The Next Big Thing

  “I’ve lost fifty pounds since I got here.”

  “Fifty!” I gasped, dropping my fork. It landed on the counter with a clank. Suddenly, both cameras were on me. “We’ve been here less than two months!”

  “I know.” She grinned. “Isn’t it fab?” She took a knife out of the drawer and started cutting up her apple on the chopping board.

  “Isn’t what fab?” Regan asked, wandering into the room.

  “Alyssa just got back from weigh-in. She lost again,” I said, beating her to the punch.

  “Hey, no fair! I wanted to tell Regan my good news. You always blurt stuff out,” Alyssa complained. “You’re a bigger gossip than Luisa.”

  “Oops . . . I did it again,” I sang. It was a lame comeback, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the sound guys come in with the boom mic. Uh-oh. That was never a good sign.

  “Are you under a hundred and fifty pounds yet?” Regan enthused. “ ’Cause that’s a really big milestone.”

  “Girl, I’ve been under a hundred and fifty.” Alyssa had finished slicing her apple and was now sucking on the pieces seductively. “As of today, I’m one-hundred-twenty-six pounds and counting.”

  “I’m so happy for you,” Regan screeched, dashing around the table and engulfing her in a hug. “You should be so proud of that.”

  She glowed. “I am.” The two of them continued embracing for a few minutes.

  Something fishy was going on. Alyssa had never been huge to begin with, and now she was downright slim.

  “Alyssa, how tall are you?” I asked, staring at her pointedly.

  “I’m five-ten.”

  “And you’ve lost fifty pounds since you got here, which means you weighed one-seventy-six before. Right?”

  She nodded. “Duh, Kit Kat, you were there for our initial weigh-in, remember?”

  It didn’t add up. “I thought you had to be a size sixteen to come on this show?”

  “You do,” Alyssa said, “and I was.”

  Regan nodded vigorously. “Me, too.”

  I wasn’t sure who the more reproachable liar was: Regan, who was obviously downsizing, or Alyssa who had, quite possibly, upsized to get on TV.

  “How do they judge it?” I asked. “You know, did they ask you for a sample of your clothes when you auditioned?”

  Alyssa burst into laughter. “Don’t be absurd, Kat.”

  “No, I’m serious. How did they know you were telling the truth about what size you wore?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I probably wouldn’t be the first person.”

  We glared at each other for a long moment, then she said, “In case you’ve forgotten, Kit Kat, envy is one of the seven deadly sins.”

  My mind flashed back to a campaign H&G had done last fall to help promote a new Memphis club, Seven Sins. I decided to throw in a quick plug.

  “Well,” I scoffed, “you seem so bent on announcing your weight to the world, Alyssa, you ought to hire your own PR firm. You know, like the talented and prolific Hood and Geddlefinger Public Relations. Not that we’d take you as a client. We’re too classy for that.”

  “Cool it, you guys,” Regan said, shooting me a puzzled look.

  It was too late. Neither of us was going to back off now.

  “It’s not my fault that I’ve lost more weight than you have,” Alyssa continued. “What have you lost? Five, six pounds?”

  “Twenty,” I corrected. It was the truth.

  I felt my face growing hot. At first I thought it was from embarrassment, but then I realized it was the overhead lights. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected they’d gotten brighter. My cameraman had certainly gotten closer. His lens was now only half a dozen inches away from my left cheek.

  “Since you’ve lost so much weight, what size do you wear now? How the hell do your clothes even fit?” I asked.

  “I’m a ten now and Zaidee brought in some new clothes.” Alyssa let out an exasperated sigh. “What’s with you? As soon as you lose some weight, you’ll get new clothes, too.”

  “Show me your tag.” I didn’t believe her. A five-foot-ten-inch woman would not be a ten at one-hundred twenty-six pounds. Judging by Alyssa’s frame, I’d have pegged her as a six, or even a four. “Let me see,” I demanded.

  “No,” she told me. “It’s none of your business what size I wear. I lost fifty pounds and that’s that.” She whirled around and stomped over to the Tomb of Temptation. “I think I deserve a little treat for my efforts.”

  This time, both Regan and the cameraman followed.

  I was fuming, but I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Without another word, I charged up the stairs, stomping my feet as I went. When I reached my room, I flung myself down face first on the bed. I wanted to turn the lights out, but it was only 3 P.M. I knew what was about to happen, but I fought it for as long as humanly possible. Hot tears were stinging my eyes, threatening to pour out at any minute, yet I didn’t want that side of myself shown on TV. I started crying, trying to keep my face muffled by the pillow so it wouldn’t be picked up on camera. I knew he was there. I could hear him moving around behind me, adjusting positions to get the best shot possible.

  Let him stand there, I thought smugly, and film the back of my head. I wasn’t about to let him get a shot of my tears. I don’t know how long I lay there. It must have been awhile. I had just started to doze off when I heard the door creak open. “

  You okay, Kat?”

  Slowly, I rolled over, rubbing my eyes. It was Janelle.

  “I’ve been better,” I admitted.

  “You can’t let Alyssa get to you.”

  I struggled to keep my voice from wavering. “It’s not so much Alyssa as it’s just the show in general. You heard the way those people on the beach spoke to me. All of America thinks I’m a stupid, fat bitch!” I began sobbing louder. I couldn’t help myself; it was a hard pill to swallow.

  She walked over and sat down on the edge of my bed. “Editing or not, they can’t show things you haven’t done. If you give them five minutes of anger, that’s the five minutes they’re going to use. Over ninety-nine percent of what goes on in here will wind up on the cutting-room floor.”

  It was a scary thought, but I knew she was right. I may not have lost much weight, but I had never felt so small in my life.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We waited for the thirty-minute live show with a sense of morbid curiosity. Everybody had a different opinion on what to expect.

  “They’re going to make us vote somebody off,” Luisa guessed, as we all sat in the deluxe master bedroom, waiting to be called downstairs. “Like on Survivor.”

  “They can’t,” Janelle argued. “They don’t have enough contestants.”

  “Then maybe Zaidee’s gonna bring in a replacement?” Luisa snapped her fingers. “She’s probably gonna offer one of us twenty-five thousand dollars to walk out the door!”

  “You think Zaidee regrets choosing us?” I asked.

  “I know she’s happy with me,” Alyssa said. “She tells me all the time.”

  “Right.” I rolled my eyes. “And just how often do you talk to her?”

  “Every single day. When I go in the Confession Chamber she raves about how fun I am,” Alyssa said. “Fun and spicy.”

  “Maybe the girl who’s lost the most weight gets a special reward?” Janelle surmised. “Like a visit from a family member, or a brand-new sports car?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of an endorsement deal,” Alyssa said.

  “Like a commercial?” Regan asked, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers.

  “That’s where the real money is,” Alyssa continued. “TV appearances, book deals, commercials, the whole nine yards. God knows I deserve to get all that. I’ve got more breakout potential than any reality TV star I’ve ever seen.”

  I felt my body tense up. I couldn’t understand
why they had cast such an obvious famewhore on the show.

  “I’m going to get dressed,” I said, stalking out and heading to my bedroom.

  Janelle followed me. “What are you going to wear?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I want to fix myself up, we’re going to be on TV.”

  She laughed. “Kat, we’re always on TV.”

  “I know, I know. But like you always say, they edit most of it out. Tonight we’re guaranteed they’re not going to chop us.”

  “True,” she reneged, reaching into the closet and pulling out a long black dress. “What about this?” she asked. “Too fancy?”

  “It’s nice but it’s the kind of thing you’d wear to a formal ball.”

  Janelle ducked back in and retrieved a brown skirt and a cream-colored scoop-neck top. “How about this? Better?”

  I nodded. “Much.”

  She set the clothes down on her bed and then brushed her hair into a high ponytail. “Know what you’re wearing yet, Kat?”

  “Black pants and a pink button-down. I think it’s the only thing I’ve got that won’t totally wash me out on camera.”

  “The lighting in this house is the pits. We’re both pale; we probably come off like ghosts.” She turned to the cameramen saying, “We’re changing, guys,” before shooing them out the door. As soon as we were alone, she lowered her voice. “I’m nervous—what if Luisa’s right? You think we’ll have to vote somebody out?”

  “Nah,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “It’s like you said, there are only six of us. They can’t afford to drop any lower.”

  “Want me to help you get ready, Kat?” Janelle asked. “Do your hair and stuff?”

  I bit my lip and glanced at her school-girl ponytail. It looked juvenile and didn’t match her sophisticated outfit.

  “No thanks,” I said simply. “I think I’ll just wear it tucked behind my ears.”

  At 4 P.M. Zaidee summoned us to the living room. The show was going live at 5 P.M. Pacific Time—eight o’clock on the East Coast—and they needed to get us prepared.

  The downstairs had been blocked off all day, so I expected to find it slightly rearranged. But when we got down there I was shocked; our living room looked like a tornado had plowed through it, lifting up our possessions and dropping new ones in its wake.

  The purple sectional couch was gone, replaced by a row of tall, orange director’s chairs.

  Three enormous cameras had been set up on dollies in the living room—one dead in front of us, and two angled at us from the side. Thick black, gray, and orange wires covered every inch of the floor behind the cameras. Extra lights had been brought in, and there were boom mics hanging from the ceiling.

  Zaidee and a man I didn’t recognize were frantically barking orders to the crew. Twice, they changed the setup, moving the director’s chairs into a semicircle, then putting them back in a row.

  My stomach churned with nervous anticipation as I watched. Every little move and sound made me jump. For the first time since I’d got here, I really felt like I was on TV.

  Ten minutes before the show was due to start, Zaidee disappeared and Jagger came out. He stood silently in the center of the room, eyes half-closed, head bent toward the ground. I couldn’t tell if he was lost in concentration, or if he was nervous to go live, too.

  Finally, it was time to start.

  “Stand by!” yelled one of the cameramen. “Intro’s rolling!”

  After what seemed like forever, the cameraman said, “And we’re coming in . . . in five . . . four . . . three . . .” He didn’t say the last two numbers, just mimed them with his hand. When he reached one, he pointed his finger toward Jagger.

  “Good evening, and welcome to the first live edition of From Fat to Fabulous! I’m your host, Jagger Roth. We’re coming to you live from inside the Hollywood Hills hideaway, where our six Fat2Fab contestants are nervously awaiting tonight’s revelations.” He turned to face us. “How are you feeling, girls?”

  “Pretty good!” Alyssa called out.

  “I’ve been better,” Regan admitted.

  “Well, brace yourselves, because you’re in for a wild ride!” Jagger began a lengthy recap of the week’s events, starting with the volleyball game and moving into the results of the most recent weigh-in. “Currently, Kat and Janelle are tied for the lead, with banks of $120,000. Alyssa is a close second, with $117,000. Both Luisa and Regan rank in at under $100,000. And Maggie, you’re bringing up the rear with $48,000. Since coming on From Fat to Fabulous, you have gained fourteen pounds.”

  I gasped. I don’t think any of us realized how far behind Maggie was.

  Jagger strolled over until he was standing directly in front of her. “I’d like to get your opinion, Maggie,” he said. “You’ve made several comments about the role age has played in this game. Do you feel being the oldest contestant puts you at a disadvantage?”

  Maggie nodded vehemently. “Absolutely!”

  “How so?” Jagger prompted.

  “I’m a forty-year-old woman. I don’t have as much energy as these young girls. I can’t be expected to go jogging every day. And my body burns fat slower,” she said.

  “Ah, yes, I was coming to that. Do you feel having a child has made it harder for you to lose weight?”

  Again, Maggie was adamant. “Absolutely. Don’t get me wrong. I love my son, Owen Strickland, dearly, but he is partly responsible for my weight problem.”

  Jagger pressed on. “Yesterday, you said something in the Confession Chamber that I’d like to explore.”

  I stared at him in horror. Is Jagger planning to reveal all the private things we’ve discussed in the Confession Chamber?

  “You said, and I quote, ‘It’s Owen’s fault that I’m fat.’ Is that correct?”

  I figured she would back pedal, try to find a way to spin it so it didn’t sound that bad. I was dead wrong.

  Maggie squared her shoulders. “Yes, I said that. The truth is, and none of you girls will understand this, because you don’t have kids,” she said, looking around at us apologetically, “but after you have a child your life is never the same. I gained weight in my pregnancy and that weight won’t come off. As much as I love Owen and hate to blame him for it, it’s his fault.”

  “Does Owen know you feel this way?” Jagger asked.

  It was a pointless question. If he hadn’t known before, he certainly would now.

  Maggie gulped. “Yes, he does.”

  “And how does that make him feel?”

  “It hurts him very much that it made Mommy fat to have him. That he made Mommy fat. But he knows it’s his fault and he accepts that.”

  “Is Owen watching right now?” Jagger asked.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sure he is.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to tell him?”

  “Owen,” Maggie spoke directly to the cameras, “Mommy loves you and she misses you. And even though it’s because of you that Mommy has to be here, she doesn’t hate you for it. She still loves you very much.”

  I wanted to lean over and smack her. She had to be kidding! Every woman gains weight during a pregnancy, and many of them lose it. If she hadn’t managed to slim down after giving birth, it wasn’t her son’s fault! I couldn’t believe she would publicly blame Owen.

  “Kat, you look like you’re dying to comment,” Jagger smiled encouragingly.

  Uh-oh. It probably would’ve been wise for “Kat the Brat” not to comment.

  But I couldn’t help myself. “As a matter of fact, I do have something to say.”

  I saw Janelle cringe. I knew what she thinking. Don’t do it, Kat. Just shut your mouth. You’re only going to regret it later. But I wouldn’t regret it. This was a live show! Zaidee couldn’t twist and edit what I said.

  “I don’t think it’s fair of Maggie to blame her son. She had a weight problem long before she ever got pregnant.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “Yes, you did! When we we
re discussing our worst fat-girl moments you said you’d been overweight for twenty years. Owen is only eleven.”

  “I—” Maggie stammered.

  Jagger announced it was time to break for a commercial. It figured. Just when Kat the Brat was standing up for a child they shut me down. I sighed, and Maggie and I waited out the commercials glaring at each other.

  When we came back from the break, Jagger proclaimed, “At the end of last week’s episode, we promised an enormous twist was in the works . . . a twist to shake the foundation of From Fat to Fabulous to its very core.”

  I jerked upright in my chair and Regan shifted nervously. “Our contestants have no idea what’s in store, but I can promise you there are about to be some monumental changes in the Fat2Fab house. Our first night in the mansion, you’ll remember that the girls competed for room assignments. I hinted then that the fate of the game might rest in that one competition. And tonight, we’re going to find out why. Because things are about to get a lot more crowded here in the From Fat to Fabulous mansion,” Jagger continued. “As we welcome a whole new group of players to the game!”

  Damn it! Just like we’d speculated, they were bringing in more contestants. I looked nervously at Regan and Janelle.

  Jagger was blabbering on about how the size of the house was about to be doubling in numbers, but I was too angry to listen. “What can we do?” I mouthed helplessly to Janelle. Shrugged back. “Nothing.”

  And I knew she was right. She was right. Zaidee and company were about to march in a whole new set of big girls – any one of whom could swoop in and steal the final prize – and there wasn’t a damn thing any of us could do about it.

  “I’d like to welcome a young lady who defines the word fabulous. While you have never met our next guest, you’re more than familiar with her. Over the past few months she’s been a hot topic of conversation in the Fat2Fab house. So now, I am proud to introduce,” Jagger paused, “Briana Borrail!”

  I heard someone scream—Regan, probably—and the front door popped open to reveal one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever seen.

  “Regan,” Jagger said. “Say hello to your new roommate! As of tonight, you will be sharing a bedroom on the main floor with your sister, Briana.”