Chapter Twenty-Two
“It’s always daunting to be the first to do something—in my case, to be the first wheelchair user on Love Shack.
Being on the show was definitely frustrating and at times a bit lonely.
On the first night, I was alone in my accessible limo.
I don’t see why the producers couldn’t have put a few of the other women in the same car as me.
Reality TV still has a long way to go in terms of representing disability and diversifying casts, but I’m still proud to have been a small part of a positive trajectory toward change. ”
From the airport, we’re shuttled straight to downtown Nashville.
The bus rattles to a stop on a crowded side street, and Olie elbows me.
I jolt fully awake, wiping a little bit of drool from the side of my mouth.
I’d hoped that we might go to our accommodations before we started filming, but I should’ve known better.
We spill out of the bus, and Norbert directs us to a covered bar patio just around the corner. He holds out his arms like a bouncer as a crowd of tourists passes, gawking at us.
“Another bachelorette party,” one of them remarks.
The seven of us cram around a wooden table, and immediately a platter of Jell-O shots is passed around.
“Bottoms up, kids!” Lainey says. “Roland will be here in just a few minutes.”
Olie squints at the lime-green liquid in her glass, then shrugs. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
I grimace as I take mine. It’s barely two. Or actually, here, it’s four. Close enough.
“Smile, Georgia!” Lainey calls. “Roland will be here in just a minute and you don’t want him to see that hideous expression, do you?”
“It’s just my face,” I say, and Lainey rolls her eyes. I down the Jell-O shot and pucker my lips into some version of a smile that makes Brooklyn giggle as she passes me a beer.
Rhett steps forward from the crowd of producers. “Welcome to Music City, USA,” he says.
Olie winks at me.
“We have an amazing week planned for y’all,” Rhett continues. “I hope everyone is rested and ready to hit the ground running. While we’re here, there will be two dates. A group date and a one-on-one. The group date is going to be a bit of a challenge, but I think you’re all up for it.”
“Ooh,” Chloe squeals. “What’re we doing? Singing?”
“If we’re singing, then y’all are outta luck,” Olie says. “I was professionally trained in opera from birth to age twelve.”
Rhett clears his throat. “No. No singing. It’ll be single-elimination paintball. The last woman standing wins extra time with Roland.”
Everyone sits up straighter.
Addison takes a demure sip of her beer, peering at me over the rim of her glass. I bet she’s looking forward to covering me in paint.
“But for now,” Rhett says, “since we like to keep you on your toes—the first one-on-one is today.”
I let out a breath of relief. It will be Brooklyn, there’s no doubt about it. Not only that—if Roland is out with her, I’ll be able to take a long nap.
“Who do you think it’ll be?” Philippa asks, rubbing her hands together. Her beer sits next to her, noticeably untouched.
“I hope it’s me,” Addison simpers. “I just feel such a strong connection with Roland.”
My eyes are itching to roll so far back they won’t see the light of day for weeks.
“Georgia, what do you have to say about that?” Lainey cuts in. I look at her, surprised that she’s interrupted, but I guess they can cut it out in postproduction.
“I—nothing?”
“This woman pushed you off a ladder, and you’re just going to roll over?” Lainey hisses.
My face goes red as all heads turn to me.
“She did what?” Chloe gasps.
I look at Addison who shrugs as if to say, Might as well.
“Addison, repeat your line,” Lainey says.
Addison smiles coyly at me. “I just feel such a strong connection with Roland.”
“Not surprising, since you slept with him last week,” I blurt out.
Addison stares at me, eyes wide, and despite everything she’s done, I feel a little bad. It doesn’t taste good to be the villain.
“I’m not going to apologize for the connection that Roland and I have,” she retorts.
“Well, if you get the one-on-one today, I hope you point out that it’s not fair,” I say, a touch of poison seeping into my voice.
Behind the cameras, Lainey is practically salivating.
“And why would I do that?” Addison asks.
“Because Brooklyn hasn’t had a one-on-one yet.”
“It’s fine,” Brooklyn mutters. “You don’t have to…”
“Believe it or not, Georgia,” Addison says. “I don’t spend my time with Roland talking about other people. Unlike you, I’m actually focused on my connection with him.”
“I am focused on my connection with him,” I splutter. So focused that I almost hooked up with Rhett.
“It’s too bad you didn’t break your neck falling off that ladder,” Addison says, eyes narrowed to slits.
Behind the camera, Norbert’s mouth drops open. But Norbert can’t see it when Addison throws me a wink. She wants me to play into it. I know I should. I won’t look like the bad guy—that’s all her. But I’m so sick of it.
Thankfully, Roland’s arrival derails the conversation. He jogs over to our table from the street—he’s not jogging from anywhere, it’s just for the sake of making an entrance—and hugs each of us in turn. Once the sweaty hugs are over, he stands next to Rhett and grins at us. “What did I miss?”
“I was just about to tell them what you’ll be doing today,” Rhett says. “Today, we have a very special guest.”
Roland grins and slaps him on the back. “I think she might be an even bigger country star than you, Rhett.”
With some effort, Rhett turns his scowl into a passable smile. “Today, Roland and one lucky lady will spend some time in Music City, USA with the legend herself, Sandra Haywood.”
“HOLY BALLS!” Olie shouts. A passing tourist throws her an annoyed look.
Holy balls is right. I only had about a billion of Sandra Haywood’s songs on my MP3 player as a kid.
“I dressed up as her for Halloween like three years in a row,” Chloe gushes. “You know, her iconic outfit? The glittery bodysuit and zip-off cargo pants?”
“I’d rather not imagine that,” Addison says, shuddering.
“I’m really excited for today,” Roland interrupts. “The car will be here in a few minutes, so I guess I better tell you who I’ll be taking.” He pauses as a motorcycle rumbles by, then continues. “Georgia, will you do me the honor?”
My mouth falls open in the silence that follows. I turn to Brooklyn, who’s putting on a brave face.
“Go,” she whispers. “Have fun!”
“What about Brooklyn?” I ignore the gasps from the huddle of producers. I’m willing to bet that nowhere in Love Shack’s history has a contestant questioned a date invitation.
“But,” Roland says, “I…” He trails off like he’s expecting everyone else to vanish and give us some privacy, but that doesn’t happen.
Instead, the cameras zoom closer, and he blushes a little as he clears his throat.
“I picked you for the date because I know how much you like music and … well, I thought you’d be really excited about meeting Sandra Haywood—I thought maybe you could write about it for one of your articles. ”
The sad-puppy-dog look on his face is almost too much for me to bear. “I’m so sorry,” I say. They might be the truest words I’ve ever spoken to him. “That’s really thoughtful of you. I just don’t want anything between us to be unfair, do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah.” He nods, swallowing hard. “You’re totally right.”
My skin is crawling with the awkwardness of the moment. Even though the street is noisy and we can hear plates clattering from the inside of the restaurant, the silence pulls so tight around us that it could pop.
It feels like we’re in a group therapy session. Frankly, we should be in a group therapy session, but from what I’ve heard, the on-set therapist was the first to go after the network’s budget cuts.
“Brooklyn,” Roland says, turning to her, “can we talk for a minute?”
Brooklyn straightens up and folds her hands in her lap. “We can talk here,” she says. I respect her for it, but it won’t help my secondhand cringe.
“Georgia,” Lainey barks, “get up and give Roland your chair.”
I jump out of my seat and end up standing next to Rhett, who’s scratching the back of his neck and looking like he’d rather have a guitar string break in his face than witness this conversation.
The cameras reset to focus on Roland and Brooklyn, jostling the others out of the frame, and then Roland says, “Can you tell me what’s going on, Brook?”
Even Addison rolls her eyes.
“I’d rather you tell me what’s going on,” Brooklyn says. “I don’t want to cause trouble, but I’m the only one who hasn’t had a one-on-one date yet. And I assumed that since I’m still here, you’d want to spend time with me before going on second dates with anyone else.”
Roland runs a hand down his face and nods. “You’re right.”
“I feel like maybe you kept me as a diversity pick,” Brooklyn says.
Roland shakes his head. “I’m so sorry you feel that way, Brook. I promise that’s not why I wanted to keep you around. I wouldn’t do that. But … I guess I’m feeling stronger connections with some of the other girls. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on like that.”
“Thanks,” she says. “I think it’s probably best if I go home. I appreciate your honesty.”
“Okay,” Roland says quietly, his jaw set tight. “I guess that’s it then.”
She nods. “One more thing?”
He looks at her expectantly.
Brooklyn flashes me a smile as she says, “We’re women, not girls.”
Brooklyn’s final line to Roland was a mic-drop moment, but her exit from the show isn’t nearly as dramatic. Since there aren’t any flights to her home in Albuquerque until tomorrow, she sits with the producers until we’re done filming, then comes back to the accommodations with us.
Nestled on the outskirts of Nashville, the ivy-covered house is so massive that it could swallow the Malibu mansion whole. It’s ringed with a wide veranda and tall columns stretching right up to the roof. Hundreds of towering oaks shadow the property.