8. 8
A ll fourteen of us stand in a circle, dressed like we are about to go to war. My hair is tied into braided pigtails at Zoey’s instance. The blue-haired girl is a force of nature when it comes to styling my hair, and sometimes it’s easier to bend like a willow than stand firm against her gale force winds. Except when she tried to convince me over dessert to let her tattoo me.
There was no way I was giving into that request.
“Ladies, you have all drawn numbers. This will determine your opponent. One will play two, three will play four, and so on,” Olivia says as she points to the whiteboard with the bracket taped to it, all of our names written down.
The twenty-eight-year-old fashion designer was bored and decided an elimination style ping pong tournament would be a great way to pass some time. All of us are thrilled except for Victoria, Meghan Markle’s lookalike. When we are not doing individual diary style interviews, most of us enjoy the various available games. The attorney, however, has decided to be the referee and make sure all rules are followed despite it giving us uneven numbers since Amber was eliminated the other night.
“Numbers one and two, please step up to the table,” Victoria instructs.
I walk up, picking my paddle up off the table. As number two, I am playing Jasmine, our resident wildlife photographer. Her face is flushed with excitement as she steps up to the table opposite me.
“You’re going down, Anya!” she taunts. The first few days, I received some cold shoulders after being the recipient of Parker’s attention that first night. Thankfully, being together all day and night warmed them to me quickly enough.
“We’ll just have to see about that!”
We play a quick round of rock, paper, scissors to determine who serves first. Anticipating Jasmine is a paper first kind of girl, I throw scissors and win.
She sways back and forth like she’s waiting for the opening serve at Wimbledon from Venus Williams. Not letting her get into my head, I knock the little white ball over the net and into the rectangle opposite me. She returns it and the ball spins away.
My mouth drops open while I stare at her. Her predatory smile lets me know exactly how much I underestimated this cat loving woman.
“Point,” Victoria calls out .
“What the hell? Are you some sort of ping pong prodigy or something?” I ask Jasmine.
“No. But it was one of my brother’s favorite things to play growing up. He didn’t have anyone else to play against.”
I just look at her.
She shrugs. “I got tired of losing.”
Now that was something I understood. I always hated losing to Dominic. He was the worst. Not only was he a sore loser, he was a sore winner! If I won, he would whine and cry, but if he won? You’d think he cured cancer, solved world hunger, and reversed global warming. “I would have stopped playing with him.”
“That wasn’t an option. He did go to the Olympics one year and medaled so I like to say it’s all because of me.”
“You have got to be shitting me. I feel like I deserve a redo against someone else,” I say, exasperated and ready to have my ass beat.
“No. No redos. You knew the rules when you agreed,” Victoria says from her judge’s chair.
Jasmine serves the ball right past me and I groan. Luckily, she decides not to toy with me, quickly racking up point after point. Saying she won removes the flavor of how badly I lost.
She decimated me.
The paddle clatters against the table as Victoria stands, drawing a line through my name and advancing Jasmine’s. I slump down into the empty chair next to Zoey while Aisha and Emily get up to play the next game.
“Sorry you lost,” Zoey says as the girls play their quick game of rock, paper, scissors .
“It’s okay. I have a feeling a few more people are going to lose to her, too. It always feels better to lose to the one who wins the championship.”
The door to the rec room opens and the butler, Sam, walks in carrying a silver platter with a dome on it. Aisha’s return volley is completely ignored, Emily staring at the man.
“Excuse me, ladies. I have a card for Ms. Lucy Swan,” he says, his free hand tucked behind his back as he offers the country singer the card.
Lucy stands from her chair squealing, rips open the card under the silver dome in the butler’s hand, and clears her throat as we all gather around.
“ Lucy, the night is singing its sweet song for us. Please pick five other women and get ready for our group date in one hour .”
We all wait for who she’s going to pick.
“Um. Let’s see. Izzy, Emily, Mia, Leslie.” She looks around at the rest of us. Weighing us all. “Anya.”
The others who are picked squeal, while those who weren’t grumble. Not only will they not get to see Parker, they’ll be stuck at the house for the entire day. The butler produces another card for them as those of us picked run from the room to get ready.
I pull out the bands holding my hair and look at my disheveled appearance, nervous to see Parker again. Not sure what to do with the strands, I throw it up into a bun for the time being and make my way to the bathroom to shower. After a quick rinse, I rub my favorite lotion into my skin, making sure I smell of warm vanilla and tonka bean for the date.
The dressing room is awash in activity. Every woman has their own vanity with a lighted mirror as well as a closet and dresser. My face is dewy from my shower so I slather on various serums, trying to keep it that way. One benefit of Lorelei’s friendship has been learning about fabulous products she recommends. In anticipation of the hot night, and not wanting to look like I’m melting, I apply minimalist makeup. A makeup artist friend of Lorelei’s taught me how to highlight my eyes, cheeks, and lips in a way that makes it look as though I’ve put in a ton of effort without weighing down my face in layers.
“I’m going to put some texturizer in your hair. Lean into the waves the braids gave you,” Zoey says as I finish lining my eyes.
“If you make me look stupid, I’ll shave your head in your sleep,” I warn.
“Please, like I’ve never had a shaved head before. And I rocked it, FYI.”
The disembodied voice of a production member floats out of the house-wide speaker system, announcing we have ten minutes to be at the entrance of the mansion for our date. Izzy squeaks with stress as she tries to untangle her bracelet that has somehow attached itself to her curls. One of the other girls assists her, but she quickly slaps them away. They seem to be doing more harm than good, so I can't say I blame her.
Zoey deems my hair finished, and I move to the closet in my towel. I grab my white midi halter dress, espadrilles, and a few pieces of gold jewelry, aiming for the understated and sweet look.
“Olivia, can I borrow your black dress?” Lucy asks, grabbing the garment and holding it up to herself.
As a fashion designer, Olivia’s clothes are perfectly tailored to her body. While they will fit others, you can tell they weren’t made to do so. It also doesn’t help Olivia has about four inches on Lucy .
“Sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to wear something else?” Olivia asks. “That dress won’t really hit you in a good spot. It's meant to be above the knee. And for bigger boobs.” She whispers the last bit, but since I’m the only one close to her, I don’t think anyone else hears.
“No, I think it’s gorgeous! Plus, I hate everything I brought with me,” Lucy says.
Shrugging, Olivia turns away and looks through her closet, planning her outfit for the group date for the other girls tomorrow. While production made it clear everyone will get a chance to see Parker each week, everyone wants to be on the first one. To be picked instead of left for the second date.
“Everyone to the entrance, please,” the voice says over the speaker.
Everyone takes a final look and then moves to the front of the house. Only six of us are going on the date tonight, yet everyone is expected to come to the front of the house, with the ones left behind waving us away. It seems silly to me, but there’s not much we can do about it.
Lucy climbs into the limo first while I say goodbye to Zoey.
There are a few camera people moving around us as we get into the limo, capturing the various angles as well as the other women being left behind.
“This isn’t fair!” Victoria cries, stamping her foot. The cameras swing to her, focusing on her anger.
“Not everyone is going to go on every date. You knew that,” Leslie says before she climbs into the limo.
“I should be going. He’ll want to see me!” Tears start streaming down her face and I know this will be airing, their goal to create the most dramatic show possible .
I climb into the car, the reality I’m dating the same man as thirteen other people hitting me. I want to see Parker. The man is extremely attractive and seems very charming, but a part of me wonders how much is for the cameras and how much of it is him. So far, I’ve not seen or talked to him when cameras weren’t around. Lorelei promised he’s a great guy, and I trust her, but I think of Miles and how he seemed like a great guy. Kind and attentive.
Who’s to say that the person I’m meeting is the person that any of us are deep down inside? With the cameras there, everyone is going to try to present their best selves, me included.
Taking care to smooth out my dress as I sit down so I’m not a wrinkled mess when we arrive at the date, I slide into the limo, taking the seat next to Lucy.
“What do you think we are doing?” Leslie asks the group, smoothing down her pin straight hair.
“The card was sent to Lucy and mentioned singing. We are going to do some sort of karaoke or something,” I say.
The other girls explode into conversation.
“If we have to stand in front of people and sing, I might quit on the spot,” Leslie says and I nod my head in agreement.
There are few things I would rather do less than sing on national television.
The limo door swings open, giving me a peek at Parker standing there with cameras all around him before Lucy’s butt blocks my view while she climbs from the car.
Nerves hit me as it’s my turn to exit, counting to five like production told us before we left the house, and I pray to anyone who can hear me I won’t face plant again. Walking across the pavement, everyone stands and watches me. Parker’s green eyes feel heavy on my skin, but it’s a weight I enjoy, unlike the cameras.
“Hey, Anastasia,” he says. The way his voice caresses the vowels and consonants makes me think of stolen moments and hidden desires.
“Hey, Parker,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. I hope everyone thinks the blush I can feel coloring my cheeks is from the heat and not his attention. “You can call me Anya.”
I may not know anything about the man, but he is definitely sexy as sin.
He offers me his arm, which I take despite knowing it will further separate me from the other girls. Except Zoey. She doesn’t care if Parker shows interest in someone who isn’t her. She’s just here to ‘meet a cool person, and see if we click.’
Before anyone else can take the opportunity, Emily grabs on to Parker’s other arm as he turns me toward the building.
We all walk in, the cameras following our every moment, making sure to pick up on any last-minute reactions we might have. I try to make sure my face is showing serenity, but based on Dom’s jokes when he caught me practicing facial expressions in the mirror before I left, I’m not sure it’s working.
Inside the rather nondescript building, a red carpet is laid, leading us toward the people who presumably work here, waiting at the end.
The woman standing in the center of the group, dressed in an impeccably ironed suit, steps forward.
“Hello, Parker and ladies. Welcome to Born to be a Star, where everyone gets to pretend to be a musical star. We are so excited to have you.” She motions to the men on either side of her. “ We will be helping you this afternoon as you try your hand at being a rock star!”
Instructed to clap after the welcome by a member of production riding in the front of the limo, we do so now. Despite the clapping, I know we are all freaking out.
Except Lucy, our semi-professional singer.
I have done some embarrassing things in my time dating.
I’ve driven a date home because he didn’t want to take an Uber after ignoring me the entire time to check scores on ESPN when I said I didn’t want to talk about my favorite sexual position. I had helped a man catch his loose chicken instead of going to our dinner reservations.
Somehow, I ended up conned into taking a kitten home with me despite the fact Dom lived with me at the time and he was allergic.
I have even baked a last-minute cake for the birthday of one guy’s mom, only to find out he had a girlfriend when she came with him to pick it up. He was so pale, I thought he was going to pass out.
But this will take the cake.
I’d think being on House of Desire would be the most embarrassing since it basically announces to the world I’m the worst type of single.
Desperate.
But no.
Singing in front of, minimally, ten strangers probably tops the list.
“Ladies, if you’ll follow me,” the woman says, leading us to the right while one of her assistants takes Parker to the left. Isabella waves goodbye to Parker, blowing him a kiss. He merely smiles at the gesture and as she turns from him, I see her face fall ever so slightly.
We are led down a short hallway and through a door labeled ‘Costumes’. Once we are all inside and standing in the middle, two of the camera people direct their lens at us while one records the woman giving us instructions.
“Tonight will be a lot of fun and a chance for you all to showcase your talents. You may wear any of these costumes. They are separated by genre and then in order of size. Each genre has two outfits in every size from XS to 5XL. There are mirrors around the room, as you can see. There are lockers and changing rooms through that door,” she says, pointing to the door on the left. “If anyone is musically inclined, we have a few instrument options, just let one of us know. I also have this for whichever one of you is Lucy?” She holds out an envelope with Lucy’s name on the front. It looks exactly like the one Butler Sam brought to us in the game room.
Lucy snatches the envelope out of her hand, thanking her as she rips it open.
“ Ladies, it’s time to show me the song of your soul. The winner of this event, as determined by a panel of judges and myself, will get to go on a solo date with me while the others go back to the mansion. Make sure to bring your best ,” Lucy reads.
I vaguely wonder if I’m allowed to sit out of the game or if Parker would be required to send me home. I don’t want to go home. Not only because of the chance to show off my bakery during the hometown visits that air during week eight when the remaining four contestants will take Parker home to meet their families. But also because the initial spark I’m feeling for Parker might turn into a crush .
However, part of me knows this group date is more a waste of time than anything. Being forced to listen to me sing will be the quickest way to kill any spark Parker might be feeling toward me.
“You have ten minutes to get dressed, starting now!” says one of the workers of Born to be a Star.
Like a bomb went off in the room, we are all blown away to different areas, the camera people following us around as we go to look at the various costume offerings. Sucking it up, I move over to the rack of clothes with ‘Folk’ over them. The clothes are subdued earth tones and simple designs. I find my size on the rack and look at the two options available. Grabbing the russet red dress, I move toward the changing room door, my camera person abandoning me to change in peace.
Before I know it, we are standing in the wings of a theater. I am trying to convince my body that passing out is more embarrassing than singing in front of a crowd. It doesn’t entirely believe me. My vision dances with little spots, but at least I’m remaining upright. For the time being.
People in the wings usher us out onto the stage with little care for the panic attack I’m actively having. When I turn to look at the audience, I almost have to sit down and put my head between my legs.
“Everyone, please welcome the ladies vying for Parker’s heart! Lucy! Isabella! Emily! Anastasia! Leslie! And Mia!” the MC announces from the middle of the stage.
Easily two hundred people roar a welcome, the sweltering heat of a thousand suns raining down on me from the lights. Sitting in the fourth row with a table in front of them, are the judges who look very familiar .
And Parker.
Who dares to look calm as a cucumber.
I want to wring his neck until his eyes pop out of their sockets. The violent desire would shock me if I wasn’t in such an intense state of fight or flight.
The host of the evening begins introducing the judges and I realize why they look familiar.
They are the judges of the ever-popular Star Search reality TV show that has singers audition for a chance to win a recording contract and to work with some of the biggest names in the industry. So not only am I about to embarrass myself, they are going to tell me exactly how bad of a singer I am.
A dream come true.
My nervous system understands there’s nothing else to do and so, to protect myself, my brain shuts off.