted me with a grip on my elbow. She guided me to our waiting car while Avery and Vic stopped to talk with a gaggle of shrieking middle-aged women.

”That was horrible! Ridiculous! And insulting!” I fumed as she shoved me not very gently into the back seat of the limo. I could barely sit on the upholstery, I was so amped up. ”Who said I slept my way to the top? I want to know! s.e.xist pigs!” I wasn't finished. ”And that photo! You have an entire team devoted to our nondisclosure contracts and yet you can't keep one photo under wraps? You seem to haul out that privacy clause only when it suits you.”

Margot looked entirely relaxed as she crossed her legs and draped one arm along the back of the seat.

I launched into another round. ”And just so we're all clear, I did not sign up for this,” I said, pointing past her ringlets to the set. ”I am a chef. Not a-a doll you bring out for networking purposes. I have a brain! Opinions! A voice!”

By this point, my breathing was shallow. Little spots danced along the edge of my vision.

Margot appeared unfazed by my shouting. She c.o.c.ked her head, as if studying a still life. ”First of all, the interview went well. Good job. You kept your composure when the Charlie of a few months ago would have crumbled under the pressure.” She opened the minifridge and removed two chilled waters. She nestled one into the seat beside me even though I had certainly not indicated I wanted a refreshment.

”I have no idea who said the bit about your career trajectory.” She shrugged. ”Someone online? An old high school cla.s.smate who's bitter you were homecoming queen?”

I drew in a sharp breath. ”I was never homecoming queen.”

Margot kept talking as if she couldn't hear me. ”Could have been a question Bunny or Stan formed on their own, under the general guise of 'detractors.'” She lifted one hand and let it drop onto her lap in complete resignation. ”Who cares? Idiots will be idiots. You can't worry about them.”

Realizing my mouth had gone dry, I cranked open the top of the water bottle with excessive force and some of it sloshed onto my lap. After a long gulp, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My heart still hammered in my chest. ”So I'm just supposed to forget it? Ignore the fact that I had my integrity questioned on national television?”

Margo turned slightly toward me. Her pet.i.te frame seemed childlike in the expansive car. Her feet barely skimmed the floor mats. ”You don't have to forget it. In fact, if you're smart, you'll use that slight as a rallying cry for all women who have felt like you do right now. You could turn it into a fantastic tweet and watch the conversation take on a life of its own.”

”But it's not true.” I implored her with my gaze to understand. ”I'm not that person. And even a.s.sociating my name with that idea makes me want to rip someone's head off.”

Margot chuckled. ”That kind of reaction can make for good press, actually. Righteous rage could really work for you. We can start scheduling follow-up interviews today.” She mused aloud about some possible headlines. ”'Reality show star takes on s.e.xism in the workplace.' Too self-important. What about 'Reality show sweetheart takes a stand on s.e.xism.' That's better.”

I gritted my teeth. ”I don't want a rallying cry. I just want to work.”

Margot paused a beat before speaking. Her tone softened slightly. ”Charlie, I know this kind of thing isn't what you thought you'd be doing in Seattle.”

I sniffed my disdain.

”However,” she said, ”you have a platform now. People are listening now. You say you have a brain and opinions and a voice. Well, use them. Take this moment when the world is stopping to listen and tell them what's on your mind. Believe me, they'll be on to the next curiosity soon enough.”

The driver opened the door, and Avery and Vic got in.

”Those women were crazy,” Avery said, shaking his head in what I supposed was the joy of a million male fantasies. ”Autographs, selfies, videos. They couldn't get enough. You should have stayed, Charlie. They were totally asking for you.”

I clung to my water bottle, my head spinning.

Vic must have noticed my silence because he reached over and patted my arm. ”Charlie, don't worry about that photo. We had to use it because it's invaluable for debut publicity, but it had a shelf life and I think that shelf life is over. Don't you, Margot?”

Margot nodded. She squinted outside at a burst of sunlight. Sliding her sungla.s.ses over her nose, she agreed. ”We won't use it again. The public will do more with it now than we ever could.”

My throat remained parched. I guzzled the rest of my water bottle and gestured for Avery to hand me another. He obliged, but a shadow of worry crossed his easily readable face.

”Don't worry about her,” Margot a.s.sured him when she noticed his gaze. ”Charlie has a few things to ponder.” She looked me with a thoughtful expression. ”She'll figure it out.”

I drank long and deep from the water bottle, surprised to find it was still unable to quench my thirst.

28.

IT'S not that I didn't fume. Oh, I fumed. I fumed for a good three days. And I got really proficient at fuming. But after my anger subsided, I had to accept the truth in Margot's words. This was a moment, just one moment. I could push through, and maybe even use all the attention to further my own goals. Nationally recognized as an excellent pastry chef? Ready to launch her own line of products? Already thinking about her first cookbook? Check, check, and check. I could play the game, I realized, and at the end, I could be the winner.

Plus, in my most shallow self, I had to admit that a little retail therapy never hurt.

For all of the discussions at Thrill surrounding what I would wear, what Avery would wear, his tux, my dress, when I finally got ready on the night of the debut episode, I did so without fanfare in my quiet apartment. I stood in front of my bed and fingered the gown that lay before me. I studied the winner of the mini-election held by all interested parties at Thrill earlier in the week. The comments of the Dress Parliament returned to my thoughts: Sebastian the stylist: Refined and elegant without looking like you're going to stop by the country club for a round of bridge.

Avery: Hot.

Lolo: Deliciously perfect.

Margot: Finally. Don't forget to wear lipstick.

Tova: The absolute opposite of prom. I so hated prom, didn't you? You look amazing, Charlie! Seriously! I can't believe you have those arms without ever even trying CrossFit. I want to hate you, but I can't when you're wearing that dress!

The deep emerald of the dress shone richly against the soft grays of my bedding. I ran my hands gently along the bodice and felt the comforting weight of the fabric, hoping that its permanence would steel the b.u.t.terflies in my stomach and scatter my second thoughts about the evening ahead.

Lolo had indulged me with a home visit earlier in the afternoon, and the result of her time and effort had made my hair and makeup look relaxed and pretty while still living up to the dress.

When it was time to get dressed, I carefully lifted the garment over my head and let it fall over my hips. After some maneuvering, I managed to coax the zipper up the back; I turned to my full-length mirror. For once in my life, I didn't feel the need to critique each inch of my body, each imperfection on my face. The dress hugged in all the right parts and made me feel very grateful to be a woman. The bodice was figure-formed but modest, a direct response to my request after seeing the publicity photos and being aghast that my b.r.e.a.s.t.s appeared to have perked up, grown up, and pushed out, all in the s.p.a.ce of one photo session. But as a beautiful counterpoint to the smooth cover of fabric on top, a slit ran in a clean and dangerous line up to the middle of my right thigh. I pivoted before the mirror, unapologetic in my admiration of legs that never saw daylight. Turns out, running in a kitchen at all hours was at least good for the calves.

My phone vibrated as I was slipping on the strappy heels Sebastian had chosen for me. Tova was texting their arrival at my apartment building. The limo was waiting out front. Tova had really worked hard for me over the past several weeks, and as a thank-you I'd suggested that we share a limo to the party. Needless to say, Tova was in favor of that kind of carpool.

I fidgeted with my new clutch during the elevator ride down but knew as soon as I stepped into Omar's view that I'd done all right.

”Ms. Garrett,” he said with a slight bow. ”You are ravis.h.i.+ng.”

”Thank you, Omar,” I said. ”You are kind to say so.”

He shook his head, opening the towering gla.s.s door with a distinguished air. ”Kind, perhaps, but honest, as well.” He smiled and watched from the door as the driver helped me into the car, shutting the door with careful precision and then pulling slowly away.

”Charlie!” Tova said, reaching over the s.p.a.ce between our seats. ”You look so gorge! I can't stand it.” She was practically vibrating within a swath of sequins. ”Charlie, this is my date, Donny Chu.”