Gene arrived at Crystal’s apartment at eight o’clock the next morning. Crystal lived in the South Deering neighborhood; her building was a block away from the pizzeria and half a block from her parents’ house.
“Crystal!” Gene said when her new lead answered the door. “Hello! Good morning.”
“Come in.” Crystal, wearing a pink bathrobe that was brilliant with her red hair, ushered Gene in. Ah, the smooth expanse of Crystal’s neck. Like a vase forbidden to be touched lest it break. What kissing her would be like…
“You doing okay?” Gene asked as she surveyed the living room. Simple but fine for TV. Gene had made sure of it by sending a scout cameraman a month ago. He reported that Crystal’s place was devoid of personality. Crystal admitted that she’d hidden some possessions she found embarrassing. Gene lectured her to do no such thing for the real shoot, and she was glad now to see a few knickknacks here and there and some abstract prints on the wall.
“I’m good.” Crystal tugged on her robe, tightening the knot. “Sorry I’m not dressed. I was so tired when I got in bed last night, I forgot to set the alarm. I woke up minutes before you knocked.”
“No problem.” Gene’s thoughts flickered off track. Was Crystal naked underneath? How well did the carpet match the drapes? Gene’s pubic hair, to her dismay, was starting to go white. The bottom half of her pussy, anyway. The top half remained a fiery orange-ish red. As for the hair atop her head, she dyed it when she had to, which was increasingly often. Funny—she usually did not care about styling it, but she hated the thought of looking old.
“Want a banana?” Crystal asked. “An apple, an orange?”
“No thanks.”
Crystal disappeared into the kitchen and returned a moment later. A healthy white banana sprouted from its peel, and Crystal closed her eyes, bit into the banana, and if Gene’s eyesight was to be believed, gave the fruit a little suction action. Damn banana got to third base.
The image of Crystal between Gene’s legs providing suction action jolted her. Everywhere. Tingling, Gene cleared her throat and headed to the window. The sign for Maitland Pizzeria greeted her in the distance. “Do you feel claustrophobic sometimes?” she asked.
“Because my work, family and apartment are so close together? Yeah, sometimes.”
Gene nodded. “You start kissing tons of women in two weeks. Talk about your world opening up.” Practice lots on your bananas, and let me watch.
“Or my world might become more claustrophobic,” Crystal muttered.
“The cameras? You’ll get used to them like you did before.”
“I never did, not quite.”
“You’ll get used enough,” Gene said.
A faraway look entered Crystal’s eyes. “Do you get claustrophobic?”
“What do you mean?”
“You live and work in an insular world. I wouldn’t be surprised if you feel claustrophobic sometimes.” Crystal paused. “Remember the night of the not-proposal in New York?”
“It rings a faint bell.”
“You were worried you might lose your job. Having no security is kind of claustrophobic.”
“Took Philosophy 101, did you? Earned As across the board?”
“Stop. I’m being serious.”
“We’re not here to discuss me, or phobias for that matter. Come over here. Greet me like I’m a contestant.”
“What?”
“We’ve got to loosen you up. No better way than through practice. You’re going to meet some fantastic women, Crystal. Exquisite and accomplished ladies. You need to practice interacting with them.”
“Fine, but tell me first if you get claustrophobic.”
Gene stifled a sigh. Did she? Hard to tell. The question was complicated, or maybe Gene did not want to let Crystal into her life. She thought about the woman enough already.
“No, I don’t get claustrophobic,” Gene said.
Crystal’s expression turned curious. “Then what do you get?”
“Scared,” Gene admitted. “Sometimes. Most of the time, I am happy.”
“Happy,” Crystal murmured, turning the word over like it was a snake. “Happy,” she repeated. “Hmm. What scares you, Gene?”
Gene thought about Hip Joiners, her baby languishing in a closet, never getting produced. “Nothing,” she said.
“Do you know what? I’ve never thought about if I am happy. I’m shy and don’t have the best luck with women, but I have people who love me. A stable job. I’m satisfied, at least.”
“Happiness and unhappiness co-exist in the same people,” Gene said lightly. “Life is a ride.” If she kept busy enough, she could maintain the act that she was happy, that one day Hip Joiners would get picked up. At times like last night, when she lay in bed with nothing but her thoughts, she saw herself for the wretched and lonely creature she was. She saw Hip Joiners for the crap show it was. No one liked it; everyone wanted tweaks here, tweaks there, to make Hip Joiners just any other lesbian cookie-cutter crap, and…shit. Damn.
Time to move to safer ground. “Let’s practice,” Gene urged. “I answered your question, so you have to greet me like I’m a contestant.”
“Oh. Okay. Yeah, um…shouldn’t you come to me?”
Gene rolled her eyes. “Fine.” She simpered to Crystal. “Hello! Oh my gosh! It’s so nice to meet you. I love you! You were adorbs on season two! My name’s Gene.”
Crystal stepped back, fear jumping into her eyes. “H-hi, Gene. I’m Crystal. I look forward to getting to know you. Um, where are you from?”
Poor Crystal—she had turned into a cord of lumber. No matter. They had two weeks until filming started in earnest. Plenty of time. Zara had been the same way.
**
Crystal would not call the day fun, but it was an experience that orbited fun from a distance, like the moon orbited Earth. Filming kept her occupied nearly every moment. First, Nate sat with her on her bed—her bed, her private space! Across from the bed stood a shelf full of stuffed animals. Crystal had debated whether to hide the animals in advance of the camera crews, but Gene’s words stood out in her mind. “Do you know what our scout cameraman found at your apartment?” she texted Crystal last month, less than twenty-four hours after the cameraman left.
“What?” Crystal replied.
“Nothing! No personality, nothing, except for pink bedsheets. What did you do?”
“Well,” Crystal hedged, “I may have overcleaned and overpacked a few things.”
Her cellphone rang an instant later, and Gene launched into a spiel: “Hide clutter, sure. And you better dust and vacuum, yeah. But don’t stow artwork you love out of fear that other people might think it is tacky. Don’t conceal your personality, Crystal. Otherwise, we might as well have a cardboard cutout made of you.”
Crystal knew better than to disregard Gene’s instructions. The woman was a force to be reckoned with. So, Crystal unpacked her animals and other items she normally would not flaunt to the world, and left them.
Gene, of course, had decided that the nation must see Crystal’s stuffed-animals collection. Embarrassing enough for a thirty-year-old woman, but what put the cherry of mortification on top was the fact that each animal was a disaster.
“You have an interesting collection of animals,” Nate said to Crystal as the interview began. Camera crews had spent ten exhaustive minutes shooting the creatures.
Crystal bobbed her head. “I do.”
“What…” Nate grinned, still flabbergasted. Gene had decided not to rehearse the interview or feed Nate questions; they could reshoot as many times as necessary. Gene wanted “real emotion.” “Half of your animals are missing an eye, a nose, a limb. Their fur is patchy,” Nate said.
“They’re imperfect,” Crystal whispered. “I get them at yard sales and the like.”
Nate leaned in, his brows furrowed. “Why?”
Crystal felt like the world’s top imbecile. “I don’t hoard them,” she said defensively.
“No, no, I’m not implying that,” Nate soothed. “You have, what…fifteen? That’s not hoarding.”
“I’m picky about which animals I buy.” Crystal allowed herself a small chuckle. “I’m sure it does not look that way.”
“Which is your most recent purchase?”
Crystal got up, clutched a teddy bear, and sat back down. “This guy here.” Touching him made her feel better. Calmer and less stupid. The bear would put any self-respecting zombie to shame. Half of his neck had been torn off at some point, but sown and resown with love, as the various-colored threads showed. The bear was dirty—filthy, really. Creepily orange eyes stared out from mangy, thin brown fur. Pockets of stuffing spilled out in some spots.
Crystal straightened. “I’ve always been drawn to imperfection,” she admitted. “When I was a little kid, maybe four, my mom took me to a yard sale. There was a box full of the most horrible animals, but I found them fascinating. I went through the box and found a snake. It was so soft I didn’t care that its eyes were missing. My mom refused to buy it. She said it was no good and that we’d get me a brand-new doll.” Sympathy laced Crystal’s words. “I felt bad for the snake. Really bad. And I just…” She shrugged. “I keep an eye out for animals I connect with, that’s all.”
“Do you fix them up and gift them to kids?”
Crystal swallowed. “I keep them, but as you can see, fifteen animals since I was a teenager is not unreasonable. It’s a rare animal I connect with.”
“Your mother eventually let you buy damaged animals?”
Low, throaty chuckle. “I never told her. If this is aired, I guess she’ll find out.” Crystal waved. “Hi, Mom!”
She caught sight of Gene next to a camera, Gene with the most extraordinary expression. It made Crystal’s stomach tumble and leap. Unlike Nate’s bewildered and slightly amused expression, Gene’s spoke of understanding. Complete, total understanding and acceptance. It did funny things to Crystal.
She said to Nate, “I wish I had told Zara I admire what she does for animals. You know, the, uh...helping pets. Animals. Mine don’t need fixing. I think they’re fine the way they are, but Zara’s kind does need help.”
“Do you have other regrets with Zara?”
“She didn’t see who I am, who I can be, but I hope she and Lucy are happy.”
“You’ve let your guard down here,” Nate said. “By sharing your animals with us.”
A grin. “Big step, right?”
Next, the crews headed to the gym where Crystal exercised. They filmed her on the bicycle, treadmill and elliptical in a sports bra and skimpy shorts. Crystal had been filmed in a bikini multiple times in Zara’s season, and getting nearly naked again was uncomfortable. The feeling would pass. Crystal kept telling herself: thirty-two thousand dollars.
She also kept seeing Gene’s expression of fascination and understanding. What had Gene been through? What did the woman know? What was the “collection” she did not want people to see?
After the gym were some generic outdoor city shots and dinner. Then Gene drove Crystal back to her apartment in a rental car.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” Gene said. “We’ll see you in twelve days in Florida.”
“Come up for a drink? A coffee? It’s only eight o’clock.”
Gene shook her head. “I’ve got to catch a plane.”
Crystal tried to keep disappointment out of her expression. “Oh. Okay. Are you going to air anything about my stuffed animals?”
Streetlights gave Gene a ghostly look, and her lips, her eyes…Crystal wanted to kiss the dent near Gene’s nose, wanted to kiss the rest of her.
“Do you want me to?” Gene asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I would like to,” Gene said slowly. “It’s not usual reality TV fare, but it gives you an angle that…” A laugh. “Goodness, Crystal, all of America will be in love with you after that segment airs.”
“In love with me? My animals are a weird collection.”
“Sure, but people need that. They want something different.”
“Did you like it?” Crystal ventured. “You liked the collection? Which was your favorite?”
Gene started to answer but stopped herself. “Oh, boo, I’d love to stay and chat, but I must dash. Planes are impatient.”
Crystal curled her hands into fists. “Yeah. Okay. Can’t miss your plane. Goodbye, Gene. I enjoyed seeing you again.”
“Same here. See you soon, boo. You be good. Hang cool.”
Bravery gave Crystal a nudge. Gene had sent her tons of web links during the past few months on how to touch a woman, how to flirt with her, how to make her feel good. Why not test some of it on Gene herself? Gene was right; Crystal did need practice.
“You have something on your…your…” Crystal extended her hand and brushed the top of Gene’s shirt.
Gene inhaled a startled but not displeased breath. She glanced down. “What is it?”
“A little dirt. Stubborn.” Crystal brushed a few times, “accidentally” rubbed Gene’s breast and drew back, glad it was too dark for Gene to see her eyes. “How did I do? Was that good?”
“What do you mean?”
“I need practice in flirting, right?”
“Oh. That’s what that was. Ah, yeah, you keep that up, you’ll definitely get that fivesome on your overnights.”
“Thank you.”
“Before I forget,” Gene said. “Half of the money will be transferred into your account tomorrow. Sixteen thousand dollars.”
Crystal gulped. She had known this was coming, but she found it hard to believe. All of a sudden, she would have an incredible amount of money. The other sixteen thousand would arrive after filming, after Crystal fulfilled the rest of her contractual obligations. In other words, after she proposed.
“Wow,” Crystal said. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Gene smiled. “Don’t blow it all at once, kid.”
Crystal got out of the car, watched Gene drive off, and went up to her apartment and her animals. She could not help but smile and smile. Sixteen thousand dollars! Not the perfect antidote to loneliness, but it was something.
**
The next morning in Los Angeles, Raymond Moreno glanced over the Hip Joiners treatment. The meeting with him was why Gene could not linger with Crystal the night before, no matter how much she wanted to. Raymond had been tangentially involved with Queer as Folk, and while he could do little for any TV show, he knew people who could do lots. Gene had waited months for the meeting with him.
Treatments were similar to short stories but film-oriented in that they were narrated in present tense. They described events as they happened using directorial cues and the like.
“I read this last night,” he said, slapping his palm against the treatment. “It has promise, but it won’t fly.”
Gene expected this. Always. But as with every rejection, a piece of her heart broke off to shrivel and die.
“Siamese twins at the turn of the century,” Raymond said with a laugh. “Both lesbians? It’s too out there.”
“You can see from the treatment that it isn’t. It’s handled with the right combination of humor, pathos and—”
“If they’re regular twins, it could work,” Raymond cut in. “Or sisters. But Siamese twins? Who wants to watch that? It’s goofy.”
“I beg to differ. Here are the results of focus groups and polls I—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got all your email attachments.” Raymond pushed his chair back. “Look, Gene, I appreciate you thinking of me, and if you make them sisters not literally joined at the hip, then great. Get back in touch.”
They got to their feet, and Gene offered a wooden handshake. A show about regular lesbian sisters would be funny, it would be great, but Gene’s Siamese twins idea was her baby, her special one, and it elevated the premise to another level. She really did not want to have to sell out by making her sisters ordinary.
**
Gene spent the rest of her week supervising edits from Crystal’s hometown. First, there would be a one-minute recap of Crystal and Zara. Next, the Chicago segment would fill a ten-minute window at the beginning of the first episode. About half of that ten minutes would be interviews—Crystal’s parents and Nate, for example, people who had known Crystal since she was a child, Crystal herself.
Turnaround time this season would be tight. The ideal was to begin final editing for each two-hour episode after a season was complete so it was clear who would be proposed to, who hated whom, who got kicked off when. While there was always a general script, the storyline could be tailored more naturally and flexibly if more editing time was available. In this case, the cable channel Rainbow World had waited until later to start filming because of the budget issues. Plus, the houses in Nobles, Florida, they wanted to reserve for Crystal and the contestants were not available until mid-April. They needed to wait until then to start filming anyway, for weather reasons. Sun, pools, bikinis, glistening sweat, hot bodies.
In a way, Gene welcomed the challenge of quick turnarounds. A lot could go wrong, but she’d never lack a stimulating moment. This season would also bring another challenge—the shoestring budget. Zara’s season had featured a stunt plane ride among other relatively extravagant dates, and Brad’s season featured a group bungee jumping date. Now, money was tight all around, and Gene had to adjust. One of the first things to go would be a visit to Crystal’s hometown by the final two contestants. Filming the meat of the show would be a little shorter too, at five weeks. Gene was eliminating break days and inserting dates on most post-bracelet-ceremony days to make up for the lost time.
Gene’s assistant, Dallas, paused the TV at one point. He wore his hair slicked back and was perhaps the closest she had to a true friend in the business. They had bonded in season one of Will You Marry Me? over their place names; Gene’s real name was Virginia. They were also the only two people, other than Nate, present for all four seasons. To cut down on the chances of contestants and staffers getting involved with each other, Rainbow World strove for lesbian crews on the gay male seasons and for gay men to help produce the lesbian seasons. Gene and Dallas, because they were management, were different. They were held to higher standards.
“This stuffed animals part is great,” Dallas said. “She’s different, our Crystal.”
“Isn’t she?” Gene agreed. She replayed Crystal’s tentative brushing of the nonexistent dirt off her shirt and breast. What did it mean? Surely Crystal was not drawn to Gene. Not in that way.
At the end of the week, Gene had a nice, slick package to show Rainbow World. She inserted a DVD into the player, told the five suits in the meeting to sit back and enjoy, and turned off the lights.
She tried to relax as well but was too excited. Crystal was a gem. A true gem of a reality-show lead. Unique.
The theme song for Will You Marry Me? played on TV as Crystal straddled an exercise bike like nobody’s business. Quick shots of her at the pizzeria, looking out the window and just simply smiling.
Finally, Crystal in her knee-length white dress and peering up fearfully at Zara. “Seven months ago, Crystal Bethany Maitland fell head over heels in love,” Nate’s voice intoned gravely.
Zara took Crystal’s hands in hers. “Crystal, you have been…you have been tremendous,” Zara said.
Slight, happy smile from Crystal.
“Patient with me beyond reason. I’m in awe of you. Your tireless devotion, energy and love for your family. I love the look you get in your eyes when you talk about your parents and the love they have for each other.” Crystal’s small smile expanded, and Gene shifted uncomfortably. Zara’s words were so sweet they couldn’t not be true on some level.
“That’s what you deserve,” Zara went on, “And I wish…I so wish we could spend our lives together.”
Crystal’s pupils dilated, and her cheeks colored pink. “What?” she choked out. “Aren’t we going to?”
Zara shook her head. “We don’t belong together.”
Cut to Crystal sobbing during her on-camera interview. “I don’t want to talk,” she gasped through tears. “Please, please, stop. Leave me alone.”
The screen went black for a split-second and opened with an aerial view of Chicago, with a label reading “Chicago” for people who did not recognize the Sears Tower. “Crystal Maitland is a fighter,” Nate’s voice said.
Cut to Crystal sitting in the pizzeria and displaying her too-toothy grin. “I’m ready,” she said. “Oh, yeah. I’m ready to fall in love again.”
She was perfect.
Cut to Crystal’s father with block letters reading: JERRY MAITLAND, CRYSTAL’S FATHER. “My daughter is guarded.”
Back to Crystal at the table. “I’m guarded,” she admitted. “I don’t let people in easily. That was my mistake with Zara—waiting too long. I won’t make that mistake this time around.”
Nate smiling at Crystal. “It’s tough, opening yourself up.”
“I can do it.” The steel determination in Crystal’s eyes would convince the most doubting Thomas.
ROSANNA MAITLAND, CRYSTAL’S MOTHER: “Crystal is shy and introverted. I mean, she has friends, both male and female. But nothing deep. Nothing extraordinary. Crystal requires depth and time. That makes connecting difficult. This show will be amazing, her being lead. It’ll force her to open up quickly, to blossom. She kept her walls up too high and too long in season two.”
DAVINA WALLACE, CRYSTAL’S FRIEND: “I’ve known Crystal since we were in diapers, but I don’t know know her. I doubt anyone does.”
Segue to Crystal’s bedroom and the shelves of odd, disabled animals. Crystal chuckling uncertainly on the bed. And the heartbreaking interview that followed. Crystal’s gorgeous strong lashes, her beautiful uncertainty, the faint freckles that would poke up from winter hibernation in the Florida sun. This was a woman Zara Winters would fall in love with.
Gene heard appreciative murmurs, rustles of compliments from the executives in the room. When the segment ended, Gene flicked the lights back on, and applause welcomed her.
“Bravo, Gene!” said Doug Whitman, president of development at Rainbow World. “You know what you should do? Bring Zara back for the meet and greet.”
“Pardon?”
A chorus of enthusiastic yeses rose up from the table.
“It can be under the guise of giving Crystal advice for being lead. Either before Crystal’s supposed to meet the women or after she’s met them but has yet to mingle. Presto, Zara’s there! How will Crystal react?”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m executive producer. I know Crystal pretty well. It may be feasible to bring Zara back to give advice, but the meet and greet is not the time.”
“Then when?”
“Actually, Zara should not come back. Crystal needs a clean slate with as few reminders of season two as possible.”
“Yeah, but we need more subscribers,” Doug said with a laugh. “Make it happen, eh, Gene? Tell Zara we’ll donate a thousand dollars or whatever to a vet charity. We’ll run the PSAs again. Whatever. Give her and Lucy a couple of days’ vacation in Orlando. Free airfare and hotel.” The men—for they were all men, five callous executives—devolved into chatter on whether Zara should show up before Crystal met the women, or after.
“Excuse me!” Gene tried after a few moments. “We can’t afford to bring Zara back. As you said, Doug, we need more subscribers. We don’t have the money to give her a free weekend and—”
“Find it,” Doug said.
“What?”
“You’re a budget whiz. Find the money. Didn’t you add an emergency stash after Zara’s season?”
“For true emergencies. Look, Crystal was in tears after Zara did not propose, and that proposal was supposed to be fake anyway! The meet and greet ought to be a happy time. We don’t want to risk tears.”
“Where’s your sense of drama, Gene?” Doug arched an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft. Picture it in the previews, eh? We could hype it to the max. Zara returns! Crystal pleads her case again! Show Crystal’s face the instant she sees Zara. Tune in for the season premiere of Will You Marry Me?”
“If you want a happy ending, a proposal, you can’t risk starting Crystal’s season that way.”
“Sure I can. After two days, Crystal will have forgotten Zara was there.”
Gene sighed. Doug was right. The idea was excellent, and Gene should have thought of it herself. “Fine,” Gene said. “I’ll get Zara onboard.” I’ll screw Crystal over because that’s the kind of ass I am.