A Good Man (27 page)

“See?” Sonya said. Old white guy? John’s not that old! “We’ve just put reality in reality TV, Bob. Congratulations.”

Bob scratched at his neck. “What do you think, Larry?”

Larry shrugged. “What’s done is done, Bob. I say we run with it.”

“Thirty seconds!” Darius shouted.

“You still have to say these guys are punks before they go,” Bob said.

“That’s not in the contract either, Bob,” Sonya said.

“It’s in the script!” Bob shouted.

“And what have I said about scripting any of this? I will not call these men punks. I’m sure they’re pretty nice guys when they’re sober. I don’t know them well enough to call them punks because they rarely even spoke to me. And anyway, I’m not the kind of person ever to call anyone a punk.” She looked at the losing Crew. “They’re still here? Man, if they’re still here when we come back from commercial, what will people think?”

Larry turned to the Crew. “Do as your princess says, gentlemen. You have to go, and quickly.”

As Darius counted down the seconds, the losing Crew filed out and Kim slipped through them wearing a form-fitting, bright red dress and heels, that dragon tattoo peeking out.

No panty lines, Sonya thought. My daughter’s debut on TV and she’s looking like a dragon lady.

Darius pointed at Graham, and Graham put on his fake smile. “Crew, um, remaining Crew, Jazz has someone she wants you to meet.”

“Team, not Crew, Graham,” Sonya said. “Team, I’d like you to meet my sister, Shani. Shani, meet the Team.”

Kim only nodded.

“Shani is going to help me choose which one of you I end up with. She’s going to be my conscience, my confidant, and my relationship advisor.” And one day, she might even become my daughter. “Trust me: Shani doesn’t play. We are very close. If you hurt her, you hurt me. And if you hurt me …”

“You’re nothin’ but a punk,” Kim said, her eyes fierce. She walked up and down the row. “Things are going to be different around here from now on. You got that?” Kim poked Gary in the chest. “Y’all got to shape up.” She poked Tony in the chest. “Ain’t gonna be no carryin’ on.” She stopped in front of John and stared him down. “There’s another sister in town, and she … means … business.”

The fallout from Sonya’s decision began later that night.

David Letterman was first to take a few potshots. “Before the show, Paul Shaffer and I were watching this new show on another nameless network called Hunk or Punk. The princess on that show, what was her name, Paul?”

“Jazz, David,” Paul said. “It was Jazz. Great name, David. Really jazzy.”

“We watched Jazz dump seven men in one night,” Letterman said. “Seven men in one night.”

“Like hot potatoes, David,” Paul said.

“Liz Taylor, Zsa Zsa Gabor, and Joan Collins are home right now saying, ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’”

“I’m rooting for the white guy,” Conan O’Brien said. “Someone has to, right? Let’s hear it for the white guy!”

Conan was the only one clapping.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Conan said. “What am I thinking? He’s toast. Plain, white toast.”

Early the next morning, LA’s number-one morning radio show, The Bubble Bill and Juicy Show, cranked up the hate.

“Juicy, you see that Hunk or Punk show last night?” Bubble Bill asked.

“Oh, yes,” Juicy said. “Wasn’t that amazing?”

“Amazing? She broke all the rules of shows like that. Isn’t it supposed to be one man at a time?”

“I don’t think she broke any rules, Bubble Bill,” Juicy said. “I bet there are millions of women who would love to dump seven men in a heartbeat like that.”

“But why’d she keep the white guy?” Bubble Bill asked.

“She likes him. You saw how long she hugged him.”

“Well, I thought he was jumpin’ her. The only thing a white man can jump is a car, and I should know. I haven’t left the ground since I was born.”

“I would have kept Arthur, too,” Juicy said. “He’s polite, charming, and has charisma.”

“What’s charisma?”

“It’s something you don’t have, Bubble Bill,” Juicy said. “I bet you can’t even spell it.”

“It sounds like a disease,” Bubble Bill said. “I got a bad case of the charisma.”

“You’ll never be infected,” Juicy said.

“C’mon, Juicy,” Bubble Bill said, “can you see Arthur dancing at a club? I can’t. He’d be pouting for sure, cuz I know he can’t dance.”

“Not all women want a man who can dance at a club, Bubble Bill.”

“The man’s obviously a redneck. I bet he sold the dirt from his front yard for the plane ticket out here.”

Juicy laughed. “Is that how you got to LA?”

“Nah, I sold my truck and my best cow.”

Canned laughter filled the air.

“Did you know that the dump scene went viral on the Internet?” Juicy asked.

“It went viral? Well, it was pretty sick.”

“That scene got twenty-five million hits,” Juicy said. “I’ve watched it twenty times. You see the looks on those punks’ faces? Priceless.”

“I’d hate to be their agents,” Bubble Bill said.

“Dumping seven guys at once has to be a record,” Juicy said.

“Oh, and I knew her hair was a wig. She ought to give it back to the horse she stole it from.”

“That wasn’t nice, Bubble Bill,” Juicy said. “And I think she looks better natural anyway …”

The Internet headlines were surprisingly positive:

Jazz Dazzles!

Hunk or Punk Is a Slam Dunk!

No Junk on Hunk or Punk

Seven Drunk Punks Sunk

Kim, lying on a queen mattress in front of Jazz’s bed, surfed the Web all morning Tuesday and found a glowing review at ET Online. “‘Jazz knows what she wants, and what Jazz wants, Jazz gets.’”

Sonya looked up from her Bible study. “I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t interrupt,” Kim said. “‘Never before in the history of reality TV has a bachelorette had so much power—and the willingness to wield it to her advantage. Instead of the tried-and-true formula of dumping one guy every week, Jazz chose to clean mansion using one simple: “That’s … all.” She later explained to the stunned punks: No offense, fellas, but we didn’t really connect, you know? I barely know any of your names. And I can’t abide any man who drinks, smokes, or parties. I also can’t stand a man who drinks instead of thinks. You all have such magnificent bodies and hopefully bright futures. Why try to mess any of that up? Take care.’”

I said all that? Sonya thought. Cool. I thought I was babbling.

“‘According to producer Larry Prince, the show is still slated to tape through June, though that may change as Jazz changes her mind. It is indeed a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, executive producer Bob Freeberg said. I can’t wait to see what Jazz does, and with the addition of Jazz’s sister, Shani, who knows what will happen next …’”

Sonya mangled a pillow with both hands. “What a hypocrite! Bob hated the idea last night. But now that the reviews are good, he’s in love with the idea.”

“It’s all about the money, Sonya,” Kim said. “You just made him some serious money. I’ll bet new sponsors are fighting each other to get a hookup.”

“I don’t see why,” Sonya said. “I shortened the show.”

“Like you said, you could keep ’em all for a few months.”

“I probably will.” She smoothed out the pillow. “Did you see the look on Aaron’s face?”

“Was he growling?” Kim asked.

“I think so.”

“He’s a jerk, Sonya,” Kim said. “He’s not the one.” She stood and rubbed her neck. “We have to get a desk in here.” She climbed into Sonya’s bed. “You know, all this means that this week’s action has to be more spectacular than last week’s action.”

No, it doesn’t. “It doesn’t have to be spectacular. Maybe it will actually be meaningful. The next challenge is supposed to be a mini-triathlon. Swimming, bicycling, and running.” Blood, sweat, Justin needing an ambulance or John helping Justin finish, Aaron winning again, Aaron drunk again, Aaron ignoring me again, Aaron’s hands on me again, Aaron kissing the plant again … No.

“You know Aaron will probably win the triathlon,” Kim said.

Maybe I can put a mask on that plant, Sonya thought. That might be funny.

“So why don’t you make the next challenge more cerebral?” Kim suggested. “Have them take a test or make them list their likes and dislikes or have them write you a poem. Something different.”

Definitely not a triathlon. “What kind of test?”

“The parts of a woman’s body,” Kim said. “So many of ’em don’t know we have more than one part. I have yet to meet a man who can arouse my entire body.”

Is that even possible? And if it is, where is this man? And if he’s in this house, why isn’t he here with me now? “No tests. A poem might work.” A poem written to me? No one has ever written a poem to me before.

“All right, a poem,” Kim said. “You’ll be able to find out who has soul and who doesn’t have soul in a matter of seconds.”

I’d rather have a man who has a soul than soul. “I like that idea. Oh, but what if they’re horrible poems?”

“It will be great comedy.”

True, but … “I don’t want to laugh at them.”

“Then laugh with me,” Kim said. “But we have to jazz it up more, Jazz. Why is there only one challenge every week? I mean, what do you do here when the cameras aren’t on?”

Not much. “We watch TV, we play cards, we cook, we eat, we swim. I swim now.” She smiled. “John gave me a lesson.”

“He did?”

Sonya nodded.

“Then why didn’t they show it on TV?” Kim asked.

“Well, it was at four o’clock in the morning.”

“What?”

Yeah, it does sound kind of risqué. “Neither one of us could sleep. He’s a very good teacher.”

“Sonya, you just … got into a pool at four AM with some strange man you just met?”

“And you just slept with a sailor you just met?”

Kim was silent.

“We kind of had a Bible study first.” Sort of.

“And he taught you how to swim in, what, an hour? That’s not possible.”

“I am still a good athlete,” Sonya said. “He was a great coach.”

“Whatever.” Kim sighed. “Y’all don’t have much fun around here at all. It all sounds boring to me. We need to liven up this place.”

Sonya’s stomach grumbled. “You know, they should also cook a meal for us.”

“I was thinking more like having them do pole dances in G-strings while singing ‘Beat It,’” Kim said.

Where did that idea come from? “No.”

“Tony would look so fine in a black G-string,” Kim said.

“No, Kim.”

“Justin wouldn’t,” Kim said. “He’d need a Z-string. But the ratings would skyrocket.”

I don’t want that image in my head. “Hush.”

“Yeah. I doubt there would be a pole strong enough to hold either him or Gary. They’d have to use telephone poles.”

Sonya laughed. “Stop!”

“Sonya, they are big.”

“So?”

“You’re not,” Kim said. “Why you like big men?”

“They’re good men,” Sonya said. “That’s the kind of man I like. The package isn’t as important as a man’s goodness.”

“Sonya, the package is everything. Trust me.”

Oh, this nasty child.

“But having them all cook for us instead of doing pole dances?” Kim said. “That’s so … domestic.”

“It’s real.” And I’m hungry.

“That kitchen isn’t big enough for all of them.”

“So we’ll expand the kitchen somehow.” And if I want my men to cook for me, they are going to cook for me.

“I’m going to starve,” Kim said.

“You won’t starve, and it might actually be fun.”

“I doubt it.”

And I like being around John in the kitchen for some reason.

These thoughts, these thoughts.

But she’s right—that’s a lot of beefcake to fit into one kitchen.

In the great room Tuesday morning, Sonya and Kim stood in front of the fireplace with Graham while Justin, Tony, Gary, John, and Aaron lounged on couches in front of them.

Graham cleared his throat. “All right, Crew—”

“Team, Graham,” Sonya interrupted.

“Okay, Team,” Graham said, “Jazz and Shani have an announcement for you.”

“Team, there will be not one but two challenges this week,” Sonya said. “First, you will cook for me.”

All but Aaron smiled. That’s right, Aaron. We ain’t running this week. But why are the rest of them smiling?

“Wait a minute,” Sonya said. “Y’all can cook, can’t you?”

Justin patted his stomach. “Look at me. Don’t I look like I know how to cook?”

“A single man who likes to eat has to know how to cook,” Gary said.

Aaron raised his hand. “Um, I thought the next challenge was a triathlon.”

“We wanted to do something different, Aaron,” Kim said. “Something without too much sweat. Being a man isn’t all about sweating, you know.”

And she said that? I might be rubbing off on her. Or she’s just being ironic. “Y’all might be sweatin’ in the kitchen, though,” Sonya said.

“No sweat,” Justin said.

Kim frowned at Justin. “Then we’ll have to make it more difficult, won’t we, Jazz?”

Justin’s smile faded.

“Um, yeah, and to make it more difficult, what you cook …” I don’t want them fixing me something like ostrich. “What you cook has to represent where you’re from. I want you to give me a taste of your hometowns.”

“Yes!” Gary said.

“No problem,” Tony said.

“Piece of cake,” Justin said.

“And,” Kim said, “you have to impress both of us with your cooking.” She stared Justin down again. “I am a picky eater. If I don’t like it, you’re gonna hear about it. I send steaks back all the time at restaurants. Whatever you fix has to be perfect. I want whatever you cook to melt in my mouth and not give me any trouble in the bathroom the next day.” She smiled at Sonya. “Tell them the second challenge.”

I’ll say one thing for my daughter—she knows how to handle men. “In the second challenge, you will have to amaze me with an original poem.”

All but Aaron smiled again.

Oh, come on! This is too easy, too? What’s a challenge if it isn’t a challenge? “Y’all can write poetry, can’t you?”

Justin stood. “My skills are not fictitious, in fact they’re quite ambitious, my cooking is so delicious that you’ll want to eat the dishes.”

Aaron raised his hand again. “Are we ever going to do a triathlon?”