Chapter 6 #3
My indecision must show on my face, because the woman hesitates before handing the plate to me. “Are you worried about allergies or something?” she asks gently. “I can tell you what’s in it. It was made fresh here, just this morning.”
She’s given me an easy out. I can just pretend to be allergic to one of the ingredients. No harm, no foul. But suddenly, even without the help of my inner Matilda, a new stubbornness takes hold in me. “No, that’s all right. I’ll take it.”
After I pay for the pie, I realize that she’s given me a plate instead of a takeaway box, which means that despite my earlier plans to eat the pie on the curb at the library (I wouldn’t dare risk getting crumbs all over Lyle’s car!), I’ll have to either get a table here or ask her to re-box it.
I’ve already reached my limit of daring today, though, and it really would be too much trouble to ask her to put the slice in a takeaway container.
My heart racing, I glance around the room, trying to find the most tucked away, obscure table possible.
To my dismay, I see that all the booths are taken.
Maybe I can just stand in the corner and hope I don’t spill anything . . . ?
“You can come sit with us!” a cheerful voice interrupts my spiraling.
I blink in surprise to see two beautiful and stylish women sitting at one of those booths that wraps three-quarters of the way around the table, so there’s plenty of space to sit. Even so, I hesitate. They’re probably only being nice and don’t actually want me to sit with them.
“That’s okay,” I say, smiling back. “Thank you for the offer.”
“It’s the best you’re gonna get,” the same woman says to me, with a friendly smile.
She’s a gorgeous, curvaceous woman, in her late thirties / early forties, who has a no-fuss look about her, even though it’s obvious she takes very good care of herself.
Her clothes are simple but stylish, obviously well-made, but practical, too.
“Unless you want to take that empty seat at the counter, but I have to warn you, Cletus Winston thinks that’s his seat and he will make you move if he comes in and finds you there. ”
“Oh.” I falter, looking to the other woman for guidance. She’s strikingly beautiful but I’d guess a few years younger than the first woman. Her clothing also looks elegant and expensive, with slightly bolder cuts and prints.
When she smiles at me, her face is friendly but sympathetic.
I’m used to that look. No matter where I go, something about me seems to broadcast how awkward and out of place I am.
I try not to take it too personally when I see other people realize it, but it still doesn’t feel great, becoming someone’s pet project.
“Join us,” she echoes. “I’ve been dying to try that pie. You can tell us how good it is.”
They’re both smiling at me so broadly, and they’re both so extraordinarily beautiful, that I have no choice but to take the seat being offered. “Thank you,” I tell them. “I promise I won’t be long.”
“Take your time,” the classically stylish woman encourages me. “And don’t mind us drooling as we watch you eat.”
“I’m Rae, by the way,” the striking woman tells me.
The first woman tells me her name, too, but at that exact moment someone comes in and triggers the bell over the door, so I don’t hear it clearly.
Weirdly, they’re looking at me expectantly now, like maybe I’m supposed to know who they are?
They do both look vaguely familiar, but between the busy diner and the extra sugar and the invitation to sit with strangers, I’m feeling extra slow today. “Nina,” I tell them.
They exchange a quick look while trying not to let me notice they’re exchanging a look. Oh, brother, here we go again. I feel like everything I do and say is pretty normal. Why does everyone always act like I’m announcing that I’m an alien queen from the pancake planet?
Instead of focusing on them, I dig into my first bite of pie, bracing myself for the rush of sweetness and flavor as I put it into my mouth, not quite fully ready for just how rich and delicious it will be. “Oh,” I moan without meaning to.
What a weird thing to do! Bleating like I’m a sheep that’s just been led out to pasture. Embarrassed, I glance up at the two ladies, but luckily, they seem to find my odd noises amusing and not mortifying. “My kind of girl,” the first woman encourages. “A pie that good should be savored.”
“I don’t recognize you from around here,” Rae adds. “Are you one of ours?”
I blink back at her, not understanding. “One of yours?”
“Are you here for the show?”
All at once, everything clicks into place for me.
That’s where I recognize these two women from.
Raquel “Rae” Ezra and Sienna Diaz. The executive producers of Mountain Man.
Two of the most famous actresses in the world, and I couldn’t place them because I was too dazzled by pie. I feel like an idiot.
But even more worrying than that is the knowledge that Uncle Aaron is not going to like this.
I wasn’t even allowed to film the family package because he was afraid I would try to steal Harmony’s shine.
So instead I went into town and shared a table with two of the producers of the show.
None of it was intentional, of course, but I’m sure Uncle Aaron won’t see it that way.
“No,” I manage finally, wondering how I can politely extract myself from the situation. “My cousin is one of the Mountainettes. Harmony Miller?”
“Oh, right! She seems like such a sweetheart from her audition tapes.” Sienna smiles encouragingly, as if she senses my sudden shift in mood and wants to reassure me. “We’re meeting all the women this evening for cocktails.”
“Hmm.” I use another bite of pie as a reason not to commit to more conversation. Not that it’s a hardship. It’s really good pie.
“You didn’t want to be on TV?” Rae asks. “You have the face for it.”
“Absolutely adorable,” Sienna agrees.
I feel my skin heating. “Oh. Thank you. No. That’s more Harmony’s thing.”
“Oh. So what’s your thing?”
I’m not sure why these two women are so interested in me.
Most likely they feel sorry for me. I wish I could tell them that it’s okay, I know I’m nothing special.
I’ve made peace with that. I’m the person in the back of the family pictures, if I make it into them at all.
I don’t have much of interest to say. I’m not charming or vivacious or funny.
I’m happiest at home, alone, lost in one of my fashion magazines.
I should have stayed back at the hotel.
You should have, but your vanity got in the way. Now it’s Uncle Aaron’s voice in my head, sounding stern and disapproving. You were upset that you didn’t get to tag along for the family package, so you decided to make a spectacle of yourself in town.
Swallowing, I realize that too long of a pause has followed Sienna’s question, and now both women are looking slightly worried behind their smiles.
I should say something, then find a reason to politely excuse myself.
Without overthinking it too much, I tell the truth.
“I like design. Sewing. Clothing. Costumes.”
I brace myself for them to look at me like I’m an idiot.
My own wardrobe is hardly what anyone would call fashionable.
But my interest in clothing has never been about how any piece would look on me.
I like seeing how clothing can transform other people, make them into their best, most beautiful and confident selves.
To my surprise, they both seem interested, not dismissive. I’m sure they’re only being polite, but it still feels nice not to have someone roll their eyes when you tell them about your dream.
Sienna leans forward. “It’s funny you should say that. We’ve been looking for a few extra interns to help out with our wardrobe department.”
“We have?” Rae asks—then, exchanging a glance with Sienna, she quickly corrects herself. “We have! That’s right. I forgot about that.”
She might be a great actress on screen, but her delivery in person is less than convincing.
Still, I can’t help the jolt of excitement that rushes through me.
They’re offering me the chance to work in a wardrobe department?
For a television show? I think of all the costumes, the fabric, the buttons.
The sequins! I bet there’ll be a lot of sequins for a show like this.
I might not look like it, but I’m someone who appreciates a little shimmer and shine.
As soon as my hope starts to build, though, I instinctively squash it back down.
They aren’t offering me the position because I’ve demonstrated any skill or talent.
It’s because they feel sorry for me. It’s exactly the kind of charity that Uncle Aaron is always warning me against taking.
Remember it has to come from somewhere, he’ll tell me darkly, and it has to be taken away from somebody else.
Oblivious to my dark turn of thoughts, Sienna continues, “Since you’re going to be around for the filming anyway, you might as well get some experience out of it, right?”
I look back and forth between them, torn.
I can tell that what they’re offering comes from such a kind place.
And they’re both so persuasively beautiful, it’s hard to even comprehend the idea of turning them down.
Truthfully, I don’t want to turn them down.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and they’re just handing it to me out of the kindness of their hearts.
But it’s not just about what I want. Sometimes I have to put the family first. It feels like I only ever put my family first, but apparently it’s still not enough. “I don’t know . . .”
Sienna leans forward, arresting me with her beautiful, dark eyes. “Nina, can I be totally honest with you? You would be doing us a favor if you agreed to this.”
“I . . . would?” I look between them again. Doing a favor for someone is much harder to turn down than accepting a favor from them. I’ve had it programmed into me to avoid taking at all costs, but it’s never worked the other way. I’ve always, always been expected to give.
Seeming to sense she’s hooked me, Sienna continues, “The studio has saddled us with one of their executives to oversee the filming, and honestly, it’s made everything into a fight. We had such an incredible vision of this empowering dating show where women were going to get to call the shots.”
“All the dresses were going to have pockets,” Rae laments, with real wistfulness in her voice.
“Perry is sucking all the joy out of the show and trying to turn it into another dumb reality show where the girls are in bikinis the whole time and the men are macho caricatures.” Intense irritations rolls off Sienna in waves.
She takes in a breath, trying to calm herself.
“And since he’s not only a killer of joy but also a cheapskate, he’s told us that we are strictly, absolutely not allowed to hire anyone new.
” Her eyes gleam now as she looks at me.
I look dubiously at the two women. I might need to re-evaluate my opinion of them. They might not be angels; they might be demons. Beautiful, well-dressed she-demons. “You want to hire me out of spite?”
“Sienna makes most of her best decisions out of spite,” Rae says sagely, as if that makes any sense, which it definitely doesn’t.
But my discomfort must show, because her face softens. “All jokes aside, it’s just a little way to prove that this is still our show, not his. Haven’t you ever wanted to push back and remind someone that you’re in charge?”
The idea feels wild and heady and frightening in a way I don’t want to look at too closely. Yes, is what I want to say. I know exactly what you mean.
“No,” I lie, but it doesn’t sound entirely convincing, even to me. Maybe it’s time for just a smidge more honesty. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. My uncle really wouldn’t like it if I distracted from Harmony’s experience in any way.”
Sienna waves my concern away like it’s nonsense. “You’ll be behind the scenes! No one will even see you on camera.”
“And don’t worry about your uncle,” Rae adds, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Sienna and I can be very persuasive . . .”
I don’t doubt that’s true, since they somehow persuaded me to sit, eat pie with them, and confide my life’s ambitions in under five minutes—but they also don’t know my uncle. Or the shame I’ve put my family through, more than once.
The intention is kind, but I chalk up their offer to just one of the many disappointments in life—the dreams you hope will come true, before a crushing dose of reality wakes you.