Girl of My Dreams (2 page)

Jillian didn’t have time to step closer to the mirror to see. She raced down the hall to the next station, where a tiny, pixie-haired woman named Tina ordered her to remove her shoes and nylons. Trying not to allow passers-by a show, Jillian wriggled out of her pantyhose.

“Sit,” the woman said.

Jillian stifled a nervous giggle at hearing the same order as before. This had to be how a dog felt.

The pixie grabbed Jillian’s feet, thrust them onto a wooden stool and sawed at her toenails with a file. Another woman marched into the room with a bowl of liquid and dunked Jillian’s fingernails. A balding makeup man named Tony plucked and powdered Jillian’s face.

This was more attention than she’d received in her life. Spending a lot of time on her appearance had not been a priority. For the past year, she’d been too busy anticipating Blake’s needs to bother with how she looked. Before that, she’d served as caretaker for her invalid mother. During that bittersweet time, appearance had not been important.

“You must notta frown. That will ruina the effect,” Tony said.

Jillian smoothed over her face and stared ahead, as lip liner and gloss were applied. After a year she’d become adept at hiding the loneliness she felt whenever she thought of the loss of her mother.

The phone rang next to Tony. He grabbed it, then hung up. “Fifteen minutes to show time. Getta over to Wardrobe,” he said in a high voice.

Jillian sped around the corner and down the hall. At Wardrobe, she watched, bemused, as workers scurried about, grabbing and sliding garments back and forth on the metal racks.     “We’re running out of time. Take off your clothes,” a gargantuan black woman named Selena said.

“Not here. Don’t you have a room for that?”

“Dearie, you ain’t got nothing I haven’t seen.”

“Not on me you haven’t,” Jillian said, not budging.

Selena heaved a gigantic sigh. “If you want, you can use the dressing room. I’ll measure you in your underwear.”

“Thank you.”

After the measuring process was completed, the woman disappeared, then instantly reappeared. “Thirty-six C pushup bra, size six bikini briefs, size six standard issue silk dress. Get to it,” the woman said.

“Five minutes until show time. Where’s the contestant?” a voice asked on the other side of the door.

“Get a move on. Do you want me to help you?” Selena said.

“No, I can manage,” Jillian said, standing in the bikini briefs and fumbling with the snaps of the pushup bra.

“I’m coming in. Time’s short.”

Jillian had just managed to arrange her breasts in cups that barely contained them, when Selena barged into the dressing room and slipped the teal silk dress over Jillian’s head from behind.

It was tight quarters, but Jillian was close enough to the mirror to notice an awful lot of bosom bulging out. There had to be a button missing.

A shriek interrupted her inspection. “Shoes. Quick, what size?”

“Seven-and-a-half, AA.”

“AA? No, it can’t be. Not now. It’s too late. You’ll have to wear mediums with straps. Sit on the bench outside. I’ll be right back.”

While Selena lumbered off, Jillian plunked herself down. The respite felt good, but was short-lived. Soon the wardrobe mistress reappeared, holding a pair of three-inch high gilded sandals. As soon as they were strapped onto Jillian’s feet, Selena said, “You’re wanted backstage now.”

She wobbled through the maze of corridors and arrived backstage out of breath. The area was a mass of confusion, with cameramen, light men, grips, all volleying for position. It was a wonder any room was left for the contestants.    

The preparations had been so frenetic Jillian hadn’t had time to become frightened. Now the enormity of what she was about to do hit her. She wobbled and almost tripped on a nearby cord.

You can do this. It’s for Blake,
she told herself.
Yes, but he doesn’t want you here.

A shiver of apprehension raced up and down her spine. Blake could be ruthless when crossed. She always followed his orders, yet this time she’d deliberately disobeyed him.

The die was cast. The contestants were lining up for the grand entrance. Turning back would destroy the show.

Jillian stepped into the last position. As she did so, the girl in front of her turned and stared.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Jillian said.  She couldn’t quite place the girl, but it was hard to tell for sure without her glasses.

She should be safe. Her only contact with the contestants had been in the bathroom when she’d counted the victims. In the nauseating commotion, it seemed unlikely anyone had made a connection between her and the producer. Even if they did, it shouldn’t matter. She’d never been an actual Mecca employee in the first place.

Frowning, the girl turned back.

“Heads up, girls. Is number twenty-five back there somewhere?”

Jillian’s heart skittered as she heard Blake’s voice from up front. With the coordinators down, he must have come here first, before slipping over to the control room. That meant he’d be in direct contact with her any minute.

“Yes, I’m here,” she answered gruffly, trying to disguise her voice.

“Listen. Don’t be nervous. Just do whatever the contestants in front of you do and you’ll be fine. Okay?”

“No problem,” she said.

“Damn, what’s wrong with those lights? I ordered pink,” he shouted.

A whirring sound signaled the parting of the curtains. It was too soon. She needed time. Her heart fluttered and her nerves screamed as adrenaline rushed through her. She dug her heels into the floor to keep from bolting.

If only she were like the contestants in front of her. They were alive with expectancy, primed and eager to snag the handsome billionaire.

She couldn’t adopt their attitude when, at any moment, the wrath of Blake might be upon her. Better not dwell on that. It was no time for regrets. She had to calm down and concentrate on more important things, like not falling or making some other faux pas during the taping. Suddenly, everything Jillian had ever learned about the show fled from her mind to be replaced by terror. One by one, the hopefuls inched forward, until she was the only one left.

“Veronica Baker. Your turn. Smile pretty,” Blake said, with his head bent over the clipboard, as he gestured her forward.

She stepped directly into his range of vision.

He looked up. Their eyes met. Thunderclouds formed on his forehead.

“What the...” he whispered.

“I’m an agency girl, remember?”

Not waiting for his answer, Jillian scurried onto the stage. She’d been caught red-handed, but it was too late to do anything about it. Panic warred with satisfaction. Somehow she’d pulled it off. She had to be insane.

CHAPTER THREE

JILLIAN MUST MAKE Blake proud of her. That meant no flubs. If only she could see straight.

The audience buzzed. While the theme song played, Jillian followed the glitzy parade onto the stage.

“Do I see you? Are you real?

If I touch you, can you feel?

Can you possibly be what you seem,

Lovely and beautiful, girl of my dreams?

Will you stay with me till morning?

Or sadly vanish without warning?          

Can you possibly be what you seem?

Have I found you, girl of my dreams?”

The words were designed to play on the audience’s emotions, yet Jillian felt drawn in anyway. The singer sounded so lonely. She blinked back a sentimental tear as she groped for the back of the stool and climbed onto it.

The host, Thaddeus Larimore, loped out. In a theatrical voice, he intoned, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the first round. Would the rich and handsome billionaire, Troy Langley, please step forward.”

The audience broke into wild applause as Troy sauntered onto the stage. Jillian squinted for a better view from atop her precarious perch, but all she could make out was a flash of black tuxedo and white shirt, along with a shimmer of golden hair. If only she were wearing her glasses.

She’d have to rely on memory. If her recollections were correct, the billionaire looked hot in a blond, Nordic way. Too bad she went for the dark-haired types, one in particular.

“And now, Troy, it’s up to you to perform the arduous task of determining the girl of your dreams. Do you feel up to it?” Larimore said.

“In more ways than one.”

Titters and groans sprang from the audience.

“Let the question-and-answer period begin,” the announcer broke in.

Jillian knew how it worked. During this segment, Troy could approach whomever he wished and ask whatever he wanted, the more farfetched the better.

When Jillian had gone over the script with Blake, the segment had seemed rich with comedic possibilities. Now, as she heard the queries Troy threw at the contestants, she was appalled. How dare he ask that? She wouldn’t reveal such secrets to her best friend, Denise, much less the world.

Calm down. All she had to do was keep still and not draw attention to herself. Then Troy wouldn’t notice her. Uh-oh, he was looking in her direction. Her throat dried. If only she could melt into the stool and disappear.

He turned and approached the girl across from her. “What makes you think you’re sexy?” he asked.

“Does the fact I carry a vibrator in my purse clue you in?”

“Honey, you don’t need me. You’re doing great on your own.”

His sally brought a peal of laughter from the audience. Troy swerved in Jillian’s direction. Her heart hammered. He stopped at the girl on her right.

“What size are those spectacular melons?”

She thrust her chest out further, then answered, “44D.”

“Can I touch?”

She flashed him a coy look. “This is not a grocery store.”

“You’re right. Let’s go somewhere private, say, my place, later?”

“That would be nice. I’ve been saving myself for someone like you,” the contestant said in a childlike voice.

“Is that right?” Troy spun around. “And what about you? Do you like oral sex?” he asked Jillian.

Her mouth hung open. She couldn’t believe what he’d said. The audience didn’t either, judging from the collective gasp.

Her brain scrambled for a comeback. She licked her lips, then stopped, afraid she’d send the wrong message.

“I don’t know,” she finally answered.

“Would you like to find out?”

“Perhaps with the right person.”

He nodded, then stepped further down the line. Jillian breathed a sigh of relief. She hated being singled out. Thank goodness, he’d found another victim to torture.

Soon the charade would end and she’d again be Plain Unnoticed Jillian, not Veronica the Sex Kitten. She was accustomed to the no-nonsense mode. Being a vixen was not her style.

Or maybe it could be, with a guy like Blake,
a tiny voice inside of her said before she could silence it. Best to ignore that voice. She’d burned her bridges with Blake. After she lost this round, she’d be off the program and out of his life.

At thought of never seeing Blake again, Jillian wanted to bawl. She blinked and tried to compose herself. If she broke down on stage, what would the audience think?

The drums rolled. Time for the final parade. Jillian slipped off the stool, her skirt riding up in the process. She pushed it down, wobbled, but somehow managed to regain her balance. That was close.

The other contestants had captured the lead. To bridge the gap, she adopted a roller skating, gliding motion. As she approached the billionaire, she shifted her gaze. That would show him she didn’t care. Let him pick someone else.

She found her position, last in line.

Larimore’s voice rang out. “Decision time, ladies and gentlemen. Fifteen will go. Ten will stay. Who will be the lucky winners?”

Jillian’s heart beat fast as she stood alongside the other contestants awaiting Troy’s verdict. The blinding spotlights flashed into her eyes, but everything seemed a giant blur anyway. She’d give anything for her trusty eyeglasses, but that would destroy her carefully constructed image.

By squinting, she ascertained that some of the contestants had stepped forward and were already clutching orchids. How many were left?           

Troy approached Jillian, gave her a lingering once-over, then leaned forward. As he peered down her cleavage, her face grew hot.

“Lovely,” he said, as he slid the flower into the v-neck of her silk dress.

As the orchid’s stem scratched the delicate skin between her breasts, alarm flashed through her. She’d not been eliminated.

“You are one hot chick,” Troy said. He stood so close she could smell the mint candy on his breath.

He couldn’t be describing her. Jillian didn’t know the first thing about making love or being sexy. She’d spent scant time on dates and only knew of sex from books and movies. She hadn’t foreseen this. After tonight, the farce was supposed to end, not continue.