The Secret Life of Mrs. Claus

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Authors: Carly Alexander
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domes from the steaming clams, I sensed the servers staring at me, studying me. “There you go.”
    The woman, a petite thing with hair streaked in various shades of butter, unfurled the napkin and placed it in my lap.
    “Here are some extra hand towels for when you’re done.” The waiter placed a fat wad of them in front of my place. I sensed heads turning toward me in Bertha’s dining room.
    Did they think I was a celebrity? Or was I just looking particularly hot tonight?
    “Enjoy your food,” the waiter said. “And let us know if you need anything else, Olivia.”
    I thanked the quickly disappearing staff.
    “Well, that was weird,” Lanessa said.
    Kate stole a fry from Bonnie’s plate. “Do you know them?”
    “No, but they seem to know me,” I whispered, feeling flattered.
    “Maybe it’s your picture in the ladies’ room,” Bonnie said.
    “What?” the rest of us chimed.
    “There’s an ad for the TV show. A tiny little billboard in each stall, and you’re right, Liv. That chick in the illustration is a dead ringer for you. I’ll bet Bobby gave the graphic artist one of your photos to work from.”
    The thought of it, my screaming shrew head blaring at every Baltimore girl taking a pee, gave me a sinking feeling. “I knew my life was in the toilet, but this gives it all a whole new meaning.”
    “So when does the show air?” Lanessa plunged a mussel into garlic butter and waited till the sauce stopped dripping. “It’s so exciting—our own Liv on television. We should all watch the first episode together. When’s it on?”
    “It premieres Tuesday,” I said sullenly.
    “Tuesday’s bad for me,” Kate said. “The aquarium is open late.”
    Bonnie added ketchup to her burger. “I have yoga.”
    “I’d miss yoga to see Olivia on television,” Lanessa prodded her.
    “It’s not me. That’s what people just aren’t getting. I had absolutely nothing to do with the show, except that my former boyfriend seems to have modeled it after my former life. I thought you guys would understand the betrayal in this.”
    “I totally get it, Liv.” Kate broke off a piece of bread and passed me the basket. “What Bobby is doing is a violation of your privacy. To portray his main character in your likeness and use your name? It’s not fair to you.”
    “Thank you, Kate.” I took the basket gratefully. “At least someone sees my point.”
    “I get it,” Lanessa said, “but I think the whole TV angle is just too juicy to resist. If my ex were launching Lanessa the Ball-Breaker, honey, I would arrive on the red carpet in a Versace gown.”
    “TV shows don’t do red-carpet premieres,” Bonnie pointed out.
    But Lanessa just shook her head. “My point is, suck up the glamour and attention while it lasts. Instead of denying your connection, let it work for you, Liv.”
    “I wish I could. I’m just not like you, Lanessa.”
    “And maybe Olivia doesn’t want to be connected to Bobby’s creative vision, whatever that is,” Kate went on. “So far, we’re just talking about the way the star of the show looks. We don’t even know if he’s used personal anecdotes from your life. Like the time you two sneaked onto the golf course at night and got buzzed by that helicopter. Or your driving test. Remember that shirt you loved with the loose buttons in front? And the way the man from the DMV stared at you after the test, after the seat belt had worked your shirt open?”
    I squeezed my eyes shut at the memory. “Ugh. Tell me he’s not going to get that personal.”
    Lanessa and Bonnie were laughing.
    “Oh, God, I forgot about that,” Bonnie said.
    “And did you pass the test? Did you get your driver’s license? Of course, you did,” Lanessa said smugly. “And you girls think it’s wrong to use sex appeal to swing things your way? I rest my case.”
    “Come on, guys. That open blouse has always been a source of embarrassment for me.” Bad enough that my friends found so much humor in it.

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