Reality Jane (9 page)

That was her exterior. But on the inside, she was vanilla pudding. She worshipped her parents. Loved her friends to a fault. And was incredibly generous. On top of that, we had a blast together, both on and off the job. After months of dealing with Looney-Balls Lucy, the two of us had ample opportunity to bond.

“So, back to work now, you two?” Lydia said, powering down the laser. “How is that crazy
Kitten Show
coming along? What’s it called again,
Purrfect Life
? Ha! What next?”

“Fine,” I grunted, still sweating from the ordeal while gingerly zipping up my jeans.

“Oh my God,” Toni continued, “talk about high maintenance. Those girls are driving me crazy. Lucy was in
Star
magazine last week, on their Who’s Hot list. Can you believe it?”

“Isn’t she like forty?” Lydia asked. “A little old to be taking her clothes off.”

“Totally,” Toni agreed. “Jane, how old is she, anyway?”

“I’m still mad at you two.” I shot a fierce look their way, trying not to laugh.

“Don’t be upset. Tonight’s a big night for you,” Toni chided. “Craigy-poo is coming home. Three weeks away in the
Himalayas and cutting the trip short to see his little Janey Pants. How sweet.”

“Wow. Himalayas,” Lydia said, half distracted, as she pulled her streaky red hair into a ponytail and adjusted the size two Jordache Vintage jeans on her hips.

Tonight
was
a big night for me. It was the culmination of seven-plus months of relationship bliss with my Hollywood demigod, my 21st century cowboy, and the Jesse James of mountain climbing. We hadn’t seen each other in three weeks thanks to a Himalayan jaunt that had him harnessed cliff-side in a perma-blizzard. Unfazed, the guy hadn’t even touched American soil yet and was already making plans for his next expedition to cross Antarctica alone, on a hefty sled-like contraption, and film it—I had just finished the proposal. Craig was hell-bent on directing and starring in his own adventure show, which explained our deep connection: me Jane, me producer—he hunk, he director/superstar. We had become the real deal—true partners. In my spare time away from Lucy’s show, I would write his reality show treatments or sponsorship pitches and he would e-mail ideas back and forth with his typical postscript: “Let’s screw.”

“Of course I remember him,” Lydia said casually, now sipping and gagging on her sea greens concoction. “Adventure Man! See, good thing we got you cleaned up!” Lydia declared with pride. “And Toni, you’re due for your final upper lip laser. Number three and you’re all good.”

“Oh?” My ears perked up. “You mean a
mustache
laser?”

“It’s just a couple hairs.” Toni looked embarrassed—a first.

“Guess you’ll be deleting that crotch cam shot, eh, Toni? Or should I say, Anthony?” I said, stroking my upper lip and delivering the line with my best Italian swagger.

By the time we got back to the office, I could barely rest my arms at my side and my underwear felt as if it was scraping against my last layer of epidermis. Ligaments and bone would probably be next.

Robert, the office receptionist, looked at me, eyes wide, like a child at Christmas. “Well? How was it? Are you a hairless wonder?”

Toni sped off. “Jane can explain. I gotta run. Tapes to log.”

“Shhh, I don’t want to get in trouble for taking lunch,” I whispered to Robert. “Plus, it really hurts.”

“Damn, should I do my balls?” He laughed.

“You’re gross, Robert. Now don’t tell anyone,” I said, loving the little repartée he and I shared.

“Oh, and Jane, Karl the Snarl wants you and Danny for a meeting at 1:30.” He pointed to his watch, with its neon pink band and giant silver buckle that made his bone-thin wrist look even skinnier. “That would be in, like, five minutes.” Robert knew that Karl didn’t love me. “Don’t be late, Hotty Pants.”

“Mwaa!” I blew him a kiss—the only person in the office I felt comfortable air-kissing.

I loved that my office was like a giant gay sleepover, though it was almost a pity because we had tape after tape of tits, ass, and drunken debauchery from our
Purrfect Life
shoots that went completely unappreciated, except for the occasional, “Is that rack real? Good for her.” Gay men seemed to hate fake boobs unless they’re allowed to touch them, and there was no way Lucy was going
fag-hag
, or so she told me one day when she was furious at Danny. She seemed to enjoy flip-flopping about who she hated most, although it was usually me.

“Group hug!” Karl squealed as he swung himself around a faux fur room divider and into the arms of a very willing subordinate. Meanwhile, I tiptoed behind them, en route to my desk.

It surprised me that Karl still made me nervous. Lucy I could handle—she was just plain crazy. Karl was not so easy to figure out.

“You rock in that shirt!” one of the guys remarked to Karl while playfully tugging at his nipple.

“Stop that!” Karl teased, giggling girlishly.

I had hoped that with all the commotion of the DGF (Daily Group Fondle), Karl wouldn’t notice my off-premises lunch break. He generally frowned upon such mid-day escapes. I was supposed to love my job so much that I couldn’t bear to leave until the lights went out. Karl, with his back to me, pulled his wrist to his Bioré-stripped nose, glanced at his watch, and
sighed melodramatically, as if my lateness was just too agonizing to endure.

“Afternoon, guys,” I said carefully, as if I had leaked a big drop of drool.

“Hi, Jane,” the boys chirped.

“Uh, Karl,” the token hot straight boy muttered from the hall. “Here’s your tea.”

“Well, bring it here,” Karl said, motioning flirtatiously. “Come on!”

The production assistant dutifully handed Karl his tea. The boy looked more embarrassed than I did, which wasn’t easy.

“Ouch! That’s hot!” Karl nipped, then playfully slapped the assistant’s hand. “Just kidding,” he said, batting his eyelashes. “Thanks.”

Despite his humiliation, I was glad the assistant provided a diversion from my rather pathetic entrance. I needed a moment to nurse my beleaguered, laser-pocked body with an XL, ginseng-laced Jamba Juice while I reviewed the next day’s shot list at my desk. That’s when Danny bounded toward me.

“Time for the big meeting, Miss Fabulous,” he whispered into my ear, as if it were some big secret. “We’re getting our final marching orders.”

In six fast months, Danny had become my shadow—an agro-friendly, completely over-the-top, honey-coated sugar cube with saccharin sprinkles on top. He wiggled around the office in snug Hudsons and tight t-shirts, ready with a “Hello, Sassy Pants” and a frisky smile for everyone. Karl and Naomi got the royal treatment with a “that outfit looks gorgeous, Hot Stuff” and a finger wave, threatening to “eat them” if they persisted in looking “so tasty.”
Sincere
? I hadn’t a clue. Most of the time, I wondered what he was up to. In any event, he provided sure-fire office entertainment on a daily basis.

“Well, Jane, you coming?” Danny said, in his sing-song timbre, tapping his toes. “I’m your date for our big meeting.” “In a minute, uh, thanks.” I was wholly unable to match his enthusiasm. Besides, his idea of a big meeting was me, him, and Karl. “Oh, Danny, did you input the photos of the girls yet? The editor keeps asking me for them.”

“Soon, Babes! Got to grab my snack.” He scurried to the kitchen to fetch his daily mango yogurt. “BTW, love your hair today!” he shouted. “Very Paris, sans extensions.”

I had come to learn that getting Danny to actually work, per his job description of “show researcher,” was an impossible task. It was magic how he put off anything that resembled real labor, but continued with his playful ass-kissing and maneuvering to maintain Karl’s good side. This he was genius at.

Tired of being usurped by my assistant, I entered the boardroom prepared to impress. My contract was up in a month and I needed some financial security.
Time to out-kiss the office’s biggest ass-kisser!
My plan was to remind Karl of his three Emmy nominations from the late 90’s—a little factoid I dug up and something that had yet to be mentioned during my time at the shop. And that was just my warm-up.

“Hi, guys,” I started. “Hey, Karl. I wanted to congrat—”

“Fancy you.” Danny had slipped into the boardroom from behind me, plopping himself down beside Karl, whom he was already addressing. “Did you get that at the Barney’s sample sale? That’s hot on you.”

“This old thing!” Karl winked. “I just picked it up at. . .”

My moment was lost to Señor Gay Camp. Next to this guy, I was Debbie Downer. How was I supposed to compete with the master? But for Naomi, I would long ago have been replaced by a big beautiful gay man. For the last month, she was so buried in developing a top-secret pilot that I’d only seen her through the glass of her door. This didn’t bode well for my future employment, so I decided that, rather than interrupt Karl’s dissertation on his lame shirt, I’d pretend to be as interested as Danny.

Then Karl dropped his smile and addressed me. “Down to business, girls. We need to record all of Lucy’s flare-ups from now on. This can’t continue.”

“Huh?” I said, feeling once again on the outside of a big secret. “I’m sorry, Karl.
What
can’t continue? I thought you were happy with the show.”

“Jane, it’s really quite simple. Lucy could ruin the franchise. This has been a long time coming. Bottom line, we can’t have a
drug-addict and neurotic representing us. We’ve already found a replacement host and I need Lucy out. In order to do that, legally, we need proof that she’s impossible to work with, which I understand from Danny and from comments you’ve made to Danny, is quite true.”

Since my first week disaster, my motto had been: “Eyes open, mouth shut, and just say no to air-kisses, except for Robert.” But Karl had just given me carte blanche to reverse the mouth mandate, so I began, unimpeded. “Oh my God, Karl, she’s made my life a living hell.
Drug addict
? Now it all makes sense! I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it. She’s berated me, humiliated me, she’s—”

“Okay!” he said, cutting me off. “This isn’t
Gossip Girl
. I just need you to ask the cameraman to roll on her indiscretions, whether they’re towards you,” Karl peered down his nose, “or anyone else. Roll on it, time code it, mark the tape. Then we take it all to Legal.”

“Got it. Sorry. I got carried away. It could be a much better show without someone thwarting the crew. Thanks,” I said, shriveling inside my skin. “That all?” I stood up to leave, knowing Karl and Danny liked to chat alone after a good hearty meeting.
To think I thought I could out ass-kiss Danny.

“No,” Karl said. “Jane, one more thing.”

I looked around, slightly cowering, as if Karl might throw a snowball at me—something my brother might have done in a bullying moment.

“Thanks.”

It was about an hour from sunset and I was in my Volvo on my third pass through the airport loop, slowly circling the international terminal at LAX. I pulled over for a better look. The security cop with the menacing face glared at me as if I had Al Qaeda missiles in the trunk. Then, I saw him.

Christ, does this guy have his own sun bolt?
I wondered, as I got out of the car.
Craig always seems to be glowing
. Then I threw myself into his arms.

“Missed you, babe.” He squeezed me tightly as the porter tossed his bags into the trunk. “You look great.”

We settled into the car. “So, Ivy tonight!” I announced. “Our reservation is at 7:30.” I suggestively stroked my hand along Craig’s thigh, thrilled to be next to him again.

“Jane, that’s in, like, twenty minutes,” Craig replied.

“I figured we could go straight there. You must be starving!”

“No can do, babe,” he said with nowhere near the regret the turndown required.

“But it’s our anniversary. I made us reservations on the
balcony
. You know it’s impossible to get a seat on the balcony on a Thursday night,” I said pleadingly.

“Babe, seven months does not an anniversary make. But that’s cute. Anyway, I can’t. I promised these computer geeks in Pasadena I’d come to their party—met them at base camp. They can really help me on my next production. They’ve created the latest web-streaming software I can use in Antarctica. Real-time footage of me on the ice!”

Plans? His first night back? Computer engineers in Pasadena?
“But Craig, what about us?”

Ever since our second date, when Craig took me to Santa Monica’s Ivy on the Shore, I’d been hankering for an excuse to get back there with him. Drew Barrymore sat two tables over, and the waiter, a rather impressive and gorgeous model/actor, told Craig and I that we should have kids together. “They’d be gorgeous!” he crowed. I blushed, trying to maintain some cool. Plus, I drank my first gimlet there, which I quickly figured out was
not
the Green Giant’s miniature side-kick, but trendy, boozy fire-water that had me kissing the servers and offering them free rounds by night’s end.

“You’re invited too,” Craig moaned while nuzzling into me. “We can still have a good time together.”

Much as I didn’t want to admit it, a pattern was emerging. Nearly every meeting/outing/person seemed to be a link to Craig’s future adventures—someone to help him reach his goals. Well before he left for Nepal, Craig and I had rarely enjoyed a night when we just relaxed, went to a movie, or ate dinner, without some business objective in mind. I knew I was
sacrificing a normal relationship to be with my Adventure Ken, but it had become a bit much. I had to remind myself:
Stand by your man. He’s ambitious. This is what it takes to have it all!