6. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Teddy
When my agent, Len, first suggested that I hit the reality TV show circuit to help bolster my career; I have to admit that I was a bit skeptical.
I was hot off of a prestige mini-series where I had played a futuristic samurai, with a contract to play a limited-run character on a mega-popular streaming service original show; a cyberpunk ninja who ended up becoming a fan favorite. I wound up getting a contract for an additional eight episodes before my character finally died at the hands of the show’s gritty action star protagonist.
It didn’t think I needed to help bolster my career. In fact, I felt like I was cruising along pretty well.
Then the dry spell.
Absolutely nothing. No good auditions, no callbacks for shitty auditions, no one ringing up Len to tell him they had so much as an inkling of a part that might be good for yours truly.
I had been happy to nab a few afternoon’s worth of pickup stunt guy work in the background of an Amos Benett war movie when all of the sudden Len starts blowing up my phone.
“Ted, have you seen Rudy all over TiPToP!?” he shouts at me through the receiver.
“No, I haven’t. You know how much I fuckin’ hate that app Lenny!” I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. As much as I love him, my goddamn agent won’t get off my ass about the micro-video platform. Everyone has to use it to be relevant nowadays, even me. Doesn’t mean I actually post as much as Len would like me to, though.
“Well, he’s making a fucking fortune in ad revenue, swimming in shitloads of sponsors and brand partnerships—not to mention he’s getting booked for like five of these other reality shows almost immediately, not to mention the two rom-coms he’s been cast in over the past week.” Len practically shouts at me.
“Wait a minute,” I stop dead in my pacing track around my kitchen island. “Rudy Chen booked two rom-coms this week!?” I bark incredulously.
Rudy and I are both alphas who’ve worked together in the industry for years now. We’ve booked similar gigs throughout our young careers, as both of us fall into the same Venn- diagram-overlap of Hunky/Beefcake/Martial Artist/Stuntman. Neither of us has ever gotten close to a leading-man role before. Always the bad guy, the stoic buddy of the plucky hero, or–most frequently, man flying through the nearest window/wall/huddle of other disposable bad guys.
“I am telling you Ted, we get you on one of these reality dating shows—show off that fucking eight-pack of yours, then get you dropping thirst traps on TiPToP like Rudy? You’re gonna make bank ! You’ll be booking shit you never even dreamed of booking. It sounds crazy, but it’s true!” Len continues excitedly.
“Oh yeah? Well, let’s have a sit down and look at some possibilities. I have no problem dating beautiful women for the sake of my career,” I laugh, catching my reflection in the high shine polish of the huge refrigerator, giving one bicep a little flex as I keep the phone pressed to the side of my head with the other hand.
“They tend to cast absolute babes on these joints too Ted,” Len adds with a laugh.
“Don’t need to tell me twice. I’m down to put in some apps.” I turn, giving the fridge’s reflection the opposite profile, running a hand through my cropped black hair.
“Alright, I gotta run. I’ll call you after this meeting, but I’m thinking Vito’s—probably a little after six,” Len hurries me along.
“See ya Len.” I hang up on him, and immediately look Rudy up on TiPToP.
Sure enough, I’m inundated with posts—by fans, anti-fans, and Rudy himself.
There are supercuts of him taking off his shirt to showcase his ripped physique on the reality show Hot Mess , fan edits of him in their favorite outfits or poses, and of course, Rudy’s own curated selfies and video snippets of himself in various states of undress dubbed over by popular song clips and sound effects.
As much as I hate to admit it, his success is readily apparent. While I hadn’t anticipated selling out quite this hard, I can’t pretend that I’m not willing to trade what scraps of my modesty, professional integrity, and false pride I have in order to make bank.
If rent rates and paying for my own private health insurance weren’t expensive enough, I know that my moms have been struggling with the bills back home. While they won’t come right out and say it because of their own foolish pride, they’re barely scraping by on the checks I’ve been regularly sending them. If they were to get smaller, things would start to get dire pretty quickly, let alone if they were to disappear entirely.
Len thinks I can turn some quick coin this way and book more jobs, sponsors, and brand partnerships from dating some babes on a cheesy reality show? I’m happy to part the television producers from their money.
After a whirlwind few weeks, my phone conversation with Len feels like a faraway memory.
While I had been anticipating booking a show like Hot Mess, or Making the Pack , I somehow found myself signed up for the third season of the incredibly popular Build-A-Pack-Blind .
I nearly lost my shit when I found out that I wouldn’t even get to hook up with one of the other baddies in the cast until after we had decided to make some sort of commitment to one another as a pack, but Len assured me that dudes who don’t even move past the ‘bubble’ portion of the program can still end up being wildly popular. In fact, two guys on the same Hot Mess season as Rudy had actually been cast from the run-off of Build-A-Pack-Blind season one.
So, I packed my bags and shipped off to the ‘bubbles’ to begin this totally wack ‘experience’.
I’ve already hit the gym once in an effort to keep my sanity cooped up in this bogus place. I hadn’t realized I’d be under such regimented control for the first portion of the filming.
After I got back to my room, showered and changed, some dweeb named Timmy came to collect me from my glorified extended stay hotel room and brought me to this incredibly underwhelming date ‘bubble’ outfitted with a muted orange loveseat and a glass coffee table in front of a backlit pane of frosted glass.
Shortly after I took a seat on the stiff couch, they brought in my first date—a confident self-proclaimed ‘baddie’ with a slight valley girl accent—somewhat ironically named Brittney.
Though it had been a coy admission, she had let slip that she was somewhat of a model and influencer on the outside world.
Score.
Probably an omega babe, even if her conversation skills were…not particularly sparkling. We talked a little about working in LA, about the demands of working in our different industries without exactly giving away details about our physical appearance or designation. She asked so many questions about my workout routine that even I was getting bored with talking about my cardio regimen, lifting, dojo hours, and protein shakes by the time that Tim came to collect me for my second date of the day.
“Helloooo,” I call, like a cartoon character, calling into an echoing cave as I close the door to the date ‘bubble’ behind me and toss my notebook and pen onto the sofa, making a direct path to the glass table and clearing it out of the way to gain access to more floor space.
“Hello?” A voice replies from the other side of the partition, deeper and huskier than the sweet and bubbly Brittney.
“Hey, I’m Teddy,” I introduce myself—making sure the motorized cameras have time to track me as I get down on the ground and start getting some floor stretches in.
If she’s a chatty one, I’ll try to get some pushups or something in so that the camera can really make use of me serving body.
“Teddy, hi howareya? I’m Ursula,” she responds, her accent so thick that it’s hard for me not to start laughing out loud. She sounds kinda like that lady on that old show about that New York nanny for a super rich family. Short, sort of a loudmouth? But also a totally smokin’ hot brunette with solid tits and a nice ass.
When she says the name, though? I can only think of one thing.
“Ha, Ursula like that octopus lady?” I laugh, laying flat on the floor so I can start some leg raises while we chat.
She makes a funny sound before she responds.
“Hm, yeah. Just like the octopus lady.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she offers nothing—so I continue on.
“So, Ursula, what brings you here?” I ask, even though I would look like a total fucking asshole if I answered my own question with any kind of authenticity. I’ve carefully constructed my own answer to be given for the camera. Len and I even practiced my little speech a few times before I shipped off to the bubbles.
“Well, I’d imagine we’re probably here for similar reasons,” she laughs.
“I’m here because I’m just tired of the noise of dating apps and shit,” I huff, moving on to a set of oblique crunches to allow her a chance to respond.
“Uh huh…I see…maybe we are here for slightly different reasons,” she snorts another laugh.
“Oh yeah?” I challenge, finishing my obliques and flipping over onto my stomach to start those push-ups. I have a feeling she might have a bit more to say about this one, might as well take advantage on my end.
“Yeah, I’m here because I haven’t really even been dating at all outside this… experience —” she begins before stopping short unexpectedly and changing gears.
“Are…are you working out over there?” she scoffs, incredulous.
I freeze in place—holding a plank as I run through my options for how to answer her. I decide to go with the truth, since I am on camera after all and I don’t want to look like too much of an asshole, just enough of one that my hotness can still justify it.
“Uh… yeah I am. Is that, like, not cool?” I remain suspended—muscular arms unmoving—body in a hard, unwavering line.
To all the ladies who will one day enjoy these hot shots, you’re very welcome .
“It’s pretty shitty, honestly,” she sighs, exasperated.
Wait, what? She’s pissed? Why is she pissed? I could have chatted Brittney up about my workout routine for another half hour and she still would have been eating out of the palm of my hand. If I had started panting and grunting in the background of our conversation, she probably would have started pumping out the slick.
“Oh, damn. Sorry, I…” I grasp for an apology, even though I’m not really sure what I should be sorry for. “I have just felt like I’m in a tiny fish bowl here. I didn’t realize how claustrophobic I’d feel during this experience.”
I lower myself onto my knees and ease back to sit cross-legged, my back against the couch.
“Yeah, I can understand that honestly,” she laughs, the tension gone from her voice.
“Out of context, it just felt like you were kind of ignoring me—like I was just sort of background noise to your workout,” she adds, really pinning me with her blunt assessment.
“Yeah, no—I wasn’t trying to make you feel like shit. I can see how that probably really sucked though, now that you mention it.”
The shame rises from deep in my gut. Even though I know my moms would never watch this kind of trash TV, combined with the fact that I have pointedly not told them that I am partaking in this reality show/’experience,’ the thought of my Moms watching my buffoonery for profit at the expense of some innocent woman/women’s feelings only deepens that guilt.
“I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, but I don’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings,” I murmur earnestly.
“Hey, don’t talk down on yourself either,” Ursula’s voice volleys back, unexpectedly soft and sweet. “We’re all allowed to make honest mistakes. This whole situation is so weird and fucked up.” She dissolves into nervous laughter, so I rush in to fill the empty silence.
“So, both of us opted into this totally wacky ‘experience,’ and neither of us seems to have a clue about how to do the whole date thing this way… Why don’t we start over? I’m Teddy, I’m an actor and martial artist. I work in Hollywood—or I try to, anyway.”
Another warm, effusive laugh escapes her.
“I’m Ursula, a moderately successful makeup artist and hair stylist—also working in Hollywood.”
“Damn, ok so now I know you know how to look good,” I can’t help myself, the flirting just comes naturally.
Usually, when I pull one of these kinds of moves in ‘real life’, whichever girl I've decided to set my sights on tends to end up throwing themselves at my feet—even if I've only set the flirt-lasers to stun .
“Ehh, I don’t know about that one,” Ursula lets out a whinging groan.
“Plus, we shouldn’t be fishing about how we look, right? It’s called ‘Build-A-Pack-Blind’ for a reason, isn't it? Can’t fall in love with a six-pack or a chiseled jaw, or a great rack from behind a wall; it’s all about what’s on the inside .”
She laughs when she says it, but her words land unexpectedly hard—a coldness rising in my stomach.
“Well Teddy, this was…interesting for sure,” she begins, the sweetness in her voice clearly meant to let me down easy. After one date—barely a few words exchanged and already this woman seems to think she’s got me figured for the shallow end of the kiddie pool.
Part of me is angry. I want to say something funny to diffuse the situation and make her laugh, or to say something mean—just to feel less pathetic and vulnerable.
I think of my moms again, and cringe at the idea of being mean for the sake of protecting my fragile ego.
“Hey, Ursula?” I begin, my voice unsteady. I can’t remember the last time I got what I wanted with what’s on the inside .
I try to speak, but the fear grips me even tighter, have I ever gotten anything worth having with something besides my body? My physical prowess? My good looks?
“Yes, Teddy?” her voice is definitely further away now. Was she already making for the door!?
“I really liked talking with you today. I feel like I’m probably not as smart as some of the guys that you would usually date, but I would really like to talk with you again,” I blurt out, my pulse thundering at my throat.
“Really?” Ursula lets slip a surprised laugh.
“Yeah, I wanna hear more about you next time, too.” I can feel the smile tugging at my lips, even though I’m not sure why it’s so important to me that this chick gives me a second chance.
“Ok, Teddy—we’ll have to get into our own backstories a bit next time. Until then—have fun on your other dates,” she calls through the wall.
“Ok, I’ll be waiting—don’t have too much fun on yours!” I give a knockout smile to the wall for the benefit of all the watching cameras.
Wall or no wall, I’m going to show everyone—I’ve still got it. I’m not just a pretty face and an incredible body. I’m also a more than passable actor, and I’m not going to fuck this up.