The Next Big Thing (22 page)

I was so stung I said nothing. But a few minutes later, when MTV came over, the opportunity for payback arose. As I sat behind
Alyssa, rubbing sunscreen on her narrow shoulders, and as she babbled on, telling the MTV host all about her career aspirations, I gently slid my fingers up to the bow of her string bikini. Swiftly, purposefully, I yanked it. “Ahhh!” she shrieked, as her bikini top came tumbling forward. Her arms flew up, shielding her chest. She was quick, but not quick enough. For a split second, they’d caught her topless.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, whirling around.

I shrugged. “Sorry.”  
 
 
“There they are!” Janelle cried, racing over to the coffee table. Spread out in a fan formation, were six copies of
Hollywood Heat.
The cover had a collage of our faces, with the title “The Weighting Game: An Insider’s Guide to
From Fat to Fabulous.
” We sprang forward, nearly trampling each other in our hurry to reach the magazines. Regan scooped up the stack, quickly passing them out to us.

I cracked mine open, discovering that the cover story was actually a five-page spread with lots of photos and very little text. I had planned to pore over the article for days, reading and rereading it until I’d memorized every detail.

“There’s barely anything here to read.”

“It’s enough,” Regan said sadly, her eyes scanning the page. “Wait until you see what it says.”

I plopped down on the couch and started to read: 
The ratings are in, and over fourteen million viewers agree:
From Fat to Fabulous
has become America’s spiciest summer show! Fat girls with sex appeal? Who knew! Here’s your guide to the six contestants who make up this addictive reality smash:

Regan Borrail: The Kid Sister
Perhaps fellow
Fat2Fab
contestant Alyssa put it best: “She’s like your little sister who isn’t so little.” With a starting weight of 341 pounds, Regan is by far the heaviest of the girls. At nineteen, she’s also the youngest
—
and the sweetest, with an endless supply of hugs and kind words for her competitors. While the other contestants trade insults, this Boulder, Colorado, native adheres to the old adage, “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

“I believe in karma, and I believe in following your heart,” Regan says. “And I treat everyone with respect, no matter what.”
 

Alyssa
Combs: The Flirt
Boston babe Alyssa Combs proves day in and day out that when it comes to sex appeal, size DOES matter! A 176-pound stunner who flaunts her more-than-ample assets (oh, those low-cut shirts!), Alyssa has attracted a loyal fan base of male admirers. “Simply put, she’s hot,” says Zaidee Panola,
Fat2Fab
’s executive producer. “She’s got meat on her bones. It’s been a long time since America had a sex symbol who could fill out a dress the way she does.” No kidding! This budding journalist can shake her stuff at
Hollywood Heat
anytime she wants.  

Janelle Kerwin: The Strong Silent Type
Nicknamed “No-Tell Janelle” by her first ex-husband, Matt, this 6’0” tall cynic is as tight-lipped as they come. Prone to spending long hours sitting quietly in the Confession Chamber, Janelle leaves you wondering what lurks behind her cool exterior. Either there’s a lot going on upstairs, or twice-divorced Janelle’s a few cookies short of a dozen. Our guess would be the former.
Kat Larson: The Brat
A lot of words have been used to describe Kat, most of them beginning with the letter
B
: We chose the nicest one for our heading. Never one to hold her tongue, Kat enjoys blaming others for her weight problem. She demands sympathy for her so-called eating disorder, even going so far as to claim she deserves more pity than bulimics. Her constant skinny-bashing and rants about her unfair lot in life have spawned hate mail, and anti-Kat websites. Yet,
Fat2Fab
’s host, Jagger Roth, defends her character. “Kat comes across as bitter, but in person she’s very warm and funny. I think as the show progresses, viewers will see her in a more sympathetic light.” A more sympathetic side to Kat the Brat? We’ll believe it when we see it. . . .  

Luisa Olivares: The Gossip
Busybody Luisa is
Fat2Fab
’s resident blabbermouth. Prone to eavesdropping and snooping through the other contestant’s rooms, Luisa is the go-to girl when you’re looking for a little dirt. Her diary sessions often result in major revelations about her fellow housemates. Not that we mind. So far, Luisa has spilled the beans on a number of the behind-the-scenes highlights, including juicy details on Janelle’s failed marriages (she’s a commitmentphobe who can’t stop cheating), Alyssa’s beauty secrets (girlfriend has an aversion to panties), and Kat’s poor luck with men (she can’t seem to keep a guy satisfied, if you catch our drift). With friends like this Cuban spitfire, who needs enemies?  

Maggie Strickland: The Southern Belle
This Jackson, Mississippi, import has fought hard to adapt to big-city life. An old-fashioned Southerner who is used to good manners and clean livin’, Maggie has struggled to stick to the show’s weight-loss program. In her few weeks on the series, she’s only shed a pound and a half. A homemaker at heart, Maggie has pined endlessly for her eleven-year-old son, Owen, drowning her sorrows with late-night trips to the Tomb of Temptation. Despite her lack of weight loss, Maggie wins us over every time with her gentle heart and strong family values. And, shucks y’all, we just love her accent!

 
I felt as if our whole situation—everything I’d known while I was in this house—had grown wings and mutated, turning into something horrid and unrecognizable. I was The Brat. Or, they might as well have come right out and said it: The Bitch. It all made sense now. The way those people had shouted at me on the beach. The hatred in their eyes. Maggie was The Southern Belle? Maggie, who was from
Cleveland
and had only lived in Jackson, Mississippi, a short time, was
The Southern Belle
? What about
me
? I was born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee! Home of the Blues, the Birthplace of Rock’n’Roll, and a bona fide Southern city if there ever was one! But, no. They couldn’t call me The Southern Belle. I was The Brat. And Luisa! Luisa, whom I’d trusted every day since I’d entered this house, had turned on me. All this time, she’d been buttering me up, tricking me into spilling secrets.

Regan had the same realization. “How
could
you?” she demanded, squaring off against Luisa. “I thought you were my friend and you’re a big fat motor-mouth!”

“Yeah,” I agreed, shaking my head in disbelief.

Luisa shrugged.

She was about to respond when Janelle cut in, “Hey, guys, did you catch this? We have
fourteen million
viewers! Those are unbelievable numbers! Low ratings, my ass! I bet you anything Zaidee lied about the low ratings to get us to kick it up a notch!”

“
America thinks I’m sexy!” Alyssa enthused, prancing around. “Not that I’m surprised. But it’s flattering. You know what, Kit Kat?” she said, rolling up the magazine and whacking me on the head. “I was so mad at you earlier for exposing my glorious breasts on television. But now that I think about it, you’ve done me a favor. What do you wanna bet Hugh Hefner’s going to offer me a half million to pose in
Playboy
?”

Oh, God, there’d be no stopping her now. Her ego would be gargantuan by the time she left the house.

“Fucking morons!” I blurted out.

“Kat,” Janelle cautioned. “Be careful.”

“I am not going to be careful! Those
Hollywood Heat
bastards have written lies about me. I’m going to sue them for libel,” I fumed.

“You can’t,”
Alyssa responded smugly. “You don’t have a case. I’m a journalist. I know about these things.”

I opened my mouth to let her have it when I felt an arm grip hold of me tightly. It was Janelle. “Kat, I really think you should go upstairs and lie down. Cool off for a while.” I started to object but something in her face stopped me. “This,” she said, nodding at the cameramen. “This is where they’re getting it. You’ve got to control your outbursts. You’re only giving them more stuff to use.”

“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes. But I kept my mouth shut.

***

“Hey, Kit Kat, I just had my weigh-in and I’m down again this week,” Alyssa sang out Sunday afternoon. She waltzed into the kitchen, cameraman in tow. It was an unnecessary announcement. Everyone could see she was slimmer. “Go, me!” She punched her fist into the air, cheerleaderstyle.

“Congratulations,” I
mumbled, staring down at my bowl of baby carrots. I’d been prodding at them with a fork for ten minutes, trying to force myself to eat one. They tasted like dirty water.

Alyssa
opened the refrigerator and retrieved an apple. “I knew I’d be lower, that wasn’t a surprise. But look at this.” She lifted up her shirt, exposing the area from her bra down. “My stomach is a million times smaller than it was when I came on this show.”

As if on cue, my cameraman swung around and zoomed in on
Alyssa. I guess the sight of me eating carrots couldn’t compare with bare flesh. I had to admit, she did look good. A little
too
good. What she said next confirmed my suspicions.

“I’ve lost fifty pounds since I got here.”

“Fifty!” I gasped, dropping my fork. It landed on the counter with a clank. Suddenly, both cameras were on me. “We’ve been here less than two months!”

“I know.” She grinned. “Isn’t it fab?” She took a knife out of the drawer and started cutting up her apple on the chopping board.

“Isn’t what fab?” Regan asked, wandering into the room.

“
Alyssa just got back from weigh-in. She lost again,” I said, beating her to the punch.

“Hey, no fair! I wanted to tell Regan my good news. You always blurt stuff out,”
Alyssa complained. “You’re a bigger gossip than Luisa.”

“Oops . . . I did it again,” I sang. It was a lame comeback, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the sound guys come in with the boom mic.
Uh-oh.
That was never a good sign.

“Are you under a hundred and fifty pounds yet?” Regan enthused. “ ’Cause that’s a really big milestone.”

“Girl, I’ve
been
under a hundred and fifty.” Alyssa had finished slicing her apple and was now sucking on the pieces seductively. “As of today, I’m one-hundred-twenty-six pounds and counting.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Regan screeched, dashing around the table and engulfing her in a hug. “You should be so proud of that.”

She glowed. “I am.” The two of them continued embracing for a few minutes.

Something fishy was going on.
Alyssa had never been huge to begin with, and now she was downright slim.

“
Alyssa, how tall are you?” I asked, staring at her pointedly.

“I’m five-ten.”

“And you’ve lost fifty pounds since you got here, which means you weighed one-seventy-six before. Right?”

She nodded. “Duh, Kit Kat, you were there for our initial weigh-in, remember?”

It didn’t add up. “I thought you had to be a size sixteen to come on this show?”

“You do,”
Alyssa said, “and I was.”

Regan nodded vigorously. “Me, too.”

I wasn’t sure who the more reproachable liar was: Regan, who was obviously downsizing, or Alyssa who had, quite possibly, upsized to get on TV.

“How do they judge it?” I asked. “You know, did they ask you for a sample of your clothes when you auditioned?”

Alyssa burst into laughter. “Don’t be absurd, Kat.”

“No, I’m serious. How did they know you were telling the truth about what size you wore?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I probably wouldn’t be the first person.”

We glared at each other for a long moment, then she said, “In case you’ve forgotten, Kit Kat, envy is one of the seven deadly sins.”

My mind flashed back to a campaign H&G had done last fall to help promote a new
Memphis club, Seven Sins. I decided to throw in a quick plug.

“Well,” I scoffed, “you seem so bent on announcing your weight to the world,
Alyssa, you ought to hire your own PR firm. You know, like the talented and prolific Hood and Geddlefinger Public Relations. Not that we’d take you as a client. We’re too classy for that.”

“Cool it, you guys,” Regan said, shooting me a puzzled look.

It was too late. Neither of us was going to back off now.

“It’s not my fault that I’ve lost more weight than you have,”
Alyssa continued. “What have you lost? Five, six pounds?”

“Twenty,” I corrected. It was the truth.

I felt my face growing hot. At first I thought it was from embarrassment, but then I realized it was the overhead lights. I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected they’d gotten brighter. My cameraman had certainly gotten closer. His lens was now only half a dozen inches away from my left cheek.