I let out a laugh. “Oh, hell no. This might be my dream, but I do have my limits. I have class and standards, I’ll have you know.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Cassie quips. “Not sure ‘class and standards’ apply to a girl who will babysit one night and then dance on a pole the next.”
“Hey! That was one night. You dared me, and may I remind you that I took second place?” I growl. “Don’t hate.”
Cassie laughs, and I can’t help but smile despite my nerves about being in the dark on what I’m getting into.
I glance at my clock. “Crap!” I say. “I’ve gotta go! The production limo will be here soon.”
“Production limo? To your house?” Cassie asks, sounding shocked. “Girl, what are you not telling me?”
“I’m as surprised as you. They said something about Cinderella treatment, something I wouldn’t know the least bit about. But I can’t argue with that!”
“I don’t blame you, but you be safe, you hear? Call me when you get there. I’m dying to know what this is about.”
“I am too. And I will,” I promise. “Bye, babe.”
“Details! I want all the details!” Cassie yells as I pull my phone away, making me chuckle. I hang up the phone and scurry over to the closet. I don’t have much time to get ready. I need to be quick. Flipping through clothes, I rummage through my wardrobe, trying on different outfits with the speed of Wonder Woman. Meredith said to wear something nice, but I don’t know what that means. Finally, I settle on a body-hugging red dress that makes my eyes pop. I don’t remember where I got it, but as soon as I saw it, I had to have it. It’s like it carries good luck or something. And it’s decidedly nicer than my usual lazy-chic jeans and tees.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I don’t think I look bad at all. With bra-length blonde hair, blue eyes, and hips that give me an hourglass figure, I look like the modern girl next door. Maybe that’s why they chose me. But what they plan to do with me, I have no idea.
Flashing myself a wink, I gather my purse and a tiny duffel bag of belongings. I’m not even outside for a minute before a shiny black limo pulls up. Out of the corner of my left eye, I can see my nosy neighbor Ethel Crabtree perched on her porch, nearly falling out of her rocking chair to get a view of what’s going on. And to my right, wannabe real housewife Holly Vereen is just pulling into her driveway and getting out of her SUV. She’s dressed in a black knockoff Versace jumpsuit, her mouth falling open when she sees the limo driver jump out to serve me.
“Emily!” she gasps in surprise, gawking at the limo. “What’s all this about?”
I flash her a grin, trying not to laugh as the driver motions inside the vehicle. “If you’ll please, Miss Parks.”
Holly usually ignores me and sticks her nose up at me whenever I try to speak to her, so I find it hilarious that she wants my attention now. “Sorry, Mrs. Vereen, but I don’t have time to chat,” I respond cheerfully, giving her a friendly wave. “You have a wonderful day!”
“But—” she begins to protest, but her words are lost as I dip into the limo and the driver closes the door.
I’m immediately enveloped in luxury, sitting back against the leather seats. I let out a low whistle as I look around at all the finery. This thing is equipped with everything, even a bar and a popup flat-panel TV.
I can hardly stop gawking. It’s all so much. As someone who’s lived a working class life, I’ve never been in a limo or a car this decked out before. Running my hands over the supple leather seats, I can hardly believe what’s happening. This almost feels like a dream.
As the driver pulls away from the sidewalk, I can see Holly rushing over to gossip with Ethel through the tinted windows. Both of them are staring with wide eyes, gesturing wildly at the limo. I know they’re talking about me, wondering what in the world is going on, but they’re quickly forgotten as we leave the street and the two women and my house disappear from view.
As we move through the city, my mind returns to my Skype interview with the show’s producers.
“Emily, you know that you will be in isolation during filming, correct?”
I’m sitting in my living room, nervous as I look into the camera. I nod, hoping they don’t see me twisting the hell out of the washcloth in my lap. “Yes. Meredith explained it to me.”
“She’s got a good voice. Teeth aren’t too horsey,” someone else says as the group begins talking about me like I’m not even there. Some say I’m perfect, and others comment like I’m some prize pedigree at a dog show.
“We should get the dynamic duo on her,” another producer says. “They can do something about that skin and her hair.”
“Oh, and make sure we get her measurements. I want to reduce that hippiness that’s going to show up on-screen,” someone says, and I’m beginning to feel like a reject from the dog pound. Seriously, bitch? Hippy?
“We’ll take care of all that,” Meredith says. “Just remember, Emily, we might sound cruel, but this is going to be a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. We’ll be in touch soon.”
Damn, she had to say that last line. I’m hooked again.
“Miss Parks?”
I look up, realizing I’ve been lost in thought. “Sorry. Yes?”
“We’re at the airport.” The driver lets me out, and I quickly go through security and board the plane. First class, something I can certainly get used to. On the flight over to LAX, I try to sleep, but I’m so nervous I can’t keep my eyes closed. I have no clue what awaits me at my final destination. I’m supposed to ‘find out when I get there’.
When we touch down, I’m a ball of nerves and I have to drag myself through the airport to my waiting ride—another decked-out limo. It’s chaos as we pull out of the terminal into bumper-to-bumper traffic, but I relax against my seat as I peer out the tinted windows. We make our way to the congested highway and the crowded, seemingly never-ending urban landscape.
Los Angeles. The City of Angels. Some people call it the city of sinners, but I really don’t know anything about all that. As a small-town girl, I’m taken aback at the enormity of the place. It’s HUGE. And the traffic is insane. I swear it seems like hours since we left LAX, yet we probably haven’t even gone five miles. Thankfully, the limo is comfy and I can sip at a mineral water as we crawl along.
Apparently, we’re headed to Beverly Hills, a place where I hear mansions are a dime a dozen and being rich is the natural way of life. After what seems like an eternity, we finally make it through traffic driving well outside the city into an area where the houses are appropriately called estates and the rolling hills are truly golden mini-kingdoms.
My chest tightens with anxiety as we finally slow down, pulling up in front of a wrought-iron gate. After a moment, it slowly swings open and we move forward again. That’s when I see the mansion, the air fleeing from my lungs.
A big circular drive surrounds an architectural marble fountain, tall windows cover the front facade, and there are unusual blocks of stucco popping out of the sections of design. The effect is one of sleek contemporary luxury like nothing I’ve ever seen.