Bellamy's Redemption

“Hello. This is a message for Emma Van Elson. My name is Christine Leary and I am calling on behalf of the television show Bellamy’s Redemption. We received your application this morning, and we are really delighted by your video. We feel that you’ve got a likeable, memorable presence, and that your general appearance is favorable for television. We feel, based on what we saw, and how you answered the interview questions, that Bellamy might be as excited about you as we are. More importantly, we think you would be a great presence on Bellamy’s Redemption, or one of our other upcoming shows. We would like you to return our phone call as soon as possible, so we can continue to the next steps in the interview process. This process moves very quickly and filming starts soon, so please return our call as quickly as possible so you may continue to be considered as a candidate. Thank you, Emma! I’m looking forward to hearing from you soon! Buh-bye!”

“Oh my God!” I whispered. I listened to it again. And again. I ran over to my computer, googled Bellamy, and took a long, hard look at him. Yes, he was as cute as I remembered.

Was it really possible that I was going to meet him?

Was I really going to be on television?

I did some jumping jacks and ate a stick of celery while my mind raced.

“You’d better tone up,” I told myself.

I began to dial Betsy’s number, but stopped. “You’re still mad at her and Rachel,” I reminded myself.

I considered calling Judijean, but she would blab it to Lauren, who would blab it to Rachel and Betsy, and then I might as well have told them in the first place.

I paced around my living room, wringing my hands. Should I call Christine Leary back immediately? Should I wait for a little while? I decided I was too nervous to call her back; I needed to talk to someone else first.

I was so excited that sexy Pete became just plain Pete again, and I had to tell him.

I put on my robe and slippers and ran down the hall to his apartment with my phone in my hand. I knocked on his door, dancing from foot to foot, unable to stand still. There was no answer. I tried again. It seemed impossible that he could have gone anywhere in such terrible weather. I needed him to be there now before the thrill began to die away. As I was losing hope, I heard the sound of boots clomping up the stairwell. I definitely wanted to wait if it was him, but I definitely didn’t want to wait if it was one of my other neighbors, like Mr. or Mrs. Harding, who always asked for help with pukey chores like cleaning their oven or kitty litter box. Deciding I could not take such a chance, I turned and headed back to my own apartment.

“Emma?” said Pete, just as I had opened my door to slip back inside. I turned, and there he was, bundled in winter cuteness, a cup of coffee in his mittened hand.

“You went out in the blizzard?”

“My coffee maker broke.”

“You don’t have a spare? One that doubles as a weight bench or a scalp massager?”

“Is that an infomercial dig?”

“You’re right. That was mean. You could have used my coffee maker instead of going out into the worst storm ever.”

“Okay. Next time I’ll ask you first.”

I began to doublethink whether I should share the message with him. My excitement over it was fading. I felt like it might actually be a little rude to share it with him.

“Were you stopping by?” he asked.

“No, I was just out in the hall… exercising,” I said.

“Exercising?”

“Yeah. Exercising,” I said lamely. “You know… running.”

“In your robe. And slippers,” said Pete.

“Yeah. It seemed like it was too cold to wear my regular workout clothes. So I wore this.”

“Do you often work out in the hallway?”

“Sure,” I said. “I mean, no, not usually. But it was too snowy to go to the gym.”

Pete took a sip of his coffee and nodded.

“Well, I guess I had better go. Have a nice day,” I said, reaching again for my doorknob.

“Why would you work out in the hall when you have a spacious apartment all to yourself? If you don’t mind my asking.”