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Brigit said, fervently. “In fact,” she said in a quiet voice just meant for the two of them, “I don’t think you have a thing to worry about. You’re stunning.”
    Alexa turned bright red and peered closely at Brigit. “Are you making fun of me?”
    Brigit shook her head, and her blonde curls bobbed around her pretty face. “Oh no,” she said, putting her hand on Alexa’s arm. “I would never do that!”
    Alexa appreciated the effort Brigit was making to help her feel like she actually belonged in the same room with these women.
    Brigit was about to say something further, when Mr. Randall walked back into the room sporting a wide, smarmy smile.
    “Sorry about the commotion, ladies.” He resumed his seat at the center of the sound stage below them. “As I was saying, as the producer of Falling For Mr. Right , I am extremely pleased to have you all here for the auditions. San Francisco is the last stop on our nationwide search for thirty gorgeous, accomplished women who would like to date and marry Mr. Right.
    As you already know, we will be filming the show in your beautiful city by the bay beginning this Saturday.”
    As he droned on, Alex couldn’t help but think how fake and unnatural his smile seemed.
    In fact, when he had briefly touched her by the door when she barged in, she had felt an overwhelming urge not only to recoil, but to wash her hands as well.
    The investigative journalist in her told her to keep a close watch on him. She reached into her bag for her notebook to make some quick notes, then thought better of it. She didn’t want to make herself stand out by acting different. She shrugged, figuring it would give her good practice in flexing her memory muscles. Like the great undercover reporters who came before her — Gloria Steinem being her all time favorite — she would rely on her memory to be faultless.
    Alexa hoped that there would be some good dirt for her to dish up in the magazine, something sensational that would guarantee a cover worthy story. That is, she reminded herself as she surfaced from her conspiracy dreams, if she made it through the auditions. Reminding herself to focus on the #1 goal for the day, she caught the tail end of the smarmy producer’s long winded, self-serving, and extremely boring speech.

    “While you are waiting for your interview, go ahead and fill out the questionnaire underneath your seat. And please, ladies,” he added with a wink, “give us your honest answers, not what you think we want to hear.”
    “After all,” he said, wagging his fingers in what Alexa assumed was supposed to be a playful manner, but fell far short of it, “Mr. Right is going to be the lawfully wedded husband for one of you lucky ladies on July 1st!”
    All of the women giggled. Alexa, who was fighting the urge to snort derisively while rolling her eyes, realized she needed to chime in or be the odd woman out. She forced a giggle from her throat.
    “Are you all right?” Brigit asked her, turning to face Alexa with concern in her pretty blue eyes at the horrible screeching noise.
    “I’m fine, thanks. When I giggled at what Mr. Randall said, I accidentally choked on my gum,” she improvised, plastering a huge smile on her face in the hopes that Brigit would buy her story.
    “Oh,” Brigit said, clearly not convinced, but nice enough to let it go. “You sort of scared me.”
    “Sorry,” Alexa muttered, feeling lamer by the minute. What had she been thinking coming here, trying to be all girly? She was way out of her league and her pathetic approximation of a giggle proved it.
    She didn’t have long to dwell on her female unworthiness, however, because everyone was grabbing the clipboards from underneath their seats. Alexa followed suit and answered the easy questions like height, weight and eye-color.
    Jane had told her not to say she worked for the magazine, so under Occupation she wrote Waitress . Under Schools Attended she wrote Berkeley , but decided to leave