school acronym for Going To Hell), and definitely the new Queen of Slutville. In horror, I skulked behind the row of chalets and around the back in mortal fear that Alex might see me, and Karl and Naomi, too. Anyone. Could I be fired for this?
Oblivious to my need to remain hidden, the sun began to fill the sky. I fumbled over rocks and jogged through a winding, unfamiliar path that led me to a clearing. When I saw the coast was clear, I bolted toward my place. In my periphery, I noticed someone walking.
No! You don’t exist! I ignored him. If I didn’t see him, he couldn’t see me. Pfew, I thought, nearly home.
I was on the final stretch when one of the lighting grips peeked his head out of the tech shack.
Nooooooooooo!
“Morning, Jane,” he snickered with a funny look on his face.
I pretended to be serious and in a rush. “Morning,” I replied. “Just. . . uh. . . picking up my call sheet.”
“Uh, huh,” he laughed.
The ball of clothing in my fist screamed Walk of Shame! Who was I trying to kid? I kept my head down and continued my walk-jog to my chalet. The floorboards squeaked as I headed up the stairs and snuck through my door, as if wide-eared parents were angrily anticipating my return, which they kind of were—Karl’s room was on the same floor as mine.
Given the alcohol-affected drama of hooking up with two guys, I was firmly and suddenly convinced that this reality show should have been about me!
It was six o’clock in the morning. Two days and counting until the end of production. Two choppers, their engine noise deafening, hovered over the castle towers: one for Dagmar and Dominic, and the second for all their assistants. Everyone was on the way to Paris on a shopping trip for Dagmar’s wedding dress. Yahoo! We finally had our ending.
“So, where do you want me?” I yelled to Karl, sounding as subservient as I could.
He was busy organizing people and shouting orders at the PAs. Ever since Beluga-gate, I’d been unable to step back into his good graces, though I wasn’t sure I’d ever been in them. And even though I’d made the Fix Your Life show my new raison d’être, I still needed a job in the interim. With two days left of employment, my fingers were firmly crossed, hoping that Karl would ask me to post-produce the show.
“Well, I’d prefer you without oatmeal running down your leg,” he growled.
Indeed, oatmeal gruel was sliding down the pant leg of my Gap khakis like regurgitated breakfast. It wasn’t my fault—my alarm clock didn’t ring, I was vacuumed out of bed thanks to an especially keen janitor, then had to jog six flights of spiraling staircases with three five-pound camera batteries in my back-pack, my walkie-talkie bouncing off a pant loop and Quaker Oats sludge in my palm because God forbid I miss a meal.
Grant walked up to Karl just as Karl pointed out my ineptness.
“Did you want to see me?” he said to Karl, a smile ready for both of us.
“You two are a team,” Karl chirped as he looked at Grant. “Good luck with her.”
With the soft early morning light hitting him just so, Grant appeared nearly holy. (I had a thing about men and sunbeams.) I stood there, the perfect embodiment of bush league: a stain on my only clean outfit, my face on the puffy side from three weeks of imbibing, and my butt squished into my now snug khakis, all thanks to a rash of emotionally charged binges.
“I’m just going to dump this,” I said to Grant while fondling my oatmeal cup and gesturing toward the garbage can, hoping he wouldn’t stare rump-side as I turned to walk away.
“I’ll be here,” he replied.
I couldn’t believe it. Partnered with him—finally—and it was the end of the show.
A lot had happened since my lusty evening with Grant. Alex and I had continued back and forth to each other’s rooms: we had a few dinners and late nights, rolled around a bit, talked a lot. But it wasn’t the same. Grant was on my mind, especially when I was with Alex. I didn’t know which one I liked better: the quietly handsome creature of the sea, or the swaggering Mr. Hollywood. I didn’t even know if I had a choice. But there was one thing I knew for sure. This dilemma had pretty much thrown Craig into the Land of the Forgotten.