Your Perfect Life

She laughs. “Okay, okay, I get it. So let’s talk about Fiona then. Oh. My. God. She was so mean today. I know you warned me, but I had no idea how bad it really was.”


“She wants my job. She’s a barracuda. Be very careful with her,” I say, trying not to think that if Rachel can’t pull this off, if she can’t step into my shoes and do a great job, I could lose everything to Fiona. I don’t tell her this, not wanting to put more pressure on her than I already have. Rachel had always been right at home in front of the camera at our broadcasting stations in high school and college. I prayed that Rachel was right and that it all came back to her today. We were about to find out. I pick up the remote control. “It’s going to start.”

Rachel doesn’t seem to hear me. “It just seems like a sad way to be, surrounded by people always wanting you to fail,” she says quietly as she play-kisses Charlotte, who was overjoyed to see her when she walked in the door earlier, confusing John, who made a comment that Charlotte sure seemed unusually excited to see Auntie Casey. Not surprising, considering I can’t remember the last time I’d scooped Charlotte up in my arms before the switch. It was much easier for me to focus my attention on Sophie and Audrey than it was to hold a squirming baby who could always sense I was uncomfortable.

“I’ve never really thought about it like that,” I say, clicking on the TV. “It’s just the way things are in the business. You can’t afford to think about it too much.”

“I guess not,” Rachel responds, but I can tell that she doesn’t really understand. The theme music for GossipTV starts playing. “So . . . are you ready to see my television debut?” she asks cautiously and I can’t tell if she’s asking herself or me.

I don’t answer as the opening credits of GossipTV start and I try not to cringe as I see a version of myself give a megawatt smile and start speaking.





CHAPTER 10



* * *





rachel

The show starts and as my face appears on the screen, I nervously await Casey’s reaction. This is her career. Her livelihood. What if she thinks I screwed up? After everything she’s told me and what I’ve now seen firsthand about her job, I would never forgive myself if I did anything to jeopardize her career, or worse, if I disappointed her.

We sit in silence.

As I watch, I see the mistakes, the flaws, the places my eyes moved back and forth, making it obvious that I was reading the TelePrompTer. I see the smoke everyone was blowing up my ass earlier. I feel so stupid that I believed their praise. I hadn’t so much as stood in front of a camera in forever and they called me great. Fantastic. I think someone even used the word magnificent. Of course the crew would never tell me if I sucked. Isn’t that how this business worked? Air kisses with a side of bullshit?

Dean complained about me the entire time, but I thought it was just Dean being a jerk. Looks like he was right.

Casey grabs the remote and hits pause. “Wow,” is all she says. Then she repeats it several times, looking stunned.

I wait for Casey as she tries to compose herself. But I’m ready to take my lumps like a man. I deserve them.

“You were . . .” She pauses and stares down at the frayed edge of the orange rug I’d been so proud to buy after reading it was the “it” color of the season.

“It’s okay, you can be honest. I deserve it.”

“You were really, really good.” She says the word good so quietly I almost don’t hear it.

“Really?” Now I’m the one who’s stunned.

“Really,” she says flatly.

Then where is the smile? The thank-you? The relief?? “But there were so many mistakes. You saw them, I know you did.”

“Well, yeah, I saw some. But it’s like you’ve been doing it for years. How long has it been since you’ve been in front of a camera?” Her face contorts as she calculates.

“Since Audrey was born,” I say.

“Over sixteen years and you walk out there and handle it just like me?” Her voice is shaky.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I bite my cuticle.

“Don’t do that.” Casey swats my hand away from my mouth. “That’s a fifty-dollar manicure you’re ruining,” she scolds.

I look at my image paused on the TV screen. “I don’t get it, don’t you want me to do a good job?”

She starts to say something, but thinks better of it. “No, I do. I do want you to do a good job. That’s what we need. To keep up appearances.”

I can tell she’s bothered, but I decide to let it go.

“How long is this going to go on? How long are we going to be held hostage in each other’s bodies?” She sighs and lies back on my faded tan couch covered with stains I’ve meant to clean for ages. Just days ago, I scolded Sophie for spilling soda on it. “Great. All we need is one more stain!” I’d yelled.

Liz Fenton , Lisa Steinke's books