Bellamy's Redemption

“Thank you,” I said. I couldn’t help myself; I stepped forward and gave him a hug. He was rigid, practically non-responsive. The warmth I’d seen in his eyes before was now shut off.

He made his way to my door and he stopped as he reached it, turning to me. He began to open his mouth, but then he closed it and raised his coffee mug to me in a little salute, and was gone.

Chapter 6

It was not even seven o’clock in the morning, and I was already in flight. I’d barely slept all night, afraid I was going to somehow sleep through both alarms I’d set for 4:30 a.m. The paperwork had kept me up until midnight, and I never had gone over to Pete’s. I checked my puffy, exhausted expression in the mirror of my compact and immediately snapped the compact closed. The producers were going to be very disappointed with me if I showed up looking and feeling like this.

I smooshed myself against the window and pulled the thin airline blanket around me, trying to fall asleep.

“Business or pleasure?” asked the man next to me, leaning into my comfort zone.

“Ugh,” I moaned, ignoring him.

He pulled away and removed the Skymall catalog out of the pocket in front of him, pretending to be engrossed in it. It made me think of Pete, of course. All those gadgets and goodies…

“Look on the bright side,” I told myself, “You haven’t been to California since you were a kid. Now you’re getting a free trip. Look at this as an adventure. Expect nothing. Worst case scenario, it won’t work out, and you’ll have had a free, exciting weekend.”

My pep-talk actually made me feel a little better. I closed my eyes and dozed, waking up much more refreshed as the plane began its descent.

I hadn’t checked any luggage, so it was just me and my carry-on. I was wearing a pearl gray pantsuit from Ann Taylor with a royal blue sequined top beneath it. I thought it made sense, since I wanted to be sparkly and effervescent, yet was, effectively, on a job interview. I’d suffered coatlessly in Chicago so I could show up in California looking as streamlined as possibl

e. I’d brought my smallest handbag and now it was stuffed tidily into the side pocket of my carry-on. I hoped I came across as classy and sophisticated.

I looked around me, unsure of what was going to happen next. I’d been told that someone would meet me there, but I saw no one who seemed to be for me. I strolled about a little, enjoying the important clicking of my heels on the floor. I touched up my makeup and brushed my teeth in the restroom three times. I went over to a Starbucks kiosk and bought myself a cup of coffee and a little bag of trail mix. I sipped and nibbled as delicately as possible, waiting.

“Maybe you should try to call someone,” I said to myself. Out loud, apparently. The woman sitting a few seats from me looked up from her book like I was crazy. At that same moment I saw a short, thin girl who looked like she was about twelve or thirteen years old running around, holding up a sign that said Emma Van Elson.

“Excuse me, I must be going now,” I said haughtily to the offended woman, wheeling my carry-on over to the kid.

“Hello! Emma! You look just like your video! I’m Kenna. Pleased to meet you,” she said, holding out a tiny hand. She wasn’t a preteen after all. She was probably my age or older, and very, very small. “Sorry I’m late. L.A. traffic is so crazy. Let’s get your bags and we’ll be on our way.”

“Nice to meet you. I have just this one,” I said.

“Oh. Oh! Wow. Okay, well that makes things easier. Cool, very cool. Come on with me. Let me take that for you,” she said, grabbing the bag and pulling it behind her. It came up past her waist.

“I can take it if you’d like,” I said, feeling like she was overexerting herself.

“No, no. You just relax. I’ve got it,” she said.

“Thank you,” I said, tapping along after her. She was fast!

“You’ve got a busy day ahead of you. We’re going straight to the studio where you will be meeting a panel of our producers and writers, and then there will be some one-on-one interviews, and then a quick photo shoot. That way, if you do get chosen, we’ve got some shots to use for promotional purposes. If all goes well, your process will continue tomorrow and Sunday with some more interviews and activities. If not, you will be heading back this evening. Are you excited?”

“You mean I might be going back tonight? I didn’t realize that,” I said.

“I’m sure you’ll do great and be one of the girls who sticks around,” she said.

“Are there going to be sixty of us here today?” I asked.

“Sixty? God no! Where did you come up with that? There are maybe eight of you, or ten, but not sixty.”

“Oh.”

We were approaching a beat up Honda Accord. I had expected a limousine. Kenna put my bag in the trunk and opened my door for me, but then instead of walking around to her own side she slid in from the passenger side. “Sorry, that door is broken,” she said.

“It’s not a problem,” I told her. The car was scented like air fresheners and minty chewing gum. Inspirational Buddhist stickers were plastered to the dash. A crystal on a string, a dream catcher, and some Mardi Gras beads hung from her rearview mirror.

“Seatbelt please,” she instructed, which irked me a little because I was going to put it on anyway. We got going, and I saw that she hadn’t been kidding about the traffic. It was terrible. I had figured we would be chatting politely, like normal people in a professional setting who had just met, but to my surprise and relief, she turned on the radio instead, so loudly that we couldn’t even talk. At first I tried to talk over it, feeling like not talking was absurd, but she turned it up louder and then she began singing along. At that point, I shut up. She sang like I wasn’t even in the car. Loud. Out of tune. Getting words wrong. First to Tori Amos, singing about getting raped, and then to some rap music I didn’t know. Next was Pearl Necklace by ZZ Top. That song is pretty gross. And then she moved on to the song Elvira by The Oakridge Boys. That one she repeated over and over. I guess it was her favorite. It was all so bizarre. I kept thinking that I wished Pete could see it. I couldn’t get him out of my mind.