My Bachelor

by Tess Oliver

  My fingers flew over the keyboard. “I’m just walking into the studio. What’s up?” I’d been up since four in the morning studying before spending three hours listening to a lecture on scurvy and vitamin deficiencies. My head felt clouded from the onslaught of scientific information. But it cleared enough to remind me of the brief phone conversation I’d had with Jackson in the supply room. He’d been convinced that something was going to happen.

  The usual flurry of voices and activity met me as I walked inside the building. Jackson crashed into me as I came around the corner. My heavy with books backpack slipped off my shoulder and dropped to the ground. Jackson politely bent over to pick it up. Black roots were beginning to reach out over his straight-from-the-bottle blond locks, and his just stepped off the beach look was starting to fray too.

  He held the heavy bag out for me to take. “This thing will ruin your posture.”

  I swung it over my shoulder. “Yep, it’s all part of my ‘un-pretty’ plan. I’m hoping to look like Quasimodo by the time I’m out of college.”

  “Fine, whatever.” He grabbed my hand. “Holy hell, sweetie, this was no day to be late. Come with me.”

  He dragged me through the corridor.

  “I’m not late. It’s my school day. Hence the fifty pound bag of books on my shoulder. I’m hoping to get in some study time during my breaks.” The books bounced against my back as Jackson continued to pull me along. “Where the hell are you taking me? I think that peroxide you’re using on your hair is soaking into your brain.”

  He ignored the barb about his hair and squeezed my hand tighter as he pulled me along. As we passed the hallway, I noticed Doug and Kiley both wearing sour faces as they headed into the conference room.

  “Is there a meeting this morning? I didn’t read my email yet. And why does Doug look as if he just swallowed a cactus?”

  We reached the viewing room where Doug and the editors could playback freshly filmed moments and decide what was worthy of the fifty minutes on air.

  Jackson looked back at me as he reached for the door. “It’s good you’re here finally. Your bachelor is going to need you today. The proverbial shit has hit the fan, and Mr. Tall, Hot and Hunky is in the center of the shit storm.”

  Jackson pushed open the door. Some of the crew members were huddled around the playback monitor.

  “Don’t you people have some place to be?” Jackson said authoritatively, as if he wasn’t just the set director’s assistant. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers sharply. They grumbled and complained, but they got up and left the room.

  I shook my head as I looked at him. “The confidence of an emperor.”

  “Damn right, and no one ever seems to notice that I have no clothes. It’s a gift.” Jackson sat down at the monitor and patted the chair next to him. He moved the mouse to restart the video that had gone black on the screen.

  “What’s all this about? And why is Rafe in a shit storm?”

  The video started. It was a night time view from one of the cameras outside the main house. Jackson paused it.

  “Remember when I told you Doug was frustrated about the way the show was going and that he asked Leo to stay late?”

  “Yeah, somewhere between the supply closet and the party of drunk women in the back room, I pushed that into the tornado of stuff in my brain.”

  “Well, it seems our impatient boss tried to move things along.” The gold chain on Jackson’s wrist jingled as he clicked play. I leaned in to see the small figure walking as if she was taking and failing a sobriety test as she crossed the lawn. It took only a few seconds to recognize that the figure was one of the contestants. Twice she stopped and looked back to see if someone was following her, and both times, as she swung back around, she nearly fell face forward on the ground. “Shyla, right? She looks a little tipsy.”

  Jackson’s laugh turned into a snort. He looked over at me. “El, a little tipsy is my Aunt Greta who starts talking in German after she’s had a glass of her peppermint schnapps. The woman stumbling across the grounds of the hillside estate is four and half sheets to the wind and then some.”

  Shyla might have been drunk, but she’d been quite strategic in her fashion choice. She was wearing shorts and a shirt that were just one notch above a bikini. “I guess it’s easy to predict where her stealth mission is taking her.”

  “Just wait until you see what happens.” Jackson moved the mouse to turn up the sound. The outside cameras only picked up visuals, but as she reached the front door of the guest house, a new camera feed took over and the sound popped on. It started with just a few squeaks and a breathy sigh as Shyla made her way up the steps. A knock followed. The sound system was good enough to pick up the heavy footsteps approaching the front door. With each footfall, my stomach tightened a little more until a wave of nausea passed through me. I sat back and crossed my arms over my stomach to settle it.

  Jackson seemed to sense my discomfort. “Eliot Hampton,” he said in his practiced stern parent tone, “did you eat one of those crazy donut, egg and bacon—”

  I held up my hand to stop him and shook my head, a gesture that made me slightly dizzy. I discretely pressed my hand against the seat of the chair to make the spinning stop. “I’m fine. I didn’t eat a donut egg sandwich this morning. It’s just from rushing around so much.”

  Jackson turned back to the monitor.

  I willed myself to look too. This season, I was the assistant. I wasn’t just a curious member of the crew waiting to see what went on in the evening shadows up on the hill. Suddenly, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to watch any of it.

  “I’ve got to get going,” I blurted as I scooted forward on the chair. “I haven’t even put my things in the locker room yet.”

  Jackson’s eyes were as round as marbles as he looked at me. He reached for my hand. “What? No stay. It doesn’t take that long. The whole scene unfolds pretty fast.”

  Rafe’s deep voice came through the speaker. It drew my attention back to the monitor. He was shirtless and looked stunned to find that he had a guest. Shyla fell against Rafe, and his large, protective arms went around her.

  Jackson pointed to the monitor. “That moment right there, and with him being shirtless . . . like television gold. And yet, the boss is marching around as if someone keyed graffiti on the door of his shiny blue Mercedes.”

  I heard Jackson’s words, but they were hard to comprehend. I was too busy trying to extinguish the churning in my stomach and the bitter taste in my throat. I had no real explanation for feeling queasy. I decided to blame it on the stale peach muffin I’d bought from the school vending machine.

  It was one of those terrible accident moments in life, where I badly wanted to look away but my morbid curiosity got the best of me. I blotted out the conversation as much as possible, but my gaze was glued to the screen.

  “Guess you were right about Doug planning something,” I said. “Seems to me Sealed with a Kiss is slowly becoming a lot less reality and a lot more staged fiction.” A terse laugh left my mouth. “Doug chose the wrong woman. Rafe wasn’t terribly impressed by Shyla,” I said with another short laugh. Oddly enough that comment made my stomach feel better.

  Jackson’s brow edged up. “Oh really? I think she made more of an impression than you think.”

  And that comment brought the nausea back again.

  I pressed my arms tighter against my stomach and stared at the monitor. The action on screen seemed to be heading right into a raunchy, explosive, against the wall sex scene.

  Rafe lowered his head to kiss Shyla’s breasts, and the peach muffin came back to haunt me. I waved my hand in front of my face for some air.

  Jackson caught the motion from the side of his eye. He flashed an annoying grin. “Yeah, that’s what we were all doing this morning the first time we watched this. It’s hard
to keep cool when that man is on camera.” He pointed to the monitor. “He knows his stuff.”

  “No,” I said louder than needed, considering Jackson was two feet away. “It’s not the video. It’s the peach muffin. Well, Doug is getting what he wanted.” There was an unexplained hitch in my voice. “And, from the looks of it—so is the bachelor.” For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. It was easier just to think of him as the bachelor.

  “I’m out of here.” I got up from my chair. I had no idea why but I was thoroughly disappointed in Rafe. Somehow I’d expected more from him. I knew it was stupid and delusional, but during the past few days, I’d painted a different picture of Rafe in my head. I was obviously naive when it came to men.

  Behind me, the chair scraped the floor as Jackson stood. “Eliot.”

  I ignored him and reached for the door, but Jackson’s fingers wrapped around my wrist before I could open it. He turned me gently toward him and scanned my face. “El, what’s wrong?”

  I waved my hand toward the monitor. “Can’t believe you have to ask. You know me better than that, Jackson. I’m not interested in any tawdry sex scene, especially one that was obviously set up and possibly even scripted. Can’t believe Rafe went along with—”

  Jackson’s mouth dropped open. He released my hand. His nose piercing twinkled in the overhead lights as he leaned back to get a better look at me. “Oh my god, sweetie, you’ve really fallen for the man.”

  “Here you go again, Jackson.” I pushed the curl off my forehead. It fell right back down. “I guess if this kind of silly crap helps get you through the work day then have at it. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. This is just my damn day job, a paycheck at the end of the week to help pay the million bills I have piled on my plate.”

  “O.K., first of all, you didn’t watch the whole thing. If you had, you’d have been short one tawdry sex scene. Your bachelor never got past first base. Well, I guess his lips brushed past second base, but he stopped the game well before third. Whatever the hell third base is. I understand the baseball analogy about as much as I understand the real game.” He waved off the tangent. “Anyhow, Doug didn’t send Shyla to the house. He sent Peyton. And both girls walked back to the main house with lip gloss and panties still in place.”

  “Well, good for him,” I said, casually as if it didn’t matter and silently wondering why the hell it did matter.

  My pager startled me. “I’ve got to get up to the house. Rafe needs me.” I glanced over at the monitor. It was paused with a picture of Rafe holding Shyla’s hand. Even that simple gesture made my stomach tighten. What the hell was happening? I was sticking with the stale peach muffin theory.

  “The whole thing ended as innocently as a kid’s movie. That’s why our boss looks as if he has swallowed a cactus. He wants sex and sizzle, but instead, he’s getting cool and unflappable Prince Charming. I guess it’ll be up to the fans to decide which they prefer.”

  “I guess so.” I opened the door.

  “El, you’re my best friend.” Jackson dropped his voice so the people moving through the hallway couldn’t hear him. He leaned closer. “Be careful with that heart of yours.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, mostly because he knew my feelings better than me. I nodded quickly and walked out.

  Chapter 14

  Rafe

  At least it was a nice day, a warm sun but not too hot and just enough breeze floating through the palm trees to feel refreshing. It was about the only positive thing I could come up with after a long night of trying to find a way out of this. Short of sitting through a grueling lawsuit in court, I had no option except to see the show through to its end.

  The staccato sound of the golf cart chugging up the hill caught my attention as I stepped off the front porch. There it was. One more positive thing in the midst of this whole damn mess. Eliot. I’d quickly grown to think of her as a friend. Hers was the only face I needed to see this morning.

  I took long steps down the driveway and reached the road that connected the studio with the estate on top of the hill. I met the slow golf cart halfway up.

  Eliot pulled over and patted the passenger seat. “I was just on my way up to see what you needed. Where are you headed?”

  “Down the hill to Oz.” I climbed into the golf cart. It leaned slightly to my side.

  Eliot stuck it in gear and spun the cart around. “I’m sorry I’m late. I had class this morning.”

  “No problem. I had to get out of the house. I was pacing around like a caged animal.”

  “The gym,” she said suddenly.

  “Who is Jim?”

  “Not who. The. The gym. There’s a really nice one on the studio lot. A lot of the stars use it when they’re filming on set. I can find a time when it’s empty. That might help you with some of that energy. You seem like a man who needs to toss a few dumbbells around for a good time.”

  “You are a genius, El. That would be great. I wish I’d thrown some of those weights around this morning before the meeting.”

  “What meeting?”

  “I’ve been summoned by Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dweeb in a backwards hat. What’s he hiding under that thing? Horns?”

  Eliot covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Never thought of that. I just figured his hair was thinning up there.”

  “Might be both.” I stretched my legs forward but there was no room in the cart. “You know what, El, and this is no reflection on your chauffeuring skills, but I really need to get out and walk. I’ve got some bottled up tension I need to get rid of before I reach that meeting room.” I hopped out before she slowed to a complete stop.

  She left it in first gear and chugged along next to me.

  I raked my fingers through my hair and kept walking. The green and white studio buildings came into view. I could have been anywhere in the world, surfing in Hawaii, rock climbing in Zion, dirt bike riding in the desert, but I was on a hot road in the middle of a brushy hillside heading down to a television studio. I picked up a branch that was sitting on the road and hurled it across the semi-parched hillside. For a fleeting second, I expected to see Tracker race after it. But he wasn’t walking along next to me. He was, no doubt, growing plump and lazy, sitting next to my dad on the couch watching movies and eating potato chips. I missed the big goof.

  “Eliot, have you ever made a mistake so big, so fucking enormous, that if a big dark hole opened up in the ground, instead of running from it, you’d jump in just to get away?”

  The golf cart lurched along, panting and puffing in low gear. There was no response from the driver and then it hit me. I was so absorbed in my own pool of pity, the words had just spurted out. I looked over at her. She was staring straight ahead.

  “Shit, and now this has made me a self-centered idiot. I know you’re dealing with something too, Eliot.”

  “No, you’re not self-centered. Although I think we could pin the description of completely clueless about the ins and outs of show business and reality television and sponsors and directors and . . .” She stopped. “I ran out of list.”

  “Yeah, I got the point with the first two. Thanks.”

  The golf cart stalled out of first gear. She restarted it and put it in neutral to coast downhill without the bother of a clutch. “I know there was an incident last night. I don’t know all the details, but I’m not surprised. Doug has a tendency to give a little helping hand with the sexy drama.”

  “I noticed. I’m sure that’s why I’ve been called to a meeting. I cut the drama short.”

  “Doug knows his stuff. He knows what people want to see and what keeps fans coming back for more, but—”

  She stopped as if she was reconsidering what she was about to say.

  “Tell me, El. Your opinion is the only one I care about.”

 
She pressed on the brakes. I stopped walking. She took another clumsy, futile swipe at the curl. “Keep this just between us. You might care about my opinion, but I assure you, the big shots down below don’t give a darn about it.”

  “Which proves my theory that they are just plain ignorant. Tell me.” I rested my arms on the top of the vehicle and stared down at her. She was exceptionally pretty when she was outside, in the sunlight. She wasn’t the type who needed special lighting. Just the outdoors and her own natural beauty, which showed no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.

  “All right. But don’t let this go to your head. I’ve seen many bachelors come and go. Some make an impression on the viewing audience, and others are forgotten almost the moment the show ends with a lackluster kiss and proposal. But you, my friend, you have shot quickly to the top of the memorable bachelor heap. And Doug knows it. That’s why he’s freaking out. He knows lady luck has smiled down on him this season, and because I know how he thinks, I know he sees it not just as success but as potential success. He wants to make sure he gets every damn ounce of gold out of his six foot two gold mine.”

  She lifted her foot off the brake and started rolling again. I followed along next to her. “Here’s the real point I wanted to make,” she continued. “Doug knows reality television. He has to. He’s been working and directing it for years. And I might be making a silly assumption here, but there’s usually backbone to my silly assumptions.” The cart hit a dip in the road. She popped off the seat for a second and laughed as she positioned her bottom squarely in place again. “K. Where was I? My mind is still cluttered from class.”

  “You were about to tell me your silly, but with backbone, assumption.”

  “Right. Doug knows what makes good television.”

  “Yep. You said that.”

  “But something tells me that when it comes to knowing women, you’ve got the expert hand in that.”

  “Hand and everything else,” I said, cockily.