23. Twenty-Three
twenty-three
ELLIOT
The women are pissed. Rena from the Jersey Shore looks like she wants to disembowel me and my Panel with a switchblade, but their rage has nothing on mine. I could rip the walls apart. I’m so sick of my feelings being manipulated along with my days and nights. Sick of this place with its love seats and candles. Sick of having a camera following my every move. I’m sick of putting on a show.
After Jenna twists the entire season on its axis, Vanessa walks me back to the guesthouse, checking in to ask if I need water, a beer, a snack. I shrug off all her questions. There are potential hours left in production to allow the women time to confront me personally now that they’ve been informed of the twist.
As the PA is about to leave, I stop her. “Vanessa, I need to borrow your phone.”
“What?”
“Your phone. Or your iPad. I need the internet.”
“For what?”
I make up a reason. “If I’m gonna be stuck in here, I’d like to catch up on the news or my teams. You expect me to sit in here jerking off to my thoughts for the next six hours?”
She doesn’t even blink at the crass reference. “You’re not allowed internet, Elliot.”
“After what you assholes put me through today, I think I deserve a real break. Don’t be a dick, okay?”
She dismisses me with a quick wave of her hand. “I can’t. Ginger would kill me.”
“Ginger doesn’t need to know. I can keep a secret. Can’t you?”
Vanessa won’t budge. Good thing Holden checks in on me the next time. The less experienced PA is more than willing to give me something better than my thoughts to entertain myself.
With Holden’s unlocked phone in hand, I finally manage to get into my email to pull up a copy of my contract.
There has to be something in it—injury or illness—a loophole—anything to get myself out of this increasingly unbearable situation.
The easiest thing would be to replace Ginger as my producer. But the last time I suggested that, she freaked out and brought Jenna back. It would invite more problems than we already have, and while I currently hate her, I’m reluctant to risk getting her fired. Still, I don’t know if I can tolerate the proximity. Earlier when she cornered me in the sitting room, I wanted to grab hold of her and start running until we collapsed against each other and worked it all out—found a way to have it all.
But she would never let that happen.
Meanwhile, Jenna’s return is going after my internal organs like a shredder, confusing me about what I came here for. Yes, a partner, yes, a family, yes, someone who’ll fight with me and for me, sure. All those things sound great. She said everything I want to hear—from Ginger .
I refuse to settle for less.
Sitting across from Jenna for an hour, listening to her and Lavonne go back and forth about why she went along with her family and didn’t follow her heart—if I heard all that before I had my night at the Hilton with Ginger—great. It might have been good enough, and I might have told her all was forgiven. We’d be shopping for houses already.
But instead, I left her season changed and struggling, alone and wanting something I never thought I could have. Jenna opened me up to the possibility of a future, and then Ginger slid into my limo and stole my heart right out of my chest.
A light knock on the door pulls my attention away from Holden’s phone. “Come in.”
The door opens a crack. A whisper. “Hey, it’s me.”
My anger dissipates as I wait for Ginger’s face to appear. Maybe we can still figure this out. Instead, Michelle slips inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.
“I snuck out. Shh...” She’s still whispering.
The same depressing sludge of emotion from this morning drowns out what’s left of my optimism. I slide Holden’s phone between my thigh and the mattress. “You guys haven’t fucked with my head enough for one day?”
“I wanted to check in with you. See how you’re doing.”
Ginger might be the one who put Jenna back in the mix, but I know Michelle well enough to understand she had the final say. If what Davis said in the gazebo was true, and Jenna’s return has The Panel’s stamp of approval, it had to have hinged on my best friend saying yes. “Pretty brave, considering I never want to speak to you again.”
She sits on the opposite side of the bed, campfire style, like she came to dish. “Humor me.”
I’m not feeling it. “I’m fine.”
“Look. I heard everything you said before the show started. I know you said you didn’t come here looking to find the love of your life, but I want to give you my two cents.”
“Spit it out, Michelle.”
She registers my frustration, but it doesn’t faze her. “Look, I know you were hurt when Jenna picked Eric. You lost weight, you stopped going out—I was there, remember?”
Her wife made twenty casseroles for me. I remember.
“And I know half the reason you’re here is to skip the usual—dating—wanting—falling. It makes sense when you’re trying to get over someone. But going into a new relationship on a rebound all jaded and bitter is gonna turn around and bite you in the ass.”
This all would have been nice to hear before I signed the contract from hell.
“Elliot, you deserve a great love—like what I found with Sam. You’re not some loser with no prospects. You’re a sexy, successful man with so much love to offer a wife and family.”
The words make me flinch. She notices.
“I know love has let you down—first with your parents, then with this show—I get it. But you can’t shove all your passion aside and pretend it doesn’t exist. No woman here wants a marriage like that. I agreed to let Jenna come back because I want you to remember what you’re missing out on. You were in love with her.” She extends the L word to give it more emotional impact.
I don’t want to hear it. “What is it? You didn’t think I was trying hard enough? You don’t think any of these other women are compatible?”
“Compatibility isn’t always enough! You deserve better than a roommate for Christ’s sake!”
I turn my head, sick of looking at her already.
She continues, undeterred. “It’s not like you’re falling madly for anybody else.”
At that, I swallow hard. Not twelve hours ago, Ginger glanced up at me as she blew the heat off the top of the coffee I made for her. I remember in vivid detail the half smile on her face. Her sloppy wet ponytail. Her soft murmur of appreciation. “I told you I didn’t come here to fall madly.”
“What if you can though?”
I already have.
My relationship with Jenna is over. It ran its course. All her presence at the Hacienda is doing is proving I never should have come back. I have zero chance with Ginger unless I figure something out fast. Otherwise, I’m going to wind up engaged to Jenna and miserable. “Why are you pushing this so hard?”
“Because in the entire time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you truly happy,” Michelle says. “It’s your turn , Elliot. There’s no reason you can’t have it all.”
There is a reason, and it’s in my contract. It’s in the walls surrounding me. It’s in the eyes of the women who’ve invested their time and pieces of their hearts to be here. My future is a runaway train.
“Are you done?” I can’t listen to my “friend” anymore. Guilt and disappointment sap me of hope and any desire to continue the conversation.
“No, asshole.” Michelle bristles. “I still haven’t said what I came here to say.”
“Which is...?”
“I want a real future for you. I didn’t see anything coming together until today. Until Jenna came back. I want you to give this a chance. Not a half-assed chance like you’ve been doing, but a real, passionate chance.”
“She’s going home next week. Do you understand me? Don’t even try to save her.”
“Elliot...”
“I didn’t come here for this!” I shout.
“The fact that you’re fighting this so hard tells me I’m exactly right about it, you know?”
“No. I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking. Did you see how pissed everyone was tonight?”
“It’ll be worth it if you’ll open yourself up to it.” Michelle has been sipping Lavonne’s Kool-Aid for too many days in a row. I stand, palming the phones and gesturing at the door. “I hear you. You can go. You wanna keep saving her, that’s your prerogative, but don’t get your heart set.”
Michelle doesn’t move a muscle to leave. “I know she hurt you?—”
“I’ve. Moved. On. I wasn’t in love with her then, and I’m sure as hell not in love with her now. This show does get one thing right, though. Love has nothing to do with successful marriages. It’s a useless waste of an emotion, and in the end it doesn’t matter.”
“Spoken like the loneliest man in the world.”
Truth.
I let her words wash over me. Rolling back my shoulders, I bear their weight. “Better leave me to it then.”
I should known better. Michelle’s never once let me have the last word.
“Uh-uh. Sorry. Been there, done that. You suck at seeing what’s right in front of you, and I won’t stand by while your chance at happiness slips away. She’s here. Now. She came back for you. If she’s not the one, you’re gonna have to prove it to me, because from where I’m standing, she’s the only reason we came back here in the first place. She made you want more. For that she’s got my vote.”
“I changed my mind.”
She snorts with derision, but finally stands to leave. “No. You didn’t.”
Once she’s gone, I spend some time glaring at the door and feeling trapped—locked into a decision I never should have made in the first place.
Jenna’s return reminds me people get hurt here. While it might all look staged and pretend, rejection is as brutal on camera as it is off. It makes a person doubt himself, his worth, his ability to have a decent future. But who I am and what I want is inescapable. Ginger might have given up on us, but I need to do my part to get out before anyone else gets hurt.
I take a seat on the sofa to examine my contract further. I’m halfway through the nondisclosure portion when there’s another knock on the door.
“Rena would like to speak with you privately,” Kat says.
“Show her in, I guess.”
And the onslaught begins.
Speaking with the six remaining women takes us well into the early morning hours. The stance I choose to adopt is: “This was a Panel decision.” We’re all pawns in the ratings game now.
Ginger comes in during my talk with Cassie. She hangs out behind the cameras, sleepy-eyed and quiet while Cassie hugs it out with me. Pulling away, Cassie gives me a warm smile, running her hand down my arm. “I’m going to bed. See you soon?”
“Hope so.” If Ginger weren’t an issue, I’m ninety-nine percent sure I would wind up with Cassie—content to carry out my teamwork marriage plan. We would be cool together, dominating trivia nights and ruling PTAs. In another life Cassie would be perfect for me. I walk her to the door. Two cameramen follow her and Kat out.
One camera and Ginger remain.
“Have a seat, let’s debrief, then we can get some sleep,” she says.
I walk back to the sofa. She pulls up a chair, sitting out of the frame. Once the cameraman is in position, she begins the interview. “Tell me what you’re most concerned about.”
Given the conversation I had with Cassie, I have an answer ready. “I’m concerned someone is going to make the wrong assumption about why Jenna gets to stay and give up before we have a chance to explore our connection.”
Ginger swallows, dropping her gaze to her lap. “Talk about how it makes you feel that there are women talking about leaving.”
“I hate that anyone’s considering leaving because of this.”
“Do you think The Panel made a mistake?” she asks, her voice growing softer.
“I don’t know whether The Panel made a mistake bringing Jenna back.”
Ginger shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “Talk about whether you think you can be fair in your considerations given you have a history with her.”
“I’ll be as fair as I can be when I’m considering a future with Jenna. But like everyone’s been pointing out, we have a history.”
Ginger presses her lips together, still unable or unwilling to meet my eyes. “Tell us how her being here changed how you’re feeling about the process.”
“Jenna’s being here is clarifying some things for me.”
She makes a rolling motion with her hand, urging me to elaborate.
“I’m having to consider what I want out of this. What kind of future I want, but I also realize my Panel may see something different for me. So I’m trying to take all that into consideration moving forward.”
“Talk about what you think they want.”
“They want me to fall in love.”
“And you don’t?”
“Was that a question?” It doesn’t lend itself to the kind of open-ended full statement response she usually wants from me in these debriefs.
She looks up, her brows furrowed. “Go ahead, if there’s anything else on your mind.”
I’ve said all I’m willing to say with a camera rolling. I stare back at her and give my head a slight shake.
Her mouth tightens, and she glances away, standing quickly. “That’s it everybody. Clean up. Get out. Thanks for your hard work.”
I rub my face as the remaining crew packs up. I reach around my waist and unclip my microphone, handing it over to Vanessa before rising from the couch. Holden steps in front of me. “Got my phone?”
“In the cushions.”
“Thanks.”
While the PA goes on the hunt for his iPhone, I take a few steps toward Ginger, who lingers near the kitchen, out of the way of the exiting crew.
When her eyes meet mine, it takes my breath away. She’s never looked more upset. She even looks like she needs… a hug ? “What’s wrong?”
“Are you still mad at me?” she asks.
Betrayed fits better. But if I had to place a bet, I’d put my money on her regretting bringing Jenna back, and not because it kept everyone up all night.
Jamie is the last one to leave. He glances back at Ginger on his way out. “You good?”
“I’m heading home in a second,” she answers him.
The door closes behind the cameraman, and Ginger looks back up at me like she’s still waiting on an answer to her question.
“You owe me a better explanation than the one I got earlier,” I say.
She rubs at her eyes with the heels of both hands. “Why does it sound like you want an apology?”
“That wouldn’t hurt.”
She glances around the now empty room. “Look. I actually am sorry. I never thought—well, I didn’t do it to hurt you.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t wanna lose my job, Elliot.”
“Is she why you wanted to end things this morning? You knew she was coming back?”
Ginger nods, her gaze steady on the floor between us.
The band of tension encasing my chest loosens, barely.
There’ve been glimpses of it before, a softer, more vulnerable part of her, but they pass so fast I thought I was reading meaning into the fleeting moments. It’s clear to me now, though. She hates this as much as I do and thinks there’s no way to win. That doesn’t mean there isn’t one. I signed the contract in ink, not blood.
Unfortunately, when it comes to Ginger, I’m not competing with fourteen other men for a chance to be with her—I’m competing with her job. All the more reason to try to convince her what we have is different—maybe even special.
“Do you like me?” I ask.
Her mouth tightens. Two tiny curves appear like parentheses to bracket her pursed lips. “The way I feel about you—it doesn’t matter.”
I told Michelle love doesn’t matter. But maybe it does. Maybe it could. Is that what she means? I need her to say it. Give me something. Even if it’s only the possibility of half a chance. “What do you need from me, Ginger?”