“For real?” Charley jumps up in excitement and starts to catwalk around my loft. After one pass, she sings, “I’m too sexy for the stars, too sexy by far …”
“Right Said Fred couldn’t have sung it any better himself,” I tease her.
“Who’s that?”
“The guy who sings that song.”
“Oh, I only know it from TikTok.”
“Ah,” I say with a nod. Sometimes I forget Charley is part of a whole new generation that I don’t quite understand. Twenty-eight isn’t old, but in the presence of a teenager, it often feels that way.
Not five minutes later, the buzzer starts ringing and doesn’t stop for the next several hours.
The rest of our day is spent deciding which models to hire after seeing them in a variety of outfits. To say I’m exhausted is an understatement. I’m starting to regard Tyra Banks as something of a superhero.
When the last women leave, Charley collapses on my sofa and declares, “I’m pretty sure I’d hate being a real model. We can only hire eleven of those ladies and the others get a ‘thanks, but no thanks.’ Talk about always feeling rejected.”
“The Universe has much better plans for you, my beautiful genius, but for one day, you get to strut your stuff on the runway,” I say with a wink. “Now, as to what you’re going to wear …” I hurry to the clothes racks at the back of my living room area and pull out a gorgeous and shockingly bright red dress. I bring it over to the couch where Charley is sitting and declare, “Bold and dangerous are in your DNA. What do you think about this?”
Sitting up, she studies the vibrant slip dress. “Maybe if we pair it with some leopard heels and purple belt or something.”
“I leave it in your hands,” I tell her. Then I literally put it in her hands.
My phone rings a minute later. It’s the producer for our segment on Wake Up America! I put her on speaker before saying, “Hey, Waltraut, what’s up?”
“I just did a little research on our NASA guest, Dr. Williams, and discovered he’s a Gemini. I thought it would be fun if you could bring in a sample outfit that would be suitable for him.”
“Oh … I could.” I sit down on a huge bean bag chair that’s positioned across from the couch Charley is lying on. “I’d need to know what size Dr. Williams wears.”
“He won’t have time to try it on or anything. I thought you could bring in a male model for the Gemini outfit.”
“Sure!” I try to sound excited even though that means the bright yellow jumpsuit I already picked out for Gemini won’t get seen. Poop. “I’ve already chosen the models so I don’t think I can switch any others out for men, but let’s face it, most of your viewers are probably women.”
“Seventy-nine percent, so we’re fine with only one male model. I’m really excited about this episode, Serafina,” she tells me. “If it goes well, we’d love to work with you in the future on other segments.”
Holy. Crap. The key to all business success boils down to marketing and there is no tool as effective as getting your product in front of a large audience. And free publicity? Well, there’s nothing better than that. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to impress Waltraut. I want to do all kinds of segments for her.
“I’m excited too!” I tell her. “I’m always up for a new adventure.”
“Great. We’ll see you on Monday then. Have your models arrive by five a.m. so we can make sure everything is ready to go by airtime at seven. When they check into security, they’ll be sent upstairs to the dressing rooms to meet with you and get ready.”
“Super!” I hang up, no longer annoyed that I have to get a male Gemini outfit and a new model. Being that yellow is the Gemini color, I’m hoping to find a yellow suit or some chic yellow cropped pants that I can pair with a smart pair of saddle shoes. I’m going to make sure my Gemini outfit will be the star of the show.
My segment has to go perfectly, which of course means getting on Dr. Williams’ good side. Waltraut needs to be impressed with me enough to have me back again and again. The good news is that Libras are very social and get along with everyone, so this should be an ace in the hole for me and the future of my app.
Four
Ben
My alarm goes off at four a.m., and for a moment, I’m completely disoriented. I allow a nano-second of thinking that I can go back to sleep when my eyes spring open. Today is my segment on Wake Up America! with Hal and Lacey, which means I’m going to humiliate myself on live television. Full-tilt boogie panic ensues.
Throwing off my covers, I sit up, displacing my tabby Mr. Spock, who was nestled under my arm. He opens his mouth to hiss but holds back, then snuggles himself back into the blankets. Mr. Spock is like the feline version of the Incredible Hulk — always ready to lose it. I wouldn’t be surprised if his temper is what landed him in a shelter in the first place.
My phone rings and I see it’s my mom calling. She lives outside of Portland, where I grew up.
I swipe the screen to answer while stumbling into the bathroom to brush my teeth. “What are you doing up?” I ask her, even though I already know.
“I was worried you’d oversleep,” she says. My mom still thinks I’m a kid incapable of setting an alarm.
“So you got yourself up at one a.m. to wake me?”
“It’s no trouble,” she answers. “I wanted to tell you I know you’ll be brilliant today, just like you are every other day.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. I truly love my mom, but she puts the mother in smother. At some point, I hope she’ll realize I’m a competent adult. Based on the facts before me though, I’d say there’s a low probability of that ever occurring.
“Don’t be nervous. You’ll be great.”
“Thanks. How does one go about not being nervous?” I ask sarcastically.
“Slow steady breathing,” she answers, ignoring my rude tone. “I checked with Marsha and she said this appearance is going to change your life.”
“Marsha?”
“My new psychic. She said to tell you that after today your life will never be the same.”
“Mom,” I groan before continuing. “Is this news supposed to relax me? Because so far, it’s failing miserably. Also, a psychic? I’d hoped you learned your lesson as far as psychics go.”
I’m referring to the time she went to a fortune teller at the county fair who told her that she was about to meet her Prince Charming. Phil showed up a week later and, believe me when I say, he was as much of a prince as I was a prom king. Phil lived with us for a year before leaving with Mom’s entire life savings — paltry as it was — along with the car they bought together but he conveniently kept in his name. While you’d think this would have put my mom off charlatans who predict the future for a price, it actually jump-started her interest in all kinds of crazy things like tarot cards, seances, runes, chicken bones…
“You’re such a party pooper, Ben. I don’t know how I ever had a child who was so closed-minded about the sixth sense.”