Boomer sighs dramatically, but signals to an assistant, who scurries off toward the bar. He returns moments later with a substantial-looking steak knife, which Boomer hands to Val with exaggerated caution.
“Perfect!” Madison beams. “Now, Val, I need you to really sell this. Make them believe you want me dead!”
Val’s smile turns predatory as she grips the knife. “Oh, honey, that won’t be a stretch.”
“And...action!” Boomer calls.
Madison wastes no time in flashing a vindictive smile at Val. “Your charity’s been getting a lot of attention lately. For a charity, it’s amazing how much of the money seems to disappear.”
Val advances on Madison, the knife raised in her hand, her eyes blazing with what seems like genuine hatred. “You think you can come after my charity?” she shouts so loud, champagne flutes rattle. “I’ve worked too hard to let trash like you destroy everything I’ve built!”
“Cut!” Boomer shakes his head as he interrupts the mood. “Val, honey, it’s too specific. Keep it vague and threatening. We’ll worry about building the storylines later.”
They reset and try again. Andagain. By the fifth take, Val is gripping the knife so tightly her knuckles have turned white, and Madison is micro-managing every aspect of the scene.
“Higher angle with the knife—it catches the light better!” Madison barks. “And don’t you dare block my good side!”
After what feels like forty-seven takes, Boomer finally declares the scene wrapped. The knife is handed to a production assistant who places it on an equipment table in the corner near the makeshift set.
“And that’s a wrap on our teaser, folks!” Boomer announces. “Enjoy the party—but remember, the cameras are always rolling!”
The crowd disperses quickly as the novelty of watching two women fake-threaten each other wears off in favor of the open bar and gourmet buffet.
Bess and Nettie make a beeline for Victor Darkmore and Dr. Luca Carrington Jr., armed with questions about storylines from the ’80s that the actors themselves have likely forgotten. And Wes is promptly swarmed with a crowd of women, all clamoring for selfies with the captain.
As for me, I seem to be spellbound by the buffet, so I make my way over. The spread is generous and inviting, with chilled shrimp piled high with lemon wedges glistening nearby, smoked salmon folded into soft, silky rosettes, and rows of pastries that are golden at the edges and whispering promises of butter and sugar. From here, I watch the room with the detached focus of someone observing a reality show where everyone thinks they’re the main character. And really, there probably is no better analogy.
Val corners Madison near the shrimp tower, and I can’t help but notice that her smile is tight. “If you ever mention my charity work on camera again, even in rehearsal, we’re going to have problems. Big ones. Bigger than your boobs could ever hope to be, and only slightly smaller than your behind.”
Madison gasps and nearly inhales the olive right out of hercocktail. “Well, well…someone is rattled. Too bad, Toots. Transparency is so important in the non-profit sector, don’t you think?” She stalks off with a satisfied smile on her face.
Talk about your unfriendly encounters. I don’t think those women are going to have any trouble at all drumming up the drama. I have a feeling Boomer knew exactly what he was doing when he hand-selected those two for the show. They’re basically ratings gold.
Just a few minutes later, Beth approaches Madison, looking visibly panicked beneath her serene exterior. They’re speaking in hushed tones, so I edge my way over and catch a few snippets.
“You promised you wouldn’t—” Beth starts, and she looks near tears.
“I promised nothing. Think of the ratings?—”
“Please, Madison. Think of my family?—”
Madison pats Beth’s arm with all the warmth of a cobra. “We all have secrets, darling. Some just make better television than others.”
Beth walks away looking like she might cry, or possibly commit a felony. At this point, it might be a fine line.
Shortly afterward, Harper strides over and engages Madison in what appears to be a civil conversation until I drift close enough to pick up on Harper’s icy tone.
“Business is business,” she seethes, ironically looking every bit the serious businesswoman she is. “You agreed to our terms.”
Their terms? I take a moment to examine the woman.
“Terms change,” Madison is quick to inform her. “It turns out, the network offered me a better deal.”
Harper looks as if she’s been slapped in the face. “You’ll regret this. I’d put my money on it.”
What in the heck was that all about? Madison isn’t just bringing the drama—sheisthe drama.
It’s safe to say my curiosity is more than piqued, so I decide tofollow Madison, who slips behind some production equipment set up in the corner of the lounge. I bet she’s gone off to powder her nose in private, or more likely, record a gloating social media update about how everyone adores her despite the stark reality around here.
