7
He seems uncomfortable, more uncomfortable even than I am, as he enters the room.
The Iranian hands him a drink first, even though several women were holding glasses in the hope of being the first to serve him.
I watch as a few surreptitiously place their drinks back on the bar or on any other surface they can, and I can’t help but smirk.
The bachelor, ignorant of the silent battle just lost by most, nods his head and listens as the women surrounding him try to impart witty comments or ask memorable questions.
He laughs politely where he should, acknowledges compliments with grace, but if I didn’t know better I’d say he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
Thorun and I stay seated, quietly sipping our drinks and watching those jockeying for position. Some of their demeanours are worthy of an Oscar. Slated, darkly ambitious glances behind his back, puss-in-boots eyes when he gives them his attention.
“They’re all so beautiful,” Thorun whispers. “How will he choose?”
A saying comes to mind, ‘beauty is as beauty does,’ and I wonder that Thorun can’t see the ugliness beneath these make-up-slathered facades, and if the bachelor, too, is blinded by their looks, or can see their true colours.
‘But then, maybe it’s better he can’t.’
“He’ll choose through a process of elimination,” I snort.
She turns to me and smiles.
I’m about to disabuse her of her earlier suggestion that she’ll return home, when the show’s presenter, Clyde Starlen, enters the room, and there’s a collective gasp of pleasure from the contestants, and loud applause.
He waits until it dies down before giving a sweeping bow and straightening to smile at those fawning over him. I’d call his smile smarmy, but it’s worse than that; it’s downright slimy.
As he taps a glass with one long fingernail, the hubbub in the room dies down.
“Well, well, welcome, beautiful contestants, to the Vampire Bachelor Games. As you know, over the coming weeks you’ll all vie for the hand and the heart of one of the world’s most sought-after, and some would say, private, royal vampires; Viscount Jaguar Speardon of Versailles Province.”
He holds up his hand to stall the new round of applause and cheers from the women.
“We don’t know as much about him as we would like,” he goes on, “apart from what we can glean from the tabloids. But you’ve been given this rare opportunity to get to know him because you’re special.
Take every opportunity you can over the coming weeks to spend time with him because, as you know, there will only be one left standing. ”
He nods imperceptibly to the director.
“Cut!”
The make-up people rush in and pat his face, applying this and that, although he’s literally just walked in and surely doesn’t need it. Waving them off, he indicates he’s ready once more to continue addressing us.
“And…Action!”
“There’s no doubt about it. This game is going to take everything from you and still ask for more. But love isn’t supposed to be easy — it’s supposed to be worth it. YOU are worth it.”
More applause from the stupid women surrounding me as he spins away from them to face the cameras.
“And Bachelor Universe, here you have it: this year’s contestants, selected for their beauty, their brains, their wit, their bloodlines and their potential to become suitable royal brides.
Tonight, their journey to find love starts as we and the bachelor begin to get to know them.
And I can promise you that this season will provide breathtaking locations, passionate lamentations and…
” he lowers his voice dramatically, “heartbreaking goodbyes.”
I roll my eyes and look away from the presenter and over to the bachelor where he stands off-camera, surrounded by women pressed as close as they dare and staring adoringly at him.
He looks spectacularly uncomfortable. I could almost laugh out loud, but I don’t, because Starlen suddenly stops talking, holds up his hand to the cameras to indicate he’s done, and walks off set.
No goodbyes, no farewell, no good luck message. Nothing.
‘So much for being special.’
As the camera crew realign themselves, the director clears his throat loudly to gain the attention of the bachelor and holds up a sign telling him to walk outside and begin meeting the women one at a time.
“Ah, as much as I’m enjoying this party,” the Viscount announces, a slight frown creasing his forehead and belying his words, “it seems that if I’m to truly get to know each and every one of you I need to leave now, so I can have time alone with you individually.”
There’s a collective disappointed sigh, but he holds up his hand and smiles.
“The night is young; rest assured, I’ll speak to every one of you. I’m just outside these doors. After tonight, as you know, I’ll pick one of you for my ‘first impression’ one-on-one date.”
There are nods and sly smiles all around, but they quickly turn to incredulous stares as Thorun asks loudly, “What’s a one-on-one?”