Reality Check (3 page)

Charly watched as the small group, whom she referred to as her village, hustled out of the trailer with an “Oh! Excuse us,” then mumbled, “This is going to be interesting. Clash of the divas.”

Mr. Day adjusted his baseball cap over his electric grayish-white hair, then crossed his arms over his chest. A huge smile spread his lips. “Well, getting familiar with the set was the plan. But plans change . . . and, fortunately for you, so do
reality
shows. This one is way better, and the studio is behind it. Big-time. In fact, there will be no pilot. This is the real deal and there are already sponsors. We're talking commercials, products, you name it, we got it. They're even beginning to market it.” He nodded. “Yep. And we've also got big names attached to it too. A big one-named star who's getting ready to shine again. Some people just can't be held back.”

Charly tilted her head, trying to grasp what he was saying. The show she'd been slated for had been cancelled, which had been a huge disappointment. They'd shot a pilot, even a commercial, but then, nothing. The network had changed their mind, and Charly was left waiting. And Mr. Day had kept hinting about another show, but never revealed anything. “Okay . . . ?” she began, then her jaw hit the floor as his words sunk in.
Really?

“Yep,” Mr. Day said as if reading her mind. “And since your contract has that option clause, your mother pretty much sealed the deal. By law—though it's not as simple as I'm going to make this sound—you owe the studio a show,” he began, then filled Charly in on the show while they waited.

Charly was so excited. The show was going to be huge. She knew it because she felt it. “So I get to help teenagers? That's cool. But what do they have to do to qualify?”

Mr. Day looked her dead in the eyes. “Think of a great Samaritan—not a good one, but a great one. Think of someone who helps everyone else, is deserving of a good life but hasn't had a break. Well, that's what you'll be, Charly. You'll be the break they've been waiting for.”

The beautiful girl Charly had grown up watching on television and on the big screen entered the trailer, interrupting Mr. Day, then walked over and stood in front of her. She wore jeans with stylish rips in them, courtesy of a high-end designer, a plain white baby tee with spaghetti straps and a long, red summer scarf that danced in the air. On her head was a pair of oversized sunglasses. Her hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail, and her face was minus makeup or expression. Seconds seemed like minutes as the girl stared at Charly, tapping a flip-flopped foot on the floor. She said not one word. Finally, she nodded.

“Annison,” Charly whispered.

Mr. Day beamed, snaking his neck so he could see around Charly, who'd walked in front of him and was now blocking his view. “Yes? Is that a yes?”

Annison removed her sunglasses, then took Charly in, pressing her lips together in thought. She nodded. “She'll do.” Then she smiled, big and wide and forcefully, like she'd been practicing it. Her eyes were void of feeling. ”Yes, that's a yes.”

Charly looked from the starlet to Mr. Day, then back to the girl. She wasn't just your normal, everyday girl. She was Annison. Annison had been like the Nikkis and Waynes of the world, then suddenly she seemed to disappear. Obviously she was back, and was just as beautiful and commanding of attention as ever. “Yes? Yes, what?” Charly asked Annison, turning to Mr. Day, then back to Annison.

Annison proffered her hand. Her smile was still intact, her teeth were bright, and her attitude matched. She seemed warm in a strictly-for-the-camera way. “Nice to meet you, Charly. I'm Annison—”

“Oh. I know. Trust me, I know who you are.
Every
one does,” Charly said, almost jumping out of her boots. She couldn't contain her excitement. She'd never been so close to such a big star, and was floored that Annison knew her and called her by her name.

Mr. Day stood like a proud father, looking from one girl to the other. He nodded. “You were right, Annison. Charly's a great match for you.”

Charly, still holding Annison's hand, froze. “Match?”

Annison shrugged and pressed her lips together. “Yes. I have good taste. I knew you'd be, well . . . good. I saw the pilot of the show you were in that was canceled, which is too bad. You were good. Then when you crashed that sitcom and were on the bus and kept calling the driver Midge, I knew you were the one.”

Charly nodded. “Thank you.” So she'd been right. That had been Annison she saw on the set.

Mr. Day smiled. “Charly, meet the star—”

Annison loudly cleared her throat.

“Sorry. I meant to say, Charly, Annison's the star of a new show:
The Extreme Dream Team
, a traveling reality series where some lucky person's life is made over. And you're going to be on it with Annison!”

Annison cleared her throat again.

“Sorry. You're going to be Annison's costar!” he announced.

Charly couldn't breathe. Costar? She'd take co-whatever. As long as she was co-something, she was happy. Before she knew it, she'd clasped her arms around the actress. She was glad that Annison had chosen her to do the show, which meant the director of the sitcom had been wrong. Here he'd questioned Charly's method of acting when she'd pretended to be a cast member, even implied it wasn't so good, but he'd been everything but right. If she'd acted badly, Annison wouldn't have chosen her, she told herself.

Annison pulled away and put both her hands on Charly's shoulders. She smiled. “You're welcome,” she said, then put her sunglasses back on with one hand and reached into an oversized bag on her shoulder. She pulled out a small box and handed it to Charly. “It's nothing, just a little welcome and thank-you.” She turned to Mr. Day. “Day. I'm ready. Where's my crew and my trailer? You did get the crew I requested, right?” she asked, walking toward the door and glancing at her watch. “There's no need for me to be fitted and styled. My crew already knows what I need, and besides, I've been acting for
ever
so I don't do camera warm-ups, and reality TV doesn't call for run-throughs—there are no lines to rehearse.” She paused, then turned to face Mr. Day and Charly, a look of worry on her face. “I have a two-o'clock yoga class, and it's almost one thirty.” She glanced at Charly, who was turning over the slim box in her hands. “Are you a yogi, Charly?”

Charly nodded, then shook her head. No, she wasn't. In fact, nothing about yoga had ever excited her, and she couldn't understand why people rushed to a place to stretch when they could stretch at home for free. It couldn't be that hard, and if that's what it took to better the show, if that's what Annison did to stay in such great shape, she could learn. “Not yet, but I've always been interested. I heard it works wonders,” Charly lied, finally opening the box. Inside was a shock of red. Charly reached in and removed a long silk scarf. “This is beautiful. A summer scarf, like yours?”

Annison gave a half nod. “Yes, to the scarf and yoga. Scarves and oversized sunglasses are for starlets, and yoga does a body good,” she said, looking over her own ballerina-type physique. She shrugged. “Well, you have the scarf now. Sunglasses are easy to get. Maybe one day I can invite you out to the yoga shala. We do yoga daily, but it's kinda a private, sisters-only group. We'll see. Gotta go,” she said, then turned and walked down the stairs and disappeared. Mr. Day scampered behind her.

Charly stood in awe with her mouth hanging open and her heart palpitating. She was caught somewhere between excitement about getting to work with such a big star and almost being invited to work out with her. Charly's eyes bulged. She looked at her watch and her heart danced. Mason would be arriving in New York shortly, and she had to be at the airport to meet him when his plane touched down. She'd promised him, and she didn't go back on her word. She hoped he didn't go back on his either. He'd promised to bring her some of her favorite chocolate-popcorn from a mom-and-pop joint in Chicago, and her mouth had been watering for it all morning. “I'm sorry, but I gotta go too!” she yelled toward Mr. Day's back, and began taking off her robe.

Ramone and the rest of the Gossip Trinity who were assigned to her beauty needs hustled back into the trailer. “Where are you going?” Ramone asked.

“I gotta get to the airport. Fast. And I need to leave Marlow here.” She looked at him, then to the next person, then to the next. “Anyone have a car?”

Ramone shook his head. “This is New York. No one has a car. We have trains and taxis and bikes and personal drivers, so why would we have cars? Cars, for the most part, are a waste of money and space in New York. Besides, have you seen how much parking is here?”

“Ramone, get off it. It's time to trade in your diaper. That's not true for everyone. Some of us do have cars, and they're not always a waste of money. Not for me,” a very deep voice said from behind, making everyone turn around. The first thing Charly noticed was tattoos.

The Gossip Trinity greeted him, apparently knowing who the guy was, and egged Charly on that it was cool to ride with him.

Ramone sucked his teeth. “This is who I was talking about, Charly. He's mean, but I guess he's all right once you get to know him.” He turned his attention back to the guy. “And get off what? And trade in my
what
? What did you say? You're always a handful.”

“Get off your pedestal, man—the one you've been on since whoever you dress sends their personal driver to pick you up,” the tattooed guy pointed out without a care. “And I'm referring to your diaper, Ramone. Trade it in, get you some big-boy boxers, and stop being such a baby. You're always whining and being cynical. Just because you break yourself on designer clothes and after parties, doesn't mean everyone else can't afford a car.”

Ramone made the sound with his teeth again, then waved away the comment. His voice was silent, but his attitude was loud. “Ridiculous. Good thing you're an actor; maybe you can act like you have a good attitude sometimes,” he mumbled.

Charly looked at the guy, trying to figure out who he was. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint why. He was super skinny, with very expressive eyes, and the skin on his face had a dull tone. The rest of his body seemed to be covered in tattoos, at least the uncovered parts that she could see. She guessed he had to be under five nine, five eight if he was lucky, and something about him, even from a distance, told her she'd like him. Maybe it was his directness or the grimacelike smile he flashed at her, then at everyone else. It seemed everyone in the trailer knew him, but no one was calling him by his name. All she knew was that by what she could hear of his deep voice, he definitely wasn't the dude with the English accent, but he was friendly and warm in a kind-of-like-a-cousin way, but he was no boy-next-door. He was naturally rude and grungy looking and had huge holes in his ears that were fitted with specialized earrings. He wore a tattered fisherman hat that had seen better days. Charly nodded. Yes, he was different, but his grin was wide and genuine and welcoming. But, she told herself, there was no way she could get in a car with him. He was a stranger, and even if she didn't find him attractive, she had a boyfriend, a boyfriend who probably wouldn't like her riding to the airport with a guy she didn't know. She shook her head. There was no way she could let this guy take her to meet Mason.

“I'm Sully, one of the cohosts slash costars slash co-whatever-they-want-to-call-us-so-we'll-feel-special of the show,” he said, introducing himself and mockingly rolling his eyes while approaching her. “Come on. I'll take you. Since we're going to be traveling together for the show, we might as well get to know each other. Right?” He tapped the tattooed watch on his left arm. “And besides, you seem to be in a rush. Do you know what time it is?” He held out his other arm to her, where he wore a real watch.

Charly grabbed his right wrist, pulling it toward her, hoping she wouldn't break him. He was that slender. She grunted. Time wasn't her friend at the moment, and she had to get to Mason. “Okay, Sully. Let's go.”

T
he ride to the airport had been short and eventful, she thought, finally breathing easier. Sully, to her surprise, was major cool in his own rude, sarcastic way, and had kept her laughing the whole time. She knew for a fact that whoever had cast Sully for the series was good at selecting people. The cameras would love him with his tattooed skin and expressive eyes—and so would the audience, she thought with a laugh.

“What? What did I miss?” he asked, turning his monster truck with huge, oversized tires onto the long strip that led to the airport.

“It's nothing . . .” she lied.

“Liar!” he called out, then laughed when she reddened.

Charly laughed, holding up her hand. “Please stop it, Sully. Please? You've had me in stitches the whole ride.”

Sully nodded, speeding up behind a long line of vehicles headed toward the sign that read
BAGGAGE CLAIM.
He threw her a forced mean look. “If you don't share . . .” His words trailed off in an unspoken threat.

“I was just thinking that whoever cast you for the show knew what they were doing. You're hilarious, and the audience is going to eat you up—that's how much they're going to love you.” Charly grinned.

“Ah . . . already becoming a producer,” Sully said, nodding. His tone was semi-sarcastic and knowing. “That's cool, Charly. Don't get locked in on one side of the cameras, because there's more on the other side,” he said. “That's what my dad always told me because I've wanted to be a star forever. And my dad should know; he's into media marketing. You know, like commercials on steroids—NFL Super Bowl type of marketing—but all the time. Think Times Square and prime time all over the globe.”

They pulled alongside the curb, inching their way behind a traffic jam. Charly looked at the clock on the dash and saw she had some time. “Really? That's cool.” She grinned.

He shrugged. “If you say so. It's all right, I guess. If you like twenty-three hours a day, six days a week, instead of twenty-four-seven, meaning my pops is only available for the fam one hour a day and one day a week, not twenty-four-seven like he should be. But somebody's gotta pay the bills, right?” He threw her a look that said
don't comment
.

“Well, that's more than I can say about my—never mind,” Charly said, deciding not to share too much. She didn't know Sully well enough to tell him about her still absent mom and once absent dad or let him get in her business.

He nodded. “Well, if you really think it's cool, you'll see how cool soon,” Sully said matter-of-factly. Traffic finally started to move, and he threw her a quick wink, then pulled the monster truck behind a line of taxis inching their way closer to the airport terminal.

Charly grabbed her purse from the backseat, thinking about their entire conversation and how it'd made her feel. It was nice to know someone who'd wanted something as badly as she and said whatever was on their mind just as she did, and even better to know he'd be on the road with the show. With his rude words and tattooed skin, she was certain he would distract attention away from her blatant honesty that others often misconstrued as crassness.

“You sure you don't want me to wait for you?” he asked, adjusting his fisherman hat and pulling up to one of the entrances.

Charly shook her head and pulled the handle to open the door. “Thanks, Sully, but I'm okay. I really appreciate the ride,” she said, climbing down from the truck. There was no way she was going to let Mason see her with him. Not after Sully had made her laugh so hard. She didn't want Mason to misconstrue her having a good time with a fellow actor to mean more than it was. Plus, Sully was too frail looking, and she didn't want Mason to take advantage of Sully's size and test him. She shook her head. Why was she even thinking this way? Mason was secure and had never shown her an ounce of jealousy before. It had to be the distance making her feel guilty and question his feelings.

“Tomorrow, then?” Sully asked while she was shutting the door.

She paused mid-swing. “Tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow. How are you on the show and don't know what's going on? Never mind.”

Charly shook her head. “Sully, before we part, let me tell you who I am.” She pursed her lips together. “In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm not like Ramone or anyone else on the show, I'm betting. Think of me as the female you. I don't play, either. So please don't mock me—don't speak to me like that.” She nodded. “ 'Kay. We got an understanding?” Her hand was on one hip.

Sully nodded, then smiled. “ 'Bout time I met my match.” He winked again. “Anyway, female me, we have to do a run-through with a mock set; that way we kind of get a feel for next week. You do know we're hitting the road next week?” He held up his hands. “And I'm not being smart. Well, I'm always smart, I'm just not being a smart A.”

Charly nodded, appreciating his getting the point and not testing her. She didn't really feel like snapping on him or anyone at the moment. She was picking up the love of her life, and her mood was good.

“Oh, Charly?” he said. “One more thing, just in case you didn't know. You didn't really need my watch to tell you you're running late. You have on your own.”

Charly laughed. She looked at her wrist, then shook her head. She'd forgotten she had on a watch. And she had no idea the show was hitting the road so soon, and neither did Mason, who she hoped wouldn't be disappointed, because she'd promised that they would hang out for a couple of weeks without interruption. But then again, she told herself, he'd be happy for her. How could he not? He'd be just as thrilled for her as she was about getting the chocolate, caramel, and pecan–covered popcorn he was bringing her. Besides, he was her biggest supporter. “Tomorrow,” she assured Sully, smiling and shutting the truck door, then rushed into the terminal.

 

She was going to kiss him. Definitely. There was no way around it, and she didn't care who saw. She'd changed in a real way, and was now the person he'd always thought her to be. Strong. Confident. The girl who had it all together. Yes, she was all those things now, thanks to New York and the time they'd had to build their relationship over the phone and through text messages. Charly shook her head and laughed, surprised at how much she'd grown. The scene had changed. Majorly. She was no longer afraid of anything, especially Mason. He'd once made her nervous and too timid to be her real self, but that was in the past. It was what it was now, and she was going to take full advantage of all she could make it be between them. And at the top of her to-do-with-Mason list was a long hug, then an almost-grown kiss.

Charly paced the floor, dragging the long red silky scarf behind her as she made it to one end of the baggage claim area, then about-faced and walked to the other. Time was killing her, ticking by slowly. She'd been anticipating this day for a long time, and it just wasn't happening fast enough. Where was he? she wondered, looking toward the entrance. Mason should've arrived by now. She looked at the watch she'd forgotten she'd worn, urging it to speed up. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't force the second hand to move any faster.

“Excuse me? Miss?” a small voice cut through the noisy area.

Charly kept pacing, looking for Mason to appear out of the crowd that'd just entered the baggage claim area. Rising up on tiptoe, she looked for a delicious shade of chocolate topped by a navy baseball hat with NY embroidered on it, the hat she'd bought and sent him.

“Excuse me?” the small voice said again.

Something was tugging on Charly's shirt, and she turned. A young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen, was pulling on her. Charly's brows rose and her expression turned blank. Who was this kid and why was she grabbing her? Charly cleared her throat. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“Charly?”

Charly tilted her head. How did this little girl know her name? “Yes?”

“I knew it was you. I remember you from TV. You were just on like a couple of hours ago.”

Charly's heart caught in her throat.
Television?
The girl had to be mistaken because she hadn't been on television in a while, not since her last walk-on—that's how she liked to refer to her two- and three-line parts. But how else could the girl know her name? she wondered. “Really? When? You sure?” she asked, remembering Mr. Day had said the studio had already begun marketing the show. She hadn't expected it to move so fast.

Suddenly, a group of girls walked up. Cute teenagers who obviously were friends of the first girl because they all squealed together, then laughed and smiled. “Oh, it is you. We had a bet,” one of them said.

Charly just smiled and nodded. She'd never before received the star treatment, and didn't know how to deal with it. “You did?” she began, then trailed off, spotting Mason. She waved her arm in the air until she got his attention, then beckoned him over, not wanting to be rude and walk away from the group of girls.

“Yes,” they sang.

Mason walked up, his eyes large and his grin equal to everyone else's but smoother. “Hey, baby,” he said, then pecked Charly on her cheek. His stare zoomed in on her, then he shook his head, laughing. He adjusted his baseball hat and straightened his computer bag on his shoulder. He looked at the group of girls. “What's up?”

“Hi,” the girls greeted before Charly could. “Are you Charly's boyfriend?” They giggled. “We had a bet about Charly,” they told him.

“And what was the bet?” Charly asked, shrugging at Mason and making a face like
I don't know who they are
. She looked at his hands, then the messenger bag on his shoulder, then figured he'd checked her chocolate and caramel and pecan–coated popcorn with his luggage.

“That it was you. Your face and Annison—Oh. My. God. Annison. Can you believe she's back after her sister Beyoncé'd her?—and some really fire-hot guy, and Sully, from
Nick
, of course. We can't believe they cancelled his show, but he's doing this now.” The girls screamed.

“You know, we saw your commercial announcing the new series,” the first girl said.

“Beyoncé'd her? What does that mean?” Charly had to ask.

“She overpowered her shine. Just like Beyoncé's career did to her sister's. Moved her outta the way like she'd never been there. I guess movie stars are bigger than television stars,” one of the girls said. “Even with rollers in your hair, I could tell it was you!” another chimed in.

Charly's eyes bulged. “Oh no!” She touched her head and felt the rollers. She'd been in such a rush to get to the airport that she'd forgotten about them, and didn't know why no one had reminded her. She was going to kill Sully and Ramone, and especially the rest of Gossip Trinity who were supposed to be there to make sure she looked good, or so she thought. “Mason? Why didn't you say anything?”

Mason laughed. “And what was I supposed to do? I just got here, and you had them in your hair. I thought you knew. And besides, you're still beautiful.”

“I also bet them that your show will be great!” the girl added, more than a little excited.

“Show? What show? You have a show, Charly?” Mason asked, proving that he clearly hadn't been paying attention the first time the girl had mentioned it. “You got cast?” He wore a look of pride.

Charly nodded. “Yes, but I just found out, like an hour ago. And it seems a commercial too. I don't know how they pulled that one off, because we didn't shoot a commercial together . . . not this cast. I haven't even met everyone yet.”

One of the girls shrugged. “Putting a commercial together without everyone there is easy. People do that in the music industry all the time too. Anyway, my uncle does it. He's in California
and
he's a film editor. The commercial was like a series of you guys' clips merged together. . . not like a real
commercial
commercial,” she informed, digging in her purse. She pulled out a permanent marker. “So, will you give us your autograph, and take a picture?”

Charly smiled, having her ah-ha moment, remembering what Sully had said about his media marketing father:
You'll see how cool soon
. Sully's dad must've had something to do with marketing the commercial, she assumed, reaching for the Sharpie the girl was handing her. “Sure,” she began, then gritted her teeth when the girls whipped out their cell phones and started taking pictures of her in rollers.
Suck it up
, she told herself.
You wanted this, remember?

Mason just stood to the side, wearing a million-dollar smile. “So, what does this mean? I can come to the taping of the show?” he asked as they made their way to get his luggage from off the conveyer belt after the girls had gone their separate ways.

Charly shrugged. “That would be so nice . . .” A partial lie began rolling off her tongue, but she stopped it. She couldn't be dishonest with him again; she'd grown up too much to continue to be childish. Her phone vibrated in her hand, and she looked at it. Mr. Day's assistant was texting in all caps. Charly needed to be back on the set ASAP. “But I'm not sure it'll be possible. I'll check though. If it's not, I'll make a way for you to come. You know how we do. But right now, we have to get to the studio.”