Chapter Eleven
Since we seem to have some free time, I tie my towel around my waist and head over to the outdoor kitchen area to find the lunch buffet.
There are carnitas tacos, tuna salad, and turkey sandwiches.
So, nothing I can eat. As I look for some garnish to chew on, Blue comes over to check on me.
“Hey, Grace. Looking for anything in particular?”
“I’m vegan,” I say, gesturing to all the meat on display. “Do you have any vegetables?”
“Oh shoot! No one told me. Um, I think I saw carrot sticks. And we have some nuts. Is that vegan? Oh, and cantaloupe.”
“Aww, the filler fruit.” I smile at Blue playfully.
“The carnation of melons,” a deep voice says to my left.
I’m amused by the metaphor until I turn to see the voice belongs to Andrew Benson, Esquire.
My amusement immediately turns to vexation.
He may have won the upper hand in our previous exchange, but I refuse to let him ruffle my feathers.
I school my expression into neutrally pleasant and give him a bland “Hello, Mr. Benson.”
He raises an eyebrow at my formal tone and nods as if he too can play this game. “Hello, Ms. Lambert. Kristina tells me you’ve only filmed one segment and you’re already stirring the pot.”
“If that pot contains racial stereotyping, then yes, I’m happily stirring it. Does this mean you’re complicit?” I ask as cheerily as if I were offering him a ride to the airport.
He looks exasperated, and I smile, mentally giving myself a point for riling him up first. “Everyone knows what they signed up for here,” Andrew says. “This is reality television.”
“Not everyone,” I say pointedly. “And just because it’s the way things are always done, it doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Andrew squeezes the bridge of his nose and asks, “Are you going to be a problem all season, Ms. Lambert?”
“Most likely, Mr. Benson. Especially if I’m going to be hangry all the time,” I say, gesturing to the meaty buffet. Andrew furrows his brows.
“She’s vegan and there’s nothing for her to eat,” Blue explains from behind me. I realize he’s been standing there witnessing our bickering.
“Here,” Andrew mutters, taking a granola bar out of his leather messenger bag.
“What a gentleman,” Blue coos, elbowing me because I’m still scowling.
Andrew narrows his eyes at me and says, “I just don’t want her causing me unnecessary paperwork.”
I take the bar from him with a begrudging “thank you” as Andrew calls to the chef, “Hey, Marv, can you please make sure we have vegan options available at all meals?”
The chef gives him a thumbs-up, and when Andrew turns back to me, I tilt my head. Was he just being . . . nice to me? He must guess what I’m thinking because he quickly says, “I really hate paperwork.”
I take a bite of the granola bar and shrug. “Free granola bar. At least I’m getting something out of this experience.”
Andrew shakes his head at me. “There are thousands of people who wish they had gotten this opportunity.”
“But what? They all had herpes?”
Before Andrew can respond, Blue gives him an imploring look.
They seem to have an unspoken conversation before Andrew sighs and gives him a nod.
Then Blue looks around to make sure there aren’t any cameras pointed at us and covers the microphone on my necklace before whispering, “You should probably start acting like you want to be here. Otherwise, they’ll say you aren’t here for the right reasons.
” This is the big secret he needed Andrew’s permission to reveal?
“What are the right reasons for someone with two PhDs to prance around in a cut-up bathing suit on national TV?” I ask earnestly, because I sure as hell don’t have a clue.
“To fall in love, of course!” Blue says dramatically.
I burst out laughing. Blue and Andrew don’t join me. “Oh wait, you were serious? People actually think they’ll find love on a TV show?”
“Or they’re here to get famous,” Andrew says pointedly, and I scoff.
“I have zero interest in fame.”
“That’s surprising. I thought it was the family business,” he says, his brown eyes boring into mine.
I have the sudden urge to punch him in his stupid chiseled jaw. “I’m nothing like my family,” I grind out. But even as I say it, it feels harsh coming out of my mouth. Why should I care what this guy thinks anyway? “You know nothing about me or my family,” I say.
Blue quickly steps in because he knows this is going south fast. “Grace has never seen a reality show,” he explains to Andrew.
Hands on my hips, I take them both in. Blue looks concerned, like he genuinely wants to help me. But Andrew just studies me as if I’m a puzzle that he’s going to crack. Blue turns to me and whispers, “You have to at least pretend to play the game, Grace, or they’ll eat you alive.”
“Who is ‘they’?” I ask.
“The producers, the other contestants, the viewers—” Blue begins, but Andrew cuts him off.
“If you’re not here to fall in love or get famous, then why are you here?” And surprisingly, it doesn’t sound judgy this time but curious, like he actually wants to figure me out.
I’m tempted to tell him about my lost funding so he’ll understand that I’m not someone who willingly goes on reality shows, but I keep my mouth shut.
If the “right reason” for being on the show is to find love, then could I get kicked off for being here for the “wrong reason”?
I shrug and tell a partial truth: “My mom signed me up.”
Andrew purses his dumb full lips as if he doesn’t believe this is the whole story.
“Look,” Blue says, tearing my attention away from Andrew’s lips. “I don’t know the real reason why you’re on this show, and it doesn’t really matter to me, but if America doesn’t love you or love to hate you, you won’t last long.”
Shit. He’s right. Now that I know I can get voted off, I need all the help I can get. So I ignore the annoying lawyer beside me, swallow my pride, and ask Blue, “How do I get America to like me?”
“Just be yourself,” Blue says reassuringly.
Andrew snorts. I glare at him while Blue continues: “The audience will like that you’re different. You’re the Underdog.”
“I thought I was the ‘Nerdy Fish Out of Water.’”
“You are also that.” Blue nods. “Which is why people will want to root for you. You’re a long shot, and America loves a long shot.”
I groan. “This is way more complicated than I thought. You’ve got to be an anthropologist to survive around here.”
“Or a drunk influencer,” Blue says with a shrug.
“But as you like to remind us,” Andrew says, “you have two PhDs, so if they can do it, surely so can you.”
“I know you’re mocking me, but you’re right.
I’ve done much harder things than be a contestant on a reality show.
” And now part of me wants to win this damn thing just to prove it to him and wipe that permanent smugness off his face.
So I stand up straight, roll my shoulders back, and hope the determination in my eyes outmatches the goading in his.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try to find love.
” And with that I march toward the pool area.