A/N: I promised to update tonight and i wasn't lying. Thank you everyone for the amazing reviews for the last chapter. Keep them coming ;)
Anyway as i also promised a longer chapter. Pretty much over 1,000 words longer than yesterdays update. I'll UDS again, i promise. :D
--
"You told Lucas the news about the show, right? What did he say?" Brooke asked Peyton.
"He's really happy for us," Peyton replied. "I get the feeling he's not that into reality TV, though."
"Sour grapes," Brooke said. "He's just jealous because you got an acting job before he got his book published."
"It isn't an acting job, Brooke. It's reality," Peyton reminded her.
While Peyton exchanged text messages with Lucas, Brooke glanced at the piles of boxes in the living room. Julian had asked them not to move anything for a few days. The TV crew was coming over at some point to film the girls unpacking their things.
She spotted a basket near the top of an open box and dug it out. It contained bottles of nail polish, nail polish remover, cotton balls, emery boards, nail clippers, and a cuticle kit. She set it down on the chrome coffee table and chose a purple polish.
"Can you hand me the black?" Peyton said, barely glancing up from her phone.
"You sure you want Lucas thinking you're all emo?" Peyton just gave her an evil glare before getting back to her phone.
As Brooke began painting her nails, the thoughts wandered to the events of the last month. So much had happened so fast. First they move to L.A., then start working, then One Tree Hill . . . and not this apartment. It almost seemed too good to be true. Sure, work wasn't perfect, she was trying hard to become known. On the other hand all her high school experience was coming in handy. She knew the right people, besides she was smarter than almost everyone else in the business. And as for One Tree Hill–well, Julian had hooked them up with this gorgeous place. She'd definitely re-pay him later. And it was going to be a crazy experience being on TV. But there was also a big, huge question mark hovering over everything. As happy as she was with Julian now, today, she didn't totally trust him. You weren't supposed to trust Hollywood producers, right? You were supposed to let lawyers, agents, managers, and people like that advise you about them. The problem was, Brooke didn't have anyone to ask advice about this whole business. Fine she did, her mother, but she would never let it come to that. Ever. Forget about lawyers, agents, and managers. She was managing very well on her own.
"You want more champagne?" she asked Peyton, holding the bottle gingerly between two freshly manicured fingers.
"Why not?" Peyton said, reaching for the bottle. And Brooke didn't feel like thinking about One Tree Hill anymore.
--
It was late on Monday night when Brooke and Peyton hopped out of the cab down the street from TRIC. They had opted to get out on the corner, rather than run up the meter while waiting in the line of cars that extended way down the block.
Brooke was wearing a charcoal shift dress. The back dipped into a low V accented with a large black chiffon bow. A layer of delicate black lace peeked out from the bottom of her dress. Her brown hair was pulled back tightly into a straight ironed ponytail. Her makeup was simple: coral blush on her cheeks and a gunmetal shadow brushed under her brown eyes.
Peyton wore dark skinny jeans and a thin black T-shirt with a deep V. She had several gold necklaces layered over her chest. Brooke even had to persuade Peyton to wear a little more makeup than usual. Even if it had required practically pinning her down, Brooke had managed to apply mascara, bronzer, and lip gloss to Peyton's face. Peyton had also reluctantly allowed Brooke to tidy up her smudged black eyeliner into sleek lines. She looked lovely, like a slightly more polished version of usual self.
The street was extra busy tonight. Closer to the parking lot, Peyton had noticed what appeared to be doors to another club. She hadn't noticed it last time they were there. A large crowd of people spilled out of the messy line and into the street. She and Brooke made their way past the mass of clubgoers and walked through the parking lot of TRIC.
As Julian had promised, Dana had called over the weekend to arrange for tonight's shoot–their very first. She had told the girls to find the tech van in the lot next to the club. She would meet them there so they could be miked and given further instructions.
Peyton peered around the lot. "Did she say where they would be?" she asked Brooke, frowning. "Can you call her?"
Brooke pulled out her phone and dialed the producer's number.
"Brooke!" Dana sounded anxious when she picked up. "Are you and Peyton here yet?"
"Yeah. We're in the parking lot. Where are you guys?" Brooke asked, looking around her.
"We're in the very back. Look for two white vans."
While walking farther into the lot, Peyton spotted two minivans parked side by side at the far end. They were a little more soccer mom than she had expected.
"There!" Peyton pointed as she started heading toward them.
Brooke's eyes followed. "Oh my God!" They're rocking the minivans! They are so not like us at all." She laughed.
When Peyton first got her driver's license, she had been so excited to pick out her first car. She got a 1960's Mercury Comet. She loved that car. And well Brooke had a Voltzwagon beatle.
As they got closer to the vans, they saw a bunch of crew members, dressed in various versions of all-black outfits. There had to be almost a dozen people from PopTV to film her and Brooke. A few of them were unloading large pieces of camera equipment out of the back of one of the vans. Peyton wondered how the camera guy would maneuver those huge cameras in the crowded club. She was about to ask Brooke when the passenger door to the second van swung open.
"Great, you found us. You ready to get started?" Dana said, climbing out of the van and adjusting her earpiece. Her eyes looked even more tired than they had at Peyton's initial interview three weeks ago, with her and Mitch. Had she been pulling all-nighters? Peyton fought the impulse to offer the woman some concealer.
"Yes. So are we getting miked out here?" Peyton asked her.
"Right over here," Dana said, motioning toward the closer of the two vans. The back was open and a younger looking guy was sitting on the bumper. He had a large pack of sound equipment strapped to the front of him by a padded harness. He unhooked the equipment and set it in the back of the van. Peyton watched as he reached in and pulled out two small microphones. They were smaller than the ones she and Brooke had worn during their interviews. They were only a half an inch thick and silver. He unwound the thin black cord from the first silver pack.
"Peyton?" He looked at both of them.
"Here!" Peyton stepped towards him.
He eyed her outfit for a moment. "You're wearing a bra, right?"
She looked only a little taken aback. "Um, yeah,"
"Okay." He took out a piece of double-sided tape and began peeling the paper off one side. "Well I'm gonna have you tape this microphone to the inside of the front of your bra and run the wire around your side, then I'll clip the mike pack on the back of your bra."
He pressed the tape down, securing it against the tiny mike, and handed it to her. Then he pushed both his thumbs against the tiny mike pack, holding down two buttons at once. After a couple seconds, a small green light glowed on the top.
"You can go in the van if you want." He glanced at Peyton. She had her shirt pulled up over her bra as she tried to get the tape to stick to the inside of her lacy black cup. "Oh . . . or you could do it out here."
"That's it Peyton, don't be shy or anything." Brooke joked.
Peyton turned to the sound guy, holding up the round metal piece at the end of the wire. He clipped it into the pack, wrapped the extra wire around the silver pack, and hooked it to the back of her bra. Peyton pulled her shirt back down and turned her back to Brooke.
"Hunchback?" she asked as she attempted to look over her own shoulder.
"Actually . . ." Brooke said examined the back of Peyton's shirt. "You can barely see it."
"Okay, then you must be Brooke," the sound guy said. She noticed a white piece of what looked like surgical tape on the bottom of the second tape. Her name had been written across it with a black Sharpie.
"Yes, but um . . . " Brooke turned around, revealing her exposed back. "No bra. I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"It's cool." He shrugged. "What are you wearing under your dress?"
"Underwear."
"What kind?"
"Shit, buy the girl a drink first." Peyton laughed.
"What do you mean? Like what brand of underwear?"
"No." The guy laughed. "I need to know if it can support the pack. I can always use a leg strap, but they're just a little uncomfortable and tend to fall off."
"They're Victoria Secret booty underwear."
"That should be fine. I'm just going to have you tape the mike onto your skin." He touched the center of her chest with his index finger, indicating the placement. "You wanna hop in the van to put it on?"
"I'm fine out here."
A couple of guys passed them. One in a trucker had yelled out to Brooke.
Peyton laughed, almost amused at her friend's total disregard for acceptable parking lot etiquette. "And you thought I was shy." She joked.
She turned back to the sound guy and reached for the mike pack. He attached it tot the wire and wound the slack around the pack as he had done before. She lifted up her dress and hooked the mike pack onto her Victoria Secret underwear. The metal pack was a little cold against her skin. She pulled her dress down, and turned around to see Dana waiting for her.
"Okay, so they're almost done setting up the cameras." Dana said. "We're gonna have you walk back out to the front of the club. Don't get in line. Go right up to the door. Tom, the doorman, knows to let you in. The cameras will be shooting the entrance, so act natural, okay? Anyway once, you're in, just wait for us. We have to re-po cameras inside. It will just take a minute."
"Then what?" Peyton asked her.
"Then just have fun. Act natural," Dana advised. "The cameras will be shooting the interior club scene the whole time, too, but they'll be very unobtrusive. And we've already gotten releases from everyone who's seated in your area."
"We have an area?" Brooke said, surprised, at the same time that Peyton said, "They make everyone sign release?"
"Yeah," Dana answered them both. "We have Pas go into the bar ahead of you and ask anyone who might be in a shot to sign a release form saying it's okay for their images to appear on TV," she explained. "Otherwise they have to blur their faces and it doesn't look–"
Dana stopped short. She looked distracted for a moment. She reached down and unhooked the black walkie-talkie that was attached to her jeans. "Yes, all miked up."
For a second, Peyton wondered what the hell Dana was talking about, but then she remembered the earpiece was there for a reason.
She smiled wearily at them. "Okay. I think we're ready to . . . wait, hang on." She pulled cell phone out of her back pocket. "Oh, it's Julian."
"Yes?" Dana said into the phone as she glances at her watch again. "Don't worry, we're right on schedule. The girls are here and miked and . . . What? Oh. Yes, I'll take care of it."
Dana hung up and began rummaging through a beige canvas bag with PopTV logo on it. She dug out a manila envelope and pulled out two sheets. "I almost forgot. I have releases for you girls," she said apologetically. "I guess they haven't finished your contracts yet so we're going to have you to sign day releases for tonight."
Peyton took the paper from Dana and started scanning it.
"It's a standard form. Like I said before, everyone who's supposed to has signed one already." Dana reached into her bag and pulled out two pens. "Here you go. Just sign and date on the bottom of the page."
Peyton only sighed and took on of Dana's pens. "Whatever," she said.
--
Peyton sank back into the plush velvet booth as she squeezed a lime into her vodka soda. The DJ was playing one of her favourite songs.
This is so totally different from the last time we were here, she wanted to say to Brooke. But she was aware–very aware, actually–of the fact that they were being filmed. Not that it would be obvious to anyone who didn't have to sign a release–the cameras were tucked away in the corners of the room, as Dana had promised.
She knew her and Brooke were supposed to "act natural," which meant that they weren't supposed to talk about the fact that Tom the doorman (the same one who had made them wait forty-five minutes last time) had let them in immediately, as though he had been expecting them (he had), with a smile as though he knew them (he didn't). Or the fact that the stylishly dressed hostess had led them–all friendly as though they were regulars or celebrities, or both–to what seemed like the best table in the club. Or the fact that the waitress had offered them "bottle service," bringing them over a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, ice, and all the fixings, so they could mix whatever drinks they wanted (for as many rounds as they wanted) on their own. All without asking them for I.D. It was . . . unreal was the word that popped into Peyton's mind. Which was funny–and a little ironic–since this was supposed to be a reality show.
"Hey, can we borrow a couple of lines? We're totally out."
Peyton turned around to see a girl in the next booth smiling at her and Brooke.
She looked oddly familiar.
"Haley?"