“Good. Okay, meet me in the green room in two. We’ll mic you and have you come out on set during commercial break so Hal and Lacey can talk to you for a few before the fashion show starts.”
As she rushes off, I grab my Gemini and pull him off to the green room. My energy level is positively humming with excitement. All I need to do is get through the next half hour with everything going smoothly and I’m on my way to mega success.
Six
Ben
Once I’m dragged off into the green room with all the gorgeous women, I sneak a peek at myself in one of the full-length mirrors propped against the wall. Who am I? And where is astrophysicist Ben Williams under all that hair gel and bronzer? This is going to be the single most humiliating experience of my life. Not only am I dressed like a banana for his first day of school, my manhood is on display like it’s about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. How is anyone going to take me seriously?
They won’t. That’s how.
Not to mention, everyone I know, including my co-workers, will be watching. NOOOO!!! I have to stop this. Panic starts to build inside of me until my chest cavity feels like it’s about to explode.
The bossy woman who made me take my underwear off loudly declares, “You all look great! This is going to be an amazing show!”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t have time to ask because someone else comes in and says, “You’re on next. Follow me.”
I tug at these ridiculous pants in hopes they’ll magically grow three sizes and turn black. Or a nice brown, even. That would be good too. Although I don’t know if brown would go with this awful green vest.
Oh, for pity’s sake, Ben, it doesn’t matter! Your pants aren’t going to change color so forget it.
Unless …what if I change into normal pants? Yes, that’s the answer. As we march down the hall, I decide I’m going to put on my own clothes no matter what anyone says. As I open the door to dressing room three, I hear Ms. Bossy Boots yelling at me. “Where are you going?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she takes my hand and leads me to the third spot in line. “There. You’re right behind our Taurus.”
Grinning broadly, she says, “Okay, everyone, you look fabulous. Just get out there and strut your fine selves.”
Strut my fine self? What in the world is she talking about?
“Listen, I-I think there’s been a mistake,” I call out to her.
“I know, the pants aren’t exactly the right fit, but you can really get away with it, trust me.” She boldly winks which causes me even more distress.
“No, not…”
That Justin intern rushes over and says, “Ms. Lopez, you’re on!”
I try to get his attention, but he disappears, leaving me with no one to ask for help. I wait for what feels like forever, but is likely only a couple of minutes before Justin comes back and starts to lead us backstage. “When I point to you, walk onto the stage, turn left at the X, strut down the catwalk toward the studio audience. Pause for a count of two, then spin back around and go out the other way.”
He points to the woman in front of me. As she goes, I watch her carefully, trying to memorize what she’s doing. Okay, that doesn’t look so hard. It’s just walking, right? I can walk. Do they introduce all of their guests like this? My confusion equals my horror. I should have watched an episode of this show, so I knew what I was getting into.
When the woman turns back my way, she’s not smiling. Are we not supposed to smile? Do we pout? Yes, pouting seems right. How do you pout?
Turning to the woman behind me, I say, “Does this look right?” then I push my lips out and try to look like I’m really angry about something. Which is actually true because I’m going to lose it on Dev when I see him.
She wrinkles up her nose and answers, “You look like you’re trying to poop.”
Well, that was rude. I’m trying to learn here, I could use constructive feedback. I give her a glare and she snaps her fingers. “Perfect! Now you’ve got some serious smolder going on.”
“Gemini Guy! Gemini Guy!” Justin whisper-yells.
I spin around, realizing he means me. He points to the stage wearing a completely disgusted look. As I walk by, I hear him say something about models with rocks for brains into his headset.
Models? I’m not a model.
My heart is thumping like a rabbit surrounded by a pack of bears as I walk, trying to keep time with the music which is some airy-fairy crap that doesn’t even have a beat. That bossy Lopez person is sitting on a chair next to the show’s hosts talking … about me … it turns out.
“Geminis absolutely love to be the center of attention, almost to a fault. They’re known to be intelligent, passionate, fun, but also sometimes unreliable and are even called flighty on occasion.”
While I walk toward center stage, I glare at her instead of watching where I’m going. This causes me to miss the big X on the floor.
“As you can see, our model truly is a flighty Gemini. He just missed his mark,” she says.
I hate this woman. I hate her with every cell of my being.
Hal lets out a chuckle. “Other way, buddy!”
“Wow, those are some tight pants!” Lacey inserts. “I can certainly see his center of attention!”
The audience laughs as I scramble to find the damn X. It’s actually quite large and is in bright green tape, so it’s pretty hard to miss. I stalk down the catwalk feeling like a piece of poorly-dressed meat. The audience — mainly older women — start to hoot and whistle and, I swear to God, one woman is waving a five-dollar bill at me.
How the hell did I end up here? I have my PhD. I work for NASA.
I head back toward the hosts while that awful woman talks about astrology. I’m so busy trying to make sure I land on the X this time I almost don’t hear Hal say, “Geminis really must be flighty because our other guest, Dr. Ben Williams, didn’t bother to show up for Star Day. I understand he’s a Gemini as well.”
I stop in my tracks and stare at him, sweat trickling down my back.
Hal looks at me while making a scooting gesture with his hands. “You can go now.”
Astrology girl gives me an urgent head nod toward the exit. Now is my only chance to fix what has gone terribly, terribly wrong. “I’m Ben Williams.”
All three of them stare at me like I’ve just said I’m from planet Zorbits. Lacey gives me a sympathetic look, as though she feels so bad for the male model who’s so dumb he doesn’t know his own name. “Um, no. Ben Williams is a rocket scientist. You’re a model.” She says this slowly like it’s the only way I’ll be able to understand her.
I wait while the audience has a good laugh at my expense. Off to the side, Justin and some other woman with a headset are frantically waving at me. “I’m not a rocket scientist.”
Giving me a condescending look, Hal says, “We know you’re not, buddy. But you’re still special, okay? Now, off you go!”
The fashion show music stops, and the audience becomes so still you’d think they were waiting for me to perform a magic show. Out of the corner of my eye, I see two security guards at the ready. I swallow hard, then keep going. “There’s no such thing as a rocket scientist,” I say. “What you’re thinking of is actually called an aeronautical engineer or an astronautical engineer. The phrase rocket scientist is a dumbed down label for the job.”