5. Five
five
GINGER
Safe in the control room, I simmer. Three interactions with Elliot Hale so far, and he’s gotten to me three times. It’s an unacceptable ratio. While there may come a time where I’d like him unwound and emotional on the set, in private it’s dangerous. I thought, in the months that passed since that night at the Hilton, my response to him would have cooled, or at least the memory would have dimmed enough for me to be able to consider other options. He’s here, after all, searching for his forever one and only, so time worked its magic on him . It’s ridiculous for him to keep bringing up that night.
But as I stare at the live feed from the Candle Room where Elliot sits engaged in his never-ending “speed” date with Amanda, I study every inch of his posture. The tilt of his head, the direction of his crossed legs, the tension in his fingers—and every time his jaw twitches, I have the annoying urge to smooth the muscle there with the pad of my thumb and remind him to relax. I never had that thought about Brandon, or Jake, or any of the other male stars. Their jaws were just jaws.
But it’s my job, right? To keep Elliot focused. He should be relaxed. Open. Ready to accept the process wherever it may lead. In past seasons, I’ve managed the women, The Panel, the control room, but I’ve never had the star to deal with. It has to be the stress making me feel things. All the added pressure of making him shine.
Amanda laughs at something he says, and I roll my eyes. With the press of a button, I switch feeds to The Panel’s room. Sliding my headphones on, I turn up the volume.
Elliot’s mother Irene is snuggled into the corner of the new sectional, cocktail in hand. Her daughter, Elliot’s sister Natalie, sits nearby, eyes also fixed on the large screen in front of them. Michelle, the tiny, but oddly intimidating friend, paces behind the couch, her own drink poised in her hand as she studies the monitor with the scrutinizing eyes of a coach heading a playoff run for her team. Lavonne, ever polished and professional, takes notes in an adjacent chair, her two-carat rock flashes like a star against her light mahogany skin. Her tight black curls are combed smooth and pulled back into the kind of no-nonsense bun I can only aspire to.
“She’s boring him,” Michelle says.
Natalie cranes her neck to look at the petite waif of a woman. “How can you tell?”
“I just know.” Michelle may look delicate, but there’s something formidable about her and her intensely knowing gaze. I’m not sure whether America will love or hate Michelle, but that makes her good TV.
I hang on every word, glancing at Elliot’s face from time to time in order to gauge where to overlay Michelle’s statement about his perceived lack of interest when I, Matt, and Kat get into the cutting room.
“Sounds like he wants someone boring though,” the sister says.
“You didn’t buy that, did you?”
“He made a decent argument for it.”
“I’d rather he not wind up with someone who makes him go all dead inside again,” Michelle says. “I don’t care what he says.”
I switch my feed back to Elliot and Amanda, the kindergarten teacher from Kansas City, and flick on the sound. “—for work about once a month.”
“Where’s your favorite place?” Amanda asks in response to Elliot’s statement.
“Any place warm,” he says, super bland. Super boring.
Isn’t their time up yet? I check the clock. We’re running exactly on schedule.
“Mmm...same,” Amanda sighs.
God. I wish I could fast forward to the end of the night.
“Get her out of there,” Marlon growls into his headset. “How many more do we have?”
With only three women left to go, relief is in sight. Elliot’s interaction with Cassie, the nurse, ends up being the only one to put smiles on the faces of The Panel. Cassie and Elliot have a short, sweet conversation about Netflix binge-watching which is a nice change from hobbies and employment histories. It doesn’t make anyone swoon or anything, but it’s a step in the right direction. At a minimum, their conversation flows, and whether it’s ridiculous or not, they both show a passion for something .
I picture them on some other couch, in some private place on a night not too long from now... If I see a connection in the making, then the audience will, too. Which is a good thing and should in no way make my stomach turn the way it’s turning.
Maybe I’m hungry.
One night with Elliot was enough, I remind myself. I may have only been a consolation prize when he lost the love of his life, but there was no denying how much we wanted each other during those few hours. It was a fantasy, which makes it difficult to regret. I rarely treat myself. But if I’d known we’d have to work this closely together, I like to think I would have exercised some self-control back then.
“What’s his problem?” Marlon sits on the table directly in front of me, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
The question, and his instant proximity throw me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“He’s boring the shit out of me. Looks like he’d rather be any place but here.”
“He’s nervous,” I tell him.
“Did you try talking to him?”
Our earlier conversation likely didn’t help settle Elliot’s nerves. My attempt to lighten his mood with the panty-drop comment was a disaster. “I did. He was...on edge.”
“Are the women not good enough? The house isn’t nice enough? He doesn’t like his suit? What’s his problem?”
Me. I’m his problem.
“You don’t know?” Marlon asks when I fail to answer quickly enough. “Because I’m sure there’s someone around here able to get to the bottom of it and fix the issue.”
My fists clench as my claws threaten to come out. “I’m on top of it, Marlon. What? Did you expect him to fall in love the first night? When has that ever happened?”
“Last season. When he met Jenna.”
“Jenna’s not here,” I remind him, my tone acid. “These dates will cut together fine—there’s more than enough to work with.” Given what Elliot supposedly wants for himself and what Michelle seems to think he truly wants, we can build an entire narrative around the push and pull between him and The Panel.
“If there’s something holding him back, you need to find out what it is and eliminate it. I don’t want to see all his reservations on camera. Get him in the mood fast, or I’ll put someone else on Hale.” His gaze narrows in on mine. “You two have issues I’m not aware of?”
I manage to keep a blank face, but there’s a lump forming in my throat I want to gulp as soon as possible. My knee-jerk reaction is to argue, fight back, but I’m working on that. Marlon’s my boss, and he has my future in his hands. I respond accordingly. “Of course not. Consider it handled.”
Without another word, Marlon stands, returning to the wall of screens. I put my headset back on, barely able to register the ongoing discussion in The Panel’s room.
Marlon’s right. I need to fix Elliot’s apathy or my boss might start sniffing around for the cause. It’s obvious Elliot has some beef with me producing him, and I’d be a fool not to connect it with the night we spent together. Meaningless as it may have been, if I still feel the embers of heat between us, it’s reasonable to believe he does, too. It’s also reasonable to believe an observant man like Marlon might notice, and then where will I be? Jobless. Futureless. Certainly not in Sydney producing my own show.
I have to keep this professional. Stay behind the scenes and let Davis do the heavy lifting. My following Elliot around and trying to drag every sound bite from him on night one probably didn’t help put him in the mood to find the love of his life.
If maintaining a more professional distance can get him to relax and focus on what he came here for, it’s an angle I have to try. Being Elliot’s friend isn’t what I’m being paid to do. Finding him a wife is . My entire future depends on it.
I refocus my gaze on the screens before me. Once he’s through the first elimination, I’ll pick my top three, and using all the skill that put me in this seat, I’ll make sure one of them becomes Elliot Hale’s perfect match.