Free Reality Jane by Shannon Nering Page A

be upset. Tonight’s a big night for you,” Toni chided. “Craigy-poo is coming home. Three weeks away in theHimalayas and cutting the trip short to see his little Janey Pants. How sweet.”
    “Wow. Himalayas,” Lydia said, half distracted, as she pulled her streaky red hair into a ponytail and adjusted the size two Jordache Vintage jeans on her hips.
    Tonight was a big night for me. It was the culmination of seven-plus months of relationship bliss with my Hollywood demigod, my 21st century cowboy, and the Jesse James of mountain climbing. We hadn’t seen each other in three weeks thanks to a Himalayan jaunt that had him harnessed cliff-side in a perma-blizzard. Unfazed, the guy hadn’t even touched American soil yet and was already making plans for his next expedition to cross Antarctica alone, on a hefty sled-like contraption, and film it—I had just finished the proposal. Craig was hell-bent on directing and starring in his own adventure show, which explained our deep connection: me Jane, me producer—he hunk, he director/superstar. We had become the real deal—true partners. In my spare time away from Lucy’s show, I would write his reality show treatments or sponsorship pitches and he would e-mail ideas back and forth with his typical postscript: “Let’s screw.”
    “Of course I remember him,” Lydia said casually, now sipping and gagging on her sea greens concoction. “Adventure Man! See, good thing we got you cleaned up!” Lydia declared with pride. “And Toni, you’re due for your final upper lip laser. Number three and you’re all good.”
    “Oh?” My ears perked up. “You mean a mustache laser?”
    “It’s just a couple hairs.” Toni looked embarrassed—a first.
    “Guess you’ll be deleting that crotch cam shot, eh, Toni? Or should I say, Anthony?” I said, stroking my upper lip and delivering the line with my best Italian swagger.
    By the time we got back to the office, I could barely rest my arms at my side and my underwear felt as if it was scraping against my last layer of epidermis. Ligaments and bone would probably be next.
    Robert, the office receptionist, looked at me, eyes wide, like a child at Christmas. “Well? How was it? Are you a hairless wonder?”
    Toni sped off. “Jane can explain. I gotta run. Tapes to log.”
    “Shhh, I don’t want to get in trouble for taking lunch,” I whispered to Robert. “Plus, it really hurts.”
    “Damn, should I do my balls?” He laughed.
    “You’re gross, Robert. Now don’t tell anyone,” I said, loving the little repartée he and I shared.
    “Oh, and Jane, Karl the Snarl wants you and Danny for a meeting at 1:30.” He pointed to his watch, with its neon pink band and giant silver buckle that made his bone-thin wrist look even skinnier. “That would be in, like, five minutes.” Robert knew that Karl didn’t love me. “Don’t be late, Hotty Pants.”
    “Mwaa!” I blew him a kiss—the only person in the office I felt comfortable air-kissing.
    I loved that my office was like a giant gay sleepover, though it was almost a pity because we had tape after tape of tits, ass, and drunken debauchery from our Purrfect Life shoots that went completely unappreciated, except for the occasional, “Is that rack real? Good for her.” Gay men seemed to hate fake boobs unless they’re allowed to touch them, and there was no way Lucy was going fag-hag , or so she told me one day when she was furious at Danny. She seemed to enjoy flip-flopping about who she hated most, although it was usually me.
    “Group hug!” Karl squealed as he swung himself around a faux fur room divider and into the arms of a very willing subordinate. Meanwhile, I tiptoed behind them, en route to my desk.
    It surprised me that Karl still made me nervous. Lucy I could handle—she was just plain crazy. Karl was not so easy to figure out.
    “You rock in that shirt!” one of the guys remarked to Karl while playfully tugging at his nipple.
    “Stop that!” Karl