L. A. Candy

  “Great, you found us. You ready to get started?” Dana said, climbing out of the van and adjusting her earpiece. Her eyes looked even more tired than they had at Jane’s initial interview three weeks ago, with her and Wendell. Had she been pulling all-nighters? Jane fought the impulse to offer the woman some concealer.

  “Yes. So are we getting miked out here?” Jane asked her.

  “Right over here,” Dana said, motioning toward the closer of the two vans. The back was open and a younger-looking guy was sitting on the bumper. He had a large pack of sound equipment strapped to the front of him by a padded harness. He unhooked the equipment and set it in the back of the van. Jane watched him as he reached in and pulled out two small microphones. They were smaller than the ones she and Scarlett had worn during their interviews. They were only a half an inch thick and silver. He unwound the thin black cord from around the first silver pack.

  “Scarlett?” He looked at both of them.

  “Present.” Scarlett stepped toward him.

  He eyed her outfit for a moment. “You’re wearing a bra, right?”

  She looked only a little taken aback. “Um, yeah.”

  “Okay.” He took out a piece of double-sided tape and began peeling the paper off one side. “Well, I’m gonna have you tape this microphone to the inside of the front of your bra and run the wire around your side, then I’ll clip the mike pack on the back of your bra.”

  He pressed the tape down, securing it against the tiny mike, and handed it to her. Then he pushed both his thumbs against the tiny mike pack, holding down two buttons at once. After a couple seconds, a small green light glowed on the top.

  “You can go in the van if you want.” He glanced back up at Scarlett. She had her shirt pulled up over her bra as she tried to get the tape to stick to the inside of her lacy black cup. “Oh…Or you could do it out here.”

  A couple of guys passed them. One in a trucker hat yelled out at Scarlett.

  Jane laughed, amused at her friend’s total disregard for acceptable parking lot etiquette. “Don’t be shy or anything, Scar,” she joked.

  Scarlett turned to the sound guy, holding up the round metal piece at the end of the wire. He clipped it into the pack, wrapped the extra wire around the silver pack, and hooked it to the back of her bra. Scarlett pulled her shirt back down and turned her back to Jane.

  “Hunchback?” she asked as she attempted to look over her own shoulder.

  “Actually…” Jane examined the back of Scarlett’s shirt. “You can barely see it.”

  “Okay, then, you must be Jane,” the sound guy said. She noticed a white piece of what looked like surgical tape on the bottom of the second pack. Her name had been written across it with a black Sharpie.

  “Yes, but, um…” Jane turned around, revealing her exposed back. “No bra. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “It’s cool.” He shrugged. “What are you wearing under the dress?”

  “Underwear.”

  “What kind?”

  “Shit, buy the girl a drink first.” Scarlett laughed.

  “What do you mean? Like what brand of underwear?” Jane asked, slightly flustered.

  “No.” The guy laughed. “I need to know if it can support the pack. I can always use a leg strap, but they’re just a little uncomfortable and tend to fall off.”

  “Well.” Jane looked a little embarrassed. “They’re actually bathing suit bottoms. It was laundry day.”

  “That should be fine. I’m just gonna have you tape the mike onto your skin.” He touched the center of her chest with his index finger, indicating the placement. “You wanna hop in the van to put it on?”

  “Yes, please.” Jane opened the door to the van and stepped in, closing it behind her. She moved a stack of notebooks and folders to the side and sat down. She looked around as she reached down the front of her dress and stuck the mike to her skin in the spot he had indicated. The van smelled like smoke and cheap vanilla-scented air freshener. The carpeted floors were stained. She noticed the key was still in the ignition and had a round white keychain hanging from it that said “Enterprise.” On the seat behind her was a red ice chest and a clear plastic storage bin containing bags of chips, crackers, and different kinds of snack bars. It looked like it had been stocked at the corner gas station.

  She opened the door and reached for the mike pack. The sound guy attached it to the wire and wound the slack around the pack as he had done before. She closed the door again to lift up her dress and hook the mike pack onto her bikini bottoms. The metal pack was cold against her skin. She pulled her dress down and got out of the car. Scarlett and Dana were waiting for her.

  “Okay, so they’re almost done setting up the cameras,” Dana said. “We’re gonna have you walk back out to the front of the club. Don’t get in line. Go right up to the door. Paul, the doorman, knows to let you in. The cameras will be shooting the entrance, so act natural, okay? Anyway, once you’re in, just wait for us. We have to re-po cameras inside. It will just take a minute.”

  “Then what?” Scarlett asked her.

  “Then just have fun. Act natural,” Dana advised. “The cameras will be shooting the interior club scene the whole time, too, but they’ll be very unobtrusive. And we’ve already gotten releases from everyone who’s seated in your area.”

  “We have an area?” Jane said, surprised, at the same time that Scarlett said, “They made everyone sign releases?”

  “Yeah,” Dana answered them both. “We have PAs go into the bar ahead of you and ask anyone who might be in a shot to sign a release form saying it’s okay for their images to appear on TV,” she explained. “Otherwise they have to blur their faces and it doesn’t look—”

  Dana stopped short. She looked distracted for a moment. She reached down and unhooked the black walkie-talkie that was attached to her jeans. “Yes, all miked up.”

  For a second, Jane wondered what the hell Dana was talking about, but then she remembered that the earpiece was there for a reason.

  She smiled wearily at them. “Okay. I think we’re ready to…wait, hang on.” She pulled a cell phone out of her back pocket. “Oh, it’s Trevor.

  “Yes?” Dana said into the phone as she glanced at her watch again. “Don’t worry, we’re right on schedule. The girls are here and miked and…What? Oh. Yes, I’ll take care of it.”

  Dana hung up and began rummaging through a beige canvas bag with a PopTV logo on it. She dug out a manila envelope and pulled out two sheets of paper. “I almost forgot. I have releases for you girls,” she said apologetically. “I guess they haven’t finished your contracts yet so we’re just going to have you sign day releases for tonight.”

  Scarlett took the paper from Dana and started scanning it.

  “It’s a standard form. Like I said before, everyone who’s supposed to has already signed one.” Dana reached into her bag and pulled out two pens. “Here you go. Just sign and date on the bottom of the page.”

  Jane turned to Scarlett, feeling a little unsure. She was hoping Scarlett would say something, tell her what to do. Should they insist on delaying the shoot until they had the actual L.A. Candy contract? She had promised her dad she’d send it to him as soon as she got it so he could show it to his lawyer.

  Scarlett only sighed and took one of Dana’s pens. “Whatever,” she said.

  I guess that’s that, Jane thought.

  Jane sank back into the plush velvet booth as she squeezed a lime into her vodka soda. The DJ was playing one of her favorite songs, Madonna’s “Material Girl.”

  This is so totally different from the last time we were here, she wanted to say to Scarlett. But she was aware—very aware, actually—of the fact that they were being filmed. Not that it would be obvious to anyone who didn’t have to sign a release—the cameras were tucked away in the corners of the room, as Dana had promised.

  She knew that she and Scarlett were supposed to “act natural,” which meant that they weren’t supposed to talk about the fact t
hat Paul the doorman (the same one who had made them wait for forty-five minutes before D had gotten there) had let them in immediately, as though he had been expecting them (he had), with a smile as though he knew them (he didn’t). Or the fact that the stylishly dressed hostess had led them—all friendly as though they were regulars or celebrities, or both—to what seemed like the best table in the club, with a perfect view of the room and just the right level of throbbing beat emanating from the DJ’s booth. Or the fact that the waitress had offered them “bottle service,” bringing over a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, ice, and all the fixings, so they could mix whatever drinks they wanted (for as many rounds as they wanted) on their own. All without asking them for ID. It was…unreal was the word that popped into Jane’s head. Which was kind of funny—and a little ironic—since this was supposed to be a reality show.

  Jane peered around the packed room, wondering if the crowd knew that they were being filmed by a PopTV crew. And what about the people at the neighboring tables who had presumably signed releases—were they self-conscious, like she was? Were they worried the cameras were going to catch them doing something embarrassing?

  “Sooo.” Scarlett poured her second shot of Patrón and tipped it back smoothly. She glanced around the room, looking a little uncomfortable, then shifted in her seat. Jane was surprised to find that her friend was as unsure as she was about how to act in this situation. Scarlett always knew what to do. “How was work today?” she asked before biting into a lime wedge.

  “Oh, the same,” Jane replied. “I’m finally getting used to the phones, though. I don’t hang up on people anymore. Maybe Fiona won’t fire me, after all. Not this week, anyway.” She laughed nervously.

  She continued to people watch, when she noticed her phone had started buzzing. She pulled it out of her bag and glanced at the screen.

  It was a text message from Dana. SORRY BUT CAN YOU REPEAT WHAT YOU JUST SAID? she had written. SOMEONE GOT IN THE FRAME.

  Scarlett was staring at her curiously. “Braden? Or not Braden?”

  Jane shook her head. She tried to remember her exact words about her job. “I’m getting used to the phones,” she said after a moment, trying not to sound completely weird and unnatural. “I don’t hang up on people anymore. Maybe she won’t fire me. Not this week, anyway.”

  Scarlett frowned, confused. “What? You just said that. Janie, you okay?”

  “Hey, we’re doing a Sweet Sixteen party for the Marley twins next weekend,” Jane blathered on, which seemed easier than explaining. “It’s going to be amazing.”

  “Hey, can we borrow a couple of limes? We’re totally out.”

  Jane turned around to see a girl in the next booth smiling at her and Scarlett. She was pretty—Southern California pretty—with long, platinum blond hair and a deep tan. She was with another girl with shoulder-length, light brown hair. They both looked to be around Jane and Scarlett’s age. It seemed no one got carded in L.A.

  Jane handed the blond girl a small crystal glass full of sliced limes. “Sure. Here you go!”

  “Thanks!” the girl said. “We’ve been trying to get our waitress’s attention for, like, forever. She’s totally disappeared.”

  “She probably fell into a black hole,” Scarlett said drily.

  The brown-haired girl scrunched up her face and peered anxiously around the room. “A black hole?” she said. “Is that, like, dangerous?”

  “It’s not only not dangerous, it’s scientifically impossible,” Scarlett assured her.

  The girl looked blank. “Oh.”

  The blonde extended her hand. Jane noticed that she had long, slender fingers and perfectly French-manicured nails. She seemed very put-together, although she was wearing more makeup and hair products than clothing. Her gorgeous black minidress had a plunging neckline. Jane could smell her heavy perfume from where she was sitting.

  “I’m Madison,” the blond girl said. “And this is Gaby.”

  “Hey,” Gaby said, waving.

  “I’m Jane and this is Scarlett.”

  Scarlett nodded to the girls.

  “What do you guys think of this place?” Jane asked.

  Madison grinned. “It’s awesome. I practically live here. Atmosphere is great, and the DJ is prime hookup material—don’t you think?”

  “Madison, you can’t say things like that!” Gaby gasped. She took a sip of her cosmo and accidentally spilled some on her pale pink silk blouse. “Oops! Oh shit, am I going to get electrocuted?” she cried out, swatting at her chest.

  Jane and Scarlett looked at each other as Gaby unbuttoned her blouse and studied her boobs with a worried expression. Jane watched in confusion. What was she doing?

  Then Jane saw the flash of familiar black wire and realized Gaby was wearing the same kind of microphone as they were. Was Madison miked too? Jane saw that Scarlett had also noticed.

  They looked at each other, puzzled. Did they mike everyone in the room? Or just Madison and Gaby? Were they more important than the others in the room? Knowing that she was—that they all were—still on camera, Jane refrained from voicing her questions out loud.

  Madison’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Jane, I love the color of your nails. Where did you get them done?”

  Jane glanced at her hand. “I did them myself.”

  “Seriously?” Madison gasped. “They look so good. I can’t paint my own nails.” She held out her French acrylic nails.

  “Yeah, Jane is independent like that. She totally bathes and feeds herself too,” Scarlett said.

  Madison arched her eyebrows and gave Scarlett a look. Jane knew that look well…that “WTF is your problem?” look. Scarlett got it often.

  But instead of saying anything, Madison just took a deep breath and squeezed a lime into her drink. “Gaby and I were talking about doing a beauty day this Saturday,” she said brightly. “You should come. Both of you. We’ll get facials, get our hair done, maybe nails. It’ll be a total glam day.”

  “No, thank—” Scarlett began.

  Jane stepped on Scarlett’s foot with her silver wedge. “Sounds fun!” she said quickly. “I could use a girls’ day.”

  Scarlett kicked Jane’s shin under the table. Jane suppressed a cry of pain and kept smiling.

  She glared at Scarlett. These must be the other girls Trevor had mentioned. Why else would they be miked? So we’d better get to know them, Jane thought, rubbing her shin, then reaching for her vodka soda and wondering what-the-hell kind of “reality” she’d just signed herself up for.

  The next evening, Jane and Scarlett received their L.A. Candy contracts at home, by messenger. The two of them went through the thick documents at the kitchen table, over beers.

  “Does this make sense to you?” Jane said, skimming the pages. Everything was in tiny print, and in really convoluted English.

  Scarlett skimmed through the pages, too. “Uh…not really. Hey, do you know how much they’re paying us to be on this show? Trevor didn’t say anything about that. Holy shit!” Her eyes grew huge.

  Jane’s head whipped up. “Holy shit what? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong! It says, ‘two thousand dollars episodic fee.’ They’re paying us two thousand dollars per episode!”

  For a moment, Jane felt as though she couldn’t breathe. “Seriously?” she finally managed.

  “Seriously. It says so right here, on page twelve.”

  Jane flipped quickly to page twelve. There it was, right there at the top of the page. She didn’t understand the rest of the legal jargon, but she understood that. “Holy shit!” she agreed.

  “Dana said they’re filming ten episodes this first season, which means—”

  “Twenty…thousand…dollars,” Scarlett said slowly.

  Jane said nothing. She stared at Scarlett as she took a long sip of her beer. Then they sat back in their chairs, not speaking for a while. Jane tried to absorb this new reality. Twenty grand—just for being filmed doing stuff she would have done anyway, like go
ing to work and hanging out with her friends. She couldn’t believe it. She had never made that much money in her entire life, not from all her part-time jobs put together. And of course, Fiona was paying her minimum wage, basically. Maybe now she wouldn’t need to dip into her savings as much, or she could tell her parents they didn’t need to help her out anymore.

  Was this really happening?

  Then she remembered what she’d promised her father. “Dad told me to send the contract to him, so he can have his lawyer take a look,” she said to Scarlett in a serious voice. “We shouldn’t sign until then.”

  “Absolutely,” Scarlett said. “Let’s send these to your dad first thing tomorrow.”

  “Perfect.”

  “So what do you think? You wanna go out and spend our first paychecks before we get them?” Scarlett grinned.

  16

  WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BIG, BAD ENGLISH PROFESSOR?

  “Hello, everyone,” Dana called out from the front of the classroom. It was Scarlett’s Wednesday-morning seminar on twentieth-century American playwrights. Scarlett had just seen Dana the night before yesterday at Les Deux. She was not particularly happy to see her now, with the L.A. Candy crew invading her class.

  “My name is Dana,” she went on. “I’m one of the producers of a show we’re filming for PopTV. You may have noticed the cameras when you came in. We are here to film Scarlett.” She motioned toward Scarlett.

  Scarlett sunk low in her seat. This was so embarrassing. She could feel the other students staring at her.

  “We won’t be interrupting your class at all, and we’re going to try and stay out of your way as much as possible,” Dana continued. “That being said, Alli will pass around some releases. If you don’t wish to be on camera, please move to the back right corner of the classroom.”