Something Borrowed. Jule Mcbride
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Marley grabbed the first arm she could, the crowded space near the doors so thick with people that she wasn’t sure if the eyes into which she stared imploringly were really connected to the arm she held. “Look,” she managed to say. “It’s sounds as if you’re close to airtime, but I need to cancel. Uh…you said you had alternates. I was told to be here at six—”
“Exactly. Why weren’t you?”
She stared at Edie’s watch. “I was. I am. I mean—”
“Five until airtime!” said the voice.
“It’s seven o’clock, Ms. Benning. You’re an hour late,” someone else said.
Marley was pulling the watch to her ear. Sure enough, it had stopped. Her heart thudded in panic. She couldn’t appear on Rate the Dates, no way. “I need to find my…uh…date. His name’s Cash Champagne. There’s been a mistake.”
“Four minutes!”
How could time be flying so fast? Surely a minute hadn’t passed! As Marley drew a sharp breath, Edie’s coat was whisked from her shoulders. “Please,” she managed to say, fighting rising panic. “I need that coat.” Edie would kill her if she lost it.
No response came, but a bottled water was thrust into her hand. That she could use. Gulping, she felt the cool water slide down her throat as a sheet on a clipboard was put in front of her, and someone said, “Here, Edie. If you’ll just sign…”
Even though she thought it was rude to make contestants sign for drinks, especially water, she scribbled her sister’s name, took a deep breath, and said, “Thanks. I was thirsty.”
“Take these, too,” someone said, handing her a health bar just as a hand came over her shoulder.
“Two-sided tape,” another voice said behind her. “I’m attaching it to your blouse. It’ll hold the microphone.”
“Microphone?”
“At least she blow-dried her own hair,” someone said.
“According to the initial interview, she has natural curls.”
“That skirt’s too short, though. She can’t go on in that.”
“I’m not going on,” Marley said, beginning to realize that it was pointless to protest.
“Three minutes,” someone shouted.
“Your skirt’s really short, so make sure your knees are pressed together, Ms. Benning.”
The idea of exposing her panties to America sent another wave of panic through her system. Marley craned her neck toward the elevators, wondering if she should run. “Where’s Cash? I’ve got to talk to him.”
“All couples want to talk before the show,” another woman soothed. “But in just a minute, you’ll see him onstage—”
“No! I just came to—”
A woman moved quickly in front of her, unwrapped the health bar, tore off a piece and pushed it into Marley’s mouth, leaving Marley only one option—to chew and swallow, at least if she wanted to talk again. “Atta, girl,” said the woman. “For most contestants, eating right before you go on the air helps. Now smile. Let me check your teeth.”
This was becoming more surreal by the moment. “Please,” Marley managed to say. “I’m not going to be on your show. Now, if you don’t mind, I really have to talk to someone in charge.”
The only response was a comb. Someone behind her dragged it through her hair, then re-shellacked the locks with another wave of thick hair spray. Even worse, she felt someone grasp her hand and start to apply nail polish to Edie’s press-on nails, saying, “It won’t dry this close to airtime, but you can just rest your hands on your thighs.”
Was the woman out of her mind? Marley never painted her nails, so she was hardly practiced about how to let them dry while she was on TV. “What was wrong with them?” she asked.
“The color’s wrong for your suit. And this will make them look less like press-ons.”
“Please,” Marley said. “Just don’t put on the polish.” She’d never worn red polish in her life.
“All the other women are polished.”
But she wasn’t going onstage with the other women! The show was televised for a week! If she went on tonight, she imagined she’d be locked into the other shows, also. And she wasn’t even Edie. As Marley parted her lips to speak, an attendant started glossing them with something that smelled like strawberries. “You don’t seem to understand!” Marley managed to say futilely, frustration lifting her voice an octave.
“Two minutes!”
The words echoed in her mind. She had to get out of here. Straining her eyes past whoever was fiddling with the collar of her silk blouse, she glimpsed Edie’s watch again. How could this be? How could her efficient sister not have realized her watch had stopped? The hands hadn’t budged. As Marley lifted the watch to her ear, her wrists were spritzed with a scent that reminded her of spring rain. She simply couldn’t believe this. Marley’s hyper-organized sister actually took her watches to the jeweler biannually, just for a battery checkups.
Truly, she felt like Alice after she’d stepped through the looking glass. The hallway was still packed with people, too, and the scents of bodies, not to mention the cloying mix of perfumes and colognes, was making Marley’s stomach start to churn. Sheer hysteria was making her feel woozy, and her chest had constricted as if a vise had tightened around her rib cage.
The voice came again. “One minute!”
“Get her into the green room!”
“Please,” Marley said as someone pushed her from behind. “Just let me talk to Cash. I’m sure he doesn’t really want to be on the show, either.”
“Are you kidding?” the woman with the health bar soothed. “He’s waiting in the blue room where we put the men. He keeps asking if you’ve arrived.”
Marley considered fighting her way out, simply storming through the hallway, knocking aside whoever was in her path. She could, of course. She worked out all day. She was thoroughly hydrated, her muscles toned. She had stamina. But whatever she did would reflect badly on her sister, including announcing to the NBC staff that she wasn’t really Edie. Her own business had already folded, so she’d hate to see her sister’s meet the same fate.
Telling herself to stay calm, she took another deep breath as yet another door opened in front of her. Ah, she thought, the green room. Across the stage, she realized, was another large, boxlike room, which was blue; presumably the men were inside.
Here, the walls and floors were the color of Marley’s Italian bicycle, a sea-foam-green color the bicycle company had named Celeste. Wishfully thinking she was on her bike and pedaling out of here, Marley stared at the two women inside—a grinning, curvy woman with wild dark hair, and a tall, thin, square-jawed blonde, who was tanned and wearing all white.
Marley startled when the door of the green room shut behind her; only one of the attendants remained. As she began straightening the collar of the blond woman’s outfit, Marley wondered what to do next. She’d only seen snippets of this show, but she was familiar with the premise—contestants went on a week of dream dates while a studio audience judged whether the relationship would blossom into long-term romance. What had Edie been thinking? Would anyone—much less a woman affected by a wedding curse who was a proven failure at love—want her fledgling romance held up to scrutiny?
Oh, yes. She could definitely see why Edie wanted to cancel. Suddenly, relief flooded her. “You have alternates,” she said to the attendant who’d remained in the green room.
The woman only shook her head. “They left as soon as you got here.”
“Left?” Marley felt the floor being whisked from beneath her feet. For a