Nonetheless, Sienna looks decidedly unimpressed as she holds up a hand. “Let me cut you off there, boys. We’ve been very compliant with the FBI’s request to put a special agent on the show. But this is a show about women’s empowerment. Aboutconsent. So let me be extremely clear—we will not be forcing any of our contestants to choose to keep you on. If they send you home, we will not be intervening. We want our Mountainettes to have a real shot at romance. Atlove. Now, I’m sorry if you’re feeling intimidated by the sheer awesomeness of the other men around you. But I encourage you to use this as a learning opportunity. When will men finally understand that it’s not size that matters—whether it be height or length or girth? A man who’s confident in himself, who asks questions, who really listens to the answers is far more appealing than the tallest, hottest dude with the hugest schlong.”
I clear my throat. “For the record, I’m not worried about my dick size.” Lies. I’m totally intimidated. Those other men arehuge. That’s gotta translate to other places too, right?
Sienna rolls her eyes at Raquel. “Do you think he heard anything that I just said?”
“Confidence,” I repeat back, to show I was paying attention, “asking questions. Being a good listener. I can do all of that. Totally.”
Raquel gets a far-off, contemplative look on her face. “A really long tongue doesn’t hurt, either.”
Huh? I move my tongue around in my mouth, wondering if it’s considered long or short or average. It’s, frankly, something I’ve never considered before. Great. Now I’m going to have one more thing to overanalyze and spiral about.
Sienna checks her watch pointedly. “Aren’t you going to be late for the promo shoot ... ?”
“Ma’am. Yes, ma’ams.” For some reason, Morrie and I back out of the room, like we’re peasants leaving the presence of two queens.
Once we’re in the hallway again, we look at each other, no longer bothering to hide our dismay.
“Do you think any of that stuff about confidence and being a good listener is true?” I wonder out loud. “Is that really what women care about?”
Morrie doesn’t even have to think about that. “Of course not.”
“Shit,” I say.
“Shit,” Morrie agrees.
Chapter 8
Nina
Ican’t believe it. I can’t believe I’m actually in a television production wardrobe department, sorting through costumes for upcoming challenges and dates for the heroes and heroines of the show.
I wouldn’t exactly say this is my childhood dream job. My dream job would be to be the dressmaker for a beautiful lady going to a Regency-era ball. Or for a medieval queen! Oh, gosh. The fabric. The colors! In my dream job, there probably wouldn’t be so much flannel or ... banana hammocks? Oh, boy. I can already tell Uncle Aaronreallyisn’t going to love that date when it airs on live television ...
But to be in a room absolutely stuffed full of hats and shoes and clothes—to see the sketches of costume plans for what looks like an upcoming masquerade ball ... wow. Weirdly, I’ve never given too much thought to what Heaven might look like, but I think it might be this room. We’re only on the bottom floor of the Donner Lodge, in one of the conference rooms, so it’s not like I’ve even gone very far from the room I’ve been holed up in for most of my time in Green Valley. But still. I’m here by myself, without Uncle Aaron or Aunt Hope or any of the kids. I’m working on a job with costumes, not running errands or helping with chores. I’d braced myself to be trapped this entire trip, and instead by some miracle, I’ve been set free—even if it’s only for a few weeks.
Somehow, Rae Ezra and Sienna Diaz pulled it off. Somehow they convinced Uncle Aaron to let me work here. I was so sure he would say no. I was waiting for him to come out with that familiar, reproachful look—the one that I’d think borderlines on disdain if I didn’t know he only holds me to such a high standard for my own good.
When it came down to it, though, Uncle Aaron didn’t sayanythingto me about it, good or bad. I didn’t know what the final verdict was until the next morning when Lyle came to get Harmony for her photoshoot and motioned for me to follow after them with a wink. “Come on, Thumbelina. You’re with me today.”
And now I’m here, on a television set. Holding ... a spray bottle?
“It’s full of glycerin and water,” Deja tells me as we make our way to the preshow photoshoot for the Mountain Men. “It’ll make them look sorta sweaty, but in a hot, manly way.”
Deja is one of the longtime stylists for the network, and she isbeautiful. She has dark skin and wavy hair that reaches to her shoulders. With her dark eyes and incredible bone structure, she looks completely glamorous even without wearing any makeup. Her clothes are nondescript dark colors, but they’re fitted well to her body, which gives her an elegant, timeless, Audrey Hepburn aesthetic.
My job today is to make sure the men stay glistening throughout the photoshoot. I’m happy to do whatever the producers want me to as long as it gets me out of doing Bible study with my younger cousins upstairs. Although admittedly, part of me hopes that at some point in working for the wardrobe department, I’ll move on to something more ambitious, but itisonly my first day. And I’m so thankful to be here! Honestly, what an experience. I can’t wait to tell Helen and Matilda all about it.
When we reach the set (!), which has been prepared for the photoshoot with all the Mountain Men, the photographer and his assistants are finishing getting the lighting just right. Most of the men are already dressed, although a few are still being adjusted by some of the other stylists. The attention to detail is incredible, honestly. The stylists take their time with each man, rolling a sleeve up, then back down partway, finding the exact right position on each Mountain Man’s forearm for maximum impact.
And I have to admit, I’m a little dazzled. I’m not usually one to take so much note of people’s looks, but these men are almost a different species of handsome, they’re so tall and broad and chiseled. Even though on its own, their handsomenessdoesn’tdomuch for me in terms of “getting my engine revving,” as Matilda might say, on a purely aesthetic level, I can appreciate it. I would love to make costumes for some of them. Sleek-lined suits, maybe, specially tailored for their extra-tall frames ...
“Glisten Girl!” one of the stylists calls out.
Oh! That’s me. Heart pounding, I hurry forward. I want—need—to do a good job today. I need the stylists to want me to come back, and to learn my name so I don’t have to answer to “Glisten Girl” anymore. I want Sienna and Rae to not regret making that phone call. I want my uncle to have no reason to keep me back in the hotel suite.
“Neck, upper chest, arms,” the stylist, whose name I think is Amber, tells me seriously. “Don’t spray on the clothes. Or the face. We want them to look healthy and glowing, not damp and sweaty.”
I nod vigorously to show I understand. “Got it.”
