If the Shoe Fits

by Julie Murphy

  Zeke peeks his head in from the courtyard outside. “Ladiessssss,” he says. “Your presence is required outside. Ya know, where the cameras are?”

  “Take a chill pill, Zeke,” Drew says in a you-work-for-my-mom voice.

  Anna swats at her. “Be right there, Zeke dear.”

  Both Drew and I eyeball her as the door shuts behind him.

  “What?” Anna asks.

  Drew narrows her gaze. “Don’t think I don’t see you flirting with a crew member. Mom would kill you.”

  I laugh as we head outside, thankful to not be the center of attention for a moment.

  Meeting the suitor in advance of the show isn’t expressly against the rules, but I’m also pretty sure it’s frowned upon. A few seasons ago, one contestant had a one-night stand with the suitor at a mutual friend’s wedding weeks before filming, and the rest of the contestants would not let it go. She was constantly accused of having an unfair advantage, and they made her life in the house a living hell. So if Henry wants to keep our transatlantic flight a secret, I’m on board. Besides, we’re only acquaintances. I don’t even know him.

  Which is why, when he joins us in the courtyard, I don’t make any attempt to swarm him like most of the other women. I glance around to find Addison and Sara Claire hanging back as well.

  Sara Claire smiles at me, but she seems guarded in a way she didn’t just hours ago. Addison, however, is sending out her usual don’t-even-look-at-me vibes.

  The courtyard is as decked out as I remember it being on television. Sadly, it turns out that both the ice sculptures and champagne fountain are fake. Still beautiful if you don’t stand too close, though. There’s a small bar set up off camera with a guy in a bow tie, black vest, and black jeans lazily pouring bottle after bottle. I can see how this all makes for great TV magic, but in person, it just feels like a wedding reception you’d try to leave early.

  Over the course of the night, the house staff comes around with trays of drinks, and soon everyone is talking louder, like we’re in the middle of a concert. One white woman (who has the longest extensions I’ve ever seen and can’t stop talking about how she drinks mimosas with every meal) falls into the pool, and Henry has a heroic moment as he helps her out and wraps her in a towel. He’s met with a chorus of bitter fawning. Another contestant named Brenda, a white Spanish teacher from Nebraska with Shirley Temple curls and clawlike red fingernails, bursts into tears when someone interrupts her attempts at salsa dancing with Henry.

  To say emotions are running high would be an understatement. It’s almost too much for me to take.

  I find Stacy by the outdoor fireplace sitting next to a sobbing East Asian woman in a forest-green satin gown.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask as I approach.

  Stacy rubs circles on the other woman’s back and nods. “We’re going to be fine, right, Jenny?” She turns to me and quietly adds, “I thought it was just the white ladies losing it, but I guess none of us are immune.”

  The crying woman looks up to me and says, “I fell.” Another sob hits her, and she begins to hiccup as cameras begin to swarm, her cries their siren call.

  “Water,” I say. “Let me get you some water.”

  I manage to track down a bottle of water from the guy behind the bar, and when I return, a small crowd has gathered to hear Jenny’s recount.

  “I just stepped out of the car, and then my heel got caught in the train of my dress.” She sniffs. “And I bit it. Big-time. It wasn’t some cute romantic-comedy fall where I, like, tripped into Mr. Perfect’s arms. I landed face-first and—and there was so much blood. They had to call the mediiiiiiiiiic,” she tells us, her words devolving into another sob.

  Around us, I can see the crew eating this up as Wes whispers to one of the camera operators to tighten his zoom.

  “At least you didn’t break your nose,” Addison deadpans.

  “Not helpful!” I snap at her.

  She practically snarls, making it even clearer she’s not here to make friends.

  Jenny wipes her tears away. “No, she’s right.” She smiles up at Addison in a familiar way, like she’s very used to playing beta to some other girl’s alpha.

  Addison looks to me. “And, Cindy, I’ve been meaning to tell you, I just think you’re so brave.”

  My brow furrows into a knot. “For what?”

  “That dress. It’s so stunning, of course, but I would just be so self-conscious. It’s just really nice to see a big girl rocking her curves, ya know? So body positive of you.”

  Jenny nods and so do most of the other girls. “So brave.”

  My blood turns to lava, and I think I might just explode. Being called brave is one of my biggest pet peeves. When someone calls me brave for going out or wearing a fitted dress or for some other normal thing that every other girl does, what it really means is: I would be mortified to look like you, but good for you for merely existing even if all I can think about is how fat you are and how I’m terrified I’ll one day look like you. So brave.

  Addison places a hand on my shoulder. “I just want you to know that no matter what happens tonight at elimination and no matter who finds true love, the truest love is the love we give ourselves.”

  Everyone except Stacy lets out a giant awwwwww. Our eyes meet for a moment, and it’s a small relief to know that someone else is seeing Addison for who she really is.

  “I love girl bonding,” says Anna, her hands clutched to her chest.

  I nearly vault myself across the crowd to shake her shoulders and scream, Don’t you see how belittling this is! I’m not brave for wearing a dress. I’m just living!

  But instead, I clear my throat and say, “Thanks, girl.”

  “Ladies.”

  We all spin around to see Henry returning to the group after a brief one-on-one with Sara Claire, who is beaming.

  “Hi, Henry,” a few girls say in singsong voices.

  “Jenny, are you okay?” he asks.

  She nods pitifully.

  “Took a real spill, there. I think you might be tougher than some of the guys on my college lacrosse team,” he says.

  “We’ve been taking very good care of our sweet Jenny,” Addison says. She moves to stand right next to Jenny, practically elbowing Stacy out of the way. “Girls gotta look out for each other.”

  Henry nods. “I couldn’t agree more.” He laughs quietly. “You know, I’ve got to be honest with you. The whole concept of this show is a little bizarre to me.”

  I notice a cameraman look over to Mallory, but she waves him on to keep filming.

  “And I know that the risk is on you ladies. You’re all here, putting yourselves out there with no guarantees,” Henry continues. “And it’s just really nice to see you all helping one another out. I know this is technically a competition, but for me, it’s more about finding the right connection. That’s not some kind of sport. So thank you, Addison. I really appreciate seeing you be kind to the other women.”

  My blood boils and my lip curls. What kind of patronizing crap speech was that? There was some truth to what he said, sure, but playing right into Addison’s deceitful games? Could he be more clueless?

  Addison smiles and shrugs innocently. “You think I could steal you away for just a few?”

  Henry holds his arm out to her. “Gladly.”

  She drapes her arm through his, and we all watch them walk off together to the gazebo a few yards past the pool.

  A petite brunette with freckles sprinkling the bridge of her nose sighs. “It’s not fair how good they look together.”

  Jenny sighs in agreement. “It’s totally criminal.”

  “Bless her heart,” Sara Claire mutters.

  I turn to her and find her frowning, shoulders slumped. “You look like you could use a drink,” I say.

  She holds a hand out for me, and we stomp to the bar. “Bless you,” she says.

  We each get a glass of rosé, and I ask, “How was your one-on-one?”

  She eyes
me, her lip twitching with uncertainty. I guess in some sort of primal sense we’re all competing for love in the real world, but this show is much more direct than people just trying to meet at a bar or on an app. Figuring out how to communicate with the other women and even befriend them is confusing, and there’s no rule book for how to navigate it.

  “I think I like him,” she finally says. “I know that the cameras want to see me swooning and losing it for him. He’s the one who decides who goes home, but I need to know if I want to stay here and fight for a chance with him too, ya know? I have a whole career back home.”

  “That’s a lot to leave behind,” I say, suddenly feeling like I have nothing to offer—no career, no real family, and not even a home, technically.

  “Look at Addison. One thing goes on the internet or TV and no matter how hard you work, it’s all you’re known for. I don’t want to make that same mistake here.”

  I nod feverishly, because this is a concern I’m familiar with. The decision to be here at all is a gamble.

  “He seems like a sort of normal guy, though.”

  Thinking back to the guy I met on the plane, it’s hard to imagine that he would ever sign up for something like this show, but I’m sure he thinks the same about me.

  “He’s got to know that any woman who’s saying he’s the one for her after just one night is totally full of it. Surely he has that much—”

  She’s interrupted by a loud boom and then everything goes black, and the only sound echoing through the mountains is the shrieking of twenty-five women and the curses of a handful of crew members.

  “We’re dark!” someone shouts.

  “What about the backup generators?” another person yells back.

  “Sara Claire?” I ask, trying my best not to sound like I’m scared of the dark. I’m not, but it’s also really unsettling to not even be able to see your own hand in front of you, especially in a place you don’t know that well to begin with.

  I gasp as fingers wrap around my wrist and tug.

  “Who is that?” I whisper as I trip over my feet, barely able to keep up in my heels. “Anna? Drew?”

  I falter as I accidentally veer off the pathway into the grass, my heel immediately sinking.

  The hand pats up my arm, steadying me. “Careful,” says a voice. But this voice is deeper than I was expecting.

  “Henry?” I ask.

  “We only have a few minutes,” he says as we take a few more careful steps.

  I can hear him fumbling with something and then the clicking of a doorknob.

  “Where are we?” I ask.

  “Watch your step,” he says, grasping my forearm now.

  My eyes have begun to adjust, and there’s just enough moonlight that I can make out a bed or a couch and his silhouette.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, which is not what I expected to come out of his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that…I’m just shocked to see you. That’s all.”

  “Shocked in a bad way?” I dare to ask as I look up to him, searching for the reflection of his eyes. “I guess the better question is what are you doing here?”

  “Well,” he says, “I guess I’m here to meet my future fiancée.”

  I cover my mouth to stop myself from spitting on him as I sputter with laughter.

  “I’m serious,” he says with a lilt in his voice. “I, um, meant to ask for your number, though, so I guess this is convenient.”

  “So you came here to find your wife, but you meant to get my number at the airport?” I can’t tell if he’s just not taking this show seriously or if he’s actually a total playboy, and then I remember what Sara Claire said about him likely trying to rehab his image. He can be as charming as he wants, but I have no plans to be a pawn in his publicity stunt.

  He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t know why I came here. I almost didn’t.” He sighs, and I can smell the sweet wine on his breath. “I’m just trying to do right by my mom.”

  “Your mom?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”

  The lights flicker back on and off and then on again. We both blink wildly as our eyes adjust to the light cascading from the ornate chandelier overhead.

  I can see now that he appears a little more distraught than he sounded. His forehead is creased with worry, and his bee-stung lower lip is turned downward into a frown. But then I remember from the plane how his almost relaxed, eternal expression seemed to be a slight frown, and I can’t help but find that to be just a little bit sexy. I’ve got a soft spot for the sad ones. The thoughtful ones.

  “Your mom,” I finally manage to say after spending way too much time staring at him. “What does this have to do with your mom?”

  He throws his arms up a little. “It’s a long story. I just…We need a win—the whole company needs a win.”

  Faraway voices carry down the pathway to—

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking around to see a half-made bed and a suitcase on a luggage stand. “Is this your room?” I have so many more important questions. “Your bed is, like, huge. Did you know they have us four to a room up there in the château? What kind of château requires four grown women to sleep in twin beds in the same room?”

  That gets a chuckle out of him. “Yes, I know. I’m very lucky. But we’ve got to get out of here before they find us.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh yeah.” I can only imagine what kind of drama it might cause if on the first night the suitor went missing with one of the contestants during a blackout.

  He moves to open the door but stops. “Wait. We have to decide what we’re going to do.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “We’re going to keep quiet, right? About knowing each other. I think that would be best,” he says.

  I press my lips together in a thin line as I think for a moment. I know that logically that is the absolute best choice, but a very small wiggling familiarity in the pit of my stomach is reminded of the one or two times when some jerk has convinced me to be his secret for whatever reason, usually because he didn’t want to be the guy dating the fat girl. I shake the thought from my mind. That’s not the case here. I’m on live TV, practically courting this guy for the whole world to see, but old habits die hard, especially when you’re a fat girl who will forever be untangling her body-image issues no matter how okay she is with herself.

  I should tell him that I told Anna and Drew, but then that might uncover my other and perhaps even bigger secret. Stepmom, sisters, and the whole shebang.

  “Okay. It’s going into the vault. As far I’m concerned we’ve never met.”

  He turns, like he’s just remembered something, and begins to dig through the hulking wardrobe in the corner of the room.

  “Is…Is everything okay?” I ask, like I’ve interrupted something.

  He glances over his shoulder. “Yes, just give me a sec…. You look great tonight, by the way. I mean, you did on the flight too, but…you know what I mean.”

  My cheeks flush immediately. That’s not something I ever expected the Prince Charming from the plane to say.

  “Follow thirty seconds behind me,” he says. “If people ask if we snuck off, play coy. Keep it innocent.” He spins on his heel and walks back to me with something clutched to his chest.

  I nod.

  “Better for us to fess up to this than…well, you know.” He smiles, his gaze lingering on my lips. “Here,” he says, handing me a slim walkie-talkie with an antenna.

  “What? Did you bring this straight from your tree house? Breaker, breaker one nine, this is Cabbage Patch, do you copy?”

  He shakes his head impatiently, but he’s still smiling. “I swiped them from one of the trailers when no one was looking. I don’t even really know why, or how much battery they have, but I guess if we’re going to keep a secret, we should at least have some sort of secret form of communication. But, uh, Cabbage Patch, huh?”

  “Henry!” a woman’s voice calls.

  Startled, I
drop the walkie-talkie and we both reach for it at once, knocking heads. “Ow, sorry,” I say.

  “I got it,” he says as he rubs his forehead. He stands upright and hands me the walkie-talkie again, but this time his hand holds on for a beat or two and his thumb grazes my wrist, leaving a trail of goose bumps that travel up my arm as I suck in a breath.

  His gaze holds mine for a moment before the voice calls his name again, and he snaps out of it with a chuckle. “Shit. Okay, I gotta go.”

  “Go,” I tell him. “I’ll follow after. See you later, stranger.”

  “Try to avoid the lava.” He winks and dashes out the door before I can say another word.

  I plop down on his bed and begin to count. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

  I try shoving the walkie-talkie down my bra, but the antenna isn’t helping anything. Finally, I manage to maneuver it, and thank goodness it’s a flexible antenna.

  With a few more seconds to burn, I begin to nose around a little. I can’t help myself. On his nightstand is a small Moleskine notebook. I reach for it and find the front page to be speckled with numbers and doodles. Flipping through the pages, I don’t find much else except for a few funny stick figure drawings and one page that says JAY, GET ME OUT OF THIS MEETING in huge caps. I laugh. Subtle.

  Doubling back to the first page, I find a clear space and press my lips to the paper, leaving the impression of my red lips for him to find later. It’s a secret, untraceable message from me to him. And I instantly regret it. I’m about to swipe my thumb across the page when I realize that it’ll just create a smudge, which might actually be creepier. No, no, no. This is way more stalker energy than I meant to give off.

  Nice, Cabbage Patch, real nice.

  Elimination takes place around three in the morning. We’re all bleary-eyed and yawning, but that doesn’t stop the nervous shifting as we wait for Henry to make his entrance. In the row behind mine, a girl yawns loudly, and I find Allison, who fell in the pool, wearing a matching track suit with her still-damp hair swept into a ponytail. At least I can say I didn’t have her night.