There was dancing that night.  She had to dance with each of the fitness boys, all of whom gave her the creeps before she found herself standing beside Fen.  

“You look so cheap in that dress,” he said seductively, whispering in her ear.

She turned back to him and said lovingly, “I can’t always wear something you design.”

“Some day you will,” he promised.

“Are you going to ask me to dance?” she asked, looking at how every other contestant was out on the dancefloor and if he didn’t ask her soon, he would lose the chance.

“I’m not allowed.  I’m not allowed to ask you for another thing until we get matched up again when you’re eliminated and up for auction.  I have to make room for the other men who haven’t worked with you.”

“I see,” she said, nodding with understanding and pouting in disappointment.  

He hadn’t been chosen to work with anyone that week.  A few of the other designers had been chosen twice, but not Fen.

That was the moment when Desmond appeared at Ornette’s elbow and asked her to dance. 

Ornette was relieved.  She wanted to talk to him and she didn’t know when he’d show up again.  He did seem to have unusually clever connections.  

He extended his white-gloved hand and she took it.  It seemed he actually knew how to waltz as he spun her in three/fourth circles.  

“Did you like the bracelet I wore last week?” she asked, trying to sound cute and not at all accusing.  There were a million people around them and it wouldn’t be the thing to say something that might get caught on the wrong microphone.  All the same, Ornette was suspicious about Albert’s heart attack and if she had had a role in causing it.

“Were you wearing a bracelet?” Desmond replied in an unconcerned tone.  “I can’t remember anything about what you wore last week except that it didn’t show enough of your chest for my taste.”

He had never talked to her like that before.  In a normal work setting, saying something like that was sexual harassment.  For a model from Sleeping Beauty Inc., it was par for the course.  Anyone was allowed to talk to her like that and the men she was working with on the show had already showered her with similar comments.  He was talking like that to fit in with them.  Incidentally, it was a hilarious dig.  Her dress could not have had a lower neckline.  

All the same, his evasion confirmed her suspicions.  The bracelet had caused Albert’s heart attack.  

Ornette tried to think of something to ask him.  There had to be a way for them to talk about what was going on and his role as a show organizer because he had to be in on the production side of the show.  His access behind the curtain, in the helocarrier, and when he met her aboard the Cannonball III all proved he was working with the show’s organizers.  The Coordinator had even delivered a sandwich from him.  

She was thinking about it when he started whispering in her ear as they swayed to the music.  “I wanted to tell you that I was sorry.”

“You’re sorry for what?” she breathed into his ear.

His lips parted and he was about to tell her when Varner cut in.

“Move aside, Dezzy.  You’re in the way,” Varner said scornfully, standing in front of them like a mountain.

Ornette did not want to dance with Varner.  There actually wasn’t a man there that she wanted to dance with less than Varner.

Regardless of her preference, Desmond took his gloved hands off her and passed her off to Varner without a word.  He didn’t even look defiant.

Papa Bear’s hand was hot and meaty as he took Ornette in his arms.  He looked in her eyes and led her around the floor in a way that she would have expected to be more clumsy, but was highly polished as they got the attention of two main cameras.

“Did you have a good time at the gym last week?” he asked pleasantly.

“It was such a pleasant surprise,” she gushed like a fountain of lies.  She hadn’t had a fun time at the gym.  She had a passable time at the gym.  If that was her life, she was sure she could find even more things that she liked about being there.  For instance, it would have been more fun if she’d made a friend.  As things were, it hadn’t been hell on earth and that was enough for Ornette.

“So, tell me,” she said, taking the opportunity to ask him a question.  “I’m not sure I understand how you and the other bears can participate in the bidding.  Could you explain it to me?”

“I can remove a model from the bidding and take her for myself,” he said, his tone lined in his satisfaction with his own magnificence.  

“Why?” she asked in a little-girl voice.

“Because me and my brother bears organized all this fun.”

“Are you my owner?”

“I may as well be.  I'm running all this.  The game says that me and my boys can each take a model for ourselves, except if there’s a disagreement, I get who I want because I put the most amount of money into this business venture.”

Ornette should have expected that.  “What happens if you don’t like any of the models when it actually comes down to bidding?”  She asked it with the most innocent expression on her face like she was afraid something like that would happen, and it would be such a shame if he wasn’t entertained by his own game.

He paused.  

Ornette stopped breathing.  It was exactly the same look Fen had on his face right before he kissed her.  Joel had a similar moment in the elevator.  He didn’t kiss her then, but he warmed up to it over the course of their dinner date and then he kissed her in front of the hotel when he dropped her off.

She knew what caused it in Varner’s case.  It was that she seemed more worried about him and his interests than she was for herself.  She did not ask Varner what would happen to her if no one bid on her.  That was the most natural question for most people.  It was, ‘What will happen to me?’  Not, ‘What will happen to you?’

Eventually, Varner clicked his tongue.  “There’s no need to worry about that.  I chose you.”

“You chose me?” she cooed in delight.  In truth, she was not delighted.  She was relieved she wasn’t left in cryostasis and that she had a job, but she was not delighted.  She only pretended joy.  She didn’t experience it.

He nodded, but the way he nodded was odd.

He was lying.

She knew immediately.

He had not chosen her.  He had been involved in the selection process, but she had not been a special favorite of his.  He was using her to make his contest more exciting.  

At the base, he and his friends had organized the competition, but perhaps they had not funded it as completely as he suggested.  He was trying to make himself sound richer than he was.  So, he got to choose which model he wanted disregarding any other concern.  He looked like a hero because he was allowing all the money the designers and the businessmen bidded on the girls to go to charity.  What about the money earned from the ratings?  She bet he’d make a killing on it.

They continued dancing and he didn’t say a single thing that indicated he was even a little bit worried about what would happen to her.