All the Right Reasons

By Bec Rumble

Time to get ed-Gia-cated! Gia is an outrageous, potty-mouthed Australian living in fabulous New York when she is unceremoniously dumped by her assmonkey boyfriend. After a drunken chain of events, Gia somehow finds herself on a reality dating show called Happily Ever After, competing to win the heart of Prince Charming.

Trapped in a castle with 29 other women who are all drunk on the Kool-Aid, she dismisses the prince as a bit of a tosspuppet but he can't help be intrigued.

What happens next could be a fairytale for the ages...or it could be the most craptastic and, you know, humiliating experience of her life. On national TV.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bec Rumble
• Release date: Oct 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310211096

Bec Rumble

Bec is the sole parent of the single most incredible individual, 14 year old Elijah. She has been described as a dreamer, sometimes kooky and not exactly a realist, however she prefers the term 'cynical optimist'.She is an avid reader of well...just about everything, and spends her spare time indulging her unhealthy obsession with any kind of Hollywood gossip, bad reality TV and other shows aimed at a demographic half her age. She is inexplicably fascinated with Charles Manson and Hitler, but, you know, not in a bad way.If she was separated from her Kindle, iPhone or iPad for any length of time, there would be grave fears for her wellbeing and/or the safety of others. Bec has also been known to quote the lyrics of Taylor Swift's 'Mean'...not that there's anything wrong with that.Quote of the day: "I need to be rich enough to be considered eccentric and not just weird".'All the Right Reasons' is Bec's debut novel.

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Prologue

Reality TV to me is the museum of social decay - Gary Oldman

Song of the day: Riders on the Storm - The Doors

Word(s) of the day: Resting Bitch Face

People who piss me off: television producers, cameramen and fuck it, anyone connected with TV in any way; room service people who ignore me and basically the whole fucking world. This is not a complete list.

Aaaanddd….CUT.

Dear Diary (aka me)

So today is Day 1 of shooting "Happily Ever After", or HEAP for short (Happily Ever After Productions – fitting right?), some low rent reality show where a bunch of sad wannabes all get to make a complete dick of themselves compete to marry some asshat. You know the drill: catfights, bikinis, catfights in bikinis, multiple resting bitch face, multiple resting bitch face in bikinis and the possibility probability total guarantee of love total and utter humiliation on national TV.

Happily Ever After my ass.

I probably shouldn’t say that out loud.

It’s only a few hours in and already I’ve had to restrain myself from Executive Tosspot Producer the producer in the fucking throat.

I probably shouldn’t say that out loud either.

I’ve been in lockdown for two freaking days and I’m bored shitless – no TV, no internet and no iPhone – not even a book or gossip rag to read. Yeah, yeah, yeah #firstworldproblems and all that shit. I get it. But seriously, dude, it's like solitary confinement. I haven't spoken to a single human being except for the room service people, and I’m not sure most of them speak English. I’m sure that’s part of their ingenious heinous plan - some sort of sick sensory deprivation torture method that made me want to tell them anything they wanted the second the Executive Tosspot with cameraman in tow knocked on the door. Evil bastards. I like myself and all, but by the end of the two days, I was so sick of myself I was ready for a padded cell. Not to mention I had Riders on the Storm stuck in my head for the best part of a day. Fuck you, Jim Morrison.

I hate to say their plan worked. I was so happy to, you know, see another human being, if you could call him that, that I was about to offer to have the producer’s children, even if they inherited that nose.

And it was all good for the first hour. Even the second. I dutifully recounted my life story, cleverly completely made up embellished and romanticised to elicit sympathy and/or intrigue, I recited the obligatory ‘here for the right reasons’ in about a gazillion different ways and, as per instructions, tried to insert the word ‘journey’ into every sentence. I nearly threw up in my mouth a little.

Words I never want to hear coming out of my mouth again:

Journey. I never thought about it much, but the more I say it the more it just sounds gross and wrong on all levels. Try it. See what I mean?

I’m open to finding love. Blech

I’m here for the right reasons. ‘Nuff said.

By the third repetitive hour I was getting just a little fucking restless and by the fifth I had to restrain myself from causing grievous bodily harm. But I managed.

I’m classy like that.

It may, and I say may have taken so long due to my complete inability to keep a straight face when answering their lame-ass questions and lack of…ahhh...let’s just say ability to suffer tools fools, which I could only keep hidden for so long. You know, like 5 seconds. And maybe something to do with the fact that I apparently swear like a sailor on crack with increasing regularity. So the Tosspot had to keep doing retakes, over and over, which only served to piss him off royally, thus cheering me up immensely. I heard him mutter under his breath that I was a complete bitch.

That’s Queen Bitch to you.

Plus Tosspot kept referring to me as Goth Barbie which is seriously fucked up, because everyone knows goths are just sad cases who walk around in fucking capes and pretend to haunt graveyards. So I like black. And eyeliner. And Doc Martens. Deal with it, loser.

We also held a Mexican standoff for the good part of an hour because I refused to squeal like a six year old on camera for one of their soundbites. Yes squeal. I mean, I have standards.

Never. Gonna. Happen.

And all along I’m thinking, what the hell did I get myself into? Or more accurately, what the hell did Michelle get me into?

So diary, tonight I’m being hurled headfirst into some house with a bunch of squealing fuckmuppets where we’re supposed to fight to the death charm the pants off some dude who may or may not be Prince Charming.

I’m gonna go with not.

Later –

Gia xx

Chapter 1

We are all mad here - Lewis Carroll

Song of the day: Picture to Burn - Taylor Swift

Word(s) of the day: Who do you think you are? Fucking Snow White?

Three months earlier…

Ohmygodyoupansyassmotherhumpingassmonkey!

At the unexpected explosion, Michelle, startled, choked on a bite of apple, causing her to cough so violently she nearly saw her lunch for the second time that day.

Gia whirled into the room like a tornado, long, Blake Lively-esque glossy blonde hair streaming behind her, strategically streaked underneath with ribbons of black,her heavily lined cat-like green eyes spitting fire so fiercely that they sparked like emeralds. Intently focused on her iPhone and seemingly oblivious to Michelle’s distress, she continued her verbal tirade against some unlucky bastard, likely her hapless boyfriend Tom, if history had taught Michelle anything.

What a goddamnfuckingasswadshitforbrains, how dare he!

Failing to get a response, Gia finally turned to Michelle, realisation dawning of her best friend’s distress, and began to enthusiastically and rather painfully pound her on the back, until the offending morsel obligingly ejected itself from Michelle’s mouth.

Ewww. That's fucking gross, said Gia in horrified fascination, staring at the half-chewed bite on the table between them.

What the hell, Gia? Michelle’s eyes watered as she reached for the water bottle by her foot and drank deeply, the spasms in her throat and chest slowing subsiding. She coughed once or twice more to clear her throat, until she finally calmed.

Who do you think you are, fucking Snow White? Gia giggled, momentarily distracted from her latest crisis.

You kiss your mother with that mouth? said Michelle sternly, refusing to let Gia off the hook.

Jealous much? Gia smirked. I’m not your fucking Prince Charming, so I’m not kissing you now, am I? Gia smirked, laughing uproariously at her own wit.

The smile Michelle had been vainly trying to hold in check erupted into her own giggle, until they were both laughing like loons, feeding off each other as they always did. Every time one stopped, they’d look at the other and start up all over again. Eventually they flopped companionably on the couch, side by side, sniggering like ten year old boys.

Michelle found it impossible to stay mad at Gia for long. It had always been that way, since the day they’d met.

They’d known each other since Michelle’s first day at her new high school, where, painfully shy and feeling horribly out of place, Michelle had first noticed this brash, outrageous and ridiculously self-assured girl holding court in her home room to an adoring audience.

How different she was from Michelle! Michelle, like most 15 year olds, was dealing with an awkward adolescence, you know, a few pounds of lingering puppy fat and braces - a lethal combo - dealt a severe blow to her self-esteem. She was also still uncomfortable with the new, large boobs that had appeared overnight. Not to mention she blushed furiously at the mere thought of talking to a boy.

This girl, on the other hand…this girl oozed confidence in spades and why wouldn’t she? Shiny, thick blonde hair that never saw a bad hair day flowed down her back, and she wore her height and willowy model figure with a grace far beyond her years. Well, except when she moved. Then she was likely to fall over the nearest bump in the carpet like a total klutz, laughing like a drain as she did so. Somehow, it only added to her appeal. That, and the fact that she blatantly flaunted the strict no-makeup rule, her signature cat's eye eyeliner practically tattooed on daily. Even the teachers, who would pretend to be mad at her, were secretly charmed.

Michelle was in awe. She soon discovered that Gia was worshipped at Kensington Private College, not just for her looks, but for her quick wit, daring exploits and, inexplicably, her niceness. Everyone wanted a piece of Gia Collins, hoping some of her charisma would transfer by osmosis.

So just before lunch on her first day, when Michelle was walking down the hallway, she was accosted by the class geek who tried desperately to ingratiate herself with the ‘new girl’. Michelle was thinking to herself that this was just typical of her luck, when suddenly, someone came up and linked arms with Michelle and dragged her away, sing-songing cheerily there you are! Come on, we’ll be late! Michelle turned to thank her rescuer and was completely shocked to find herself arm in arm with the magical Gia, who was grinning her infectious smile ear to ear.

Come and eat with us, she'd said. Michelle had felt like the sun was shining down on her. She'd been ed-Gia-cated well and truly.

A decade later, here they were, puppy fat and braces long gone (but boobs still intact and now her pride and joy), half a world away from their home in Queensland Australia, living it up as real New Yorkers. They were still the best of friends and rooming together in a broom cupboard that Manhattan realtors unapologetically called an apartment.

Michelle was far more comfortable around Gia these days, but no less in awe. And every time they were together, she still felt the sunshine beaming on her. It had taken her a long time to realise that Gia’s friendship was genuine, but it was. There simply wasn’t a false bone in Gia’s body. In fact, if she did indeed have any faults, it was that everything on Gia’s mind made it out of her mouth - pure, unfiltered, sarcastic, funny truth. Plus she had the worst potty mouth Michelle had ever heard. Somehow she got away with it, because she was…well…Gia. Oh, and her commitment issues. But that was another story stories, that could fill a library.

Being best friends with someone like her was a daily ed-Gia-cation, and not only for all the swear words in the dictionary, and some that weren’t.

That mouth had gotten them into (and out of) so many adventures over the years and Michelle realised why they worked so well as the ‘troublesome twosome’. Michelle’s shyness towards the world dissipated in the brightness of her friend’s exuberance, and Michelle’s hidden adventurous spirit and wicked sense of humour were awakened by her friend’s no-holds-barred approach to life. Conversely, Michelle had the common sense and diplomacy that Gia lacked, and was simply content to be part of something, leaving the spotlight Gia’s alone…just the way she liked it.

They balanced each other out and had stuck together through thick and thin.

So whilst others thought and often commented that they were an odd duo, from early on it had been just the two of them, inseparable through boyfriends, heartbreak, bitchy all-girl schools, life…you name it. Or as Michelle liked to put it – we held hands and jumped off the cliff together.

They knew each other inside and out. So Michelle knew, that whilst Gia certainly had her share of…ahem…drama queen tendencies, whatever had been upsetting her pre-Applegate was something pretty damned big.

She broached the subject hanging in the air between them. OK, spill hun, what’s going on that you felt it necessary to kill your best friend? Michelle asked, once the laughter had subsided.

Hey, I saved your life, you tosspuppet! Here, have some more apple Gia retorted, picking up the remainder of the apple and teasingly waving it in Michelle’s face.

Haha, you’re a riot replied Michelle dryly. And that’s disgusting. But seriously, what’s going on? I haven’t seen you this upset since Assclown™ circa 2011. Assclown™ was the name they had given to this complete and utter tosspot that Gia had briefly dated a few years back, who had unceremoniously broken her heart to such an extent that the world was now forbidden from uttering his name ever again, and forbidden from befriending anyone else with said name. Which was kinda difficult, considering his real name was Matthew, currently and forever one of the most popular boy’s names in the USA, and oh, you know, the world.

Aghhhrrr, Assclown™, I’d forgotten about that wanker…, Gia said, immediately preparing to go off on another tangent, as she was often wont to do.

Michelle quickly interjected. I swear, it’s like herding cats with you, sometimes G. Forget Assclown™, tell me what you were blaspheming about before you tried to kill me.

I sav… Gia saw the stern look on her friend’s face and quickly rallied. Alright, Miss Bossypants, I’ll tell you, but the only way I’m going to get through this is if your skinny ass gets into the kitchen and magics up that margarita mix…STAT.

Sure thing G. But only because you said my ass was skinny.

Chapter 2

Never trust people who smile constantly. They’re either selling something or not very bright - Laurell K Hamilton – Burnt Offerings

Song of the day: I Hate Everything About You - Three Days Grace

Word(s) of the day: nar-sha-shis-tic

I never liked him anyway, Michelle slurred drunkenly, arms waving, her (third? fourth?) brimming martini glass. It tipped perilously towards the shit-brown shagpile carpet that the realtor had called, with complete sincerity, ‘chocolate’. He smiled too much and it creefed…creefed… creeped me out. Tosspot.

I know right? Gia replied, sprawled upside down on the bean bag chair, long legs propped up on the couch in front of her. She lifted her head and tilted her sour apple martini in the general direction of her mouth (they had decided it was less life-threatening to drink the apples than eat them) and only succeeded in spilling it down her chin, dripping down into the cleavage of her dress. Fuck! She tried to sit up, balancing the glass so as to not lose more of her precious drink, finally succeeding by bracing her drinking arm against the couch while performing some awesome yoga-like moves that she could never have done sober.

I honestly don’t know what I saw in him, he was a narshis…nar-sha-shis-tic asshole Gia broke into a triumphant grin as she slowly sounded out the word, but quickly sobered, metaphorically speaking (she was still as pissed as a newt).

He was always looking over my shoulder to check out his own reflection. He always talked about himself and he spent longer getting ready than I did. He was crap in bed too, like sherious….seriously shit. Plus he had a tiny pecker Gia wailed. I’m not heartbroken…just humiliated that I didn’t get to dump him before he dumped me!

Technically he didn’t dump you Michelle pointed out reasonably, slurping the remains of her cocktail.

Shemantics… Gia slurred. "Just because he didn’t have the balls to tell me, I think somehow that changing your relationship status to ‘in a relationship’ with some other girl is kinda a clue".

I still can’t believe it. Not even a text? What a chickenshit Michelle weaved drunkenly into the kitchen for a refill. What a dick move. I’d cut off his balls with a dull butter knife except I don’t think I could find them.

"Exactly. He’s a schtupid fuckmuppet with a tiny pecker. It’s just so embarrassing that a dickwad like that dumped me! It’s like, humiliating times infinity".

Well clearly this other chick's karma called for a tiny pecker and crap sex, so that’s something, Michelle giggled. And you are going to move on to bigger and better…both literally and metaborically…met-a-phor-i-cally, she slurred.

Refill time - I need to be so much drunker to deal with this shit, Gia moaned, getting to her feet and holding out her glass. But yeah, I will say I won't miss having to fake it and it say ‘oh that was great, babes’, instead of ‘fuck that was worse than last time and I didn’t even know that was possible’…because that would be emashcul…emash… emasculating.

Oh we wouldn’t want to emasculate the eunuch. Is that redundant? Michelle asked idly, topping up Gia’s glass and then returning the pitcher to the kitchen bench.

"Fuck knows, babe. All I know is I have to find a way to show him that he’s the loser that missed out on all this". At that declaration, Gia whirled around, arms gesturing towards herself and promptly tripped, falling backwards over the couch so that all Michelle could see from her vantage point in the kitchen was Gia’s long, skinny fishnet-clad legs topped with her signature beaten-up Doc Marten’s waving haplessly in the air.

Michelle collapsed with laughter.

Fuck me, that was closhe Gia’s voice sounded. Michelle tried to contain herself as she peered over the couch to see her upside-down friend triumphantly holding up her brimming glass, not a drop spilt in the before, during and aftermath of her shitfaced stumble.

Well done, babe Michelle said, impressed. That was awesome.

I know right? Gia said. Now take the fucking glass and help me up.

Chapter 3

Failed relationships can be described as so much wasted make-up - Marian Keyes

Song of the day: We are Never Ever Getting Back Together - Taylor Swift.

Word(s) of the day: Stage 5 clinger! We have a clinger!

So what am I gonna do? I need revenge. Vengeance, babes. Like a vendetta - is that right? Fuck I love that word…Vendetta. Vendetta. And if you tell me the best revenge is living well, I’m so gonna shave your eyebrows in your sleep and steal your new boots said Gia, swatting Michelle playfully.

Michelle scowled and swatted her back. Nice, thanks. I love you too.

I love you babes, but you’re just too fucking forgiving for your own good. Sometimes a little vengeance is satish-fying, Gia smiled wickedly as she flopped onto the couch and resumed consuming her body weight in alcohol.

G, you kill me. I know it sounds naff, but all that eye-for-an-eye stuff really doesn’t make you feel better, Michelle said, sitting down beside Gia on the hideous couch that they’d rescued from the side of the road. Michelle had thrown a leopard-print blanket over the top to try to pretty it up, but let’s face it, you can put lipstick on a pig…

"Yeah, yeah, it just means you look butt ugly cause you only have one eye. So not a thing. Whatevs, babe, I need to do something. I can’t take this lying down, it just ain't my style. Did I say I love that word?: Vendetta. Vendetta. Vendetta…", Gia pouted.

As they’d been having a variation of this conversation on and off for a decade, Michelle didn’t take it all too seriously. Ultimately Gia was too nice underneath all the bluster to do anything too drastic. I get it, but just sleep on it, OK? And give me your phone – a friend doesn’t let a friend drunk text her ex.

Cow. Gia threw over her phone and Michelle stuffed it into her bra. She then reached over to the coffee table and picked up the remote and switched it on the TV. Oh awesome, some mindless sad reality TV is just what we need right now.

Yeah, because I didn’t want to off myself before…what the fuck is this shit?

"It’s called ‘Happily Ever After’, like a reality dating show. It’s the worst – so naff, which means it’s really entertaining in that car-crash-I-can’t-look-away kinda way".

There’s something so very, very wrong with you, M. No offence groaned Gia,