Maggie snorted. “A reality show? This was Aaron’s big dream? So much for finishing his degree.”
“He didn’t say he wanted to be on a reality show, but he said he wanted to be famous. That was his end game—being famous. Didn’t matter how. Helovesto have people watching him. TV makes perfect sense.” Cora waited a beat. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I got on TV, too?”
Maggie threw her a perplexed look.
“You know my clients Wade and Rachel with the twins and the golden puppy? He e-mailed me about this new dog training show that’s being cast and he thinks I should audition.”
“Oh my God, you totally should!” Maggie screamed, waking Fritz from his snoring slumber. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you could take out the doggy dickhole? You’d be perfect!”
“You really think so? There’s a tiny part of me that wants to try, but you know I don’t have that Aaron gene. The concept of being on TV freaks me out. Butsomebodyneeds to show people you can train dogs without hurting them.”
“Yeah, and that somebody might be you. I think you’d be awesome, C. I can totally help you find your TV gene.”
“We’ll see,” Cora answered cryptically, still warming up to the idea.
America’s Hottest Landscaperwas a new low in the world of reality programming, in Cora’s honest opinion. The show’s initial challenge involved a mulch installation, and the resulting close-ups of the contestants sweating, grunting, and grimacing coupled with the gritty soundtrack made it look like soft-core porn. The episode mainly revolved around Aaron’s abs and Carly the hot girl’s cleavage and it was clear that the editors wanted viewers to pick up on the simmering sexual tension between the duo. Carly was platinum blond, Aaron’s favorite. He loved to tell Cora that she was an exception, since her hair color was three shades darker than what he normally went for.
Aaron won the challenge, and the attractive host ascended the steaming pile of mulch to congratulate him and ask him about his strategy. Cora was numb to the effects of seeing him on screen by the end of the program, more in awe of the train wreck of a show he was on.
“Tell us how you did it, Aaron,” the host bubbled. “How did you move this mountain of mulch in just three and a half minutes?”
Aaron paused to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand like a hardworking everyman. “Well, Brittany, I just gave it my all. I didn’t expect to have such a fierce competitor in Andy,” he said gesturing to the openly gay contestant. He turned back to the camera and lisped, “He’s a skinny little f***—Ididn’t think he had any heavy lifting in him. Well, except for... you know...” He smiled his golden boy smile and elbowed Brittany. The camera cut to Andy, who stood a few feet away with an unguarded look of shock on his face. The word was bleeped, but there was no doubt about what he’d said.
Maggie and Cora turned to each other, agog.
“Holy shit, your ex-fiancé just made a gay slur on national television. He is goingdownthe hard way.”
SEVEN
Fran Channing asked Cora to hold their third lesson at her Old Town Alexandria office, as Sydney often accompanied Fran to work despite his less than stellar manners. Cora was excited that she’d finally be able to match a career with the woman she so admired.
Cora’s phone pinged nonstop during the drive. Sixteen new texts, all about Aaron’s embarrassing TV debut. “He looked gud but cnt belve wht he said!!!” and “R u ok? Did it make u sad to c him??” and “Better off w/out him!” Even her technophobe mother weighed in with a typically verbose text. “Hi honey. I watched the show and I can’t believe what Aaron said. I’m worried about you. Are you ok? Love, Mom.” The support helped. Watching his flirting from a distance brought back some of the old hurts she’d buried, even if the result was the firm conclusion that he was an asshole.
She found Fran’s office on a quiet side street lined with cherry trees about to burst into bloom. The brick building was a small, repurposed factory with the ghost of the former tenant’s decades-old logo still visible on the side. When Cora saw the tall red letters on the front of the building, Fran’s immaculately styled home made sense: The International Association of Boutique Lodging.
Cora entered the airy foyer and was met by four unmarked doors. She tried the first one—locked. The second one opened, and she found herself peering into a room filled with cubicles. No one looked up as she entered, and no one came forward to help her, so she backed out quietly. Flustered and fearing she was late, she speed walked to the third door and barged in right as a blur of a human was coming out.
“Sorry, sorry,” the blur cried as he ran by her. “Gotta catch the UPS guy!”
Cora saw a secretary sitting at a desk just beyond the door and hoped that she was finally in the right place. Then, she heard the distant jangling of dog tags and knew that she was. Sydney rounded the corner like he was chasing a breakaway sheep and came to an immediate sit in front of her the moment he saw Cora’s crossed arms. The dog was equal parts heart and brain, and she adored working with him.
“Would you look at that? Look at my good boy!” Fran’s voice echoed down the hallway as she trotted out to meet Cora, her Asian-inspired silk duster trailing behind her. Fran turned to the secretary. “Lydia, do you see that? Itoldyou he’s a genius! Now if we could only do something about his leash walking...”
Cora and Sydney followed Fran into her expansive office, which had the same vibe as her home: clean lines, stark styling, and nothing out of place. Cora took a seat next to Sydney on the ground and leaned against the wall, hoping that the dirty paw prints on her shirt from her last jumpy client wouldn’t transfer onto the pearl-colored wall.
“Darling, I’m sorry I’m so frazzled today! There’s been drama with one of our properties. Have you seen the blogs? We’ve been Tweeting up a storm about it.”
“I’ve been with clients all morning—what did I miss?”
“There’s this horrid new reality competition, and honestly, what reality showisn’thorrid, and one of the contestants called another contestant an unforgivable slur—don’t make me repeat it, darling—and made some insinuation about gay sex. Who does that?” Fran rolled her eyes dramatically. “Anyway, it turns out that the show was shooting at the Hamish Hotel, and the owner, Roland Gibson, got wind of what the idiot said. Well, Roland is a force of nature, so he put a stop to the production right in the middle of it. Stormed the set and threw them out! Heroic of him, if you ask me. From what I hear, it was a miracle they could cut the premiere from the footage they got.”
Cora knew what was coming the moment Fran said the wordreality. She had a feeling that Aaron’s comments would raise some eyebrows but she never imagined that he would be responsible for a Tweet storm about equality and gay rights.
Cora looked down at Sydney, who had rolled onto his back and was swatting her hand to encourage more belly rubs. “I have to tell you something. I don’t want to but I can’tnottell you now that you brought it up.” Cora exhaled. “This is really ... I don’t know what to call it. Embarrassing? Horrifying?”
Fran pulled her glasses farther down her nose and peered at Cora.
“I know that guy from the reality show, Aaron. I was actually, um ... I was engaged to him about eighteen months ago.”
