Eight Weeks to Mr. Right

by Archer, Amy

  “Does he always talk in clichés?” Ben asked, and my attention shifted him, sitting on the couch beside me. Ben had medium brown hair, those intense green eyes, and was fit but much slimmer than Andrew, who looked like he spent a lot of time in the gym.

  I frowned. “He was just nervous,” I said, a little too defensively. “He’s a good guy.”

  My mind drifted to the first time I’d met Andrew. I didn’t expect to have any romantic interest in him, and at first, I didn’t. In fact, my reaction had been similar to Ben’s that first night. All of us women had been gathered in a ballroom mingling and drinking, and it had been hours before Andrew had finally arrived. Some were already smashed by the time he appeared, which I was sure was the producers’ intention. It created more drama that way.

  But I was clear-headed, if tired. He’d walked in with Carson and looked around the room, taking in all twenty of us. “I see I have my work cut out for me!” he’d said, and as the women around me tittered with anxious laughter, I remembered thinking, What does that even mean?

  I was a woman on a mission. Unlike the other women, I wasn’t there to find love. I’d seen photos of Andrew before and found him attractive, but knew from seeing still images alone that he was a little too full of himself for my taste. I was there to get to know him, show him how good I was at scent recognition and fragrance development, and make him realize he needed me working at his company. La Joie Parfumerie had been on my radar for years now, and to work as a fragrance developer for the company was my dream job. They were a hard company to get in with, I’d always heard, and knowing someone was a huge leg up.

  But something had happened over the course of those weeks together. I’d gotten a peek below Andrew’s polished, overly confident exterior, and I’d fallen for him. It was hard watching this all play back, I had to admit, knowing how things ended up. It hurt like hell.

  But my goal was still the same. Even if Andrew hadn’t gotten down on one knee for me at the end of the show, he could still decide to hire me. After the show had aired, all bets were off, and I could contact him and let him know of my interest in any open perfume development positions. Surely he had gotten to know me well enough that I’d be on the short list if he were hiring. We could get past any initial awkwardness, I was sure.

  I tapped my fingers against the arm of the couch as we watched all the women doing their intros. “Hi, I’m Brandi, and I’m a dental hygienist from Alabama. In my spare time, I like doing karaoke and having fun with my friends. And I know how to cross my eyes!” On the screen, the platinum blonde with carefully sculpted eyebrows demonstrated her eye-crossing skills and nearly fell off her stool.

  “Not much going on with that one, huh?” Ben commented.

  “She was a little bit vacant,” I admitted.

  “I’m Abby, I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’m a waitress from Vancouver, Canada. I’m here because I’m looking for love, and I want to see if Andrew might be the one.”

  “She was nice,” I told Ben.

  “A friend?”

  I hesitated. I’d tried hard not to make friends with the other women. We were all in competition with each other, after all, and it had seemed like becoming friends would make things more difficult. Besides, I’d been worried about slipping up and saying more to them than our very strict contract allowed, not that most of the others paid any attention to that.

  “We were friendly,” I conceded.

  There were a few women who had gone home early enough that I hardly remembered them, and then Isabella flashed on the screen. My nemesis. Just the sight of her made me tense up. Without meaning to, I groaned out loud. Ben laughed.

  “Hi all!” Isabella waved at the camera, fluttering her long, fake lashes in a way that was surely designed to look charming. “I’m Isabella. I’m Italian.” She smiled, clearly proud of herself. “And I believe that I am Andrew’s one true love. I currently work as a nurse, but after we get married I hope my full-time job will be taking care of all of our babies!”

  “Oh no,” Ben said.

  “Oh yes,” I said. “She really was that awful.”

  “Did she actually think some guy she’d never met before was her soulmate, or was she badgered into saying that for the cameras?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, then forgot all about his question as my own face appeared on the screen and my stomach turned another nervous somersault. A makeup artist had done all the women’s makeup before the first meeting in the ballroom, and I’d had my choice of dresses from an extensive collection — the only time during the whole shooting that I hadn’t had to do my own makeup and wear my own clothes. Then we’d been pulled aside one by one to do our intros. I loved the soft bronzed look the makeup artist had given me, not to mention the perfectly fitting green dress that I had chosen because it was both beautiful and would’ve been appropriate for a work function. I wanted Andrew to know I was a professional.

  “I’m January, and I’m a fragrance developer from New York City,” TV-me said. Damn, I looked good. I could stand to learn a tip or two from the makeup artist. “When I heard that Andrew was going to be this season’s Mr. Right, I just knew I had to be on the show. I’m looking forward to getting to know him and seeing if we could be a good match.”

  I glanced over at Ben. He nodded at me and winked. “Well done.”

  After the rest of the intros, Carson reappeared to explain the premise of the show. In each episode, we’d explore a different aspect of romantic relationships with Andrew to see if we were similar where it counted. Those of us he wanted to keep on for the next week, he’d give a red paper heart. No heart, and you were gone. He also explained that none of the women were allowed to talk with each other about what had happened on our dates — a rule I knew many of the women had broken.

  Episode 1 was basic getting-to-know-each-other, but with the twist that all the dates were two-on-one. The producers had paired each of the women up and created first date–type scenarios for us, and Andrew had met us in coffee shops, bars, and restaurants for our dates. Then, at the end of each date, Andrew had given a paper heart to one woman from each pair.

  It was strange watching these dates, because I’d had to sign an agreement before going on the show that I wouldn’t discuss my dates with Andrew with any of the other women while on the show. None of us knew what any of the others of us were doing — or at least, that was the idea. In practice, I knew that many of the women talked about the dates later, trying to be discreet. But when you had a microphone on you at all times, how discreet could you really be?

  We watched Brandi and another woman go on a date with Andrew to grab coffee, and at the end Brandi remained. We watched a ditz named Alexis get chosen over a strange, awkward girl named Mira. We watched Abby and a girl named Toni have a picnic in the park, and Abby’s infectious laughter won out over Toni’s dark, brooding personality. We watched dinner dates and awkward, three-person strolls by the water.

  And then there was me, at the very end of the episode.

  I’d been unenthusiastic about date number one all around. First of all, they’d paired me with Isabella, whom I’d taken an instant dislike to from the first moment we’d met. Second, I didn’t usually drink much — today’s nerves notwithstanding — so I’d been hesitant to agree to the producers’ idea to meet Andrew at an L.A. bar called the Tipsy Cockatoo. It didn’t sound like the best first date if I’d been looking for love, and it certainly wasn’t the place to go with someone I was hoping to impress as a future employer.

  But in the end, I’d agreed. I was afraid of pushing back too hard and getting the producers on my bad side, especially knowing how much power they had over how I was portrayed to the nation.

  So Isabella and I had set out on our first date to meet Andrew at the Tipsy Cockatoo, a bar that turned out to live up to its name. I watched on the screen as the TV-me pulled open the bar’s brightly colored doors and walked inside with Isabella. I was in a light gray sweater dress, way too subdued and hi
gh-cut for the location — I’d thought it looked professional but fun, exactly what I’d wanted to convey to Andrew in that moment — but Isabella fit right in. She wore a bright red number that was both low-cut over her cleavage and landed high on her leg.

  Isabella was just as awful on screen as she’d been in real life, and for that I was grateful. We sat together for a few minutes in the bar making small talk — it had felt like an eternity at the time — and then Andrew had arrived.

  I remembered the way my stomach had flopped when I saw him. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. The camera focused on me as I breathed in and out, something I hadn’t realized had been captured on film.

  Flash to me in the confessional, saying, “I don’t know what to expect. Maybe sparks will fly, but maybe not. Either way, it’s fine. It’s just about finding out whether we’re right for each other.” Really I’d been thinking, There’s no way in hell I’ll wind up with this pretentious idiot, but I’d known I had to go through the motions. Oh how things had changed in just a few weeks’ time.

  Then cut to Isabella: “I really think we’re going to fall in love. I’m ready to get married. I deserve this.”

  The juxtaposition was kind to me, and I smiled in relief. Ben made a wide-eyed, did-she-really-just-say-that face at me. I seemed like the normal, reasonable one. Isabella seemed like the freak who expected way too much of a man she’d hardly met.

  Back in the bar, Isabella was kissing Andrew on the cheek in greeting, and I shook hands with him and smiled. “Ladies, can I get you a drink?” he asked. I watched myself say, “Do they have anything here that isn’t dyed an unnatural color?”

  But Isabella had squealed and pushed me gently, pretending we were buddies. “Oh, come on, be fun! The bright-colored stuff always tastes the best.” Turning to Andrew, she’d suggested, “Let’s take shots!”

  And so it was. Andrew went to the bar to order us three horrendous-looking blue things, and he winked at me as he dropped them back off with us at the table. “Blue raspgasm,” he said. “Neon enough for you?” I’d done my best to laugh and psych myself up for it.

  I sniffed at the shot without realizing Andrew was doing the same. Isabella gave him a quizzical, chiding look, ignoring me. “I always smell my drinks before tasting them,” he explained to her. “As the CEO of a perfume house, scent is one of the most important aspects of any experience to me.”

  She’d smiled as though to say, You are so cultured and worldly.

  “Smells like ripe blue fruit with hints of orange,” I deadpanned, pretending I was tasting a fine wine. “And corn syrup.”

  He turned to me with a grin. “I see that I’m not the only one.”

  I nodded. “I actually work in scent too,” I’d told him. “I’m a fragrance developer.”

  “Oh really?” he said, his interest obviously piqued. We’d chatted about that for a few more minutes while Isabella’s pout grew bigger and bigger, but that part hadn’t made it into the show. I guessed work talk was a little too dry for reality TV audiences.

  Back in the apartment, Ben turned to me. “You’re a charmer,” he said, and I felt myself blush. I took another sip of wine to try to cover it, and realized my glass was empty. “I take it you made it to the next episode, and this girl got cut,” Ben said, leaning over to refill my glass.

  I smiled. “Keep watching.”

  On the show, I watched us taking the bright blue shots, which looked as sugary and fake as they’d tasted. “Hmm, not too bad,” TV-me said diplomatically.

  “Disgusting,” I told Ben now.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  All in all, I thought I came off very well in the episode, and I started to relax as our segment continued. We got a longer slot than the others, I realized, some of whose dates were shown for less than a minute before Ben made a cut. That had to be a good sign. I was dying to know what viewers were thinking about us all, but I forced myself to watch the rest of the show before going online to check what was being said on Twitter.

  When our segment came to an end, it was time for Andrew to choose between us. I remembered how I’d felt in that moment: sickeningly nervous, even though I didn’t think it was possible for Andrew to have chosen Isabella.

  But then again, I knew nothing about him. Maybe he liked vapid, vain women who enjoyed taking blue shots? I was desperate to go on to the next round, but not because I wanted him to fall in love with me. I never thought I’d make it to the final round, to the marriage proposal if it happened; I only wanted to stay on the show long enough to allow him to get to know me. And more important, to show him what a good nose I had. To show him that he needed me at his company.

  On the screen, I gave a shy smile while Isabella batted her long, dark lashes at Andrew. He ran a hand through his hair. “This is such a tough choice,” he said, shaking his head and looking back and forth between the two of us. “Two smart, sophisticated ladies…I really don’t know what to do here.”

  “Really?” Ben said skeptically. “He doesn’t?”

  Then the show cut to commercial break, leaving viewers wondering which of us he would choose. It was fun having a secret that I knew hundreds of thousands of people were wondering about at this very moment.

  Hundreds of thousands. How crazy was that? I was on reality TV being watched by hundreds of thousands of people.

  I got up and stretched, finishing off my glass of wine again. “Bathroom?” I asked, and Ben pointed me down the hall.

  I loved his place, this old building with wood floors but modern touches. In the bathroom, I squealed. “You have a claw-foot bathtub?!” I yelled through the door.

  “Isn’t it great?”

  I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to see myself objectively, as someone would see me who was watching me on TV for the first time. I had long, straight blonde hair, freckles dotting my cheeks and nose, light brown eyes. I supposed I was pretty, but who could really tell about themselves?

  What a trip life was, I thought. A year ago — hell, six months ago — I never would have guessed that I’d be on a reality dating show. I’d never particularly liked reality TV, and the dating shows in particular always struck me as fake and forced.

  And even an hour ago, I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that I’d be watching myself on this reality dating show with my high school boyfriend. We still had that same easy way of talking to each other, as though it hadn’t been a decade since we’d seen each other. Ben looked like life had treated him well in the past decade. His face still had that open, honest expression that I remembered about him, a look that had led me to trust him easily as a teenager.

  Until he’d broken my heart.

  But that was so long ago. I was long over it, and now it just felt warm and comfortable to see him again.

  The show would be on again any moment, I realized, and I washed my hands quickly to go rejoin Ben in the living room. His soap smelled like orange and pine, and I put my hands over my face and breathed in deeply.

  Back in the living room, Ben had refilled my glass once again, and I swayed just a little as I sunk back down into the sofa.

  Just in time. “And we’re back,” said Carson. “Before the break, we watched Andrew go out to a bar with two women who are the total opposite of each other. There’s January, the calm, level-headed fragrance developer from New York. And then there’s Isabella, the party-loving nurse from Miami. Which of these two women will Andrew choose to continue on to the next round?” He cocked his head to the side. “Let’s watch.”

  Back in the bar, Andrew was holding his head in his hands as though this were the most difficult decision he’d ever faced. “All right,” he said. “You two have been the toughest choice of all the dates I’ve been on.” On the screen, my eyes shifted nervously to the side, while Isabella’s stayed confident and wide, a fake smile plastered on her face.

  “But this date is all about first impressions,” Andrew continued. “And the fact is…you both made great first impr
essions.” He looked back and forth between us, drawing the moment out in a frustrating way I knew the producers had coached him in.

  “So, Isabella, January…I would like you both to join me in the next round.” This was the moment where the viewers were supposed to be shocked. Andrew had broken the rules! Anything could happen! I glanced over at Ben. He was nodding thoughtfully, not seeming shocked at all.

  That was the end of the show, but I watched the credits and previews for next week with rapt attention. When it was all over, I poked Ben with my bare toe. “So? What did you think?” I asked, excited. I was no longer nervous at all. I knew I’d come off well in the show, and was looking forward to the exposure this would get me. The nation would love me, and as soon as it was all over, I’d contact Andrew and let him know, very casually, that if he ever had a job opening for a fragrance developer…

  And then I’ll make him fall in love with me, a voice in my head said. I immediately shushed it and put the thought out of my mind. Not tonight. It was too painful to think about. I’d have plenty of time to go back through what happened, especially when the episode rolled around. For now, I just wanted to bask in the excitement. The first episode had aired.

  “It’s…you know. Interesting,” he said. “I still can’t believe my old girlfriend went on a dating show, but it’s kind of funny to watch.”

  I frowned at him. This was not the reaction I’d been hoping for.

  “Funny?” I poked him again, feeling braver than normal from all the wine. “But weren’t you shocked that he kept us both? That he broke the rules?”

  Ben shrugged. “People break the rules in reality TV all the time. What shocked me was the he’d want to keep that crazy girl on.”

  I laughed, nodding. I was glad that Ben was at least on my side about Isabella. But even if he wasn’t nearly as excited about the show as I was — and why would he be, anyway, I reasoned — that didn’t have to put a damper on my excitement. I pulled out my phone — finally, finally allowing myself to see what the world was saying about me.