Blissfully Yours

Listening to Reese expound about her overseas trip with her husband, Ayana couldn’t help but be a little jealous. The thought of spending time away with the man you loved was not in Ayana’s near future and that reality saddened her.

Chapter 3

“Man, have you heard from Jaclene?”

“No, not since I moved back.”

Brandon Gilliam was at home talking on the phone with his best friend, Jon. Brandon had recently moved back to New York from California. Luckily, he had sublet his apartment in Tribeca and was able to make a smooth transition without having to search for months for a place to live.

“What happened between you guys? I thought you were in love.”

“I thought so too. Jaclene, the wannabe starlet, was into me when she thought I was going to be a Hollywood director and cast her in a movie. When I wasn’t able to land a major gig, she wasted no time dumping me. Last I heard, she was involved with some studio executive.”

Brandon prided himself on his stellar career. Over the course of ten years at a major television network in New York, he had earned five Emmys for outstanding directing of a newsmagazine show. Brandon’s dream was to parlay his television skills into directing movies. Feeling that he’d done his time at the station, he’d quit, packed up his awards and moved to Hollywood. But breaking into the movie business wasn’t as easy as he had envisioned. The only thing he had to show after being on the West Coast for a year was a failed relationship with a starlet and a list of contacts who would no longer accept his calls. Frustrated and tired of the endless sunshine, as well as the fake people, he’d moved back to New York as soon as his sublease agreement was over.

“Don’t worry. When you become a famous director, your casting couch will have a waiting list of women begging to have sex with you.”

Brandon chuckled. “Man, I’m not interested in women who want to use me to advance their career.”

“Hey, as long as I’m using them back, I don’t have a problem with it. Use my body, just don’t abuse it.” Jon laughed.

“I guess we differ in that way. I want a woman who loves me for me and not for what I can offer professionally.”

“Oh, listen to you sounding like a soap opera. You were always the soft-hearted one of the group.” Jon and Brandon had grown up together in Queens. They, along with three other boys, were a tight-knit bunch. Jon and Brandon were now the only two guys still single with no kids.

“Soft, my ass.”

“Don’t try to sound hard now. Remember that time when we were sixteen and fine-ass Lisa McCoy came crying to you because her boyfriend left her?”

“Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

“She wanted to have sex with you to make her ex jealous. Instead of taking the panties, you talked to her on the phone all night. Now, if that ain’t soft, I don’t know what is.”

“I didn’t want to take advantage of her situation. She was clearly upset over being dumped and needed a friend.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. Even at sixteen you had a conscience.”

“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.