6. 6
My newfound resolve to treat Bella Amore like a regular job was quickly put to the test as I was tied into a lime-green sequined bikini and instructed to walk through a seven-by-eight-foot, hot pink painted wooden heart, down a runway covered with fake rose petals and into an inflatable kiddie pool filled with heart-shaped balls.
The whole thing was ridiculous, like some Toddlers and Tiaras pageant on steroids, but at least I was so focused on not face planting down the runway that I didn’t have much energy left to be nervous or dwell on the fact that this was how the British public would be meeting me for the very first time.
Trying to be a good sport about the experience, I summoned my inner Gisele Bündchen, imagining myself as the world's top supermodel, and gave it my all. And gave it my all. And gave it my all again until the director yelled “Cut!” after take twenty.
It had quickly become clear to me and the entire production staff that I was not a natural on the runway.
On one take I bumped into the large heart, which, practically speaking, was rather narrow to walk through, and sent it tumbling backward.
During the next, my heel punctured the kiddie pool and the whole shoot had to hold for thirty minutes while someone from the props department located and inflated a backup pool.
On takes ten through fifteen, I nearly broke my neck slipping on the plastic rose petals strewn across the already precarious runway.
My lack of coordination, coupled with the string bikini that wouldn’t stop riding up my butt and the thick fake eyelashes the makeup team had insisted I wear, wasn’t helping the situation or my frustration.
If it hadn’t already been apparent that I wasn’t cut out for this, that I was in over my head, one look at my footage from the day would make it painfully obvious.
I tried to swallow down the panic simmering in my chest and simply focus on one take at a time.
The shoot’s director was telling me that I needed to “find my light,” which I knew from experience was ridiculous because it was not my job to find the light but the Director of Photography’s job to have the light find me.
I was about to tell him that when Harry, sensing my dwindling patience, cut me off.
“I think that’s probably enough takes. We got some good bits, and they can edit it all together. It’ll be grand.”
By some miracle, or perhaps simply an equal exhaustion with me, the director agreed and called for wrap.
I was thrilled. My stress and anxiety could take a break for the time being.
Carefully, in the four-inch heels that were mostly to blame for my inability to walk in a straight line, I teetered down the runway’s steps and off set.
A production assistant was hovering just behind camera with a robe for me to put on over my bikini.
As the young PA held out the pink terry cloth garment, I looked at her and froze.
She was simply standing there, wearing a headset plugged into a walkie-talkie that sat at her hip, the robe in one hand and a stack of crumpled call sheets in the other, and yet the sight of her sent a jolt down my spine.
It was like looking into a mirror image of my past self.
I had just been her, an eager PA, two weeks ago. I had been the one running errands on set. I used to fetch things. I was the one who held out the robe.
Now I was the one receiving it.
“Poppy?” Harry questioned, confused why I had gone completely immobile.
“Yes, sorry,” I said to him, snapping back into reality and grabbing the robe from the PA’s outstretched hand. “Thank you so much.”
I tried to convey all the gratitude that I had. Gratitude I knew she might not get a lot of the rest of the day, into those four words.
“Of course,” she replied, looking at me like I was deranged.
Best to keep my emotional turmoil to myself, then. It was too much to explain anyway, too much to get into with people I had just met. How could I even begin to convey that this was both all new to me and yet strikingly familiar at the same time?
“Right,” I said, shoving down the existential crisis I was teetering on the edge of and following Harry off set and into the studio’s maze of hallways. “What’s next?”
“Testimonials, which is just me asking you a bunch of questions about yourself, your dating life, what you’re most looking forward to in the villa. It’ll be super easy.”
At the mention of my dating history, my gut tightened. Here it was, the part of the show I was dreading the most; the part I had spent the least amount of time preparing for, despite knowing it was the whole point and that I would have to talk about it eventually.
Harry continued to chatter away while I tried to get myself in check and come up with a game plan.
There were parts of my past that were off limits.
I refused to discuss my ex or the circumstances that led to our breakup.
I hadn’t told anyone, not my parents or friends, what had really happened between us.
The British viewing public at large would definitely not be the first to know all those details.
Instead, I would simply gloss over that part of my life and focus on anything else.
I could come up with light and fluffy answers that would make great soundbites for the editors to piece together.
I had done my homework on the show; I knew what they would be looking for.
“Just one note,” Harry said as we approached a door that led to another set. “Cecilia, the show’s executive producer, will be sitting in on your testimonial. She’s nice, as far as EP’s go, so nothing to worry about but just be aware.”
“Got it,” I said, plastering on a smile. I would definitely need to tread lightly if the EP was watching. I’d imagine that to be the head of a successful dating show, one would have to have a nose for sniffing out the drama.
Keep it light and fluffy, I repeated to myself.
Harry gave me a slight nod before pushing open the door. This studio space was smaller than the last, but what it lacked in square footage it certainly made up for in decor.
A giant wall of neon hearts, lit up in various shades of reds and pinks, towered in the middle of set.
In front of it were two six-foot-high plastic palm trees wrapped in twinkle lights.
Between the trees was a metal stool that Harry was gesturing for me to sit on.
I wasn’t sure what exactly the art department was going for in designing the interview setup, but what did I know?
The show was a smash hit, tacky décor and all.
Wiggling around on the stool, I tried to get comfortable as hair and makeup artists descended on me, powdering my nose and fluffing my hair.
Soon enough, they stripped away my robe and scurried off set, leaving me alone with nothing but the cold metal under my butt and the soft hum of the neon lights behind me.
I looked around, trying to guess who among the twenty or so people standing about could be Cecilia, but my efforts to spot her, or to look at anyone, really, were in vain, as the stage lights directed at me were so bright it made seeing anything more than a few feet in front of me difficult.
“So, Poppy,” Harry said, although I could only place the general direction of his voice. It felt like I would be talking out into the ether. Like I could just go on and on and say anything and everything forever until the end of time.
Maybe that was a production hack: blind the contestants so they’ll be more inclined to spill their guts.
Focusing my attention on where I believed Harry to be, I squared back my shoulders and exhaled a breath.
“Tell us,” Harry continued, “what’s your dream date?”
***
My testimonial was not the most intellectually fulfilling experience I had ever had, but it had at least been easy to stick to my plan of “light and fluffy.”
I was asked if I preferred a six-pack or broad shoulders, blonds or brunettes, and where I drew the line when it came to height preference, along with a slew of seemingly never-ending questions about sex positions.
I was furiously blushing by the end of the interview, which I hoped they could edit so I didn’t seem like such a prude.
When the testimonial finally ended and the bright lights shut off, when I could finally see out into the studio space, I was immediately struck by the unwavering stare of a woman directly across from me: Cecilia, I assumed by both her intense demeanor and the fact that she was the only person on set who was sitting in a director’s chair.
She had been rather close to me the entire interview, and it was unnerving to realize it just then.
She was still staring at me as I stood up off the stool and walked over to where Harry was standing to her left.
“Poppy, I’d like to introduce you to our illustrious leader, Cecilia,” he said.
Cecilia remained seated as I extended my hand to shake hers. Maybe it was a power move. Maybe she had watched these interviews enough times not to be bothered with formalities.
“Poppy,” she said, cracking what I thought was some sort of smile but could also have just been the way her mouth moved. “Great to have you. Welcome to the Bella Amore family.”
There was nothing familial about her welcome, but I didn’t take it to heart. How many young men and women had she seen go into the villa? For all she knew, I was a social climber, using the show as a vehicle for more likes and follows and attention.
“It’s great to meet you. Thank you for having me. I’m really looking forward to it,” I said.
I felt the sudden urge to impress her, to let her know that while I was voluntarily being interviewed in a sliver of a bikini, I still had valid thoughts and opinions and life goals.
I knew, though, without a doubt, that anything beyond basic pleasantries would come across as trying too hard.
I had worked for women like Cecilia before.
All they wanted to know was if you were going to show up and do your job properly.
Even if that job was to date a group of single men and live in a villa on the Gulf of Naples.
The decision about what to say to her next was made for me when a PA walked up and told her she was needed in Studio A, effectively ending any conversation we were about to have.
“It was great to meet you, Poppy,” Cecilia said as she slipped out of her chair. “I look forward to seeing what you bring to the villa,” she finished, turning away and exiting the space before I could even reply.
“That was excellent! Just excellent!” Harry exclaimed as the crew around us also filtered out of the studio.
“Was it? You don’t think she judged me for my ‘pro-kissing-on-the-first-date’ stance?”
“No, you were great. She totally liked you,” he said.
“Really?” I had spoken to her for a grand total of thirty seconds; I wasn’t sure how that warranted her actually liking me.
But Harry nodded solemnly. “Last year, there was a contestant she didn’t like. I don’t know why, but I always guessed it had to do with the Bella thinking London and England were two different countries,” he explained.
“Someone actually thought that?”
“Don’t even get me started on her. She was not only an idiot, but she wasn’t very nice either, and I’m of the belief that in life you can be mean or dumb but not both.”
“Amen,” I agreed as I followed Harry off set and through the studio’s halls, making our way to my dressing room.
“Anyway, Cecilia never liked her, even from the beginning, so she never said anything to her. Like, physically did not speak to her the entire time she was on the show. Which is not super crazy. I mean Cecilia is in Italy with us the whole time but she’s not as hands on as other producers.
Still, the two never exchanged words. Cecilia’s assistant told me that’s how you know what kind of mood Cecilia’s in: how chatty she is. ”
“Got it. The more words, the better the impression I’m making.”
“Exactly. And you are making a good impression, by the way. I think you’re going to go far in the villa,” he said.
“I bet you say that to all your contestants,” I teased.
“You’re actually my only contestant.”
“Really? Is that how it works for everyone?”
“Yes and no. Less experienced producers are assigned one contestant each.” He slowed his steps and turned to me; his brows creased together and he hesitated for a moment before continuing.
“This is my first year. As a producer, I mean. I’ve been a PA for the last four seasons, but this year I finally got promoted. ”
I didn’t know whether to be relieved or nervous that my producer was also new to the gig.
“How exciting!” I went with. At least we’d be in somewhat of the same boat.
“It’s going to be great!” he said, his shoulders sagging in obvious relief at my response. “You are going to have the best time, and I am going to be there for you through it all, whatever you need!”
What I needed was to stay in the villa, and on the show, for as long as possible so I could continue to get paid.
But I couldn’t tell Harry any of that. And besides, I would need all the help I could get navigating the villa once we were shooting. I’d accept whatever guidance he’d offer for as long as I could.
We had made it back to my dressing room, and I was about to walk through its door when movement at the end of the hallway snagged my attention.
A tall guy in a bright pink robe, the exact same one I was wearing, was walking down the hall in the opposite direction.
His back was to me, so I couldn’t make out anything other than the broad expanse of his shoulders, which were obviously toned despite the pink terry cloth covering them, and his dark hair, which was cropped short to his head and left a bit longer at the top.
From the robe, I immediately knew he was another contestant. I shot a look toward Harry to see if he would notice as well, but he had already walked into my green room ahead of me and was yammering away about whatever it was we were doing next.
I snuck another glance back down the hallway. The guy was still there, talking to a shorter man next to him wearing a headset. A producer, I assumed.
The pair made it to the end of the hallway and just as they began to turn right and out of sight, the man in the robe looked up and over his shoulder. Maybe he could feel my eyes on him. Maybe the vibrant pink of my own robe, in contrast with the stark white hallway, caught his eye as his had mine.
Whatever it was, for the briefest moment, no more than a few seconds, our eyes locked.
His were a light green.
Time slowed down as the corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smile.
And then it was over.
He turned right, and I continued into my dressing room, and that was it.
I knew we weren’t allowed to meet the other contestants until we were in the villa, so I kept the moment to myself and tried to act normal to Harry, pretending to be deeply absorbed in whatever he was saying.
But in the back of my mind, for the rest of the day, that one moment in time, that brief encounter, played on a loop over and over again.