Most Hated, page 15
There was a small bar, I was told, behind my left elbow, at the back of the boat. I pressed a button and found a cavity filled with expensive bottles of liquor.
It was different from the super-fast gas guzzlers we’d buzz Star Island on, when in Miami, or the noisy pontoons we used to float around on with the other footballers and their wives in Texas. I was expecting this to be painful in an outdated sad way. Production’s nod to the past her best-before date idea of Sabrina and her roots. But the Duffy ride was incredible fun. Sabrina was laughing and smiling lots. Budgie leaned over and acknowledged this, by saying she’d always been happier at the shore.
It was nice. Sam was catty, playing a character, but pleasant and at least seemed to like me.
He reminded me of Mariana’s husband.
Speaking of Mariana, even she seemed to take a break from being horrible. Mind you when the camera was on her she ignored the rest of us and stood up making her way to the front of the boat to do her best Titanic “King of the World” pose, aiming her boobs heavenward. I think she thought she looked like a Bond girl, but it was closer to an outdated bronze figurehead. When she was done, she returned to join us at the back.
We had a bottle of Dom Perignon on the way, and Zoe sat down with us and shared that she had gotten news that the edits of the show to date were perfect and the higher-ups at the network loved it. She went on to say that the four of us were playing especially well, but not to tell anyone else.
***
When we arrived at Nicole’s, we had to wait for them to find her because they needed to film her greeting us. She did, along with a girl who looked Eastern European in a uniform that would have looked at home on a yacht, except that it looked like it may have come from Party City. I didn’t want to be judgmental, but it was too easy around these people.
The girl held a platter of pretty drinks she said were margaritas with some Blue Curacao for color, and we each took one. The house was massive and ultra-modern.
It would have been more at home on the moon.
I leaned over and said this to Mick, who gave me a polite laugh. Gave me a polite laugh. I’m his wife. I need this brand new, weird awkwardness to stop.
“Are these all of your closest, most personal friends then?” Mick asked Nicole.
Nicole laughed, forced and loud and patted him on the chest, “Oh my god, you are too funny! I knew you were hot, but not this funny.”
Oh! She’s flirting. Okay. Whatever.
I wasn’t worried about it.
He didn’t give back the old “let’s not touch, though,” smile that he usually does. He sort of cocked his head and smiled. Flirting back?
No. Stop.
Sort of regretted the fact that Cassie and I had split headphones in the back of class listening to the Nicole Trace album fifteen years ago, since one day she was going to hit on my husband. But whatever.
I wasn’t worried about it at all.
She wasn’t the Nicole Trace she once was.
Dammit, I was growing mean again. Critical Dahlia.
You know, when I was in college and early in my soccer days, I had a teammate, and together we were mean, judgmental, and standoffish to other girls. We would text each other in the locker room about other girls in the locker room. We laughed a lot, which is nice, I guess. But one day, we talked about it and decided we were disgusted with ourselves for how rude and nasty we’d been. We decided then and there to cut it out. Quit cold turkey.
And ever since then, I’d done a pretty good job of sticking to it.
Sure, I could watch some embarrassing crap TV or have an unpleasant exchange with someone at Target and make a snide comment or two, but I was nice. Even in the privacy of my own brain.
This was making me hateful and cynical, and it was all coming back to me. Even if I couldn’t stop the thoughts, I knew I must resist letting them slip.
“If everyone can stop by the phone check right up there, that would be cool,” said Nicole. She seemed far more alert than usual. When I noticed a rabbit-like twitch of the nose, I wondered if I knew why.
“Phone check?” asked Sam.
“Yes, it’s like a coat check, but for your phone,” she said it with a mute whoever you are.
“Really?” asked Budgie. “We do that sometimes at shows since people can’t seem to resist taking pictures and videos and throwing off the actors. But for a party?”
“I value my privacy,” said Nicole, with a sickly-sweet voice I remembered from the days of her youth, but which hadn’t appeared in real life yet. “Thank you for understanding.”
Weird as it was, we accepted her conditions, and walked up to the phone check, where we each received a ticket in exchange for our phones, which went into Ziploc bags. They looked like evidence.
“Plenty of hosts do this, I think it’s so civilized,” said Mariana, taking her ticket. “It’s wonderful to not have everyone on their phones. Living in the moment, you know?”
“God, Lexi’s head might explode,” I said.
Only after I said it, did I realize that might sound mean.
Everyone at the party seemed young. Early twenties max. They almost looked like—and might have been—hired models, but not the quiet brooding ones. These were the kind with big boobs and orange fake tans, and the guys had great bodies and average faces. Did she hire people to fill it out? Otherwise, who would these people be?
Within an hour, I had a theory. The ‘kids’ as I could only think of them, made the party wild, crazy, loud, and perhaps epic! They danced, they squealed, they did shots, they fell in the pool. I supposed in that case, I understood.
Maybe part of this was the contrast—a good way to make Nicole look a little more put together than usual.
I know that’s not the nicest thing to say, but she flirted with my husband and didn’t say a word to me.
Not only that, but the pretty drinks were strong. I didn’t notice until I realized I was getting loose. I was up in front of all the women, telling some story about the high-end hookers in Geneva who used to come into the hotel bar where I stayed.
“… and I swear she saw Obama come out of one of the ballrooms from a speech, and after that, he’s in the lobby and she tried to pull the same move on him!”
Everyone laughed because my delivery was Full Personality. I wasn’t wasted, but I was bursting with False Charisma.
I might have started to wonder if I should be embarrassed, but thankfully, Nicole took the cake.
Shortly after sundown, the live band stopped—as it did periodically to accommodate filming—and someone climbed up on stage to say that there was a big surprise for us.
“Oh no,” I muttered, grabbing Lexi’s shoulder beside me, bracing for what I hoped was about to happen.
An unidentified voice boomed, “Everyone, put your hands together for Nicole Trace!”
There was a teenage me inside somewhere who was excited to see Nicole Trace live. And there was another side of me that feared/hoped it would be the disaster I could only imagine it would be.
Nicole took the stage in a tight bodysuit studded with rhinestones and diamonds. Her hair was in slicked back high pigtails, and she wore coordinated boots. To her credit, she did still have a great body, and there was something about seeing her on stage that made it seem like whatever it was, she’d never quite lost it.
She took to the mic and thanked everybody.
“This is so weird,” I said.
“It’s so weird,” agreed Lexi. “I mean she used to do this like all the time, right? She used to sell out Madison Square Garden, like … what?”
I shook my head, a frozen smile stunned onto my face as I watched her with wide eyes.
“Ooh,” she began.
I looked around for Mick.
He was nowhere to be found.
Dammit. I hoped he was at least seeing this…
“Baby, oh baby, I saw you at the club and knew you were the one, oh baby…”
I was trying not to be a jerk. Don’t laugh, Dahlia, don’t laugh… take another sip of your drink.
Sabrina appeared at my side. “Is she using a backtrack?”
“Oh my god wait,” I said, “if you listen, you can hear her actual voice on top of it.”
By the time it got to the chorus though, the backtrack had been turned down, which she looked surprised by. She kept singing, but it sounded … a lot different.
I was not laughing at her. But what was I supposed to do? If I saw that on TV I would have died.
She was dancing too, with backup dancers. They were all younger by many years, and far more flexible. They shifted and popped from position to position with fierce energy, and she couldn’t quite get there.
I had a hand over my mouth and didn’t even notice.
When it ended, I looked to Budgie, who looked placid.
She felt my gaze, smiled, and said, “Honey, when you been in the singing and dancing industry as long as I have, you get used to keeping a straight face.”
And that said it all.
We all laughed like witches, and I knew I would feel guilty the next day. But for now, it was hilarious.
Mick reappeared, and I was trying not to laugh, but it was harder because everyone else was also trying not to laugh.
“Oh my god, honey did you—did you catch Nicole’s performance?”
“I did.”
“She was using a backing track for like half but then it shut off, and I mean… .”
“Are you making fun of her?”
This sobered everyone.
“What? No, I—”
“She got up in front of people she thought were her friends, and now you’re standing here laughing at her?”
What I couldn’t say was that it was for sure all intended to be great footage, and what I also couldn’t say was that Mick always cringed with me. He was my partner in cringe.
‘Thought were her friends?’ Did any of us think that?
“You have to admit, it was sort of surprising.”
He stared at me, not a glimmer of humor on his face. “I don’t even recognize you, Dahlia.”
He walked straight over to the phone check, handed in his ticket, tossed one more glance at me, then went inside.
Everyone was looking at me.
“I wasn’t laughing at her,” I said. “Not really.”
Everyone looked embarrassed. Embarrassed for me, which was the worst feeling.
“It was crazy to…”
There was no defending it.
Mariana sucked on her straw until it made dry, bubbling sounds.
Seeing as the party itself had no music, there wasn’t even anything to hide the silence. It was quiet. And awful.
Mick was out front waiting for a car. The camera crew followed me, which I thought would piss him off, but it didn’t.
“Mick, I’m sorry, I wasn’t being catty, or I didn’t mean to be. Please stay and take the boat back with me. It’s—”
It’s TV, I wanted to say.
“I’m not going to stand around and watch you act like this.”
I barely knew her. But I couldn’t say that either. The car pulled up.
“Look, let’s go home and talk. I’ll go with you.”
“No, I don’t want to talk. You can stay here.” Mick slammed the door shut on the car and it pulled away.
I never thought I’d feel this way again. This is what it feels like right before you break up. When you can tell that your boyfriend has lost interest or that you have pushed him too far and that you’re about to be thrown back into the sea without a life vest.
That can’t be what’s happening. It only feels like it. It’s not real.
24
Zoe
Zoe, Milo, and Fiona crouched in a dimly lit guest bedroom on Nicole’s property with a pile of phones and an iPad each.
“Anyone getting anything?” asked Zoe.
“I found a text from Duane Reade about an anti-depressant.”
“Who?”
“Lexi.”
“Lexi! Okay screenshot, send, delete, delete from recently deleted. And make a note to add a scene with Nicole talking anti-depressant addiction to her. Hurry, we got to find good stuff. Check their DMs, their texts, their photos. If it’s something we can’t use without it being obvious, we’re going to have Lexi or Mariana ‘find it.’ Make a note if you find a good nude or something.”
Milo was staring at Zoe. As was the GoPro on his chest, meant to capture party b-roll. Zoe was used to the gaze of the camera catching behind the scenes stuff. But still…
“What?” she asked.
“This is a little messed up.”
This wasn’t necessarily kosher. She wasn’t sure if it was the kind of thing that Aleksandr would flow with or not.
It must be. No, for sure it was.
“Yeah? It’s the job. Do you want to start over, Milo, do you want to quit or get fired from a project with Aleksandr, or do you want to shut up and find some gold in these bitches’ phones?”
He shook his head. “You got it.”
They found a lot. A receipt for a stole that was real fur on Budgie’s phone. A fake Birkin purchased for Mariana. Nicole’s Arizona concert getting canceled for low ticket sales. Lexi’s dog was not a rescue but a fancy purebred flown in from Virginia.
Hours of conversation on text between Dahlia and some Cassie, about her distrust in Mick, her impending fears, her insecurities over Regan. Good, that was great.
Sabrina’s communication with Leo. Loads of blue text bubbles to Aubrey, all unanswered, “I miss you.” “Heading to the summer house in Nantucket next week. Wish we could be there together again.” Zoe was hoping to find some scoop on the whole Robbie thing, but Sabrina had learned to protect herself a bit more. She had been in the game longer.
But they had enough.
25
Dahlia
Holy mother of pearl.
I didn’t know hangovers could be this bad.
My head was splitting, I was nauseous which I never was, and I was dead tired.
Zoe had scheduled all of us for MorningAfteRX, a company that sponsored Lexi. It was one of those mobile services that brought IV drips to the house and tried to bring you back up to normal. The name was dumb and called to mind Plan B contraception before hangover cures, but whatever. They would show up on the breezy back deck of Budgie and Sabrina’s place. Hopefully between the fresh salty air, a couple Excedrin, and that I would be back to normal.
The only agreement I had to make was that I would do it on camera.
I would have agreed to anything. I could not feel like this and go in to work. There is no calling in sick when you signed up for your life to be filmed. Even if it’s not your real life.
The show must go on.
I was determined to be up for the filming, and to do that, I spent as long as I could in bed. I didn’t remember much from the night before—again, strange for me—but I knew I’d been an ass. I usually took such pride in being the one riding a happy buzz, watching the fools make themselves. But this time, I was the embarrassing one.
It had to happen every once in a while, right?
The only thing I was nervous about was Mick. He had been out for a run.
When he came back in, I sat up in bed and looked at him with puppy-dog-eyes, hoping he wouldn’t give me a tight-lipped nod before silently going off to the shower.
He didn’t.
He shut the door behind him, came over to the bed, and took my hand. He then lowered his forehead to my fingertips the way he sometimes did when he needed us to be okay and we weren’t.
Relief surged deep in my nervous system, and I swear half the hangover was cured.
I ran my other hand through his damp, hot hair, and bent to kiss it. I sat back up and so did he.
“I’m sorry, Dahl.”
“I’m much sorrier.”
He cracked a small smile. “You look pretty sorry.”
“I’m a mess.”
He squeezed my hand and then stood and walked to the balcony to open the door, letting in the salty breeze. The day seemed cool and bright now.
“I’m sorry about last night. You were right, I was wrong, I was being catty. I should have known better. Been better.”
“I know that’s not you. I don’t know what I-I don’t know what’s going on with me. I think I’ve—”
He looked at me like he might … what? Confess something? Something was there, resting on his tongue, unwilling to come out.
I wanted to pry. Instead, I shook my head and tried to look forgivable.
“I don’t know what’s going on with me either. The show might be bringing out the worst side of me.”
He sat down next to me again. “It’s okay. You don’t owe me the apology. I shouldn’t have left. Especially on camera. That’s not us.”
“It’s not.” I shook my head. “We haven’t been us lately, and that makes me act and feel crazy.”Tears filled my eyes.
Hangovers gave me the blues, and they made me loving and emotional. So did making up.
“I know.”
“It’s not an excuse, I’m not saying that. And how drunk I was last night wasn’t either—you know I never get like that. Something about this show, I feel like I’m always wasted.”
He nodded and bit his lip. “I was wondering if they pulled the Everclear trick on you. Didn’t you say you saw Zoe doing that before?”
“Do you think? But I didn’t taste anything. I mean, you know I never get like that. Maybe a headache in the morning or the occasional silly drunk, but never messed like that.”
He nodded again. “How are you feeling now?”
“Awful. But Zoe and Lexi got one of those IV doctor people to come. Lexi is in partnership with the company. She’s their Brand Ambassador.”
