Chapter 5
If there’s one thing reality TV thrives on, it isn’t romance, or drama, or even copious amounts of alcohol. It’s product placement.
Nobody really talks about that side of it, of course, but it’s capitalism that pays the bills, so we rely heavily on adverts, sponsorship deals and oh-so subtle (or oftentimes not at all subtle) product placement.
The drama sells the show, but the advertisers keep the lights on.
That said, it’s not always easy, to work in product placement on a show like Welcome to Singledom, where contestants are marooned on a desert island.
It’s easy enough with bikinis and swim shorts, pretty much the only clothing anyone wears while participating, but it’s not so easy with things like protein powders and fake tan.
Still, like I said, capitalism makes the world go round, and it’s been months since Lockie and I started working together.
Almost all of the plans are in place. The only things left to sort are this and the contestants we’re going to drop in as the show goes on.
Lockie, who has been running the show pretty much, is of the opinion that we need to deep-dive into the lives of our contestants.
We haven’t even met them, given that they’re all TV regulars, their agents have sorted everything out, but oddly I feel like I know them.
We’re cyberstalking them, seeing if they have any exes who might want to get involved, or if we can work out what kind of people push their buttons.
It’s all part of Lockie’s biiiig plan. I still hate it.
Have we been working together? No. Not at all.
Don’t get me wrong, we’re getting things done, I’m doing his bidding, but we’re more like rivals than colleagues.
I’ll be glad when this season is over, because it will be a hit or it will be a flop, and then we’ll know who was right, me or Lockie, and, I don’t know, I’m not sure which is worse, or which would make me more likely to stick around.
So it’s just me and Lockie, in a room full of swag, trying to work out what products we can feasibly place within the show that will seem natural, not like an ad.
‘The good news is, with the contestants being influencers, they’ll already know how to flog most things,’ Lockie says as he rifles through boxes.
‘Yeah,’ is all I say.
‘You look awfully miserable for a woman holding a giant inflatable duck,’ Lockie jokes. ‘Looks like you’re both feeling… deflated.’
I laugh politely.
‘Well, I think he’s going to stay that way, I can’t see him working with the island aesthetic,’ I point out.
The island does have the most beautiful pool – man-made for the show – that looks like a lagoon with a beautiful waterfall. Floating around on a giant duck might be nice, but it’s not exactly in keeping with the survival vibe, is it?
‘True,’ he says, rubbing his hands together with the enthusiasm of a person who is about to unwrap their birthday presents. ‘Shall we start with the swimwear?’
He holds up a bikini so barely there you could mistake it for a sample of the material they use to make bikinis – not an entire one.
It’s bright orange, with little beads on the spaghetti straps, and a similar little cluster of beads that will form a heart right at the top of the butt crack of whoever wears it.
That’s probably the part that covers the most.
‘I cannot imagine wearing nothing but this kind of thing for weeks,’ I blurt. ‘Weeks and weeks of thongs and trying to avoid nip slips.’
‘Both of which make great TV,’ Lockie jokes. ‘Swimwear is easy, and it pays well, and contestants are always thrilled to get free clothes.’
‘They’re hardly clothes,’ I point out. ‘They’re hardly swimwear. Not practical at all, for surviving on the island.’
‘Practical isn’t sexy, is it?’ he reminds me.
‘Neither are UTIs,’ I clap back, throwing a plastic-feeling thong at him. ‘It gets chilly at night. The ones who can’t get fires going are going to suffer – the ones who can need to worry about being flammable.’
‘They’ll be fine,’ he insists.
I shoot him a look.
‘You’re an expert at sleeping outside, are you?’ I ask.
‘I once camped at Glastonbury,’ he replies through a grin.
‘That’s not the same,’ I say.
‘You’re right, it was so much worse,’ he replies. ‘All that mud and rain, and the communal toilets – God. These guys are going to be in paradise.’
The funny thing about Welcome to Singledom is that no one actually knows where the island is.
Sure, if you use your brain, you can probably figure out that it’s a private island in the Caribbean somewhere, but we’ve always made it a thing that no one really knows, like we’re dropping them in uncharted territory.
And yes, it’s a set, we’ve constructed things to look real that weren’t there before, but the climate is real, the weather is real, the bugs are real.
Yes, we’re on hand to keep everyone safe (well, we usually are, this year we’re going to be offshore on a bloody boat) but there’s a reason everyone has to sign an ‘anything goes’ release form.
I sigh, drumming my fingers against the table, scanning the ridiculous products in front of me. Sun cream, swimwear, a protein powder that smells like sick. Some products are easy, sun cream makes sense, but whipping up a protein shake? Not so much.
I grab a box and see the words ‘adults only’ on the lid.
‘Well, well, well,’ Lockie says, reading it over my shoulder. ‘Now this one I’ve got to see inside.’
Curious too, I open the lid and… wow.
‘Oh, hello,’ he says, pulling out a bright pink feather boa.
‘No,’ I say quickly, reading his mind.
‘Yes,’ he insists, shaking it out and looping it around my neck. ‘Actually, better not, it clashes with your angry red face. What about on me, any better?’
He strikes a pose, lips puckered.
‘Looks good on me, don’t you think?’
‘You look like the person you get for your hen party when all the other sexy men are fully booked,’ I point out.
‘So I’m a sexy man,’ he replies.
‘Absolutely not,’ I insist.
He grins, then plunges his hand back into the box like it’s a lucky dip at a very questionable village fair. This time he pulls out… a pair of novelty handcuffs.
‘Is that…’
‘It is!’
He dangles them from one finger, the polished silver metal sparkling under the ceiling lights.
‘Brilliant,’ I mutter. ‘Just what every contestant needs on a deserted island. Forget food, shelter, or water – a way to take hostages.’
‘I think we all know they’re not for that,’ he reminds me. ‘These are for… solidifying the connections.’
Welcome to Singledom is all about making connections so, in the luxury suite that couples can unlock a night in, there is a bed, champagne, chocolate – and usually a selection of silly toys. Handcuffs are a new one though.
Then he pulls out something even worse – a skimpy nurse’s outfit, all white lace and red crosses. He holds it up against his chest, raising his eyebrows.
‘What do you think?’ he asks.
‘It’s giving Joker from The Dark Knight,’ I tell him. ‘Only more unhinged.’
‘Here’s the male option,’ he says, pulling out a white thong with a fake stethoscope hanging from it.
‘You’re joking!’ I say.
‘You’re blushing,’ he replies.
‘I am not,’ I insist.
I definitely am though, I can feel it.
The pile grows – silk blindfolds, a suspiciously shaped, definitely oversized silicone something or other that I quickly drop back in the box, and finally, a box of glow-in-the-dark body paint.
‘Now this,’ Lockie says, shaking the paint, ‘is TV gold. Imagine the night-vision cameras.’
‘We’re supposed to be helping people fall in love, or even lust – not promoting comedy dildos and glow-in-the-dark body paint,’ I protest. ‘That’s not sexy, is it?’
‘Respectfully, I disagree, sexy can be funny,’ he replies.
‘Maybe the way you do it,’ I tease him.
‘I’m serious,’ he replies, laughing too. ‘It’s supposed to be fun. When you’re with someone and you’re so comfortable, and things go wrong, or really right, and it’s just… something to smile about, or laugh about. I find it really hot, when a woman laughs.’
I can’t help but smile at how much I like that – and flush at how much I secretly want it.
God, I’ve missed that, having someone to be silly in bed with, and it’s not just a sex thing.
You know those nights where you stay up late laughing and being goofy, talking about everything and nothing, and then suddenly realising it’s 3 a.m. but not caring because you’ve never felt so much joy?
It’s been a long time since joy was on my radar.
Sex too. And now here I am with Lockie and a box of sex toys and suddenly the atmosphere feels less funny, and not at all worky… more charged with… something.
I shove the lid back on with more force than necessary.
Yes, I am quite literally putting my feelings back in a box, banishing them there, with no intention of thinking of them again for as long as I can.
Mostly because, as much as Lockie is irritating me professionally, I can’t deny that we had that spark when we first met, that I felt attracted to him – well, I wasn’t to know he was the reality TV Antichrist, was I?
‘I’m sure we don’t need to paw through this stuff,’ I say.
‘Shame,’ he says lightly, but there’s a glint in his eyes that I can’t quite figure out.
‘That box is a HR disaster waiting to happen,’ I tell him. ‘And a PR nightmare, if we give the lot to the contestants.’
‘Why are you so scared of a bit of drama?’ he asks. ‘Anything remotely entertaining – it’s like you’re allergic to it. Where has the girl from the speed-dating night gone? She was great.’
‘She was working,’ I point out.
‘You’re working now,’ he reminds me. ‘What if I were to order you to let your hair down? To put on the feather boa, to go out for a drink with me…’
I think for a moment. Does that really sound so bad? No, but it does sound risky.
‘Then I would remind you of what I just said, about HR,’ I reply. ‘Not everything has to be chaotic and dramatic and sexy.’
‘You think I’m all of those things?’ he checks cheekily.
‘I think you can’t function without all of those things,’ I correct him.
‘Chaotic and dramatic and sexy make great TV,’ he says simply.
‘And great TV gets great ratings. People don’t sit in the office talking about the reality TV contestant who has their head screwed on and makes decent decisions, they say: did you see the one who ate her breakfast in nothing but a feather boa while those two guys ended up wrestling in the ocean? ’
‘You’re out of your mind,’ I point out.
‘Out of my mind and effective,’ he corrects me.
And the worst part? He’s right. Stuff like that really will get people talking – but is it sustainable? And is it the kind of show I want to work on? Will I be proud of it?
By the time we finish sorting through the rest of the boxes, my head is pounding. There’s still an entire stack of potential crap, but the office clock is crawling past 6 p.m. and I’m starving.
Lockie stretches, arms above his head, shirt riding up just enough to flash skin.
Of course he notices me noticing, because his grin widens.
I swear, the more chill he seems, the more uptight I get.
It’s like he absorbs good vibes from people, taking them for himself, leaving them hollow.
Or perhaps that’s just me. Everyone else seems to enjoy him.
‘Dinner?’ he asks casually.
‘What?’ I blurt.
‘Dinner. You, me. Food. I’m thinking pizza. I’ll wear the feather boa, if you like, I’m quite fond of it,’ he jokes.
I hesitate. For a second or two I actually imagine what it would be like, to go for dinner with Lockie – the two of us at some little Italian place. Pizza, glasses of wine, a lit candle flickering between us. It doesn’t sound awful.
But no. Absolutely not. Because he’s the enemy, professionally, and I don’t know how to navigate that. I have to put my job first and here at work we do not get on. How could we possibly get on outside of work at the same time?
‘We’d better not,’ I say, hoping that will be the end of it.
‘Why?’ he replies.
‘Because I have the sense not to mix work with… whatever this is.’
‘Low-key flirting?’ he offers with a smile.
‘It’s more like bickering,’ I correct him.
My face feels hot. Are we bickering or flirting or both? Sometimes it’s a fine line.
‘Like an old married couple,’ he jokes. ‘I just thought speed-dating Cleo might enjoy it, rather than office Cleo…’
‘That’s okay,’ I reply. ‘We’re the same person, so…’
‘Pizza for one it is,’ he says, smiling to let me know it’s okay. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’
‘Yeah, see you tomorrow,’ I reply as I head for the door.
Why does he keep asking if I want to hang out? Why do I keep saying no? Was it the right thing to do? It probably was. It has to be.
Back in the ‘adults only’ box with the lot of it. And I’ll do everything I can to avoid opening the lid again.