Bellamy's Redemption

“Debbie, relax. You’re getting all worked up.”

“Quit calling me Debbie. I’m telling Catalina what you just said, and as soon as I see Bellamy, I’m telling him too,” said Deb. She left the room in search of Catalina.

“Baby spaz,” said Alanna to the closed door. She didn’t look very concerned about Deb’s accusations or the fact that she was being tattled on. She tucked her shirt into the jeans she was wearing and said to Bob, pointedly ignoring me, “Do I look like a dumbass? Just watch. In six months everyone will wear their shirts tucked in. I’m ready for filming. Seriously. I’m ready.” She turned to me then: “Why don’t you put some spackle on your face, Emma, instead of staring at me. I’m not kidding. You’re wasting precious time. Scurry off to your stained up little makeup bag and give your stubby little eyelashes another coat of Frosty Girl. Or no, wait, it was even worse, wasn’t it. Big Eyes, right? Can’t you buy that brand at grocery stores? You fraud.”

“Were you looking in my makeup bag?” I stammered. I felt so exposed.

“Maybe.”

“You had no right to look in there.”

“There’s nothing else to do around here. I didn’t even know they made those brands anymore. Big Eyes mascara? I mean, how quaint. Even your Q-tips look generic.”

“All the models use Big Eyes,” I said.

“Is that what they tell you in your ladies’ magazines? How to lose ten pounds and make some meatloaf and don’t forget to wear your Big Eyes.”

My anger was bubbling over. “Alanna, you’re horrible,” I told her, practically spitting. “It’s going to come out for the world to see. I’ll tell Bellamy what you’re really like. There’s no way he’s going to end up with you.”

She just laughed and said, “We’ll see about that.”

I left the room and changed into a dress, my hands shaking so badly I could barely zip it. I could hear Alanna out in the living room, carrying on to Bob about her fabulousness: “The producers of this show think they made me, but it has always been like this for me. When I was a baby, I was cuter than all the other babies. I’m not even exaggerating! There are pictures to prove it. I never got to know what it was like to be normal because I was too bright and adorable. And then, I became cool when I was around seven. Maybe six, actually. I just had, like, an inherent understanding of what music to listen to, what to say, stuff like that. Even when I was twelve years old my friends’ moms wanted to be me. I felt sorry for them.”

As I touched up my eyelashes with a substance that was apparently one step above tar, I grew angrier and angrier. So angry that I felt the tears welling up. And then it happened; I began to cry. I decided that if I were Bob, I’d make an exposé about the real Alanna Rutherford. I’d show the world what a horrible bitch she really was. Even if it meant losing my job. That’s what I would do. If I were Bob.

But, I wasn’t Bob. And I doubted Bob would do anything other than what he was told to do. So this meant I had to do it myself.

I snapped my cheap lipstick’s cap back into place. Why hadn’t I ever realized that wearing something called Citygirlz Razzberry Twizt is really, really sad? I decided that I must steal Bob’s tapes. Or were they disks? Or some cloud hovering above us? Where was all this footage being stored? What exactly should I steal? Already my momentum was fading.

“I’m going to ruin you, Alanna Rutherford,” I hissed, trying to reinvigorate myself. I zipped up my cheap, ugly makeup bag. “What a stupid makeup bag. How could I be dumb enough to own such a thing? The details. It’s always about the details. It’s like designing someone’s house. It’s like… everything.” I tried to stop crying, knowing we were going to be filmed any moment. “Maybe if you had fancier makeup it wouldn’t smear,” I told my reflection.

“You ready, Emma?” asked Bob, knocking on the bathroom door. “They’re ready for the next segment.”

“Just a minute,” I called, taking my time blotting at my face with a tissue. I blew my nose and dabbed my face some more until the redness had subsided, and went out to join Alanna and Deb. They had both already left the room. Bob was waiting for me.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked me.

“I guess so. I’m sorry I’m late,” I said.

“It’s alright,” he said. “They’re already outside. We’re filming out there since the scenery is so nice. We’d better hurry.”

“Bob, where’s your wedding ring?” I heard myself ask as we were on our way.

“Ugh…” He looked shocked. “I can’t believe you noticed it’s gone.”

“If you like Deb, and if she and Bellamy don’t end up together, I think you should ask her out. She’s pretty nice,” I told him.

He nodded. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Thank you for joining us, Emma,” called Catalina Cartwright as Bob and I neared a small clearing beside the hotel. The backdrop was gorgeous mountains. Alanna stood waiting with her arms crossed and her shirt still tucked in to too-high jeans. She looked like a kid at camp. It really wasn’t a good look. Deb stood as far away from her as possible, scowling and sniffing back tears.

Catalina fluffed her short tulle skirt and straightened her leather sports bra. “Are you girls trying to be the worst cast ever? Honestly, Alanna, your outfit is not stylish at all.”

“Says the woman wearing a tutu. By the way, we’re women, not girls,” said Alanna.

“And the rest of you,” said Catalina, “quit crying. I’m sorry Alanna is a mean girl, but it’s time to film now.”

“I’m fine,” sniffed Deb.