Model Menace 2 by Carolyn Keene Page A

reaching over to press her pink crystal into Akinyi’s hand. “I know how it goes. Sometimes it can be hard to let go, even though a relationship is over.”
    Hmmmm.
    I pulled into the hotel parking lot, considering all the new information I now had to think about.

REALITY TELEVISION?
     
    T he Daredevils producers wasted no time in setting up a day for Syd to shop for a new dress with her bridal party. That Thursday morning, just two days after I’d dropped Akinyi, Deb, and Pandora back at the hotel, Bess, George, and I traveled back there to board a limo filled with bridesmaids, both moms—and a camera crew.
    “Try to act natural,” Hans encouraged us, obviously trying very hard not to scowl at our totally unnatural behavior. Deb had just sidled up to Sydney, smiled, looked directly into the camera, and announced in a near-shout, “SO, SYDNEY, TELL US ABOUT THE DRESS YOU WANT TO BUY.”
    I understood that Hans wanted us to act “real,” but it was difficult with eight women, a cameraman, a sound man, Donald, and Hans crammed into a stretch limo. On the phone last night, Donald had explained to me that we’d spend the whole day traveling from bridal shop to bridal shop, trying to find Syd the perfect replacement dress in just a few hours. Now Donald watched us with a concerned expression, no doubt worried about how this “scene” was going to turn out.
    Bess took a small bite of a doughnut and settled back against the leather bench, clearly trying to act calm. “What are you looking for, Syd?” she asked in a tone that closely matched her normal voice.
    Syd sighed, looking thoughtful. Of all of us, she was the most comfortable around the cameras—probably from all the practice she’d had this week! “I think, now that I have a chance to start over, I want to go all-out,” she replied. “Like a ball gown! I think something big and poufy could be fun.”
    George caught her eye and shook her head with a faux grimace. “I can’t believe we’re related,” she deadpanned.
    Syd just chuckled. “You can do it your way when you walk down the aisle, coz.”
    Soon we reached the first store, where we all trooped out and set up in the dressing room to watch Syd try on five dresses the producers had already picked out. Syd liked a couple of them, but each dress seemed to have a problem associated with it—it was too big, or it couldn’t be delivered in time, or the sample dress (which Syd would have to take, since she was buying on short notice) was way too big for Syd’s birdlike frame.
    “Don’t you think it’s weird,” George whispered to me during a break in filming, “that the producers already picked these dresses out, and yet they won’t be ready in time?”
    I shrugged. Even just in the last couple of hours, I’d developed a lot of skepticism about so-called “reality” TV. The shopping was taking forever, because some dresses had to be tried on several times so the cameraman could get shots from several different angles. If Syd said something interesting and the sound guy didn’t pick it up, she had to say it again—and again. And again. If she didn’t sound “natural” enough on the second or third or sixteenth take, Hans would rephrase it for her. And the whole time, Donald was pushing the rest of us to “get involved.”
    “Do you think this is the right dress for her?” he whispered to Ellie as Syd modeled a low-cut number the producers had picked out for her. “Would you feel comfortable with her wearing that on her wedding day?”
    Ellie had looked incredibly uncomfortable, but had finally said diplomatically, “I think she looks very pretty.” No matter what anyone asked, she wouldn’t say any more.
    We traveled to the next store, and then the next. While the producers had selected only a few dresses at each location, it still took forever for Syd to try them all on, due to all the setting up and reshoots. We were all hungry, since we weren’t supposed to eat lunch until