“Susan and Michael look like chickens doing a mating dance out there,” Face said as she, Body, and I, sat together observing Hair and her hubby out on the dance floor. “Don’t you think?”
“Maybe they’ll get some new moves when they get a gander of how embarrassing they look on TV,” Body said.
“Not as embarrassing as the whole world seeing you in that godawful eye shadow and lipstick,” Face said.
“I don’t think your sister and her husband look all that bad, but I have to admit, that was quite a makeup job,” I said rubbing my blistered, slightly pink feet.
“Stasia said it wouldn’t be that bad, but—”
“You knew?”
“Pretty good acting, huh?” Face asked.
“She warned us that television is visual,” Body said. “And to expect examples—”
“To pique and maintain viewer interest,” Face finished. “Starring me.”
“I see,” I said, my blood pressure suddenly ticking upwards once again.
Just then, the music shifted from Michael Jackson’s “Rock with You” into something a little more sultry and a lot more stripper-esque. Dave, the handsome groomsman, started across the dance floor toward Body.
“This weekend is turning out better than I expected!” Body said.
As Dave reached out his hand and led Body out on the dance floor in full view of the camera, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I knew Anastasia well enough to know she wasn’t averse to a little drama, nor to doing whatever it took to frame a story. I also knew The Family Frugalicious was her brainchild. It made sense that she’d tipped off her sisters about piquing viewer interest without telling them exactly how it would be done. It also made sense that Anastasia wouldn’t let get herself hung up on drama unrelated to the overall vibe of the show.
I allowed myself to believe exactly that through my scheduled dances, as the bride and groom pressed cake into each other’s faces, and while I watched from the sidelines as the single women collected for the bouquet toss.
It wasn’t until Anastasia checked to see if the cameraman was ready, took a peek over her shoulder, and heaved the flowers into what seemed to be Body’s direction that I began to wonder again.
Particularly when the bouquet went over her sister’s head and landed directly in my hands.
With Geo’s wry smile from beside the camera, I looked across the pool toward the lights and music coming from the bar area. No way was I falling into the trap of being caught on tape with Alejandro, but I had to find out just exactly what his intentions were—and if they were even his to begin with.
Besides, I needed a fresh drink.
I scanned the area. One camera crew was over at catering, a second was following the boys around on their quest to meet cute señoritas (as suggested by Frank and embraced primarily by Trent), and the third was set up by the bar where Philip, Frank, and the groomsmen were scheduled for an 8:40 p.m.: Celebratory tequila shot. I seized the opportunity to approach Alejandro early by excusing myself to “freshen my lipstick.”
I’d crossed the dance floor and was on my way to the ladies’ room by way of the Poolside Bar when “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” ended.
The DJ spoke into the microphone in a lilting accent. “Bridesmaids and groomsmen, if you would please proceed to the Estanque Reflectante for an evening group photo.”
“What a perfectly glorious day,” Frank said, his breath smelling of garlic and tequila. “Everything’s gone exactly as planned.”
Speak for yourself, I thought. He wrapped an arm around my waist as though we were alone and unaccompanied by the camera that had trailed him over to me. He led me away from the answers I sought at the Poolside Bar and toward the smallest, most intimate of the Hacienda de la Fortuna’s five swimming pools.
We were halfway across the footbridge when a horrified, high-pitched shriek filled the humid evening air.
Anastasia’s sisters, who had rounded the bend to the pool area ahead of us, joined the chorus.
Seeing as I’d been part and party to not one but two murders in the past year, I shouldn’t have been all that shocked. But with the silhouette of a body floating facedown in the moonlit, Olympic-size reflection pond, I let out a scream of my own.
Particularly when I spotted the telltale Hacienda de la Fortuna polo, khakis and, the thick brown hair fanning out in the water.
Alejandro.
13. All-inclusive doesn’t just mean food and drink. Many resorts are also all-you-can-exercise by offering world-class fitness centers and classes for beginners on up. Never tried Pilates or yoga? What better way to check it out than for no additional cost (and no risk of embarrassment at your local gym)?
14. Sales reps know that persistence is essential to making a sale. It is their job to say or do whatever it takes to overcome your objections until you see how great the product is for you. A rep wouldn’t have a job for very long if he or she took a single no for an answer.
15. OTF (n) On the Fly: An impromptu interview of a reality show participant intended to capture emotions and actions in the moment.
16. Tips for saving on your wedding dress: 1. Look in stores and on the Internet well in advance of your wedding for sales and specials. 2. Consider a used dress from a consignment shop—but be sure the price is at least 50% below market and examine it thoroughly for stains, tears, and odors. 3. Nontraditional dresses work well for more casual weddings and cost a fraction of the price. 4. Borrow your dress from a friend or relative—your something borrowed will have that much more meaning.
17. Frankenbite (n): an edited reality show snippet that splices together several pieces of a various interviews, conversations, and interactions into a single seemingly blunt or revealing clip. Potentially made to manipulating viewer perceptions of the participants involved.
five
Once again I found myself staring into the gruesome face of death as an off-duty, whistle-less, salvavida dove into the pool, towed Alejandro to the side, and began to administer CPR on the pool deck.
That all-too-familiar sick feeling engulfed me like a weighty blanket as I stood helplessly among the unfamiliar swirl of rescue personnel that materialized around us. While the paramédicos set about the awful business of trying to revive Alejandro and the policía did whatever it was they did in such a situation, the cameraman who’d followed Frank and I from the reception area captured the awful tableau.
Complete with proper lighting even, thanks to the wedding photo shoot that was supposed to have been taking place.18
Anastasia immediately (albeit proverbially) traded her veil for her television journalist’s cap and took over directorial duties for Geo, who I’d last seen headed for the crew buffet.
Instead of morphing into reporter mode, Frank pulled me in close. Then again, we were on camera and he had the all-consuming goal of polishing his tarnished image as respected family man.
A half hour earlier I’d have thought the mere idea that I could, once again, be suspecting Frank and/or Anastasia of being involved in a murder impossible. Beyond farfetched. Then again, a half-hour earlier I was merely concerned that I was being set up (and not in the right way) with a man who was now utterly lifeless.
As one of the paramédicos shook his head in recognition of the futility of his efforts, I wondered what might (or might not) have happened had I agreed right away to meet Alejandro for a drink. A twinge of guilt added a twist to the already numbing cocktail of shock and horror I found myself drinking in great gulps.
Would he still be alive if I’d been there?
“What are the police saying?” I asked Philip as he joined up with us after conferring with the officers on scene.
“They spoke so fast I couldn’t really keep up with the Spanish.” Philip, whose job as the acting chief of the South Metro Denver Police had him at the scene of tragic incidents on a daily basis, seemed as shell-shocked as anyone.
“Terrible,” Frank said,
wiping a tear from his eye. “Just terrible.”
Face, Body, and Hair stood on my other side huddled together, shaking their heads in unison.
“I can’t believe this,” Face said, her perfect makeup streaked with tears.
“We were supposed to meet with him tomorrow,” Hair wailed into her husband’s shoulder.
“This is definitely not how things were supposed to happen today,” Body added, as Dave the handsome groomsmen slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder.
As they continued to hug and weep, there was no denying that things had definitely taken a truly disturbing turn.
But was it a completely unexpected turn?
Seeing as Frank had been the one who’d talked me into expanding my horizons beyond the relative obscurity and safety of the cyber world and into the great unknown of reality TV, and there was no denying that The Family Frugalicious had been partly his idea to begin with, wasn’t he as likely to be in the know about any story line detours as anyone else on set? While I couldn’t blurt my growing irrational fear that Alejandro’s death was somehow connected to the show, I needed to gauge his reaction with a question or two.
“Frank,” I whispered, my heart suddenly thumping as the police began to tape off the area to keep back the hotel staff, wedding guests, and assorted onlookers who’d begun to filter onto the pool deck as word of the incident spread around the resort. “How do you suppose this will affect the shoot?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes downcast, ostensibly because Alejandro was being placed on a gurney.
“I mean, Alejandro was part of the story line, wasn’t he?”
“How can you think about that at a time like this?” he said, dramatically. “It’s sick.”
I couldn’t have agreed more. Nauseating as the whole situation was (including Frank’s too noncommittal to be entirely noncommittal answer), I didn’t feel like I was truly going to throw up until fireworks began to light up the night sky and bursts of color reflected off the white sheet covering Alejandro’s body.
Over the boom and crackle of exploding pyrotechnics, I swore I could hear someone from the behind me say, “Money shot!”19
18. Because of the additional costs associated with outdoor lighting, reality shoots are often limited to daylight to keep within budgetary guidelines.
19. Money shot (n.): Pivotal footage that provides an episode’s dramatic climax.
six
Following routine questioning by the police and the conclusion of whatever was left of the wedding reception, Frank and I collected the boys, confirmed Eloise was still being squired around by Ivan, and returned to our room.
“Exhausted and emotionally drained,” or so he said, Frank headed for the bedroom, tossed a few pillows between our sides, and passed out immediately.
I was as weary and tired as I’d ever been, but my head was spinning. According to the employees gathered poolside, there’d never even been a near drowning at the Hacienda de la Fortuna, much less a fatal one. Could it be any coincidence that my arrival coincided with a visit by the Grim Reaper? Or that a person with whom I was connected (or who might have liked to have been connected with given the opportunity) was the Reaper’s target?20
Upset, sleepless, and sure I wouldn’t be able to relax entirely until Eloise came back to the room, I waited for Frank to settle into sleep. With his first set of rhythmic snores, I slipped silently out of my side of the bed and out into the living room. Specifically, to the couch beside the coffee table where I’d left my computer.
With all the research I did as a matter of course for each and every bargain-hunting expedition or question posed on my blog, there was one thing I’d never researched before I signed on the dotted line:
Reality television.
In fact, I’d gone into the whole experience with a healthy appreciation for DIY shows on the home and garden channels as well as equal parts fascination and disdain for the celebrity, dating, and lifestyles of the rich-and-freaky shows. Mostly, I’d agreed to star in The Family Frugalicious trusting that the concept of our show was everything Anastasia and the network execs said it was: a slice-of-life reality show about a bargain-conscious family on the hunt for the best deals for themselves and their viewers.
My growing concern was that I should have pinned down an exact definition for slice-of-life. Did that also include sudden death?
I Googled the phrase “How is reality TV made?”
Along with the how-to blogs for would-be producers and descriptions of how to become a contestant on various types of reality shows were numerous articles about the “realities” of reality television.
The driest but most damning simply asserted:
Reality television shows notoriously depict their topics in artificial, deceptive, and even fraudulent ways. Not only are participants coached and story lines generated ahead of time, but scenes are routinely edited and/or re-staged for the cameras in order to slant content. Many reality television shows are designed to humiliate and exploit, while others make celebrities out of untalented people who do not deserve fame. Most shows glamorize bad behavior, materialism, and personal failings.
The site included terminology I had never heard in the short time I’d been a member of the reality TV world, but that sent an eerie chill down my spine. E.g.:
Date producer (n): A specialist who orchestrates reality dating shows. Job description includes coaxing confessions, cultivating jealousies, and ensuring alcohol flows so contestants will make essential “miscues” like hooking up, revealing intimate details, and otherwise behaving inappropriately.
Another website featured an article written by a former producer entitled, “Get Real Before You Try Out for Reality TV.” The author, now an accountant in Chicago, listed five facts about his job on set:
1. Everything you see is preplanned. We wrote the storyboard and we worked out what the story was going to be. We thought of it as dropping guinea pigs (contestants) in an obstacle course we had built to watch how they navigated the various issues.
2. It was my job to make the participants upset with each other by dropping little hints and asides. In fact, that was the whole point. Film a show where everyone gets along and there’s nothing to watch.
3. Everyone is edited into a specific character. The editors make you into whoever they want you to be.
4. The primary goal was to make a big story line from the littlest of tense moments.
And, most ominously:
5. The concept we sold to the audience wasn’t necessarily the concept we sold to the participants.
I’d already seen about as much as I could take when a final blog post caught my eye: “Unreal: My Brief Foray into Reality TV.”
As I read the story of an attractive blond aspiring actress who thought she was accepted on a reality show about young people and their job struggles, I was certain I was in deeper than I ever realized.
The woman “Michelle” thought a mistake had been made when a production crew showed up at her apartment, handed her a script, and told she’d be starring in a makeover show. Before she could ask any questions, the camera was rolling and she realized that she was expected to play a stereotypical party-girl version of herself. A girl in need of a style update.
Unlike me, Michelle quickly overcame her misgivings and decided the situations the producers presented were so far from her real self that no one who really knew her would believe she’d act that way. She watched the producers do their thing and realized she got that they were just trying to make the most interesting show possible. In fact, she decided that improvising every scene—from a meltdown over a haircut (which was just extensions attached to her real hair) to pushing around a clerk while shopping for designer duds for her dog was simply good acting experience. She even took it in stride when a dark-haired member of the crew was sent to get his back waxed so they could pretend the strips were her leg hair.
As I read the conclusion of her story, in which Mi
chelle recounted how the friendly crew was genuinely concerned for her and her well-being during the entire process and how they went out of their way to make her feel talented and invaluable, even apologizing for having to fake situations, I couldn’t help but feel worse than I already did. Would Michelle have been smart enough to know she was supposed to play along the moment Alejandro began to flirt on the timeshare tour? Surely she wouldn’t have protested his advances to the point where producers on her show might possibly feel as though they had to goose the story line along with something dramatic, like, perhaps, a sudden death?
I shut my computer and leaned back against a throw pillow while I awaited Eloise’s safe return, closing my eyes against the throbbing headache that had returned with a vengeance.
“I need for you to scream,” Geo said from under a raspberry beret. He straightened the bow tie of his coordinating tuxedo. “With conviction.”
“What’s my motivation?” I heard myself ask.
He looked over at a receiving line where Frank checked his face in his cell phone and proceeded to congratulate the bride. Instead of kissing her cheek, he sunk his teeth into her face.
“Here’s your Frankenbite,” he pronounced with satisfaction, smiling for the camera beside him.
“Isn’t being stuck married to that husband of yours motivation enough?” Geo asked.
“He won’t be her hubby for long.” Alejandro, who was floating in a nearby pool, raised his margarita glass. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“I have the ultimate say,” Geo said. “So scream. Both of you.”
I opened my mouth and tried, but no sound emerged.
A deathly gurgle emerged from Alejandro.
“Can’t save him now,” shouted Anastasia’s sisters, who had materialized poolside.
They began to throw dollar bills into the water at Alejandro, who’d rolled over and was floating face down, margarita glass still in hand.
“Money shot,” one of them sang.
A door creaked open and a policewoman appeared. Her nametag read OFFICER MICHELLE.
“You should have played along,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s the reality of the situation.”
Sweetheart Deal Page 5