Reality Check (13 page)

People were everywhere. They took up almost every square foot of space that Charly could see from where she stood. Somehow the news had leaked fast, and the recipients' neighbors, family, friends, and even local pets, had all showed up for the show trying to vie for camera time, which, as far as Charly was concerned, they could have. She'd found out when she showed up to the set that the show would be airing live, and it terrified her. Live meant no room for errors. She exhaled, glad that she hadn't totally screwed up. Not yet. It would be way too embarrassing with the kazillion onlookers around who seemed to grow in numbers. The police had been called to keep the people behind the wooden barriers separating the gawkers from the crew. Charly shook her head, then snuck a wave when the camera seemed to be off her. She thought securing the area was a bit much, especially because
The Extreme Dream Team
was there to do a good deed for a couple of teenagers who lived to do the same.

“We love you, Charly,” a little girl said, holding up a sign in the air that she'd probably drawn herself.

“Love you too,” Charly said, then looked over one shoulder, then the other. When she saw all was clear, that no cameras were rolling, she ran across the street as fast as she could and autographed the little girl's sign, then posed for a picture with her.

The little girl screamed in glee, pointing to the ground. “Cutie. Cutie. Cutie.”

Charly's gaze followed the little girl's finger, then she swallowed hard. Marlow was at her feet, moving a million miles an hour, her tiny paws scampering as her tail wagged in the air like a flag. With one scoop, Charly had Marlow in her arms. “How'd you get out?” she asked, looking around for Marlow's sitter.

“Can I pet her?” the little girl asked, reaching out her hand over the barrier.

Charly grinned, then leaned on the barrier so the little girl could reach Marlow. “This is Marlow, my puppy . . .” Her words trailed off when she noticed two things that told her the crew was done cleaning and setting up the recipients' new spaces. One, a cameraman had his lens pointed at her and Marlow and the little girl. Two, a producer was rotating his index finger in the air in small circles while mouthing,
Keep going. It's good. Really good.

It was great—super great, Charly thought, not believing her luck. She felt bad for Annison, and wouldn't have wished sickness on anyone, but she'd be a liar if she didn't admit to loving the leading role and spending time with the recipients. The closer it came to wrapping the show, the more she grew to love it. The spotlight held so much more for her than just the opportunity to shine the brightest; it gave her confirmation that she'd done the right thing by going after her dream. And it couldn't get any better. Even without Annison, the show was proving to be a success, just as she and Liam were. They worked effortlessly together, easing into one scene after another as if they'd been reading from a script. But there was no script, not in black and white. Yet something was definitely scripted in the universe for them. Something magical that Charly wanted to deny, but couldn't. By the way Liam kept looking at her, Charly realized he also must've felt what she did.

“Until next time, we'll see you later,” Liam said into the camera.

“And who knows?” Charly began, spreading her smile wider than any beauty pageant contestant. “We may just end up in your neighborhood. Remember, if you know someone who's fantastically fabulous, needs our help, and deserves an
Extreme Dream Team
makeover, let us know. That's what we're here for. Until then . . .” Charly finished, waving to the camera.

“Now, that was a beautiful wrap, Charly, my love!” Liam said, winking. “On par with the makeover we just completed, and just as well deserved!” He blew her a kiss, then the lights on the camera died, signaling it was off.

 

Charly's gown was gorgeous. “Perfect,” she said aloud, turning in front of the mirror. White silk wrapped her body like a second skin, making her caramel complexion seem to glow. “Whaddya think?” she asked, slowing her spin in front of the computer monitor so Lola, Stormy and Mason could see. They'd all gathered at Mason's to help her get ready via Skype.

“You. Look. Good!” Mason complimented. Flirtation and pride laced his voice.

“Beautiful,” Stormy sang. “Wow, Charly, I always said you were pretty, but I didn't know you were like Tyra Banks
America's Top Model
pretty.”

“Get 'em, girl. Get 'em, girl. Get 'em!” Lola yelled. “Bang 'em out, Charly. They're not even going to see you coming.”

Charly spun one more time. “I know, right? I got this. I got this. I'm gonna make y'all so proud. Wait and see.” She cleared her voice. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, My name is Charly St. James—Charly with a Y!” she laughed, pretending to have a mic in front of her. “But for real, on the up and up, I'm mad nervous. I got the crazy shakes inside.” She sat on the edge of the chair, where she could still see the computer monitor.

“Let me tell you something, baby. There's no need to be nervous. You're gonna kill 'em with your talent and beauty. You hear me?” Mason questioned.

Charly nodded.

“Yes, sis. You'll do well. You always do. That's why I'm so proud of you, Charly. You never give up,” Stormy said, her face now a little too close to the computer camera.

“Thank you again, Lola. I owe you, and I love you guys!” She looked at the clock on the nightstand. “I gotta go. There's only minutes to show time.”

“Love you too,” Lola spoke. “And you don't owe me.”

“I love you,” both Mason and Stormy said in unison.

“Wish me luck, we're getting ready to go on. Live!” she said, her heart making its way up in her chest with just the thought as she ended the video chat.

Charly's hand was on the doorknob, but she couldn't turn it. Her life had changed in a major way, and she was happy. Almost completely happy. She'd captured her dream, and now she was truly on her way. She had the reality series and, now, was hosting an award show. The only thing left for her to do was to make sure Stormy was all right, and not for a few days, but forever. She inhaled deeply, held her head high, then reminded herself of who she was. She was Charly St. James, and she could conquer the world, that's what she told herself as she finally opened the door so she could go meet Liam.

Liam ran his hand over his wet hair, then shook it, making water fly like droplets of summer rain. He'd been running late, and was now barely dressed. He slid into his tuxedo jacket, buckled the buckle on his dark jeans, then bent over and adjusted the laces on his nineteen-eighties shell-toe Adidas sneakers. Charly swallowed her admiration, and would've kicked herself for taking in his every move, but she couldn't help it, and had been enjoying watching him finishing dressing so much, she'd have done it twice. She was thankful that she'd made it to meet him when she did. If she'd made it to meet him two minutes later, she'd have missed him getting ready.

He licked his lips, then ran his index finger over the corners of his mouth, spreading the moisturizer he'd used. “Not too much, right, love? I don't want to be on film looking like a girl. Glossy lips aren't masculine,” he said, then turned Charly's way. He wiped his hands on a towel, then reached out and fixed her hair.

Warmth climbed her neck, making her rear back. She nodded. “Um. Yes. I mean, no. Your lips are just fine,” she said, but thought,
perfectly kissable fine
. She kept nodding her head and couldn't seem to stop.

“Nervous, love?” he asked, smiling.

Charly nodded. “Yes.” She laughed, knowing she must look silly.

“Five minutes,” a producer for a major entertainment network announced to them, splaying his index and middle fingers into a V.

“Ready,” she said, then took her spot next to Liam on the red carpet, looked at the teleprompter she'd be reading from, and told herself to prepare. She was a reality show star this morning. Tonight she was a celebrity host at an award show that was being broadcast live all over America and in certain parts of the globe.

“You're not ready yet, love,” Liam said and grabbed her around the waist, bent her backward and planted the sweetest, softest kiss on her lips, then brought her to her feet. “I'd say that now you are, definitely!” He licked his lips, then made a smacking noise. “And delicious too, I must say. You are ready. You, me, and the rest of the world. Welcome everyone to the award show of all award shows. I'm Liam,” he said to the camera, then held out his hand to Charly. “And this is Charly St. James, my costar with the most kissable lips in the world. And now that we've got that out of the way, let me tell you what we've got in store for you tonight . . .”

“I
didn't know he was going to kiss me! It was only for the camera, trust me. All publicity,” Charly yelled into the suite's phone, pacing back and forth in the hotel room. “The kiss was scripted . . . for him and Annison. Yes, I'm sure,” she lied without effort. “He wasn't supposed to kiss
me
—he was supposed to kiss
whoever
. Annison, I guess. And
whoever
just happened to be me because I was filling in for her. She was sick, so I had to cover for her twice. Once for
The Extreme Dream Team
, and then I had to do the award show that you're so upset about,” she tried to explain, but her father wasn't believing her story.

Her cell vibrated in her other hand, and she shook her head, looking at the text. Both of the guys in her life were acting up, and it was killing her. Movie stars performed all the time for the cameras, so what was so wrong with her and Liam sharing a little smooch? It was lip service only, no French kiss, she'd told both her father and her boyfriend, Mason, but for some reason, neither cared. Now her father wanted to come get her and take her with him to some military base he had to go to, and Mason's texts were filled with accusations. Charly had tried to convince him that there was nothing between her and Liam, but try as she might, she saw there was no winning with either of them. Their minds were made up, but so was hers, and she wasn't wrong. So there was no point arguing anymore.

“That was days ago, Dad. I'm not in Atlanta anymore. I'm in Miami now. I just got into my room under an hour ago. And, no, you can't just come get me. We have a show to do here, and you signed a contract, remember? Not to mention, you just said you had to go away for . . . ?”

“Nine days, Charly. The weekend, then Monday through Saturday,” he snapped.

Charly exhaled and rolled her eyes while her father continued to yell into the phone that he didn't care about a piece of paper, that he felt as if the studio had been keeping him in the dark about her schedule, and how she was to stay over at her aunt's while he was away—he threatened to check—then stated that no one could tell him what he could and could not do about his daughter. She winced, his loudness penetrating her eardrums as if he were trying to burst them. “Language, Dad. Language! Please? I can't do this now. I gotta get Stormy settled—she's with Lola because Brigette left again. So just think, some things are bigger than me and you. Consider that, please?” she begged, almost disbelieving that her father and Mason knew so many curse words. She was almost glad she didn't have to host again with Liam, just so she could make her dad and Mason feel better. But
almost
was the key word. She loved hosting, and the truth was, she'd do it again in a heartbeat. She'd take their attitudes and foul language and accusations all over again, and not just for the camera time, but for the company too. Liam had been great to look at and work with. “I love you, Dad. I love you. And don't worry while you're away. Just enjoy your work and relax. I'm sure Annison is better by now, so I won't be with Liam so much. My focus is helping Annison and the recipient, remember?” She paused, waiting to hear something else negative, but was met with pure silence. “I have to go. Gotta be on the set immediately,” she lied, then hung up.

Charly's stomach knotted, making her wince. A loud rumble announced itself, reminding her she hadn't eaten since the day before, but food would have to wait. She looked at her phone, and cringed. Lola had texted that some agency had been driving by their house looking for Stormy and Brigette. A neighbor had told her. A gut feeling told her that even though her sister was bunking over at Lola's, something was very wrong in her sister's world—that there was something terrible brewing. And the agency, who Charly believed was social services or something, made it worse. Who else would come looking for Stormy? she wondered. If the people were just looking for her mother, that'd be different. But what agency would look for a child? School was out, and Stormy had never been truant, so Charly was just about sure it was social services. Lola had said she'd seen them before—the same two agents—pick up a child near her. Biting her lip, Charly scrolled through her text messages, searching for someone—anyone—who could help. She exhaled in frustration, running her fingers through her hair. There was no one. Brigette, their mother, was to blame for all the madness. Why couldn't she just be a good, normal mom like most mothers? She couldn't have anyone put her sister into the foster system. That was the last thing she needed now, not when her life was changing—and changing it was. On the one hand, her star was rising. Taking Annison's place had made her feel good and let her know that she was capable of having her own show. On the other hand, her world as she knew it was crashing. Her dad was irate. Mason's boxer shorts seemed to be in a twist because he had a straight attitude that Charly felt she didn't deserve. And now, the closest she could get to Stormy was phone or Skype conversation.

“Knock. Knock.” Liam's voice sounded through the door, penetrating Charly's thoughts and the silence of the hotel room.

Charly was caught off guard by Liam's popping up. She knew he couldn't hear her thoughts, but she felt like someone had been eavesdropping. “One second,” she yelled toward the door, then did a double take, checking herself in the mirror. As suspected, she looked tired, but she didn't care. She was tired from traveling, exhausted from going back and forth with her dad and Mason, and was comfortable enough with Liam to let him see her as she was. That's what she told herself, then changed her mind, fixing her hair while she went to let him in. “Hey,” she greeted, stepping back and allowing him entrance.

“Good day, love,” he said, purposely turning up his accent to make Charly smile.

Her stomach growled her reply.

Liam laughed. “Well, that answers my question then.” He pointed to her midsection. “I was coming to see if you'd like to grab a bite. Seems like you do.”

Charly looked at the clock on the nightstand. She'd missed breakfast time. Her stomach rumbled again, this time longer and louder. “I really can't, Liam. I have to get to my sister . . . she's sorta my responsibility. For most of our lives, all we've had is each other.”

Liam's eyes widened and he nodded knowingly. He clasped his hands together in front of him and pressed his lips together. “Well, love, that's understandable. I don't really get it, but you can explain while we eat. As much as you want to drop everything—including eating—you really can't. How are you going to help your sister if you're hungry? No food means no energy.” He laced his arm through hers, then pulled her toward the door, stopping by the closet. “Step into your shoes or I'm taking you outside in your bare feet.”

Charly stuffed her feet into a pair of ankle boots, then bent over to lace the right one. “So I missed yoga? I assumed we'd have a late session, and I wanted to go.” She moved her fingers to the other foot, then tied the left bootie. “Where are we eating?” She whistled Marlow over and put on her leash. “Wherever it is, Marlow is coming or we're sneaking her in.” She walked over to the closet, then on tiptoes she stretched to grab a dog carrier that resembled a large tote.

“We—meaning just me and you and Marlow—are eating somewhere within walking distance, hopefully.”

A knock sounded on the door. “Charly?” a voice called. “This is for you.”

Liam opened the door. “Ahh, thank you. Do you have my copy too?” He reached into the hallway, then seconds later closed the door. “A production assistant with the itinerary. Here, this is your copy.” He handed Charly the slip of paper.

 

THE EXTREME DREAM TEAM
Show 3 itinerary

 

Recipient information:

 

Animal rescuer
DAVIS, DEMY
Fourteen-year-old female
Dog lover, humanitarian

Rescues animals from kill shelters and finds them homes.

EXTREME DREAM TEAM Mission: Design and build Demy an indoor-outdoor shelter, complete with dog runs, bathing area, play area, and lodging.

Locale: MIAMI, FLORIDA

He rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels. “You really need to talk to Mr. Day more, love. He said the ratings are through the roof, and because Annison and Sully are still victims of their food choices—who eats raw eggs after the discovery of salmonella, anyway?—it's just us again.”

Charly's eyes widened. “Really? I'm hosting again? But how? Annison and Sully can't still be sick, and aren't they here or supposed to be here by now? And we don't do the show for a couple of days, right?”

Liam nodded and opened the door for her. “I already knew about the change, and I was getting ready to tell you just before the production assistant came. I just hung up with Annison before I knocked on your door. They aren't sick. Because they got food poisoning, the higher ups want them to be tested for food allergies or something like that. They need to be cleared to work by a doctor.” He shrugged. “So, yes, it's just us again as long as you bring Marlow on the set. I guess the viewers really took to you and Marlow, because ratings were higher on the last show compared to when Annison was hosting.”

 

The diner was situated on the corner between two other buildings as if someone had dropped it there. It wasn't centered and it wasn't constructed of the same materials as the other buildings, but looked like it was part trailer, part outdoor cafeteria, and part corner store. Charly stroked Marlow, making her comfortable in the tote, then hoisted the carrier higher on her shoulder to prevent anyone from eyeing the dog.

“Well, we wouldn't have to worry about anyone hearing Marlow if she did whine, would we, love?” Liam asked.

Charly shook her head, then smiled and bopped to the loud Spanish music that wafted through the air along with the aroma of strong coffee, which was being served in tiny cups at a station with a CAFÉ sign above it. Another counter was surrounded by mostly construction men and one or two teenagers. Charly nodded toward the line of people waiting for their dark-liquid fix, then moved her gaze over by the men who wore white overalls with paint splattered on them.

“Definitely Miami,” she said to Liam, craning her neck. She was trying to see through the lunch crowd that had beaten them inside. “I wonder what's the big deal at that counter?” She pointed.

Liam grinned, then grabbed her hand. He pulled her through the crowd in front of them and pointed toward the opposite corner. “Go grab us a seat over there before they're all taken, and I'll show you what all the fuss is about at that counter, love. It's more than a huge deal—trust me.”

Charly nodded, then excused herself as she tried to make her way to the other side of the restaurant, walking as slow as she could to see what was going on at the counter.

“See,” Liam said, pointing. “It's the coffee. Cuban espresso and Cuban sandwiches. There's nothing like them, that's why the counter is so busy.”

Charly smiled, and patted her stomach. She couldn't wait to try the Cuban sandwich. If they were good enough to have the people lined up and making a fuss, she had to have one. She made her way to an empty booth. Her head nodded and her feet tapped, feeling the sexy rhythm of the music. She had no idea what they were singing about, and didn't understand more than a word or two of Spanish, but the song was fantastic. “Sorry,” she said, bumping into a waitress, who returned her apology with a smile. Bypassing the worker, Charly slid around her and spotted various newspapers scattered on the unoccupied table. A celebrity-gossip tabloid caught her attention, and she grabbed it before sitting in the adjacent empty booth and setting her cell phone on the table. “Oh . . .” Her mouth dropped, leaving the vowel sound hanging in the air as she tried to blink her disbelieving eyes. “It can't be.” Her head shook in the negative. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing, but it was there scrawled across the paper in all capital letters and underlined in red.

Charly's nails almost broke trying to turn the page as quickly as her trust in Annison was dissolving. She swallowed, feeling bad for Lizzy. Lizzy was the hugest teen celebrity there was, and now, because of Annison, Charly was sure Lizzy's star was falling fast and hard. There was no denying it or lying to herself, not after she read, almost verbatim, the words Lizzy had confided in Annison that night when Charly overheard them talking in Chicago, while she sat on the other side of the bush.

“. . . your career is over,” Charly said, finishing what Lizzy was implying, then moved her eyes to her cell phone, which had begun vibrating on the table, signaling a text.

Charly gulped, shook her head, and rolled her eyes. How did Mason know Liam had stopped by her room? She knew for a fact without knowing for a fact, she told herself, the whole knowing without knowing making sense to her. Annison had something to do with Mason's knowing about her being with Liam. He'd told he he'd just spoken to Annison earlier, and her best friend, Lola, had urged her to listen to her instincts, hadn't she? Charly nodded, answering her own question and remembering Lola's warning about Annison:
That girl can't be trusted.