Chapter 8
WRITING FOR A SMALL-TOWN NEWSPAPER doesn’t pay much, and other than Greg, everyone at the Chronicle is forced to take on other work. Stan is a golf instructor at the driving range. Justin bartends at the Tango Tavern. Mikaela does special event photography. Cynthia works at the bookstore.
Barb’s side gig is writing snarky Trophy Wives episode recaps for Reality Bitch.
Yes, the gossip site is as trashy as the shows they cover, and no, she doesn’t use her real name.
She tells herself it’s to keep her two writing gigs separate—the Seaside Chronicle and Reality Bitch reach totally different audiences—but mostly it’s just freeing to write anonymously.
You can say whatever you want if nobody know it’s you.
The season seven finale of Trophy Wives is a hot mess, just as Alice said it was.
Barb is looking forward to writing exactly what she thinks about it, and, in particular, Cole Lennox, whom she has very strong opinions about.
Cole, who’s starred on Trophy Wives for all seven seasons, is everything Barb will never be: beautiful, famous, well traveled, and married to a wealthy man who adores her.
Or at least that’s how it looks on TV.
Rumors of infidelity have plagued the celebrity couple for years.
Whether Jordan Lennox is actually cheating on his wife doesn’t matter.
It’s the speculation that he might be that keeps the viewers invested in their marriage.
This season, however, has focused on rumors that Jordan committed financial fraud through his family’s charitable foundation.
For the past eleven episodes, Cole has staunchly defended her husband, proclaiming his innocence and lashing out at anyone who dares to question it to her face.
But now, at the couple’s black-tie charity gala in the season finale—which Jordan opted not to attend due to “personal reasons”—Trophy Wives fans finally get to watch the reality star’s real-time reaction to her husband being charged with embezzlement, as the investigation was made public months ago, the very night this was filmed.
Barb’s eyes are glued to her TV screen, where Cole is reaching for her phone to read the article that her fellow cast member Cecily Monaco just texted her.
The trophy wives are all seated together at a beautifully decorated table, most of them drinking champagne and gossiping and utterly oblivious to the drama that’s about to happen.
The camera pans in for a close-up as Cole scans the article and lets out a gasp, her hand flying to cover her gaping mouth as her eyes widen.
The screen then cuts to a shot of Cecily, Cole’s archnemesis, whose freshly glossed cherry lips turn up in a Cheshire cat smile.
As far as Barb can tell, Cole’s shock seems completely genuine. There are tears in her eyes, her lower lip is trembling, and she looks heartbroken, humiliated, and mortified all at the same time. Wow. She really did not know that her husband is a thief.
After a few seconds, Cole puts her phone away and calmly stands up. Ignoring the other wives, she takes her Dior clutch and her champagne glass and leaves the table, the cameras following her every move. She makes it about three steps before her nemesis catches up to her.
“Are you all right, honey?” Cecily Monaco asks, coyly sipping from her own champagne flute. “Is there anything I can do?”
Unlike Cole, Cecily is an actress, a soap opera veteran who won multiple daytime Emmys during her thirty-year stint on Sunrise, Sunset. She’s doing a great job of portraying a friend who’s filled with compassion and concern.
Cole turns to Cecily and smiles. Barb’s breath catches in her throat, because she knows this smile. She’s seen this smile many times before, and it is not an expression stemming from happiness, gratitude, or love in any way, shape, or form.
Three . . . two . . . one . . . mayhem.
The words fake news and witch hunt and unfounded rumors are flying out of Cole’s mouth as she points a perfectly manicured finger at Cecily’s face, accusing the woman of “spreading lies and gossip” because she’s a “dried-up old bitch with nothing else to do.” Whatever personal turmoil she might be feeling, Cole understands the assignment—the reality star knows how to earn her paycheck.
“Get your goddamned finger out of my face!” Cecily Monaco screams back as the other wives look up from their elegant candlelit banquet table, their faces a mix of shock and glee. “Did you help him embezzle that money? You must have known about it, because not even you could be that stupid!”
“Shut the fuck up, you miserable old windbag!” Cole yells in return, the F-word bleeped out at just the right time.
The shrieking continues for another two minutes, the cameras panning back and forth between the angry faces of Cole and Cecily, with occasional glimpses of the other gala guests’ horrified expressions as they witness the epic catfight.
The episode ends with a splash. Literally.
Cecily tosses her almost-full glass of champagne right in her enemy’s face, and the final scene shows Cole dripping from forehead to chin in Veuve Clicquot, one thick strip of false eyelashes dangling like a hairy spider from the corner of one very wet eye.
It is dramatic—and satisfying—as hell, and Barb pauses the screen to take a picture of Cole’s champagne-soaked face.
Once her recap is published on Reality Bitch, this still shot will become a meme.
Reaching for her laptop, she starts typing furiously, filled with a vicious joy that she’s never admitted to anyone but her therapist. This is the easiest writing she’ll do—she’ll have the article done in twenty minutes.
“You’re not a fan, you’re an addicted hate-watcher,” Dr. Leto had said to her when Barb finally told him about her Reality Bitch gig.
“All these shows do is remind yourself of the life you don’t have.
You don’t have a rich husband, or any husband.
You don’t have old or new money. You don’t live in a mansion. Your life is far from glamourous.”
“Wow,” she’d said. “Don’t hold back to spare my feelings.”
“Barb, all this time you spend writing about reality shows, you could be writing books.” Dr. Leto had given her an intense look, one that made her feel like he could see all her secrets. “I thought our goal was to help you move toward the life you want and deserve.”
“Your goal was to help me to move forward. Sometimes I just want to sit and howl at the moon.” Barb shrugged. “It pays the bills. On Reality Bitch, we get paid per click, and you wouldn’t believe how many people click.”
Back in high school, Daniel Hawksfield had warned her that it would be very difficult to make a living as a writer.
The English teacher considered himself to be a failed novelist, and he was concerned that his favorite student would be embarking on a path where few succeeded.
While Barb never expected her life as a writer would look quite like this—home alone binge-watching reality television while babysitting her childhood crush’s cat—writing for Reality Bitch does pay quite well.
In fact, her article breaking the news about Jordan Lennox’s alleged embezzlement—yes, the very one that Cecily Monaco texted to Cole at the gala—is still the most-clicked article on the site.
After giving her recap a quick proofread, Barb attaches her photos and sends it all off to Glynnis Glenn, the gossip site’s founder and editor-inchief. By tomorrow morning, the article will be trending, because Trophy Wives is the number one reality show on Quan.
And to think it was nearly canceled by the studio after the first season.
Reality shows about rich women living lives of privilege and excess are a dime a dozen, and when Trophy Wives first premiered, there wasn’t anything about it that was unique.
Quan subscribers mostly skipped it as it didn’t seem to offer anything new.
But then Kylie Kahl, one of the stars of the inaugural season, went missing.
The intense media scrutiny over her mysterious disappearance drove Trophy Wives’ abysmal ratings through the roof.
A popular TikToker who liked to begin every video by saying, “Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” Kylie announced to her millions of followers that she was heading to Seattle for a solo work trip.
Her husband, Alfredo “Freddie” Tan, would not be traveling with her as he was in the Philippines visiting his extended family.
Kylie and Freddie’s love story is as modern as it comes: a middle-aged nerdy tech genius from Toronto meets a young, beautiful influencer from Wisconsin on the dating app he invented.
When they got married, there was no better marketing campaign for Sugar Sugar—clips from their lavish wedding were used in all the promotional ads for the app from that day forward.
Their wedding planning made up Kylie’s entire storyline on that first season of Trophy Wives, which ended with the two of them getting married at the winery Freddie owns in France.
Less than a year later—only a couple of months after that first season finale streamed—Kylie was gone.
There are a hundred theories on the internet as to what happened to her, but after six years, the truth has yet to surface.
Most believe Kylie is dead. Occam’s razor, after all: The simplest explanation is usually the right one. But Barb isn’t so sure. Without a body, anything is possible.
Barb checks the time. It’s not that late. Heading to the kitchen for a snack, she sends a quick text to Alice Chu.
Autopsy report? (And just finished watching the finale! We need to discuss, LOL)
She opens her fridge and peruses its contents. As she suspected, it’s slim pickings—mostly condiments and beverages, and one leftover slice of pizza so old, the cheese feels like plastic. She tosses it into the compost bin with a sigh.