“All men aren’t dogs like you, my brother.” Brandon was always a one-woman man. He had never dated multiple women at the same time, like most of his friends had.
“I prefer the term ladies’ man.”
“Whatever, Mr. Ladies’ Man. Enough of memory lane. I gotta get off the phone. I have an early call in the morning.”
“That’s right—you start your new gig tomorrow.”
After moving back to New York, Brandon had landed a job right away. However, the position wasn’t on another newsmagazine show. He was the new director of Divorced Divas. Though he wasn’t thrilled about directing a cheesy reality show, after being out of work for a year and exhausting his savings, he had to take what he could get and that was the only show hiring.
“Unfortunately,” Brandon said, sounding disgusted.
“Why do you say that?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to be among the working class again, but directing a bunch of catty women isn’t what I call good television. I can’t believe this reality genre is still going strong.”
“Personally, I love reality TV—the cattier the better. Seeing them chicks fling their boobs and fake hair is a turn-on. Those chicks on Divorced Divas are all fine, especially that Saturday Knight. I’d love to get that beautiful body of hers into my bed and show her a few tricks.”
“I’ll bet you would.”
“You gotta hook a brother up.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, Brandon. I’m serious. Hook me up.”
“I know you’re serious, but I’m not there to make friends or play matchmaker. I’ve seen clips of the show and those chicks are cutthroat, especially Saturday Knight. She’s the worst of them all. If I didn’t need the money, I would’ve turned down the job. The last thing I want to do is spend my day directing a train wreck.”
“Don’t worry. With your smooth-as-butter nature, I’m sure you’ll calm them down when they get out of hand.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not going on set tomorrow playing mediator or trying to talk sense into those wildcats. I’m leaving Mr. Nice Guy at home. Tomorrow, I’m Mr. Hard Nose. I refuse to let those chicks run all over me. They’ll never see my, as you say, ‘soft’ side.”
“I can’t believe you pick now to be a hard-ass, when I need you to score a number or two from the divas.”
“The only thing I plan to score are high ratings while I’m working on the show, and, hopefully, once my contract is over after this season, there’ll be an opening back in news.” Brandon had had his agent negotiate a one-season deal in the hopes of him returning to a reputable newsmagazine show like 60 Minutes. He wanted to work on a television show that he could be proud of.
He laughed inwardly. He hadn’t even started the new job, yet he was already planning his exit strategy. Thankfully Divorced Divas only ran half a season, so he wouldn’t be subjected to the lunacy that was reality television for too long.
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
