The Next Big Thing

  “No problem. It’s shocking, I know.”

  “This weekend,” I repeated. “That’s only three days from now!”

  “Two, actually. You’ll be leaving Friday evening, and returning on the red-eye late Sunday night. We’ve worked it out so most people won’t have to miss work. At least, that’s our tentative plan. It may change as we proceed.”

  I drew in a breath. “What time’s my flight?”

  “They haven’t arranged it. I had to talk to you before I gave the go-ahead. You’re able to make it, right?”

  “Oh, yes! Absolutely. In fact,” I said, grinning, “you couldn’t have picked a better weekend if you’d tried.”

  Zaidee filled me in briefly on the details. Her office would overnight a package to my apartment with my plane ticket, hotel reservation, and taxi vouchers.

  “You’ll be all set. If for some reason you don’t receive the package by tomorrow evening, call my assistant immediately.” She proceeded to give me the contact information.

  As soon as we hung up, I went racing over to Donna’s desk. I tried my best to sound casual, but Donna knew the moment she saw my face.

  “The show called,” she guessed, smiling.

  “It looks like I won’t need to hide out at your place this weekend,” I said, pausing unnecessarily for effect. “I’m going to Los Angeles!”

  I had a million things to do, and virtually no time to do them.

  The first and most vital step, even more important than packing, was to get things squared away with Nick. Fortunately, the conversation with my dad had inspired me. I called him on my cell during lunch.

  “Kat!” he exclaimed. “It’s so good to hear your lovely voice. Are you ill?”

  That was a strange reversal. One minute, my voice was lovely, the next I sounded sick. “No, why, do I sound congested?”

  “Oh, goodness, no! I’m not accustomed to hearing from you in the middle of the day is all. I assumed you’d phoned in to work.”

  “I’m on my lunch break. What are you up to, baby?”

  “I was having a Jen-A-Thon when you rang.” I had no idea what the hell a Jen-A-Thon was. It had to be some kind of bizarre British lingo.

  “What’s a Jess-A-Thon?” I asked nervously. Part of me was afraid to find out. “You’re not cheating on me with some girl named Jess, are you?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “Oh my God . . . please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Jessica Biel,” he explained. “The actress. I’m a big fan.”

  “I didn’t realize you liked her.”

  “I do. I always make it a point to know all the gorgeous actresses.”

  I hoped he didn’t mean personally. Nick’s job at Status afforded him the opportunity to hobnob with lots of celebrities. “She’s a goddess,” he said. He then talked about her “full, luscious lips” and her “slender legs that go on for miles” and her “toned, tight little bottom.”

  Which pretty much sucked. Of course, Jessica Biel was gorgeous. Anybody with a brain could see that. Why do men feel the need to drone on about how hot other women are? Is it a misguided attempt to impress us?

  “She’s pretty cool,” I mumbled.

  Thank God Zaidee had finally called. I was more relieved than ever that I had applied for From Fat to Fabulous. It was a pretty smart move. When I got finished with the show I would be closer to the kind of woman Nick wanted.

  “I need to tell you something,” I began. I wasn’t sure how to break the news, so I came right out with it. “I’m not going to be in town when you—your present arrives Saturday.” I struggled to make my voice sound pissed off rather than relieved.

  “Why on earth not?” he asked, then his voice changed dramatically. “You’re flying to London, aren’t you!” he exclaimed. “Kat, that’s brilliant!”

  He sounded so excited. It pained me to let him down. “Um, no, that’s not it. My dad called a few minutes ago and, well, he bought me a plane ticket to come out to Denver. They had this cyber savers deal on Northwest Airlines where you can fly round-trip for only ninety-nine dollars. I’m so incredibly sorry. He bought it as a surprise.”

  Nick’s mood fell. “I don’t suppose that leaves you much choice.”

  “I’m caught between a rock and a hard place.”

  “I see.” Nick paused. “Can you get someone to come by your flat and meet the package when it gets there?”

  “The package is still coming, even though I won’t be here?”

  “I posted it this morning, via FedEx. It’s too late to get it back.”

  I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “My landlord can hold on to a package until I get back Monday,” I said. So it really is a package?

  “I don’t trust this in some stranger’s care. What I’ve sent you is quite valuable.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes, and rather expensive. If you can’t be there, well—I’d feel more comfortable if I knew you had someone there to meet it.”

  “Donna can do it!” I blurted out. I had done a complete 180. Now I was dying to know what the surprise was. “I’ve got to get her to come by and feed my fish while I’m gone.”

  “Good-o,” he said, sounding relieved. “Well, then, have a wonderful time, Kat. I’ll speak to you when you get back.”

  “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you, too.” I placed the receiver back in its cradle and sank into my chair. My mind was spinning, and my heart was beating so fast I thought it might pound right out of my chest.

  A surprise. Valuable. Expensive.

  Slowly, everything was coming into focus. Nick was going to propose to me! I ran the length of our office searching for Donna. She was in the break room, sitting by herself, reading a fashion magazine and munching on a sandwich.

  “Donna,” I squealed, racing in the door.

  She jumped. “Geez, Kat, can you keep it down?” she moaned. “Some of us had a rough night last night.”

  I ignored her. “Brace yourself,” I said, taking the seat opposite from her. “I think Nick’s going to ask me to marry him!”

  “Huh?” She put down the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she was eating and stared at me through squinted eyes. She looked more bewildered than impressed.

  “That surprise package that’s arriving this Saturday? It’s an engagement ring!” I blurted out. Several people nearby turned to stare.

  “Do you mind?” Donna asked a group of women seated near us. “We’re trying to have a private conversation.”

  “A private conversation at the top of your lungs,” one of the women retorted. Donna shook her head in confusion.

  “Kat, you’ve lost me. I thought Nick was the surprise. What’s this about a package?”

  I quickly went over the details of our conversation. “So as you can plainly see, that’s the only logical explanation,” I concluded.

  She took a long, purposeful drink of her orange juice before speaking. “You have officially lost your mind.”

  “No, I haven’t. Just listen to the facts—”

  “I’ve heard the facts. I still think you’re nuts.”

  “But he said it was expensive,” I protested. “Lots of things are expensive, Kat. Almost any kind of jewelry is expensive. He probably bought you a pair of earrings, or maybe a watch.”

  My face fell. “Hey, just because you’re in a bad mood over breaking up with Chip doesn’t mean you have to rain on my parade.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re getting a bit carried away? It’s a pretty big jump from ‘expensive present’ to ‘engagement ring.’ And, anyway, only a moron would propose to someone they’ve never even met!”

  “My relationship with Nick isn’t based on looks. Our love is stronger than that.”

  “Oh, please! If it’s not based on looks then why don’t you send him an accurate picture of yourself?”

  “Whatever.” I stood up from the table. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Oh yea
h, I’m so jealous,” Donna said sarcastically. “I just can’t stand that you have an Internet boyfriend who lives twenty thousand miles away. Grow up, Kat. I’m not jealous of your loser.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Donna had never spoken to me this way before. “Last week you were telling me what a catch he was. Now he’s a loser?”

  “Get over yourself, Kat, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

  My jaw dropped. I didn’t want to dignify her statement with an answer. “I’ll see you when I get back from California,” I said, stalking out of the room. Nick’s surprise would have to wait with my landlord until I got back on Monday. There was no way I’d ask Donna to pick it up.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” I said indignantly, sticking my head back in through the door. “Learn a little something about geography. Great Britain is four thousand miles from here, not twenty.”

  Donna kept right on eating her lunch. She didn’t even bother to glance up.

  I tried not to let it get me down, though. After all, on Friday night I’d be hopping a plane to Los Angeles!

  Chapter Seven

  I spent the plane ride from Memphis to Los Angeles fighting off airsickness—I’ve only flown twice in my life—and stressing out over where to find a taxi once we landed. My limited knowledge of the West Coast, which came mostly from magazines, movies, and TV shows, did not serve me well. I didn’t sit next to Steven Spielberg on the plane, there was no limo driver awaiting my arrival, and I didn’t run into Tom Cruise at baggage claim. I had expected glitz and glamour, celebrity sightings, and movie-star mansions. What I got were crowded freeways and garbage-lined streets. To be fair about it, I didn’t see much of the city.

  From the time I arrived at LAX and right up until I departed, I was kept under virtual lock and key at the Brentwood Bel-Air Holiday Inn. There was nothing elaborate or fancy about the hotel—a tall, white cylindrical building located off the freeway, but I liked it. It sat cramped onto a small lot of land between a funky art-deco apartment complex and the Getty Center Museum, and you could see it for miles.

  I got to the hotel from the airport in a Yellow Cab, paid for with a taxi voucher provided by From Fat to Fabulous. As it turned out, it was easy to find a cab. All I had to do was follow signs that read TAXI.

  I bypassed the front desk and checked in at the hospitality suite on the sixteenth floor, as it instructed in the packet Zaidee sent. My room reservation was under the show’s name, and I needed to retrieve my key from a member of the production staff. By the time the elevator had reached the sixteenth floor, I was a ball of nerves, clutching my stomach and trying to keep my knees from buckling underneath me. My body doesn’t respond well to stress—I shake, I sweat, I stammer, my stomach flips. I don’t know if it’s genetics, or if it’s the by-product of growing up in a worrisome household. Either way, I blame my mother.

  “For God’s sake, pull yourself together, Kat,” I lectured myself. “You’ve made it this far. What could possibly go wrong?”

  When the elevator reached the sixteenth floor, the doors parted to reveal a metallic easel with a sign that read FAT2FAB AUDITIONS in bold pink letters. A door to one of the rooms popped open and a heavyset black girl carrying a duffel bag made her way toward the elevator. Yep, I was in the right place. I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

  A short, stocky man appeared at my shoulder. “You here for the auditions?”

  I looked at him. I wanted to say, “No, I’m a 227-pound girl who just happened to wander up here with an armload of luggage.”

  Diplomatically, I settled on, “Yes, I am.”

  “You can set your bags down here.” He gestured to a spot near the door where a pile was already forming. “Check-in’s over at that desk. They’ll give you your room assignment.”

  I dropped my luggage and headed over to the desk. Directly beside it was a large buffet table, loaded down with platters of cookies, bagels, and tiny sandwiches. Clearly they wanted to make sure we were good and fat before we went on TV.

  The girl in front of me stepped aside to fill out some paperwork. The whole scene reminded me of college orientation, everyone milling around nervously, waiting to get their class schedules and dorm assignments.

  “Next please!” called a pixie-haired blonde. I moved up to the desk. “Hi, I’m Kat-”

  “Give me your driver’s license,” she cut me off.

  Startled, I fished in my purse for my wallet. She stared at me impatiently as I struggled to find it. I glanced behind me. There was no one else waiting to be served. I located my license and handed it over.

  “I’ve gotta photocopy this,” she said, jumping up and going over to a small Xerox machine sitting on top of a table. She returned a minute later and passed back my driver’s license, along with a room keycard and a stack of paperwork the size of a textbook. “Sign and date this here, here, and here,” she said, flipping the document open and singling out several pages. “When you’re done, go through and initial the bottom of each page. Go get settled in your room and then bring the forms back up here as soon as you’re done.” She thrust the papers into my hands.

  “But it’s over fifty pages!” I gasped. “Do I need to read all of it?”

  She let out a big breath, causing her bangs to stand up on her forehead.

  “I’d advise you to do so,” she said, curtly. “Never sign anything without reading it first. There’s a little business tip for you.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize I’d have to do so much work before the audition started.”

  “The first part of this is a confidentiality agreement; the second part’s a release form authorizing us to conduct a background check and a drug test.”

  “You’re drug testing us?” I stood there with my mouth gaping.

  “You’ll be getting a full medical physical,” she informed me. “It’s all in your packet.” She turned and busied herself neatening up the desk. I sensed the conversation was finished, and walked over to retrieve my suitcase and headed out into the hall.

  My room was located on the fourth floor, so I took the elevator down. There were two double beds in it. I pitched my stuff onto the bed closest to the window, anticipating a roommate would show up and claim the other one. No one did. When I finally finished reading and initialing the lengthy document it was after 10 P.M.

  I took the elevator back upstairs and returned the paperwork. I was disappointed to find the abrupt blonde woman was still on desk-duty. I’d been hoping to meet someone a little friendlier, as I had a few questions about the casting process. Without so much as a “hello,” she snatched the documents from my hand. She made me photocopies of the pages with my signature on them, and then gave me an itinerary of the following day’s events. They’d set out fresh sandwiches as well as chips and cake, so I snagged a plateful of food and headed back to my room. I pulled out the itinerary and studied it while I ate.

  Audition Schedule—Saturday, May 11*

  PLEASE REPORT PROMPTLY TO ALL SCHEDULED EVENTS!!!!

  FAILURE TO BE ON TIME MAY RESULT IN

  YOUR DISMISSAL FROM THE CASTING PROCESS. AS ALWAYS

  PROMPTNESS IS A VIRTUE.

  *Contestants are advised, though not required, to remain on the hotel premises for the duration of the day. Please note that additional interviews may be scheduled during “off periods” of your schedule. Also note that immediately following your group interview you will be asked to complete a follow-up questionnaire, which may require a substantial time commitment.

  Much to my horror, Kat Larson—Group A had been scrawled across the top of the page. It figured. I was the world’s biggest night owl so, of course, I was scheduled for the early-bird interview. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost 11 P.M., 1 A.M. Memphis time. Donna would still be up. She never went to bed early on the weekends.

  I’d been feeling pangs of sadness about our fight. Other than cursory “hello’s” we had barely spoken over the past few days. I’d vowed t
o give her the silent treatment until she apologized for insulting my relationship with Nick.

  But now, distance made our argument seem silly; definitely not something worth ruining a friendship over. I picked up the phone.

  “Hello?” she answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, it’s me. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “No, I was still up.” She didn’t say anything for a minute. “Kat?”

  “The one and only,” I joked.

  “I thought you were going to Los Angeles today?”

  “Three guesses where I’m calling from. The Sunshine State.”

  She chuckled. “That’s Florida. I think California is the Bear State.”

  “Bear?” I repeated, uncertain. I snapped my fingers. “The Golden State! That’s it!”

  We cracked up.

  Donna said, “It’s nice to hear from you. I’ve been wondering how you were holding up. So, what’s it like out there in the old Golden State?” It was as if our fight had never happened.

  I caught her up to speed on everything, and she filled me in on her day. She’d met Jon, the guy from On the Border, for drinks after work. “All he did was talk about his Mercedes and his ‘healthy’ investment portfolio,” she complained. “Then, when the end of the date comes, he has the nerve to ask me if I want to pick up the tab! What the hell? Going Dutch is one thing, but when a guy’s rich, I’m sorry, he’s paying.”

  We were having such a good time that before I knew it an hour had passed. “You need me to go and feed your fish tomorrow?” Donna asked.

  “No, Cara’s taking care of it. But, there is something you could do for me if you’re not too busy.”

  “I’ll get Nick’s package,” she agreed, cutting in before I’d even asked. “Hmm . . . that didn’t sound right. You know what I mean. Not his package package.”

  “Donna!”

  “I’m tired. Anyway, you need to get a good night’s sleep so you can be in top form for tomorrow.”