“Oh, no…I do. I wasn’t sure if you did or not. You say exspecially, so I thought maybe you add an X. I was just curious.”
Her immediate smile let me know that she hadn’t taken me too seriously. Technically, she did pronounce it with an X at the beginning of the word, something I’d noticed the handful of times I’d heard her say it. And based on the way she palmed her face and shook her head, as if hiding in shame, I assumed she was already aware of this.
“Where in the world did that even come from?” Laughter carried her words past widely smiling lips. “I’m trying to recall everything I’ve said since you got here, and for the life of me, I can’t recall even saying that word.”
“You didn’t.”
I waited for her to playfully smack my arm or roll her eyes, but instead, she whispered, “Oh, Lord,” beneath her breath.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t going to ask you about your phone call, so I had to come up with something. It was the first thing that came to mind.” Technically, the feel of her soft lips and the warmth of her tongue was the first thing that came to mind, but I couldn’t bring that up, either.
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, licking her lips in thought. “Ty’s just being super paranoid, and it’s annoying the crap out of me.” When she settled her attention back on me, I knew she was ready to confide in me. “Apparently, the show hired my sister to be the ‘resident bitch,’ which isn’t surprising since Tiff is a monster to everyone around her.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mumbled to myself.
“He said the contract states that she is to assume that role in the group, and if she doesn’t—or doesn’t do it well enough—they could end up cutting her from the entire show. If my sister gets cut or is pushed to a side character, then I’m screwed. My agreement specifically states that I am not to do anything that could put her career in jeopardy. By being too nice to the other cast members, I’m risking her spot on the show, which would be seen as jeopardizing her career.”
“I don’t get it. If she’s a model, how is this show her career?” I doubted I’d ever understand the working parts of celebrities. There were people who were literally famous for nothing other than being on some drama-driven reality show. I didn’t see how that required any talent.
“Ty never explained the entire situation to me, but I guess she’s planning to start her own brand, which I took to mean a clothing line of some sort. She’s using this opportunity to get her name out there and to stay current. I guess being on TV would make it easier to sell her crap. Although, to be fair, I don’t understand how she could possibly think that people would want to buy her stuff if she’s nasty to everyone all the time. I certainly wouldn’t want to support someone like that.”
That was the million-dollar question. “People are drawn to drama and chaos. It’s like a car crash—everyone slows down to look, to get a glimpse of what happened. Why? It wasn’t their car that was hit. They weren’t the ones in the accident. And aside from a traffic jam, it has no bearing on their lives whatsoever, yet that doesn’t stop them from looking.”
Dealing with that as a kid and into my early teens, I understood that train wrecks caught a lot of attention. What I could never comprehend, though, was the why. Aside from natural curiosity, why were people so obsessed with tragedy? Unfortunately, most would never understand the backside of that coin.
The headline that everyone found so entertaining was probably the darkest day of the other person’s life. And while it appeased their curiosity for a brief moment in time, it had likely stuck with the other person from that day forward. They could turn off the TV or put down the magazine, but for those who were part of the headline…they didn’t have the luxury of turning it off or putting it away.
At least, that’s what it was like for my sister and me.
11
Tasha
Ty had told me that I needed to act colder toward the women, so that was exactly what I did.
“What do you think about this?” Jeannine asked, holding up a frilly top that I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing.
That also meant that Tiff would’ve probably loved it, so I stopped typing on my phone and offered a half-assed smile. “It’s not your color.”
Honestly, I had no idea what her color was—or anyone’s, for that matter. But it sounded like something Tiff would say, so I went with it. Then I returned my attention to my phone and finished typing my text to Dave. It was all part of our master plan to deal with the ladies on set.
I was out shopping with Jeannine, Lauren, and Serenity while the cameras followed us around. Really, it was just a way to get us together to gossip or start trouble; there wasn’t much shopping being done. In the last shop, Serenity took a bunch of clothes to the counter. The owner totaled it up—for the camera’s sake—and then pretended to charge Serenity’s card. Right now, the bag she had on her arm was filled with a sweater belonging to one of the producers, and a bunch of tissue paper to hide the fact that she didn’t actually buy anything.
Whatever. It was free advertisement for the shop owner.
So we were pretty much pretending to shop while talking about things the producers want us to talk about, all while acting like we hadn’t
