A few hours later, Margaret ignored the instructions to wait in the green room and instead wandered around the loading zone until she’d located her rover. She felt almost compelled to be there when it was loaded, feeling like a mother about to see her child off to school for the first time. Working with the foreman, she personally wielded the drill to box the vehicle, making sure it was protected from any jostling during their launch.
“Here you are,” Hank said behind her, making her jump and the last screw go sideways. “Margo, we don’t have time for this. Everyone is on the rocket but you.”
“I’m not going all the way to Mars to find my rover in pieces when we arrive.” She hurriedly screwed the last board in place, not wanting to be left behind, although they hadn’t even started the precheck yet.
Hank let out a huff of exasperation. “You know, there are other people on Earth who can do just as good a job as you at something like this.”
She doubted it, but allowed him to pull the drill from her hand and haul her back into the building. This trip to Mars meant everything to her, but she would only be on the planet for a very short time. She needed to be ready to spring into action and start testing. The last thing she needed was to arrive on Mars and find her rover needed major repairs.
“Here she is,” he said, handing her off to a woman with a clipboard.
“Let’s get you onboard,” the woman said, already walking away with brisk efficiency.
“Hank,” Margaret said, stopping her brother when he turned to go back down the ramp. “Thank you. Really. This means the world to me.” While her brother drove her crazy, she knew she owed him for getting her and her rover to Mars.
“I know,” Hank said, and grinned at her. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Aren’t you coming?”
“To fit your rover, we needed to cut some weight. I’ll be there three days after you.”
“Wait, what?” she asked, but the efficient woman had come back and herded her along with a shooing motion, a little more enthusiastically than necessary in Margaret’s opinion.
Hank waved, an annoying grin on his face, as if he’d played a great joke on her.
Margaret hoped she was imagining things. Before she could decide, they were on the rocket, the woman stuffing Margaret into a seat and handing her a helmet, then disappearing as quickly as she’d come.
Eleven women surrounded her, everyone already strapped in, so Margaret strapped in too. She was surrounded by the most gorgeous group of people she’d ever seen in one room before. It was hard not to stare.
Luckily, she was distracted by an official voice over the intercom. “Please prepare for takeoff.”
And then it hit her like a ton of bricks. She was going to Mars. It was her dream come true. She was doing it. She’d worry about her brother and the TV show when she arrived. For now, she would hold this moment close and cherish it.
The room they’d been assigned on the rocket was round, of course. She’d watched a PBS special on the building of it, so she knew the architect had decided to put in a round sofa circling the space, with navy blue cushions. Each section folded out as a bed for a contestant, then converted to a daytime sofa, then converted into a jump seat for takeoff and landing.
“Helmets on please ladies,” came a bouncy voice over a loud speaker.
A groan filled the cabin. “My hair,” someone near her whined.
“Helmet hair,” another agreed. “I hope they let us wash it when we get there.”
“Won’t happen,” a third woman said in a know-it-all tone. “No water, remember? They had a whole section on that in the manual.”
Margaret put hers on without a thought. Her hair was always a mess. Besides, if she had to dress in a clown suit to get to Mars, she would. In fact, if she thought about it, she had basically joined a circus to get on the red planet.
And suddenly the whole rocket began to shake. Vaguely she could hear a countdown, but then the rumble built to a rage and the whole ship shook with the force building under it as the blasters fired.
Then something released them and they were flung into the air, pinning her into her seat, gravity bearing down on her at an incredible force. Around her, women screamed and moaned, but Margaret couldn’t stop grinning. This. Was. Awesome.
It took hours, but they were finally released from their seats and the heat shielding was retracted to reveal a large viewport to the stars. Everyone gathered around, fighting their way to the window and for a moment, every contestant was as awed as Margaret. But within a few minutes, they grew bored of the never-ending stars and the women drifted away, the excitement fading. Soon everyone returned to lounge on their sofas, leaving Margaret alone.
I’m going to Mars. It’s going to be amazing.
She planned to suck the marrow out of every second of every minute of every one of the hours she’d be on this journey, as well as the time she’d spend on the planet. This trip was going to change her life. She was sure of it. Once she stood on Mars, a seed inside her was going to germinate and grow, and from that new born plant, her career would blossom to the next level, allowing her to become the scientist she’d always known she could be. The grant money would come to her. No more begging for funds and selling her concepts to NASA.
She wished she had someone who understood to share this moment with, but no one, not even her brother, could understand.
Although without her brother, she would have never had this chance. Hank might be a pain in the ass at times, but he’d gotten her on this rocket, so she owed him big.
“I don’t think my hair will ever be the same after wearing that helmet,” one of the women said behind her.
Then again, her brother had come up with an idea of sending a bunch of women to Mars who were more concerned with their hair than going to another planet.
Tuning them all out, Margaret promised not to let anything kill her buzz. The excitement and euphoria swirled around her, so effervescent, it raised gooseflesh on her arms.
Staring at an ocean of stars before her, Margaret realized she’d been waiting for this moment since she was ten years old. And it was finally here.
Jack Boyle drove his rover to the small valley he’d been exploring, taking a quick trip before he was locked in Station 7’s biodome for the next month. He’d discovered some unusual basalt samples and wanted to grab more before the TV people descended upon him like locusts. Parking close to the site, he sealed his suit, eager to enjoy the few hours he’d have to work before his “guests” arrived and filming began.
As he ran through his safety checklist, he tried to stop dwelling on the coming weeks of utter and complete hell he’d have to endure, all because he and Station 7 needed the money. Desperately.
Everything cost so much, no matter how he’d tried to cut corners and he’d been on the verge of doing something drastic, maybe even shutting down the station. When he’d been contacted by Hank Carson about hosting the show at Station 7, he’d known that no matter how unpleasant it might be, he would tolerate twelve reality TV show contestants and two producers moving in with him for the duration just so he could keep the station running for another year.
“Oh, and don’t forget the bachelor,” he growled out loud, so disgusted he couldn’t keep quiet.
A reality TV show where women vied to be chosen by a bachelor. Jack admitted it appealed to him on a primal level. His twenty-year-old self might have wanted to be the bachelor. Now his thirty-five-year-old self thought the whole thing was an annoying waste of his time.
But he had no choice.
When Jack first opened Research Station 7, he’d been euphoric. There was something to be said about accomplishing his life’s work before most were hitting the prime of their careers. But then reality had come crashing in on him. Running a station had turned out to be paperwork and pain. He’d built this station to run experiments, but he barely had time to run them. The fact was, he’d never been good at money. He was best in the field, doing what God had intended him to do, which was look at rocks.
This morning he’d gather as many samples as he could to study while he was locked in the station riding herd on the TV people. A small little bone he’d decided to throw himself.
As he walked to the top of a volcanic rift that spread across the surface, he said the mantra he’d developed to help him through the next four weeks, “I will be nice to the TV people. I will not yell at them or toss them out of the biodome. They are keeping Station 7 alive and therefore I must be nice.” Even if he didn’t want to be nice. Even if he wanted to send old Hank a message and tell him to go find another location for his show.
“I will be nice,” he said again, for good measure. Because the fact was, he wasn’t nice. The best anyone could say was that he was direct in his communication style. It really hadn’t mattered that much. After all, rocks didn’t complain.
He forgot about the incoming rabble as he took in the view.
Mars was desolate and windswept, but utterly beautiful. Below him, a craggy valley of basalt, shale, and sandstone stretched out for miles in either direction, the valley floor a set of plates that had shifted and broken into what he thought of as massive tiles of the gods. The far valley wall rose up in a mound of sand, a massive dune several football fields long looking like a perfectly smooth surface from here, but he knew under it all would most likely be another set of rocks, trapping the sand there.
He opened his kit and began collecting samples.
When the alarm buzzer sounded that the TV people would be landing in two hours, it startled him. He was always surprised by how quickly time flew when he was working. With a sad heart, he put away all his supplies in a duffle and picked it up.
He’d drifted further away from the rover than he’d realized. Picking up speed, he bounded west. Since Mars had less mass than Earth, he weighed less and therefore had to walk or run in an odd, convoluted gate. It was more of a push off and glide motion.
He’d only taken four leaps when a tremendous crack rang out, the soil beneath his feet shifting and churning as if a small earthquake had shivered past him.
He stopped his forward momentum by jumping up instead of out, skidding to a stop.
At first, he thought a fault had shifted but then he realized the sound had come from the direction of his rover.
Instinctively, Jack hunkered down behind a large bolder. Nothing was alive bigger than a bacterium on Mars. There were no giant sandworms or human-sized, flesh-eating bats. But he’d sensed the tremor. Something was out there.
He waited ten minutes, but it remained quiet.
Time passed and he felt foolish. He should go over and see if the rover was still in one piece. There was nothing to worry about, since there was no one on this entire planet but the people at Station 5 and him. At least not for the next couple hours.
Placing his hand on a rock to stand, a motion caught his eye. A matte black craft rose up from where his rover had been parked. Small and egg shaped, it slowly made its way to the north, flying only a few feet above the surface.
Jack ducked down again out of sight.
The ship was like nothing he’d ever seen and at first his mind screamed aliens, but then his common sense took over and he realized it must have been from Russia or maybe even China. Both countries had been threatening to come to Mars for years, ever since he and Walter Haxley had opened their stations. They didn’t want to get too far behind in the space race.
After studying the sky and finding it clear, Jack carefully worked his way to his rover.
For a moment, his brain struggled to take in the smoking pile of rubble that had been his only remaining conveyance.
He was well and truly screwed. His pack list had included two rovers when he moved here, but he’d run out of money long before the first vehicle needed expensive repairs.
Looked like he’d be walking back. He was in deep shit, and he knew it. He blew out a breath to calm his thumping heart and bottle up the fear.
Glancing at the small screen on his wrist, he checked his oxygen level. Only six hours left. Could he make it back to the station on that? He glanced at the sun and realized he barely had enough time to return before dark. He would never survive out here at night with the temperatures plummeting sometimes below -70 degrees Celsius.
The TV people would be landing soon, but luckily he’d programmed a robot to haul their ship into the biodome without him being there. Trying to figure out where fifteen extra people would sleep had been the hardest part of the negotiations, but it had been simple enough to bring the rocket into the courtyard and use it as a temporary hotel.
The biodome had revolutionized living on Mars, making it habitable for people to spend long periods of time here. It was a transparent shield that allowed sunlight in, while keeping out storms and the most extreme temperatures changes. It maintained an atmosphere close to Earth’s, which reduced the wear and tear space living did to the human body. The rocket couldn’t use the small door Jack had for the rover to move in and out, so he’d had to program the biodome to temporarily peel back for the time it took to enter. Carson’s people would have to use a canvas walkway between their ship and his lab to protect the contestants until the atmosphere returned to normal. Jack would just have to hope everything went smoothly until he returned.
If he returned.
He calmed his breathing. Every sip of air was one closer to the end of his reserve. It would be a balancing act to make it back without suffocating. If he went too fast, he’d use his oxygen up quickly. If he went too slow, he’d simply run out of air before he reached his destination.
The important thing now was not to panic. It was imperative he get home alive so he could send the TV people right back to Earth before the Chinese or the Russians attacked Station 7.
They landed five hours early, well before dark. As the robot pulled them into the biodome, Margaret watched from a window, taking in every sight she could. Craggy mountains loomed in the far distance, a purplish red in the haze. The ground was red and dusty and barren. She shivered with anticipation. This was it. This was the moment she’d waited for her whole life.
Behind her, the women got to know each other, chatting about their lives and making guesses about who the bachelor would be. She let their words wash over her, realizing they were as excited about the bachelor as she was about getting to Mars.
It wouldn’t have mattered to them if they were going to Aruba or Cancun or Pluto. The destination didn’t matter. To them, Mars was just a means to an end.
To want a man—a man they hadn’t even met—as badly as she wanted to go into space blew her mind. No man should be a woman’s dream. That was incredibly stupid. If love worked out within the carefully crafted framework of her career, then she was fine with it. Otherwise, no thank you.
The biodome had been retracted, leaving the small research station temporarily exposed while the rocket was tucked into the small courtyard between all the buildings. Margaret’s whole body was jittery with excitement. She wanted to get off the rocket and explore everything. Maybe Jack Boyle would give them a tour. Against her most basic personality, she allowed herself to daydream about Jack showing them his biodome. He would be pointing out the advances in his lab (Margaret had already taken a virtual tour online months ago), then, mid-sentence, he’d see her through the crowd and pause to ask if he knew her from somewhere. Because even though she’d be in disguise, he’d know who she was right off the bat.
Margaret shook her head at her silliness. First, they’d only met for about two minutes in a hallway at a convention. And second, she couldn’t believe she’d have a schoolgirl crush like this. She hadn’t even behaved like this when she was a schoolgirl. Well, back then, all the guys were immature morons who didn’t know an atom from a proton. But even the few men she’d dated in her life hadn’t left her feeling jittery like this.
But instead of her imagined welcome tour of Research Station 7, they spent hours unloading boxes and setting up equipment. Margaret was only saved from this backbreaking duty when Lynette, who she’d heard ominously called either “The Handler” or “The Enforcer,” summoned her into a small room one floor down. Two chairs faced each other, a camera and a large light on a stand crammed into one corner.
“Margo, we have a few quick minutes to film your backstory, since we didn’t get it before we left.” Lynette said, looking at her clipboard, her tone friendly and upbeat. “Thanks for being the last-minute fill in. Your brother said you were not to have any shots of gushing about how much you want to marry the bachelor, since you’re slated to be voted off tomorrow.”
“Thank God,” Margaret said as she sat.
“None of that,” Lynette said sharply, looking up from her notes.
Margaret blinked in surprise, watching the perky woman turn into something else entirely.
Lynette didn’t seem friendly at all, but rather tough as nails. “You must stay in character at all times, since you might be in the background of other important shots and I can’t have you messing those up.”
“Okay,” she said, surprised by Lynette’s sudden shift in tone.
“I told your brother we would be better off one down, but he insisted on bringing you since it fulfills the deal he made with Station 7 in terms of numbers. I’m not going to have you go off the rails and infect the others with a bad attitude.”
She was so harsh, Margaret sputtered out a laugh, but stifled it quickly when she saw the steel of command in Lynette’s gaze. “Wow, you’re a ball buster.”
“Damn straight. You’re not the only one acting on this trip. We all have to do our part to make good TV.”
Margaret hadn’t really watched TV since she spent most of her time in the lab, but she’d imagined the camera would follow them around while they went about their daily lives. “I thought this was supposed to be real?”
“It is. And you’re going to make it extra real by staying in character.” Lynette found the page she was looking for. “This is your backstory. You’re from Raleigh, North Carolina and went to NC State University for biological and agricultural engineering. You live with two cats and play women’s lacrosse in your free time. You’re actually quite good at it. You volunteer regularly at an old folks’ home.”
“Wow,” Margaret said again, horrified. Biological and agricultural engineering. What the hell was that? And lacrosse sounded dangerous. And two cats. Well she’d always wanted a cat. She just hadn’t thought it was fair to an animal when she was always at work all the time. “Hank must be retaliating for that time I hemmed one of his tux legs an inch shorter before high school prom.” It had brought her so much joy, but he’d promised to get her back when she’d least expected it. That time must be now.
Lynette gave her a look that was far from amused. “That’s the backstory of the contestant you replaced. She’s a real person who is quite sweet. You should take a page out of her book and get a better attitude.” Lynette pushed a button on the camera and a red light came on. “First question, why did you want to come on the show?”
Relief coursed through her. This was an easy one. “Because it’s filming on Mars.”
“No. This is where you say you’re at a point in your life you’re ready for love.”
“But—” Margaret wasn’t at a point she was ready for love. Love was messy. And complicated. And from what she could tell, its primary purpose seemed to be distracting a good researcher from her purpose while screwing up her life.
Lynette growled. “Repeat after me. I’m ready for love.”
“I’m ready for love,” Margaret parroted. And, to her surprise, she found a small piece of her brightened at that statement, but the majority of her thought it was a stupid thing to say and from Lynette’s disappointed frown, that part must have come through.
It went downhill from there.
Margaret tried not to be a jerk, but she wasn’t an actress and she’d never been light and bouncy in her life. She wasn’t even sure she knew what those words meant in relation to her own personality.
Over and over again, Lynette made her answer the same questions. “Smile! How hard is it to smile?” she asked at one point, throwing up her hands in frustration.
“Lynette,” Margaret said, unable to take any more. “I’m not trying to make your life hell. I promise you.” In fact, Margaret was starting to really like the other woman, who’d turned out to be smart and commanding. “I’m just not built for this.”
Lynette slumped in her chair, looking more angry than defeated. “Your brother has screwed us both.”
“I promised him and I’m promising you. I will try everything in my power to stay in character. But acting isn’t something my brain can handle.” Which was weird, actually, because Margaret had thought she could do anything she set her mind to. Turned out one of her personal mottos must have been wrong, because she couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.
Lynette studied at her for a long, assessing moment. “My gut says you’re a major mistake. But we’ll have to do the best we can.” Lynette leaned forward in her chair. “I don’t care how hard it is for you. You are no longer Margaret Carson. You are Margo Wilson, from Raleigh, North Carolina. I want you calling yourself Margo, even in your own mind. It is critical for you to give me everything you have for the next day.” Lynette narrowed her eyes in a clear warning. “If you don’t, your brother has told me to ban the testing of your rover.”
“What?” Margaret gasped. To be on Mars and not test her rover would break her heart.
Lynette nodded and even appeared a little sympathetic. “Your brother seemed to think it was the only way to get full participation from you.”
To have come this far and see her plans go up in smoke wasn’t acceptable. Light and bouncy would be her middle name if it killed her. She pasted on a smile. “Margo from Raleigh it is,” she said, the words a promise.
Lynette dropped her head in her hands. “Don’t smile with your teeth showing. It makes you look like you’re going to cut someone’s heart out and eat it.”
Margaret closed her lips.
Lynette peeked between two fingers. “Good enough.”
They both went upstairs to find a guy named Russ wheeling clothes hanging from a long bar into the room.
“Okay, listen up,” Lynette barked, holding her clipboard like a shield. “Your dresses for the first day’s filming are on this bar with your names pinned to them. You are not allowed to switch dresses. You are not allowed to make any alterations to your dresses. You will wear what we’ve picked for you as they were given to you. No exceptions.” She glanced at her clipboard. “You will be called in alphabetical order to the makeup room, which is down the spiral staircase in the first room on your right. You are not allowed to go to any other place on that floor. You will come straight back here after your makeup window is over. Please get dressed and be prepared for the start of filming, which begins in thirty minutes.”
A general groan went through the room. They were all exhausted from the trip.
“You’ve been warned this season is going to have a grueling film schedule, so no whining. Jenny Armond, you’re up.”
Then Lynette stepped back and everyone but Margaret rushed to find their dresses, the room filling with a horrible din. The rack dwindled as the women fought to find their clothing.
Lynette caught Margaret’s gaze and made a shooing gesture to encourage her to join the fray.
Margaret stepped up to the last remaining dress, her name pinned to the top of a long, pretty rose sheath. She pulled it from the rack, wincing at the sheer, delicate fabric that probably would tear like tissue paper. From a small bag clothes-pinned to the hanger, she pulled out extra control top hose, a strapless bra and some strings she suspected were supposed to be underwear. She spent a long time trying to figure out which holes were for her legs verses her waist. It was hard to tell.
“Margo Wilson,” Lynette called from the top of the spiral stairs.
Margaret also wondered if the dress would even fit her, since she was wearing clothing meant for another woman. Holding the gown up to her body, she peered around another contestant into one of only two full length mirrors, and decided it couldn’t possibly fit.
“Margo Wilson,” Lynette called again, sounding super annoyed as she tapped Margaret on the shoulder. “Your makeup time is ticking away.”
Relief filled her at the delay as she put the dress back onto the rack. Margo. I am Margo, Margaret repeated as she followed Lynette down to makeup and sat at the table that had been added to the same room she’d been interviewed in earlier.
The Enforcer studied her critically, before picking a bottle of foundation.
“You’re the makeup artist?” Margaret asked in disbelief. Hank had assured her that she’d have the best and she figured she needed it. Further, Lynette wasn’t even wearing any makeup. “I thought you were the person who does the interviews?”
“I’m everything on this shoot.” Lynette dabbed a sponge onto Margaret’s face, applying the liquid heavily. “Makeup artist, registration, handler, shrink, contestant wrangler, and enforcer.”
“Are those all real titles?”
“No, but they’re real staff positions.”
“Shrink?”
“You’d be surprised. We have at least one person go whack every season.” Lynette fell quiet as she powdered, brushed and started working on Margaret’s eyes.
“Enforcer?” Margaret asked, unable to help it.
“Look up,” Lynette ordered, drawing lines on the upper and lower lids. “Did you not read your contract? Because the list of behaviors that break your contract are long. And you’re not going to be considered for Paradise if you break even the smallest of the rules.”
“What’s Paradise?” Margaret had fallen down the rabbit hole into a different world.
Lynette pulled back and studied her. “You aren’t joking. Hank is so on my shit list.” She tossed down the brush in obvious disgust. “It’s the after show where everyone who didn’t win has the chance to become even more famous by making complete asses of themselves on a tropical island. It’s the golden ticket, much more coveted than this gig.”
“Really?” Margaret was intrigued. It was like another world. One she knew her brother was suited for to a “T.”
The Enforcer pointed an eyeliner at her. “And you won’t go if you break the rules on this show, no matter how much of a fan favorite you are, so you better fly straight. I will not lose one second of sleep blackballing you if you fuck with me.”
Margaret sat silent, too surprised to say anything in return. But Lynette didn’t understand her at all if she thought banning Margaret from another show was a punishment.
“Lynette,” Russ said from the doorway. “We have a problem.”
“Here,” Lynette said, shoving a new set of fake eyelashes into Margaret’s hands. “Put these on. The glue is on the side table.”
The other women left in a flurry of energy, leaving Margaret staring in the mirror. She was different, but really not different enough. She looked like herself, only better.
The package of fake eyelashes seemed to mock her as she studied them. Her name was on the outside of the case, so they had to be reusable. She turned over the box and revealed a set of directions. “Thank God,” she whispered.
There were only three steps. How hard could it be?
Taking one out, she held it up to her lash line to measure them as the box instructed, and promptly poked herself in the eye. “Crap.” She blinked rapidly to keep from messing up the eyeliner Lynette had so expertly applied.
This wouldn’t defeat her. She had a PhD in mechanical engineering, dammit. This wasn’t beyond her skills. Carefully following the directions, she trimmed the lashes to fit and put on the glue like an expert.
But despite her best attempts, the lashes ended up at her brow line or crooked or off to one side, like a caterpillar heading for her hairline.
“Need help?” the tall, gorgeous Tiffany asked, gliding in.
Margaret had met everyone before they’d left, but luckily they all still had nametags on, or she’d be lost. “Why is this so hard?” Margaret asked, peeling the offending item off.
“It just takes practice.” Tiffany sat in Lynette’s chair and took it from her. “Stare straight ahead and I’ll do the rest.”
Reassured by Tiffany’s confidence, Margaret relaxed for the first time. “What do you do when you aren’t on TV?” she asked, figuring Tiffany had to be a model.
“Focus on the wall behind me or your eyelashes flutter,” Tiffany ordered, completely focused on the operation at hand.
Margaret stared at a filming schedule taped to the far wall, noting how many entries were listed under each day. These women would be working their butts off while they were here. Thank God she’d only have to endure the grueling schedule for a short time.
“I’m a social worker. Abused and neglected children.” Two quick presses and the eyelash strip went into place on the first try.
Margaret leaned down to view them in the mirror. “Wow,” she said, truly impressed by both Tiffany’s deft skills and her job.
Tiffany popped the second lash from the case. “Last one.” It went on just as easy.
“Wow,” Margaret said again, peering close to the mirror. Her eyes were huge, filling her face. She looked younger, more innocent and… pretty. “I don’t even look like myself,” she whispered in awe.
“Fake eyelashes are amazing,” Tiffany declared. “It’s the most important thing in your vanity arsenal.”
Margaret never had a vanity arsenal, but Tiffany almost made her wish she had.
“Let’s go,” Lynette barked from the top of the stairs. “Everyone! I need you in gowns and lined up in the hall in ten.”
Tiffany snorted. “Time to practice exiting the rocket.”
“We’re going to practice walking down a ramp?”
“You know it. We’ll practice everything. Haven’t you watched the docuseries about the making of this show?” Tiffany lead the way to the changing area.
“No.” Margaret was regretting she hadn’t watched because it would’ve been helpful. If she’d had more time, she would have researched this. Or maybe she wouldn’t, because she hadn’t known how serious this whole thing had been until she’d been told testing her rover was in jeopardy.
Bolstering her courage, she prepared for an upcoming confrontation with Lynette when she couldn’t fit into her dress. Because there was no way she was getting into it.
She stripped, managed to get the panties on, then struggled into the most soul sucking control top hose she’d ever worn in her life, then carefully drew the dress over her head. As expected, it stuck around her shoulders, but several other contestants rushed to her aid, pulling and yanking it down until the fabric settled around her, much to Margaret’s surprise. The fabric had to have elastic in it. A lot of elastic.
She peered into the full-length mirror and was shocked to find the dress fit, even if it was tighter than anything she’d ever worn before.
The deep rose gossamer sheath hit the ground as if it had been handmade for her. With her hair twisted up, makeup on and this dress, Hank had been right. No one would ever recognize her.
She didn’t even recognize herself.
But the excitement soon wore off because they spent the next two hours filming their walk from the rocket into the hallway connected to Boyle’s laboratory. One by one, they went down the ramp, through a tunnel into Boyle’s research center.
Margaret wasn’t the only one who rapidly lost her patience with the process because Lynette spent the entire shoot yelling, “Smile!” and making everyone go back up the ramp to do it again.
Each time Margaret passed her, Lynette shouted, “Margo, please stop stomping. You need to float.”
Margaret didn’t know how to float and didn’t want to know. Strangely, she’d thought she’d be nervous in front of the camera, but instead she was just aggravated. But she reminded herself about her rover, slapped on a smile, and tiptoed down the ramp, staring at a place beyond the cameraman’s right shoulder.
Which obviously also wasn’t floating, because Lynette said to Russ, “We’ll have to edit her out,” sounding put out and long-suffering.
By the end, Margaret was limping in her high heels and, because no one had bothered to feed them, starving. But the biggest annoyance was the fact that she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jack Boyle.