“He is a poet,” I argued. The dreaminess in my voice caught me off guard, but I pressed on. “He’s talented at what he does and obviously, he’s made a good living doing it. But he is a poet.”
Evan didn’t say anything immediately. He slipped his hands back into the pockets of his black pants. “So if I were a poet, would I have a shot?”
I didn’t know why, but I liked him. Although I wasn’t immediately attracted to him, there was something about his confidence, the way he spoke, and his smile.
I pushed away from the wall and flashed my teeth at him. “I thought you said you only had one question?”
“Yeah, but—”
A small group of women passed between us, interrupting his sentence. I didn’t pay attention to the group until I heard the grating voice of one of the women I encountered in the bathroom—the blonde bitch in the pink dress.
“That’s her,” she uttered mockingly, right before opening the bathroom door. “Look at her. She definitely has a better shot with that dirty looking waiter than she does with Julian.”
She disappeared into the bathroom so fast that I didn’t even have a chance to respond.
A couple of the women with her snickered, one looked horrified and the shortest one looked like she had spaced out. But all of them followed her into the bathroom.
My eyes met Evan’s and he looked genuinely surprised. “Dirty looking?”
With a shake of my head, I sighed. “And that’s the perfect example of why this isn’t my sort of thing.”
“Dirty looking?” he repeated, looking down at himself. He lifted his hands away from his body.
I gave him a small smile. “Don’t listen to her. You’re not dirty looking. Your tan is just a little…” I lowered my voice and walked across the hallway. I rested my hand on his arm, right above his elbow. I was surprised by how muscular his arm felt under my light touch. “I don’t think you rubbed in the self-tanner as well as possible, that’s all. You’re not dirty looking, though. She’s a bitch. Don’t listen to anything she says. You saw a woman who didn’t fit in and engaged her in conversation to make her feel better about being here. You are a good person and any woman would be lucky to have a shot with you.”
Oddly enough, his brilliant smile made my insides warm. I dropped my hand from his body.
“So does that mean I have a shot at you?” He asked teasingly.
I laughed, walking backward. “Are you a poet?”
“So you only date poets?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I winked before spinning on my heel and striding back to the party.
My conversation with Evan was exactly what I needed to get my head back into the game. He was easy to talk to and he reminded me why I showed up to the event.
Julian Winters.
As much as I denied it to Koko, I was looking forward to meeting him. Initially, when I came to terms with the fact that I had agreed to do the show, I was interested in meeting him and getting on TV so my parents wouldn’t be disappointed in me. But after doing my research, I was genuinely intrigued and wanted to know more about him, about his art, about his talent.
I spent time reading his lyrics and each one made me feel like I knew him a little better. Maybe he was making up all of the tales of everlasting love or soul-crushing heartbreak, but his ability to make me feel with each skillfully placed word did something to me. There weren’t many personal details about him on the web. But I read a bunch of articles about his music and through his music, I felt like I knew more than any random article of facts could tell me. The lyrics felt like they were his truth and I hadn’t been moved like that in a long time.
Probably not since I got my book of Pablo Neruda poems from Grandma, I considered as I walked around the perimeter of the party.
For thirty or forty minutes, I slowly made my way around the outskirts of the room. I overheard bits and pieces of conversation, never hearing anything that interested me enough to stop and engage. I sipped on a glass of champagne that was offered to me and observed my surroundings.
Looking at the women gathered, I couldn’t tell what Julian’s type might be. But there were a lot of blondes in the room.
“Hello!” A man in a tuxedo addressed us with a salute as he entered the open space from the hallway. He looked like a real-life Ken doll with his overly gelled blonde hair and his tanned skin.
“Hello,” he repeated, his booming voice echoed from the wireless microphone he held in his hand. Cheers and excited squeals erupted throughout the room. I looked around in confusion.
Who the hell is this?
Everyone but me seemed to know who the man was. I clapped politely for a few seconds, before resting my forearm on the back of the leather smoking chair I was standing next to. As women around the room seemed thrilled, I was still waiting for him to appease my curiosity.
“For those of you who don’t know, my name is Bryce Wilson. I am the host of The One,” he introduced himself, sweeping his free hand out dramatically. He grinned as he took in the second round of applause.
“Thank you, thank you. Please, take a seat,” he directed us.
A hush fell over the room and a few excited squeaks could be heard as everyone scrambled to an available chair. I slipped into the chair I was leaning against. Crossing my smooth legs, I finished the champagne remaining in my glass. Twisting the stem of the glass between my fingertips, I could feel my nerves starting to get the best of me.
I’m going to tell my parents the whole truth as soon as possible, no matter what. This isn’t like me. Running from the bar. Lying to my parents. Participating in this bull—
“You are all here because we saw something special in you. On paper, you each held qualities that our eligible bachelor is looking for in a significant other. For those of you who are familiar with the show, you know that usually there are twenty-four women selected for interviews and then that number is slashed to twelve who appear on the actual show. This season we are doing it a little differently.”
Gasps rang out even though Bryce hadn’t specified what was different this time around. The tension in the room became thick as the reality of the situation settled in. Some of us were going home and some of us were staying.
Here we go.
“You may have noticed that there are fifty of you here. And you may be wondering how we are going to interview you all tonight since we’ve had this cocktail party for the last two hours.” He paused and smiled.
But the pause was for a little too long. It was like the pauses they do on television when they are about to drop a bombshell.
Wait a minute.
I scanned the room until I located several black orbs around the room. There was one in each corner of the room and one in the center, attached to the chandelier. I froze.
They are recording this. This is going on TV. I sat up a little straighter and tried to act natural. I placed the empty champagne flute on the small table beside me. The uptick in my heart rate made me feel unnecessarily guilty. Did they catch the conversation in the hallway with the waiter? They wouldn’t have cameras on the way to the bathroom and the kitchen area. Would they?
“You’ve actually been interviewed all night!” Bryce yelled, causing confusion to sweep through the room.
Everyone started talking at once. Well, almost everyone. I relaxed a bit in my chair and let out a short, dry laugh.
They may have recorded us, but I wasn’t subjected to any interviews. I didn’t talk to anyone except for—
My thoughts were cut short when three members of the wait staff came down the hallway and flanked either side of Bryce. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it was confirmed that none of the three men who walked out happened to be the waiter I was talking to in the hallway.
“These men who have been interjecting themselves in your conversations and offering you more of those delicious finger sandwiches all night are not who you think they are. No, ladies. Let me introduce you to your interviewers. We ha
ve James, Omar, and Scott. Best friends of Julian Winters!”
I clapped along with the rest of the women. Each of them gave us a wave and I noticed how uniquely handsome they were.
“These men have been asking questions, getting first impressions, and looking for the best match for their best friend. They have helped whittle the list down from fifty to twelve,” Bryce announced, allowing the tension to swell.
Nothing sobers up a room full of women competing for the same man like telling them that they are being judged on their actions when they didn’t know they were being judged. I put my hand over my mouth as I laughed to myself again. I know my antisocial ass is getting sent home.
When I arrived at the beginning of the evening, I initially tried to make an attempt. But after the third superficial conversation, I couldn’t take it anymore. I was pretty sure I came off as disinterested and stuck-up since I didn’t interact with anyone.
Well anyone besides—
Evan walked out as if the universe wanted to finish my thought for me. A sense of uneasiness worked its way through my body as I tensed. I breathed a sigh of relief when he immediately took a right toward the bar.
Phew.
My eyes followed him as he tucked himself into a corner near the bar. I didn’t know why the thought of Julian knowing my conversation with the waiter made me uneasy. Maybe it was the fact that the waiter was flirting and I may have been a little flirtatious back. Maybe it was the fact that my voice betrayed how Julian’s lyrics made me feel. Maybe it was the fact that I was a little embarrassed that after all the shit I talked, I kind of wanted to be selected.
I looked at my empty glass. I drank the kool-aid.
“If we are getting rid of thirty-eight of you tonight to make sure the most compatible matches get through, we couldn’t make that decision without additional help,” Bryce began merrily, using his hands excessively.
I stopped listening to what he was saying and focused on how he was saying it.
He seemed rather excited about sending thirty-eight women home. Living locally, I gave up an afternoon and a little bit of my self-respect. Some of these women put in leave of absences to their jobs. Some of these women walked away from their family and friends for possibly two months. Some of these women gave up a lot for the chance to be with a man they don’t know. I cast my eyes around the room and for the first time, I kind of felt for them.
Putting your life on hold for the hope that this man that you don’t know could be the one. I shook my head. Even though I couldn’t do it, I understood the sentiment behind it. The hope of love is such a powerful motivator.
“…so without further ado, the following women will be asked to immediately move into the house for a chance to get to know Julian Winters. We believe that one of these twelve women will be… The One.”
*****
Chapter 4
“That’s perfect,” Koko commented as she finished applying my makeup. “Open.”
My eyes had to adjust to the brightly lit makeup trailer again. Between the overhead lighting and the vanity lights around the mirror, I had to blink several times to get everything into focus.
The room was brightly lit and colorful. The walls were a vibrant blue with the name Julia Jones scrawled in purple. From the high tech sound system to the chrome makeup table and storage drawers, the trailer was fully customized.
My eyes focused on my best friend. Her eyes were lined in charcoal with long lashes attached. Her jet black hair was dyed blue at the ends as an ode to her new boss. Her all black outfit with blue combat boots was cool and apparently comfortable since she’d been on her feet doing makeup for the last three hours.
Once she finished my lipstick, Koko made eye contact with me. Her grin stretched across her face as she took a step back and analyzed her work. Her happiness was so evident. She worked her ass off and she made it. And working with the makeup guru herself was the coronation of her success.
And I couldn’t even keep my shit together long enough to take the bar.
“This is big time,” I whispered so Julia Jones wouldn’t overhear me as she stood at the back of the trailer washing makeup brushes. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you! I love you, girl!”
“I love you too. You deserve this and so much more,” I said as she spun me around in the chair to face the mirror. When I saw myself, my jaw dropped.
I didn’t wear makeup often and when I did, it was heavy eye makeup and minimal everything else. Although I still looked like me, I looked like a photo-shopped version of myself.
“Wow. Koko…I look amazing!” I leaned forward. “What kind of voodoo magic is this? I went to church last Sunday so I don’t need those problems,” I joked, scooting to the edge of my seat.
Koko laughed and out of nowhere, Julia laughed too.
“This kid’s laugh is amazing!” She commented lightheartedly before she called another contestant in for makeup.
“I know it’s more makeup than you’re used to and I know you’re worried that you’re going to get it everywhere. But I’ve set it with this sealing spray. JJ swears by it. And you’re going to be on camera, with optic zoom, so you’re welcome.”
I stared at my face. My skin was smooth, almost creamy looking. My full lips were slathered in a matte red. My light brown eyes and natural long lashes were played up with black liner and smoky shadows. With my hair already done in an elegant up-do, I felt beautiful…and not regular, everyday beautiful, but TV beautiful.
“You like it?” She asked anxiously.
“Like it?” I looked at her in the mirror. “I love it! I feel like I look like I’m in high definition.”
She squealed. “You will be!”
We hugged and after a wave goodbye to Julia, I hustled out of the trailer. I had already stopped in wardrobe and my dress was being steamed before being delivered to my room. I felt like I had more than an hour to burn so instead of going through the side entrance, I followed the cobblestone walkway and took in my surroundings.
Holy shit.
My stomach churned with nerves. It wasn’t like the feeling I had the night before the bar. The nerves that caused me to wring my hands were because I was so hell bent on running from the bar and the future that I ran in the complete opposite direction. And I had no idea what to expect.
I wanted to meet Julian because there was something about his lyrics that connected with me. But was coming on the show the only chance I had to meet him? Maybe, maybe not. All I knew was that coming on the show was so completely unlike me.
I’ll do the song and dance they need me to do tonight and then I can quit the show. I just want to talk to him. I can leave at any time. I just need to spend a little time with him, talking to him.
When Bryce Wilson called my name along with the names of eleven other women, I couldn’t deny the sense of excitement I felt. My crush had become a real, tangible thing and the thought of meeting the mystery man to talk to him about his music and his poetry made me feel exhilarated.
As quickly as I hyped myself up about meeting Julian Winters, the enthusiasm came crashing back down. The high of being on the show to get to know the man who wrote “Breathe You” shattered quickly when the realization hit that it wasn’t a meeting or a date, but a competition.
We were all given the call time of ten o’clock Friday morning to report to the mansion, located in Calabasas, California, about thirty-five minutes away from Los Angeles. A limo was scheduled to pick us up from Sway Luxury Resort, the high end downtown hotel where all of the out of town women were staying. I took a taxi to the hotel and chose that moment to call my parents to tell them the truth.
Because of the three hour time difference, they weren’t up yet. I thought about leaving a voicemail message apologizing and telling them everything, but instead I just apologized and promised to explain everything once I was able to use my phone again. Then, I tucked my phone away in a pouch that I dropped off to Koko’s desk as soon as I arrived on the p
roperty.
The six bedroom, four and a half bathroom house was breathtaking. It had a fitness room, a study, a formal room, a deluxe kitchen, and a fully loaded bar located in the living room. There were other rooms, but the doors were closed and locked. There was a pool and a hot tub and another fully loaded bar on the back patio. A garden maze and fountain were situated on the far side of the property between the show mansion and the neighbor’s property. It was incredible.
After spending the first two hours getting a tour, selecting a bedroom, and being told where and where not to go, we were shown how to attach our microphones and where the stationary cameras were located. We were told that before each Bracelet Ceremony we had to visit hair, makeup and wardrobe. We were also given the rules and regulations. It was information overload, but I was confident I’d figure it out. And then they pushed us into hair and makeup.
“Excuse me! You’re in the way!” A man barked, shaking me out of the recollection of the last twelve hours of my life.
I whipped around and then immediately jumped from the walkway into the perfectly manicured grass. Pushing an oversized cart with camera equipment and boom mics, he grumbled and groaned as he seemed to be pulled behind the cart as he traveled toward the outside entrance that led to the basement.
I looked around and the hustle and bustle of one hundred or so production people working together to create this fantasy was fascinating. Everything was staged. It was as fake as I always thought it was, but seeing the effort that went into it was mind blowing. From script writers to story producers, men and women worked together to create the reality that is then chopped and screwed in editing for millions of Americans sitting at home.
“Hey, you! Out of the grass! We just sprayed it!”
My eyebrows flew up. I held my hands up in surrender as I scurried back over to the walkway. “Sorry!”
Determined to get out of the way and to clear my mind, I took a nerve-settling walk to the far side of the property. By the time I reached the lush greens of the garden, I already felt better. The cool breeze felt good against my warm skin.
The One Page 4