Chapter 3 #2
‘Of course we will,’ I insist. ‘That’s how it works. We stay close. Usher them around, if anyone unlocks the luxury suite we let them in, we prep the new additions there and put them in at the right times. Even Simon lives on the island, to oversee everything.’
He shakes his head, smug as ever.
‘Not any more,’ he corrects me. ‘I convinced Simon that the stakes need to be higher.’
‘Higher?’
‘Yeah.’ He leans back in his chair, oh-so proud of himself. ‘This year, the crew’s staying offshore. On a boat. Out of sight. That way, the contestants are truly deserted.’
I just stare at him.
‘Or,’ I say finally, ‘we could just edit it to make them look deserted. Like we’ve always done without issue. That’s literally what editing is for. You know this is a TV show, right? It’s not real.’
‘But if they feel alone,’ he says, his eyebrows raising as his eyes widen, ‘they’ll act differently. Raw. Unfiltered. Like rats in a maze, only sexier.’
Presumably anything is sexier than that.
‘You’re a sicko,’ I tell him plainly.
‘Aw, thanks,’ he replies. ‘I just love my job. Shall we see another person?’
I really, really don’t like the idea of being stationed on a boat. It’s bad enough that we have to take a boat to the island, I get terrible seasickness, but to find out I’m supposed to be working on one for the duration of the show? That’s crazy. I have to find a way to veto this.
We go through more interviews, and they’re almost all as expected.
The influencers, the wannabe celebs, the people who think it will launch their careers if they turn up and showcase their talents like singing or magic tricks.
I’ll admit, it’s hard to find a story here, a narrative that will drive the show and keep people tuning in.
I suppose that’s why he’s here, Lockie, to manufacture some story, but I hate the idea of that too.
‘He seems like he might have jealousy issues,’ Lockie says after another potential (with zero potential) leaves the room.
‘Yeah, good luck getting him through the mental health check,’ I reply.
‘We could prep him to pass,’ Lockie thinks out loud.
‘You’re kind of horrible,’ I say.
‘And you’re very naive,’ he claps back with a laugh.
I swear, he thinks I’m flirting with him, as opposed to insulting him to his face.
We stare at each other until the next hopeful comes in: a woman with long extensions, lashes you could sweep the floor with, a red body-con dress that looks like it was sprayed on.
‘Hiya!’ she practically sings, slipping into the chair with a flip of her hair. Her eyes flick straight to Lockie. ‘Well, hello!’
‘Hi,’ he replies with a cheeky smile.
‘So I’m Mel, and my brand is, like: a sexy nightmare in red lipstick and high heels.’
‘Sounds more like a dream come true,’ Lockie tells her with a smile.
It’s already a no from me. We’ve been there, done that – every girl who takes part in the show these days thinks that they can become the main character by being a nightmare contestant. Of course, Lockie writes down yes almost instantly.
‘So, tell us why you want to be on the show,’ I prompt her.
She giggles, leaning forward so far I’m surprised she doesn’t topple out of her seat… or her dress.
‘Honestly? I just know I’d smash it,’ she says confidently. ‘I’ve got the looks, the banter, and like…’ She winks at Lockie. ‘I’ll just do, like, whatever it takes. I’m great entertainment.’
‘You read the disclaimer, right?’ he says. ‘You’re aware that anything goes – anything can be filmed, anytime?’
‘Oh, deffo,’ she says, waving a hand like it’s nothing. ‘Anything goes is my motto. You’d be amazed what I’ll do… Film me anywhere. Film me on the toilet, if you need to. Some people like that.’
Lockie laughs and jots down a note that I can’t quite see.
‘Well, we stop short of filming you on the toilet,’ he tells her. ‘But the contract does say that the island is being filmed constantly, day and night, and all footage is released for TV. So, as long as you’re good with that.’
‘Hundo-P,’ she replies.
Hundo-P…!
‘Well, Mel, I think you’d be fantastic,’ Lockie tells her.
‘Squeeee,’ is the excitable sound she makes back at him.
When she finally totters out, leaving a cloud of perfume and a trail of body glitter in her wake, I turn to him.
‘Really?’ I say in disbelief. ‘That’s your idea of fantastic?’
‘She’s fun. She’s confident. She’s not afraid to play the game,’ he replies.
‘She kept telling you that she’d do anything to be on the show,’ I reply. ‘She told us that we could film her on the toilet – that’s desperation. She can’t actually want us to broadcast her on the toilet…’
‘First of all, we wouldn’t do that, the majority of people wouldn’t want to see that,’ he replies, in a way that suggests that, if more people did want to see it, he’d be all over it. ‘And anyway, desperation makes great TV.’
The assistant ushers in the next contestant before I can reply, a tall bloke in a jumper and jeans. Not jacked, but handsome in an unassuming, quiet way. He sits down without fuss, resting his hands on his lap like he’s here for a job interview.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘I’m Jon. Thanks for having me.’
Points already for politeness.
‘Thanks for coming,’ I say warmly. ‘So, why do you want to take part?’
‘I want to see how far I can get using my brain,’ he says matter-of-factly, cutting to the chase. ‘I’m not the biggest or the fastest, but I think I’m strategic. I’d like to test myself. See if I can out-think the competition – see how far I can get.’
Now this I like the sound of!
‘What kind of strategies do you have up your sleeve?’ I ask.
‘Forming alliances. Reading people. Convincing the stronger guys to do things for me. I figure brains can always manipulate brawn. Maybe the women will be drawn to that for a change,’ he points out.
I can’t help but smile. This is good – something fresh. And he even said ‘women’ instead of ‘girls’ or ‘chicks’, which I like too.
‘I think you could bring something different to the show,’ I tell him. ‘What do you think, Lockie?’
He’s been quiet. Perhaps that’s a good sign.
‘So physically, you’d struggle,’ Lockie tells him. ‘You think you can talk your way into winning, but that might not go down well. People like to see one of the boys – loyalty. Can a lone wolf really win?’
‘He’s smart. He’s got a game plan. That’s exactly the kind of angle we need,’ I say to Lockie in a hushed-ish tone. ‘No one ever has an actual strategy.’
‘It’s reality TV, not chess,’ he replies. ‘You get fireworks from fire and explosives, not logic.’
What am I even supposed to say to that?
We let Jon go, like he’s our child and we’re sending him to his room to save him watching us bicker in front of him.
‘I’m just saying, we won’t be able to push him into a storyline, if he’s that smart,’ Lockie says.
‘There are no storylines to push people into,’ I point out, irritated. ‘People have free will.’
‘You’ll have free will too. To go down the jobcentre when this series gets cancelled because you cast Mr Shy and Mr Smartarse,’ he says through a grin.
‘Because Little Miss Watch-me-on-the-toilet is going to save the day,’ I reply.
I can’t imagine the two of us agreeing on anything.
By six o’clock, I’m knackered. My eyes feel bleary as I look over my notes scrawled with names, pros, cons and the occasional doodle. Lockie, of course, still looks maddeningly fresh, like he could do another eight hours without so much as a coffee to pump him up.
‘Well,’ he says, with a satisfied sigh, ‘that was fun.’
‘You thought that was fun?’ I check. ‘It was closer to torture.’
‘Torture for you maybe,’ he replies. ‘But I’m new to this, it’s a challenge for us, and every person we met was looking at a potential plot for the series. Someone here today is going to win the show, I can just tell.’
‘Right,’ is all I say. ‘Well, we’re done for the day, and I’m tired and starving, so…’
Lockie stretches, arms above his head, shirt pulling taut across his shoulders in a way that is hard to ignore.
‘Want to grab dinner?’ he suggests.
My stomach lurches. For a split second, I’m tempted – although I’m not sure why. I guess our speed date was good but, I don’t know, now I know him, and he’s my colleague. It’s probably not a good idea. He is the enemy, after all. The man who is going to ruin my show.
‘I’ve got lots to do tonight, so I’d better go straight home,’ I say. ‘But thanks.’
‘No worries,’ he replies. ‘I’m sure some of the others will be up for it.’
Oh, of course he wasn’t asking just me.
I pack up my notes quickly, avoiding his eyes, and head out into the cold evening air. The city buzzes around me – buses hissing, people hurrying, chatter – the only thing louder is the growling of my stomach.
Was it the right thing to do, saying no? It was just dinner, and we do need to try to find a way to work together. I need him onside, really, if I’m going to stop him hijacking this show with his ‘scripted reality’ – dinner could’ve been… strategic.
But it’s too late now. I said no, I’ve left the building, it would seem crazy to change my mind.
Plus, if anyone has learned not to get too close to anyone at work, then it’s me. I found out the hard way.