I wish I could text Bianca. It’s strange to be meeting new men and not be able to tell my friend about them immediately. She always helps me process my thoughts. She tries to steer me away from bad boys, but even though I value her opinion, I don’t usually heed her warnings.
I can imagine her warning me off of Xavier and Johnny, and I’m proud that I chose Marcus for my first date. I think she would approve.
For now, I’m living inside the For Keeps bubble. I can contact my family if I really need to, but any communication will be monitored to prevent any show spoilers coming out in advance of an episode airing.
I had to sign a long and very detailed contract that included a lot of rules designed to protect the show’s brand and satisfy viewer expectations. For example, I had to agree not to get a haircut before filming started. Now that I think of it, there’s never been a woman on the show who had short hair.
I guess it’s comforting for viewers if many aspects of the show are the same each season. You’d think it would become boring, but I and millions of others keep watching, so they must be doing something right.
The bathroom is dark inside, and when I find the light switch, I discover that it’s not a bathroom, it’s a storeroom – and it’s not empty.
My eyes are drawn first to the golden head of hair illuminated by the overhead light. The eyes beneath the thick, sun-bleached bangs are wide with surprise. Brad B. is up against the wall, his arms wrapped around another man whose back is to me.
Brad M. turns to face me, looking all kinds of guilty. “Olivia!” His eyes quickly dart over my shoulder. “Are the cameras with you?”
“No. I was looking for the bathroom.”
“Close the door.” Brad M. pulls me into the room and quickly pushes the door closed behind me.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” My mind races to catch up as it calculates their proximity to one another, their surprise, and their guilt.
“I’m sorry you found us this way.” Brad M. looks regretful, but Lifeguard Brad is looking downright bewildered. If the door wasn’t closed, I’m pretty sure he’d be long gone.
Part of me is thinking that this is none of my business, but Lawyer Brad did pull me into this room, and both of these men signed up to be on a show where they’re supposed to want to date me, so I decide I have a right to ask. “What’s going on?”
“Umm, pretty much exactly what it looked like,” Brad M. says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to mislead you. The producers said they’d have you send me home after just a couple of episodes.”
I just stare at him because I don’t know what to say, so he continues. “I guess they didn’t tell you? I’m not actually a lawyer. I’m an actor.”
“So you’re just on here to try to become famous?” I’m not completely surprised, but I am getting angry, for reasons I can’t quite put my finger on.
“No,” Brad says. “Well, yes, I’d love it if other opportunities come out of this, but I didn’t apply for the show. The producers put a call out and my agent hooked me up.”
I take several steps back from the men until I bump into a shelf behind me. “How many of the men here have been cast for the show? Is any of this really real?”
As a viewer, I’d always suspected there were men on the show who weren’t really interested in dating the season’s woman, but it never occurred to me that the producers would go out looking for these men. Or that some of the men might not be interested in women at all.
Brad’s expression fills with empathy. “Oh, no, it’s not like that, Olivia. Most of the men are genuine and are here for you. I think the producers just like to fill in the gaps with a few actors, and we can help create some drama if the show needs it.”
“Really?”
“For sure. In fact, you should hear how some of the guys are talking about you. They’re definitely here for you.”
Brad B. still hasn’t said a word, nor has he moved from the spot where I found him. I think he’s hoping to blend into the wall and disappear.
“Did you two know each other before coming here?”
The lifeguard shakes his head vigorously. “No, we just met. I’m sorry, Olivia.”
“So you two are …” I wave my hand between them, hoping they’ll finish my sentence.
“Gay,” Brad B. says, quickly looking down at the ground.
“Yep, gay.” Brad M. confirms.
“Not even bisexual, huh?”
“Sorry, sweetie.” Brad M. says, putting an arm around my shoulder. “I play for the other team, but if I were straight, I’d be all over you.”