“Way better than a public murder orgy,” Sam quipped. “Those always end in jail time.”
“Crap, do you think they’ll be mad about all our cameras?”
Bea heard a fluster of movement that sounded like Sam was flailing wildly around the limo.
“Guys! Guys! Did you know they don’t allow cameras in secret murder orgies? Our date is ruined!”
When the limousine finally rolled to a stop, Bea and Sam stumbled out of the limo together, still blindfolded, and were forced to walk another five minutes or so before they stopped for the official unveiling.
“Bea and Sam, welcome to your very first one-on-one date!”
“Thanks, Johnny!” Bea said brightly.
“Now, tell me,” Johnny said smoothly, “do you two have any idea where you are?”
“We drove for about an hour,” Bea started, “and without traffic at freeway speeds, that puts us maybe sixty miles from the compound? But it’s much sunnier and hotter than it was when we left, so that would mean we drove inland, and probably south, too, and if you account for—”
“Okay,” a producer broke in, “that was a rhetorical question. Bea, Sam, can we take that again and have you guys just shake your heads?”
“Damn,” Sam whispered, “remind me to take you with me if I ever actually get kidnapped. What are you, a secret agent?”
“Or a superhero whose primary power is having spent half my life in L.A. traffic,” Bea whispered back as they both shook their heads solemnly, per the producer’s instructions.
“All right,” said Johnny grandly, “on the count of three, go ahead and remove your blindfolds. In three, two, one—”
“Holy shit!” Sam blurted in the same second Bea shouted out, “We’re at Disneyland!”
“I can’t believe this!” Sam guffawed.
“Right?” Bea laughed. “Happiest Place on Earth!”
“You can say that again.” Sam grinned as he wrapped Bea in a tight hug and gently kissed her cheek.
“Worth getting up for a date so early in the morning?”
“Bea, I’d hang out with you anytime. But is the park even open?”
“Technically,” Johnny explained energetically, “the park won’t open to the public for another three hours. But you two get to go in now.”
Sam cheered and hugged Bea again. She couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely into her or just swept up in the thrill of the moment, but Marin’s voice echoed in her mind: Try.
Okay, Mar, she thought. It’s just one date. I can do this.
The first hour inside the park was a mad rush from one attraction to another—Bea and Sam could have quiet conversations in tucked-away corners of the park once other visitors were allowed in, but this private time was the producers’ only opportunity to capture footage of Bea and Sam on the bigger rides, and they weren’t going to squander it. They screamed their faces off on Space Mountain and made spooky noises in the Haunted Mansion—Bea shrieked when Sam aimed a well-timed poke at her middle just as an animatronic ghost appeared beside them.
“I can’t believe you poked me again!”
“Too soon?”
Bea laughed, and Sam threaded his fingers through hers. It was the first time she’d held hands with a man since Ray grabbed her hand in the Lyft home last summer, and she was surprised by how easy and uncomplicated it felt, by how carefree the vibe was on this entire date. After they’d been on a few more of the big rides (and narrowly averted catastrophe when Bea’s mic pack got stuck in the safety bar of Big Thunder Mountain Railroad), they went to the Jungle Cruise to slow the pace down a bit and build in some time for conversation.
“Have you ever been to Disneyland before?” Bea asked as they drifted past a bamboo forest.
“Just the one in Florida. I grew up in New Jersey, so that was closer.”
“New Jersey, really? You don’t have an accent.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Bea. “When’s the last time you heard a Black guy talk like Snooki?”
Bea laughed. “Touché.”
“Nah, my parents were really into the whole prep-school thing, not a lot of kids with accents where I’m from.”
“Really? Like you wore a blazer to school every day, the whole bit?”
“Oh, big-time. The blazer, the polo shirt, the loafers.”
“No.”
“Yes. When I finally got to college, I was so happy I didn’t even know what to do with myself. People wearing sweatpants! To class! All my dreams were coming true.”
“And, um, when did you graduate from college?”
Sam laughed. “Okay, I see you. Yes, I am the youngest guy in the house. I graduated from college two years ago.”
“Which makes you …”
“Twenty-four. Six years younger than you, right? Is that so much?”
Bea shook her head, but truthfully, she wasn’t sure.
“And what have you been doing for the past couple years?”
“I went right to Teach for America after college, I taught fifth-grade math and coached the girls’ basketball team, which was basically the best thing ever. So I finished that up last summer, and now I’m figuring out what comes next.”
“And you think what comes next might be a wedding? A family?”
Sam shrugged. “My whole life, my attitude has been to say yes to everything. In college, a professor of mine recommended me for an internship teaching English in Cambodia, and it turned out to be the best summer of my life. That’s what made me decide to apply for Teach for America. A few months ago, I was walking through a mall when I saw they were recruiting guys for Main Squeeze. My buddy told me I should apply, and I was like, ‘Sure, why not?’ I thought it would be funny. Now here I am. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.”
“That you were meant to be on reality TV?”
“No, not that.”
He held Bea’s gaze—and part of her wanted to lean in and kiss him, to let herself believe that this sweet, incredibly attractive man was actually into her. But something in her gut told her not to, that this wasn’t the time, that maybe he was pretending. Like Luc, like Ray, like her. So she pointed out a fake tiger in the fake jungle on their fake adventure, and they let the moment pass. But Sam brought the conversation up again a few minutes later as they poked around the Mad Hatter’s Haberdashery, trying on increasingly large and ridiculous hats.
“What about you?” he asked. “You’re ready for marriage, kids, that whole bit?”
Bea pulled on a huge stuffed clownfish hat that was at least twice as tall as her head. “Marriage, yes, I think so. Kids, for sure eventually, but probably not right away. With my career, I’m lucky to travel all the time—London, Paris, New York. So I’d probably want to wait a few years.”
“Hmm, sounds like our timelines might not be so different,” Sam said. “Now, tell me what you think. This is the one, right?”
He was wearing a humongous Goofy head that dipped so low it covered half his face—Bea burst out laughing.
“If your goal was to make me take you more seriously, I’m not sure this is doing the trick.”
He reached out his arms and stumbled blindly toward the sound of her voice.
“What if my goal was just to make you happy?”
In the end, they went with the classic mouse-ear hats: Mickey for him, Minnie for her. As they stood in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle to film their last few shots before the park opened to the public, Sam pulled her close to him, near enough to feel the contours of his muscled body against her. This didn’t feel as straightforward as holding hands—it felt risky and exciting and decidedly un-platonic. Was it what she wanted? Was it way too much? Or was it even real?
Bea closed her eyes. “Do you think you’d like me if we were somewhere else? Instead of on TV?”
“If someone said, Hey Sam, here’s this hot boss career lady who works in fashion so her looks are always on point, she loves roller coasters and drives a convertible and wants to figure out ho
w to balance family with trips to London and Paris? Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d be interested.”
She looked up at his handsome, youthful face, his silly mustache that somehow worked on him, his Mickey ears and goofy smile.
“And you?” he prompted. “You think you’d like some guy who’s two years out of college and lives with his parents and has no idea what he wants to do with his life? You think I’m such a catch?”
“Wow, you live with your parents, huh?”
“Yeah, I left that part out earlier.”
“You really know how to charm a girl.”
“Nah, I don’t know. But I’m trying to figure it out.” He dipped his head, leaning his forehead against hers. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically small.
“What’s holding you back?” He wasn’t defensive, just genuinely inquisitive.
Bea’s chest felt tight with emotion, with some deeply buried feeling struggling to exorcise itself. She wanted to say something eloquent, but failing that, she said something honest: “I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of making a fool of myself. Or believing in the wrong person. Or getting hurt.”
“And a kiss could lead to all that?”
Bea nodded, her eyes wet. She hated herself for not being able to do this simple thing that came so easily to so many people.
“Okay, then.” Sam took a step back, then dropped dramatically to one knee and kissed her hand. “That’ll have to do for today.”
Bea laughed through her tears. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re in front of a castle, Bea! You gotta let me do the Prince Charming bit.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
Sam stood up and stepped close to Bea.
“If time is what you need, I can give you that. If reassurance is what you need, I can give you that too.”
Bea threw her arms around Sam’s neck and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The sun was bright and warm, and Bea heard the distant shouts of children. The park was finally open, reminding Bea that this moment that had been just theirs would soon belong to everyone.
MAIN SQUEEZE FAN LAUNCHES PETITION TO BAN NASH & COOPER FROM SPIN-OFFS
by Amanda Tillman, vulture.com
Avid viewers of Main Squeeze know that aside from getting engaged and living happily ever after, there are two prizes that contestants on the show are hoping to win:
The first is more Instagram followers, which leads to more #SponCon (that’s sponsored content, wherein advertisers pay ~influencers~ up to $10,000 per post, depending how many followers they have). The second is more camera time (which translates to more fame, which translates to, you guessed it, more Instagram followers)—and, if you’re really lucky, a coveted spot on one of Main Squeeze’s many spin-off series, such as perennial favorite Main Squeeze Mansion, where twenty castoffs from previous seasons spend the summer in the mansion looking for love.
These spots are usually reserved for fan favorites, but a couple always go to notorious villains—and this year, Nash and Cooper are in the clear lead for that title. The duo have become completely inseparable, spending seemingly every waking moment calling Bea a whale, a cow, a hippo, a hog, a heifer (which is another word for cow, for those keeping track at home!), and, perhaps most memorably of all, a bacon-wrapped ball of squishy lard.
Nash and Cooper might think these antics will increase their chances of being cast in a spin-off, but one Main Squeeze fan, Lilia Jamm from Helena, Montana, wants to make sure Nash and Cooper never bathe in the bright lights of the Main Squeeze cameras again.
“Nash and Cooper are bullies,” Jamm wrote in her petition on the website change.biz to ban the pair from all future Main Squeeze spin-offs. “They are MEAN, pure and simple, and they should not be rewarded for their rude behavior. What does a bully want? ATTENTION!!!!! So let’s not give it to them!!!!!!”
Jamm isn’t the only fan who feels this way—at the time of this article’s posting, her petition already had more than 20,000 signatures. It remains to be seen whether the Main Squeeze producers will listen, but one thing’s for sure: All of us watching this season are waiting on tenterhooks for Nash and Cooper to face some serious consequences for their constant belittling of Bea.
During the month before they started filming, Lauren had asked Bea if she had any particular dream dates, either in L.A. or around the world. In Los Angeles (aside from a free meal at any truly great restaurant, or In-N-Out, frankly), Bea had only one answer: She’d always fantasized about having the Los Angeles County Museum of Art all to herself.
LACMA was Bea’s sanctuary in L.A., the place where she felt most comfortable. When she left her home in suburban Ohio to start college at UCLA, one of the first things Bea did was get on a bus to visit this museum. She wandered through the galleries for hours, lost in the vivid colors, the ancient artifacts, the outsized sculptures that made her feel like a tiny person at home with giants, her favorite childhood story come to life.
Bea had dreamed of being alone in a museum since she was a kid reading From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler with a flashlight under the covers. So when Lauren told her she’d be doing just that for her date with Asher, she felt a mix of trepidation and elation. Of all the men in the house, Asher seemed the most averse to self-indulgent fantasies—so it made Bea a little uncomfortable that he was about to join in for hers.
Alison had a host of outfit options, but all of them felt wrong to Bea—a sequined Sachin & Babi cocktail dress was too fancy (it was just a museum, not a gala), but a pair of slacks and a sleek button-down from Roland Mouret seemed too businesslike. They finally settled on a Sally LaPointe silk pajama–inspired outfit in sapphire blue that matched Bea’s eyes almost exactly: easy, flowing pants and a matching blouse with an asymmetrical hemline, paired with nude strappy Prada sandals.
“Classy and sexy at the same time,” Alison said, but Bea struggled to feel either as the hair and makeup people gave her a fresh face and tousled waves.
As the production van made its way through West Hollywood’s crowded streets toward LACMA, Bea’s nerves seemed to coil more and more tightly, wondering if the night with Asher would be congenial, or if he had more accusations to levy—accusations she still had absolutely no idea how to answer.
She didn’t relax until the rows of lanterns outside LACMA came into view—the iconic sculpture where so many tourists snapped their selfies without ever bothering to venture into the museum beyond. There were no tourists tonight, though; the entire LACMA complex was blocked off for filming.
The lantern sculpture was called Urban Light, and it consisted of 202 immaculately restored antique streetlamps placed in careful rows of ascending height. The producers had Asher waiting in one of the middle rows, leaning against a lantern with his tall, easy posture, his lanky frame cast in warm light and blue shadow. With his gray jeans and a button-down shirt and backlit silhouette, Bea could almost imagine he was Ray as she approached him.
“Bea. Nice to see you. You look great.” His tone was awkward, stilted, like this was a real date. The thought made Bea smile—if this was a “real” date, what were all the others?
“Thanks.” She gestured toward the museum entrance. “Shall we?”
Asher nodded, and they walked off in silence. This is going to be some really compelling TV, Bea thought, and nearly laughed again as they walked inside.
“I always start at this one gallery on the third floor,” she explained. “Do you mind if we go there first?”
“Lead the way.”
They rode the elevator up, and Bea guided them through a maze of galleries to one you’d hardly know existed unless you were looking for it—or got lucky. Tucked in a corner past rooms full of modernist masterpieces was the museum’s sole impressionist gallery: precious Cézannes, scant Renoirs, and even a few Monets. Bea walke
d over to her favorite painting in the room, the bridge at Giverny at sunrise, Asher following in her wake.
“Hey.” Asher moved beside her, his arm brushing against hers. “I owe you an apology.”
Bea kept her gaze trained on the painting, tried to keep her tone casual. “Oh?”
He turned to face her. “This isn’t the way I want to say this, but I hope you’ll understand why I have to.”
She furrowed her brow. “What isn’t the way you want to say it?”
“Fuck.” Asher exhaled.
“No cursing!” a producer piped in.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Bea, from my vantage point on that fucking boat, it seemed like you were goddamn pretending with every man you fucking encountered. I didn’t realize until much shit piss later how awful the other men fucking were to you that day. If I had, I never would have fucking confronted you the way I did. You have every fucking right to be angry with me, and I apologize for my goddamn behavior. I was feeling annoyed and insecure, and I fucking took it out on you. Which was, you know.”
“Fucking shitty?” Bea chimed in with a small smile.
Asher nodded. “Exactly goddamn right.”
“Asher, come on.” The producer shoved his way past the cameras and into their setup. “You know we can’t use any of that. We need to take the whole apology again.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Asher folded his arms. “The point is to assure Bea my apology is genuine. If I give you something that would air on television to make me look like a great guy, how is she supposed to know if I’m serving my interests or hers?”
Bea felt her whole heart lift—for the first time since this show started, she finally had a way to know that a man was telling her the truth. Bea was half-convinced Lauren would find a way to use this footage to make Asher into a joke on the show, but at this particular moment, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
“Can I ask”—Bea took a step toward him—“if you felt like I wasn’t the person you came here to meet, why didn’t you leave?”
“I made a promise that I would really try to make this work.”
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