9. Nine
nine
GINGER
When the wardrobe assistant finally bursts in with a new shirt and jacket, I leave the bathroom rattled. My heart is racing. I’m fully aware of how close I just came to taking Elliot’s face in my hands and kissing all his doubts away while my dreams of Sydney swirled down the drain of a nearby toilet. I’m proud of myself for showing the necessary restraint, but the effort was a marathon of hard work.
I join Kat at the bar while the cameramen and the PAs cover the party. My coworker’s gaze is glued to her phone. “Who are you texting?”
Kat drops the phone face down on the bar and looks up at me like I scared her half to death. “No one.”
I make a grab for the phone, but Kat deftly slides it out of my reach. “Marlon was checking in.”
“With you? Why?” Marlon wasn’t able to make it to the party tonight, but he has about ten other options for whom he can check in with. His determination to keep Kat at his beck and call is infuriating. He’s done enough damage to her already.
“What do you suggest I do? Ignore him? He’s still my boss.” With her fingertips, Kat worries her earlobe as she glances around the bar.
“Anything work-related can go through me or Matt.”
“He tried. Neither of you answered.”
I check my phone. Two missed texts from Marlon. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“It’s fine. I can handle him.”
“He’s lucky you don’t sue, you know?”
Kat brushes her red bangs across her forehead. “Sue and say what? I came onto him, he went with it, and then he changed his mind?”
“He shouldn’t have gone with it. He’s married and your boss.”
Kat presses her lips together and looks me straight in the eyes. “He was separated at the time, and it’s not like I gave him much of a choice.”
Ugh. Kat. My friend is nothing if not relentless. “You’re not still...?”
“No! No.” She takes both my hands in an effort to come across as truly sincere. “I swear. I’m over it. I learned my lesson.” Kat gives her head a firm shake and changes the narrative. “How’s Elliot?”
It’s conversational whiplash. I stutter through my answer. “Uh...he’s...good. All cleaned up.”
“He looked upset. Anything we need to know about Irene?”
“Watch her around the liquor, apparently.”
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem.” Kat’s sarcasm is heavy. Alcohol plays a pretty key role in large portions of our filming schedule.
“Let’s talk to Matt. I’m sure we can figure something out,” I say. “Where is he anyway?”
Kat gestures toward the parking lot. “He’s pouring Irene into a limo. I offered to help, but he said he’s got it. Does he seem okay to you?”
“Matt? Yeah.”
“He hasn’t been shaving.”
“Maybe he’s trying a new look.”
“I mean—it’s been months since his divorce was finalized. You’d think he’d be getting back into dating or whatever by now, but I get the impression he goes home, orders a pizza, and watches TV until he passes out on the couch.”
“I do basically the same thing,” I state for the record.
Elliot emerges from the bathroom in a clean suit looking like he’s never had a bad day in his life. Our eyes meet, and he holds my gaze long enough to make me question my priorities again.
His attention quickly shifts to Amanda, who sneaks an arm around his waist and leans in to whisper something in his ear. I’d love to tell Amanda to move on—she already got her time, but the idea behind tonight is to keep things casual. A regular birthday party. It was Lavonne’s idea. Marlon always thinks her ideas are gold even when the rest of us don’t see the point. The party is boring. The show is stalled in second gear, and I’m losing control over the narrative.
I tear my gaze away from Amanda and Elliot, back to Kat. “We need to start pulling some of Elliot’s friends off for interviews.” If I can get someone to cry, the night won’t be a total loss.
“We should wait until they’ve had a chance to circulate a little longer. We’ve got hours to go.”
Kat’s right. I order another sparkling water and settle in.
Elliot does a decent job of balancing his time between smaller groups, usually one or two of the women, some random friend of his, and at least one member of The Panel. Lavonne does fantastic work facilitating conversations as she bounces around the party regaling everyone with in-depth explanations of her famous three Cs of successful marriages: compatibility, communication, compromise. Her book will be out just in time for Christmas, and her signature episode—the Redwoods Retreat—begins filming tomorrow.
Since the impromptu party isn’t part of the usual show format, the producers collectively decided not to put too much effort into scripting it, but the lack of a monitor to spy on people has me restless and needing something to think about other than the promise I made Elliot in the bathroom: that I’d find a way for us to speak alone. About that night.
Talking to Elliot in private is the worst idea ever, but what was I supposed to do? He’s threatening to get me reassigned, or worse, thrown off the season, and he can, too. One word to Marlon about the night we spent together would have my boss seriously reconsidering my participation in the process.
I need to convince Elliot that not only can I handle the job, but I’m the only one for it. He should be able to trust me completely to make this process work for him. So far I’ve only managed to antagonize him and make both our lives miserable. It’s time for a major rebrand of our working relationship. He needs to believe that my sole purpose in life is to make him happy. It isn’t entirely unrelated to the night he keeps bringing up. I wanted to make him happy then, too. Well, not just him...
In my defense, the show had wrapped for the season, he was available, I was staring down two months of vacation, and honestly, accepting Elliot’s offer of a drink at his hotel was the reward I deserved for a job well done. I didn’t expect the night to latch onto my memory the way it has.
At worst, I thought we might get drunk at his hotel bar, talk shit about the show, and I’d take an Uber home. At best, I’d get to spend the night in his bed. In the end we’d done it all. Drinks at the bar gave us both a slight buzz, we talked shit about the show for an hour while our flirting reached maximum intensity, and I spent the night in his hotel room...although we hadn’t exactly made it all the way to the bed.
But that was then.
Before he agreed to his second season.
I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that no one comes here without having been burned by love one too many times. Matched is known for its ability to turn nothing into something, but it only works because coming on the show means the star no longer trusts his own heart—he’s ready to tick off some boxes and make it work.
I find it both comforting and depressing.
Elliot needs to believe he made the right decision coming back. That the night I spent with him didn’t mean anything to me either. That I’m totally on board with finding him a life partner, and I won’t let anything get in the way. Not even my burning desire to slide my hands underneath his shirt. Or up his thigh...
Our encounter in the bathroom was troublesome, but viewed through the lens of Mother Nature, it was inevitable. We have chemistry, but so what? I have as much future to fight for as he does, and the warmth of his muscular thigh beneath my palm has no bearing on the rest of my plans. I’ve always managed to put my dreams first. Touching him might have confused me momentarily, but the truth is our goals are completely aligned, and we’re in this together.
Maybe a quick limo ride back to the Hacienda will be enough to finally close the door on that night for good.