Ms. Reynolds, who looked as though she was running on two hours of sleep and thirteen coffees, was stomping around the shop and barking orders. “This light is horrible. How anyone works in this light-drenched nightmare is unimaginable. Greg! Block the windows! Make sure that the mangy dog is outta sight, and I don’t want anyone walking past the store and ruining ‘the big moment.’”
Finally, the day had come when Elly found out who her celebrity bride was. On BlissBride, this was one of the best moments of the show—when the vendors met their famous clients for the first time. It wasn’t a meeting, rather just a shock-and-awe blast of celebrity hoopla that then left the vendors stunned and excited. Elly wasn’t excited, per se. She was nervous and felt like vomiting into her pygmy palm plant. Two television cameras had their lenses focused on her, and another was trained at the door. Her normally clean and bright studio was cluttered with boom mikes, two huge tripods with glaring lights that radiated heat, and a number of people doing technical things that she didn’t understand. She was also wearing a microphone under her shirt, and kept wondering if sweat plus an electronic pulse would end in death by electrocution.
Gemma snapped her fingers at the camera operator. “You need to get on a chair for the most flattering angle here.” She was obviously talking about Elly.
This was the worst, she thought. Why did I say I would do this? Because, she replied to herself silently, because you’ll never have to pay to advertise again. Elly closed her eyes and balanced her hand on the chair. She took deep breaths to calm herself down, a technique that her mother had taught her long ago when the torments of girls at school was too much to bear. Breathe deep and calm down. Don’t be a train wreck like you were last time.
In the corner, she could hear snippets of Snarky Teenager’s conversation with the roguish camera operator. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah,” he replied in a gruff voice. He was obviously a film student from some hovel where goatees were an invitation for casual sex and wrinkled shirts were a marker of success. “I would love to film you sometime. You just have a face and a body for television. I have a private studio….”
Oh Lord no. Elly stalked over to the corner, grabbing Snarky Teenager by the elbow, yanking her away from the cameraman. She was so light, Elly could have thrown her through the black screens now blocking the light from the front windows. “Do not talk to that guy anymore.”
Jerking her arm away, the teenager’s smoky eyes flashed angrily at Elly. “He’s cute. What is your problem?” she hissed.
“That guy wants to film you in his private studio. Private studio means bedroom.”
Snarky Teenager opened her mouth to argue with Elly, but then thought better of it. “No … well … ewww.” She shrugged. “He might mean it.”
Elly snorted. “He doesn’t.”
Gemma glared over at them, her short brown hair a plastered helmet on her head. “We are sound testing right now, so if you could keep it down, that would be much appreciated.”
Elly and Snarky Teenager fell instantly silent, intimidated by this feminine soldier. “Who do you think it is?” her young worker whispered, her breath cool on Elly’s ear.
“I don’t know,” Elly mumbled. “It’s probably some D-list actress who is a side character on some reality show. I’m still hoping for an athlete of some sort, like an Olympian.”
“I don’t think Olympians would be on this show.” Elly bit her lip. That was true. She couldn’t really see someone with a gold medal participating on BlissBride. She watched silently as the chaos around her somehow organized itself. The camera operators were in place. The final pieces of black swagging were placed over the windows, and the mics were soundchecked. Suddenly, Gemma Reynolds was in her face, teetering on five-inch stilettos, with her sharp bird nose pointed straight at Elly. “Are you going to change?” she snapped.
Elly looked down at her outfit, one that she had felt so pretty in, until now. “Um, yes, I guess. Is this not what I should be wearing? I have an apron over there….”
“Oh God, no. You’re fine.”
Elly hated it when people told her she was fine. She had a sudden urge to yank Gemma’s short hair. Gemma looked frantically down at her clipboard, speaking fast. “Okay, so here is how this works. Our celebrity comes in the door. You react, we film your reaction. You maybe have five minutes of speaking time, and then we are done and on to the next vendor. There are a couple of lists of rules here. Do not hug the celebrity. Do not touch the celebrity. Do not mention wedding details or contractual agreements. Do not mention any recent gossip about her or any of her ex-boyfriends. Do not mention any of her films. Do not try and take a picture with her, do not ask her to call your relatives.” She looked Snarky Teenager up and down. “And you, do not stand next to her. Got it?”
Elly’s heart thrummed nervously in her chest as she gave a nod. Gemma leaned in, her face close to Elly’s shoulder. “And whatever you do, do not offer her alcohol, or any other drugs.”
Elly didn’t even know where she would get ahold of drugs. An alley?