Chapter Five
An hour later, Cassie and I stand by the fountain at the Grove, the mall where we’re supposed to meet Matt’s mystery shopper. While we wait, Cassie plays a logic puzzle game on her phone and I check my email. There’s already a response from the lawyer.
Dear Ms. Lambert,
Your last email concerns me. Partially because of your hypothetical scenarios, but also because I’m now thinking I may need to be concerned about trouble on set; you are the first contestant to ever take issue with our process. We have rules and regulations in place for a reason.
Respectfully,
Andrew Benson, Attorney at Law
I snort and start to write:
Dear Mr. Benson,
New phone, who dis?
Cassie looks up from her game. “What is it?”
“Mr. Benson is being a pain in my ass, so I’m going to mess with him a little.”
“Who’s Mr. Benson?”
“The studio lawyer.”
“Grace,” Cassie chastises, “you have to play nice on the show.”
“I am nice,” I say, mock-offended.
“You are. Unless it’s an authority figure. Or a guy in a tank top driving a Hummer.”
I look at her like, Well, what do you expect?, but she doesn’t cave. “Okay, fine, I’ll play nice. I just don’t like that this corporate guy is already telling me what to do.”
“Better get used to it,” Cassie mutters under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I sigh and erase my earlier draft. Then quickly type out:
Dear Mr. Benson,
I wouldn’t dream of causing trouble.
I also wouldn’t dream of lying to a lawyer.
Respectfully,
Grace Lambert, PhD
“There. Happy? I emailed the stodgy old lawyer without referencing the stick he has up his ass,” I say to Cassie.
She nods. “Thank you.” Then she adds, “Are you picturing Matlock or Perry Mason?”
“I’m picturing my cousin’s father-in-law. He’s the most boring person I’ve ever met, and that’s coming from someone who reads scientific articles for fun.”
She laughs, and I check the time before my eyes sweep over the throngs of people shopping at the Grove.
I’m already getting hives. I hate malls, even fancy outdoor ones.
It probably goes back to some repressed middle school memory of not being invited to Bethany Gill’s boy-girl hang at the Westside Pavilion food court.
Or something. I don’t know, it’s repressed.
“I’ve been dreaming of this day my whole life!” a familiar voice shrieks, waking me out of the terrors of middle school only to run smack dab into a whole new nightmare.
“Matt invited your mom?!” Cassie gasps, as she sees my mother striding toward us.
“I’m going to fucking kill him. Or worse, I’ll switch out his protein shakes with something that will make his abs flabby.”
“Don’t you dare,” Cassie says. Then she greets my mom. “Hi, Mrs. Lambert!”
She hugs us both too tightly. “Hi, Cassie! Gracie Doll! Isn’t this so much fun? A girls’ shopping day! When your brother told me you wanted my fashion expertise, I was beyond flattered. And so so sooo happy you changed your mind and saw I was right about the show.”
Cassie grabs my hand, a silent warning to stay calm. LAPD should give this girl a medal. She’s prevented at least two homicides today.
“Hello, Mother.” My jaw is clenched so tight I’m at risk of chipping a tooth.
She hooks an arm around each of us and pulls us along. “We better get going. We have a lot of work to do.” Then she power-walks past Talbots and Banana Republic and all the usual places I’d consider shopping, and instead we head toward the boutiques with bright colors and small pieces of clothing.
“I thought these stores were only for teenagers or Eastern European tourists,” I say as I wince at the loud house music playing in the first shop we walk into.
My mom laughs as if I’m joking and greets the supermodel behind the counter by their first name, Abel. As they start pulling outfits, I text my brother.
ME: Well played. But I will be seeking revenge.
MATT: what? she has good style way better than urs
ME: You better sleep with one eye open.
MATT: lol have fun
“We’re ready for you in the dressing room,” the supermodel says.
I turn to Cassie. “I will give you any organ you want if you sneak me out of here.”
Cassie laughs. “Come on. It’s kind of fun.”
I roll my eyes at her and enter the dressing room, only to find my mom and Abel in there waiting. My mom hands me a small spandex-y piece of red fabric. “You expect me to wear a shirt this tight?”
“It’s a dress,” my mom says as Cassie tries to hide her laughter.
I shake my head as I take the inappropriately small dress from her. “I’m getting creepy pageant mom vibes from you right now.” Then I wait for her and the sales model to leave the stall, but they don’t seem to be budging. “Uh, can I get some privacy here?”
“Oh. Sure,” my mom says, sounding hurt because I don’t want to get naked with her and some random beautiful stranger with a cool name.
I pull a hamstring trying to squeeze the tight piece of fabric over my body. When I stumble out of the dressing room with a charley horse, my mom gasps with delight, causing me to turn and look in the mirror.
“Oh hell no.” This dress is shorter than the boy shorts I wear to bed, and it leaves nothing to the imagination. I mean nothing. Not only are the tops of my breasts exposed, but they’re extremely high up. As I consider the physics of how this feat of cleavage is even possible, my mom claps.
“Honey, you look great!” she says, oblivious to the fact that I’m trying to stretch the very red dress to cover my very exposed body.
I look at Cassie for help, but she just looks back at me in shock. “Whoa. You look hot.”
I give her a not helping glare before Abel chimes in with a seemingly intentional Valley Girl affectation. “For real. I can’t believe you were hiding those legs under pants.”
I turn to my mom. “I can’t wear this in public.”
“This is the kind of stuff all the contestants will be wearing. You want to catch the men’s eye and make a good first impression.”
“It won’t be a good impression if I fall on my face because it’s too tight to walk in and then my boobs pop out. And secondly, I don’t want to catch a guy’s eye because of how much skin I’m showing.”
My mom gives Abel a look that says, See what I’m working with?, then turns to me. “You need to get out of your comfort zone, Grace. Clearly what you’ve been doing hasn’t been working, honey.” She obviously tagged the “honey” on there to try to cushion the blow, as if I care I’m single.
“Have you ever thought that I’m not the problem?
That it’s the guys who are? If it’s not an atrocious blind date you’ve set me up on, then I’m getting asked out at a work event by some fratologist who automatically assumes that because I’m a woman, I must be the research assistant and not his peer. ”
I see Cassie texting. I’m sure she’s letting Alec and Eliza know they’re missing one of my classic straight men diatribes, but I’m too wound up to stop.
“Don’t you want me to find someone who’s interested in me because of my brain, not because of a tiny piece of spandex?
And if I’m out of my comfort zone, by definition, I’ll be uncomfortable.
How sexy do you think I’ll be awkwardly pulling down my dress all night? ”
My mom considers all this and nods. “Good point.” My eyes widen in shock that she’s finally agreeing with me. “Confidence is sexy. What about something like this?” She holds up a navy blue wrap dress and I groan.
Cassie tries to salvage the situation. She takes the dress from my mom and turns to me. “Sure, it’s a little lower cut and more form-fitting than what you’d usually wear, but it’s not in the neon family and it’ll go below your upper thigh, so it’s not wildly inappropriate.”
I exhale. She’s not wrong. For the millionth time today, I think about what’s at stake and why I agreed to go on this stupid show. And so I take the dress from Cassie and retreat into the dressing room. For the frogs.
As I get changed, I overhear my mom whispering to Abel. “She went through a bit of an ugly duckling phase when she was younger. I don’t think she realizes what a beautiful swan she’s become.”
I pause, mid-undress. I don’t know if I should be offended or complimented.
I mean, she’s not lying. If you saw any of my school photos where I’m tall and gangly with braces, acne, and unruly hair, “ugly duckling” would be the nicest thing you could say.
It wasn’t until college that I grew into my limbs and started washing my face with something other than Dove soap.
And then my sophomore-year roommate showed me how to use product to tame my thick hair and convinced me to cut bangs.
I ended up looking like the “after” photo of myself.
So much so that the former water polo heartthrob of my high school didn’t recognize me at a bar one night and asked me out.
It would’ve been the ultimate redemption moment if he hadn’t been so drunk he puked on my shoe.
So, yeah, I may not be the ugly duckling that I once was, but I also wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a “beautiful swan.” My mom is genetically biased.
But it doesn’t matter; I’m a scientist, not Miss America.
So I throw on the wrap dress, put up my “I don’t give a fuck” force field, and walk out of the dressing room.
I’m immediately met by three smiling faces.
“Gorgeous!” Cassie beams.
“Classy,” agrees Abel.
“You need a better bra,” my mom says. “But yes, I think we can make sophisticated sexy work.”