F*CK Reality: Take One Page 8

  I don’t argue as I’m relieved I’m no longer going at this alone.

  “Aren’t you happy to have the company, Brooke?” Addie asks with concern.

  “I am.”

  “Then, by all means, let’s go get you hitched!”

  Shit, I was happy until she put it like that.

  Chapter Nine

  My life is ridiculous.

  Brock

  -

  I haven’t been to California since I was eleven years old and my parents took me to Disneyland one year for summer vacation. At the time, I hadn’t realized there was any other purpose to this state’s existence other than Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.

  Los Angeles is a madhouse.

  To avoid not having to rent a car, I grabbed my suitcase from baggage claim and hailed a cab to the hotel.

  Now that I’ve finally arrived, I’m finding the hotel lounge is flooded with people of all ages. Businessmen in suits, vacationing families, as well as a swarm of young women surround me. I keep my nose down to avoid looking at any one of them in particular just in case they’re here for the same reasons I am. I’m not ready to face anyone from the show just yet.

  “Brock LaDuece?” I hear my name called just short of where I’m standing. A thinly haired, middle-aged man wearing a hunter green polo and khakis extends his hand. “I’m Jerry,” he introduces himself once I’ve returned his gesture.

  “Yes, I’m Brock LaDuece,” I confirm.

  “Give me your bag. I’m here to show you your way to your room and go over what to expect over the next few days before the taping begins.” He grabs the handle of my suitcase and adjusts the handle to his fit. “Come,” He waves. “I’ve checked you in already. Thought I’d save you some time and frustration.”

  During the short walk to the elevators ahead, Jerry scans the crowd of women standing around a large seating area. A tall blonde woman I don’t recognize stands on the wooden surface of a table while clutching a clipboard in her hand. Apparently, she’s attempting to rein in the attention of the chatty women. Her efforts are for naught, as it doesn’t look like it’s doing her any good.

  After hitting the button to the eighteenth floor, Jerry turns to me, rocks on his heels, and smiles.

  “Another season starts,” he utters, nodding in their general direction.

  “Those are the girls from the show?” I question, already figuring that’s the case.

  He turns in place, taking them in. “Quite the lively bunch we have this year. Did you get a chance to review any of their faceless profiles on the plane?”

  Nodding, I return, “I did. Thank you.”

  Technically, I’m not lying. I reviewed three and stopped. Nancy, Joelle, and Mary Ann did nothing other than jog my memory of syndicate rerun comedies I used to watch as a kid. There were no pictures of any of them, and though looks aren’t always what’s important, it would help to put a face to who I was reading about.

  When the elevator door opens, I’m met with two women who look nothing like the plastic ones left in the other room. The dark haired woman looks up and smiles wide and friendly, whereas the lighter haired brunette doesn’t offer me a second glance at all. She looks past me into the foyer of women still chatting along. Her face is expressionless, if not a little puzzled. She turns to her friend and narrows her eyes.

  As I pass her, her shoulder catches mine, finally forcing her to look up and directly at me. She’s cute, no doubt, but not in an overtly, obvious way. The tension around her exasperating beautiful amber eyes is evident as her mouth opens then closes quickly. I assume she was about to excuse herself for bumping me, but her friend clues in on my attention first.

  “She’s a little tired. Neither of us have ever been to L.A. Excuse us,” the darker haired woman explains, grabbing her friend’s arm and pulling her out of the elevator.

  I lose sight of them too quickly and turn my gaze back to Jerry. He reads my aim wrong, thinking it was the girl who spoke that had my attention.

  Shaking his head, he informs me, “She’s not on the show.”

  “Figures,” I reply anyway and let it go.

  Pulling out another file from his briefcase, he hands it over for me to take. We’ve only hit the third floor and have stopped at each so I assume this is his way of not wasting time.

  Opening the file, I skim through what looks to be a set of rules and regulations. Yellow highlighted marks capture my attention first.

  “We’ll be going over this in tomorrow morning’s meeting. All of the contestants are required to attend. We’re meeting in the Grande Room at eleven. Your meeting will be held separately at eleven thirty.”

  “Am I supposed to memorize all this?”

  He laughs. “No. That’s why I’ve highlighted the passages that pertain specifically to you. The rest are for the girls as well as the staff.”

  “There’s a lot here,” I comment, flipping through a few more pages, all of which are stapled to the top of the folder.

  “It’s the same contract you’ve already signed. There’s nothing in there that’ll surprise you later.”

  Jerry seems like an okay guy, so rather than continue charging him with a barrage of questions, I’ll wait and get them answered tomorrow.

  “This is it,” he tells me as the elevator opens to a penthouse suite door. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a plastic credit card key and hands it over. “This one is yours. You’ve got the Presidential suite for the duration of your stay. Full bar, hot tub, and other amenities you’ll be able to find yourself.”

  “Nice,” I say, looking around the area without truly seeing it. I’m too tired.

  Slapping me on the shoulder, he informs, “If you need anything, you call me. My business card is by the hotel phone with my number in case you think of something before tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I return.

  “It’s good to have you here, Brock. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Four hours later, I check my phone for the time. It’s only eight o’clock, and I’m bored out of my mind. I’ve showered off the airplane ride, unpacked most of my things, and have perused through the entire suite. It’s not home away from home by any means, but sure as hell beats the Red Roof Inn.

  I receive a text at 08:07 p.m.

  Drew: So? How’s it going? Have you met Mrs. Brock LaDuece yet?

  I stare at the text message notification as it waits for me to open it. I think back to the asshole who got me into this mess in the first place and wonder why he’s not here. It should be Drew going through this, not me. If the situation were reversed, though, I’d probably be having as much fun with this as he is.

  Me: Kiss my ass.

  The phone rings in my hand so I answer it, if only to avoid the ringtone of Rocky he assigned himself months ago during a drunken poker night.

  “You’re going to be a stick in the mud the entire time, aren’t you?” he starts before I’m able to say so much as ‘bite me’ or ‘fuck you.’

  “Yes,” I respond with petulance as I stand to look outside the bay window of my room. The city looks crowded and busy; exactly the way I feel in being in it.

  Drew sighs his frustration. “Consider this an adventure, Brock. You need a wife, they need a show. You get your pick of eight women—eight hot and available women. How hard can this shit be?”

  “You’d think that,” I answer.

  Unbeknownst to me, my mind shifts back to the light haired brunette from the elevator. The way she looked around that room, completely uncertain and lost in a space filled with all those beautiful and confident women. I felt the same in that I didn’t want to be there.

  “Nick says to suck it up.” I hear Nick in the background saying more, but Drew filters the translation as only he can. “Anyway, we wanted to call and wish you luck tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I grumble, this time with less peevishness. Suddenly, I’m feeling like a kid at camp who wants to go home after only spending one night.

  Hel
lo Mother, hello Father, greetings from camp, pick a wife.

  This sucks.

  “Brock?” Drew addresses with question, his tone changing from jovial to serious.

  “Yeah?”

  “Make this work. Give it a chance. You haven’t found a woman on your own, and you won’t listen to my advice ever, but this time please hear me.”

  Looking to the floor, I rest my hand on my hip while gripping the phone to my ear.

  “I will,” I pledge. “How the hell did my life get to be this?” I ask in jest, but his answer is immediate.

  “Because we let it.”

  I suppose we did. One for all, all for one, I guess.

  “I have an interview tomorrow,” he tells me quietly. I hear the regret in his voice, as well as his dream of being a professional golfer fade.

  “Where?”

  With more defeat, he responds, “Trade’s Auto. Nick’s trying to get me on. They had a structural change. He’s not going to lose his job, thank God.”

  Shit. No matter or not, Nick hates his job. Drew will hate it more.

  “If you need a reference, give them my mom. Don’t give them mine. I have too many stories I could tell to get you out of it.”

  “Thanks, shithead. Take care and call me later,” he concludes before disconnecting the call.

  My forehead rests on the glass of the window as I continue looking down. I need out of this room and away from the ominous thoughts of marriage, kids, unemployed friends, and sure as hell, considering where I am right now, cute brunettes with hauntingly beautiful amber eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  Addie doesn’t hate him.

  Brooke

  -

  “Holy shit, Brooke. Would you look at this place?” Addie gushes, lifting her arms around the room and twirling in place now that she’s had time to look around and take it all in. “I mean, who lives like this?”

  The hotel room is nice, but my best friend is being dramatic.

  “Would you stop gaping? Come help me unpack.”

  When we arrived to check in to the hotel, the front desk clerk gave us our keycards while informing us we’d be sharing our room with another contestant from the show. Willow said my late arrival wasn’t a problem, and that sometimes the girls do room together. It helps bond us, creating friendships in the face of adversity. I didn’t understand, considering I don’t plan to make friends. Not to mention, I’m thankful enough to have Addie here.

  Our roommate’s name is Ryleigh Summers. She wasn’t here when we arrived earlier, and I didn’t see her downstairs for the meeting we were late in attending. But, just like college, her first name was listed on the door to our room, so apparently, she belongs to us.

  After check-in, Addie and I went downstairs for the first initial meeting Willow had called to order. She sent a mass text message to several of us. Some replied, some didn’t. I can’t put faces to names yet, let alone numbers, so I didn’t put much weight into the person who texted back, ‘Righty Ho!’ or the other one who replied, ‘I have cramps, can’t make it.’

  When we made our way into the lounge where we were told to be, we found Willow was standing on a table, trying to capture the attention of the many initial contestants, along with others who I assume were there for Willow’s support.

  Her arms were waving around her head, and for a few seconds I thought she was about to throw the clipboard she carried out into the crowd. It took her no less than forty-five minutes to quiet the group before she started to go over what we should expect to happen over the next few days.

  All of it sounded ridiculous.

  Meetings, paperwork, wardrobe, along with meet and greets between the contestants are all scheduled. By the time we’d finished, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to poke my eyes out with needles or get so drunk I dreamed of being transported back home.

  “Do you think that Ryleigh chick will care if I bunk with her?” Addie asks.

  She’s serious; I know she is. I’m a deep sleeper. When I’m sick or stressed, I have a tendency to kick like crazy. I even snore on occasion. These are habits of mine she’s hated since we were kids.

  “She doesn’t know me, but do you think she’ll care?”

  “Probably,” I reply as I heave my suitcase to my bed across from the vacant one. “Maybe she won’t show up and you’ll have it all to yourself.”

  “I want to know who the rich guy is. I’m dying to find out if he has a brother.”

  “Of course you are,” I mumble, pulling out my now wrinkled favorite shirt and hanging it on a bullshit wooden hanger before laying it on the bed. “Do you not remember your boyfriend, Scottie?”

  Addie must not have heard my flippant question. I hear her walking toward me before coming into view. She yanks a perfectly ironed shirt from my hands and tosses it to the floor to get my attention.

  “Scottie and I aren’t serious. We’re growing apart,” she tells me without a trace of sadness. “I need a change of view.”

  When I turn my glare at her, I find her smiling.

  “What?” I clip. “What are you looking at?”

  Grabbing my shoulders, she squeezes them while looking in my eyes. “You’re going to lighten up. This is why your dad insisted I come with you,” she reminds me. “Fun, Brooke. This is going to be fun. You’re only twenty-six once. Live it up, woman.”

  “Right,” I snip, then turn back to my bag. “Your enthusiasm is making me want to drink.”

  She laughs and points to the black mini-bar fitted beneath the hotel dresser.

  “What’s your flavor? We have...” She opens the door and rattles off four or five liquors I’m not familiar with, as I normally just drink beer. “Shit, I don’t even know what to make with all this.”

  Setting the clothes down, I turn to my friend and negotiate. “It’s only nine-thirty. We can sleep in late tomorrow. If you’d help me finish here, we can go down to the hotel bar and grab a drink.”

  “You’ll wear this?” she asks, holding up a short, black pencil skirt. “And this?” she questions next, holding up a frilly, silk, short sleeve dress shirt to match. “Oh God. And these!” Now she’s insisting. She’s put together an entire ensemble in less than thirteen seconds.

  To appease her and get her moving so I can have that drink I so desperately need, I agree. “Yes, I’ll wear all of that.”

  “Sweet!” she enthusiastically exclaims. “I’ll unpack the bathroom. That’ll give you time to sort your stuff. Then we can sort mine.”

  About an hour later, we’ve got most of our things put away and we’re standing near the door to leave.

  “I’ve got everything, right?” Addie queries, checking the contents of her small black clutch purse. “ID, check. Lipstick, check. Money, check.”

  “Jesus, Addie. Enough,” I quip with lost patience. The time I needed a drink was an hour ago.

  “Okay, okay,” she snaps back. “Don’t get bitchy.”

  As soon as we’re finally set to leave, the sound of the lock clicks and the door opens to a young, beautiful woman standing just outside of it.

  Her hair is long, blonde, and curly. Her eyes are bright blue, sitting high above natural blushed cheeks. I notice her straight white teeth and overly generous chest next. Her skin is bronzed—natural or not is anyone’s guess.

  “Um, hi,” Addie greets in surprise. It’s obvious by her tone and lack of greeting she’s taking in the woman’s beauty as I just did.

  “Hi!” the stranger greets back with excitement. Her shoulders shrug enthusiastically as her arms hang at her sides holding a large suitcase handle in each hand. “I’m Ryleigh.”

  “Our roomie,” I reply. “I’m Brooke, and this is my friend, Addie.”

  “Girls, I am so glad to be here. I had a horrible trip, coming all the way from Louisiana. My mama cried and cried and cried. I almost missed my plane!”

  I’m loving Ryleigh already. Her deep, southern accent, in addition to her sweet girl next-door appearance, is endearing.
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  “We were just heading to the hotel bar for a drink. Do you want to come?” Addie offers.

  Ryleigh shakes her head and closes her eyes. “No, but thank you. I just wanna take a hot bath and turn in early. But I’ll catch up with you two in the morning.”

  Addie and I step aside to allow Ryleigh to enter. She takes in the room and moves to her bed, throwing her luggage on top of it before turning around.

  “Have fun, ladies.” She bids us goodbye before Addie closes the door on our way out.

  Addie has nothing to say until we’re standing inside the elevator alone. That’s when she turns to me with a mischievous smile.

  “She’s really pretty.”

  “She is,” I agree. “I love her sundress.”

  “She has nice hair,” Addie adds. “And her shoes were adorable.”

  “She has nice teeth,” I include.

  “And her eyebrows are perfectly arched, too.” Addie grins.

  When I face forward, taking in our appearance in the elevator’s metal doors’ reflection, I’m hardly able to control my laughter.

  “You hate her,” I whisper on a gasp.

  “I so freaking do,” she spits out, then busts out into a burst of laughter.

  When the elevator doors open on the bottom floor, I look up and take in the man standing in front of us. He has dark hair, dark eyes, and a strong jaw lined with two-day growth. He’s wearing a nice suit jacket, which defines his broad chest. His hand is holding a key-card, looking a lot like ours, only his is black.

  Once he enters the elevator and stands between Addie and I, we both freeze in place, unable to move.

  “I like his suit,” Addie whispers from his other side.

  My finger continuously presses on the button in order to leave the door open, but I multi-task to peer around him and look at her like she’s crazy. He says nothing, but drops his head and pins me with a confused expression.

  I’d be confused as well, considering this is where Addie and I are supposed to step off.

  “He has nice hair,” she says next. “And his shoes,” she adds. “He has really nice teeth, too.”