Whose Bride Is She Anyway Page 2

  Thankfully, no mention was made in the yearbook via strict instructions from Principal Clark, but the few who dared labeled it covertly as the “moo incident ” in their class memories under their photos.

  There were no dates, no size-four jeans, only Tara, her books and her wish to see Kelsey Little vanish from the face of her planet.

  Or at the very least be really uncomfortable.

  But she vowed that one day she’d exact some skinny revenge on Kelsey Little. Someday she’d show her what Tara Douglas was all about. She’d be successful and more importantly, thin. She’d walk right up to Kelsey and say, “How do you like me now?”

  She’d show Kelsey…

  Senior class bitch, cheerleader from hell and homecoming queen of Evanston High.

  Chapter One

  Do I look fat in this?

  “Whose Bride Is She Anyway? ”

  Hell’s bells, Tara couldn’t believe she’d made it this far in the auditions for, of all things, the reality television show her old high school nemesis was the star of. Here she was in California, sitting in a crowded reception area after twelve rounds of interviews, smiling until her lips stuck to her teeth to get on the most popular reality show this side of planet earth. This was it. The last interview—the big showdown for the top spot as jury foreman on “Whose Bride Is She Anyway? ”

  She took a deep breath and watched as people came and went from the ominous mahogany door labeled “Producer”. As in the man who would call all the shots and held the key to Tara successfully pulling off the payback of the century.

  A woman to her left whispered something about the “contestants”, making Tara turn to see if they too were stuffed in that office, but she hadn’t seen too many hunks come out.

  Water, she needed water. Her throat was dry and scratchy and she’d been at this interview crap all damn day.

  Tara clung to the number in her hand. It labeled her as potential jury member number two-twenty-three and it held her place in line. They were only on interview two-hundred or so … it was going to be a long wait with each interview at fifteen minutes apiece, so she could afford the time to go find some water. She clung to her number as she went in search of a water fountain.

  Slipping out the door, she headed down the hall and saw a man bent over at the waist drinking from a fountain in long gulps.

  Tight buns in faded blue jeans—damn, they got hotter and tighter as she closed the gap between herself and the fountain. Lord, that was the last thing she should be thinking of at a moment like this. Every bun from here to Beverly Hills was tight. So what?

  Tara cleared her throat and a head popped up … the head that eventually led to those tight buns.

  A ruffle of shaggy blond hair fell over his forehead, streaked from the sun, thick and shiny. His blue eyes locked with Tara’s and his mouth was slightly ajar. A bead of water trickled down lips that were firm, but full. “Um, I’m sorry, I was hogging wasn’t I?” His deep voice was like a waterfall of chocolate, trickling down over Tara in a cascade of shivers. She stared back at him, simply because words failed to produce much more than a cave man-like grunt under her breath.

  He grinned, a flash of perfectly aligned white teeth and stood up. Fully erect, he was … well fully erect… Tall and solid, thickly muscled, but not plastic like she’d seen so much of since she’d come to California for this audition. Tara blinked and took a long, slow breath. “It’s okay—ta…”she cleared her throat again because she sounded like an armadillo in mating season. “Take your time. I—well, I—can wait. I mean they’re only on number two-hundred, so I have loads of time. Really, drink all you want. It’s okay, you look thirsty and I don’t blame you. I mean it’s hot here, right? The sun is…”

  “No, I’m done, you go ahead,” he interrupted, backing away from the fountain and offering her his spot with his hand. His big hand… He looked confused and who could blame him? She was running off at the mouth, something she did often when she was nervous.

  Tara forgot she was thirsty, forgot everything but this big man’s chest, staring her in the face. “Th—tanks,” Oh, God… “I mean, thank you. ” Accent on the letters t-h.

  Jesus!

  He smiled back at her, but continued to stand his ground, unmoving, unblinking. His blue eyes just wouldn’t let go of hers. Was he an actor? Was this eye contact thing like a technique you were supposed to practice on complete strangers? Cuz it was workin’.

  She was not bending over in front of this man to drink from the fountain. He would see her ass.

  And?

  What the hell was wrong with her? Who cared if he saw her ass? As asses went, hers would pass. She wasn’t sure what it was passing, some silent test she’d made up in her head, but nonetheless, it would fare all right. She stomped over to the fountain and pushed the button to make the water come out. Nothing … she pushed again … still nothing.

  “Here, let me help. You have to push slowly if you want a steady stream. ”

  Magically the water sprayed up and out and Tara took small sips, quickly, standing back up and using her thumb to wipe the excess water from the side of her lips. “Tank…” argh! “Thank you, ” she said slowly, avoiding his gaze.

  “My pleasure,” his scratchy grumble pierced the quiet of the hall.

  Finally raising her eyes, they appraised one another

  Then, silence and nothing but the pounding of her heart in her ears, yet they continued to stare at one another, his eyes holding hers until someone yelled in their direction.

  “August!” A thin man came running down the hall, waving his hands and heading in their direction. “August, I told you—you have to use the fountain in Hall B.”

  August? What kind of name was August? He was an actor, Tara decided. They all had names that were far fetched and hid something awful, like their real names. His was probably Bubba or Cletus.

  August wasn’t apologetic as he looked over his shoulder one last time at Tara, his eyes lingering for a moment on her face before he turned to the thin man. “If you’re going to keep us holed up in there like that the least you can do is give us water. How was I supposed to know where Hall B was? I just found the water. I didn’t care what hall it was in. ”

  The man put his hand on August’s back and directed him back down the hall as he spoke in a rush. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, we’re on overload here and I should have been more careful…” Their voices faded as they took the turn at the end of the corridor.

  He must be on an audition, hence the eye thing, Tara figured. But he didn’t look as fake as most of the men she’d run into since she’d come to California. He was vivid in the way most actors—she supposed—should be, yet raw and edgy with all that silent eye contact. Definitely had presence…

  A shiver like spider’s legs skittered up her spine. It was all technique, or whatever actors called it, designed to make women’s libidos go “whoa”, and hers had responded in typical teeny bopper fashion.

  As Tara walked back down the hall she wondered about his name. He really should think about changing it.

  August? Well, it was … a month, for crap’s sake.

  * * *

  Now that she was back in the waiting room, watching interviewees for the jury come and go from her corner chair, she gave some thought to Kelsey Little while trying to set aside her encounter with that August person who was much more like an Adonis than a man named after a month.

  Out of the blue a thought occurred to her, one in a long string of paranoid thoughts that made her squirm with discomfort. Was there a lie detector test on this show? Because if so, she was doomed.

  She fidgeted and refused to acknowledge the very idea that she’d been lying boldly about knowing Kelsey. It wasn’t a lie. She did know her. Sorta…

  Hookay, so she’d told a wee white lie to get this far.

  Oh, all right, she conceded mentally, she’d lied a lot. Yep, she’d told a really big white lie, but the end justified the means, she reasoned with hersel
f. So Tara Douglas and Kelsey Little weren’t really friends, per se, in high school. The producers of “Whose Bride Is She Anyway? ” didn’t need to know that. All the rules on the show’s website said was that the potential jury foreman had to be a friend from high school.

  Define friends.

  Tara sighed. Okay, so she and Kelsey weren’t even acquaintances.

  Jeez, so they came from two completely different worlds if she allowed brutal honesty to reign supreme.

  What of it?

  “I did know Kelsey Littman in high school!” a woman’s voice protested loudly as it was ejected from the producer’s door.

  Tara almost laughed aloud from her corner of the room. Littman?

  The nice secretary smiled serenely at a woman as she motioned her out the door of the producer’s office. “That’s lovely, but not according to our records, dear.” The disgruntled woman stomped out of the waiting area with a flounce of hair.

  Oh hell. They were checking records? Guilt chomped at Tara’s intestines like a round of Pac Man. She glanced around the room nervously as if at any moment someone from her past might out her. She hunkered further down in her chair and grabbed a magazine from the table beside her, covering her face with it so she could get in touch with the vibe that had brought her here in the first place.

  Some much overdue payback for Kelsey Little.

  Kelsey Little didn’t know Tara had existed in high school. Not in the way you acknowledged someone friend-to-friend, anyway. Kelsey instead had taunted and tormented her all through high school and then, she’d been responsible for the most humiliating event in Tara Douglas’s life.

  Bar none.

  Tara was Kelsey’s complete polar opposite. Short and overweight, president of the trigonometry club, debate team captain and home every Saturday night her entire high school career.

  Alone. As in just Tara and her bag of pork rinds.

  Definitely not a candidate for the illustrious Evanston cheerleading squad.

  She wondered if Kelsey was as evil now as she’d been in high school. Evil like Kelsey’s was inherent, inbred, a defective mean gene.

  Tara shook off the bad karma that attacked every time she thought of high school. All she wanted to do was get on this stupid show as Kelsey’s jury foreman, but as the waiting room continued to fill up rather than empty out, she was becoming skeptical.

  “I think I did it!” a large man with a thick moustache touted as he left the interviewing room. “I think I’m going to be a jury member!” He cracked his knuckles confidently and smiled at the whispering crowd gathered on the far side of the room.

  The jury members were comprised of people responsible for choosing Kelsey’s eventual groom-to-be. Kelsey would pick from two of the men the jury offered her, based on their month-long assessment of chemistry with Kelsey and willingness to win her heart via videotaped dates. The jury was in charge of grilling these helpless contestants to be sure Kelsey ended up with the right guy.

  Hah! That was exactly where she wanted to be, at the helm of this choice made in Kelsey’s honor. She’d get a paid vacation at a tropical resort and the ability to revel in the payback of the millennium. Because she was going to help all of America see just what a selfish, conceited, backstabber Kelsey was.

  Another potential jury member sat beside Tara, a chair away, making her peek out over the top of her Time Life. Thumbing the pages, Tara pretended to read while noting it wasn’t anyone she knew.

  “Interviewee number two-hundred and twenty, ” the secretary called from the office door. A short, round woman with red hair jumped up and waved her number.

  Tara’s stomach heaved again. Only three numbers away from a shot at nabbing the jury foreman spot and possibly on her way to big time payback.

  Revenge on national TV—exposing Kelsey for the bitch she was—was Tara’s ultimate goal. She’d also take the opportunity to show off her new bikini, if her balls got just a little bigger and half-naked suddenly became life-affirming rather than a traumatic battle of flesh over mind. Maybe she’d prance around in front of Kelsey in a thong just because she could. Flash her some newly sculpted Tara booty or something.

  Look, Kelsey! It’s me, Tara Douglas. See this ass, you rotten bitch? It ain’t the one you threw out of the locker room door anymore. Wanna see my thong, thong, thong?

  Well, okay, no thong, just some cute shorts or something.

  If her self-esteem would quit freakin’ on her she’d do just that, because Tara Douglas was no longer the fat geek. She wasn’t sure that was ever going to be possible, but she wasn’t the meek girl Kelsey remembered. Tara was still just as organized, maybe compulsively so, still just as smart, she just looked better for it. Speaking of organized, had she brought her lip gloss?

  A guy wandered in from the outer door and nodded at her with a wink as he drifted toward the secretary’s desk. The attention she garnered from men still surprised Tara.

  “I think he likes you, ” the girl two seats away giggled.

  Even now she had trouble reconciling herself with the new and improved Tara. The Tara men now eyeballed with lust in their hearts and hard-ons in their shorts. She’d come a helluva long way since high school and she was proud of that, but the old Tara, insecure, her self esteem jar half empty—reared her ugly head from time to time.

  Sometimes it was harder for her to be pretty than it ever had been being what polite society called unattractive.

  It was pressure. Lipstick and mascara and cellulite cream and all sorts of crap to keep her body flab free. If she had just one more round with the “thigh-master,” she’d bust or her thighs would explode, whichever came first.

  She fought a sigh when the girl to her right asked what number she was. “Two-twenty-three,” she mumbled from behind her magazine, hoping to avoid conversation.

  “God,” the girl said, “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for this moment.”

  Tara nodded, understanding fully what that was like. Everything she’d done in the name of perfection was all for this moment.

  A moment Tara didn’t consciously know she’d craved anymore, but found once she’d had a sampling of, left her wanting more.

  Kinda like opening a bag of revenge potato chips. You couldn’t have just one.

  It was a moment that cropped up out of the blue, and not in the way of your typical high school reunion. Tara hadn’t realized how much she still despised Kelsey until she got wind of the fact that she was going to be on this reality show and then, it all came back in a rush of clarity. Crystal clear and rife with a vengeance she could taste.

  But even now, newly sculpted as she was, as improved as she’d like to think she’d become, when she looked in the mirror she still saw the ghost of the same old Tara Douglas from the class of nineteen-ninety-two.

  Chubby and ugly. Nary a date in all of her high school history and just a little freaked out about how much she loathed Kelsey for making her senior year miserable. And making her the Evanston senior class joke.

  Hate however, was indeed a powerful motivator.

  Kelsey Little deserved to rot in flawless hell for Tara’s humiliation, and she couldn’t wait to be the one who blew the air that fanned the flames licking at Kelsey’s perfect cheerleader behind.

  “I’m up next!” a far-too-enthusiastic contestant said as he held up his number.

  A sharp pang of fire ripped through Tara’s already upset stomach; reaching for her purse she dug around for her bottle of antacids. Popping it open, she threw a handful in her mouth and crunched them in an attempt to repress her burning intestines.

  James Bond she was not.

  Shoot, she wasn’t even a very good liar. All of this cloak and dagger crap seemed far better suited to a Charlie’s Angel, because she was an undercover Kelsey hater, masquerading as a former high school friend.

  Crunching harder on the antacids, she hoped to fend off the guilt eating her guts up and spitting them back out like a Fear Factor contestant for just a while lo
nger.

  Looking around, she tried to focus on the other people who were looking to cash in on her ticket to walloping Kelsey. The room was packed. What if someone from high school was here and recognized her? She eyed the short chubby red-head in the corner of the reception area. She looked familiar, Tara thought as her stomach took a nose dive.

  Oh, hell … it was Candice Walker. Not a cheerleader in high school but a wannabe, always trailing behind Kelsey like some damn dog cleaning up her path of leftovers. She’d hand Mr. Perfect over to Kelsey and ask if she could cook dinner for the happy couple too. Suck up. Suddenly, Candice looked up and directly at Tara. Well, she could say hello… “Hey, Candice, long time no see. I’m here to fuck with Kelsey. Wanna play? ” Instead she lifted her chin and pretended she didn’t know who Candice was.

  Not that it mattered, because Candice didn’t seem to know who she was either. Fine, it was just as well. She didn’t need anyone horning in on her op to weave a web of deceit.

  She’d waited a long time for this opportunity.

  Okay, maybe not exactly this particular kind of opportunity. Honestly, Tara really thought she and Kelsey would run into one another in like the local grocery store and Tara would wander up to her, look her in the eye, and ask, “How do you like me now? Not such a fat ass, am I?” Neener, neener, neener.

  This op was a just a smidge bigger in epic “look at me now” proportions.

  Tara gnawed on the inside of her cheek. She sounded like every scorned geek looking for revenge from he re to eternity. It was like a bad episode of “when geeks attacked”.

  Another candidate plopped down in the seat next to her. “It’s packed in here,” he commented.

  Tara nodded again and ignored him. He was intruding on a good internal battle and she couldn’t focus with endless personal chatter. She blew out a long breath. God, what she was planning to do was cruel, but then again, so was Kelsey and she had to cling to that if she was going to go through with this.

  Rushes of guilt assaulted her as she continued to wait to be called for her interview, watching as people wandered in and out of that door that led to the interviewing. Remnants of the girl she used to be, no doubt.