Something Real (17 page)

“There’s a lot of good that can come out of this for you,” Chuck says. “For all of you. But we need you to cooperate, okay?”

“I am,” I say. “I’m here. I’m doing the shoot.”

Chuck shakes his head. “You know what I mean. We need to see the Bonnie™ America fell in love with.”

“Or what?” I ask.

His voice grows hard, and I remember he’s not the highest paid, most sought after television producer in the world for nothing. “Or we cancel the show and sue your parents for signing the contract under false pretenses. I’m not sure how they’d be able to afford a lawyer with thirteen kids—three going off to college—but that’s not really my concern.” He smiles. “But I know you’ll make the right choice, hon. The camera just loves you.”

He’s doing it again, I realize. What he did over and over when I was a kid.

“Is this like when I was a little girl and you told me that I had to stop saying I didn’t want to do the show if I wanted my parents to stay together?”

He holds his hands up, palms out, and tries a sad little frown on for size. “And what happened to them, Bonnie™?”

My breath rushes out and my insides cave in, like they’ve been bulldozed. He stares me down as I slowly disintegrate. I need to say something, but the words won’t come.

A
Good Life
woman opens the door and starts beckoning to me.

“There you are!” she says. “Let’s get you into hair and makeup.”

“Just a second,” I say, turning back to Chuck.

But he’s already walking toward one of the MetaReel trucks in our driveway. “Have a good shoot, Bonnie™,” he calls over his shoulder.

Translation: If I
don’t
shut up and be a good little monkey and make love to the camera today and every day, then it’ll be my fault that my family gets sued by one of the largest corporations in America.

Just like it was my fault when Dad left.

*   *   *

“You’ve got beautiful bone structure, you know that?” says the girl putting on my makeup.

“Is that industry for You’re Not Pretty But You Have Nice Qualities?” I ask.

She laughs. “You always were funny, weren’t you?”

Okay, that creeps me out. I’d forgotten how people talk to us; they watch you every week for thirteen years, and they feel like they know you. It’s weird.

“No,” she continues, “I’m not bullshitting you. You look stunning. This eye shadow really brings out the green in your eyes. And your hair…” She sighs and tries to fluff up her limp locks. “Did you know that women in India cut off hair just like yours and sell it to American salons?”

I wrinkle my nose. “That’s sad. Like ‘The Gift of the Magi’ but without the warm fuzzies.”

She laughs again.

Soon we’re in the backyard, perched on this brand-new fancy jungle-gym thing that some company donated to the show. On Wednesday they’d done all this filming with Kirk and the delivery dudes and my brothers trying to build it. I’m sure it will be one of our episodes, something like
Kirk and the boys try to build a Kidz Zone™ playground, but will they finish before it starts raining?

“Bonnie™, can we get you perched on the monkey bars?” asks some non-Eric entity with a camera.

“Like, swinging?” I ask.

Patrick’s skin, peeking out from under his flannel shirt.

“No, maybe reaching out like you’re going to swing?”

This is going to look so dumb.

“I guess so,” I say.

They made me wear a skirt, and I feel like a poor man’s Marilyn Monroe with all this freezing wind—also, I never wear skirts. They make me feel three years old. I climb up the net rope to get up to the bars, and all I can think about is the startled look on Patrick’s face last night as I ran away from him. I reach for the bars and smile through the kids whining, my mother’s snapping, and the millions of tiny adjustments the camera dudes are shouting out. There are a couple of bounce cards set up—white circles that have something to do with lighting. They’re catching the sun, and the light jumping off them is blinding and gives me an instant headache. Kirk just grins, his teeth super white and—I’m just noticing this—his skin much tanner.

“Did Kirk get beauty treatments in LA?” I ask Lex.

She’s posed on the edge of the platform beside the monkey bars, her legs crossed, sitting pretty. She flips her blond hair away from her face, then leans forward to look past me, her breasts heaving against her too-tight shirt.

“Maybe,” she says. “Weird, huh?”

“Understatement of the year.” I let go of one bar, cursing as I shake out the pins and needles in my arms.

Lex rolls her eyes. “Okay, tell me you’re not having fun at all,” she says.

“I’m not having fun at all.”

“Whatever.” She flashes a grin in the general direction of everyone looking at us. “That Eric guy is super hot. I have dibs.”

Typical.

“Aren’t you remotely pissed about Mom’s book?” I ask.

She adjusts her skirt, keeping her eyes on the cameras. “I looked through the copy Ben brought home. Doesn’t seem too heinous. I mean, the stuff about Dad was … but, whatever. It’s good publicity for the show. Mom said we could go to some of her book signings, too.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

We stay there for about an hour while various strangers keep coming around to move our bodies or shove light meters in our faces. My breath tastes like hair spray, and the wind is making my eyes water, so now I have this irritating makeup-in-my-eye thing happening.

“Lexie™, Bonnie™, why don’t you put your arms around each other for a few of these?”

Lex throws an arm over my shoulder, and I let go of one of the monkey bars. Smile!

“Okay, everyone,” shouts a girl with long black hair and oversized geek-chic glasses. “Last one. Ready? CHEESE!”

The little kids scream “cheese,” and I purposely close my eyes.

“Okay, folks, lunch!”

The kids cheer because there’d been a pizza rumor. My arms feel like jelly, and my hands are raw from the cold. I jump down from the apparatus, then throw my hair into a messy bun, forgetting that someone had spent an hour making it look all supermodelish. Eric snaps a shot, and I feel slutty because I kind of grinned at him in a slightly come-hither way even though less than ten hours ago, I was kissing Patrick.

“Dude, I need a cigarette,” Benny says.

I rub my arms to get the blood circulating again. “I need a massage.”

He glances at my outfit. “We look like we just ran away from prep school.”

It’s true. We’re wearing sweater vests. And plaid.

“Screw sweater vests,” I say.

He gives me a nod, his face serious. “Before we ceremoniously burn them, wanna come with me to the gas station? I finished my last cig this morning.”

“I thought you were going to quit.”

“Yes, because it’s easy to quit smoking on days like this.”

“Okay, let’s go before anyone catches us.”

We slink behind Kirk’s elaborate barbecue and into the front yard, which is pretty hard to do because it’s basically rigged up like a freaking CIA safe house. There are about a gazillion cameras mounted onto the walls, plus the high security fencing around our whole property.

“Oh, good, I was afraid they’d be blocking me in,” he says, as we slip into our car.

I click the gate opener, and the tall metal doors slowly creak open. Benny does a twenty-three-point turn, which takes about ten minutes because there are a ton of vehicles parked all over our front drive. I fiddle with my iPod, trying to find the right song to counteract my schizo morning. As Benny pulls out of the driveway, he slams on the brakes, hard.

“What the hell?” I shout, throwing my hands against the dashboard.

“Chlo. Look.”

I glance across the street.

“Shit,” I say. “Back, back,” I yell, holding up my hands to block my face.

Benny reverses our Hyundai, nearly crashing into Chuck’s Benz. I throw my head into my lap as the gates close, hoping they weren’t able to get a clear picture of my face.

Benny hits the steering wheel. “How did the goddamn paparazzi get our address?”

I shake my head, staring at the closed gate. The Vultures were circling again.

www.metareel.com/bakersdozen/comingsoon

INT—BAKER HOME—AFTERNOON:
The
Baker’s Dozen
theme music plays. [BETH BAKER-MILLER sits with KIRK at the Baker-Miller dining room table.]

BETH BAKER-MILLER:
How can I describe the past four years? [sighs] Hard. Terrifying. There were nights I would just lie awake, missing Andrew, feeling lost. Being a single mom to thirteen kids is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I love them more than anything in the world. They’re my everything.

[Images of the BAKER FAMILY before the show’s cancellation]

KIRK MILLER:
[standing on the Baker-Miller front porch] Being the stepfather of thirteen kids is … [chuckles and shakes his head] Well, it’s a truly unique experience. Sometimes I sit back and watch Beth and think, How is she sane? She’s amazing.

LEXIE
™
BAKER:
[sitting on her bed] When the show ended, it was like losing Dad all over again.

[CUT to image of ANDREW BAKER with the children. CUT to BETH, sitting beside KIRK in the Baker-Miller dining room.]

BETH BAKER-MILLER:
[tearful, dabbing at her eyes] Worst memory? When we almost lost Bonnie™. There is nothing worse than having a doctor tell you your baby might not make it.

[CUT to clip of BONNIE™ being put on a stretcher.]

VO: LEXIE
™
:
I know Bonnie’s ashamed of what happened in season thirteen. I think that’s why she’s afraid of the cameras now—she hasn’t gotten over it. I mean, how do you get over trying to kill yourself?

[CUT to clip of BONNIE™ in the kitchen with her mother.]

BONNIE
™
:
Mom. Have you ever asked yourself why your thirteen-year-old daughter wanted to swallow a bunch of pills?

[CUT to KIRK standing on the Baker-Miller front porch.]

KIRK:
Andrew left a big gaping hole in the heart of this family. I don’t pretend I can fill it. The wounds these kids feel are deep. They’ll never get over what he did to them.

[CUT to BENTON™ in the Baker-Miller living room.]

BENTON
™
:
My name’s Benton™, and I’m an alcoholic.

[VO plays over recent footage of the family.]

VO:
Tune in next week for a special two-hour live episode of
Baker’s Dozen: Fresh Batch.
[Theme music]

SEASON 17, EPISODE 12

(The One in the Janitor’s Closet)

So, yeah, the secret is totally out. Once the Vultures found us, MetaReel immediately put our photos up on the website and began airing the promo for the first episode, which, apparently, is going to be live. Benny said that must have been what Mom and Chuck were talking about, but that still doesn’t make sense. Chuck said there would be “joy” on my siblings’ faces. The thought of a live episode is doing nothing but making all of us jittery. It’s one thing to have cameras taping you. It’s quite another to know that
at that moment
there are millions of people watching.

These are the texts I got about three hours after the Vultures snapped our photos:

Tessa:
You need to call me. Like NOW. My little sister just saw your picture on celeb.com.

Mer:
Um. I just looked on MetaReel’s website. WTF? You’re Bonnie??

Darren (dude from my English class):
Hey. This is Darren from English. We did that Kafka project together in Sept.? RU really Bonie Baker?

Yeah,
B-O-N-I-E.

*   *   *

Mom, on Sunday night, after the magazine people finally leave: “KIDS, DOWNSTAIRS!”

“Oh, so now they want to talk about all this crap?” Benny grumbles.