Page 8 of Knot Just for Show

My stomach roils with nervous energy as Daphne smooches both of my cheeks, a hand laid over her enormous pregnant belly as Cosmo and Magnus help load my massive suitcases and rolling train case into the back of the sprinter van that’s arrived to spirit me away to the ‘bubble’ Build-A-Pack-Blind set.

“You’ve got this La-la.” Daphne reaches for one of my hands and gives it a quick squeeze. I grip her tightly, as if she might tether me to this moment—this instant in time before so much stands to change.

“Be your wonderful self, be prepared to actually fall in love—and everything is going to be just fine,” Daphne reassures me as we draw back from one another, tears already welling in my eyes.

Daphne tries to slip her hand from mine, but I just clutch her tighter.

“What if nobody wants me?” I blurt out, my terrified voice barely above a whisper. “What if I come back alone?” I choke, my voice squashed out by unshed tears.

“Then they’re all fucking morons who didn’t deserve you anyway,” Daphne claps back, yanking me to her side with our still joined hands.

“But it’s going to work, I canfeelit!” Daphne beams at me, tucked protectively under her arm alongside her massive belly.

I nod, blinking the tears from my eyes.

“If you say so Dee,” I concede, giving her one last sidelong hug before she releases me to the confines of the sprinter van—the rest of Pack Silver waving me off from the other side of the tinted glass as I depart for my next grand adventure.

The sprinter van brings me to a large, nondescript looking building at the edge of studio city. The driver releases me to the care of several production assistants who look like they may not even be of legal drinking age, all outfitted in wireless headsets with clipboards and blinking tablets. They swarm me like a bunch of chittering insects—gathering my many belongings and shepherding me into the building; audibly confirming with other staff which hallways are free of other contestants, so I can be appropriately ushered to my living quartersunseen.

“Alright, miss…” The leader of the assistants, runs down her list with the tip of her finger until she finds my name. “Goldblum-Laskaris, nice to meet you—my name is Kimmy and I’ll be the head production assistant for the ladies-unit.” She smiles, a bright expression that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Kimmy.” I smile back, a little unsettled.

“Nice to meet you too, ma’am,” Kimmy responds, my pride smarting at being old enough to bema’amto this twenty-something Hollywood professional.

“Feel free to unpack your things and get settled—we will do an all-call for the ladies in about an hour; we start shooting in the ladies lounge in a little under two hours,” she explains, her cold smile already starting to fade from view.

“Thanks Kimmy–I’ll see you then.” I wave her off as she and the rest of her team trickle out of my room, ready to close the door behind them.

It doesn’t take me long to unpack my things, between my nervous energy and the effective room setup, I’m done inside of 20 minutes.

Since the production assistants took my phone and my tablet from me upon arrival, I haven’t had any of my usual scrolling or texting distractions. Even though I was particularly worried that I would feel the pang of pain, not unlike a phantom limb, once my phone was taken from me—I’m surprisingly ok with the lack of distraction.

My room is outfitted with a very comfortable queen bed, a full size dresser, a nightstand, an ample sized closet with mirrored sliding doors, and an en suite bathroom with a brightly lit vanity and a shower/tub combination that looks like it’s actually big enough to have a proper bath in.

This is a small comfort, since I can’t seem to go three days without a self-soothing tub. I know, I know—my priorities may seem a little out of whack, but any creature comforts while I’m putting myself so far outside my zone are a plus.

I’m contemplating taking a little nap before I have to show up for my command performance in the common room, when my stomach lets out a loud, burbling growl.

I glance at the minimalist brushed stainless steel and white face of the clock on the wall. It’s nearly noon, and I was too anxious to bother with anything besides iced coffee this morning. Now my stomach is letting me know the error of my ways.

My handlers had mentioned earlier that the common area, where I’m due to appear within the hour anyway, is fully stocked with meal materials and snacks for our food and watering needs.

Emboldened by my growling stomach, I double check myself in the mirror; a simple ribbed mock turtle-neck sweater dress in a soft shade of lavender paired with a long gray duster sweater covering my bare shoulders. I’ve decided to accessorize with a pair of enormous circular mother-of-pearl frame glasses and chunky leather ankle booties. Julian called the looknesting omega MILFas he and Daphne dressed me like a paper doll this morning. I can’t say that his assessment is off base. I can only hope that it plays well on camera for my first appearance.

To my surprise, I’m the first one in the common area when I arrive.

There’s a suspicious lack of televisions/screens in the space, but otherwise I feel like I could be in a nice Marriott; tastefully coordinated sofas and upholstered chairs, plate glass coffeetables, and glass sliding doors to the workout and spa facilities at one end of the common room and a pair of swinging saloon doors leading to a brightly lit kitchen and long banquet dining table at the other.

I gather my sweater around myself and scurry into the kitchen; eager to see what awaits in the fridge.

To my delight, I discover an array of delicacies readily available. Heaps of fresh fruit, cheeses, olives, and most importantly,hummus.

I’m about to reach into the fridge and grab myself a cucumber to cut into spears; so I might offer my fellow participants a little snack of hummus, olives, and cuke dippers to share, when a cloyingly sweet scent fills my nose. Plumeria and Bubblegum with a powderyshower fresh-finish. Even before I turn around, my amygdala has already begun flashing the neon sign formean girl Omegadeep in my lizard brain.

“Already raiding the fridge?” A high pitched voice chimes, a nasty titter of laughter cascading just behind.

Like a main character in a horror movie, I find myself turning to slowly face my doom, instead of immediately fleeing. In slow motion, I come face to face with a 5’8” platinum blonde with the body of a swimsuit model; her flat stomach tanned and exposed between her cropped tank and short-shorts.

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