Chapter Thirteen
After five takes of the same excruciating conversation with Madison about how desperate we are to meet the loves of our lives, Blue comes to escort me back to my room to change for our first one-on-one dates. I’m relieved to finally be able to take off my chopped-up bathing suit.
I look down at it while we walk back to the mansion. “Think I can return this to Speedo for a new one?”
Blue shrugs. “Just tell ’em it was a shark attack.”
I shake my head. “I’d feel too bad.”
“About lying?”
“No. About perpetuating the myth that sharks are indiscriminately aggressive.”
Blue just laughs at me and says fondly, “I’ll see you after you change, weirdo.”
When I walk into my room, I flop down on the big canopy bed.
I wish I could curl up under the covers for the rest of the week.
I feel as emotionally and physically drained as I did working on my first dissertation.
Between navigating unfamiliar territory, meeting all these different personalities, and trying to one-up an annoying lawyer, I’m so far out of my comfort zone that my body is telling me it’s time to hibernate until it’s safe.
Most people have a fight-or-flight response; I have a very strong nap response.
I use all the energy that Andrew’s peanut butter Clif bar afforded me to push myself off the bed and look for an outfit in my suitcase.
As I rustle through my new clothes, my fingers hit something hard.
I pull out an old-school iPhone I’ve never seen before.
On the back is a Post-it with a phone number.
WTF?! Is this part of the show? I look around my room for hidden cameras but don’t see any.
They took my cell away when I got here, and Kristina said I’m not supposed to have a phone, so is this some sort of a test?
Curiosity gets the better of me and I dial the number.
“Hello?” a familiar voice says.
“Cassie?!”
“Oh yay, you found it!” my best friend says, like this is a totally normal conversation.
“You packed me a contraband phone?”
“The paperwork you signed said no contact with the outside world, but I figured you’d need some emotional support, so I stashed a burner phone in one of your shoes. Well, it’s just my old phone. I’m glad they didn’t confiscate it!”
“Wow. I’m impressed. I feel like an international woman of mystery,” I whisper into the phone.
Cassie laughs. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“This almost makes up for you, Eliza, and Alec gaslighting me. ‘It’s reality TV. How hard could it be?’” I say mockingly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m still plotting my revenge, but the phone bought you some time.”
“Is it really that bad?” Cassie asks, and I can hear the guilt in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Grace! We were desperate, and I knew if I told you all the details about the show you wouldn’t do it. Do you hate me?”
“No,” I sigh. “I mean, yes. It is that bad. Worse than bad. But I don’t hate you.
I definitely would’ve said no if I knew what I was getting myself into.
” I sit on the edge of the bed and squeeze the burner phone, grateful for the lifeline to the real world.
“Cassie, this is seriously some sort of fucked-up psychological experiment. Kristina, that Machiavellian producer, treats us like we’re all just characters in her play.
She lives to stir up drama and doesn’t seem to care that we’re actually sentient beings.
And this one contestant, Beth Anne, somehow manages to be super-bitchy while sounding super-sweet.
It’s very confusing. And do you know how hard it is to not look at the camera when they tell you, ‘Don’t look at the camera’? ”
“Are there any hot guys at least?” Cassie asks hopefully.
“Yeah, they’re all hot. Everyone here is attractive—the producers, the PAs, the lawyer, even the camera operators who will never be on TV.”
“Eye candy!” she squeals.
“I knew you’d say that,” I say, shaking my head. “But they’re not fun to look at, they’re so good looking, it’s unnerving.”
“Wait, did you say ‘lawyer’? What happened to Old Man Benson?”
“Yeah . . . it turns out that ‘Old Man Benson’ is actually ‘Our Age Andrew,’ and he’s somehow even more aggravating in person.”
“But he’s attractive?”
I immediately picture the way his eyes burn when we’re sparring. And how his voice gets even deeper and rougher when I’m pissing him off. And how that damn suit fits him so perfectly. “He’s okay.”
Cassie is quiet for a moment before she asks, “What does he look like?”
“Andrew? Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Well, he’s the opposite of how you’d picture a guy that makes you sign that much paperwork.”
“Not your cousin’s father-in-law?”
“Definitely not. He has dark hair and brown eyes and the annoyingly right amount of facial hair. You know when it’s a little past stubble? And when he’s not reprimanding me, he has this smug grin that you want to slap off his face.”
Her only response to this is, “Ooohh.”
“No. Not ‘ooohh,’ more like ‘ewww.’ He’s the worst. It’s like he woke up one day and realized he has a soul-sucking job working for corporate overlords and is taking it out on me.
Seriously, I’ve seen him with the other contestants.
He’s perfectly nice. Almost charming even. Yet he saves his spite just for me.”
“Hmmm,” Cassie says.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing.” She drops it. “Are any of the contestants nice?”
I let her abrupt subject change slide because frankly, I’ve already spent too much time thinking about Andrew Benson. I flop back on the bed and tell her about Madison. “This one girl is really sweet and not at all what I expected. She made me feel better when they cut up my bathing suit—”
“They did what?”
“They cut up my Speedo to make it more revealing!”
“But that’s what you wear to swim laps at the Y!” Cassie exclaims.
“I know!”
“Ugh. I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. But at least your pic looks amazing on the show’s website! #sexyscientist is already trending.”
“That sentence is all my recurring nightmares in one.”
Cassie laughs, but then switches into what I know is her pep talk voice. “This is going to work, Grace. You just have to hang in there and try to focus on the positives.”
“You sound like a motivational poster,” I groan. “I’m so far out of my comfort zone I wouldn’t even be able to see it with a James Webb telescope.”
“I know, but if anyone can figure out a way to power through this, it’s you.
Remember the time at the World Wildlife Fund gala when that guy implied you were hired for your good looks and you threatened to smash a beaker and shiv him with the borosilicate glass?
” I smile fondly at the memory. “That’s the kind of confidence you need right now,” Cassie insists. “Except maybe less violent.”
“I don’t know. There’s definitely a lawyer I’ve considered shivving.”
Cassie laughs as I exhale deeply, considering her words. But before I can ask her for more inspirational platitudes, there’s a knock on my door.
“Grace?” Blue calls from the hallway. “You okay? They’re waiting for you.”
“Yep, just getting changed. Be out in a sec!” I yell back.
“I gotta go,” I whisper to Cassie. “I hate you but I love you. Bye.” Then I hide my new spy phone back in a shoe in my suitcase and quickly throw on the only dress my mom didn’t pick out.
The producers asked us to dress up for our first round of dates, but I don’t have the emotional fortitude to survive wearing Spanx tonight.
Kristina even went so far as to warn me that I couldn’t wear pajamas, so instead I’m throwing on a sundress I bought a few years ago.
It’s long and comfy and basically a nightgown anyway. Ha, take that, Kristina!
When I open the door, Blue gives me a once-over. “What’s with the poncho?”
“Hey, this is from Talbot’s. I wore it to a baby shower once.”
“Were you the one having the baby?”
I laugh. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be falling all over yourself to date me on national TV?”
“You’re not my type,” he says unapologetically.
“Let me guess. Madison is your type? Like every other guy in the world?”
“I mean, I like blondes, but preferably with bigger penises.”
I immediately think of Alec. “Ooh, I have this coworker who—”
“Are you about to try to set me up with your one gay friend?”
“Yes . . . ?”
“You straight girls are all alike.”
“But I really think you’d like him. He’s cute, smart, funny—do you like weed by any chance?”
“I’m a forty-year-old PA with blue hair. Of course I like weed.” I burst out laughing, but before I can be the matchmaker for once, Blue hooks his arm in mine and leads me away.
As we head out of the mansion, I see Andrew talking to some of the crew by the back door. I pull Blue’s arm to get him to go out the side door, so we don’t have to walk past Andrew. Except he quickly catches on. “Are you trying to avoid the lawyer?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “He’ll just find a reason to scold me or give me another fucking oppressive rule to follow.”
“Like no swearing?” Blue asks with a laugh.
“Exactly!” I sneak a furtive glance at Andrew again, and he turns to look at me at the same time. His eyes capture mine and I suddenly feel like prey. He stops talking to the crew and just takes me in. I awkwardly pull at my dress, feeling completely unnerved when he looks at me like that. “Fuck.”
Blue laughs again. “Yeah, I can see how that rule is hard for you, and yep, he’s walking over here.”
“Why?” I groan. “There are plenty of other contestants to harass. Why am I the only one who gets his wrath?”
“Maybe you’re just special,” Blue teases as Andrew stalks toward us without breaking eye contact with me. Blue elbows me before whispering, “Be nice.”
He stops in front of us and looks up at Blue as if he’s just realized he’s standing there. “Hey, Blue.” Blue nods hello before looking back and forth between us, awaiting an impending showdown. Andrew turns to me and with an unreadable tone asks, “You excited for your first one-on-one date?”