MultiDate

by Kirsty McManus

  “A new book hit the stands today, revealing what really goes on behind the scenes of the NBS reality show MultiDate. Early reviews are already predicting it will be a bestseller, due to its salacious contents about the underhanded tactics used to manipulate cast members. The author of the book is unknown, but it is rumoured that executive producer Ariel Schwartz is behind the project. According to sources, Ariel has been unhappy with her role for some time, and may have been looking for a way to monetise her insider knowledge before she walks away from the hit show. Amongst other revelations, it has been suggested that potential contestants are ridiculed, body shamed and made to answer invasive and antagonistic questions that are designed to destroy any bonding during the audition process. One passage in the book even details a suicide attempt by a woman portrayed as a villain on season two.

  “With a new season currently filming, outreach groups are calling for an investigation into the mental wellbeing of the cast. This doesn’t bode well for a show that has seen ratings slipping over the past couple of years. Insiders are hinting that this may very well signal the death knell for MultiDate.”

  I continue to stare at the screen as the cover of the book flashes up. Well, this isn’t ideal. A small part of me wonders if anyone would really care what an anonymous writer had to say about the show, and if they do, will it be enough to make them stop watching? I probably need to get my hands on a copy to see how bad it actually is.

  Is Ariel really behind this? I hadn’t realised she was unhappy with the show before I even came along. But it might explain why she is suddenly so agreeable. She knew nothing would matter once her story came out. And then I remember that box Jules picked up from the post office for her soon after I started. It could easily have contained advance copies of the book. I mean, it would have been pretty brazen to have them delivered to the studio, but it’s possible.

  Surely she’d realise that the contents would make her look bad. Although, I guess if it was anonymous and she makes a ton of money in royalties, maybe she’d be willing to take the risk.

  I text Patrick.

  Have you seen the news this morning?

  He writes back almost immediately.

  Yes. Don’t worry. I’m on it.

  Patrick would be furious that someone is out to make the show look bad, especially timing it right before the next season is due to air. I know he was thinking of cancelling it, but he wouldn’t want to see all his money wasted from this year.

  I need to get to work as soon as possible. The cast won’t know what’s happening because they’re in lockdown—but the producers will have questions, and I’d like to see how Ariel responds.

  When I arrive at Bondi, there are several news cameras outside the villa. Because I walked from the train, I have nowhere to hide. A couple of journalists hurry over and shove microphones in my face.

  “Excuse me, can you tell us what your business is here at the MultiDate villa?” one of them asks.

  “Sorry, I can’t talk right now,” I say, picking up the pace. Thankfully, the villa has a couple of security guards standing at the door, and one comes over to escort me inside.

  “Is it really true Ariel Schwartz told a contestant to go kill herself?” one of the journalists yells after me.

  I ignore the question and make my way inside. Ariel is on the phone in the entryway, pacing back and forth.

  “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, Patrick, but we need to shut this crap down now.”

  She sees me enter and points to the living room. All the cast are sitting on the couch looking confused. I head over and sit down with them.

  “Hi everyone.”

  “What’s going on?” Brittany asks. “We could hear all these loud voices outside, and a helicopter keeps flying past.”

  “Uh, well, someone released a book today talking about the negative aspects of this show, so they’re trying to get a quote from someone.”

  “What negative aspects?” she asks. Apparently Brittany has made herself the spokesperson of the group.

  “Oh, I’m not sure exactly. But it’s nothing for you guys to worry about. The media can’t get near you, so you can just relax. However, if any of you have concerns about how we operate, please come and see me and we’ll talk about how to fix them.”

  Everyone looks at each other blankly. I take that as a good sign.

  I know I might be overstepping the boundary, but I want to ask. “Uh, just quickly, what do you guys think of the casting process? Were you happy with how it all went down?”

  This time Chelsea pipes up. “I thought it was fine. I mean, I know some of the girls got upset, but it was only because they felt rejected. Not because of anything wrong with the auditions.”

  “So you were fine with the questions?”

  Everyone nods, which to be honest, I find surprising. Then again, they did all get through, so they wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds them.

  “Okay, I’ll keep you posted if anything changes, but for now we’re going to keep filming as usual. We’ll be setting up the next round of dates shortly, so have breakfast and get your showers out of the way, and we’ll see you back here in an hour and a half.”

  I leave them and go back to Ariel, who is now off the call, but typing something on her phone and muttering to herself.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask.

  She looks at me. “What do you think?”

  “I’ll take that as a no?”

  “Very perceptive. I need to go and deal with this shit storm. Talk with Mason and make a plan for today. But I want you to keep me in the loop. Do you think you can do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” She grabs her handbag and storms out of the house, flanked by one of the security guards. It seems as though the cameras have multiplied.

  I don’t think that looked like a woman who was celebrating the release of a new book. But you never know—she could be a really good actor.

  I go in search of Mason. We have a lot of work to do.

  ***

  Wow. I’ve never had a day that intense. I feel like my body has been put through the wringer.

  I have a new appreciation for what Ariel does, and I’m now ninety-nine percent sure she didn’t write that book.

  All day, Mason and I worked together with the other producers as they pitched various angles for their questioning. And in between, somehow my mobile number became public and people from dozens of media outlets have been phoning me directly. I stopped answering after the tenth call. I didn’t have anything to tell them anyway. When I took a five minute break to chow down on a piece of sushi, I texted Jules to see how he was doing.

  You OK?

  Honey, it’s a nightmare here. The new girl is not coping, and to be honest, neither am I. I have NEVER had this many calls come through the studio.

  Hopefully it will all blow over soon. Hang in there.

  We need to go out for cocktails next week.

  Definitely.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. I feel like we got some good footage, but everything was disjointed. The editors are going to have to work hard to make sense of that mess.

  I don’t get away until 8pm. When I finally make it home, I stumble into the living room and sit down on the couch. And that’s when I start to shake. What’s happening? My heart rate increases and my chest feels tight. Am I having a heart attack? Something feels really wrong.

  My brain starts going into meltdown mode. I’m dying. I’m actually dying.

  I lean forward and put my head between my knees, trying to slow my breathing, but it doesn’t help. Should I call an ambulance?

  “Lauren?”

  I’m only vaguely aware of Finn talking to me. It doesn’t even seem strange that he’s suddenly here. He must have just come back from his trip to Melbourne. I don’t think I’m capable of answering.

  “Lauren?” His voice is a little louder this time.

  He kneels down in front of me and tries t
o lift my head. “Are you alright?”

  “No,” I mumble. A particularly violent wave of shakes hits me.

  “Are you sick?”

  “Dunno,” I manage to get out. My brain has completely short-circuited and is free-falling in terror.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asks.

  “Having…trouble…breathing…”

  He studies me for a second. “Are you having a panic attack?”

  The words penetrate the fog in my head and I almost laugh. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not having one now.”

  “Does a panic attack feel like you’re actually going to die?”

  “Uh, yes. That’s one of the main symptoms.”

  I look up at Finn and our eyes connect. I feel a slight lessening in the intensity. Not much, but enough to concentrate a bit more.

  “Tell me the other symptoms,” I order. I need something else to focus on.

  “Um, tingling fingers, chills, chest pain, dizziness…”

  I don’t have tingling fingers, but I can’t stop shaking. And while I wouldn’t call it pain as such, there’s definitely something going on in my chest. I don’t know about the dizziness, but I haven’t tried to stand up.

  “Say it was a panic attack, what would you do to get rid of it?”

  He sits down beside me and rubs my back. “I know someone who experiences them every now and again, and they said deep breathing helps. Also, trying to neutrally observe your feelings and the sensations in your body.”

  “You mean like mindfulness?”

  “Exactly like mindfulness.”

  “I can only do that kind of thing when I’m relaxed.”

  He laughs. “I think the point is to practice when you’re relaxed, so you can better use the techniques when you’re feeling like this.”

  “But I’m not usually an anxious person.”

  “Yeah, but if you’ve been in a stressful situation, it can trigger one. Did you have a big day?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And have you eaten anything in the last few hours?”

  “No,” I admit.

  He gives me a look as if to say “Come on, are you really that blind?”

  “Okay. I get your point.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Better. Can you hang out with me for a bit longer?”

  “Of course. Do you want a cup of tea?”

  “Can you get me something herbal?”

  “I’ll see what we have.”

  He disappears for a moment and I mentally reassess. The worst of the attack seems to be over. I’m not shaking anymore, but the tightness is still there in my chest. I hope this is a one-off. I don’t think I could cope with another one.

  A panic attack, huh? That’s new.

  Finn comes back with a small tray containing a cup of what smells like peppermint tea, and a sandwich.

  “Your blood sugar might be low, so I made you a peanut butter and honey sandwich as well,” he explains.

  I smile appreciatively. “Thank you. And sorry for acting so weird. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

  “Don’t worry. It happens to the best of us.”

  “You don’t seem like the type to ever get anxious.”

  “No, but I have my own issues.”

  I sip my tea, and feel my muscles relax a bit more as the warm minty liquid hits my tongue. “Like what?”

  “I went through a pretty long period of depression a while back.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  “Did anything trigger it?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t put my finger on any one event, but it was almost like I couldn’t see the good in anything. Life just seemed really brutal and difficult.”

  “Were you on medication?”

  “In the end, yes. I just couldn’t snap myself out of whatever was going on. But I don’t think it did much. Jules was much more of a help.”

  I take a bite of my sandwich and swallow before talking. “How?”

  “I don’t know. He just has this way of knowing the right thing to say when you need it.”

  “Actually, he was good the other night when I was…” I almost say “missing you” but change it to “…thinking about my family.”

  “You haven’t told me much about them.”

  “I know. I didn’t want to bore you with the details about my dad’s affair, my twin sisters trying to convert me to his side, and my mum wanting to use me for revenge.”

  “Jeez. That sounds rough. I’m glad Jules was around to listen.”

  “Me too. And I’m glad you’re doing better these days.”

  “Well, I started meditating and practicing mindfulness. And I realised you have to make your own life meaning. And focus on the positive everywhere you can find it.”

  “I like that.” I finally realise that I haven’t seen him for two weeks, and I suddenly feel a bit tongue-tied. I’d spent the last fourteen nights thinking about him and now he’s back. And I’m afraid my feelings towards him have intensified. I change the subject to something safe. “Sorry, I forgot to ask how your trip was.”

  “Oh, yeah it was fine. Emma had to work a bit more than what she thought, so we didn’t get any long weekends, but we did go away for the night on both Saturdays.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “On the first Saturday, we stayed at Phillip Island. And the second, we went to the Yarra Valley. I did want to visit the hot springs on the Mornington Peninsula, but we ran out of time. But at least I got to check out a lot of the city while Emma was working. I discovered some great restaurants.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “So apart from today, how has work been?”

  “Sort of okay. I’d like to think this season will be a success, but if we can’t do something about the negative press we’re starting to get, I don’t know.”

  “Are you talking about that new book? I saw a bit about it on the news at the airport.”

  I nod. “Yeah, anyway, there’s nothing I can do tonight. I’m exhausted. I might go to bed.”

  “Sure. You’ll feel a lot better tomorrow after a good night’s rest.”

  I almost reach out and give him a hug. I want to tell him how much I missed him. “It’s good to have you back,” I say instead.

  “It’s nice to be back,” he says, smiling. And I think he might even mean it.

  But probably not in the way I want.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  On Monday, I head into the studio before going to the villa. I obsessively watched the news all weekend, and combed all the tabloid websites to find references to the book and its effect on the perception of the show. I also checked into my usual forums and blogs. The results weren’t great. A large percentage of fans expressed their dismay at having the show’s fairy-tale image tarnished, and several of them quoted specific passages in the book that they took particular offence to. One of them was a detailed comparison about how being in lockdown in the villa is actually worse than being in prison. Another was about how most of the contestants who declare their love for someone on the show are practically forced into it by the producers. But the most damaging of all was definitely the part about the contestant from season two who attempted suicide.

  The negativity intensifies when she actually comes forward and participates in a series of TV and radio interviews. She’d originally signed a confidentiality clause, but claimed that since now everything was public, she was going to share her experience and didn’t care if the show sued her.

  It’s only 8am, but Jules is already in and he looks miserable. The phone is ringing non-stop. Clearly, Patrick hasn’t been able to do anything to fix this. I don’t know that Ariel has either. I watch poor Jules say a variation of “I’m sorry, I can’t help you” several times before I decide something. I phone Patrick, because I want to run an idea past him, only he doesn’t answer. Next, I try Ariel, but s
he doesn’t answer either. As a last resort, I call Mason.

  “Yeah?” he answers, sounding stressed.

  “Oh, hey, Mason, it’s Lauren. Are you at the villa yet?”

  “Just arriving. It’s chaos out the front.”

  “Has Patrick or Ariel told you if they’re doing anything to sort out the problem?”

  “Nope.”

  “Do you think it would be okay if I tried something?”

  “What kind of something?”

  “Bring in a reporter to write up a piece that disproves everything in the book?”

  “Ariel won’t allow reporters into the villa.”

  “Even for something like this?”

  “I’m sure she’d say especially for something like this. But it’s your butt. If you want to do it, go ahead. I’m sure things can’t get any worse.”

  “Thanks, Mason!”

  “Don’t thank me. In fact, just like before, keep my name out of it as much as possible.”

  “Will do. I’ll be over soon.”

  I hang up and go behind the counter to look at the spreadsheet of all the logged calls. Jules watches me curiously. I scroll through all the names and look for one that might suit my purpose.

  There. The tenth name down. A woman from Network Gossip magazine called yesterday afternoon. I’ve always liked that publication. They’re a tabloid, but they’re not bitchy. I phone their office and someone answers right away.

  “Uh, hi, is Gemma Stiles there?” I ask. “This is Lauren Hunter from NBS Studios.”

  “Just a moment, please.”

  I wait to be transferred. A pleasant voice answers. “Gemma speaking.”

  “Hi Gemma, it’s Lauren Hunter. I’m a consultant for this season’s MultiDate, and I was wondering if you’d like an exclusive.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Just be at the villa in an hour. Do you know the address?”

  “Yep. Is this for real?”

  “I promise. I’ll try and meet you out the front, but if it’s as busy as yesterday, I’ll make sure security knows you’re on your way.”

  “Great. See you soon.”

  Jules finishes one of his calls. “I hope you know what you’re doing, hon.”