And that was it. My part was over. Dr. Dee talked endlessly about self-esteem and childhood issues, blah blah (I tuned out), and then the segment was finished. Not one fashion reference. Not one mention of me being a stylist. They didn’t even ask me who the diamanté clutch bag was by.
“So.” Aran looks up from his phone and smiles his Hollywood smile. “That went well.”
“Went well?” I echo in disbelief. “It was awful! I thought I was going to be styling clothes! I made all these notes, and I was all prepared, and it was supposed to launch me as a stylist.…”
“OK.” Aran looks at me blankly, then shrugs. “But it was great exposure. We’ll build up to the styling thing.”
Build up to it?
“You said it would be a styling segment,” I say as politely as I can. “That’s what you told me.”
I don’t want to be a diva. I know Aran’s really helping me and everything. But he did promise styling. He did promise clothes.
“Sure.” He’s got that blank look again, as though he’s already tuned out what I just said. “So, we’ll work on that. Now, I have a couple of new offers, one of which is huge. Huge.”
“Really?” I can’t help feeling hopeful.
“You see? I told you you’d be the queen of the moment. The first thing is a nice invitation to the Big Top premiere tomorrow. They want you to do the red carpet.”
“Do the red carpet?” I feel a sudden glittery excitement. “Like … do interviews?”
“Sure. I think you should do it.”
“Of course I’ll do it!” I say in elation. “I can’t wait!”
I’m going to do the red carpet at a premiere! Me! Becky! In my own right! “What’s the other thing?”
“This is shit hot, totally confidential.” He nods at his phone. “I should not even be sharing this with you.”
“Really?” I feel fresh sparks of excitement. “What is it?”
“It’s reality. But it’s a whole new breed of reality.”
“Right.” I feel a bit hesitant at the word “reality,” but I’m not going to give that away. “Cool!” I say determinedly. “That sounds fab!”
“What it is—” He interrupts himself. “OK, it’s not for the squeamish. But you’re not squeamish, are you, Becky?”
“No! Definitely not!”
Oh God. Please don’t say he wants me to go on a show where you have to eat bugs. I can’t eat a worm. I can’t.
“I didn’t think you were.” He flashes that smile at me again. “What this show is about is aesthetic improvement. The working title is Even More Beautiful. Each celebrity will have a mentor in the form of another celebrity, and that mentor will carefully guide a process of aesthetic alteration. The American public will follow each process and vote on the result. Obviously, medical professionals are on hand to consult at all times,” he adds blithely.
I blink at him, not sure if I heard right.
“Aesthetic alteration?” I say at last. “You mean, plastic surgery?”
“It’s a pioneering show.” Aran nods. “Super-exciting, huh?”
“Yes!” I say automatically, although I can’t quite get my head round this. “So … I’d decide what kind of plastic surgery some celebrity has and then it gets voted on? But what if I get it wrong?”
Aran is shaking his head.
“We see you as one of the celebrity participants who would undergo the journey. You would be assigned a celebrity mentor who would aim to make you the most beautiful swan. Not that you’re not already a swan,” he adds charmingly. “But everyone can do with a little improvement, right?” He twinkles. “The surgery alone would be worth thousands, together with the fee and the primetime exposure.… Like I said, it’s a great opportunity.”
My head is spinning. He can’t be serious.
“You want me to have plastic surgery?” I falter.
“Believe me, this is going to be the biggest TV show ever to hit our planet,” says Aran confidently. “When I tell you who’s already signed up …” He winks. “Let’s just say, you will be in stellar company.”
“I’ll … I’ll think about it.”
I stare out of the window, feeling dazed. Plastic surgery? Luke would be absolutely— Oh God. I can’t even tell Luke about this. There’s no way I’m doing it.
“Aran.” I turn back. “Listen. I don’t think … I mean, I know it’s a great opportunity and everything—”
“Sure. You think it’s grotesque. You’re shocked I even asked.” Aran twinkles again. He opens a box of gum and offers me some, and I shake my head. “Becky, you want a shortcut to fame? This is your quickest route.”
“But—”
“I’m not telling you what to do, I’m just giving you the information. Think of me as your GPS. There are slow routes and there are quick routes to fame. Appearing on this show would be a super-fast route.” He tips three pellets of gum into his mouth. “Now, if you don’t like the look of the super-fast route, that’s another story.”
He’s so matter-of-fact. He’s so detached. As I survey his smooth, immaculate face, I feel more confused than ever.
“You said I was hot already. You said my profile had gone through the roof. So why do I need to do a reality show?”