The Next Big Thing (6 page)

“Good deal. Talk to you in a bit, Kat.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for your call.” I

didn’t leave my desk the entire afternoon, not to use the bathroom, not to get a drink from the water cooler, not even to go to lunch with Donna.

Five o’clock came and went, and there was no word from Zaidee.  
 
 
“Maybe she meant five o’clock Pacific time,” Donna offered later that night as we drowned our sorrows over dinner at Buckley’s. I was mourning shattered expectations, and Donna was mourning the loss of a relationship; she’d officially broken up with Chip earlier that afternoon. A delectable meal of pasta and red wine seemed in order.

Fuck my perpetual diet. If I wasn’t going to be on television, what did it matter anyway?

I shook my head. “I thought of that, too. But California is only two hours behind Memphis. I didn’t get out of the office until after seven-thirty. If she’d called, I’d know.”

“Maybe she assumed you’d gone home and tried your apartment,” Donna suggested.

“Nope, nothing on the Caller ID. I checked.”

I took a big bite of
Italian spinach.

“Oh.” Donna
finished her glass of wine, and poured herself a fresh one. “You know how these Hollywood types are. Busy as hell!
From Fat to Fabulous
here you come!”

“
Shhh!
Keep your voice down!” Donna shrugged in confusion. “What’s up?”

“I’d kind of like to keep it quiet,” I whispered, looking around the dimly lit restaurant. “You can never be too careful.”

“Oh.” Donna shook her head knowingly. “Legal reasons, right? You could get disqualified for talking about it.” She stuffed a whole piece of garlic toast in her mouth.

“No, nothing like that. It’s just,” I paused, searching for the right words, “I guess I’m embarrassed about it, that’s all. The title alone is kind of humiliating. I don’t want people to know.”

“It’s going to be hard to keep secret once you’re on national freakin’ television,” she snickered. Suddenly, her eyes got huge. “You know what you’ve gotta do, Kat? If you wanna get on the show, you gotta be proactive about it.”

“Proactive?
” I repeated, through bites of ravioli.

“Don’t sit back and let this Zula woman come to you.”

“Zaidee,” I corrected. “Whatever. Show her you mean business. Let her know that Kat Larson wants a shot!”

When I didn’t say anything, she continued, “Call her office first thing tomorrow, pester her a little. It’ll prove how interested you are. That’s exactly what my cousin did to get her internship at that Wall Street firm. She sent their office
semi harassing faxes for weeks.”

“Somehow I think this is a little bit different. Wall Street versus a cheesy reality show,” I said, weighing the two options with my hands. “They’re not exactly in the same league, if you catch my drift.”

Donna chugged down more wine. “Yeah, if you ask me, the reality show is a hell of a lot more
interesting.
Who wants to work at the stock exchange?” She scrunched up her face.

“Well, anyway, I can’t call. The application specifically said
not
to.”

Donna dismissed this. “Don’t listen to that BS. That’s the message the Wall Street brokers spewed, and they didn’t mean a word of it. Come on, I bet this will increase your chances big-time.”

I wasn’t so sure. For Donna maybe that kind of strategy might work. But I’m just not aggressive enough to pull it off.

“It’s a bad idea.”

“What-
ever,
Kat. You’d be great! I could coach you on it.” I motioned again for her to keep it down. The wine was really starting to go to her head. Fortunately, I was the designated driver.

“I don’t have Zaidee’s office number,” I lied.

“Google, baby. They’ve got every commercial listing in the country.”

“That reminds me.” I groaned, moving on to another sore subject.

“Nick sent me an electronic greeting card today. The message read, ‘Less than a week! The big surprise will soon be en route. Love always, Nicholas J. Appleby.’ He signed his full name, which he never does. He says it reminds him of a Charles Dickens character. What do you make of that?”

“Charles Dickens!” Donna erupted in a fit of laughter. “
Dick
ens,” she said, emphasizing the first syllable. “Why don’t we call Richard ‘Dick’?
Dick
Geddlefinger. That sounds about right.”

“Oh brother.” I stared at her. “You’re completely drunk. I can’t believe I’m bothering to ask you for advice.”

“No, no! I’m fine Kat, I’m perfectly fine.” I pulled the bottle of wine over toward my side of the table, tucking it safely out of Donna’s reach. “Good thing I’m driving,” I said.

Donna smiled. “I do.”

“I do?” I repeated.

“I do think Nicholas J. Appleby sounds like something out of a Charles Dickens novel.”

Chapter Six

“My head is throbbing.” Donna rubbed her temple for emphasis.

“Serves you right,” I scolded. “You only drank
a ton of wine last night.” I poured her a cup of coffee. “Have this. It’ll make you feel better.”

She took the cup from my hands and staggered back to her desk, making a face at me as she went. I trotted over to my cubicle and began compiling data on Mercer and Sons Funeral Home, but every time the phone rang, I jumped a mile. I was still hoping Zaidee would contact me. I tried to keep my calls short and simple, though twice I got stuck on the line; the first time talking to a client about a press release, the second time talking to my dad.

“Hello, Katrina!” he yelled, nearly blasting my ear off. Ever since moving to Denver, my father has become a shouter over the telephone. The idea that I am still able to hear him loud and clear even though he is now a thousand miles away has never quite sunk in.

“How’s my favorite daughter?” he boomed.

“I’m doing well, how are you and Mom?”

“Homesick,” he griped. “Your mom can’t stop talking about
Memphis. Me, I just miss the barbecue.”

“Well,
Memphis misses you,” I said, feeling like a first-class dork.

“Your mother was looking on the World Wide Web today,” he said.

My father is the only person I know who still calls it the World Wide Web.

“And she found a cyber savers flight from
Denver to Memphis. You know what cyber savers is, Katrina?”

“Yes, I do,” I said, eyeing the clock. Zaidee could be trying to get through to me right this second. We have call waiting, but I don’t trust it in a pinch.

“They do special deals where you can take a weekend trip for next to nothing. We can go round-trip for ninety-nine dollars on Northwest Airlines. Sound good?”

I blinked in surprise. “Dad, you’ve lost me.”

I could hear my mother shouting in the background, taking him to task for not giving me the full details. “Right, right,” he said. “Your mom and I were thinking we’d like to take a weekend trip out to Memphis—Saturday to Tuesday. Are you free this weekend?”

It seemed a cruel irony that everyone was plotting to show up on my doorstep this Saturday. I weighed my options. If I told him no, my mom would get on the phone and hit me with a major guilt trip. I am, after all, their only child. And they aren’t getting any younger. All they want to do is come and visit me. Couldn’t I spare three days out of my busy schedule? But if, on the other hand, I said yes, they’d inevitably want to stay at my place.

A mental image flashed through my mind: my dad, decked out in a pair of tacky boxer shorts with flounders on them, swinging open my front door and welcoming Nick inside. “Always nice to meet Katrina’s boyfriend,” he’d say, slapping him on the back. “You talk kinda funny. Where are you from? Connecticut?”

No, it couldn’t happen.

“Gee, Dad, that sounds awesome, there’s just one problem.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, and prayed for forgiveness. “They’re fumigating my apartment this weekend,” I said, capitalizing on my conversation with Donna.

“Fumigating? What’s the problem?”

“Roaches.”

“Roaches!” I heard my mother scream.

She had picked up the extension. “Kat, you’ve got to go to a hotel. You can’t stay there while they spray those chemicals. I saw a special on
Dateline
the other day about a girl who
died
from staying home while her apartment was fumigated.”

Oh, brother. Here it comes.

“Do you need money to rent a room?” she asked. “Because if you do, don’t be ashamed to say so.”

“No, Mom, it’s fine. I’m going to be staying with Donna.”

“And that’s not going to inconvenience her?” she asked.

I sighed. “Of course not. Donna’s cool with it.”

Dad interjected, “Sorry to hear that. We can come another weekend.”

I breathed a tremendous sigh of relief. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Well, I’m very concerned here. How long have you had this roach problem?” my mom demanded.

“Uh, it’s only been going on for about two days.”

“Two days!” my dad exclaimed. “Those must be some ferocious cockroaches if they’ve multiplied enough to fumigate after only two days.”

“They’re a special breed,” I said, “or species. Or whatever bugs are called,” I fumbled. I was a terrible liar.

“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Dad said.

“Uh, yeah, these roaches are pretty rare. Humongous and impossible to get rid of, unless you wipe them out in the earliest stages. . . .”
 
 
 
Around noon, it finally happened. Zaidee called.

She didn’t mince words. “I hope you don’t have any important plans for this weekend, Kat,” she said as soon as I answered. “Because you’re coming to
Los Angeles.”

I was so shocked I actually dropped the phone. “HOLY SHIT!” I shrieked, picking the receiver back up. My hand flew up to cover my mouth. “Excuse me, I’m not usually so vulgar.”

“No problem. It’s shocking, I know.”

“
This
weekend,” I repeated. “That’s only three days from now!”

“Two, actually. You’ll be leaving Friday evening, and returning on the red-eye late Sunday night. We’ve worked it out so most people won’t have to miss work. At least, that’s our tentative plan. It may change as we proceed.”

I drew in a breath. “What time’s my flight?”

“They haven’t arranged it. I had to talk to you before I gave the go-ahead. You’re able to make it, right?”

“Oh, yes! Absolutely. In fact,” I said, grinning, “you couldn’t have picked a better weekend if you’d tried.”

Zaidee filled me in briefly on the details. Her office would overnight a package to my apartment with my plane ticket, hotel reservation, and taxi vouchers.

“You’ll be all set. If for some reason you don’t receive the package by tomorrow evening, call my assistant immediately.” She proceeded to give me the contact information.

As soon as we hung up, I went racing over to Donna’s desk. I tried my best to sound casual, but Donna knew the moment she saw my face.

“The show called,” she guessed, smiling.

“It looks like I won’t need to hide out at your place this weekend,” I said, pausing unnecessarily for effect. “I’m going to
Los Angeles!”  
 
 
I had a million things to do, and virtually no time to do them.

The first and most vital step, even more important than packing, was to get things squared away with Nick. Fortunately, the conversation with my dad had inspired me. I called him on my cell during lunch.

“Kat!” he exclaimed. “It’s so good to hear your lovely voice. Are you ill?”

That was a strange reversal. One minute, my voice was lovely, the next I sounded sick. “No, why, do I sound congested?”

“Oh, goodness, no! I’m not accustomed to hearing from you in the middle of the day is all. I assumed you’d phoned in to work.”

“I’m on my lunch break. What are you up to, baby?”

“I was having a Jen-A-Thon when you rang.” I had no idea what the hell a Jen-A-Thon was. It had to be some kind of bizarre British lingo.

“What’s a Jess
-A-Thon?” I asked nervously. Part of me was afraid to find out. “You’re not cheating on me with some girl named Jess, are you?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Oh my God . . . please tell me you’re joking.”

“Je
ssica Biel,” he explained. “The actress. I’m a big fan.”

“I didn’t
realize you liked her.”

“
I do. I always make it a point to know all the gorgeous actresses.”

I hoped he didn’t mean personally. Nick’s job at
Status
afforded him the opportunity to hobnob with lots of celebrities. “She’s a goddess,” he said. He then talked about her “full, luscious lips” and her “slender legs that go on for miles” and her “toned, tight little bottom.”

Which pretty much sucked.
Of course, Jessica Biel was gorgeous. Anybody with a brain could see that. Why do men feel the need to drone on about how hot other women are? Is it a misguided attempt to impress us?

“She’s
pretty cool,” I mumbled.

Thank God Zaidee had finally called.
I was more relieved than ever that I had applied for
From Fat to Fabulous.
It was a pretty smart move. When I got finished with the show I would be closer to the kind of woman Nick wanted.

“I need to tell you something,” I began. I wasn’t sure how to break the news, so I came right out with it. “I’m not going to be in town when you—
your present
arrives Saturday.” I struggled to make my voice sound pissed off rather than relieved.

“Why on earth not?” he asked, then his voice changed dramatically. “You’re flying to
London, aren’t you!” he exclaimed. “Kat, that’s brilliant!”

He sounded so excited. It pained me to let him down. “Um, no, that’s not it. My dad called a few minutes ago and, well, he bought me a plane ticket to come out to
Denver. They had this cyber savers deal on Northwest Airlines where you can fly round-trip for only ninety-nine dollars. I’m
so
incredibly sorry. He bought it as a surprise.”

Nick’s mood fell. “I don’t suppose that leaves you much choice.”

“I’m caught between a rock and a hard place.”

“I see.” Nick paused. “Can you get someone to come by your flat and meet the package when it gets there?”

“The
package
is still coming, even though I won’t be here?”

“I posted it this morning, via FedEx. It’s too late to get it back.”

I wrinkled my brow in confusion. “My landlord can hold on to a package until I get back Monday,” I said.
So it really is a package?

“I don’t trust this in some stranger’s care. What I’ve sent you is quite valuable.”

“It is?”

“Yes, and rather expensive. If you can’t be there, well—I’d feel more comfortable if I knew you had someone there to meet it.”

“Donna can do it!” I blurted out. I had done a complete 180. Now I was dying to know what the surprise was. “I’ve got to get her to come by and feed my fish while I’m gone.”

“Good-o,” he said, sounding relieved. “Well, then, have a wonderful time, Kat. I’ll speak to you when you get back.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too.” I placed the receiver back in its cradle and sank into my chair. My mind was spinning, and my heart was beating so fast I thought it might pound right out of my chest.

A surprise. Valuable. Expensive.

Slowly, everything was coming into focus. Nick was going to propose to me! I ran the length of our office searching for Donna. She was in the break room, sitting by herself, reading a fashion magazine and munching on a sandwich.

“Donna,” I squealed, racing in the door.

She jumped. “Geez, Kat, can you keep it down?” she moaned. “Some of us had a rough night last night.”

I ignored her. “Brace yourself,” I said, taking the seat opposite from her. “I think Nick’s going to ask me to marry him!”

“Huh?” She put down the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she was eating and stared at me through squinted eyes. She looked more bewildered than impressed.

“That surprise package that’s arriving this Saturday? It’s an engagement ring!” I blurted out. Several people nearby turned to stare.

“Do you mind?” Donna asked a group of women seated near us. “We’re trying to have a private conversation.”

“A private conversation at the top of your lungs,” one of the women retorted. Donna shook her head in confusion.

“Kat, you’ve lost me. I thought Nick
was
the surprise. What’s this about a package?”

I quickly went over the details of our conversation. “So as you can plainly see, that’s the only logical explanation,” I concluded.

She took a long, purposeful drink of her orange juice before speaking. “You have officially lost your mind.”

“No, I haven’t. Just listen to the facts—”

“I’ve
heard
the facts. I still think you’re nuts.”

“But he said it was expensive,” I protested. “Lots of things are expensive, Kat. Almost any kind of jewelry is expensive. He probably bought you a pair of earrings, or maybe a watch.”

My face fell. “Hey, just because you’re in a bad mood over breaking up with Chip doesn’t mean you have to rain on my parade.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you think you’re getting a bit carried away? It’s a pretty big jump from ‘expensive present’ to ‘engagement ring.’ And, anyway, only a moron would propose to someone they’ve
never even met
!”