Reality Jane by Shannon Nering

the break, waves lapping at our knees, salt water dripping from our bodies. Craig hurled the kayak onto his shoulder and swiftly wrapped his other hand around my waist, leaning in, his body draping mine, his mouth millimeters away, breathing sweet, soft breath. Then, just as my lips began to quiver, contact. The perfect kiss: gentle, fresh, powerful. The soothing touch of a real life Adonis.
    Screw the job! I can die now. This is really why I came to LA. The best part ? It was real and I deserved it.
    Three weeks later, we were like tenured lovers swooning over each other every spare moment. We went to movies, walks on the beach, and late-night dinners, and anytime we did anything together, he got the door, he got the check, he pampered me. “Put your wallet away,” he would say as if I was a lunatic for suggesting otherwise.
    Such a gentleman. All man. My man!

“I can’t believe we’re finally here,” I said to my cameraman, the sound of jet engines roaring in the background. “I’m so excited!”
    “Sorry I had to charge the company for your last cancellation,” Joe said. “But this shoot has been so on-again off-again, I missed two paid days on another show.”
    “I know. His majesty, MC Toke, scratched three times. He had us running in circles in the office.” I laughed. “Anyway, he’s coming today for sure.”
    “Yeah, three weeks later. But are you sure?” he joked.
    “His manager put him on his private jet this morning,” I said, feeling suddenly nervous something unexpected might still happen.
    “Want me to get some pick-up shots while we wait?”
    “Sure, grab some generic shots of planes coming in and taking off while I wait for the girls to arrive.”
    The day was finally here: Little old Jane was directing her first big LA shoot with America’s hottest rap star. I felt important, but not the “I’m a pain in the ass” important, just the “I’m doing it, I can handle it, it’s all good” important. As I drifted into my dreamscape of funky new producer with gorgeous, totally loaded boyfriend, I heard my name being paged: “Jane Kaufman to Reception.”
    I ran to the front desk, where an older woman with bouffant hair was waiting impatiently. “Jane Kaufman?”
    I nodded.
    “MC Toke’s plane is landing in 10 minutes,” she said painfully.
    “Thank you,” I said, my heart rate jumping. “The limo’s here.Got to run.”
    “Oh, Miss?”
    But it was too late. Couldn’t keep Lucy waiting. I was already out the door to meet the girls. Seemed my cool and collected persona went out the door with me. My hands began to shake as I self-consciously sucked in my stomach in preparation for America’s sexiest T&A thoroughbreds. I put on my freshest smile and hurried toward the limo, curious to meet Lucy’s team of fem-bot-babes.
    The limo driver, decorously exiting the vehicle, placed his hand on the door handle, white gloves firmly in place.
    “This is so exciting,” I whispered to him as a shiver ran through my body. “Word of the day— exciting ,” I nattered on, seemingly to myself.
    “Indeed,” he nodded, remaining stoic.
    Lucy slinked out first in signature stilettos, a pink bustier, and ultra low-rise jeans. I was tempted to brush my hand against her rump just to make sure it wasn’t actually paint. Two additional and equally risqué women exited the limo as I held my hand out to shake for a formal hello, then quickly retreated.
    No stuffy old-man handshakes here, I thought proudly. I do proper air-kisses! I leaned in to Lucy’s freshly powdered cheek.
    “This tin-can is a piece of shit,” Lucy squealed.
    “Pardon me?”
    “We can’t ride in this limo. We’re models! And I’m the host!” Her arms flailed, Triple-D knockers not budging an inch. “It’s embarrassing. And MC Toke won’t go near it. Are you kidding? He’s a star!”
    “Okay, well, um. . . nice to meet you, girls. I’m Jane,” I said politely, hoping to calm them with kindness.
    Lucy launched