Читать книгу Blissfully Yours - Velvet Carter - Страница 12

Chapter 4

Ayana was getting her hair and makeup done in the dressing room she used while taping the show. She looked at her reflection in the huge mirror and barely recognized herself. Her face had three layers of makeup—foundation, powder and blush. Her naturally long eyelashes were glued with two sets of extended lashes, giving her eyes a dramatic look, and her lips were painted a bright glossy orange. Covering Ayana’s real hair was a platinum-blond wig with natural curls that cascaded midway down her back.

“You’re all set,” the makeup artist said, giving Ayana’s face one last swipe of the sable brush.

“Thanks, Denise.”

Ayana rose from her chair and walked to the rack of clothing the wardrobe stylist had selected for the day. She looked at the first outfit and shook her head in disgust. “Do they really expect me to wear this?” she muttered to herself.

As she stood there looking at the neon orange micromini shorts and matching midriff top, Ed Levine, the creator of the show, walked in.

“Hey, Saturday, are you ready for another great season?” Ed waved his chiffon scarf in the air. He was full of enthusiasm and wore a wide grin that spread across his face. Ed had every reason to be happy: Divorced Divas was now the number one reality show in the country.

“Ed, why do I have to wear this whorish-looking getup?” she said, cutting right to the point and ignoring his question.

“Saturday...”

“Can you please call me Ayana when we’re off set?”

He folded his arms and said, “Ayana, when I approached you about doing the show, I pulled no punches. I told you that the nice-girl role was already taken and you were being hired to play the bad, malicious girl.”

“Bad girl, not slut. Look at this trash,” she said, pulling the orange two-piece violently off the rack.

“Why do we have to go through this every season? Last season you complained about the hair and makeup, so we toned it down. Now you’re complaining about the clothes. You should be used to the Saturday Knight persona by now.”

It was Ed himself who had created the outlandish character in the first place. Years ago, before becoming a successful show creator, he’d worked as a female impersonator under the name Saturday Knight. He’d worn heavy makeup, flashy clothes, towering heels and waist-length wigs. When he’d conceived Divorced Divas, he’d jumped at the chance to see his alter ego come to life on camera.

“I’ll never get used to dressing like a slut and acting like a wild banshee.”

“I could always release you from your contract if you’re tired of playing the role. I have a list of divorced wives of millionaires waiting in the wings to take your place. Give me the word, and I’ll tear up your contract and you can walk away, free and clear, before the season starts. No hard feelings. But once we start production, you’ll have to honor your contract and stay for the duration of this season.”

Ayana plopped down on the sofa, tossing the outfit to the side, and exhaled. She wasn’t in a position to quit. She hadn’t amassed enough money to secure her financial future, nor had she made inroads into the licensing business so that she could brand herself. As much as Ayana hated the charade, she hated being poor more. She wasn’t going to leave the show until all of her ducks were lined up. She was determined to make the most out of being on the show, even if that meant portraying herself as a loudmouthed troublemaker. “No, Ed, I don’t want to be released from my contract, but can we come to a compromise?”

“And what might that be?”

“Let me choose my clothes. The stylist isn’t quite getting my look right.”

“I guess you can do that. Just don’t come on set in anything conservative.”

“Thanks. I won’t,” she said with a broad smile spreading across her face.

“Don’t get too happy. I came in here to tell you about the new director.”

“What about him?”

“We didn’t tell him that Saturday Knight is a fake persona. He doesn’t know your real name is Ayana Lewis, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Why is that?”

“We want to maintain a sense of reality, and the less he knows about your real personality, the better he can direct you as a wildcat.”

“So you’re telling me that he doesn’t realize my role on the show is an act?”

“No, he doesn’t. As you know, the rest of the cast doesn’t know either. Remember the confidentiality clause in your contract binding you to keep quiet about your true identity.”

“Of course I remember.”

“So you’ll keep up the act?”

“Yes, but I refuse to be tacky.”

“Deal. On another note, I’ve been introducing the new director to the cast individually before we start shooting. He’s meeting with Trista now and will be in to meet you shortly.”

“No problem.”

As they were talking, in walked the new director. Ayana looked at the handsome man and nearly gasped. He was tall—well over six feet—with broad shoulders and an athlete’s build. His head was shaven, giving off a slight glisten. His eyes were warm, the color of chestnuts, and his skin looked as if it had been dipped in milk chocolate. The white cotton shirt he wore seemed to glow against his dark skin. He was handsome in a rugged urban-cowboy-type way. In fact, he was exactly her type. If they were in another setting, she could envision the two of them sitting down and having a friendly chat over a cup of coffee. However, she had a job to do and wasn’t going to let his good looks distract her.

“Brandon, perfect timing,” Ed said, turning toward the door. “Let me introduce you to Saturday Knight, the show’s hot-blooded diva.”

Ayana took a step backward and went into character. She sucked her lips, put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes in his direction.

“Hello.” Brandon extended his hand.

Ayana looked down at his hand. “Whatever.”

“Ed, I’ll be on set,” Brandon said, turning his back to Ayana, ignoring her rude behavior and directing his comment to the creator of the show.

“Okay, sounds good.”

Brandon walked out without giving her a second look. Once he was gone, Ed closed the door. “Nice work. You did a damn good job of showing him how nasty you can be.”

“That was nothing. Wait until I get in front of the camera. Then I’m going to really cut up.”

“Perfect. That’s what I want to hear. Divorced Divas is leading in the ratings and I want to keep it that way.”

“Don’t worry, Ed. You can count on me to do my part.”

“See you on set, Ayana.”

When Ed left the room, Ayana closed the door and walked back to the clothing rack. As she was looking for another outfit, she thought about how rude she had been to the new director and began feeling guilty. He didn’t deserve to be disregarded, but as long as she was under contract, she wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize her future.

Ayana changed into a pair of white skinny jeans and a sheer black blouse with a deep V-neck that showcased her ample cleavage. She completed the casual outfit with a pair of four-inch cork platforms. The shoes added to her height, making her a towering figure of six feet.

Ayana left the dressing room, and as she walked down the long hallway, she took a series of deep breaths. With each step, she dreaded the beginning of another season of lies. To make her job tolerable, Ayana tried to find something to focus on. Last season, she’d concentrated on the shelter in Jamaica. The thought of helping the women and children in her homeland had gotten her through the catfights, backstabbing and blind dates gone awry. This season, she hadn’t picked a focal point, until meeting the director. Although she had treated him like dirt on the bottom of her designer shoes, she found him extremely sexy and attractive. Even if she couldn’t have him personally, she could at least fantasize about his muscular body being pressed against hers. That thought alone would sustain her for at least a few episodes.