Bea smiled. “That’s funny.”
“Is it? Why?”
“I made the same promise. As recently as two days ago, in fact.”
“Yeah? And how’s that going for you?”
Bea looked up at him long enough for it to get uncomfortable—except it didn’t.
“I don’t know yet.”
Asher smiled at her. “Is it cliché if I ask if we can start over?”
Bea laughed. “Absolutely, it definitely is.”
“So I shouldn’t do the thing where I reach out my hand to shake yours and say, ‘Hi, I’m Asher.’”
“Not unless you want me to kick you off the show right here and now.”
“Ah, an escape hatch! Good to know.”
“Hey!” Bea faked being offended, but they were both still beaming.
“Do you want to go downstairs and see some modern stuff?” she asked.
He nodded, and without another word about it, they walked down the museum’s wide central staircase side by side.
The more time they spent ambling through the museum’s dozens of galleries, surrounded by Rothkos and Picassos, the more Bea found herself enjoying Asher’s company. He listened attentively while she talked about Picasso’s use of hats to add levity to paintings of his depressed friend, the photographer Dora Maar. She’d written her art history thesis in college about Picasso’s reduction of a fellow artist to her clothes and her emotions, as if that were the truth of her.
“Well,” he asked, “how do you find the truth of someone, then?”
“If not through their hats?”
“I’m serious.” He nudged her. “Tell me something true.”
Bea opened her mouth, then closed it again, her heart suddenly pounding.
“It’s okay,” Asher encouraged her. “I’m listening.”
“I’m afraid that at the end of all this, I’ll be alone. And all the people who’ve said horrible things about my body will say, ‘See? We were right about her. We were right about all of it.’”
“And if you never really take a risk, you’ll never have the chance to find out if they were?” Asher asked pointedly.
“You’re going to have to stop doing that.” Bea blushed.
“Doing what?”
“Seeing past my tough exterior.”
“I like your tough exterior.” Asher’s lips quirked in a small smile. “When I look at you, I like everything I see.”
When they walked out of the museum into the crisp spring night, Bea wasn’t ready to leave. The producers told her they had time for one more stop, so Bea led Asher to the cavernous Resnick Pavilion, which had a new exhibit showcasing some of the museum’s more controversial works of the last sixty years.
“This looks remarkably like a pot I made at summer camp,” Asher said, pointing to a lumpy brown sculpture.
“It’s a Claes Oldenburg—a baked potato.”
“I should have said mine was a baked potato. It looked like one.”
“You did pottery at summer camp?”
“You’re surprised I wasn’t out playing soccer? I would have sat all day by myself with a book if they’d let me.”
“Sounds like we were pretty alike as kids,” she said.
“I’m glad one of us grew out of it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. After all the semi-intentional arm brushes and leg nudges of the evening thus far, the warm weight of his palm felt full, somehow, or even heavy—and she loved it. She wanted more.
The sound of 1940s swing music floated toward them from the back of the pavilion, and they wandered toward it to discover the source. It turned out to be a life-size sculpture of a 1938 Dodge Coupe, placed on a plot of fake grass strewn with empty beer bottles. The door was open to reveal two figures in the backseat—a woman lying back with one knee propped up, and a man on top of her fabricated in chicken wire, completely transparent except for his left hand, opaque and white, prone between her thighs. The music was part of the exhibit, the soundtrack of the couple’s lovemaking.
Bea read from the description mounted near the sculpture. “They exhibited this in the 1960s, and the County Board of Supervisors tried to make them remove it. They called it pornography. But the museum refused—so they had to keep the car door closed if children were present.”
Asher smiled at her. “Pretty sexy stuff.”
“Did you just say ‘sexy’ to me?”
He laughed and extended his arm. “Do you want to dance?”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded, and Bea let him pull her in, his hand on the small of her back, his Old Spice scent near enough to inhale. He was a remarkably good dancer—strong frame, sure step—and his hands felt amazing sliding over the smooth silk of her blouse.
“How can you dance like this?” She gazed at him with wonder.
“I was raised going to temple because my dad is Jewish, but my mom is Chinese—she’d never been to a bar mitzvah. When I started getting invitations, she was sure all the other kids would know how to dance and I’d look like an idiot. So she made me take ballroom lessons at the senior center.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I was the twelve-year-old Fred Astaire of Tarrytown, and I spent my Tuesday afternoons dancing with old ladies. Between that and the pottery, I was a pretty popular kid.”
They laughed, and Bea felt him bring her a little closer. Her breath got quicker, and he gently squeezed her waist. The music stopped—the song was over, and there was a pause before the next one began. Bea knew what would happen if this were actually a real date, if they were somewhere else, if he were braver, or if she were, if—
He dropped his hands abruptly, jerked back and left her moored in infinite space, the cameras jutting through, black and claustrophobic as she felt the blood rush to her face, her breathing fast and shallow.
“I’m sorry,” he said dumbly. Bea stood stock-still, trying to ward off whatever she was feeling until she was anywhere else, wishing Marin could be here to witness this moment so she would never shove Bea off a cliff into abject humiliation ever again.
“Okay!” said a producer. “Let’s take that again, get you dancing to the next song, then we can slow it down for the end-of-date kiss—you guys ready to go?”
Asher looked pained. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” He turned to Bea. “I’m sorry.”
Bea kept her face impassive, her tone deadened. “It’s no problem. Let’s call it a night.”
@Reali-Tea Ok y’all, time for this week’s kiss-off ceremony: Bea’s rocking a purple lip (shade: “You’re turning violet, Violet!”) and presumably dismissing some Barneys who’ve barely gotten camera time. Let’s see who gets the ax!
@Reali-Tea First kiss goes to Sam—no surprise there, how cute was their date?? Tho she really should have kissed him imo BEA IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, MAKE OUT WITH HOT MEN IN DISNEYLAND, OK?
@Reali-Tea Next up is football hero Wyatt, looking so cute in his sweater! Build me a fire, Wyatt! Bea looks so happy to see him and hug him, I seriously need these two to get their one-on-one next week. @MainSqueezeABS pls make this happen???
@Reali-Tea Third kiss goes to Luc, and if he thinks we didn’t all see him cop a feel when Bea leaned in to kiss him, HE IS SORELY MISTAKEN. (oh god she’s so lucky truly how soon until overnight dates????)
@Reali-Tea Kisses for Jefferson, Trevor, Jaime, and Kindergarten Ben. Snooze! Jefferson seems like he has potential, but he’d better make an impression soon, or he’s gonna get swept off with the rest of these also-rans.
@Reali-Tea Kisses, inexplicably, to Nash and Cooper???? Does Bea seriously not see that these two are GARBAGE, or is this blatant producer manipulation? Main Squeeze Nation, let us bow our heads and pray for the imminent removal of this human refuse.
@Reali-Tea Wait, is Bea kicking off Asher?? I know she was blindsided when he wouldn’t kiss her (same tbqh!!!!!!!), but it seemed like she liked him so much?? Hard to say now, though—he looks miserable, and so does she.
@Reali-Tea
Phew! Asher gets the final kiss!!!! I have a feeling there’s more to come for these two—and I can’t wait to find out what it is.
EPISODE 4
“HOMECOMING”
(10 men left)
Shot on location in Cheshire, Ohio
SCRIPT OF MAIN SQUEEZE PROMOTIONAL AD
released 24 hours in advance of Season 14, Episode 4
OVER FOOTAGE OF A BLACK, STARRY SKY IN OUTER SPACE, WE HEAR A VOICE—
VOICEOVER
This week, on a brand-new episode of Main Squeeze, we’ll go boldly where no boyfriend of Bea’s has gone before …
ZOOM THROUGH HYPERSPEED TO … A QUAINT SUBURBAN HOUSE
VOICEOVER
Her parents’ house.
SFX: DOORBELL (ding-dong!)
VOICEOVER
We’ll find out what Bea was like as a child.
INSERT FOOTAGE: INTERVIEW WITH BEA’S PARENTS
BEA’S MOM, SUE
Beatrice never brought home any boys. We even thought for a while she might be gay, didn’t we, Bob?
VOICEOVER
We’ll see what her family thinks about her suitors.
INSERT FOOTAGE: INTERVIEW WITH BEA’S BROTHERS
BEA’S BROTHER TIM
I’ve never trusted a Frenchman in my life, and I’m not about to start.
VOICEOVER
And we’ll find out the real reason Asher wouldn’t kiss Bea on their last date—the answer will shock you.
INSERT FOOTAGE: BEA AND ASHER IN HER FAMILY’S BACKYARD
ASHER
Bea, I need to tell you, about that night …
INSERT FOOTAGE: BEA’S SISTER-IN-LAW TINA GASPS DRAMATICALLY.
VOICEOVER
Don’t miss a moment of the Main Squeeze family feud, this Monday at eight, only on ABS.
TRANSCRIPT OF BOOB TUBE PODCAST
EPISODE #052
Cat:
Hey, this is Cat!
Ruby:
And this is Ruby.
Cat:
And this is Boob Tube. This week, we have a really exciting episode—we’re doing a deep dive into the feminine archetypes on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and deciding which modern characters best carry those torches.
Ruby:
I’m still waiting for another Willow.
Cat:
So say we all. But before we get into that, we need to return to the land of reality TV, because one of us is having a lot of feelings and opinions about this week’s episode of Main Squeeze.
Ruby:
Someone needs to speak the truth about how Asher is the WORST.
Cat:
You’re wrong—he’s so smart and cute with his big glasses!
Ruby:
He’s every Brooklyn intellectual fuckboy who holds women to impossible standards but considers it beneath him to pick up the phone and schedule a second date.
Cat:
Noooo, Asher is legit!
Ruby:
Then why didn’t he kiss Bea at the museum?
Cat:
He’s old-fashioned! He’s a gentleman who wants to know it’s real before he lets things get physical.
Ruby:
That interpretation is generous bordering on delusional—I think he has a secret girlfriend.
Cat:
What?! Asher would never.
Ruby:
He’s definitely hiding something—and, if I may be so bold, your defense of him is obviously grounded in the fact that you personally want to bone him.
Cat:
How DARE you.
Ruby:
Am I wrong?
Cat:
No, of course not. Okay, since I’m clearly biased, who’s your pick for Bea?
Ruby:
TEAM SAM, BITCHES!
Cat:
Seriously? He’s a child!
Ruby:
He’s smart and handsome and full of joie de vivre.
Cat:
He’s unemployed and lives with his parents.
Ruby:
He likes Bea for who she is and doesn’t drag her into his bullshit.
Cat:
Does Sam have any bullshit? Does he have any anything? He’s twenty-four, what does he know about life?
Ruby:
Wow.
Cat:
What?
Ruby:
I’ve just never heard you sound that old before.
Cat:
Okay, okay, so we’ve clearly drawn some lines in the sand. I’m with Asher, you’re with Sam. But what say you about Luc?
Ruby:
Ugh, I hate myself for how much I want to kiss him.
Cat:
Right?? He’s so cheesy, why do I like him so much?
Ruby:
There’s something really appealing about how self-aware he is. Like, sure, I’m a cartoonishly handsome French guy seducing you with food, but aren’t you enjoying it? And I’m like, yeah, Luc, you know what? I am enjoying it.
Cat:
I’m really looking forward to him and Bea getting to spend more time together now that she seems to have found a little more confidence.
Ruby:
Wait—I have a question. Whatever happened to Wyatt? Bea was so into him the first night—is she gonna go out with him or what?
Cat:
This is actually a pretty typical move on shows like this—when there’s an instant connection between two people, the producers often keep them apart for as long as possible to try and give the other contestants a chance to catch up. But I’d be very surprised if we don’t see some quality time for Bea and Wyatt in the next episode or two.
Ruby:
Oooh, a new player on the board. I’m into it.
Cat:
So Ruby, we know from the promos that this week Bea is bringing her ten remaining suitors home to meet her family in Ohio—that’s a pretty serious step. It begs the question: Is there a legit chance Bea will marry one of these guys?
Ruby:
I don’t know about that. Doesn’t she strike you as not totally even wanting to get married? She doesn’t seem like the dead-eyed Pinterest girls who treat weddings like the end-all goal of one’s existence.
Cat:
Absolutely—I think that’s why I like her so much. But at the same time it’s like, hey, you know you came on this show to find a husband, right? Don’t let me down, Bea!
Ruby:
Exactly! Sacrifice your future at the altar of my enjoyment!
Cat:
She just walks down the aisle to marry some horrible jerk, sobbing, “Are you not entertained?”
Ruby:
Man, I’d watch the shit out of that.
Cat:
A thousand percent agree. And speaking of shit-watching, are you worried about what your pet is doing in your home all day while you’re at work? PupperCam is the service that allows you to watch your pet, say hi to them over a speaker, and even distribute treats to let them know you’re there with them, even when you’re gone.
Ruby:
Wow, just like my nana said she would be right before she died.
Cat:
If PupperCam worked from the afterlife, I’m sure it would be your nana’s preferred means to send you treats from heaven.
Ruby:
Thanks, Nana! We’ll be back right after this.
Bea was a senior in high school when her oldest brother, Jon, got engaged. Carol was his high school sweetheart; she followed him and his football scholarship to Kent State. Bea remembered the Thanksgiving when they told the family they were getting married—the whole group exploded into shouts and hugs and Bob dug a dusty bottle of whiskey out of a very tall cabinet and everyone did celebratory shots, even Bea.
Tim’s college girlfriend, Tina, was there, and Bea saw her eyes flash with envy while Carol and Jon posed for pictures, Carol laughing and showing off her ring. Bea hoped her own jealousy was better concealed. Seeing Jon and Carol together, t
heir blinding smiles, the way they held hands under the table during dinner, made Bea so heartsick it caused her physical pain. She wanted that feeling so profoundly, and was nearly equally certain she’d never have it. Less than a year later, Tim and Tina were engaged too. If Carol ever thought that Tina was deliberately trying to steal her thunder (as Bea certainly did), she was too gracious to say so. Bea was a bridesmaid in both weddings, navy satin and peach chiffon, a cacophony of unflattering cuts and unforgiving fabrics that caused Bea to vow never to have bridesmaids of her own.
For years at Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas, Bea and her youngest brother, Duncan, were a team, rolling their eyes at the familial antics of their older siblings and their wives—and, soon after, babies.
“Truly kill me if that’s ever my life,” Duncan whispered during an unbearably loud Easter brunch that featured the colicky screams of one infant, the biblical spit-up of another, and the full-tilt meltdown of a toddler.
“Same,” Bea agreed, deeply thankful to have at least one ally at family gatherings where she increasingly felt like a stranger.
In their mid-twenties, though, Duncan met Julia—another designer at the firm in Columbus where they both worked. The first time Bea met her, she knew it was all over. With Julia’s long brown hair and cat-eye glasses and red lipstick, she was so funny and smart and effortlessly cool, and Duncan had changed so much—where before he was detached and sardonic, now he was alert and attentive.
Duncan and Julia got married three years later, and they had their first baby in December; Bea met their newborn daughter this past Christmas, the first family gathering where all three of her brothers had children.
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