Most Hated, page 24
Nicole looked like the spider.
41
Sabrina
Budgie and Sabrina arrived and upon getting out of the car, Zoe was there looking frantic.
“Hey ladies—did you—did you happen to see an iPad lying around at your place?”
The look on her face told Sabrina it was no ploy. She had not meant to leave that.
“No, I didn’t,” said Sabrina, convincingly, she hoped, as she was being outfitted with her mic pack.
“We left right after you,” said Budgie, also being set up. “She’ll look later.”
“Okay…”
Budgie said, “Now, Zoe, I will repeat these words, until someone finds me Aleksandr: we are filming a TV show, we are filming a TV show, we are filming a TV show.”
“Budgie, I’ll find him but he’s sort of hard to track—” Zoe started.
“We are filming a TV show,” said Budgie.
Zoe laughed. “You’re a riot. But yeah, I’m not sure if—”
“We are filming a TV show.”
“You’re making this impossible, are you going to—”
“We are filming a TV show.”
Zoe stared at her, polite smile fading into a grimace. She got on her two-way radio and said, “Aleksandr, are you on set?”
There was silence.
Zoe made a helpless face and then said, “Budgie, I’m not sure if—”
“We are filming a TV show!”
“Okay, alright, alright, I’ll find him.”
Budgie stayed true to her promise and repeated the same sentence over and over on camera until they found him.
She said it differently each time, adopting the tone of the appropriate response.
Sabrina was a child again, unable to keep a straight face while Funny Budgie Got Her Way—she could have written a children’s book about it.
Finally, Zoe arrived with Aleksandr, who ushered them into a side room alone.
“Hello, Verroye girls,” he said, gently closing the door behind him. “How can I help you today?”
“Aleksandr,” said Budgie, undoing her own mic and reaching across to do the same for Sabrina. “This is a shit show.”
He nodded. “Welcome to reality TV.”
“There’s a reason you did this. Why? I find it a little hard to believe you did it to get a taste of the world.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“When I did Chicago, for example, I didn’t do it to do a show that had been done a hundred times before. I did it so that I could cast an entirely Black ensemble, with the hopes that I might illuminate how differently that story plays out. I didn’t want to tell the same story, you know, I wanted to do something different. I have always admired your work and thought you and I might be somewhat similar.”
He considered her, intensely for a moment, as Sabrina looked on.
“Am I wrong?” pushed Budgie.
After a pause, he said, “No. You’re not wrong. I am aiming to do something—different.”
Budgie nodded. “And Zoe, is she your errand girl or a loose cannon?”
“To be honest, Ms. Verroye—and Ms. Verroye—Zoe is the least admirable iteration of heartless I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”
“Why don’t you take a look at this?” Budgie handed him her phone. Before leaving the house, she had screenshot everything she could find.
42
Dahlia
“Sabrina!”
I screamed for her, interrupting whatever the hell Nicole was talking about, my voice carrying across the room.
She turned, and I let go of Mick to go to her.
He followed me, I didn’t even have to look back to know.
“Sabrina,” I said, when I got to her. A pro now after these eight weeks, I rubbed the head of my mic as I whispered in her ear. “Something’s wrong. Zoe knew Regan and I think this whole show has been—”
“I know,” she said. “I know.”
In overhearing this, Budgie tilted her head. How does she know? She seemed to ask.
“It’s alright,” said Sabrina. “Don’t worry about Zoe.”
I nodded. Mick pulled me back in protectively, and I sensed he had landed eyes on Zoe.
There was a frenetic air of confusion among the crew. They usually looked passive and blank, like flies on the wall.
Lexi was being filmed with her oaf,Tom. They were fighting. Milo and Fiona were directing them, pausing them every few moments.
Mariana was holding court over Regan, Nicole, and some sycophantic friends who looked desperate for airtime. Zoe was close by with a headset.
What had I done? What had I gotten myself into? What had Mick gotten us both into?
I squinted my eyes and saw Nicole pointing not at me, not at Mick, but at Sabrina.
At nearly 8 p. m., they had us sit side by side at two U-shaped tables. It looked almost medieval. The event was hosted by Mariana to raise awareness for one of her charities.
The guests, we were only fifteen in total, were served a round of cocktails in small Nick and Nora glasses and were told to wait for a toast, to be given by Mariana. A tray of drinks came to us, and Zoe appeared in time to distribute them herself.
“Alright now in a minute, Mariana’s going to do her toast about—”
“Zoe,” said Sabrina, with projection that quieted the room. “Given this is our last night of filming, before we ‘do this,’ I wonder if you might join us for a drink?”
Zoe looked confused, going still as a frightened cat.
“Sabrina, we—you can’t—I can’t be…”
“No, no, I think it’s fine. Aleksandr?”
Zoe’s perennially scrunched face screwed up even further as she looked past the crew to Aleksandr, who was standing with his arms crossed.
“It’s fine, Zoe, go ahead,” he said.
She tried to look cooler, shaking her hair and licking her lips. “Okay, sure.”
“Here, have mine,” said Mick, sliding his cocktail toward Sabrina and Zoe. “I’ve got conditioning this weekend, I really shouldn’t anyway.”
“Okay then,” said Zoe.
Zoe picked up Mick’s glass.
“Mariana, do you mind if I say a few words?” Sabrina asked, moving around the table to stand next to Zoe.
Mariana looked annoyed but said, “Sure, why not?”
“Thank you. I wanted to say, we’ve been doing this show for the last several weeks, and the more I think about it, the more I think how we have only Zoe to thank.” Sabrina indicated that there should be a round of applause, and so there was. When it subsided, she went on. “You know, my whole life I have been in the spotlight, and it’s been this sick, pallid spotlight that seemed to hate me for even existing. Maybe there’s a different spotlight for other people, or maybe that’s what it’s always like. And as I’ve gotten older—way older, as some might point out… .”
There was a trickle of laughter.
“As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned how true it is that there would be no celebrity without the people behind the scenes. Some of you may know about my recent time in the press. Culture is determined by the decisions of those who go unseen.”
Zoe’s teeth were all starting to show as her understanding continued to dwindle.
“I don’t want that to be the case anymore,” said Sabrina. “This is Zoe, and she has made this show possible. My god, you’ve done a lot, haven’t you. Aleksandr would not have a show without you, would he? You’d turn a body to a corpse before risking bad ratings, wouldn’t you?”
Sabrina glistened a pearly smile that seemed without malice.
“Please, let us give a toast to those working behind the scenes to make sure that the world has a show to watch. Shall we?”
The room, and we, lifted our glasses.
Zoe had lost all the color in her face.
Sabrina rested a hand gently on Zoe’s.
“But I wonder,” said Sabrina, “if you might not mind switching?”
Zoe’s head cocked like a dog hearing a whistle.
“Switching?”
“Drinks.” She grinned again. “You see in our family—Budgie, I’m sure you remember this—we have a fun custom. Whenever you toast to someone, we switch drinks.” She directed her gaze to the rest of the guests. “It can be a bit of a strain if you love champagne, and the stranger has whiskey.” Back to Zoe. “But it’s a bit of a tradition for me. For us.” She nodded toward Budgie.
“You should have seen her father when someone refused him,” said Budgie.
“Won’t you switch with me, Zoe, as I toast to you and all your brilliance? You do it all so well.”
Zoe’s eyes had grown to the size of quarters—this was wide for her, as she had very small eyes.
She paused and cleared her throat. “Yeah, for sure, Sabrina. Let’s do it.”
They swapped drinks.
Zoe grimaced, but I think she was trying to smile. “You know what my nickname was in college?”
“What’s that?” asked Sabrina.
“Rasputin. I could take or drink anything.” She laughed. “I’ll always drink with you, Sabrina.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” said Budgie. “You’re not the kind of person who is liked enough to get a nickname. Not the kind you’d take any pride in anyway.”
There was a small ripple of gasps and then laughter.
“Cheers,” said Sabrina, holding up her glass, and then clinking it with Zoe’s, “Bottom’s up…”
They both downed their drinks.
Zoe’s teeth scraped against her bottom lip. Sabrina glared at her and then cleared her face of anything but amenity.
“Thank you all! Mariana?”
43
Zoe
It tasted like hell, but then, it was Fernet, muddled mint, and a bit of honey. Fernet is bitter, intense, and hard to hide. Luckily, she was not the only one in the room who looked like they’d swallowed poison.
The servers cleared away the empty glasses, Zoe handing hers to one of them herself.
She returned to the back with the rest of the crew.
“What the hell?” she asked Aleksandr. She turned to see Jason was filming her. “Why are you filming me? Why is he filming me?”
Aleksandr shrugged. “Some behind the scenes stuff.”
Zoe’s heart pounded. “I have to run to the bathroom.”
“No, Zoe, we’re in the middle of filming here. Please stop talking and put your headset back on.”
“I feel sick,” she lied.
“Suck it up,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be fine … Rasputin.”
Zoe’s heart was not merely pounding, but racing.
Did Aleksandr know? He couldn’t. He couldn’t know what he was doing.
“Aleksandr…” she started.
He raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“I-I had Sabrina’s … Sabrina’s drink.” She glanced at Jason’s camera. She’d talk to him later, get him to cut this. “She had sort of … a plot twist in her glass.”
He nodded.
“I really have to go to the bathroom.”
She’d always been invincible, but there was no telling what was about to happen if she didn’t resolve this.
“Headset on, Zoe,” said Aleksandr. His voice was already sounding fuzzy.
44
Dahlia
My hand was on Mick’s thigh. All thoughts of our divorce far from my mind. I didn’t care if I touched him like normal. Even though, tonight, when this was over, I was pretty sure we would go our separate ways again, marriage dissolved.
Sabrina sat down after her toast, as Mariana—irritated Mariana—began hers.
“What was that?” I asked her.
“I have a feeling,” said Sabrina. She leaned back in her chair. “I have learned my lesson. I trust my instincts now, and I don’t care what happens as long as I follow them.”
I took my hand off Mick’s leg.
***
Within fifteen minutes, an ambulance took Zoe away. I stood beside Sabrina with Mick behind me. Aleksandr stood beside Budgie.
“Has there ever been a reality show about women in prison?” Aleksandr asked no one in particular.
Budgie laughed as the sirens wailed.
The crew never stopped filming.
45
Dahlia
One Year Later
I surveyed the space and took it all in. My bedroom floor was covered in canvas tarps, and all the furniture, also covered, was moved to the center of the room; the walls were halfway to a deep jewel turquoise. For some reason, at some point, my taste had gone from bold to bland, and Mick and I had decorated this place like we modeled it off a teenager’s notion of an adult’s house.
It’s amazing how a new coat of paint can conceal years of bad choices.
For the first time in a long time, I was spending my own money however I felt. Yes my own money because, while I knew it was not entirely independent, I had landed a book deal and a cohosting spot on a morning talk show. The book was based on my experience of filming reality TV, and perhaps I had gotten both opportunities because of Mick, but the book was all mine. There had been lots of posturing at wine bars and coffee shops and trying to look like a writer but blending in with everyone else, nonetheless I had done it. And it was good. I knew it was good. It was being published in the spring.
Aleksandr’s show, of course, had never aired. Or at least not how we had thought it would.
A documentary was released to quite a dramatic and eager fanfare.
It was called The Day Reality Died, and it focused on the behind-the-scenes footage with Zoe at the center. There were all these slow pans over her high school photos, like she had committed a mass shooting or something. And yes, she had tried to kill Sabrina Verroye. Maybe not kill her, but when she ground up painkillers and put them in her drink (only to consume them herself ), she showed that she was willing to let her die if that’s what had to happen.
Instead, she was the one who collapsed and took the ambulance ride. I didn’t know too much about the lasting effects of what happened, but I knew she was more broken than even before and was embroiled in court cases while I was picking wallpaper for my entry way.
The footage of Zoe made me sick. Seeing what she had been willing to do. What she had said. And how chilling it was to see her celebrating her achievements. I yearned to find a way to pity her but found that the empathy would not come.
The rest was every bit as unnerving to watch. Hard to see myself drunk like that, hard to see the distance between Mick and me.
Aleksandr Borrow got credit, the industry assuming the exposition had been his plan the entire time—show how far a young, hungry PA will go to get ahead.
No one—save for perhaps Budgie, Sabrina, and myself—seemed to notice that if that was the case, then he was as complicit as if he had told her what to do.
But it didn’t matter. We had all got out as unscathed as possible. We were bruised but not beaten.
Sabrina was happy now, I thought. Aaron Sorkin had cast her in a quiet, nuanced comeback role in his upcoming film. She was still with Leo, though Budgie believed the novelty might wear off at some point. The two of them were gallivanting around the globe studying holistic wellness. She had gained a little bit of weight, which made her look far more beautiful, even. She smiled all the time and didn’t wear makeup in half the pictures on her feed. Her last post was with Aubrey, from an ashram in Phuket.
Budgie was working on a new project—a musical stage performance about the making of a reality TV show. She sent a video the other day of the Not-Nicole-Trace character doing a gaudy dance and singing brassily in a sparkling leotard.
Lexi was the same, but with more followers. She had dumped Tom though and kept “joking” that Sabrina and Budgie should set her up with a “rich guy that isn’t a total douche.”
Mariana got her own show interviewing experts in porn, sex toys, and every other facet of the sector. She hosted it with her husband, and I had to admit, it was good content. She was funny. I sort of wished I’d gotten to see that side of her, but neither of us felt the need to reach out and give it a try.
Nicole Trace relapsed and wound up in rehab, and Mick and I never heard from her or Regan again.
Mick and I were … well. It’s hard to say. We were divorced. But we still saw each other. I guess you could say we were dating. If that’s what you call it when your ex-husband—whom you still love to pieces—refuses to let you go and has regained something he had lost. After much back and forth and a tendon surgery on his knee, he decided to stop playing and ended up being the funny former athlete who did analytics, commentating, and cute TV spots. I knew he was having fun with it, which made me happy.
He was back in the city. He had rented a place nearby. And now we packed bags and had sleepovers. We made new friends again. He took me to dinner. We did galleries on weekends. Every now and then we went on a trip. We had sex. I loved him. He loved me. And I was starting to believe he’d do what he promised, which was to love me forever.
I still wasn’t sure. For now, the place would stay my own.
In fact, everything would stay my own.
When the topic arose, and it did quite often, I shared that I thought the title of the series got it wrong. Reality hadn’t died, it had been regenerated. My life became real. The other women say the same thing.
I never wanted fake again.
I craved the real, even if it hurt.
I was hungry for the actual.
I was made sick at the idea of smoke and mirrors.
I would never settle for anything less than sincere, genuine, verifiable reality.
I left my work-in-progress place and headed back to shower at the Crosby Street Hotel, where I was living during the renovations. I was meeting my friends for a drink there later. My friends, Sabrina, Budgie, and Lexi.
It turned out we all got along quite well when undocumented, like Mick and I recovered without the papers. I was learning, slowly, that life is much better, without any proof that you actually lived it.
