Bachelor on Mars Page 3

  “Margo, we have a few quick minutes to film your backstory, since we didn’t get it before we left.” Lynette said, looking at her clipboard, her tone friendly and upbeat. “Thanks for being the last-minute fill in. Your brother said you were not to have any shots of gushing about how much you want to marry the bachelor, since you’re slated to be voted off tomorrow.”

  “Thank God,” Margaret said as she sat.

  “None of that,” Lynette said sharply, looking up from her notes.

  Margaret blinked in surprise, watching the perky woman turn into something else entirely.

  Lynette didn’t seem friendly at all, but rather tough as nails. “You must stay in character at all times, since you might be in the background of other important shots and I can’t have you messing those up.”

  “Okay,” she said, surprised by Lynette’s sudden shift in tone.

  “I told your brother we would be better off one down, but he insisted on bringing you since it fulfills the deal he made with Station 7 in terms of numbers. I’m not going to have you go off the rails and infect the others with a bad attitude.”

  She was so harsh, Margaret sputtered out a laugh, but stifled it quickly when she saw the steel of command in Lynette’s gaze. “Wow, you’re a ball buster.”

  “Damn straight. You’re not the only one acting on this trip. We all have to do our part to make good TV.”

  Margaret hadn’t really watched TV since she spent most of her time in the lab, but she’d imagined the camera would follow them around while they went about their daily lives. “I thought this was supposed to be real?”

  “It is. And you’re going to make it extra real by staying in character.” Lynette found the page she was looking for. “This is your backstory. You’re from Raleigh, North Carolina and went to NC State University for biological and agricultural engineering. You live with two cats and play women’s lacrosse in your free time. You’re actually quite good at it. You volunteer regularly at an old folks’ home.”

  “Wow,” Margaret said again, horrified. Biological and agricultural engineering. What the hell was that? And lacrosse sounded dangerous. And two cats. Well she’d always wanted a cat. She just hadn’t thought it was fair to an animal when she was always at work all the time. “Hank must be retaliating for that time I hemmed one of his tux legs an inch shorter before high school prom.” It had brought her so much joy, but he’d promised to get her back when she’d least expected it. That time must be now.

  Lynette gave her a look that was far from amused. “That’s the backstory of the contestant you replaced. She’s a real person who is quite sweet. You should take a page out of her book and get a better attitude.” Lynette pushed a button on the camera and a red light came on. “First question, why did you want to come on the show?”

  Relief coursed through her. This was an easy one. “Because it’s filming on Mars.”

  “No. This is where you say you’re at a point in your life you’re ready for love.”

  “But—” Margaret wasn’t at a point she was ready for love. Love was messy. And complicated. And from what she could tell, its primary purpose seemed to be distracting a good researcher from her purpose while screwing up her life.

  Lynette growled. “Repeat after me. I’m ready for love.”

  “I’m ready for love,” Margaret parroted. And, to her surprise, she found a small piece of her brightened at that statement, but the majority of her thought it was a stupid thing to say and from Lynette’s disappointed frown, that part must have come through.

  It went downhill from there.

  Margaret tried not to be a jerk, but she wasn’t an actress and she’d never been light and bouncy in her life. She wasn’t even sure she knew what those words meant in relation to her own personality.

  Over and over again, Lynette made her answer the same questions. “Smile! How hard is it to smile?” she asked at one point, throwing up her hands in frustration.

  “Lynette,” Margaret said, unable to take any more. “I’m not trying to make your life hell. I promise you.” In fact, Margaret was starting to really like the other woman, who’d turned out to be smart and commanding. “I’m just not built for this.”

  Lynette slumped in her chair, looking more angry than defeated. “Your brother has screwed us both.”

  “I promised him and I’m promising you. I will try everything in my power to stay in character. But acting isn’t something my brain can handle.” Which was weird, actually, because Margaret had thought she could do anything she set her mind to. Turned out one of her personal mottos must have been wrong, because she couldn’t act her way out of a paper bag.

  Lynette studied at her for a long, assessing moment. “My gut says you’re a major mistake. But we’ll have to do the best we can.” Lynette leaned forward in her chair. “I don’t care how hard it is for you. You are no longer Margaret Carson. You are Margo Wilson, from Raleigh, North Carolina. I want you calling yourself Margo, even in your own mind. It is critical for you to give me everything you have for the next day.” Lynette narrowed her eyes in a clear warning. “If you don’t, your brother has told me to ban the testing of your rover.”

  “What?” Margaret gasped. To be on Mars and not test her rover would break her heart.

  Lynette nodded and even appeared a little sympathetic. “Your brother seemed to think it was the only way to get full participation from you.”

  To have come this far and see her plans go up in smoke wasn’t acceptable. Light and bouncy would be her middle name if it killed her. She pasted on a smile. “Margo from Raleigh it is,” she said, the words a promise.

  Lynette dropped her head in her hands. “Don’t smile with your teeth showing. It makes you look like you’re going to cut someone’s heart out and eat it.”

  Margaret closed her lips.

  Lynette peeked between two fingers. “Good enough.”

  They both went upstairs to find a guy named Russ wheeling clothes hanging from a long bar into the room.

  “Okay, listen up,” Lynette barked, holding her clipboard like a shield. “Your dresses for the first day’s filming are on this bar with your names pinned to them. You are not allowed to switch dresses. You are not allowed to make any alterations to your dresses. You will wear what we’ve picked for you as they were given to you. No exceptions.” She glanced at her clipboard. “You will be called in alphabetical order to the makeup room, which is down the spiral staircase in the first room on your right. You are not allowed to go to any other place on that floor. You will come straight back here after your makeup window is over. Please get dressed and be prepared for the start of filming, which begins in thirty minutes.”

  A general groan went through the room. They were all exhausted from the trip.

  “You’ve been warned this season is going to have a grueling film schedule, so no whining. Jenny Armond, you’re up.”

  Then Lynette stepped back and everyone but Margaret rushed to find their dresses, the room filling with a horrible din. The rack dwindled as the women fought to find their clothing.

  Lynette caught Margaret’s gaze and made a shooing gesture to encourage her to join the fray.

  Margaret stepped up to the last remaining dress, her name pinned to the top of a long, pretty rose sheath. She pulled it from the rack, wincing at the sheer, delicate fabric that probably would tear like tissue paper. From a small bag clothes-pinned to the hanger, she pulled out extra control top hose, a strapless bra and some strings she suspected were supposed to be underwear. She spent a long time trying to figure out which holes were for her legs verses her waist. It was hard to tell.

  “Margo Wilson,” Lynette called from the top of the spiral stairs.

  Margaret also wondered if the dress would even fit her, since she was wearing clothing meant for another woman. Holding the gown up to her body, she peered around another contestant into one of only two full length mirrors, and decided it couldn’t possibly fit.

  “Margo Wilson,” Lynett
e called again, sounding super annoyed as she tapped Margaret on the shoulder. “Your makeup time is ticking away.”

  Relief filled her at the delay as she put the dress back onto the rack. Margo. I am Margo, Margaret repeated as she followed Lynette down to makeup and sat at the table that had been added to the same room she’d been interviewed in earlier.

  The Enforcer studied her critically, before picking a bottle of foundation.

  “You’re the makeup artist?” Margaret asked in disbelief. Hank had assured her that she’d have the best and she figured she needed it. Further, Lynette wasn’t even wearing any makeup. “I thought you were the person who does the interviews?”

  “I’m everything on this shoot.” Lynette dabbed a sponge onto Margaret’s face, applying the liquid heavily. “Makeup artist, registration, handler, shrink, contestant wrangler, and enforcer.”

  “Are those all real titles?”

  “No, but they’re real staff positions.”

  “Shrink?”

  “You’d be surprised. We have at least one person go whack every season.” Lynette fell quiet as she powdered, brushed and started working on Margaret’s eyes.

  “Enforcer?” Margaret asked, unable to help it.

  “Look up,” Lynette ordered, drawing lines on the upper and lower lids. “Did you not read your contract? Because the list of behaviors that break your contract are long. And you’re not going to be considered for Paradise if you break even the smallest of the rules.”

  “What’s Paradise?” Margaret had fallen down the rabbit hole into a different world.

  Lynette pulled back and studied her. “You aren’t joking. Hank is so on my shit list.” She tossed down the brush in obvious disgust. “It’s the after show where everyone who didn’t win has the chance to become even more famous by making complete asses of themselves on a tropical island. It’s the golden ticket, much more coveted than this gig.”

  “Really?” Margaret was intrigued. It was like another world. One she knew her brother was suited for to a “T.”

  The Enforcer pointed an eyeliner at her. “And you won’t go if you break the rules on this show, no matter how much of a fan favorite you are, so you better fly straight. I will not lose one second of sleep blackballing you if you fuck with me.”

  Margaret sat silent, too surprised to say anything in return. But Lynette didn’t understand her at all if she thought banning Margaret from another show was a punishment.

  “Lynette,” Russ said from the doorway. “We have a problem.”

  “Here,” Lynette said, shoving a new set of fake eyelashes into Margaret’s hands. “Put these on. The glue is on the side table.”

  The other women left in a flurry of energy, leaving Margaret staring in the mirror. She was different, but really not different enough. She looked like herself, only better.

  The package of fake eyelashes seemed to mock her as she studied them. Her name was on the outside of the case, so they had to be reusable. She turned over the box and revealed a set of directions. “Thank God,” she whispered.

  There were only three steps. How hard could it be?

  Taking one out, she held it up to her lash line to measure them as the box instructed, and promptly poked herself in the eye. “Crap.” She blinked rapidly to keep from messing up the eyeliner Lynette had so expertly applied.

  This wouldn’t defeat her. She had a PhD in mechanical engineering, dammit. This wasn’t beyond her skills. Carefully following the directions, she trimmed the lashes to fit and put on the glue like an expert.

  But despite her best attempts, the lashes ended up at her brow line or crooked or off to one side, like a caterpillar heading for her hairline.

  “Need help?” the tall, gorgeous Tiffany asked, gliding in.

  Margaret had met everyone before they’d left, but luckily they all still had nametags on, or she’d be lost. “Why is this so hard?” Margaret asked, peeling the offending item off.

  “It just takes practice.” Tiffany sat in Lynette’s chair and took it from her. “Stare straight ahead and I’ll do the rest.”

  Reassured by Tiffany’s confidence, Margaret relaxed for the first time. “What do you do when you aren’t on TV?” she asked, figuring Tiffany had to be a model.

  “Focus on the wall behind me or your eyelashes flutter,” Tiffany ordered, completely focused on the operation at hand.

  Margaret stared at a filming schedule taped to the far wall, noting how many entries were listed under each day. These women would be working their butts off while they were here. Thank God she’d only have to endure the grueling schedule for a short time.

  “I’m a social worker. Abused and neglected children.” Two quick presses and the eyelash strip went into place on the first try.

  Margaret leaned down to view them in the mirror. “Wow,” she said, truly impressed by both Tiffany’s deft skills and her job.

  Tiffany popped the second lash from the case. “Last one.” It went on just as easy.

  “Wow,” Margaret said again, peering close to the mirror. Her eyes were huge, filling her face. She looked younger, more innocent and… pretty. “I don’t even look like myself,” she whispered in awe.

  “Fake eyelashes are amazing,” Tiffany declared. “It’s the most important thing in your vanity arsenal.”

  Margaret never had a vanity arsenal, but Tiffany almost made her wish she had.

  “Let’s go,” Lynette barked from the top of the stairs. “Everyone! I need you in gowns and lined up in the hall in ten.”

  Tiffany snorted. “Time to practice exiting the rocket.”

  “We’re going to practice walking down a ramp?”

  “You know it. We’ll practice everything. Haven’t you watched the docuseries about the making of this show?” Tiffany lead the way to the changing area.

  “No.” Margaret was regretting she hadn’t watched because it would’ve been helpful. If she’d had more time, she would have researched this. Or maybe she wouldn’t, because she hadn’t known how serious this whole thing had been until she’d been told testing her rover was in jeopardy.

  Bolstering her courage, she prepared for an upcoming confrontation with Lynette when she couldn’t fit into her dress. Because there was no way she was getting into it.

  She stripped, managed to get the panties on, then struggled into the most soul sucking control top hose she’d ever worn in her life, then carefully drew the dress over her head. As expected, it stuck around her shoulders, but several other contestants rushed to her aid, pulling and yanking it down until the fabric settled around her, much to Margaret’s surprise. The fabric had to have elastic in it. A lot of elastic.

  She peered into the full-length mirror and was shocked to find the dress fit, even if it was tighter than anything she’d ever worn before.

  The deep rose gossamer sheath hit the ground as if it had been handmade for her. With her hair twisted up, makeup on and this dress, Hank had been right. No one would ever recognize her.

  She didn’t even recognize herself.

  But the excitement soon wore off because they spent the next two hours filming their walk from the rocket into the hallway connected to Boyle’s laboratory. One by one, they went down the ramp, through a tunnel into Boyle’s research center.

  Margaret wasn’t the only one who rapidly lost her patience with the process because Lynette spent the entire shoot yelling, “Smile!” and making everyone go back up the ramp to do it again.

  Each time Margaret passed her, Lynette shouted, “Margo, please stop stomping. You need to float.”

  Margaret didn’t know how to float and didn’t want to know. Strangely, she’d thought she’d be nervous in front of the camera, but instead she was just aggravated. But she reminded herself about her rover, slapped on a smile, and tiptoed down the ramp, staring at a place beyond the cameraman’s right shoulder.

  Which obviously also wasn’t floating, because Lynette said to Russ, “We’ll have to edit her out,” sounding put out and
long-suffering.

  By the end, Margaret was limping in her high heels and, because no one had bothered to feed them, starving. But the biggest annoyance was the fact that she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Jack Boyle.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I’m a spy. I’m undercover, Margo thought, using her spy name to refer to herself as Lynette had instructed.

  She’d never really wanted to go undercover, but when she thought of it like that it seemed almost… fun.

  And since she was a spy, she explored Jack Boyle’s headquarters the moment Lynette was distracted by a filming snafu.

  The tour didn’t take long. Circling the round building, she ghosted from the lab into a hall full of storage lockers on one side and the second exit from the building on the other. The rocket crew had hooked a temporary, tarp-like structure to connect the building with the rocket, allowing the contestants to go back and forth without worrying about the outside temperature. A key upgrade, since they were dressed in almost nothing and while Mars might get up to 70 degrees during the day, at night it averaged minus 100, although the biosphere muted that when it was fully functional. Way too cold for an evening gown for sure.

  From there, the hall ended in a tiny kitchen, which led to a living room where all the other contestants were sitting in a circle on the two chairs, the small sofa and the floor.

  They were excitedly probing each other’s backstories and sizing up the competition. As she wandered into what looked like Jack Boyle’s bedroom, Margaret heard snippets of their lives more as a wash of background noise than a real conversation. One woman was a veterinarian, one a social media influencer (whatever that was), another claimed to know the past winner of the Paradise show Lynette had told her about earlier.

  The bedroom only had a bed in it and a few shelves with a small collection of rocks packing the surface. She picked up a dusty red pebble. It wasn’t beautiful and she wondered why Boyle thought enough of it to keep it in his room on display.

  Listening to everyone bonding in the main room, Margaret realized she’d never in her life been friends with women in the way that these women were rapidly becoming friends with each other. It wasn’t that Margaret wasn’t able to make friends—she could, just not easily and not with women. She hadn’t had the practice. And really, who had time for casual acquaintances? Her life consisted of the lab, teaching, writing papers, writing grants (so many grants!) and sleeping when she could. She did better one-on-one than in a group anyway.