6
Gerry flaps his clipboard, and the cameras pan in on me as I put my phone in my pocket and head back to the entrance of the mansion.
“Viscount, now that you’ve finished your call, if you wouldn’t mind giving us your first impressions of the women you’ve just met?”
I clench my teeth and glare at him. I know this is all part of The Games, but my patience is already worn beyond thin tonight.
“Very well.”
‘Fuck, what do I say about these women? That I’m horrified they’re on the show? Disgusted that I’M the one they’ll die for? That I’ll marry the last one standing regardless of who it is because I couldn’t care less? You don’t want to hear that, Mr Dott.’
“And… Action!”
I stare into the camera and deliver the first thing that comes to mind.
“The ladies in The Games this season are exceptional. They all seem intelligent, articulate and deserving of much more than this.”
“Cut!”
“Ah, Viscount, perhaps a little more enthusiasm…after all, you’re here to find a wife. The Bachelor Universe is glued to their television sets waiting for even a hint that there’s someone you might already feel a little spark with.”
‘Spark? Sure, I feel a spark. One that ignited a friendship into what the Italian would say was a ‘fiery ball of death’ and turned my heart to ash.’
I nod my reluctant compliance and try to come up with something, anything, he can use.
“And...Action!”
“I’m incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such beauty. I’m looking forward to meeting all the women inside and getting to know each and every one of them.”
I stare into the camera, making it clear that’s all I’m going to say.
“Ah, nothing else, Viscount?”
“Make sure there’s plenty of chocolate chip cookies and candy in my suites.”
“OK. But nothing else further to say?”
I glare at him.
“And cake.”
The director sighs and shakes his head in disappointment as he signals for me to walk inside, the cameras following close behind.
Stepping into the living room, I pause momentarily.
I’ve been on battlefields less daunting.
Every eye is upon me. If they weren’t human, I’d say these women look like they want to eat me.
‘Christ.’
It’s a feeling I’m not unaccustomed to; I’ve had it all my life.
Women, human and otherwise, young and old, hoping to lure me into their beds and lives.
Only this time I can’t just fuck them and leave.
Well, the crew I can, there’s a particularly buxom make-up woman that I’m certain will lend a little stress relief here and there, but as for the contestants…
there’s no escape for them, or me. I have to stay and suffer their conversation and company, knowing that when I do finally break out of this travesty, I’ll be attached to one of them by a ball and chain.
Pasting on a smile I accept a drink proffered by the pretty Iranian. Mahsa, I think she’d said her name was. As her name comes to mind I think ruefully of a discussion I’d had with Wolf when Falcon was on the show.
Wolf said if I ever entered I should use Falcon’s method of thinking of the contestants as a number, or calling them by their country in order to facilitate dispatching them in a way I could tolerate.
“Wolf,” I’d laughed. “I have no intention of marrying and can safely say I will never enter that disgusting game. But if through some bizarre twist of fate I did, I still wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“Oh, that would be amusing,” he’d chortled. “How would you eliminate them? Fuck them to death?”
We’d both laughed at this imagery.
But right now, I’m not laughing.
Countries, numbers, names, it doesn’t matter how I label them; they’re all human women. Women with families, hopes and dreams, with feelings, with the ability to love and be loved.
And I don’t eat those anymore.
I can’t.
Yet somehow these twenty-four contestants must be whittled down to one.
“Thank you, Mahsa,” I murmur as I follow her to the centre of the room and immediately become surrounded.