bad news? What if she was about to do the walk of shame and never see Tom again?
Tom.
Why was she even thinking about him? It was ridiculous. So what if he had made small talk with her? It’s not as if it meant anything. That her whole body had felt like mush when he’d shaken her hand was just a hormonal thing. He was a model; he was supposed to make girls feel like that, to sell whatever it was he was selling. He was probably just another shallow, brain-dead, self-absorbed L.A. jerk.
In fact, the only reason she wanted to see him was to prove to herself that she could look him in the eye, shake his hand again, and act normal.
That was all. Really.
The Hotel Bel-Air club room was done in dark leather and mahogany, like something from a British manor house. When Kiley and her mom entered, the other five contestants were already in their director’s chairs, sitting in a semicircle around where A.M. would address them. Tamika’s right ankle was wrapped in an ACE bandage.
Kiley took the last empty chair, on the far left side. Behind the semicircle of contestants was a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall photograph of Platinum, her long blond hair blowing off her face. Steinberg, who was seated to Kiley’s right, leaned over to her.
“You check out Veronique?” she muttered.
Kiley looked at the French girl, who wore a hot pink scoop-necked tank top that displayed her amazing, if unnatural, chest.
“She could put an eye out with one of those things,” Steinberg went on. “Notice how she snagged the center seat. That’s so if A.M. asks questions, everyone else has to turn their head. But she’s always face-on in the camera.”
“I never would have thought of that,” Kiley marveled.
“She’s a bitch,” Steinberg said, “but she’s a smart bitch.”
“Mom? Where’s Mom?” Kiley heard Bronwyn call out.
“Here!” Mrs. McCann waved her hand. She’d found a folding chair near the food service table that held donuts, bagels, and soft drinks.
“Mrs. McCann, Jayce here is going to take you into another room,” Bronwyn went on. “She’ll interview you on camera about who you think is going to be eliminated and why. Then you can watch the elimination on a monitor, and we can get your reaction.”
“Fine.” Mrs. McCann stood, gave Kiley a quick thumbs-up, and left with Jayce. Kiley heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe the kava kava was working.
Steinberg leaned toward Kiley again. “Your mom is such a good sport.”
Kiley was about to thank her when Bronwyn stepped over to the center area. “People, listen up. This is how it will work. A.M. has already recorded her spiel about how this is the first elimination, blah, blah, blah. You all taped your segments this afternoon about how you feel about each other, who hates who, all that. We’ll edit that stuff in. All we’re filming now is the decision of who stays and who goes. If you’re out, you’ll get like two seconds for your tearful goodbyes. Then follow Jennifer— Jennifer, raise your hand.”
A flunky in overalls raised a lackadaisical finger.
“Follow Jennifer to the lobby, pick up your suitcases, go to the courtesy van, have a pleasant life, buh-bye. You can see your magic moment on TV next week. Everyone got that?”
Please don’t let them eliminate me.
A.M. strode into the room in a Ralph Lauren suit, apparently with nothing on underneath—the businesslike sex-kitten look. A flunky hooked the body mike to her lapel as she took her place at the center of the semicircle. The massive photo of Platinum loomed behind her.
Kiley’s stomach lurched. This was it.
“Four, three, two, and—” Bronwyn pointed at A.M., who smiled at the camera.
“Welcome back to
Platinum Nanny.
We’re at our first elimination. As you know, Platinum watched the challenge live and then reviewed the tape. She wants to know that if anything happened to her kids in the water our contestants could save them . . . and look hot in a bathing suit at the same
Tom.
Why was she even thinking about him? It was ridiculous. So what if he had made small talk with her? It’s not as if it meant anything. That her whole body had felt like mush when he’d shaken her hand was just a hormonal thing. He was a model; he was supposed to make girls feel like that, to sell whatever it was he was selling. He was probably just another shallow, brain-dead, self-absorbed L.A. jerk.
In fact, the only reason she wanted to see him was to prove to herself that she could look him in the eye, shake his hand again, and act normal.
That was all. Really.
The Hotel Bel-Air club room was done in dark leather and mahogany, like something from a British manor house. When Kiley and her mom entered, the other five contestants were already in their director’s chairs, sitting in a semicircle around where A.M. would address them. Tamika’s right ankle was wrapped in an ACE bandage.
Kiley took the last empty chair, on the far left side. Behind the semicircle of contestants was a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall photograph of Platinum, her long blond hair blowing off her face. Steinberg, who was seated to Kiley’s right, leaned over to her.
“You check out Veronique?” she muttered.
Kiley looked at the French girl, who wore a hot pink scoop-necked tank top that displayed her amazing, if unnatural, chest.
“She could put an eye out with one of those things,” Steinberg went on. “Notice how she snagged the center seat. That’s so if A.M. asks questions, everyone else has to turn their head. But she’s always face-on in the camera.”
“I never would have thought of that,” Kiley marveled.
“She’s a bitch,” Steinberg said, “but she’s a smart bitch.”
“Mom? Where’s Mom?” Kiley heard Bronwyn call out.
“Here!” Mrs. McCann waved her hand. She’d found a folding chair near the food service table that held donuts, bagels, and soft drinks.
“Mrs. McCann, Jayce here is going to take you into another room,” Bronwyn went on. “She’ll interview you on camera about who you think is going to be eliminated and why. Then you can watch the elimination on a monitor, and we can get your reaction.”
“Fine.” Mrs. McCann stood, gave Kiley a quick thumbs-up, and left with Jayce. Kiley heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe the kava kava was working.
Steinberg leaned toward Kiley again. “Your mom is such a good sport.”
Kiley was about to thank her when Bronwyn stepped over to the center area. “People, listen up. This is how it will work. A.M. has already recorded her spiel about how this is the first elimination, blah, blah, blah. You all taped your segments this afternoon about how you feel about each other, who hates who, all that. We’ll edit that stuff in. All we’re filming now is the decision of who stays and who goes. If you’re out, you’ll get like two seconds for your tearful goodbyes. Then follow Jennifer— Jennifer, raise your hand.”
A flunky in overalls raised a lackadaisical finger.
“Follow Jennifer to the lobby, pick up your suitcases, go to the courtesy van, have a pleasant life, buh-bye. You can see your magic moment on TV next week. Everyone got that?”
Please don’t let them eliminate me.
A.M. strode into the room in a Ralph Lauren suit, apparently with nothing on underneath—the businesslike sex-kitten look. A flunky hooked the body mike to her lapel as she took her place at the center of the semicircle. The massive photo of Platinum loomed behind her.
Kiley’s stomach lurched. This was it.
“Four, three, two, and—” Bronwyn pointed at A.M., who smiled at the camera.
“Welcome back to
Platinum Nanny.
We’re at our first elimination. As you know, Platinum watched the challenge live and then reviewed the tape. She wants to know that if anything happened to her kids in the water our contestants could save them . . . and look hot in a bathing suit at the same
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