Sellevision (12 page)

The flight attendant looked at the notepad he was carrying. “You didn’t?” He ran the point of his pen down the list, stopped at a name, and circled it. “Peggy Jean Smythe, seat 12D.” Then he stood up and double-checked her seat number. “Yup, 12D, Peggy Jean Smythe, that’s you.”

“But I didn’t order it, I don’t want it,” she hissed. “I’m not . . .” she turned her head to the window, imagined every passenger on the plane glaring at her, then looked back at the flight attendant. “I’m not
Jewish
. Not that there’s anything
wrong
with being Jewish, it’s just that I’m not.”

The mere thought of a potential borscht stain made her anxious. After all, she was wearing a white silk pantsuit with palazzo pants and a sheer white chiffon blouse.

“Goodness, well, I’m terribly sorry,” the flight attendant said, brushing the crease out of his pants as he stood. “There must have been some sort of computer error. So have you had a chance to look at the menu?” he asked, pointing to the enormous leather bound volume that contained a single page.

“Yes, as a matter of fact I have,” she said simply.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smythe, what can we get for you this evening?”

Regaining her composure, Peggy Jean touched the simple ribbed hoop white gold earring on her left earlobe and then gave a small, polite laugh. “Well, actually, I was thinking I might enjoy having the chicken Kiev.”

He smiled, his head cocked to the side. “The chicken Kiev it is, then.”

Then a look of concern spread across her face. “Where is
Kiev
, anyway?”

The flight attendant paused, placed the tip of the pen between his lips. He thought for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration. “Let me ask the captain,” he said finally. Then before turning away he added, “I’m sorry for the special-meal confusion.”

“It’s perfectly fine, I was just a little, you know, surprised. Because, I mean, I’m Christian.” Then, smiling, “Of course I don’t suppose a computer would have any way of knowing that.”

He smiled back at her. “No, I suppose not. We’re just not that sophisticated yet.”

To get the whole incident out of her mind, Peggy Jean took a Valium from the One-A-Day vitamin bottle she stored them in. The Valium pills, she had found, came in quite handy.

Hours later, after dinner and the in-flight movie, Peggy Jean decided to freshen up in the lavatory. She unfastened her seatbelt and stood in the aisle, enjoying the brief stretch. She opened the overhead compartment and retrieved her hard-shell American Tourister cosmetics case, then made her way down the narrow aisle to the lavatory door. But before she reached the lavatory, she noticed the flight attendant’s beverage cart parked in the little kitchenette nook behind the bulkhead. All three of the Connoisseur Class flight attendants were napping, as were most of the passengers.

Gently, she slid the metal drawer out and saw all the pretty little bottles; Grand Marnier, Drambuie, Crème de Menthe, and thought,
Why not? Why not take a few of the little bottles home, as gifts?
After all, it wasn’t like she was stealing. Lord, no. Beverages were complimentary in Connoisseur Class. Her ticket
had
cost Sellevision well over five thousand dollars and
certainly for that amount of money, well
. . .

Carefully, she lifted out a little bottle of Grand Marnier. As a young girl, she’d loved oranges.

Of course, the problem was she was still holding the cosmetics case in her other hand. So she glanced around, just to make sure she wasn’t creating a distraction. Then she set the case on the floor and snapped it open. She took the little bottle and plopped it inside, right next to her Aqua-Net. Then she reached for another little bottle. She started to close the case, but it occurred to her that if she gave only
two
friends the adorable little bottles, her other friends might feel hurt.

So, very quietly she slid the shelf of the beverage cart all the way out, just ever so gently. And she slipped an additional five little bottles into the case.
I could tie a pretty bow around these and attach them to the outside of wrapped presents
, she thought.

One by one, she slipped more of the little bottles into her case, eventually leaving only the heavy amber scotches and bourbons (for the men). There was no longer enough room for the Aqua-Net, so she left this in the cart also.
When opportunity knocks
, she thought to herself.

M

ax realized it was futile to try and fight his depression, so he decided instead to feed it. Turning on Sellevision at two in the afternoon, he was surprised to see a closeup shot of Bebe Friedman. Normally, Bebe only hosted the most glamorous shows, during the most premium hours. But as soon as the camera pulled out to a wide shot, he saw that Bebe was sitting alongside Joyce DeWitt, from
Three’s Company
. Of course, that’s why Bebe was on in the middle of the afternoon—it was a celebrity program. Max un-muted the television and listened to the show.

“. . . and I realized there was no skin regime for women my age; everything was geared toward twenty- and thirty-year-olds,” Joyce was saying.

“You know, that is so true. Mature women like ourselves, we end up wandering the aisles of the department stores and thinking, maybe I’m supposed to use dishwashing soap on my face or something.”

Joyce laughed and interjected, “That’s exactly it, Bebe. And that’s exactly why I created Joyce’s Choice, because I was fed-up with skin care products that ignore the needs of my over-thirty skin.”

“Joyce, let’s take a phone call. Let’s say hello to Michelle from San Francisco. Hi, Michelle, thanks for calling in. Meet Joyce DeWitt.”

“Hi, Bebe, hi, Joyce.”

“Hi, Michelle,” Joyce said into the camera.

“Bebe, you are my favorite host, and I’ve been trying to talk to you on the phone for years!”

“Aw, that’s very kind of you to say, Michelle. I can’t imagine anybody waiting years to speak with me on the phone, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“And Joyce, I just am so excited by your products! I ordered the Get Started Kit, and I can’t wait to try it, because I have tried everything out there and I’m thirty-six and nothing works on my skin. Did you say it was okay for sensitive skin? Because I have very sensitive skin.”

“Oh absolutely, Michelle. That’s what’s so great about Joyce’s Choice. I worked really hard with the technicians to make sure that my products were perfect for every skin type. And believe me, your skin can’t be more sensitive than mine.”

“Oh, well that’s so good to know. I really can’t wait to try them. Joyce, can I ask you a question?”

Bebe cut in. “Let me interrupt here for one minute—I’m sorry, Joyce and Michelle—but I just need to let everyone know that quantities of the Get Started Kit are becoming very limited now. We started off with twelve hundred of them and now we have less than three hundred to go around. Again, it’s item number F-9450 and it’s twenty-four ninety-seven. Okay, I’m sorry, go ahead.”

“Um, okay, so like, Joyce, I just wanted to tell you how much I loved you on
Three’s Company
and I think you’re a really great actress and I was just wondering if you have any plans to return to TV?”

“Aren’t you sweet, Michelle, thank you so much. To answer your question, Joyce’s Choice is keeping me pretty busy. However, I’m about to start shooting a drama for the Lifetime network about toxic shock syndrome, which I think is important because it hasn’t gone away. So that’s gonna air sometime next year . . . keep your eyes open.”

“Oh thank you, Joyce, I will. I can’t wait!”

“Okay, we’re down to less than one hundred kits now, so they’re really moving fast. If you can, please use Automatic Tele-Order by calling the alternate number you see on your screen. The phone lines are very busy right now,” Bebe said.

On her producer’s cue, she said, “Michelle, we’re just about to sell out, so we’re going to have to say good-bye, but thank you so much for calling and sharing with us today.”

“Thanks for having me,” Michelle said. “I hope you both have a wonderful, um,
life
, I guess. Okay, good-bye.”

“Bye-bye,” Bebe and Joyce said in unison, just as a
SOLD OUT
graphic appeared over the Joyce’s Choice Get Started Kit banner on the far lefthand side of the screen.

“That item
has
sold out, so congratulations to everyone who purchased it. I think you’ll be very happy. Up next: Joyce’s Choice Crows Away! under-eye gel. But first, coming up on Sunday, Don from the Good Morning Show will be talking with author and trend forecaster Faith Popcorn about her brandnew programmable popcorn popper that lets you pop tomorrow’s popcorn today! If you’re a busy snacker, you won’t want to miss this presentation.”

Both Joyce and Bebe smiled into the camera, waiting for the cutaway to the FuturePop Popcorn Popper.

“God, I have a pathetic existence,” Max said as he watched Don demonstrate the appliance. Enough was enough. As he turned off the television and went to his hall closet for his leather bomber jacket, Max made a promise to himself: In two weeks he would either have a great new job or a great new boyfriend. Max had believed in Creative Visualization ever since they did Shakti Gawain incense holders on the show and she had made an appearance.

He wondered if Shakti did personal consultations.

C

hecking the hosts’ schedule for the week, Trish noticed that she had mostly midday slots and only a few prime-time jewelry showcases. Peggy Jean was still hogging the limelight. And Leigh certainly wasn’t hurting for hours.

At first, she had believed that her trip to London was just the beginning of her rise within Sellevision. Now it seemed things had reached a plateau.
Things
, she thought, were just not moving fast enough.

In her office, Trish checked her E-mail. She was not pleased to see that she had fifty-seven E-mails from viewers. Eight less than she had received after her last on-air appearance two days before. Fewer quality hours, fewer E-mails. Even her Price Waterhouse fiancé now seemed like a compromise. Maybe her father was right, maybe Steve
was
too short, too meek, too poor, and too, well,
ordinary
for her. Maybe she was
settling
.

After reading her E-mail, Trish decided to give a quick call to Peggy Jean at home. One of Peggy’s little boys answered, and Trish said, “Hi, is your mom home?”

The little boy dropped the phone on a tabletop and screamed, “Mom, telephone, I’m going outside.”

A moment later, Peggy Jean picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hi, Peggy Jean, it’s Trish.”

“Oh, hi, Trish, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Listen, I just wanted to ask you something. I’m at the office and I was just reading over my E-mails, and I got a kind of a weird one.”

Silence, then, “Go on . . .”

“Well, what was that person’s name? The one who was sending you all those nasty notes?”

“Zoe, her name was Zoe. Why, Trish, tell me—did you get one too?”

“Shoot, that’s what her name was. I knew it was a
Z
name. No, mine is from some person named Zonda.”

“Oh, no. Mine is Zoe, definitely Zoe.”

“All right, I just couldn’t remember the name, that’s all. Anyway, it’s nothing, it’s not offensive or anything, just a little strange. Sorry to bother you at home.”

“No problem,” Peggy Jean said.

“By the way, you were wonderful in Milan. Did you get any sight-seeing in?”

“Heavens, no. You know how draining international travel is. I’m still quite jet-lagged.”

“Well, just try to relax as much as you can before you come back to the office.”

“Yes, I will. And thanks for calling, Trish,” she said and hung up.

Odd
, Peggy Jean thought. Why would Trish call her at home? Trish had never phoned her before. She bit into a vanilla Slim Fast bar. It didn’t seem normal for Trish to act so caring toward her. Could
Trish
be Zoe? Was she capable of such evil? Peggy Jean chewed slowly as she contemplated. Then she threw the wrapper in the trash. The strawberry Slim Fasts were much better than the vanilla, that much she knew for sure.

After speaking with Peggy Jean, Trish went to the host’s lounge to get a cup of tea, a smile fixed on her face.

“S

parkling diamonds, that’s what this is going to look like on your finger.” Peggy Jean was on air, midway through Rings of Romance. “Six stones with a total gem weight of just over one carat, so this, ladies, is a very believable ring. It’s a lot of sparkle, a lot of glimmer. And it has a wonderful diamond presence, but because it’s Diamonelle, you’re paying a fraction of what you would pay if this ring were set with real diamonds.”

Cut to closeup, Camera One of Peggy Jean’s finger showing the ring. “Fifty-three dollars and ninety-four cents is our introductory price on this ring, and it’s item number J-6866. And ladies, let me remind you that you always have a thirty-day, unconditional, money-back guarantee here at Sellevision.”

Cut to medium shot, Camera Three of Peggy Jean. “And that means that for any reason—maybe it’s the wrong size, or maybe you just decide, ‘You know, this really isn’t me’—you can send the ring back to us and we’ll give you a full refund. So if you’ve never tried Sellevision before, this ring could be a really good way for you to discover the quality and the, well, really the
beauty
of our jewelry.”

The Teleprompter in front of Peggy Jean alerted her to the fact that there was a caller on the line. Zoe, from California.

For a beat, Peggy Jean ignored the message until her producer said into her earphone, “Peggy Jean, we’ve got a caller. Something wrong with the Teleprompter? Her name is Zoe from California and she’s purchasing.”

Peggy Jean smiled into the camera. “And we’ve got a caller. Let’s welcome Zoe from California. Hi, Zoe.”

“Hi, Peggy Jean. It’s exciting to speak with you.”

The caller’s voice sounded muffled. Peggy Jean imagined a filthy dishtowel being held over the mouthpiece.