Get Real

          The white hot lights shone as the crowd stared at me on the tiny stage; someone was fussing around with my hair while another put some powder on my face with an oversized makeup brush. Everything seemed so much smaller and less glamorous in person, and the giant coffee cup placed in front of me with the show’s logo on it didn’t even have anything in it. The man behind the camera put his hand up with five fingers in the air; the makeup and hair people scurried, four fingers, three; the show’s band started to play a couple of bars of music, two, one.
          “And we’re back, with Danica Jones, star of her own show. So Danica, how does it feel to be the name behind this whole phenomenon.” the cheery blonde hostess smiled, obviously proud that she’d just used the word phenomenon to show off her vocabulary. I wondered idly how much Prozac this woman probably took before realizing that all eyes and the camera were now on me.
          My legs swung idly from the tall chair, the Prada shoes they’d stuck me in had led to the lack of feeling in my small toe because they were a size too small (“Pain is beauty” the wardrobe woman had told me as she put them onto my feet with amazing skill and force). I looked just past the camera and crew and saw Christian giving me a small stern look; I plastered on my best smile and held my legs still. “It’s insane,” I spoke, articulating every word like I had learned from the speech class Christian had arranged for me to take, “One day I was your everyday high school girl sitting in a Starbucks and reading a book for class and then the next day I’m signing contracts, autographs and having my entire life on camera. I catch the show every once and a while on TV when I have time and I just think, ‘I said that? They saw me do that?’ and I think of all of the ways I could’ve gone about it differently. I’ve learned a lot by doing this—I learned that real life gives you one chance and it’s what you make of it, it’s an amazing opportunity and I’m just blessed and honored to be here.”
          The cheery blonde beamed at me and then smiled, “So that’s how it all happened, in a Starbucks? And my husband always makes fun of my coffee addiction, but now everyone knows they can be the next Danica Jones if they’d hang around the coffee shop.” She said with a smile as I surrendered a nod of agreement from habit. As she a sip from her mug I took a moment to wonder if there was anything in hers at all. Christian gave me an approving look, as though I’d just gained more money for endorsing Starbucks, but in more or less words it had happened that way.
          I wondered if I had more than a fifteen minute slot on the show and if I hadn’t been under the watchful eye of Christian how I would have described this whole experience; and as cheery blonde hostess and her slightly older talk show host counterpart bickered for audience laughs I let myself get a bit lost in this thought. After all, how do you describe going from a girl in a coffee shop to a household name within one year?

          Like I had said, it had happened in a Starbucks, I had twenty minutes of lunch period before I had to be back on campus, so I sat there with my copy of Cannery Row and read the night’s assigned chapters so I wouldn’t have to worry about it after school, the ice in my White Chocolate Mocha had melted and a thick water ring gathered around the bottom of the plastic cup. Usually the place was packed during lunch hour with Vuitton toting cheerleaders and their jock boyfriends, tech club kids working with their laptops, and the punk and indie kids were usually scowled from the café across the street, scowling at big business in “it’s worse and most evil form” in that anti-mainstream way they’re so good at. I watched as the workers behind the counter slumped over gently, obviously pleased at the rarely granted freedom, I don’t blame them—it’s not like high school kids tip most of the time anyway. I stood up and walked over to the counter, ordered four dollars and fifty cents worth of cookies and put the fifty cents of change in the tip jar, enjoying the silence and lack of chaos. Everyone was in school waiting to audition. Yes, indeed the promise of fifteen minutes of fame causes many to flock like lemmings off a cliff.
          “Real teenagers, real life, real drama.” That was the promise from Teen Television, the new network that was promising an outlet of entertaining but productive television for adolescent everywhere as they searched for their big star that November. They’d auditioned in Los Angeles, Chicago, and Detroit, finding things not to their liking in any of these cities they turned to New York to find the teen to make their station a household name. I guess the idea of having my life on camera for billions to see wasn’t that appealing because I opted to take advantage of the open campus and headed to my usual lunch spot in the corner of the Starbucks.

          TTV just wasn’t my style, as I’d tried to explain multiple times earlier that week and would explain again that day as well. “Why would I want to give up my privacy like that?” I asked a few of my classmates.
          “The fame.”
          “The clothes!”
          “The money.”
          “To meet other celebrities.”
          “To express yourself.”
          I’ll bet you’ve never tried to explain to a group of teenagers who lack to ability to see the big picture that fifteen minutes of fame by making a fool of yourself on network TV would bring you limited media attention and eventually strip you of all individual expression when everyone watching at home clambered to get your “look.” If you have ever tried to explain this though— you share my pain.
          I didn’t exactly brush off the possibility of my own TV show, I’m not that narrow-minded, I put quite a bit of thought into it. I wasn’t exactly TV star material, green eyes, dull brown hair, and average figure. I read more than I watch TV, listen to rock more than R&B, and the way I eat should make me at least twenty pounds heavier than I am but I guess I’m active enough to burn the calories. I figured I wasn’t anything spectacular, so why put myself out there to entertain other people when all I do is bore myself?

          I sat down with my cookies, knowing that if my classmates were there all of the girls would be looking at me with an irritated glare, wondering what gave me the right to stuff my face with crap while they sipped their low-fat, no-whip, iced green teas and nibbled on a salad with no dressing that they would undoubtedly toss up later. What did give me the right? I didn’t give a damn.
          I gave another smile after thinking about the cookie scenario when I thought about those poor TTV execs, sitting there while the less-than-extraordinary tried to wow them with their ability to be nothing more than less-than-extraordinary. Then again, that was what TV wanted now, with the trend of reality TV shows becoming more and more popular people wanted to see “real” people, whether it was competing to be the “Next Best (fill in the blank)”, eating bugs for cash, or just sitting around and going through the usual drama—people ate it up. The kids at St. Mary’s High School seemed to give dull a new meaning. School every Monday through Friday provided there wasn’t a vacation, parties every Friday night, hangovers every Saturday morning, and Sunday was the day of rest—however probably not the way it was intended to be. The Cheerleaders were peppy, the jocks were always amped up about whatever the “in” sport was that season, the punks and indie kids were too wrapped up in not getting wrapped up in the hype and the tech kids were either reprogramming something, playing a video game, or trying not to get beat up during the hype. St. Mary’s is a stereotype in the clearest sense of the word and I didn’t—and still don’t—understand why anyone would want to spend thirty minutes every Friday night watching it.
          I was lost in contemplating the slow and extremely effective torture the execs were probably undergoing when two suits accompanied by another more casually dressed young man entered. All of them looked completely drained as they ordered their lattes and sat down at a nearby table, the casually dressed man was wearing Diesel jeans and a faded t-shirt. He had a cigarette in his hand, but after exchanging a few words with a worker he put it out and shifted in his seat, unsure what to do with himself now that he was nicotine deprived. I looked up from my book for a moment and realized that he had looked at me at around the same moment; it was my turn to shift in my seat as he stared at me. He turned to one of the suits and they exchanged words before he got up and walked over to me. “You go to St. Mary’s don’t you?”
          “What was your first clue?” I said simply as I sat up straight, displaying the St. Mary’s crest on my sweater vest and ran a hand over my plaid skirt to straighten out the wrinkles. Although it was terribly impolite to treat a stranger with this kind of sarcasm I couldn’t help it.
         "Were you at the auditions today?” Aha, here was the TTV exec in the flesh, “Because I’m Christian Briggs and I think that you’d—”
          “No thank you.” I said simply before taking a bite of my cookie.
          “Wha-what? You didn’t even let me finish, how can you say ‘no’ already?”
          “I didn’t just say ‘no’ that would be rude, I said ‘No thank you’.” I gave a small nod.
          Christian gave an exasperated sigh and looked at me, without asking permission he took the seat across from me and looked me in the eyes, “Listen, we’ve looked at 500 of your classmates, and you’re it—you could be the envy of every girl at your school.”
          I smiled because he seemed to think this was a selling point, little did he know the significance of the cookies. “Listen, Mr. Briggs, you seem like an okay guy and all—you sure can’t take a hint, but still you’re nice. I’m not interested in putting all of my privacy aside for fifteen minutes of fame. I don’t know why America would care what I do with my life; it’s not all that interesting. So like I said, thanks but no thanks.” I said simply and stood up to throw out my trash and leave.

          Silly me, I’d thought that that was my last encounter with Christian Briggs, however I was wrong. The next day I’d heard that the TTV execs had been on the prowl in the courtyard and halls, hoping to spy some talent in its real element and came up empty handed, it really didn’t seem to bother me that much. I didn’t want to be on TTV, but I also didn’t want to watch a blossoming ego if they chose one of my classmates. In creative writing class I heard a few more whispers that they had moved on to another school and shrugged it off. When I came home that day from school I unlocked the door to the apartment and called out for my mom, I heard her laughter and smelt cigarette smoke from the kitchen when she called back. I walked in to see her sitting over a coffee cup with Christian Briggs, I gave an aggravated sigh. “Dani, honey, I didn’t know that you were going to be the new TV star, you told me you weren’t interested.”
          “I’m not.” I said simply, “I’m not going to be a TV star, nor am I interested. Can I speak to you?” I asked Christian.
          “I don’t know can you?” he replied with the same sarcasm I had the day earlier, touché Mr. Briggs, touché. I gave him a slight glare, and for some reason he took me seriously, stood up, and followed me to the foyer. “Yes, Dani, honey?” he smirked a bit.
          “You know, some people consider this stalking, what do you think you’re doing? I said no.”
          “Calm down, I just wanted to try and convince you one more time, I promise by the time I’m done you’ll want to do the show.”
          I leaned against the wall, “This should be good.”
          “Okay, the privacy issue is easily dealt with, you get off days, you can shut the cameras off if you really need to, and you get a say in the final editing before we put the show on. You’re basically going to be the boss, I’m going to be right there and if there’s a problem you just talk to me and I’ll fix it. We’ll set up guidelines in advance, we’ll only contract you for one season and take the next one as it comes and no matter what—show cancellation, technical issues, network problems—we’ll make sure you get paid. It’s good money Danica, money you could put towards college.”
          Obviously Christian had talked to my mother for a very long time and new the thing to say, he knew that the college hook would reel me in. I looked Christian up and down, wondering if he could be trusted. He was medium build, had dark messy hair, a tan—but not one of those orange glows that were all the rage, a real tan—he was charming, I wasn’t sure if he was trustworthy at all, but I figured that charming would have to do for now. I gave a small sigh, “I get a say in it all?” Christian gave a small nod as he brought his cigarette to his lips. I bit my lip, “Okay, first rule, no smoking in the home.” I said sternly, silently praying that I hadn’t just sold my soul to the devil.

          It turns out it was worse than selling my soul to the devil; it was selling my soul to be packaged and merchandized across the country, and people sure did love it. For reasons I can’t understand everyone wanted “a bit of Danica Jones” in their home. By the next month I celebrated Christmas with a contract and a pilot episode that was an immediate hit with the suits, by New Years I had hundreds of fakers dying to be my new “best friend forever” and a few rumors circulating about what a “high maintenance witch” I was, even a few that I was now dating some cute movie heartthrob. By the start of February I knew I was in for something totally different.
          Christian had come by the apartment earlier that morning to tell me that he’d made lunch reservations for me and a few of my newfound “friends” at a restaurant on the Westside. “I’d never go there.” I said simply, “I’d definitely never go there with them.” I turned and looked out the window, barely recognizing my own reflection in the glass. My hair was straightened and lighted to a light brown with highlights, my nails were perfectly manicured and someone yelled at me whenever I tried to bite them. My eyes were a bright and vivid green because of the contact the network had “asked” me to wear because they looked too dull on film. I was thrown into designer clothes that cost more than my entire wardrobe from before the show combined, and this fake smile I no longer knew how to get rid of.
          “This is what the people want to see.” He said simply as he lit a cigarette.
          “What people? I am the person doing it, it should matter what I want to do—not what other people want to see. You keep telling me who to talk to and where to go and when to do things, how is that reality?”
          Christian looked at me and gave a small sigh, he liked doing that around me—sighing, it never worked though, since I never really cared how much I was frustrating him (I actually think I found an odd happiness in it for a while). “Maybe we should make this one of your off-camera days, I’ll reschedule the reservation.”
          I stared at him, “No,” I said simply, admitting my defeat, “I’ll get it over with.”
          Christian smiled happily, “Great, and on Friday night that basketball player that likes you wanted to go to a movie.”
          “Tad?” I gave a groan, we’d already had the ‘who names their kid Tad anyway’ argument, the ‘there’s more air in his head than in the basketball’ conversation, and a ‘no, no, no, you can’t make me!’ tantrum, so I knew that there was no use fighting this one either. “Fine, tell him to pick me up at…” I looked up at Christian and waited for him to fill in the blank.
          “Seven o’clock.” He finished for me before entering it into his PDA. “See, things go fine when you’re pleasant to work with.”
          “I despise you.” I said with a smile until my mouth hurt. Within a few weeks I was dating ‘what kind of a name is’ Tad and pretending he was anyone but himself to resist slapping him every time he kissed me.

          In April, when my eighteenth birthday had passed, I was appearing in commercials, ads for clothes I didn’t wear, and at movie premieres I couldn’t care less about. I’d actually thought I made a friend in a girl the show had thrown me together with named Alyson. She was sweet, funny, nice, and wasn’t fake. When the cameras were off she was the same way as when they were on. Alyson and I were becoming the best of friends until another girl I was thrown together with named Emily got in the way. Apparently Emily threw herself together with Alyson’s boyfriend Jake and when the wrath of a girlfriend scorned came in the form of her refusal to come back anywhere near the show, my season long contract inevitably forced me to take Emily’s side.
          In it’s May issue, a teen magazine called Tad and I their favorite couple and even when Tad became jealous of my encounter with some actor at a movie premiere we persevered and became one of those famous couples strategically seen in public places for paparazzi to catch.
          In June the season went on hiatus as the network tried out a few different things and I was given until August for filming to start again, this however didn’t stop Christian from acting like my keeper. “Stop eating crap, the camera adds ten pounds and TTV isn’t looking to promote teenage obesity, just because you have a fast metabolism doesn’t mean everyone else who wants to be doing everything you do can burn off the calories just the same.” He muttered as he took my strawberry frosted donut away from me before I could protest. “On Friday I want you to make a statement saying that you and Tad would like more privacy from the tabloids so you can have a ‘normal functioning relationship’ so that the public doesn’t get sick of you two.”
          “Oh, so they can’t be sick of us but I can?” I said simply, “He started calling me ‘pookie’ I almost poked him in the eye with my fork last night.” Christian gave me a warning look so I sighed and reached across the table for his pack of cigarettes before lighting one up.
          “Since when do you smoke?” he asked incredulously.
          “Since I realized that I was going to die of cancer from your secondhand smoke anyway.” I replied, “but don’t worry, I won’t smoke when the camera’s are rolling, the network doesn’t want to contribute to the tobacco problem in society today and besides, it’s something I really do—God forbid we put something real on ‘reality TV.’” I said simply before standing up and walking into my room.

          After I finished on the talk show I walked out into the cool November air and into the black company car and slipped into the backseat with Christian, “You did well.” he said simply, since the summer he hadn’t been nearly as critical of what I’d been doing. “Still up for the radio interview tomorrow?”
          “Do I have a choice?”
          “That’s what I told you in the beginning, isn’t it?”
          I looked at him for a moment, “I’ll do the interview.”
          “Okay,” he gave a small sigh, “You know I almost forgot what it was like to be eighteen, it’s funny since I’m only twenty-one.” I gave him a skeptical look, he seemed young, I’d just thought he’d had one of those faces “I dropped out of college a year into it and started serving coffee to a couple of suits, they liked me and when the network got picked up I went with it.”
          “So you didn’t get to experience college?”
          “Well, you’re not exactly getting to experience high school. I guess we choose our own poison, huh?”
          I looked at him from behind the dark oversized sunglasses some designer had given me as a gift, “Why?” I asked bluntly, “Why did you choose me that day?”
         He shifted in his seat and looked at me, “Because you didn’t want it, I thought that if I gave it to you no matter what the network through at you you’d stay you. I wanted to put someone real on there, someone who wouldn’t be changed by the show.”
          I looked at the pack of cigarettes I had in my hand and then at Christian and I laughed out loud, “Funny how things happen then.”
          He gave a nod and after a few minutes he opened his mouth again, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” I glanced at him and shifted in my seat awkwardly to look out the window, but watched him carefully in the reflection of my sunglasses.

          In January we starting filming the final five episodes of the season and I wasn’t sure about a second season anymore. I couldn’t decide if it was worth it, I didn’t have any school friends left; my family was too wrapped up in it to realize I hated it. Christian, surprisingly, was the only person I talked to honestly anymore, he was the only person who talked to me honestly anymore. He had quit smoking in order to make me quit smoking, and he had been fighting with the network lately to keep me from doing to many out of character things. My contacts had come out; I was able to throw in a couple plain t-shirts from (gasp!) Target for my wardrobe, and I even got away with biting my nails every once and a while even though Christian still thought it was a disgusting habit to begin with. We still bickered like we hated each other and occasionally bossed each other around knowing that the other wouldn’t listen, but still—we had an unspoken friendship now.
          That February there was a huge season finale party thrown by the network, celebrities, everyone from St. Mary’s, my family, a few suits, myself, Tad, and Christian were all there. I sat in a corner booth as the finale of the season was on various TV screens throughout the club they’d rented out. A few people walked by, a few toasts were given, I was the hit and the sensation of the network, and all of the talk and happiness about it let me know something was very wrong.
          Christian walked over and slid into the booth with me, he put his drink down on the table and looked at the glass; I smiled because I knew it was coming. “Have you ever heard people say ‘Get out when you’re still on top’?” he said without making actual eye contact with me.
          “What happened?”
          “We pushed too hard, these past few episodes you’ve gone back to yourself and you’re too ‘real’ for reality TV.” he gave a nod, “They’re not picking you up for another season.” he nodded, “and I won’t be helping to create another show anytime soon.”
          “Did they fire you?” I questioned.
          He shook his head, “Quit, might try college again.” He gave a shrug before taking a sip of his drink.
          “So that’s it huh?” I asked after a bit of silence, “I fade out into ambiguity and eventually get put on a ‘Where Are They Now?’ TV special?” I laughed, “What am I going to do?”
          Christian smiled at me, “I think you’ll be fine—you can be normal at college, grow out of the show, have fun.” he nodded, “You’ll be fine Danica, I’m sure of it.”
          I gave a small nod and took a sip of my soda while my voiceover from the show played in the background. “This year I learned who my real friends are, I’m going off to college and I had the most memorable year of my life. I don’t have regrets, just lessons learned and I can’t wait to go out and use them in the real world.” I gave a small sigh and looked at Christian with a small laugh, “Now, how do I break up with Tad?”
          “You’ll figure it out, what kind of a name is Tad anyway?” he replied with a smirk.
         "Yep,” I replied, looking out at the crowded club, my name and face on various signs and screens, hundreds of people I didn’t know celebrating me for the last time. “I guess it’s time to get real now.”


Fin