2. Two
two
ELLIOT
Stalking out of the building after Ginger cleared me for safe sex, I finally get my tie undone. Unbelievable. And that smirk on her face. Like this is all some big game.
Davis catches up with me on the sidewalk. “Don’t let her get to you, buddy. She’s under a lot of stress. You have to remember to wear a cup whenever you meet with her, because she’ll go straight for your?—”
“Got it, Davis. Are we done here? I have some calls to make.” I pull out my actual phone to check the time. A short, ironic laugh escapes me. I tried for months to get Ginger’s number. Now, in less than twenty-four hours, it’ll be the only one I have.
My sister Natalie texted me half an hour ago to let me know her flight from Chicago took off on time. I’ll have all day to tie up some loose ends for work before I meet up with her later for drinks. With the season starting tomorrow, this date with my sister is my last chance at anything normal, and anxiety is setting in.
What I’ve had to sign away to be here—three months of my life and potentially my own free will—wasn’t a choice I made on a whim. My entire life narrowed to one option—let the process of Matched work for me or keep repeating the same mistakes over and over until I die alone and forgotten by the world.
Mistakes like the one I made with Ginger: expecting her to take me seriously after I made a complete fool of myself for Jenna last season. It’s no wonder she blew me off. It isn’t even ironic. It’s karma. How many women have I done the same thing to over the years? Of course Ginger wouldn’t see how last season changed me. How could she? We barely know each other.
If I’d known I’d be working so closely with her, though, I might have had a last-minute opt-out clause written into the contract.
Matched is still my best option. The show’s success rate at happy endings is unparalleled. Ninety percent of its matches are still together, most married, some with kids and more on the way. And the couples all seem satisfied enough. Maybe that’s the bonus of dragging people you know and trust along for the ride. Davis might think my mom’s a trip, but she knows a thing or two about what makes a marriage work—and what makes one fall apart.
Since it’s my last night of freedom for the foreseeable future, I’m looking forward to seeing Natalie and Michelle, the other members of my Panel, to make sure their heads are on straight about the coming weeks and the decisions they’ll be asked to make along the way. It’s my final opportunity to be clear with them not only about what I want, but what I need. More importantly, to make sure they understand what I don’t need: another crushing disappointment.
Matched practically guarantees the star a happy ending. The woman who sticks around until the end has to say yes if I and The Panel choose her. It’s all in the contract. The only catch? The women I meet tomorrow night are my only remaining options. I signed away my right to choose anyone else.
Which is why a conversation with my sister and best friend is critical. I want as much say in The Panel’s decisions as possible.
That evening, while I wait with my sister Natalie to be seated at a swanky sushi restaurant in Hollywood, I try my best to make my case for leading the way through the season. She’ll be an easier sell than Michelle, who, as usual, is fashionably late. We lean against the gleaming bar and sip our drinks while I tell her my thoughts on the matter.
“You having a say isn’t always going to be the point, Elliot,” Natalie reminds me as she surveys the LA scene for her first time. Her dark blue eyes sparkle, and the rosy lighting above the bar makes her long platinum hair glow pink. I can’t blame her for being excited. I’d been excited last season, too, before I knew what it took to be on a show like this.
The sounds of glasses clinking and chopsticks scraping punctuate the murmured conversations in the candlelit dining area. It’s an intimate spot. Romantic. Using a cocktail napkin, I wipe my brow, overwhelmed.
Seeing me sweat, my sister rests a hand on mine. “Remind me why we’re putting ourselves through this. Is it for the free house? The half-million dollars? Oh wait, no—you want the counseling, right?” She laughs.
“My life isn’t working,” I answer honestly. The incentives for coming on the show are great—a house wherever the couple chooses, the money, six months of pre-marital therapy—but scanning the restaurant as I sip my drink reminds me of the real reason I signed on.
No one stands out. Today is as gray and colorless as every day has been since I went home to Chicago. I show up at work, turn in my projects on time, use my Cubs season tickets, and go through the motions of a routine that used to be fun, but no woman had sparked my interest since the end of Jenna’s season. Not since that last night at the Hilton when I’d let myself indulge in the one thing I wanted since I stepped on set the first day— Ginger .
Not that what happened between us affected her life trajectory at all. Judging by her attitude this morning, and her lack of response to the dozen emails I sent her, that night didn’t affect her, period.
But if my time on the show and my relationship with Jenna taught me anything it’s that I’m ready to get on with my life, too. A family, a home, a partner—I want it all. So, I came back for another chance to explore a side of myself I only barely glimpsed. The side that wants more than one stolen night in a hotel room. “I’m sick of being alone,” I say, which is closer to the real truth. “This has to work.”
“The show’s got a great success rate. They must be doing something right.” Natalie clinks her glass against mine. “But I’m afraid—” She stops herself short, biting her bottom lip like she already has secrets to keep.
“What?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“ What ?”
Her face clouds with genuine concern. “Well...what if we have our eyes and our heart set on someone who’s totally sincere, and kind, and beautiful, and she thinks you’re God’s gift?—”
“Sounds ideal, I like the way you’re thinking.”
She waves a hand to shut me up. “What if even with all that, there’s no spark? What if you aren’t feeling her?”
“I have a choice at the end,” I remind her.
“Only after we’ve had a chance to eliminate your one true love.”
I send a flat look her way. “Then maybe we need to come up with a hand signal so you don’t do that.”
Natalie frowns into her drink, contemplative, her pale hair falling forward to partially hide her face. The power of The Panel on Matched varies throughout the show.
Initially, they’ll have a save, a chance to keep a woman I eliminate if they think I’m not seeing all her potential. But then, about halfway through, the choice will shift, and The Panel will gain elimination power leaving me the save for someone I picture a future with. In the end, it will come down to two women, a Panel pick, and my save. Ultimately, I’ll be the one to choose my wife.
“I’m not worried about that,” I finally say. “Know why?”
Her shoulders drop with relief. “Tell me. Take some of the pressure off.”
“Sparks die. So do flames. Marriages aren’t bonfires that burn for eternity. They have to be partnerships. There has to be an agreement about the future. It doesn’t need to be constant fireworks and mind-blowing sex. It should be based on teamwork.”
Natalie’s hopeful expression glazes over. “Hot.”
“Forget chemistry. I’m not here to put on a show. I want someone who’ll remind me to take out the trash and keep my dental appointments. I want someone who knows what pillows look right on the couch. Someone who remembers to buy wedding presents more than an hour before the wedding?—”
“You want a mom, sounds like.”
I give her a firm stare. “I want kids.”
She snorts. “Since when?”
“Since forever. I want a functioning family unit. I want pancakes on Sundays and soccer practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I want homework and college savings accounts, and all the other stuff.”
“Diapers? Spit up? Sleepless nights?”
She might be joking, but I can’t be more serious. “All of it.”
“Well, at least they’ll get to school on time if your Mrs. Wonderful’s in charge.” Natalie sets her hastily emptied drink down, glancing impatiently at the bartender to check in on us. Apparently, dealing with me requires more forbearance and alcohol than usual. Pretty rich considering she started all this when she and my best friend submitted an application to the show behind my back. When I got the call to meet with the casting directors for Jenna’s season, it all seemed like fun and games. Now my future depends on it.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder from behind, and Natalie’s eyes light up at the appearance of Michelle.
“Sorry I’m late.” My best friend tucks a strand of dark, chin-length hair behind her ear as she slides her petite frame gracefully onto an adjacent stool. The sharp scent of her expensive perfume fills the air. “How many drinks do I need to catch up?”
“This is our first.” I manage to snag the bartender’s attention. “What are you having?”
“Pinot, and tell him to leave the bottle.”
With a grim sigh, I order and finish my drink in a single gulp, letting the alcohol scald the back of my throat. Michelle’s presence manages to remove some of the weight from my shoulders. We’ve been doing life together since high school. She has the kind of confidence most people only pretend to have. Occasionally it rubs off.
Every bold move I’ve made in my life can be traced back to her influence—asking Skye Tisdale to prom, reconciling with my absent father, earning my latest promotion, and finally convincing myself I have what it takes to be a reality TV headliner. So far, she hasn’t steered me wrong.
Natalie and Michelle exchange compliments and light kisses on the cheek.
Both women look their best for TV. Hair freshly cut and colored, skin toned and tanned. I know for a fact neither of them has touched a carbohydrate for the last three weeks.
“What are you looking for in Elliot’s wife?” Natalie asks Michelle.
Michelle turns her heavily-lined dark eyes on me, giving me a long, careful appraisal. “Someone who makes him laugh to start with.” She reaches up and gives one of my cheeks a tight pinch. “Jesus, Elliot. Lighten up. You’re literally the luckiest man in town.”
“Wanna trade places?”
Michelle glances at Natalie. “Making him laugh is pretty much my only criteria. If she can do that, I’d have no doubt about her ability to spin gold from straw and turn water into wine.”
“I laugh,” I mumble, my cheek still stinging.
The bartender serves Michelle’s drink, and she grabs for it. “You also get too consumed by passion. There’s way more to life than that.”
I give my sister an I-told-you-so look.
Natalie flattens her gaze at me. “It’s not about remembering to take the trash out, either.”
Michelle chuckles. “You want someone organized, too?”
Jesus. If I’m not careful how I phrase things, I am going to wind up married to my mom. “I want someone who knows how to make life work.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Michelle’s hand lands on my leg, giving it a squeeze. It’s about as close as Michelle gets to hugging.
Big emotions rise like floodwaters at the edges of my thoughts, compelling me to change the subject fast. “Either of you want to give me any insider information as to what kind of tasks I have ahead?”
Michelle and Natalie share a knowing look. My sister responds. “We’re sworn to secrecy.”
I’m not the only one who had to sign my freedom away in a series of contracts to be here. This is the last time I’ll get to have a candid conversation with my best friend for months. At home we text each other every waking hour of every day. For the next several weeks neither of us will have a phone made in this century.
Natalie defines the point further by adding, “You’re lucky we’re even allowed to see you tonight. Your producer, Ginger? She was ready to lock us in our hotel rooms. Michelle had to fake a panic attack.”
I stiffen, directing my words at Michelle. “You saw Ginger?”
She gives me a suspicious glance. “I talked to her on the phone.”
“And?”
“And she said we could have drinks. You sure you’re okay?” she asks with a concerned frown.
My throat is about to fully close, so I don’t even try to answer her.
Michelle gives my thigh a firm pat. “Relax, babe. Enjoy the ride. Tomorrow night, you’ll meet some great women who want you more than they want to live their real lives.”
“And,” Natalie chimes in, “you’ll be having amazing experiences and getting totally indulged.”
“With no internet access,” I add as Ginger’s smirking grin comes to mind.
Michelle laughs. “People are gonna be shaving your face for you, babe.”
“They’re not gonna indulge me. They’re gonna put me through the wringer.”
Natalie sighs. “Relax, Elliot. We all want this to work as much as you do.”
“It has to,” I say to Michelle, the only person who’s ever seen me break.
She takes my hand with a grip strong enough to drive out most of my doubt. “Stop worrying. You’ve got this. And we’ve got you .”