A Not So Model Home Read Online Free Page A

paid for it. Then along comes an agent who’s terrified that he or she has another car and mortgage payment due, and that they don’t want to be known as the agent with no listings, so they take the overpriced listing and the abuse that follows while the agent tries to ratchet them down into reality adjacent. It’s a vicious cycle.”
    â€œLike buying panty hose.”
    â€œExactly.”
    I looked into Alex’s eyes.
    â€œI think we should become door-to-door dildo salespeople. We would probably make more money.”
    â€œAnd we’d have a lot more fun.”
    â€œHow’s about it, Alex? I said, offering my hand to shake and close the deal.
    â€œI’m in.”

C HAPTER 4
    Let the Games Begin
    A week later, the initial cast meeting for Things Are a Bit Iffy was called at Ian’s house at 9 A.M . When I arrived at Ian’s estate, I was surprised to see no camera crews or large semi-trucks filled with cameras and lighting equipment.
    The parking area to Ian’s house is very large and usually filled with unimaginably expensive cars—all Ian’s. But today was different. The cast was here to snag an enormously, fabulously wealthy boyfriend, so the parking lot was full of gleaming, top-of-the-line Mercedes, BMWs, a Rolls Royce, and one Lamborghini—all probably rented. I assumed that one or two of the cars belonged to the show’s producers and directors, but the rest were all for show. And what a show it was. I almost felt ashamed to park my Toyota Land Cruiser next to such ultimate driving machines.
    I climbed the stairs to the living room to find it full of gay men who were as gleaming and polished as the cars they supposedly owned. Gucci and Prada shoes, $400 jeans, tailored long-sleeve shirts with cuff links—these guys all had the looks down pat. Except one. A short, steroidal muscleman with tattoos visible even on his neck stood there in the crowd of peacocks looking as out of place as myself. Me, I was dressed in casual chic, but that’s not why I stood out. I was the only woman in a sea of gay men.
    There were plates of deftly arranged breakfast foods that made me drool, but I quickly noticed that none of the men were eating. They all had very European, emaciated figures, and they intended to keep them, especially now that flat-fronted pants were all the rage. Of course, this didn’t stop Mr. Musclehead. He shoveled in the protein while steering clear of the carbs.
    The thought struck me. Unless this was some kind of colossal joke on Ian’s part, there was a phenomenal amount of money at stake. Millions! These guys were dressed to kill, and to get their hands on that much, it occurred to me that someone just might.
    Jeremy Collins, the producer, clapped his hands several times in rapid succession to call us to order.
    â€œWelcome, everyone, thanks for agreeing to be on Things Are a Bit Iffy, one of the biggest reality-show hits of the ’12 and ’13 season!”
    Again with the exclamation points. I pictured Jeremy—if he was lucky to have landed a boyfriend who could stand his never-ending hype—at home over morning coffee, gushing over a strawberry Pop-Tart. This would be followed by a breathless description of his morning bowel movement and a recounting of the amazing dreams he had last night that no one, mind you, no one could top in their vividness. Of course, as improbable as it would seem, Jeremy would have no trouble locating a partner who could stand him. There’s always a man willing to put up with endless bullshit in order to have a cushy life. And a cushy life is something that Jeremy’s endless string of Aaron Spelling–inspired television bilge probably provided.
    â€œLet’s go into the dining room and we’ll talk about the show and what we can all do to make it the hit of the season!”
    The guys filed in with a veneer of civility, but you could see the tiny, imperceptible sprint that