Kiss & Sell (12 page)

But as hard as I tried, I couldn’t get the horrifying images out of my mind. So, imagination still spinning from the dream, I got up and turned on my bedside light. Sighing, I moved over to my closet and surveyed my clothes closely. Then, I began to throw outfit after outfit off its hanger and onto my bed.

I knew the only way I was going to be able to get any sleep was if I found the perfect outfit for my interview later that day.

One that didn’t fall off mid-interview, preferably.

IT WAS JUST
after 4 am when I reluctantly dragged myself into the passenger side of our car, my favorite snuggly fleece blanket pulled tightly around me. The last time I’d been up this early was years before, when mom and I decided to take a road trip to Disneyland. She’d wrapped me up in a blanket, carried me out to the car, and buckled me in before the sun had even started to peek out. Of course, then I’d promptly gone back to sleep until Mom announced that we were at the park.

This morning however, was different. There was no way I’d be getting any more sleep. Partly because of the topless dream I’d had, which had only added to my existing nerves. But also because I wouldn’t be on this drive alone. We were on our way to McCartney’s house to pick her up. And that girl could
Talk
no matter how early it was.

I yawned as we pulled out of the driveway, shaking a bit with sleep. Then, I reached down and pulled a red Bull out of my bag. Popping the top, I began to guzzle it down, barely breathing as I crushed it.

“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” Mom said, glancing over at me as she drove. She made a face. “It smells like cough syrup and makes you all jittery.”

I finished off the rest of the can and then placed it in the cup holder next to my mom’s thermos. “Still tastes better than coffee,” I said, shuddering as I remembered that first cup with Sylvia. “And it’s four in the morning. I could use a little hyper activity, don’t you think? nobody likes a guest who puts them to sleep.”

My mom sighed, but didn’t argue any further. I leaned over and turned on the radio, scanning the channels until I found a country station. Taylor swift’s voice suddenly filled the car.

“I love this song!” I exclaimed and started to sing along. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another picture to burn!”

I started to dance the best I could while strapped into a seatbelt. If anyone were out on the road this early, they’d probably think I was crazy. And I wouldn’t be able to blame them. Pointing to an imaginary ex-boyfriend as I recited the lyrics, I channeled my inner angry girl. I tapped my toes on the dashboard to the beat of the song and closed my eyes as I let loose.

“Okay shania,” my mom said, turning the volume down when she’d had enough. “Lets try not to wake the Janning’s or their neighbors at this hour.”

I rolled my eyes as I watched the massive houses fly by. “I’m not even sure the Jannings are in town,” I muttered as we pulled into my friend’s driveway.

Before the car had even stopped, McCartney was already out of the house and running towards us. She jerked open the car door and tossed her things into the back seat before climbing in herself.

“Have fun,” McCartney’s mom said from the front porch where she was standing in a blue fluffy robe. “Thanks for taking her, Karen.”

“We’re always happy to have her, Rita,” my mom answered.

I heard McCartney buckle her belt and then open a can with a “pshhh” sound. She tapped me on the shoulder and without looking, I reached back and took the drink she was offering.

My mom stared first at me, and then back at McCartney, who was already chugging her energy drink like a thirsty man in the desert. She shook her head at us and then muttered something under her breath that I was sure ended with, “kids these days.” I turned to look out the window again before taking another sip of the tangy liquid.

An hour and a half later, McCartney and I had managed to sing our way through Miley Cyrus’ latest CD—four times—and catch up on what was going on in the entertainment world thanks to the copy of
Life & Style
that McCartney had snagged from her mom’s secret rag-mag stash.

“The teen Queens caused another scene,” McCartney announced to the car, even though Mom had lost interest in our conversations by the time we’d hit the highway.

“Surprise, surprise!” I said, making a face. “They think they’re so cool.” I looked at the page McCartney was holding up and pointed a finger at the leader of
The current celeb brat pack. “I think he might actually
be
the devil. All that shaggy blonde hair just covers up his horns.”

“Totally,” McCartney nodded in agreement. “When you become famous, please, please,
please
don’t turn out to be like them.”

“That so won’t be a problem,” I answered. “And don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself with the whole famous stuff? This is just a local news station. I’ll be lucky if a dozen people are up to see it.”

“Yeah, but this is the local news for
New York City
. It’s not exactly Podunk, alaska,” McCartney said. “Do you know what you’re going to say yet?”

“Um, I could barely sleep last night because I was trying to figure that out. Then when I finally did close my eyes, I had nightmares. So I decided I’m just gonna wait for them to ask me a question, and then I’ll answer it.”

“What was your nightmare about? Sharks again?” McCartney asked.

“No. And I’m sort of sick of thinking about it, to be honest,” I mumbled, remembering my nearly-naked experience from the night before. “Let’s talk about what we’re gonna do
after
the show, instead.”

I could tell McCartney wanted to push the subject further, but after a moment, her face softened, and she handed me the magazine she’d been reading. “Can we go by the MTV studios in times square? Apparently you can see the guests from the street, and if they think you’re rowdy enough, they may even bring you up into the studios!”

“Mom?” I asked, looking over at her expectantly.

“We can stop by
If
we have enough time,” my mom agreed.

“Yes!” McCartney said, pumping her arm into the air and doing a little victory dance where she sat. “Thanks, Mrs. Sawyer!”

As we neared the city, McCartney and I both pressed our faces up against the windows, mouths hanging open slightly as we stared in awe at the large buildings that lined the city streets. I’d been to NYC a few times when I was younger, but hadn’t been in years. It was so much bigger than I remembered it.

There were so many people walking around, even at this early hour. Men wore tailored suits and checked their Blackberries and iPhones for e-mails from their clients as they walked to work. Women were dressed in smart dresses and sneakers, so they could pull double-duty as they power-walked to the office. Nannies herded
Their charges down the street to daycares, playdates and pre-school before hurrying home to start the mountainous list of to-dos that had been left for them.

“Okay, so maybe more than a dozen people will watch the show,” I said, gulping nervously. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, the nerves building back up in my stomach.

“Deep breaths, Arielle. Deep breaths,” my mom said gently. “Try and think about something else. Keep telling yourself, ‘This too shall pass.’”

Yeah, it’ll pass…but will I survive the aftermath?

Still, I did what she suggested and concentrated on my breathing. After a few minutes, my pulse went back to normal and I felt myself calm a bit. I’d never had a panic attack before, but I was pretty sure I’d just narrowly missed having my first.

“Okay, I think we’re here,” my mom said as she pulled the car into a parking garage.

As we found an empty spot and parked, I grabbed my bag that held my outfit and makeup for the show. I’d figured it would be pointless to get ready before we left, considering the hours we had to be in the car. My clothes would’ve ended up wrinkled and my makeup would’ve disappeared to the place where makeup so often goes. On my hands and shirt. So, I’d neatly packed everything away and figured that I’d just get ready at the studio.

“Got everything?” my mom asked as we clambered out of the car and made our way to the street.

“I guess,” I mumbled.

“This is so exciting!” McCartney practically shouted. “Are you excited? I can’t believe you’re going to be on TV.
My friend
on TV!”

I could think of a word that described how I felt, but excited wasn’t it. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel sort of like I was headed to my own execution.

Dead girl walking.
Wasn’t that how the saying went? It felt incredibly appropriate at the moment.

We crossed the street during a lull in traffic and found ourselves smack-dab in front of a large television studio. The outside of the building was made up entirely of glass and I squinted as the morning sunlight bounced off the windows and hit my eyes. The whole thing was blinding. And impressive. With a tentative look up, I realized with awe that the structure was the tallest in the area. I tried
To count the stories, but gave up at floor 17 and turned my focus back to the spacious lobby we were about to enter.

Following my mom and McCartney through the revolving doors, I clutched my bag closer to my body and joined the throngs of people who’d just started showing up for work. Strangers pushed past me, grasping their jumbo cups of coffee and giant purses, flashing their passes to the security guard off to the left of the check-in desk. My mom talked to the woman sitting behind the counter for a few minutes, before we were handed day passes and told to follow the crowd to the elevator banks.

It was so busy that we had to wait as four elevators came and went before all three of us were able to fit inside together. When we finally saw an opening, we shuffled into the metal box and pushed the button for the thirty-third floor. In the corner, there was a small tV screen, posting news bytes. Nobody looked at each other as they studied the screen, hoping for a glimpse of what had happened in the world since they’d left for work.

A TV in a TV station. How original.

When we arrived at our floor, we quickly made our exit, and found ourselves in yet another lobby. As mom checked us in at the counter, I wandered over to the nearest wall and studied the photos hanging in my eyesight. Every frame held a picture of one of their anchors interviewing a different celeb, each one more famous than the last.

Scarlett Johansson. Ashton Kutcher. Jennifer Aniston. Kim Kardashian.

“I wonder who’ll be on the show today. Do you think it’ll be someone big? Like Zac efron?” McCartney asked, sneaking up behind me as I checked out the pictures. “Please let it be Zac efron…”

“God, I hope it’s
not
Zac efron,” I said. I so didn’t need the extra stress that a celebrity encounter would add to the day.

“Bite your tongue!” McCartney said, horrified.

“Come on, guys,” my mom called out, ending what was probably the beginning of a fight.

A woman stood next to Mom in the lobby now, wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard; a clear sign that she worked on the show. Which meant that she was a very important person. To me at least.

We walked over to where the woman and Mom were talking, and I attempted what I hoped was an I’m-super-excited-to-be-here smile, despite the fact that I was probably going to throw up at any moment. She didn’t smile back. In fact, her face seemed to fall even more as we made eye contact.

“You Arielle?” Miss snippy asked me, the annoyance in her voice loud and clear.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” I answered, raising my hand slightly before letting it drop to my side again.

“Uh, huh,” Miss snippy said, then sighed. “Walk with me.”

She abruptly turned and began to march down a nearby hallway, making turns without giving us any notice. I looked back a few times, trying to keep track of where we were going, but after a while it was useless. We were like Hansel and Gretel minus the tasty treats to mark our way back home. Or in this case, out of the TV station and back to our car.

How was I supposed to make a speedy getaway if I didn’t know where I was getting away to?

“Wait here until someone comes to get you,” Miss snippy said, before disappearing from the room she’d just deposited us in.

“But how long will we—” my mom began, but the girl was already gone. “Well she was rather…brusque.”

“More like a bit—” McCartney said.

“
McCartney
,” Mom warned before she could finish her sentence.

“Sorry Mrs. S.”

I busied myself by getting ready, since none of us knew exactly how long it would be before they’d bring us to the set. I dumped my makeup bag out onto the empty counter, which was surrounded by ten tiny lightbulbs. Then I went over to my bag and retrieved the outfit I’d finally decided on—Free from any possible malfunctions…trust me. I checked. Twice—and skipped over to the bathroom in the corner to put it on.

A few minutes later, I walked out in a pair of jeans and a pink iridescent tank top. I pulled on my favorite pair of cowboy boots and wrapped a beige belt around my waist.