When You Least Expect It (24 page)

“No, we’re good,” Lainey said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

India came in just as Lainey clicked the off button on the phone. Her curls were bunched on the top of her head in a bun and secured with a pencil. She smiled when she saw Lainey.

“Did you pick up your prints?” India asked.

“I was waiting for you to get back. I’ll go over and get them now.”

“I can’t wait to see them,” India said.

Lainey nodded, hesitating. She wanted to tell India about the casting call for the reality show, but Flaca’s warnings were ringing in her thoughts. What if India was just pretending to be her friend, humoring her, trying to keep her happy so she didn’t back out of the adoption agreement?

“Is everything okay?” India asked. When she frowned, vertical lines puckered between her eyes. She nodded toward the phone, which was still in Lainey’s hand. “Did you get some bad news?”

“No, that was just my friend Flaca.” Lainey hesitated. She wasn’t sure if India would approve of the reality show. But this immediately annoyed her. Who cared if she disapproved? It wasn’t any of India’s business. And when had she, Lainey, ever worried what anyone thought of her?

“She called to tell me about this casting call they’re having in Miami. For a reality show,” Lainey said abruptly.

India nodded. “That’s what you’ve been wanting to do.”

“Yeah. I’m going to the audition.” Lainey felt self-conscious under the weight of India’s gaze. She shrugged and tossed her hair back. “It probably won’t lead to anything—I’ll still be huge—but I might as well try out.”

“You definitely should.”

Lainey was startled by India’s enthusiasm. She’d gotten the distinct feeling that India didn’t really approve of her plan to get on a reality show. “Really?”

“You said this was your dream, right? Well, I firmly believe in following your dreams,” India said. “When’s the audition?”

“April fifteenth.”

“Do we have anything on the calendar that day?”

Lainey flipped a few pages forward in the engagement book. “No, that’s one of the days you wanted to keep open so you could work on the show.”

“Excellent. Then I’ll take you down there myself.”

Lainey stared at her. “What?”

“I’ll drive you down to the audition.”

Lainey’s eyes narrowed. “Do you just want to keep an eye on me? Are you worried that I’ll get stressed out and go into early labor or something?”

India looked genuinely surprised. “What? No. I want to give
you moral support. And if I do the driving, it will be one less thing you have to worry about.”

“Oh … okay then,” Lainey said. Then, after an awkward pause, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” India said. “Now go pick up your prints! I can’t wait to see them.”

On the morning of the casting call, Lainey and India left while it was still dark out. It had rained overnight, leaving behind a thick veil of water droplets on the car. India was worried about traffic—she said it was always worse when the roads were wet—and Lainey wanted to make sure she’d be near the front of the line of hopefuls. They stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru for muffins, coffee (for India), and orange juice (for Lainey), and then got on I-95 just as the first pink fingers of morning light were creeping into the sky.

“Are you nervous?” India asked as she sipped her coffee.

Lainey shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe a little.”

A small smile played on India’s lips.

“What?” Lainey asked.

“I’ve just never heard you admit to any sort of vulnerability before. You’re so stoic. When I first met you, you intimidated me.”

“I did? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” India said. “You were just so poised and together. I was never like that when I was your age. You’re a strong person, Lainey. Remember that during your audition. They’d be lucky to get you on their show.”

Lainey shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the weight of this praise.

“How long do you think you’ll be?” India asked.

“I’m not sure, but Flaca’s wedding is at five o’clock.”

“So we’ll have to leave by one or two o’clock at the latest,”
India said. “Good thing we’re getting there early. Hopefully, you’ll be at the front of the line.”

“Hopefully,” Lainey repeated.

She turned to stare out the window. She was too nervous to talk, and after a while, India gave up trying to make conversation. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

The commuter traffic surging down to Miami slowed their progress, so it was nearly nine in the morning by the time India pulled in front of the Hyatt Regency.

“I’ll drop you off here and then go look for parking,” India said.

“No. I don’t want you to wait with me,” Lainey said.

She busied herself retrieving her Coach handbag from the floor so that she didn’t have to see India’s hurt expression.

“Are you sure?” India asked. “Because I don’t mind.”

Lainey nodded. “I’m sure,” she said.

“Okay. I guess I’ll go over to the Miami Art Museum. They’re having a Charles Cowles exhibit I’ve been hearing good things about. So, you have my cell phone number, right? Just call me when you’re done, and I’ll come get you.”

Lainey nodded and climbed out of the car.

“Good luck,” India called after her, but Lainey shut the door without saying a word.

Lainey waited in line for three hours. The casting call was being held on the second floor of the hotel, and the hallway outside the room where auditions were being held was filled with young hopefuls. Some of the girls had come with friends, and they stood together in loose knots. Others chatted on their cell phones or texted while they waited. After Lainey got her number, she sat on the floor, leaning against the wall to relieve the ache in her lower back.

A woman with a clipboard called out the numbers one by one. When Lainey’s number was finally called—sixty-seven—she struggled to her feet, trying to ignore the surprised looks the other girls were shooting her. She could hear a few whispered exclamations of “She’s pregnant!” as she passed through the corridor.

“Right in here,” the woman with the clipboard said as she ushered Lainey into a small conference room.

The size of the room surprised Lainey. She’d imagined the auditions would be held in a big ballroom with chandeliers and a parquet floor. Instead, it was just a normal, rectangular room, like the one she’d met India and Jeremy in at the lawyer’s office, only without the large conference table. Instead, there was a much smaller folding table set up across the far, short side of the room. Two men and a woman sat behind it, their heads bent together in conversation. Lainey hesitated at the door, but the woman waved to her without looking up and said, “Come on in.”

Lainey walked in, closing the door behind her.

“Do you have a head shot?” the younger of the two men asked. He had highlighted hair and a dark goatee and wore a tight-fitting V-neck T-shirt. Lainey guessed he was in his late twenties.

She was glad India had suggested she bring a head shot. It was a good one, too, she thought. India had taken it at the studio, and then she and Lainey had pored over the proofs to make sure they selected the best picture. India had also urged her to take one of the shots from their first photo session at the beach, back when she was still hardly showing. Lainey was worried that she looked fat in it, but India had insisted it was beautiful and unusual enough to help Lainey stand out from the crowd. The two pictures were in a manila envelope, which Lainey clutched in her hands.

Goatee Boy and his two associates—the woman had short blonde hair and black-framed glasses; the second man was balding and had a receding chin—finally stopped talking, and looked up at Lainey for the first time. All three gawked at her.

“Oh, my God! Are you pregnant?” Goatee Boy asked.

The blonde woman rolled her eyes and sighed impatiently. “The casting call clearly said that we’re looking for single people to live in a house for four months. You’re wasting our time.”

“I am single,” Lainey said quickly.

“Yeah, well, we aren’t looking for new mothers. Thank you. On your way out, please ask the next girl to come in.”

Lainey could feel the opportunity slipping away, and she grasped for it, panicked that she’d come all this way to be dismissed after two minutes.

“I’m not going to be a mother. I’m not keeping the baby,” she said quickly. “I’m putting it up for adoption.”

“Really?” The older man—Lainey thought he looked a bit like a turtle, with his small eyes and chinless face—looked up at her, his eyes thoughtful as they roamed over her body.

“It doesn’t matter. This is a show about dating, not about getting over postpartum depression,” the blonde woman said.

“She is very pretty,” Turtle Man said.

Lainey thought that he was probably the one in charge, for the blonde woman shut up and Goatee Boy narrowed his eyes, examining her with renewed interest.

“She’d photograph well,” Goatee Boy said. “Her cheekbones are divine.”

“When’s the baby due?” Blonde Woman asked.

“June,” Lainey said.

“That’s two months. And another two more before we start filming,” Turtle Man said.

“Doesn’t it take most women longer than that to lose the weight?” Blonde Woman said.

Lainey felt a surge of antagonism toward this woman, with her sharp, judgmental eyes and thin lips.

“I have a great metabolism,” Lainey said. “I never put on weight. In fact, I have a hard time keeping weight on.”

This wasn’t exactly true—she’d always exercised like a fiend to avoid getting fat—but it was fun to see the flash of jealousy cross over Blonde Woman’s face. Lainey guessed that Blonde Woman probably had to subsist on turkey and cottage cheese to wedge herself into her size-eight jeans.

“It could be an interesting plotline,” Goatee Boy said. “The birth mother who’s overcoming the heartbreak of being separated from her child, now looking for love and a second chance. I bet it would resonate with viewers.”

“It could alienate them,” Blonde Woman argued. “This show is supposed to be glitzy. Hot girls, sexy guys, cool clubs. She’d be a downer.”

Lainey was stunned. She knew her body had changed, but
this
was how people saw her now?
I’m still young!
she wanted to shout.
Young enough to walk around in a bikini, and hang out in clubs, and get hit on by every straight guy in Miami!
And it was beyond annoying how they all kept talking about her as though she wasn’t there. Lainey fisted the hand not clutching the photographs, until the nails cut into her palm.

“You could be right,” Turtle Man said. “On the other hand, it could be inspiring. And parents’ groups might just love it.”

“Parents’ groups would love a young unmarried mother?” Blonde Woman asked skeptically.

“One that’s lived with the consequences of her actions
and
who selflessly put her baby up for adoption? Absolutely they’d love it. They might even endorse the show,” Turtle Man said.

“I don’t think we need the Moral Majority’s approval,” Blonde Woman said.

Turtle Man gave her a cold look. “You’d rather they condemned us?”

“Yes! That’s great press! Just think of all of those teen girls out there, dying to see what’s happening on our show that’s causing their parents’ heads to spin around!”

“Maybe if it were 2002 again. Kids today are jaded. They’ve already seen the envelope pushed to the edge,” Goatee Boy argued. “A show that parents would actually approve of might just be fresh enough to get some media attention. I can see
Entertainment Weekly
and
Seventeen
doing stories on her.” He thrust his chin in Lainey’s direction.

“Then why don’t we just do a show about Mormon schoolgirls saying their prayers every night?” Blonde Woman snapped. “I’ll tell you why: It’s boring. No one wants wholesome television. And if they do, well, that’s what
Little House on the Prairie
reruns are for.”

“Enough, you two.” Turtle Man ended the argument by raising one finger in the air. Goatee Boy and Blonde Woman both fell silent. “What’s your name?”

“Lainey Walker,” Lainey said. She handed Goatee Boy the questionnaire she’d already filled out, along with the envelope containing her photographs.

Turtle Man glanced over her paperwork. “You haven’t done any television before?”

Lainey shook her head. “No.”

“What’s your availability? We’re planning to start filming in August, and it’s a four-month commitment. You’d have to agree to live on set, be filmed twenty-four/seven, and have limited contact with friends and family. Would you be willing to do that?”

“Absolutely,” Lainey said, nodding eagerly.

“You know the basic concept of the show? The idea is for each of the seven girls to work with matchmakers and psychologists and image consultants in order to find her Mr. Right. In fact, that’s the name of the show:
Looking for Mr. Right
. So we want to make sure our cast is actually single. We don’t want to have a situation where a cast member is having her dates filmed, only to find out she’s got a boyfriend or husband back home.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband,” Lainey said.

“What about the father?” Turtle Man asked.

“He’s out of the picture,” Lainey said. Blonde Woman smirked, obviously not believing this. Lainey glared at her. “No,
really
. I haven’t seen him in months.”

“All right. Thank you for coming in,” Turtle Man said.

“That’s all?” Lainey asked. “You don’t want to ask me any more questions?”

“Not at this time,” Turtle Man said. “If we’re interested, you’ll hear from us in a few weeks. If you don’t hear back, it means you didn’t make the cut.”

Lainey nodded, understanding that she was being dismissed. Who knew if she’d ever have an opportunity like this again? A sense of urgency swelled inside of her, and she took a step forward.

“Just so you know, I really want to be on this show. I’ll do whatever it takes,” Lainey said, wishing she had the words to make a more compelling case, to make them see just how perfect she would be.

But Turtle Man just nodded at her, and then Blonde Woman murmured something in his ear, diverting his attention away from Lainey. Goatee Boy busied himself flipping through the pile of questionnaires on the table in front of him. Realizing she’d been dismissed, Lainey turned and left.