Page 16 of Fan Favorite

“Yes. Well. It’s a desert. It can be dusty.”

Peter wiped his hand on his pants and wondered just how badly Bennett was going to react when he saw Edie on set forthe first time. A couple of years ago, Peter had seen his own high school girlfriend, Claire Martin, at a Whole Foods in Greenwich, and he’d immediately thrown down his avocados and fled. Wasn’t this the response most people had when confronted with a former flame and, by extension, a former version of themselves? Over Edie’s shoulder, Jessa was waggling her eyebrows likeSee! See!Yeah, Peter saw. He saw disaster. Peter wasn’t especially worried about getting Bennett back on track once the Edie Pepper bomb dropped—working leads was Peter’s specialty—but getting Bennett to forget about all the other girls—girls who were much more suited to him, frankly—and make him fall in love with this middle-aged, Midwestern Cinderella? Nowthatwas going to be a problem.

“I thought I’d have time to change before I got here.” Edie sneezed again. “I brought a dress, but there was so much traffic—”

“I already told her it’s no problem,” Jessa interrupted, shooing Edie farther into the conference room. “This is LA! The biggest directors in town run around in flip-flops.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Edie said. “I’ve literally never seen anyone look as good as you do right this second.”

Christ, Peter didn’t even need to hear what came next. Over the past few years, he’d sat through a ridiculous number of conversations about Jessa’s beauty routine. “Looking good is about access, Peter,” Jessa had said to him once when he complained about yet another fifteen-minute conversation about eyelash serum. “Which is not somethingyou”—she pointed her bourbon at him over the editing desk—“a white, cis man has to worry about.” Peter didn’t think this was entirely true but knew better than to say so to Jessa. He’d traded on his relatively good looks his entire life. He knew how to wear his hair, put together an outfit. (Today’s look was casual but crisp—cashmere sweater, jeans, five-hundred-dollar loafers, and the Apple Watch on the upgraded Hermès band.) Undoubtedly,it was more difficult for women, but this was LA—everyone had a stylist on speed dial.

“It’s a capsule wardrobe. You could totally do it,” Jessa said.

Jessa was sort of generically beautiful—long blond hair, full lips, simple nose—but with little geometric tattoos on her fingers, a nose ring, and, most of the time, a mischievous look in her eyes, all of which lent her an effortless California cool. “Every day I wear a good pair of jeans, a bodysuit, mules, and a jean or leather jacket,” Jessa continued. “Then I pop on a bold lip, a high pony, and big earrings. Done and done!”

Peter gritted his teeth and went to set up the camera.

“A bodysuit? I could never.” Edie laughed, taking a seat at the table. “Seriously, I’m having so many feelings right now.” She started singing, “You’re the meaning in my life, you’re the inspiration…”

“Is that Chicago?” Peter asked from behind the camera.

“Respect Peter Cetera, please.” Edie laughed. “Oh! I almost forgot—I brought you something.” She dug around in her backpack and retrieved a small plastic snow globe of the Chicago skyline. She held it out to him and smiled. She had a big smile, a toothy smile. A genuine smile. Honestly, it was a nice feature, but still, Peter found it off-putting. He was used to fame whores and sycophants—he knew how to handle fame whores and sycophants. But Edie’s smile reminded him of things he never thought much about at all, like pancakes and Sunday afternoons.

“It’s dumb. It’s just from the airport,” she added when he didn’t say anything.

Peter realized he was being weird. He came out from behind the camera and took the globe. “You’re hitting the Chicago theme hard,” he said with a muster of charm. “Has anyone ever loved the Windy City more?”

“Barack Obama?” she said with that smile. “Oprah? Ira Glass? Kanye? All of the Cusacks? John Hughes? Chance the Rapper?”

“Don’t let him give you shit, Edie. I know for a fact Peter loves Chicago,” Jessa said, twirling the end of her ponytail. “Both the cityandthe band. He’s basically America’s dad when it comes to music. If they’re playing it at the grocery store, he loves it.” She leaned over and stage-whispered, “I swear to god, he has Journey on vinyl.”

“Oh, I love Journey,” Edie said, smiling at him again. “Respect Steve Perry.”

“I haven’t seen snow in years,” Peter ruminated, shaking the globe.

The three of them watched the snow float down over the Chicago skyline. Contestants were never this earnest. Contestants never brought gifts. Peter looked at Edie again. She seemed to be looking at him with some sort of elastic openness that made him deeply uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” he said finally, returning a tight smile and trying to remember what he usually said to contestants when they appeared in his conference room and he wasn’t afraid of them. “Well. We’re so glad you’re here.”

“Thank god,” Edie said, sagging in her chair with relief. “I spent the entire flight worrying you were going to hate me and that this was a terrible idea.”

“Why would you think that?” Peter asked, his gaze meeting twenty headshots of this season’s contestants affixed to the wall behind her. Jumbo index cards were taped underneath each photo with information like:

LILY, 26, Aromatherapist, Portland

Always saying things like, “Everyone’s a teacher, what do you teach?”

Five of the headshots already had Xs drawn across the faces in Sharpie. Potential storylines, date details, and eliminationstrategies were sketched across the neighboring whiteboard. Peter suddenly felt embarrassed. This was exactly why contestants were not supposed to be in here after production began. And then he felt oddly ashamed. And then annoyed because this was his fucking show—he was supposed to be making the decisions.

“I mean, I’ve seenThe Key. I know I’m not exactly like the other girls,” Edie continued. “I don’t own a single crop top. I’ve never injected any paralyzing agents into my face. And I legit enjoy a night at Olive Garden.”

“At least it’s not a Red Lobster,” said Jessa.

“They have good biscuits,” Edie and Peter said at the same time. Their eyes met again, and this time when she gave him that toothy grin, for a second Peter forgot how terrible this all was and smiled back. What could he say? He grew up in a suburb. Theyweregood biscuits.

Jessa bounced her eyes between them, curious, before soldiering on. “I can lend you a crop top,” she said with a wink. “No worries.”

Edie and Jessa glowed at each other, and Peter’s heartburn surged. He dug in his pocket for some Tums, already hating himself for all the terrible things he knew he was about to do to ensure Edie Pepper and Bennett Charles ended up on the cover ofPeople. He chewed the Tums and reminded himself that absolutely none of this was his idea.

---