The pictures on her walls are of places, not people. In fact, she has hardly any photographs of friends or family anywhere. The other night, I had to search her entire apartment until I finally found a picture of her and me. It sat on a shelf toward the bottom of a bookcase in her office. It was one of us in college, our arms draped around each other’s padded shoulders. Red cups in hand, we wore matching half-drunk smiles and high-waisted jeans.
I’d sunk down on her dark hardwood floor and cried, wishing more than anything we could be back there again. I missed those college girls who didn’t have a care in the world, our whole lives ahead of us, our bright broadcasting futures just around the corner. But that was before an unplanned pregnancy changed everything, for the better and for the worse. And I’d made another promise to God. Once I got back into my own body, I vowed to be fun again.
I drag myself out of Casey’s bed, my body aching, my heart aching, as I think again of last night. Of John and Casey. How in sync they were as they handled Audrey. How they seemed more like a married couple than John and I had been in forever. How Casey knew exactly what to say to keep Audrey calm, something I haven’t been able to do in I don’t even know how long. I’d watched my life playing out before me and I’d felt rage and sadness and even contentment as I’d seen how blissful my daughter looked. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d been that happy.
But now I feel my anger resurfacing. How could Casey tell my daughter she could date? What gave her the idea that she could make that decision without consulting me? Or even John? She knows how critical that decision is, doesn’t she? The worst part is I had to sit idly by and watch, unable to stop it.
And in the end, my daughter is going on a date. My husband has a better relationship with the fake me than he has with the real me. And in forty-five minutes I’m going to be verbally assaulted by a woman with a mascara wand. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about any of it.
“You didn’t sleep again.” Destiny pushes a Starbucks coffee cup into my hand as I walk into my office.
“You sound like that horrid makeup woman.” I take a long drink, the coffee burning the back of my throat.
“Fuck her. She’s just pissed off at the world. I hope you didn’t take it personally.”
“Spoken by the twenty-nine-year-old without a single wrinkle.” I smile.
I think again about Casey and how she’s not only getting older, but she’s doing it in front of bitchy makeup artists and in front of America. And even parts of Mexico and Canada. I almost laugh out loud as I remember the meltdown I had a few months ago on my thirty-eighth birthday when I’d discovered more wrinkles on my neck. I’d been so depressed that I’d worn turtlenecks for a week straight. It makes me wonder yet again if I was ever cut out for this business in the first place. If I would’ve been able to handle the incredible scrutiny.
“You want some good news?”
“I’d kill for some.” I sigh.
“We beat Access L.A. in the ratings last night.”
I stare at her blankly.
“We beat Access L.A.! You know that show we’ve never beat? Our nemesis? It’s like Leno and Letterman. And we’re finally Leno. The execs are doing a happy dance. They’re saying your interview with Ryan McKnight was our Hugh Grant moment. They’re saying you’ve never been better.”
“Never?” I frown.
“Don’t look so happy there. You’d think I just told you someone died. But it’s the exact opposite. You’re the It Girl of the moment. Entertainment Weekly even called this morning.”
“Sorry, I’m just tired. That’s great news.” I force a smile, but am worried about what Casey will think of this.
“That’s better. Now let’s get you into that makeup chair before she comes looking for you.”
Later, after the show is taped, I’m dragging myself back to my office, thinking I’m so tired that I might have to crash on my couch, when I hear them talking. It’s Charlie and a few of the executives huddled around a computer. I stop before they see me.
“This is great. This is so great. It’s all over the Internet,” Charlie says excitedly. “Look, look here, ThePulse.com is predicting that we’re going to stay on top in the ratings. When was the last time The Pulse even cared what we did?”
“To think, just a few weeks ago, we were wondering if we needed to put someone else in her spot. Maybe even try it with just Dean. We weren’t bringing in that eighteen-to-twenty-five demo. But with last night’s numbers, with us beating Access L.A. It’s unbelievable. Casey’s it right now.” One of the execs high-fives the other.
I’m stunned. Casey was in danger of losing her job? Her worst fear might have been realized if we hadn’t switched bodies? This switch might have saved her career? I might have saved her career? I can’t believe that. These executives are getting ahead of themselves here. It’s one night’s ratings. We have to keep it up, don’t we? But if we don’t, then will they replace her? I close my eyes and try to breathe.
“The way she handled that interview with Ryan. Compassionate yet skeptical. She was on fire,” the other exec adds excitedly.