Since then, a few of the guys have refused to answer our interview questions in complete sentences, or worse, they’ll just give cranky one-word responses. Based on what they’ve been giving us, I’m not expecting much from them today.
“Push as much as you can,” I say as I grab my clipboard.
“You take Joe this time,” Christine adds, looking hopeful.
“Fine, fine, you chicken.” Joe, the thick-necked, stocky jock, has been the worst of all the strikers, grunting like a caveman any time we approach him for an interview. One of Katie’s college hook-ups, Joe seems more interested in drinking with the guys than romancing Katie.
“Hey, Joe,” I say as he savagely saws a piece of wood. “Need to grab a quick OTF.” To my surprise, he puts the saw down and wipes his face with a handkerchief. “So tell me about the challenge today.”
“Well, I’m on a team with the coolest dudes in the house, Frank and Lee,” he says as he wraps his burly arms around their necks. “We’re really stepping it up with this challenge. We’re not going to build some boring dollhouse.” He gestures disdainfully toward the other teams. “We are going to rock this mother out. It’s a dollhousepalooza up in here.”
I look suspiciously at the ramshackle frame. I doubt Katie will be awed by their dollhouse building powers. “Thanks, Joe.” I turn toward Lee, one of the new suitors. “Lee, what’s the reward for winning the challenge today?”
“I’m psyched because the winning team gets to go on a picnic with Katie. I haven’t had a chance to really vibe with her yet and I really want some one-on-one time. So let me tell you, we are in it to win it.”
Even Frank, Katie’s high school boyfriend who thought she was frigid at the ripe old age of seventeen, pipes up without being prompted. “America, we are going to blow your minds. It’s all about Team Delta today.” The guys smile secretly at each other and dole out high fives.
“What’s Team Delta?” I ask.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” Frank winks weirdly. “All will be revealed. I’ll just say, victory is ours!”
“Victory!” Lee and Thick-Necked Joe scream in unison as they pump their fists into the air.
“It is on.” Frank gives the “hang loose” sign and returns to his carpentry.
Next, I interview Ryan and his two teammates (who are all fairly normal for a reality show) while Christine interviews the Stalker team, four scary men who will probably end up on To Catch a Predator one day.
When I ask beautiful man Ryan (without a single stutter or giggle this time) how he’s getting along with his teammates, he answers me with a concise, “They’re good guys, but I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win.” And his teammate then hits me with the tried-and-true “I’ve got my game face on ’cause I don’t want to end up on the chopping block.” This is reality-speak in full effect. It’s like there’s a giant book of clichés that reality contestants read before going on camera. It kills me every time. Well, at least the guys are playing along nicely now.
A few hours later, the guys are almost done with the building. They actually seemed to have fun with it. The creepy, Katie-obsessed team constructed a perfect pink Barbie dream house. Ryan’s team made a decent, if plain house with a tiny red doghouse in the yard for Katie’s dog, Puff. And Team Jock, or Team Delta as they dubbed themselves, built an ode to Animal House, complete with mysteriously singed walls and Delta Tau Chi lettering on the balcony. It’s actually pretty funny. Based on construction, the stalkers should win, but I hope Katie picks the Animal House just to piss everyone off.
At 1:40 Grant, Will and Lisa arrive. I watch as they look at the dollhouses. Grant looks amused and Lisa looks…well, like Lisa. And Will? Bored? Disappointed? Thrilled? Who the hell knows with him? Before I can take a closer look, Will and Lisa head back inside.
Grant walks over to me. “Hey. This looks like it’s going well.”
“Yeah. So far, it’s been easy,” I reply, squinting at the sun. “Though we haven’t had a visit from the kiddies yet. So we’ll see.”
“That should be interesting. We’ll be ready for Katie in about twenty.”
“Just so you know, the kids are coming out at 2:00 p.m. whether we’re ready or not. The teacher is a Nazi.”
“Shit. Then I better get a move on.” Grant heads off and talks to one of the cameramen.
Exactly sixteen minutes later, Katie arrives and joins the kids outside to judge the dollhouses. She’s wearing a yellow silk, tube-top sundress that shows off her freckled shoulders, long legs and slender arms. The stalker team is practically drooling. Scary.
At the moment, everything’s chaotic. The kids are a mess and are running around in a frenzy. I guess they’re a little pent-up from being cooped up all day. Thank you, Miss Tina. But Katie is quite sweet with them. She’s listening patiently as they spout some sort of gibberish at her. She’s not bothered at all by the ear-piercing screech of delighted screams. Better her than me.
Katie takes one of the shy girls by the hand and leads her to the stalkers’ perfect Barbie house. She approaches Eric first. “This is nice, Eric. Whose idea was it?”
Eric, a crush from Katie’s elementary school days, answers her shyly. “It was mine. I mean we all discussed, but when I told the guys how fond you used to be of dolls, we just decided that this was the way to go.” He smiles, displaying two very large, front buck teeth. “And I mean, God, of course, had a hand in it too.”
Hmm, that’s a new one. I wonder if that’s anywhere in the big bad book of reality-speak?
Katie subtly raises her eyebrows and utters a noncommittal, “Okay.”
Although the house looks like experts built it, Katie doesn’t seem that impressed. She smiles and compliments the rest of the team, but lingers only for a few more seconds.
Next she hits Team Jock’s Animal House, shockingly the most creative of the bunch. At first glance, she’s confused, but after the guys explain the reference, she laughs loudly. The kids of course, think it’s a dump and will probably break it into tiny pieces once we’re gone.
Katie finally moves on to inspect Ryan’s team’s house. She’s gushing with praise, complimenting every aspect of the design. It’s the most boring of the bunch, but she acts as if Frank Lloyd Wright descended from heaven and created a masterpiece for her. Clearly, she wants picnic time with Ryan.
I watch as Katie and the kids walk to the judging area. She bends down to talk to them. “So we have to decide which team made the best house. Which one was your favorite? The first, second or the third.” Ha, nice emphasis on third.
The kids scream out various numbers, but the consensus is number one. Team Stalker. Katie’s face falls.
“But did you see number three? It was so pretty. They even made a house for Puff, my doggie,” Katie pleads.
As she tries to convince the kids to vote her way, Will, Lisa and Grant scurry to the craft service area, talking in hushed tones. They look stressed. I edge a little closer, trying to catch a bit of the conversation.
“…clearly the best house…” says Lisa.
“…kill the suspense…” says Grant.
“…distance from Ryan…” adds Will.
I can only hear snippets, but it’s pretty obvious, Katie has already picked Ryan and that’s a big, big problem for us.
Will and Lisa walk up to Katie and pull her aside. Lisa’s skinny hands are moving as fast as her mouth, probably making Katie dizzy. Will looks more sympathetic, but just as determined as Lisa. Katie crosses her arms and shakes her head, but after a few seconds, she nods quietly, tucks her hair behind her ears and returns to the kids.
“Well, you’re starting to win me over to your side,” Katie says. “Maybe the first house is the best. Pink is my favorite color.”
The kids scream in agreement and run over to the stalkers. Katie looks furtively at Ryan and shrugs her shoulders slightly. He smiles in return. Yep, we have a problem.
Four hours and one boring picnic l
ater, I’m back in my car checking my messages. There’s a text from Stephanie.
Positive day sucks.
Sent via BlackBerry
Whoops.
Chapter Seventeen
“Alright, everyone. I want you to stick to the guys like glue tonight. If any of them takes a stripper into the bathroom, a closet, whatever, I expect you to be there for every minute of it.” Lisa puts her hands on her hips, looking as though this is the most important night of our lives, or, at least, the most important night for the show. The rest of the producers are listening intently, while I’m trying desperately to hold the best deadpan expression possible. Inside, I’m cringing.
Tonight is a low point even for reality television. A few days ago, Lisa came up with a way to tempt the guys—inviting ten “hot women” (aka strippers) over for a drunken pool party. Our PAs spent the day buying gin, vodka, tequila and other judgment-impairing beverages. The plan is simple. Get the guys good and boozed up, catch someone in a compromising position with one of the strippers, film it and then show it to Katie the next morning.
And if that’s not obnoxious enough, Grant, Knit Cap and several of the male producers actually “auditioned” the strippers to make sure they’d be up to scratch. For two nights, the guys toiled away in seedy L.A. strip clubs, generously giving up their free time for the good of the show. I thought Grant couldn’t stand Knit Cap, but I guess when you throw a group of naked women and a few lap dances into the mix, some kind of weird male bonding takes place and now they’re all buddy buddy. Gross.
“Make sure no one takes off their mics, and don’t let anyone slip away under any circumstances,” Lisa says just as her cell begins to ring. Thankfully, she ends her speech by stomping off to answer it.
The rest of the group wanders off to finish helping the art department decorate the outdoor terrace. The theme of tonight’s party is luau. All around me are fake palm trees, huge bouquets of tropical flowers, tiki torches and a prop that looks like an enormous bonfire. The guys will be wearing Hawaiian shirts, while the women will be dressed in grass skirts and tiny bikini tops. Nothing but class here.
“So what time is everyone arriving?” I ask Grant as he directs one of the camera guys on where to set up.
“Really soon. Just got the call that they’ve finished the group date and will be back here at the house in about forty-five minutes.” Grant wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.
“Where did you end up telling them Katie is going tonight?”
“Spa,” Grant says as he points to a corner. “Right behind that pillar. Yeah, that’s good.”
“And when is the entertainment supposed to arrive?”
“Didn’t you look at your call sheet?” Grant barks.
I purse my lips. “Jeez. Why are you in such a shitty mood?”
Grant sighs and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Sorry, Crabby. I’m tired.”
“Don’t be mean to me, you jerk.” I shake his arm off and give him a weak smile. We’ve all been pulling thirteen-hour shifts, six days a week, so everyone has been on edge recently. I can’t take it personally. I’m sure I’ve been equally cranky.
“Love ya, mean it.”
“Yeah yeah, I know.” I jokingly push Grant away from me. “Now go and shoot some strippers, young man.”
The booze is flowing and the luau is now in full swing. The ladies arrived well after our suitors had downed at least four shots each. At the moment, things are pretty tame. Some of the guys definitely know what’s up. Suave Ryan has already taken his leave, feigning a migraine. As he made his way upstairs, he even shot me a little wink with those hypnotic blue eyes, as if to say, I get it. It’s cool. But I’m not playing. Katie is obviously smitten with him and he’s not going to let anything screw up his strategy.
Several of the guys are standing around the makeshift bar, pouring drinks for their guests, while others are sitting on lounge chairs around the pool, laughing and sipping piña coladas.
“Let’s do the limbo!” calls out one of the strippers, as instructed to do so earlier by Lisa. The guys cheer and high five each other.
Come to think of it, this is Lisa’s big night and she’s nowhere to be found. Neither is Will, for that matter. I whip my head around to see if I can spot either of them hiding in the corner, but they’re both strangely absent. That’s so bizarre. Why wouldn’t they be here for this? This is Lisa’s baby. Why isn’t she goose-stepping around the room, scaring the shit out of her troops?
Good God. Boobs! I watch in horror as each stripper attempts to lean backward and dance seductively under a stick. They are all dangerously close to falling out of their tops, which I guess is nothing really new for them, but it’s a strange sight since there’s no music to accompany the game, just a drunk guy banging on a set of bongos.
Can I go home yet?
I notice a few of the women dragging Lee and Thick-Necked Joe toward the hot tub. A camera guy follows closely behind. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Knit Cap and Christine quickly edging their way through the area, trying to avoid the camera. As they start to head my way, Knit Cap takes her arm, whispers something in her ear and heads off in the opposite direction.
“Where’ve you been?” I ask Christine as she stands beside me.
She tries to smooth the wrinkles out of her little linen tank. “I thought I saw one of the guys go upstairs, but I guess he was just going to the bathroom or something.”
“You mean Ryan? That was ages ago. I think he went to bed.”
Christine looks around nervously. “No, I mean, yeah. I guess so.”
“Why were you with Knit Cap?”
“I wasn’t, I mean he was just there. So we walked out together.”
I stare at her. She’s acting weird. “Hmm. Well, did you see Lisa or Will anywhere?”
“Nope.”
“That’s so odd.” I shrug my shoulders. “Anyway, we need to follow the hot tub group.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan!”
I squint my eyes, giving her a suspicious once-over. Her face is flushed and she looks like a deranged cheerleader, smiling and nodding her head.
We head over to the hot tub where both guys are bobbing around the water with three of the strippers. They have it on full blast, so I reach over to the control panel and turn off the bubbles.
“Hey, what’dya do that fer?” slurs Lee.
“Sorry,” I say. “We can’t pick up what you’re saying on the mic over the bubbles.”
“Whatevs,” Lee says, dipping his head under the water. As he emerges, he shakes out his longish streaky blond hair and all three girls squeal.
“All right, ladies, I have an important question to ask you,” says Thick-Necked Joe. He does a silent beer burp. “Are either of you a shitter?”
Lee does a spit-take with his beer, and laughs so hard he breaks into a cough.
“I’m sorry. What?” asks one of the strippers.
“Wait, wait, lemme explain,” Lee says as he holds out his hand.
“We have a shitters club here among the brothers,” Joe interrupts. “I wanna find out if either of you could be members.”
The girls look perplexed. I’m right there with them. I look over at Christine and raise my eyebrows. She shakes her head slightly in response.
“No, no. You’re not explaining it right,” says Lee. “Lemme, let me. Okay. A few nights ago we were sitting around getting shit-faced…”
“Shit-faced.” The guys erupt in laughter and give each other high fives at that little play on words. The girls give a polite, if confused, chuckle.
“Anyway, anyway,” Lee says with a wave of his hands. “We were getting drunk…”
“Off our asses!” Thick-Necked Joe chimes in, with a self-congratulatory laugh. He raises his hand for another high five, but Lee ignores the terrible pun and continues on without looking at him.
This is like a car wreck. But I can’t look away. It’s like the world has stopped spinning so I can listen to L
ee’s shitter story.
“And so the topic came up naturally in conversation.”
“Naturally,” Joe says, swaying a bit.
“So all of a sudden we were talking about shitting our pants. Like, who hasn’t shit their pants? So we all started telling our shitting-our-pants stories and realized, most of us have shit our pants at one time or another. So we made the shitters club.”
This is the story you tell to impress hot chicks?
“Wrestling match…” Joe blurts, smacking Lee on the back. They both erupt into manly giggles, if such a thing exists.
“Yeah, I have the supreme shit-your-pants story,” says Lee proudly.
Christine elbows me, and I look away. If I look at her I will start laughing. I can’t believe these people are talking about this on camera.
“It’s fucking hilarious.” Joe sits up straight. “Back in high school, Lee was trying to make his weight for a wrestling match, so this dude said, ‘Bro, you gotta take laxatives.’”
“It’s my story, I’ll tell it. So this dude said, ‘Dude, you gotta take laxatives.’ So I did, and they worked their magic. I won’t say more to spare your delicate ears.” He gestures to the three appalled-looking girls. “Let’s just say I made the weight, it was all good. So the match starts. And I’m kicking this guy’s ass. I’m taking the fool to school. So I bend down to do the ankle pick, and all the sudden, boom! My ass just blows up. Shit squirts all over the back of my singlet. It was fucking gnarly. And the dude, he’s like, whoa, but there’s no stopping. We had to keep goin’. So I take him down, and it’s just squishing and…”
“Ew!” The strippers laugh and duck their heads.
I can’t believe it, but they seem oddly charmed by this. Is the stripper delight faked? Or are they really digging on the shitters? I smile to myself, because if I hadn’t made it out of that job interview a few months ago, I would have been able to join their club, too.
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