“I don’t want to go,” said Regan. They walked along cobblestone streets, Regan feeling languid and fabulous. When she saw a stationery store, she paused. There, in the window, she saw a large notebook bound in deep brown leather. In the back of the store, she saw a man lowering a sheet of paper into what looked like a vat of paint. “Look, he’s marbling,” said Regan. She had tried the technique of mixing paint and glue, then dipping paper to create riotous patterns.
“Come on, now,” said Giovanni.
“No,” said Regan. She put her hand on the brass doorknob. The man in the shop lifted the paper upward and Regan saw its blue-and-green print, exquisite fans of color resembling peacock plumages. In her pocket, she could feel the receipt from lunch. She would draw the Arno, paste the scrap of paper, write what she remembered of Florence.
The leather-bound notebook was so different from the home goods she bought at the Oglethorpe Mall. It was for her, not for some life she wished she could inhabit. “We’re going to be late,” said Giovanni.
The door’s chimes rang as it opened.
LEE WORKED ON THEcontents of the thick manila envelope all day. There were a hundred and fifty probing, awful, and repetitive questions:
What is your favorite drink?
What sexual positions do you prefer?
What are you hoping to find onSloppy Seconds?
Do you want to get married?
Have you participated in an orgy?
What is your favorite fruit?
Francine, reached via FaceTime—her visage grainy, orange lipstick arresting—confirmed that the show was indeed calledSloppy Seconds. Lee had sent an audition package toThe Bacheloryears before (complete with a video Jason had taken of her horseback riding in a string bikini—oh, how it had chafed), and while she’d made it only to the second round, new shows routinely dug through old tapes.Sloppy Secondswas a forthcoming reality show about ordinary people who had been dumped by famous people. Now that Jason was famous, Lee (as the saying goes) was a contender.
Hopped up on room service coffee, Lee scrawled answers. She made up tidbits she thought would appeal to the producers, creating a sexy vixen who was a bit unstable but had a heart of gold. She wrote until her hand was sore. She tried to ignore another set of questions:
Do I want to live in a “Malibu Beach Dream House” with seventeen other people, vying for love and prizes?
What about my baby?
Should I have flown to Malta?
Why am I here in my cabin when I could be in Florence, Italy?
In what way do I think this job would make me happy?
—
TO SILENCE THESE PESKYthoughts, Lee went for a walk, heading to the twenty-four-hour frozen yogurt station in the Aqua Zone. She sort of hoped she’d run into someone in her family, but knew they were probably in Florence without her. No one had even called to remind Lee about the tour, she realized, feeling left out.
Every lounge chair by the pool was filled, and Lee felt twinges of both revulsion and empathy as she gazed over the sea of bodies. It was like a nature movie: humans in captivity. She saw a man on the far deck smoking a cigarette. From a distance, he looked like Matt, and Lee walked toward him.
Lee remembered the night before Regan’s wedding. Matt and Lee had shared a cigarette outside Elizabeth on 37th, where the rehearsal dinner was still going on. She’d been someone else then: a star shooting skyward, on the brink (she’d thought) of fame. Matt had dropped the cigarette to the ground.
It was raining lightly. “I’d stop all this,” he said, “if you want me back. Please?”
“She’s my sister,” Lee said. She remembered being flushed with champagne and indignation, but flattered, too. “Don’t you love her?”
“It’s not the same. You’re my Beautiful One, Lee,” said Matt, using the nickname he’d given her.
Regan had taken Lee’s first headshots, arranging Lee’s hair to catch the light, brushing her eyelids with shadow from the Clinique counter at the Oglethorpe Mall. In the days before selfies, Regan had captured Lee’s beauty. There was no question where Lee’s loyalty lay. She had left Matt in the rain, marched into the restaurant. She’d pulled Regan into the ladies’ room and demanded that her sister call off the wedding.
“Why?” Regan said. “Why would you say this to me? Why would you do this now?”
“He’s not the right person for you,” said Lee, stopping short of telling her sister about Matt’s betrayal, the way he could be cruel.
“I see,” said Regan, facing her sister. Her expression was dark, furious. “You can’t even let me have one night,” she said.
