Premiere (2 page)

“She’s gabbing with her fans.” I say, perhaps a bit too sarcastically.

“Fans?”

“Yeah. Apparently all her friends think she’s a star and that she was great on the news tonight. And that should make you feel a little better.”

“That’s actually why I’m calling, Erin. Could you go get her and put her on, please?”

“Sure.” I go back out into the great room where Paige is still on her phone, but now she has the TV turned on as well, although it’s muted. But she’s watching her favorite reality channel and what appears to be a rerun of
The OC.
“Mom wants to talk to you,” I tell her with a warning look.

“Oh?” She frowns. “Sorry, Kelsey, I have to go. Yeah, thanks!” She closes her phone and peers at me. “Is she still mad?”

I act dumb and just hand her my phone.

“Hi, Mom,” she says cautiously. Then she just listens…and listens…and finally her face begins to brighten. “Really?”

Okay, now I’m curious. What’s going on and why can’t I hear? After all, it’s my phone. I lean my head closer to Paige and try to eavesdrop, barely hearing my mom’s voice as she says, “It’s all pretty speculative. But the plan is that tomorrow we’ll meet with Helen and, well, we’ll just see what happens.”

“Helen Hudson?” Paige’s voice is high pitched. “I’m really going to—”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Mom warns. “Like I said, it’s very speculative. Chances are it will go nowhere. But at least it’s smoothed over Max’s ruffled feathers.”

“This is so exciting!”

“And tell Erin I want her to come too.”

“What for?” Paige gives me a curious look then pushes me away so I can’t hear the rest of the conversation.

“Bye, Mom!” Paige says happily after another minute. She hands me back the phone. “Did you hear that?” Her eyes are bright with excitement.

“Part of it. Who is Helen Hudson?”

“Just one of the best producers of reality TV.”

“Oh?”

“And she wants to meet me!”

“So I heard.”

“Do you know how exciting this is?”

I shrug.

“This could be my big break, Erin. If Helen really likes me, she might want to do some kind of show.”

“What kind of show?”

“I don’t know. Maybe like
What Not to Wear.
”

“But you’re just a kid.”

She stands straighter, giving me an indignant look. “FYI. I’m nearly twenty. And lots of people younger than me have made it. Ever hear of Lindsay Lohan or the Olsen Twins?”

I roll my eyes.

“Jessica Alba? Amanda Bynes?”

I hold up my hands. “Yes, of course. Stop with the list.”

“So why not just be happy for me? Maybe this is my big chance.”

“Well, I’m just relieved that Mom’s not in trouble.”

Paige sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

“And, yeah, I think it’s cool for you, Paige.”

“Maybe for you too?”

“Why?”

“Apparently Sam caught you filming me and it showed up in the segment. Mom said that Helen asked who the other girl was, and when she told her it was you, Helen asked to see
both
of the Forrester sisters. The appointment’s at one tomorrow.” Now Paige is dancing around the great room like a maniac. “This is so great! So great!”

But I’m not convinced. I have no idea why I need to be included in this “speculative” meeting. And I’m not sure that I even want to go. However, it doesn’t seem like I have a choice. Most of all I’m relieved that Mom is off the hook—or so it seems. For her sake, I’ll be cooperative tomorrow. Whatever this is, I’m guessing it’ll all blow over anyway. At least in regard to me. Maybe Paige is right; maybe this will be her big break. For her sake, I hope that’s how it goes down. I just don’t see any good reason for me to be involved.

Paige has literally changed her outfit about
seventeen times today. Her room looks like a garage sale and we need to head out of here in about ten minutes.

“Be honest,” she tells me. When am I not? “Does this look good?” She does a 360 without even tripping over the shoes and bags and clothes and things that are strewn across her floor.

I pretend to scrutinize her outfit—which honestly doesn’t seem much different than the last one—after she decided to go more “classic and timeless” in lieu of “trendy and faddish.” She has on a neat gray skirt topped with a fitted pale pink jacket. “It’s BCBG,” she tells me like I get it.

“It looks fine.” I simply nod then glance at my watch as in
hint-hint.
“And the other sixteen outfits looked good too.”

“But is it
have-your-own-TV-show
good?”

“Who says you’re going to have your own show?”

She gives me her
duh
look. “That’s why Helen Hudson wants to see me, Erin.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“I already told you.
Helen Hudson produces reality shows.
She’s big. She’s hot. And she wouldn’t waste her time meeting with me if she didn’t have a serious idea for a new show…Unless she wants to cast me into one of her other reality shows?” Paige has a dreamy look now.

“Or maybe she wants to cast you as a script girl,” I suggest.

Paige’s brow creases. “Well…then I would consider it. And then I would work my way up.”

“Why don’t you work your way out of your room and into my car,” Mom calls at Paige from the front door. “Come on, we need to go.”

Paige shoves her feet into her favorite black pumps, which have the same BCBG initials as her jacket. Then she hurries to grab up a selection of accessories, including belts, jewelry, and scarves, which she stuffs into an oversized bag. Then she gets her pale pink purse and we’re on our way.

As usual, I feel a little dowdy next to my stylish sister. And that’s
after
she forced me to “clean up my act and dress decently.” Even so, the only designer I’m wearing is from Target—Isaac something-or-other. That’s how much I’m into haute fashion. And the main reasons I bought this simple chocolate-brown jacket are that 1) it fit me pretty well, 2) I liked it, and 3) it was on sale. As for my A-line print skirt, which I used to like when I occasionally wore skirts, it’s simply a piece I picked up at my favorite retro store last year. And my tan suede boots? Well, I’ve had them for several years and although they’re a little worn, they’re also very comfortable. Paige had been unimpressed with my “improvements” but was so focused on her own appearance that she let it go.

But by the time we’re walking into the sleek-looking studio offices—all glass, dark wood, and stainless steel—I feel
like a little brown mouse next to Paige. And have I mentioned that she doesn’t really
walk
? No, Paige kind of struts like she thinks she’s on a Parisian runway, and yet she makes it look almost natural, which I find extremely aggravating. If I attempted to walk like that I would either look like an idiot or fall flat on my face. So I don’t.

But I feel even more out of place when we stand in front of the girl at the desk. Or maybe we’ve just arrived on a different planet because she looks a little strange. She’s in black from head to toe, but it’s her hair and makeup that capture my attention. Her glossy, straight black hair is cut in a sharp triangular shape. Her face is so white she’s slightly vampirelike. Although her eyes are dramatically outlined in black, her lips are so pale that they almost don’t seem to be there at all. I wonder if she’s got her own aspirations for a TV show too. Horror perhaps? Or maybe sci-fi. Yes, I can definitely see her as an alien.

“We’re here to see Ms. Hudson,” my mom tells her.

“Your name, please?”

“I’m Paige Forrester,” Paige answers coolly, as if her name might be recognizable.

“And I’m Brynn Forrester,” my mom offers. “From Channel Five News.”

I don’t bother to introduce myself. I’m pretty sure Sci-fi Girl doesn’t care. She just nods in a bored way. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll let her know you’re here.” But then she returns to her computer screen and I can tell by her expression she’s much more interested in that than she is in us. Maybe the mother ship is calling. So we sit and wait. And we wait and wait. And finally a whole hour has passed and I’m ready to make a run for it.

“Helen Hudson doesn’t seem all that interested in seeing us,” I point out as I check my watch again. “Do you guys mind if I take off?”

“She’s probably tied up with something.” Mom’s voice sounds patient, but I can tell she’s getting irritated too. “Let’s give her a little more time.”

I try not to groan as I lean back into the hard and sticky vinyl chair. It’s a weird shape that sort of goes with Sci-fi Girl’s hair. You’d think they’d offer more comfortable furniture if they make people wait this long.

“I could probably take this appointment by myself,” Paige says, “if you two get tired of waiting.”

Mom clears her throat. “No…I think I’d rather stick around.”

Just then a tall woman with extremely short white hair emerges from behind the closed door. She’s wearing a brightcolored scarf that seems to be tangled in the armload of papers she carrying. “Here, Sabrina.” She dumps the mess onto Sci-fi Girl’s desk. “Make three sets of copies. File one. FedEx the others.” Then the woman straightens out her scarf and turns to us. “You must be the Forresters. Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. I’m sure you understand how little crises can derail a schedule.”

Mom stands and smiles, quickly introducing each of us, but it seems that Helen Hudson is fully aware of our identity as she ushers us into her office, which thankfully has morecomfortable furniture to sit in.

“Tell me about yourself.” She directs this to Paige while leaning back in her chair with her hands folded in front of her. She studies my sister, like a lion might watch its prey before pouncing. Paige seems oblivious as she begins to chatter away.
And I suppress the urge to yawn since this kind of monologue is way too familiar to me. Paige goes into great detail about her interest in fashion and popular culture and film and television and yada-yada-blah-blah-blah.

But what holds my attention is how intently Helen Hudson seems to be listening—and yet it’s as if she’s somewhere else too. Her brow creases and I feel as if I can see the wheel mechanisms turning around in her head. Although I have no idea about what she’s thinking.

“Yes, yes,” she says quickly, actually cutting my sister off in mid-sentence. “Now answer a few questions for me, Paige Forrester.”

“Sure.” Paige recrosses her long, slender legs, sits up a bit straighter, flashes another bright smile, and waits.

Helen smiles back, almost in a catty way. “So tell me, Paige, are you much into partying?” Her brows arch in a knowing way.

Paige looks slightly stumped as she shrugs, glancing at Mom and me as if we can help. “How do you mean exactly?”

The room is quiet now and I’m having flashbacks to a couple of years ago when Paige and her friends were running wild, drinking and staying out late even on school nights. Then Paige’s grades dropped, and my mom put her foot down and grounded Paige until she graduated. It wasn’t exactly a happy era in our house, but I was relieved to see Mom acting like a parent.

“Oh, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” Helen leans forward, studying Paige as if she’s peering through a microscope. “Are you involved with a party crowd at all? Do you go clubbing? Social drinking? You know the sort of thing I mean. Friends, late nights, let the good times roll.”

“Well, yes, I
know
what you mean. But, no…I’m not
really
like that. I’ll admit I went through a little bit of a wild spell during my senior year in high school…after Dad died.” She looks at Mom with uncertainty. “But I’m not so much into that now. It’s not like I’m a hermit or a wet blanket or anything. And I do have friends who still like to party and sometimes I hang out with them, but…” She frowns with uncertainty. “Does that mean you’re not interested? I mean…was this going to be some kind of
Laguna Beach
or
The Hills
or that new show,
Malibu Beach
? Because I can
act
like I’m a partier if—”

Helen Hudson laughs. “No, no, that’s not what I’m going for. Not at all. You see, this is a show I began to put together last summer. And I had a popular celebrity lined up—I won’t mention her name—but she got arrested for driving under the influence and she’s only seventeen. It pretty much put the brakes on the project. By the way, how old are you?”

“Nineteen. Nineteen and a half.”

“So you’re still a teen, and I’m sure teen girls would relate to you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Paige says with confidence, “I’m sure they would.”

“So I can see this is worth a shot.”

Paige is beaming. “A shot?”

“Yes. I’d like to do a screen test with you first. Then we’ll revise the package and do another pitch and—” She waves her hands as she interrupts herself. “Never mind about that now.” She puts on a pair of purple-rimmed glasses and begins writing something down on paper.

Paige elbows me and I can tell by her expression she’s just bursting to talk, but she’s exercising self-control.

“What sort of show are you planning?” our mom ventures.

Helen looks up blankly. “Oh, I thought I told you.”

“No, not really.”

“Oh, well, if the screen test delivers and if we come to an agreement, and if the revised pitch is received how I expect it will be—because we’ve already got sponsors lined up and the network was onboard—Anyway, if all goes well, Paige will be hosting a reality show that’s targeted at a teen audience. The focus will be fashion, of course, and it will all be shot on location…so some travel will be involved. I thought the concept might need a big name to launch it, but more recently I decided that if I could find just the right girl, and if I knew that she was stable and mature and with no juvenile record, we could move forward.” She glances at Mom. “Trust me, I already checked on this or I wouldn’t be wasting my time now. You’d be surprised how many young people already have police records.”

Paige laughs nervously.

“My hope was that we could launch the girl right along with the show. It’s not that hard really—not if the ingredients are right. And when I saw Paige on the news last night, I thought, ‘There’s my girl.’” She studies Paige again. “I’m feeling very hopeful.”

Okay, I’m sitting here feeling practically invisible, not to mention totally unnecessary. Like, what a waste of my time. Why did I have to get dragged in here for this? Sure, my sister is pretty and talented and all that stuff, but why torture me like this? Then, as if reading my thoughts, Helen turns to me. “And you probably wonder why you’re here…Erin, is it?”

“Yeah.” I force a wimpy smile.

“Well, I saw you in the background with your camera and I thought how natural you two girls looked together.
And when I heard you were sisters, I thought, ‘Ah-hah—that might just work.’”

“Work?” I give her an uncertain look.

“Yes, I think Paige could use a sidekick.”

“Well, she’s gotten a few kicks in,” I confess.

Helen laughs. “But you two do get along, don’t you? Your mother said you did.”

“Of course,” Paige assures her. “We’re actually pretty good friends.”

“Well, most of the time,” I admit. “But when we’re not, you don’t want to be around to hear it.”

Helen winks at me. “I like your honesty, Erin.”

“To be totally honest,” I continue, “I’m not that comfortable in front of the camera. I mean, I’m flattered you’d consider me. But I’m really more of a behind-the-scenes girl.”

Helen frowns. “Seriously? Are you saying you wouldn’t want to be a star, Erin?”

I shrug. “Not really.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, how about you?” I challenge her. “Do you like being in the limelight with a camera pointing at you?”

Helen smiles, then nods in an understanding way. “I see your point.”

I relax a little.

“You mentioned travel would be involved,” Mom says now.

“Yes. I’m thinking of the fashion world at large. New York, Milan, Tokyo, London, Paris…” Helen waves her hands. “I see this show as being a form of enrichment. Because I, for one, am getting a bit weary of some of the senseless shows that teens are tuning into. I’m hoping that teen sleaze has seen its day. I want this to be a show that teaches as much
as it entertains. I know that teens are interested in fashion and I’m hoping this show will expose them to something beyond some of the common trash they’re watching on MTV.” She makes a dramatic pause, looking directly at my sister. “Paige will cover fashion events wherever they’re occurring. She’ll offer her opinions as well as advice and tips about style, and she’ll do interviews with models, designers, and anyone linked with the fashion world. She’ll basically generate enthusiasm toward style and fashion. The show will be called
On the Runway.
Perhaps it will be
On the Runway with Paige Forrester.
Something to that effect.”

“That all sounds good…in theory.” Mom’s voice has that edge of hesitation in it. “But I’m a little concerned about that kind of travel. Paige is only nineteen and—”

“Nineteen and a half,” Paige reminds her. “And I think the travel sounds delicious. I think the whole concept is absolutely brilliant.” Paige’s blue eyes, normally bright, now glitter with excitement and her smile is so wide I think her cheeks must be aching. But she sits perfectly, legs neatly crossed, hands folded in her lap; the quintessential lady.

“Thank you.” Helen turns her attention back to Mom. “The show will need a producer,” she tells her. “Perhaps you’d be interested. That way you could keep an eye on her.”

I can feel Paige slumping ever so slightly, not that anyone would notice, but I can tell some of the wind just got sucked out of her sails. She is not into having Mom along as her chaperone. I actually think it’s pretty funny.

“I appreciate the thought,” Mom says quickly. “But I’m sure you can’t guarantee how long a show like this will run—if it makes it at all. And because I’m the sole supporter of our household, I feel I need to stick with Channel Five.”