3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Ursula
Between the two of us, Julian and I are able to snip away the last of the snarling raven curls that had been claimed by my strawberry-bubblegum-snafu, leaving me with a chic (albeit unexpected) curly French bob.
Daphne and the twins had looked as if they were about to faint when I hacked out some of the biggest stickiest pieces so I could get back to focusing on having Daphne premiere ready without making the mess worse. Julian talked them down—insisting he would help me turn it into something actually stylish once we had a free moment.
“Honestly Ursula,” Julian stands back to appreciate our handiwork. “I think it really suits you—you were getting swallowed by it before.” He beams.
“Yeah, I mean–that was kind of intentional,” I grumble, scrunching my bouncy curls in the hand mirror’s reflection.
“I liked that I could hide behind it,” I grouse, pinching my shoulders toward my ears—my neck suddenly feeling exposed, naked .
Julian rolls his eyes at my self deprication.
“You’re not going to be able to hide from shit when the camera crews are on you 24/7, my dear,” he clucks.
“Thanks for reminding me” I pout, returning the hand mirror on the kitchen table in favor of a broom to sweep up all my shorn hair.
“Don’t make such a sour face, La-la. I’m going to whip you up a few custom couture pieces that will be divine —and Daphne and I will take you on a little makeover shopping spree before you have to get all packed. You’re going to look in-cred-ible in every shot.” Julian air kisses me on either cheek, already pulling his keys from his pocket and moving toward the door.
“Julian—don’t tell Cos, but you may actually be my favorite of all my bestie’s mates.” I wink conspiratorially, giving my broom a shake.
“I will keep your secret, my dear, but I better get going. Magnus and Daphne will chew me out if I’m late for another event,” he calls over his shoulder, unfolding his sunglasses and placing them on his freckled face.
“Thanks again J, I don’t know what I’d do without another stylist friend to keep me sane.” I wave him off as I sweep my kitchen-turned-impromptu-salon.
“Oh, don’t thank me too much–I’ll be calling in babysitting favors along with the rest of Pack Silver as soon as the babies are here.”
Having grudgingly agreed to participate in this whole Build-A-Pack-Blind nonsense, I figure it is probably in my best interests to actually watch a season of the show, since I only have a vague idea of the program’s premise.
With a fair degree of trepidation, an extra large cup of hot cocoa containing miniature marshmallows, and the good ol’ Penjamin Franklin —I snuggle into my bed and fire up the first episode of the premiere season.
The high concept of the show examines whether or not love and pack attraction are truly blind.
Certainly there’s plenty of evidence to support the fact that not all initial scent matches are definitive. I was cautioned, like every freshly designated omega, not to bond during my first heat—despite the biological imperative to do so. Our impulses can be incredibly powerful during heats and ruts—especially if we find our potential mates physically attractive.
Build-A-Pack-Blind seeks to answer the questions: what happens when you meet your potential packmates without seeing them? Without scenting them? Can you begin to form bonds that will translate to a truer, more lasting pack harmony? Or is it just as risky as any other way to find your pack? To fall in love and create bonds as a new family unit?
Because I work in the business, I’m keen-eyed and skeptical as I watch the opening credits of Build-A-Pack-Blind roll.
Executive producer: Helen Berman-Wagner.
Hmph!
That explains it. Helen Berman-Wagner isn’t just one of the most high-powered women in the history of Hollywood; she just so happens to be Magnus Wagner’s stepmother.
Helen married Magnus’ father and Danish diplomat Alfred Wagner in the years after the passing of Magnus’ birth mother. Ironic, that Alfred should marry one of the most powerful television mavens in Los Angeles after his son, the famous Hollywood director introduced them at an industry gala.
Suddenly it makes sense as to how Daphne and her co-conspirators were able to get me onto the show. Doesn’t take that much doing when your goddamn mother-in-law is the executive producer.
I’m surprised, and more than a little excited to see that the show’s creator is none other than Tori Davenport.
Davenport was first famous for her pioneering dating reality show Making the Pack and the groundbreaking Seeking Our Omega .
Making the Pack had made some waves as one of the first ‘original’ reality series to hit major streaming services in the post-cable-television era. Much as the name suggests, the premise of the show centers around one omega (or sometimes two in later seasons) whittling their way through massive amounts of suitors, until they feel as if they have eliminated all of the extraneous entrants—and are ready to bond as a newly founded pack. It never really sucked me in, so I never got into the show.
Seeking our Omega , on the other hand, was a totally different story. I was only halfway through high school and not yet designated as an omega when the first season of Seeking our Omega aired on television. I had been hopelessly addicted from the very first moments of the premiere episode when Pack Orton was introduced—ready and raring to meet their omega.
As a teen and young adult, I found all the fantastical dates between beautiful people to be a romantic escape from my daily life. One I welcomed every Thursday night after I had finished my homework. I’m embarrassed to admit, I kept watching Seeking Our Omega for almost seven seasons. It wasn’t until I got my first roommate here in LA that I stopped the tradition.
I guess, once I started getting older—still single and pretending that I wasn’t lonely—it became harder and harder to enjoy the show as I had when I was younger and more optimistic about my own romantic future.
I mean, I did end up here in this mess; watching the first episode of a reality dating show that I am about to become a contestant on in a few short weeks.
The rest of the opening credits reel pass without incident, backed by upbeat pop music and establishing shots of an unfamiliar city skyline. Thus far I don’t really know anyone directly involved with production, so that was somewhat of a blessing. Of course, I’d have to watch the closing to be sure. It would be much easier to be on the show without familiar faces on the crew.
After the credits and the title card, we are finally introduced to the show’s hosts, Pack Milton.
I couldn’t help but let loose a little embarrassed laugh. I had completely forgotten about Anna Jones. Well, Anna Jones Milton now, technically. She had been a pretty famous primetime teen drama actress back when Muffy and the Biker Cheerleaders from Mars was one of the hottest shows on television, but had already been considered a D-Lister omega by the time she was bitten into Pack Milton; a one-time boy band that had enjoyed a brief stint on the top 40 charts with the lead single from Muffy and the Biker Cheerleaders from Mars: THE MOVIE .
Of course, I can’t look down my nose at anyone. I’ve never even been anything more than kind-of-sort-of-social-media-famous, largely because I am best friends with Hollywood’s current ‘It Girl’.
Anna Jones, along with her mates Steven, George and Paul Milton are all likely more famous than I will ever be, but it doesn’t change the fact that I haven’t thought about them since I had to check the TV guide to see when Muffy was on.
I’ve got to hand it to them though, they’ve been together for a long time, and from what I can see as the camera pans past their tanned and smiling faces–eyes all looking directly into the lens; they seem pretty…happy.
“Hello everyone, and welcome to Build-A-Pack-Blind!” Anna beams, spreading her hands wide—her many bracelets and rings twinkling in the light as she greets the television audience.
“This experience aims to create deep, emotional connections between prospective pack members without the outside noise of appearance, designation, or even scent ,” Steven continues, giving the camera a meaningful raise of his eyebrows.
I’m shaking my head in disbelief at his words. The idea that you could spend a few weeks talking to someone, sight unseen, scent suppressed, and be able to form a pack that would actually work well enough to bite each other in? It seems highly improbable at the very least.
I’m about to start shouting at the television, more questions filling my mind after the basic premise has been laid; but the camera moves and George begins to answer some of my burgeoning queries.
“Over the next forty days, our participants are going to undergo an incredible experience!” He begins his explanation on camera, but quickly continues in voiceover over shots of both the set and the contestants.
“One sigma and seven omega ladies along with twenty-two non-pack-affiliated gentlemen of mixed designations, will begin this journey in what we like to call ‘the bubbles’”.
I watch with interest as we get shots of the women, all eight of them entering into what appears to be a beautifully furnished hotel lobby.
Almost immediately, the shot shifts to the men. I’m a little surprised when I see that they have been kept siloed; each given the equivalent of a small but luxurious studio apartment to inhabit during this phase of the ‘experience’.
“The ladies will be living together from the start, but the gents won’t get to mix and mingle together until later,” the voiceover explains as the last of the establishment shots of the male participants in their new quarters make the rounds.
“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself?” Paul Milton asks, snapping us back to the television studio with the rest of Pack Milton posed together on what I can now see is part of the ‘bubble’ set.
“You’re right,” George gives a laugh that manages to feel roguish and genuine even though it’s so clearly scripted schlock. It makes me think about how strange it must be for all of them to be using what skills they've honed as entertainers of the years for a show like Build-A-Pack-Blind . I guess by that kind of measure, most folks would say Muffy doesn't rank much higher.
I'm quick to remind myself, though, that this cheesy show is likely an easy payday. While I’m happy for Pack Milton, I’m not entirely sure what it means for me, a prospective contestant.
“Our pack-hopefuls will go on dates while living in these ‘bubbles’,” George backtracks, the camera once again leaving his good looks to show footage of contestants walking from their living areas down long secluded hallways to closed doors.
At first glance, it just looks like a hotel. The little pop-n-fresh apartments for the men, the set Pack Milton is hosting from, the ladies common areas, and now these ‘blind-date-bubbles’ all remind me of those mid-range hospitality spots that are nicer than a Holiday Inn, but not as swish as a boutique or real luxury hotel or resort.
Each bubble appears to have a loveseat, a small coffee table, a mini refrigerator and plenty of throw pillows and blankets–but most obvious and awkward of all: a large frosted glass panel lit from behind. I say panel and not partition–because there’s no actual transparency to the other ‘side’ of the bubble. The whole connection carefully managed so that no one can see a silhouette or catch a whiff of scent until later in the experience.
“After several rounds of dating blind and scentless—with the women having no clue of the men’s designations,” George continues in voiceover as we see footage of prospective contestants receiving what are obviously scent swatches.
“Dating participants can choose to exchange scent cards and reveal their designations in an attempt to deepen the connection.”
My heart starts to pound at the thought of it. The fear and trepidation of rejection mixing with the ‘what-if’ of connection, chemistry, and love.
“Men and women exchange scent matches within the omega or sigma’s sphere of interest,” Paul adds as the camera bounces back to Pack Milton, their faces taking on an array of mischievous expressions.
“The scent match marks our first elimination round,” Anna adds with an air of intrigue.
“Some matches will immediately dissolve due to scent or designation incompatibility, whereas some male participants will still match to multiple omegas and/or sigmas.” She gives a smirk before passing the baton back to Steven, who continues forward.
“At this point, men who have been scent matched by the same omega or sigma can explore beyond their ‘bubble’ apartments and begin to intermingle in common rooms based on their scent matches to a shared omega or sigma—allowing them to interact with other prospective pack members to get a feel for compatibility.”
We’re thrown into shots of different configurations of the men in different common areas, obviously decked out to be formidable man caves for their temporary inhabitants. Groups of male contestants seen in the new setting appear to be introducing each other for the first time, quickly followed by more shots of individual men and women on dates in the blind one-on-one ‘bubbles’.
“Dating in the bubbles continues for an additional week, while the men and women make their decision about who they are going to choose to see at the pack reveal and potentially move on to the next step of the experience with,” Steven concludes, the camera returning to him and his pack.
“The reveal is our next elimination round.” Anna clasps her hands together in an anticipatory gesture. “Participants get to see each other for the first time and decide whether or not they want to see how real their chemistry is during a week-long getaway at a beautiful island villa with their new potential pack!”
They don’t show any specific footage of participants actually meeting here, but we are treated to a shot of a very long hallway outfitted with several overstuffed chairs and elaborate frosted French doors at either end. In case the setup wasn’t obvious enough, there’s a smash cut to one of the sets of frosted French doors—a woman’s figure illuminated by backlight on the other side of the blurred glass; an evocative image that brings my attention to my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears.
“While in their island paradise, prospective packs will have a chance to mix and mingle for the first time since leaving the ‘bubbles’.” Paul's voice explains over a series of shots of the incredibly luxurious tropical accommodations.
“After their magical time away, prospective packs will return home for a two-week 'real life’ trial period,” Steven continues, taking the baton from Paul as he continues the explanation of the rules and itinerary of the show. As he does so, the camera revisits Pack Milton only for a moment before cutting to shots of Los Angeles.
“Our potential packs may live in a temporary nest provided by the production.” As we are treated to a mini montage of pre-furnished nests that have obviously been assembled from some of the most expensive products and trendy brands. I am surprised by how put off I am by the sight of the cookie-cutter luxury condos draped in white and cream linens; one-size-fits-most bougie nests that don't really resonate with me.
“Of course, some of our contestants have been waiting for this for a long while,” George interjects, our view once more focusing on Pack Milton, still huddled together on the ‘bubble’ set.
“Some packs may elect to stay at a prospective pack member's ancestral home or nesting place,” George's voice illuminates over a series of shots of a stately manor—clearly a location that will be shot at length later in the season.
While I find it a little overwhelming to think about, I have to admit that the marble bathrooms, plush canopied beds, and picturesque gardens filling my screen have my hopeless romantic heart aflutter.
“For two weeks, the prospective packs will live together, meet one another's friends and family, and go about their daily lives,” George explains as we return to Pack Milton once more—their expressions all a little giddy.
“Last, but not least,” Anna begins, her eyebrow raised scandalously.
“Our packs will choose their potential names and undergo a trial heat .” She purrs conspiratorially to the audience.
My throat feels dry and I struggle to swallow.
A trial heat!? Are these people completely off their nut? I'm guessing so, because as I'm struggling to return my mind from its reeling, I hear Anna's voice state clearly:
“Omegas and their partners will mutually induce their heat and rut cycles to undergo a trial heat to ensure their compatibility.”
I can feel the hot blush rising in my cheeks, and the slick beginning to flow between my legs at the thought of it.
I've had sex with a few guys, alphas and betas both. Fun, if a bit underwhelming experiences with guys I'd had feelings for at the time, but I'd never allowed myself to go into heat. Not once. The prospect of spending a heat with an anonymous heat helper or two had been occasionally intriguing, but not enough to actually pursue. With my job, the demands of adult life, it truly had fallen by the wayside. I ached for that connection, that hidden part of myself I had never been able to unfold and explore. Now, it wasn't a matter of might—it was a guarantee I would at least try.
“After the trial heat, the participants must decide whether or not they want to bond as a pack.” Anna looks to Steven, giving his cue to speak.
“In our finale ceremony, packs will decide to incorporate or to dissolve for good,” he adds with a solemn finality.
There is a beat of silence before Anna breaks out into a sunny smile again.
“Of course, we'll have a full cast reunion show where we catch up with everyone, matched, bonded, and still single!” she giggles, and the rest of her pack echoes her laughter.
“Who's ready to meet our participants!?” Anna cheers gleefully—and I fumble for my remote, jamming the pause button down before Pack Milton can spit anymore overwhelming information at me.
Anger rises in me, fresh—licking at my edges like a growing flame. I'm angry at Daphne and Agnes for deciding that this was a good choice for me. I'm angry that the two of them think I'm so pathetic that this may be the only way I'll ever leave the safety of my little pink bungalow. I'm angry that they're actually right—that I have been so steadfastly unwilling to open myself up to getting hurt, that I've entirely bypassed any opportunity to share myself with anyone as well.
I pull my sleeve over one fist and rub at the tears of frustration spilling from my eyes with the back of my hand.
Now I'm going to be launched into the fucking stratosphere of insane risk. My comfort zone, nary but a faded memory and I could still end up coming home empty-handed. No, worse than that—carrying the shattered pieces of my broken heart.
I sniffle and wipe my eyes, turning my tear-blurred-gaze to the framed picture of my family on the bedside table. My mama, Miriam, with her head of tight chocolate cherry curls and honey-colored eyes, smiles from the center of the photograph. My two brothers Joshua and David bracket her. Joshua's mop of golden brown curls hang almost into his hazel eyes, while David's ash brown buzzcut follows the round curve of his skull almost exactly. Behind my mother and brothers stand Dad (Issac, aka Josh's bio father), Pops (Jeffery, aka David's bio dad), and last but not least–Abe, my Papa; with his thick sheaf of raven hair and coke bottle lens glasses. There they are in all their glory: Pack Goldblum-Laskaris. My family.
All the way on the other side of the country, they have no real idea what my day-to-day life looks like. They have no idea how lonely I've been, that I’m about to go on this show that might entirely change my life.
Part of me, most of me if I'm really telling the truth; wants to just not tell them. Honestly, what am I expecting to happen? I can tell by jumping around through the episodes that not everyone who goes on the show and dates in the ‘bubbles’ ends up meeting families. Why bother telling them that I'm going to go on this insane show if I don't have to? I can already hear my mother squawking on the other end about how there's ‘nothing respectable about a lady who has to use a seedy TV show to get dates.’
Not to mention my brothers. Oy vey . Josh will taunt me endlessly about every last stupid thing I do in front of the camera. He's been ruthless about teasing me at every opportunity ever since we were kids. I know it's mostly because he's forever relegated to being the baby , and that he does it out of affection for me—but I'm dreading it all the same.
“I don't have to tell them, do I?” I ask Baxter plaintively, watching his blue-black fins flutter in the tank lights for a few moments in silence before I realize that being a ‘crazy-fish-lady,’ is somehow even more sad and desperate than being a ‘crazy-cat-lady’. Resolute to save myself from this tragic fate, I take the next step: I dial my mother's cell number and put myself on speakerphone.