What Pretty Girls Are Made Of (10 page)

That Friday night it was pouring rain, bleak and cold outside, but I didn’t feel any of the dreary elements as nothing could cloud my pre-trip excitement. Sally, Giuseppe, and I were leaving at seven the next morning. And I was choosing to focus on the thrill of going to QVC rather than to dread the extended solo time with Sally. I would finally get to see firsthand what this television shopping community was really like. TV selling was still a new beast to me, and the best way to conquer it was to see it from the inside.

“I’ve decided to allow you to use your entertainment experience to help produce my QVC shows, ya little showbiz girl. Aren’t you a lucky little Pal-y Ali,” Sally had said two weeks ago.

Is Sally finally realizing that I’m not just a lowly assistant?
I’d wondered.
This could be a new beginning for me here!

I knew the models, so I’d studied all the hosts and staff as much as possible over those fourteen days.

“You do realize how lucky you are to be going to Pennsylvania with Sally and Giuseppe, don’t you?” Helen half questioned and half accused as I left work the night before my trip. “They don’t usually take anyone other than a makeup artist with them. It’s an inner-circle thing. I’m just saying.”

“I’m really stoked for the opportunity,” I replied, realizing that in her two-decade tenure at the studio, she’d never been to QVC. I didn’t want to rub it in.

“Yeah, so enjoy.” The New Jersey in her made it sound more like a threat than a wish.

I knew I should go to bed early that night, and had planned on doing laundry and resting up before the big weekend. I was in the midst of packing and mentally digesting the past few days at the office when at 6:45, my phone buzzed with a text. It was from Kenny.

KG:
Hey there. Greetings from the 11th floor! Hope ur enjoying this unbelievably gorgeous night!

Yes—he texted! And somehow, his use of “ur” didn’t annoy me like Sally’s “ur” did. Since it was a Friday night, I waited a little while to text him back. As far as he knew, I was getting ready to go out—or was already out for the night.

ALI:
Yes, fantastic weather - perfect for the hair! You?

KG:
Just picked up sushi. Should’ve had it delivered, I’m soaked. By the way . . . promise I’m not stalking u . . . but do you have a black and white monkey poster in your bedroom?

Could he see into my apartment from his windows?
Oh my God!
I guess, since he was on eleven and I was on ten (and both facing the courtyard), he looked down and right into my bedroom. This could be a problem. I never put my shades down. Loved the open view. I was a New Yorker—there was no shame in being an exhibitionist. And of all the apartment windows in the city, who would be looking into mine?
This guy.

ALI:
I cannot believe you risked bad hair to pick up dinner in this weather! Hope it’s 5 stars! Uh oh . . . They aren’t monkeys (more like abstract art) . . . but is it over the bed???

KG:
Directly over the bed, yeah. Don’t worry—I haven’t seen much at all. I need new binoculars ASAP.

ALI:
Whoa! I knew that never putting my shades down would someday bite me in the ass . . . eek!

KG:
How’d you know I’m a biter?

Oh wow. He was totally flirting with me. And he could see through my windows.
So he must know that I’m home tonight, since my lights are on. Wrench in my
plan.

ALI:
I didn’t . . . Guess I just got lucky.

KG:
Lucky indeed. Are you venturing out in rain? Or r u hanging in?

ALI:
Hanging in. Have to leave early for a biz trip tomorrow. You?

KG:
Staying in. If ur up for hanging for a bit, feel free to knock. (Promise no biting.) If not . . . just leave your shades open.

ALI:
Ha! Well . . . was going to do laundry and finish packing for my trip, but I may need to see this view of yours for myself. Can I bring anything?

KG:
No. U may not bring anything. Thanks. Come whenever. 11-Q.

Could he really see into my windows? It would make sense.
What has he
seen that I don’t know about?
At least I didn’t sleep on the window side of the bed.

Now, what to wear to the eleventh floor? It was a rainy day and I was hanging at home as we were texting, so if I showed up in anything more than very casual, he would sense the effort.

I settled on cute sweats and a casual hoodie with a tank top—had to show a little something, but not too much. The makeup looked good, clean and minimal. And no lipstick. Probably would have pissed Sally off.

I walked up to the eleventh floor and knocked on Kenny’s door. He opened it with a smile on his face, wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
Okay, good.
I wasn’t over- or underdressed. The lights were dim, his television was on, and the spotless black-and-gray-dominant bachelor pad didn’t disappoint—it was the stereotypical finance/lawyer-type barely-lived-in home.

“First and foremost, I need to see this view, if you don’t mind.” I swept by him with a smile. He laughed and took me to his living room windows, where the shades were already open.

“Oh yes, that’s my bedroom.”

This dude can see right through my windows and half of my bed!

“I was hoping you would bring me some binoculars,” he teased as I stood by the window with my mouth agape.

“I want to know what kind of shows you’ve seen from your window seat!” I baited him, pushing his shoulder lightly.

“Well, fine. Even though you didn’t bring binoculars for me, I’ll still give you the present I had for you.”

He had a present for me? Wow. Cute
and
generous. I hoped he wasn’t doing this to get me into bed, because that wasn’t happening. He was lucky enough to have a same-night date.

When Kenny came out of his bedroom, he handed me a remote control. “For you.”

A remote?

“I know, it’s random, but I just switched to Verizon FiOS and you said that you have Time Warner, so I thought you would be able to use this, or just in case you needed a replacement remote in the future.”

Different, that’s for sure. Thoughtful or weird?
Of course, I thanked him for it.

“Drink?” he offered, grabbing his already empty glass and walking into the kitchen.

“Just water for me. I have an early wake-up call tomorrow and still have some more packing to do.” My exit strategy, should I need it.

I was looking forward to a PG make-out session, but we sat parallel to each other on the couch, like sardines in a can. Odd. I felt like I was back in high school, wondering if the guy sitting six inches to my right was going to make a move.

Are we actually going to watch a movie?

We chose an offbeat comedy that neither of us had seen. During the first thirty minutes, our elbows would occasionally touch, and after he got up to refill his drink, he sat closer to me and our elbows touched for the rest of the film.

The flirt who texted me about needing binoculars to snoop in my window had this kind of self-control? Was I more appealing through the window?

Since the movie was subpar and I wasn’t getting any love (save for my elbow), I couldn’t wait for the film to be over so I could finish packing and get some beauty sleep for the weekend ahead.

“I’m shy, but I definitely would have tried to talk to you if I ran into you in the building,” he said as the closing credits rolled. “I mean, we did lock eyes a bunch of times at the Chinese restaurant.”

Did he want to lock lips?

“Here,” he said quietly, as he shifted his head toward mine and moved in closer.

YES!

I slowly moved to meet him in the middle.

SMACK!
His hand holding his remote walloped me square in the forehead.

“Oh my God” came out of my mouth as my body tensed. I was flustered, but the only pain I felt was mortification.

“Oh my God,” Kenny repeated. “I just whacked you in the face!”

“Yeah, I got that,” I said out loud, still shocked.

I’m humiliated, but are you going to apologize?

“Wow, your face was like, right there. Can I get you ice or something? Are you hurt? Oh man.”

Declining the ice and dying to look at my face in the mirror, I hightailed it out of there, choosing the excuse of an early morning the next day versus my throbbing (and embarrassed) head. He walked me to the door and said good night. No peck. No apology. Nada.

As I walked down the flight of stairs and down the hall to my apartment, I had only one thought:
I need to shut my fucking shades
.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Temporarily Reduce the Appearance Of

M
y alarm clock woke me up the next morning and I automatically reached for my forehead. Feeling no bump and only slight tenderness, I jumped out of bed. With all the night’s rain gone, I had an easy, traffic-free taxi ride to the studio, where I waited for the red Mercedes to arrive.

Giuseppe met me out front and provided some coffee—“Better start the caffeine now,” he said—and when Sally arrived, we loaded up her car and started our journey.

“One car saves gas,” Sally said, though no one had asked, as Giuseppe and I climbed in, ready for two and a half hours together. We listened to QVC satellite radio—surprisingly entertaining—and since we couldn’t see the products being sold, the three of us got caught up in an extravagant guessing game as to what each item looked like. The electric-blue convertible one-piece Snuggie that doubled as a rain cape was hands down our favorite.

Since QVC was a twenty-four-hour operation and always broadcast live (yes, even the hosts and presenters on air at 3 a.m. are live), it was a place where weekends weren’t counted as weekends. Yet I was grateful to be going to QVC for the first time, no matter the day of the week.

We checked into the local Marriott, freshened up, and in less than ten minutes were back in the car driving to the QVC site, a mere five minutes away.

It was like driving into a theme park or onto a movie lot. The manicured lawn and long, winding driveway hinted at opulence I didn’t expect to find in rural Pennsylvania. QVC was truly the center of West Chester and what kept the area alive, so I guess it made sense that it was a stunning site. We walked up a beautiful flower-lined pathway with a big
Q
sculpture in the center, marking the QVC territory. The back entrance was grand, with a jumbotron broadcasting the shopping network for all who walked by.

Sally and Giuseppe weaved in and out of the hallways to get us to where we needed to be. Like a kid on the first day of school, I followed quietly, taking it all in. We settled into our green room, where we would live for the next two days. I was introduced to those I needed to know.

“This is Alison, Sally’s girl,” Giuseppe would say as I cringed. “She’s here to help us produce and to learn the ropes.” I was met with warm smiles, hellos, and “It’s so nice to put a face to a name.”

While Giuseppe went to the props department and checked on our models, I met with our coordinating producer. I told him which models Sally wanted for which products, and he told me what he would need from me during the show. I felt entirely comfortable with my duties. After all, being backstage and on set wasn’t completely foreign to me. Even the musty wood scent of production smelled like home. Up until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much I missed my old world. Well, not the auditioning part. But everything else.

That’s denial for ya.

I had been giving the beauty industry my unbridled energy, perhaps not acknowledging how much I missed the lights, camera, action of the entertainment industry, or at least feeling fully confident and comfortable in my career path.

I’d been running full steam ahead with beauty blinders on in order to acclimate to my new life. And I thought it was working, but my heart ached just being surrounded by the cameras, headsets, walkies, lights—like the sharp pang of running into an ex-boyfriend just a bit too soon. But also with the same solace and familiarity.

“It’s like going to my grandfather’s house,” I told Madison on a quick phone call, needing to check in. “Not my home, but the familiarity of one close to it.”

“It’s actually good that you feel that way, I think,” she said. “It’s okay to shift your dream or change it. There was a reason why you chose entertainment in the first place, so your homesickness, to keep up the analogy, makes sense.”

“It’s not the past that I ache for—”

“Good.”

“It’s the future,” I said. “I want to find my calling and be certain of it—not just bumble around. Like when I visited Northwestern and knew it was my school. Or my summer camp at age seven—age seven! I knew that eight weeks of my summers were meant to be spent on that Point O’Pines peninsula in Brant Lake.”

“Oh, Alison, you’ll find it. I know you will. It’s just good that you have the motivation to. For whatever reason, sometimes it takes you a little bit longer than it does others. But when you get what you want, it’s better than what everyone else has!”

From your lips . . .

“I heard this saying,” she continued, “ ‘Breathe in the good shit, breathe out the bullshit.’ Go with that for now and see how it works.”

So after a deep breath in (of the good shit), I did my best to snap back into my supporting role for the weekend. I learned that Sally required a fan offstage blowing on her throughout the whole sell. She needed certain brushes, sponges, a bowl of water, M&M’s just in case (with the blue ones removed), and a squirt gun. If she needed to grab someone’s attention while on air, and she wasn’t in the live shot, she would squirt.

Yes, squirt.

I think the QVC staff thought Sally using a squirt gun was clever and even endearing. But there was definitely vindictive joy in her eyes as she squirted and smiled throughout the show.

It was a total change of perspective to watch Sally do her thing, and to contribute to it. While at QVC, Sally was the woman I had met when I’d first walked into her salon with my résumé: all smiles, warmth, and radiant happiness.

The nicest surprise of all was that she was treating me decently. “Little sunshine, if you always do as well as you’re doing this trip, I’m going to put you on air for me,” Sally said when she walked off set after her first show. “Very good choice of models for the blush sell, and good call asking the guys in the booth to put up the numbers sold during the body frosting segment. We sold so much!”

I was happy she was pleased with me, but I was pretty sure it was just the money talking. We had exceeded our on-air goal and sold $963,000 worth of merchandise. Sally was clearly delirious. Her compliment still felt like warm, happy sunshine, though.

Saying that she would put me on air was both a gift and a curse. I knew it was just words for her and that she would say anything to keep me inside the cult. But it took effort to not let my mind wander (too much) about what it would be like to be up there as a host selling her products someday.

Hi, everyone at home
, I said to myself.
We’ve got an amazing new Today’s Special Value for you—can’t wait to dive in and show you each and every product inside of this box of goodness!

The number of goodies that I sent to hosts proved that the perks were amazing. Every time Sally came out with a new product, I would order enough for the beauty hosts (about ten of them in total), and before Sally was on air, I would send a “host package” with new cosmetics and product information. The hosts would often get their treats before I had a set of my own.

Of course, host gifts didn’t pay the bills, but who didn’t like swag?

I had to find a way in. I wasn’t yet sure whether “in” meant the performing side or the business one, but the fire in my belly started kindling. I liked it here.

After three hour-long shows, two ten-minute segments, and $2,666,000 in revenue generated, Sally treated Giuseppe and me to dinner at the local steak house. Taking full advantage of her generosity, I ate filet mignon and drank red wine on the company tab. And just as I had on the car ride to QVC, I actually enjoyed myself. There was hope!

It was getting late, considering the early morning ahead, and we were exhausted and giggly and couldn’t wait to sleep. Giuseppe put the dinner on his corporate credit card. At $110, it wasn’t an overly expensive meal for three people at a steak house. Actually, it was a miracle that steak and wine for three could cost $110! West Chester, PA!

“Dottie is my favorite waitress, guys. I’m leaving her a nice tip,” Giuseppe said. “I mean, she has a kid in college.”

Sally didn’t reply, and it wasn’t my place to agree or disagree, so Giuseppe continued. “We’ll do thirty dollars in cash and call it a day. Okay?” Sally nodded, slightly.

As we wrapped things up, Sally stopped at a nearby table to talk to someone she knew from QVC. She said she would meet us by the red Mercedes when she was done. On my way out, I realized I had left my sweater at the table and hustled back to pick it up.

I really wish I hadn’t seen what I saw then. My boss had left her QVC friend and crept slowly toward our table—the exact opposite direction of the restaurant’s exit. Curious to see what she was doing, I hovered by the front, feigning interest in the flimsy candy jar and matchboxes, making sure I was hidden by the heavy wooden door. Sally looked to the left. And to the right. And when she felt certain that no one was watching, she removed one of the ten-dollar bills that Giuseppe had left as tip money and put it in her pocket. With another look to the left and another to the right, she smoothed out her black-and-white flowery top, put on a smile, and made her way to the exit.

As
The Real Housewives of New York
’s Countess LuAnn would say: “Money can’t buy you class.” I felt sick.

Five a.m. arrived. I wasn’t
ready to start the day—two more hours, please! I hated waking up when it was still dark outside. But it was back to the Q for another day of moneymaking. With an early start and the Q’s daily bustle a few hours away, I was able to get to know one of the hosts over coffee in the communal green room.

“My favorite part of hosting is being able to directly sell affordable products that are meant to enrich people’s lives in some way. You’re not in front of an audience, but you interact with people all over the world through the phone and Internet and you feel like you’re connecting to viewers,” she said. “Does that make sense? I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true. Also, I’m helping someone’s dreams sell. And a steady TV hosting job is hard to come by.”

Any TV job is hard to come by.

The conversation both focused and motivated me—like learning about a new job at career day—and while it was a long shot, I decided to focus on hosting in addition to real job hunting. I had a demo from my Northwestern radio station and show business days, so why not send it out? I hadn’t heard back from SiriusXM, but perhaps they needed my demo, too.
Put it on the list!

“I have some studio news for you, Alison and Giuseppe,” Sally said as we made our way back to the city that evening. “Just after the new year, whatever day we get back, you guys will have a new manager in the studio.”

Yes!
As long as I was still working at the studio, the more people we had to help there, the better.

Giuseppe’s squeal echoed my sentiments. “Details, Steele. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this, you sneak!”

“She’s adorable but firm. I just responded to her. Jennifer. Of course, she’s little and cute. But I think she’ll do a great job. I’m confident about her. Oh, and I heard that she knows the ladies of
The Real Housewives of New York
and runs in a moneyed crowd. Just what we need. I hope we can get her to bring that business into the store.”

Right . . . I just wondered how long she would last.