9. 9
O ther than Lucy, the women all look to be in various states of distress at the activity for this date. But Anastasia, in particular, looks like she’s having an out-of-body experience. All color has washed from her face and I’m almost afraid she’s going to collapse. The desire to take her away from from all of this makes me antsy. But I know that’s not an option.
The fact none of them have quit on me is truly astonishing. I would have walked away by now.
Granted, I never would have filled out the application to be a contestant in the first place, and yet, here we are.
The crowd cheers for my girls and the judges as the host of the show introduces everyone. I stand when my name is called and wave, wondering what would drive someone to want to come to an evening like this.
Karaoke is not my thing. There’s something about the experience that has always put me off. I never intend to be critical, but the sound of an off-pitch note has always grated on my nerves. Brittany would purposefully sing off key in the car, knowing it drove me crazy, even though she was the star of our school’s choir.
While I would rather hang out at the mansion and get to know all of these women, that’s not an option when you’re on House of Desire .
Everyone shuffles off the stage except for Mia, who will be singing first. The beautiful blonde is dressed in a rocker outfit. Tight, ripped, black jeans. Spiked heel boots with studs all over them. A black t-shirt is cut so low I can see the lace of her bright pink bra peeking over the neckline.
She steps up to the microphone. After a slight pause, music begins pumping over the speakers. Down low and pressed against the stage are three monitors with, I’m assuming, the lyrics of the song so she can see them no matter where she moves.
Her first notes are unsure and shaky, nerves coating her tone. But the crowd encourages her when she hits a high note and with a smile, she smashes out of her shell. My eyes follow her as she shimmies and shakes across the stage.
The final notes of the song play around the theater. I clap along with the crowd as the judges write down their notes.
“Mia, that was such a fun performance. You really had great energy,” the judge, Lennon, says. Their long hair is dyed a neon pink that shines even in the dim room.
“I appreciate that,” Mia says, her breathing heavy in the microphone after the intensity of her performance .
The bald judge, Hank, is next. “While a little pitchy in places, you did a great job. Going first on something like this is always hard. I applaud you for staying calm under pressure.”
“Thank you,” Mia says.
The third judge is a man named Steven that I know, despite not watching the show they judge, is a jerk to contestants. “Mia. That was possibly the worst performance I’ve seen. The audience was applauding so you’d get through it, not because it was good. If I were you, I would stick with whatever your career is.”
Even from where I’m seated, I can see her chin tremble with the threatening tears. Boo’s echo around the stadium and I want to hit him for making her listen to that diatribe.
“Mia, I loved your performance,” I say in a controlled tone, pulling her tearful gaze to me. I smile at her and her lips tilt in response. “It can be hard to receive negative feedback, especially from someone who’s never done what you just tried.” I glare at Steven and he scowls at me. “Don’t let those people tell you jack shit because I thought you were mesmerizing.”
I don’t care that my face is going to end up on magazines for calling out this asshole when this airs. I will always stand up for the women who are trusting me with their hearts.
She mumbles a thank you into the mic while swiping at a tear. The host comes back onto the stage, thanking her.
“Next up, we have Anastasia,” the host announces and everyone claps politely.
Anastasia walks out in another red dress that goes down to the floor. Unlike the one from the first night, this one looks like she should be frolicking in a field but her wooden movements make it seem like she’s walking in front of a firing squad, and knots start to form in my stomach on her behalf.
The opening notes start and I recognize the song immediately as one Charlie has listened to in the car. On repeat.
Her voice is husky and carries a warmth that makes you think of home and comfort. And love. She misses a note here or there, but I don’t care. I’m enthralled, despite her standing on the stage like one of Medusa’s statues. The song ebbs and flows, the lyrics about a woman telling her partner how undervalued and unloved she feels in their relationship. It’s beautiful and haunting.
She holds the last note perfectly as the recorded band concludes the song. As if pulled by an invisible string, I stand from my chair and clap in awe. Anastasia’s voice had a way of crawling into the cracks and crevices inside me, taking root despite the minor imperfections.
Steven goes first this time with his critique. “You were a little wooden in your stance, but you had a few moments where the song sounded good.” His feedback is nicer than it was to Mia, but his words still set my teeth on edge.
Anastasia doesn’t respond and I wonder if she heard a word from his mouth.
“That was beautiful. Your lower register is very strong,” Lennon says.
“That’s one of my favorite songs and you’ve done it a great service. Well done, Anastasia,” the last judge, Hank, says.
I decide to keep my comments short. It’s obvious that Anastasia is ready to be off the stage as quickly as possible.
“It was perfect. I loved it,” I tell her, putting all the feeling her singing triggered into my voice. She gives me a small smile, the most acknowledgement she’s given any of her critiques and she all but sprints off to the wings.
Lucy comes out with a guitar in a simple jeans and t-shirt and blows the entire crowd and judges away with her original song. Every note is pitch perfect. Every lyric is full of meaning. But for what she has in technical ability, I find it all missing any sort of passion.
The other girls have various successes with their performances and after what feels like hours, the show finally comes to a close.
The host comes out on the stage with all the women once more.
“Let’s give the girls another round of applause for entertaining us today with their great performances,” they say and the crow cheers. “Now, to announce the winner.”
He slides his finger under the flap of the white envelope and pulls out the card.
“The winner of this special edition of Star Search and the solo date with Parker is Lucy!”
Hot air balloons surround the open field as I wait for Lucy to arrive. A camera is pointed in my face as one of the members of production asks me questions. There are appointments for confessionals later tonight where I’ll have to go more in depth about my feelings for the various women, but these will be aired between the two dates on the episode, specifically.
“How do you feel the women did singing today?” he asks, looking down at the list of questions on his clipboard.
“I think they all did a fantastic job. That’s something I could never do, so I commend all their bravery.”
“You got in a bit of a tiff with Steven. How did it feel to hear him criticize the women?”
A shadow of the anger I felt listening to his critiques burns through me again.
“I was pissed. They didn’t deserve to be talked to like that. They weren’t there to try and participate on his show. Other than Lucy, most of them had probably never received a day of training in their lives and yet there they were, singing in front of all of us and doing a damn good job, and he was sitting there criticizing them for it. I don’t care if he’s the judge of a singing show. He didn’t need to talk to them like that.”
He makes a note on his paper while I try to rein in my protective instincts.
“How do you feel about your first solo date with Lucy?”
“I am really excited to get to know Lucy more and deepen our connection. This journey of getting to know these impressive women has been such a pleasure.” The canned answer falls from my lips without input from my brain. I wonder how the audience doesn’t get tired of these responses. I’m already tired of repeating them. And of lying. I’m sure Lucy is a wonderful woman, but the desire to get to know her further seems to be missing entirely.
But she won the judges’ votes and now here we are.
“That’s enough for now,” he says. “She’ll be here in five minutes. Take a moment to get ready. The ride will be about an hour.”
He walks off while the cameras get set up around where I’ll be waiting for Lucy to arrive so they can make sure to get all the appropriate angles.
“Parker, to your spot!” someone on the team calls out and I make sure to hit my mark they taped out of me. My left foot is on the tape as instructed.
The black SUV comes over the grassy hill before stopping. Lucy pushes the door open, stepping from the inside. Her dress is the burnt orange of the setting sun burning behind her. Thankfully, she’s wearing cowboy boots so her heels don’t sink down into the grass.
“You look lovely,” I tell her as she nears. It’s not a lie. She is lovely. But I’m not overly attracted to the woman, despite her beauty. Other than her incredible singing voice, she hasn’t stood out to me.
“Thank you,” she says, and I lean down to give her a hug. “You look great. But you always look great.”
The rosy blush of her cheeks as she tries to keep herself from babbling is cute.
“Are you ready to go on an adventure today?” I ask.
She looks at the riot of color behind me and smiles. “I’ve always wanted to go in a hot air balloon.”
“Let’s go make your dreams come true.”
Lucy threads her arm through mine, and I lead her to the balloon. The chevron pattern is done in the colors of the rainbow and glowing beautifully.
The operator steps up to us as we get closer, reaching his hand out to introduce himself, first to Lucy and then me.
“Hi, folks. My name is Jim. I’ll be handling your flight tonight. We don’t want to waste any time, so if you’re ready, we’ll go ahead and get started.”
He opens the door on the basket and holds a hand out to Lucy. Once we are all settled in, his assistant goes around and unties us from the stakes in the ground.
The roar of the fire above our heads is deafening. Lucy squeals and wraps her arms around my waist, the balloon beginning it's assent. Attached to the ropes leading up to the balloon are cameras, ready to catch every minute of our date.
"You have to see this," I tell her, awe in my voice.
She pulls back before spinning around in my arms, my hands settling on her slim hips and she gasps. “It’s stunning,” she says and I can hear tears in her voice at the sight of the sunset and the glowing balloons.
If this was a movie, I would be staring at her and say something like “It is,” her thinking I’m talking of the view, but the audience knowing I’m talking about her. When she looked up at me, our eyes would lock and we’d be trapped in a passionate kiss soon after. But this isn’t a movie, despite the circumstances of our situation. Luckily, Jim steps in before my silence can linger for too long and he begins pointing out different landmarks on the horizon.
Twenty minutes into our flight, I pull the champagne and glasses from the basket in the corner provided by production. I know they are probably tearing their hair out watching the live feed during, what I'm sure is, the most awkward date on the planet.
“How did you get into signing,” I ask, picking an easy topic.
“My parents pushed me into the child beauty pageant circuit when I was three. When I won, they pushed me into even more. As a teenager, I had to pick a talent.” Sympathy blooms for the younger Lucy and growing up being judged for everything about her. “It quickly grew from a love of singing to writing and composing my own songs.”
“You have a beautiful singing voice. Do you have a record deal or anything?”
She snorts. “No, I don’t. I’ve had a few over the years, but they dropped me, typically due to low sales. The industry is crazy difficult to get into.”
“I met a record executive when she hired me to design and build her home. To say she was the most hardworking person I’d met at that point would be an understatement.”
She looks at me, sharp eyes taking in my face. “What was her name?”
“I can’t really tell you that. Discretion is part of our business.”
Wheels turn behind her eyes and I watch her scrutinize me to determine if there’s a chink in my armor she can exploit for this information and it makes me think of Mary Ella’s warning about how not everyone is here for me. She must sense I’m not going to be backing down.
“I wouldn’t want to make you compromise your morals. That’s one of the things I like about you.”
Her hand is warm on my forearm, but it doesn’t feel as natural this time. Not wanting to shake her off, but needing the contact to end, I busy my hands with tying my hair back out of my face.
“Lucy,” I start, “you’re a great woman. Anyone would be so lucky to call you theirs.”
“But you don’t want to, right?” She looks up at me with a mixture of understanding and disappointment.
“I just don’t think this would really work out. For either of us. I’m sorry. ”
She sniffles with unshed tears, blinking rapidly trying to keep her emotions at bay.
“It’s okay. If you don’t feel it, you don’t feel it. I think I could have loved you, with time, but I’d rather know now than get to the end and be sent home.”
Tension drains from my body. The part of this process I hate the most is letting these women go. While I know they signed up for this knowing there was a good probability they would be eliminated, I don’t want to hurt anyone.
“Friends?” I ask, holding my arms open for a hug.
She scoffs, rolling her eyes, and jumps out of the basket the moment Jim opens the door.
“What would even be the point?”
My arms fall to my sides in shock at the abrupt change in tone and wonder how much of her personality I enjoyed was for the cameras. And how much was really her .
“I think, maybe, you dodged a bullet there, son,” Jim mumbles and I can’t help but agree.