Chapter Twenty-Eight Dolly
brIDGET We had to do an intimacy challenge and it was pretty lush.
JACKSON We had to stare into each other’s eyes for ten minutes non-stop.
brIDGET Eye contact is sooooo important, babe.
In the end, I don’t go for fake fancy trousers because the show drops off a present from a designer I’ve followed on socials for ages.
It’s a navy kimono-style dress with large draping sleeves, dramatic and beautiful all at once.
I get Warren to take some photos for me to tag them on Instagram when I make my dramatic return, but all the makeup in the world can’t conceal the slightly green tinge to my skin.
I’m grateful the dress does give plenty of space for my endo belly, though.
Obviously we make it to dinner, because there’s no way in hell I’m missing the communal dinner party.
It tends to be an opportunity to air grievances, usually influenced by the production team.
On the US version of the show, there’s usually some arguments.
On the Australian series, well, there were several simultaneous fist fights.
The show takes us out in individual cabs to a restaurant overlooking the Thames, all gently lit with orange and gold as the sun gets low in the sky.
It’s beautifully decorated, a kind of visual cornucopia with fake and real flowers everywhere.
There’s even a fountain. It’s a lot but on camera it’ll look incredible.
The ten of us are seated on one long table, our names written on white cards to guide us where to sit.
Warren and I are in the middle, side by side, opposite Lina and Zack, with Zack directly across from me, which is less than ideal.
If anyone is going to snap at him, it’s going to be me thanks to my short temper exacerbated by my uterus’s antics.
Perhaps that’s what production were hoping for.
But then, not even Lina can really look at him for long.
She keeps dropping her eyes whenever he talks.
And he doesn’t fucking shut up.
‘I just think,’ he says, stuffing olives into his mouth and putting the nibbled stones right on the tablecloth, ‘that maybe everyone was being a bit unkind about my indiscretion.’
‘My man, if you stop bringing it up, we’d forget about it,’ cringes Warren. ‘Let it die!’
‘If he wants the public to know he’s a serial spaffer then go for it,’ I mutter.
There’s a pair of empty chairs opposite Malachi and Whit’s setting, obviously for the Nguyens, who typically arrive right at the point we’re arguing whether he should be known as the Weekly Wanker or the Compulsive Cock-wrangler.
‘Well, sounds like we’re off to a spirited start,’ Karina says.
Lucas pulls out the chair for her and she sits down, and I note that none of the other men did that except Warren, who was covering that I really needed help moving about.
Whit and Malachi sitting opposite Lucas and Karina makes a special kind of sense. The future Mr and Mrs Vempati-Campbell are the clear winners and on track to make television history. It’s clear production love them too.
Warren and I might be good actors, but there’s nothing like actual real deal love on a show like this to win over the hearts and minds of the nation.
It’s a wonderful wild thing to see two people falling in love.
Anyway, the couple who come in second tend to be the ones with the longer-lasting careers.
Perhaps without the pressure of being The Winners, there’s a little more freedom and a little less scrutiny?
It’s a trend no one understands and I’m not going to question it.
The waiting staff serve dim sum in huge bamboo steamers, stacked in one or two layers so as not to hide any faces for filming. The giant wafts of steam are scented with fresh herbs, prawns, a little spice.
‘So, how is everyone getting along?’ Lucas asks loudly down the table.
‘It’d be easier if she’d put her knickers in the washing hamper,’ Zack quips.
Poor Lina looks mortified.
I’m pretty sure the glass of wine in front of him is not actually his first drink of the day. I’m extremely tempted to kick him under the table. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t be airing your wife’s dirty laundry on television,’ I say, keeping my voice low.
‘That’s disrespectful, Zack,’ agrees Warren. ‘I’m really sorry, Lina.’
‘Thank you,’ she squeaks.
My death-glares must be obvious, because Carys briefly catches my eye. We said hello when everyone arrived, as is proper for when you’re being filmed unless you’re actively trying to start beef.
She looks different today. Gone is the cutesy retro look I’d got used to.
Instead she wears a deep green silk dress that hugs her body, with an elegant Bardot neckline.
The colour makes her fair skin pop and her hair glow.
Honestly, it’s more something out of my wardrobe than hers.
Sophisticated, I suppose, is the word I’m looking for. Like someone’s wife.
But I return her slightly worried look, glancing to Lina and back in question.
‘I’m the messy one,’ Whit says to move the conversation along.
‘Yeah, I was really surprised. I thought surgeons have to be really neat and that,’ Malachi says.
She shrugs. ‘That’s work brain. There’s no space for work brain at home or I might start slicing.’ She mimes her fingers into scissors and snips at Malachi, who giggles sweetly.
The conversation peters out after the normal back and forth of men leaving towels on the floor and toilet seats up (grim).
There’s a short moment of quiet while we eat, but it’s clear production are just waiting for us to get a little bit more wine into us. I notice one of the assistants give a signal to the Nguyens, reflected in one of the restaurant’s massive windows.
I brace myself for what comes next.
‘A major part of the apartments section of the experiment is intimacy,’ begins Karina. ‘Now, we know that some of you are… let’s just say, familiar with that already, but how are our other couples getting on?’
Lina stiffens as though she’s expecting Zack to say something dreadful, and the last thing I want to hear about is whether Patrick and Carys have finally slept together, so I take the stupid option and speak up.
‘Warren and I are working on building intimacy slowly. We obviously are dying for it—’ I break here for us both to laugh and look at each other in the eyes with adoration.
‘The physical desire is there for each of us, and we’re exploring intimacy in different ways. ’
‘Can you tell us more about that?’ Karina asks.
I go on a long spiel about sharing as a form of intimacy, checking in on our feelings, different kinds of touch – hinting very lightly at the sexual. It’s something I rehearsed earlier, but I think it comes out sounding natural enough.
I finish just before somewhere in my belly gives a huge, painful tug. I pick up my napkin to dab at my lips and cover the quiet fuuuuuuck I hiss into it.
Warren slips a hand under the table, hovering above my thigh for me to take. I squeeze tightly, but his hands are the money-makers. I absolutely cannot fuck those up, so I drop it quickly.
‘What about the rest of you?’ Lucas asks.
‘Well,’ Zack begins, and I see everyone brace for disaster. ‘I’m not really sure if we have that kind of compatibility.’
‘So, you have done stuff then?’ Bridget asks, leaning forward a little.
‘Lina told me that she didn’t think we had a spark,’ he says tightly.
To my confusion, Lina whips her head round, eyebrows furrowed. ‘That’s—’
‘I know you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but it did set me back a little, especially when everyone knows you got proposals from Cobey and me and had to take a moment to choose.’
Is that what happened? I feel bad that I never asked Lina what the deal with her situation was, but I was mostly confused why she would go after this ding-dong. Still, my bullshit alarms are ringing full pelt.
‘Oh, buddy, that’s difficult,’ says Jackson, a man who has never said buddy before in his life. ‘And emasculating, I’m sure.’ His lips purse slightly as he tries to hide his shit-eating grin.
‘I didn’t say that!’ Zack backpedals quickly. ‘I just… it felt like just another occasion where maybe I’d been too nice upfront and made the relationship start off on the wrong foot. Like, was I too respectful of her?’
I’m quite positive I’m going to throw up, and for once it’s not entirely Zack’s doing.
The cramping deepens and I’m working to stay upright.
There’s nothing I can do. I’m going to have to try to walk to the bathroom to keep a sliver of dignity.
And hope I don’t throw up all over this nice visually intense restaurant.
I pat Warren on the knee twice, as agreed. His look, as I get up from the table, says he’s registered my request that we exit soon. No one questions when I trot to the bathroom, and no one follows me.