I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends: Confessions of a Reality Show Villain

by Courtney Robertson

  1.Ten Rose Ceremony Dresses (at least). Night One dresses are the most important. Go short! Show some leg, you prudes.

  2.Bring the sequins, but leave your glue-gunned plastic crystal pageant dresses at home. One Jamie Otis was enough.

  3.Fake lashes. I didn’t bring these because I literally didn’t know how to do makeup before I went on this show. Big mistake, huge!

  4.1,000 bikinis. You will end up wearing these in freezing cold tundras while ice skating and performing weird plays. So stock up.

  5.Light jackets that are fitted and casual-cute. It gets cold at night on dates (when you aren’t in your bikini)—and I would never be caught dead in a cardigan.

  6.Accessories, accessories, accessories. Chances are, a top you bring will look like another girl’s top. So don’t you want to win at this game and accessorize your look? Toodles, loser: I got my one-on-one!

  7.Sunglasses. Just kidding. You aren’t allowed to wear these on-camera. But don’t worry: if you are on this show, you won’t need these to hide your ugly face. Chances are, you’re pretty—so congrats!

  8.Hair products and hair tools up the wazoo. Come prepared, but if you bring mousse for crunchy curls, I will definitely be making fun of you. A lot.

  * * *

  The entire ride I was on my cell phone, knowing that very soon it would be gone indefinitely. I called my sister and she cried. I texted Jesse and he wrote back simply, “I’ll always have your back.” And finally, I called Chris. We didn’t have much to say to each other.

  “Think of me,” he managed to eke out. “Don’t get engaged.”

  If Chris had asked me in that moment not to do the show, I probably would’ve dramatically stopped the car and hopped out, like Tom Cruise should have done in Vanilla Sky. But I guess he didn’t want to hold me back. Chris, not Tom Cruise.

  When the limo pulled up to the hotel, not one but two production assistants (PAs) came down to get me. They brought me straight to my room and took away my phone. My room was really depressing. It overlooked an air conditioning vent and had absolutely no light. I asked if there was another one available because I’d be isolated there for the next two days and would go stir-crazy. We were allowed to watch pay-per-view movies, but there was nothing else to do. No phone, nothing to read, no music. Sure enough they moved me to a nicer room overlooking a courtyard.

  I sat by the window and stared at a big tree for what felt like an eternity, welling up and overwhelmed by emotion. I snapped out of it when a parade of producers, one by one, started knocking on my door to introduce themselves. There were so many of them I couldn’t keep track of their names or figure out who was the most important. A few I recognized from Finals Weekend, like the handsome guy, others not so much. I didn’t know it at the time, but there were more than twenty-five girls at the hotel that day.

  The next thirty-six hours were a whirlwind, and yet, I still never saw another contestant. I taped a segment for Access Hollywood, showing how I perfectly packed my suitcases for the show (thank God I’d skipped the vibrator). I did the photo shoot for the headshot that would accompany my bio on the ABC website and would be framed for Ben to gaze at before Rose Ceremonies. Producers asked me how I was going to introduce myself to Ben. The audience absolutely loves it when the girls do something unique or wacky when they first meet the Bachelor, like only wearing a wine barrel or challenging him to arm wrestling or something. I was adamant though—no song and dance routine for me. I wanted to be myself.

  They also freaked out a bit about my outfit, a little black dress, because it was “too boring.” But I loved the Dolce and Gabbana dress I’d chosen. I’d bought it for $100 at Nordstrom Rack’s Last Chance clearance sale a few years ago and, even though it had a broken strap, it fit me like a glove. To win them over, I tried it on for them and they saw firsthand why it was a good choice. My dress finally got the official seal of approval from the show’s stylist, Cary, who made the rounds to all of the ladies’ rooms to dig through their suitcases and see what he was working with. “Love! Saw it on the runway” he said when it was my turn.

  And then it was D-Day: at sunset we’d head to the mansion. A makeup artist had been scheduled to meet me really early in the morning, but my face would have melted by the time I met Ben. So I was relieved when the producers moved my time slot back to later in the day. Being strategic, I also wanted to be first or last out of the limo. I knew from modeling that the women in the middle chunk of an audition were usually forgotten. I wanted to be special. Amazingly, I found out that I would be last of all twenty-five women to exit the limo.

  In the morning, I did a green mud mask. Later—after my makeup was done and my weave was joojed up and petrified with a can of hair spray—I sat in my room waiting anxiously for the sun to go down. I drank a glass of red wine and ate a salmon salad. I wanted to be full because I knew it was going to be a long night. To kill time, I watched a wedding in the courtyard and practiced what I was going to say to Ben. After writing a bunch of one-liners down in my journal, I scratched them out, worried that I’d look like a nerd if I said any of them. I decided to go with a simple, “Hi, my name is Courtney” and then wing it from there.

  By 7:00 P.M. I was so mind-numbingly bored and restless, it was a miracle to be escorted down to the lobby, where I finally met my limo mates, three grown women all dressed like they were going to senior prom and wearing enough makeup to rival the stars of RuPaul’s Drag Race. I was the only brunette and the only one not hammered already. The very first girl I met was Monica Spannbauer, a loud, brassy blonde with an incredibly annoying laugh. She was actually snorting. The other two girls in my limo were the unbelievably named Amber Bacon and Anna Snowball. One was a maternity nurse, the other was, well, I forgot. Neither of these women made it past the first night.

  Despite an immediate disdain for them, I was ready to throw myself into this experience headfirst. I couldn’t wait to get into that limo and head to the legendary mansion. I couldn’t wait to meet my man.

  As we drove slowly through Malibu, Monica, Bacon, and Anna Snowball all pounded champagne, “woo’d” at the top of their lungs, and toasted Ben. “Benny boo boo … boo boo boo!” they screamed, referencing the chick flick How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days. I looked to the lone producer in the car for help, but he just shrugged. Surrendering to the madness, I poured a glass of champagne, even though I don’t like it much, and threw in a few “woos” myself.

  When the limo pulled up to the mansion, one of the girls shouted out, “Oh my God, it is Ben!”

  Duh.

  I was done paying attention to the other women. There he was, standing there alone, looking so handsome and tall—enough. (My biggest fear was that he’d be shorter than me.) As soon as I saw Ben I wanted him. I could see that his hands were clenched, a sign of nerves, and my nurturing side immediately kicked in. I also had major butterflies; I wondered if going last was a huge mistake. He already looked exhausted. And had he already met someone he really liked? I’d have to wait until these buffoons stumbled out of the limo before I could suss it out.

  Monica, wearing a long purple gown, was up first. She was a total dud. She said she missed her dog. And that was the highlight.

  Anna Snowball—I’m sorry, she has the kind of name where you always have to call her the whole thing—was so smashed she walked right past Ben trying to be all sexy and mysterious. But she just looked lost.

  Of the three, Amber had the most personality. I didn’t say it was a good personality. She told Ben she was the “Baconator” and asked him if he wanted a taste. He kissed her hand and told her she was delicious. I had a hard time watching this go down because I was already uncomfortable with the idea of any other women touching or kissing Ben.

  Finally, it was my turn. I got out of the limo as gracefully as possible and locked eyes with Ben. There were instant sparks.

  “Hey, cutie pie,” I said as I walked over, completely forgetting my script and remembering not to hunch my shoulders. “You come here
often?”

  Ben was smiling from ear to ear and I gave him a hug. “I watched last season and I have to admit I have the biggest crush on you.”

  “Thanks,” he said bashfully.

  “I love your hair,” I said, reaching out to push it out of his eyes. “I’m a hair girl.”

  “Is that what you do for a living?”

  “No, I’m a model.”

  “Oh, nice,” he said. (Lie #1: Ben did not think it was nice, but all in good time.)

  There was actually more to our first conversation that never aired. After asking me where I was from, Ben’s next question flummoxed me.

  “What school did you go to?”

  Yet another ominous foreshadow (I’ll stop counting now). I’d always struggled in school and believe I may be dyslexic. I’d finished some community college, but stopped when my modeling career demanded all of my time. Thrown off, I answered, “Oh, I didn’t.” I wasn’t planning on mentioning that I was a model the first night, but now it was out of my control.

  As I walked away, Ben said, stunned, “Now that was a pretty girl.”

  When the show aired, I noticed that the arrival order had changed. Lindzi Cox appeared last, showing up on a giant rented horse named Levi. Levi needed to get in and out as fast as possible so Lindzi, in reality, had gone earlier. In the episode, I was in the middle of the pack.

  * * *

  KEEPING IT REAL

  Actual Rejected Greetings for Ben from My Journal

  “God, you’re adorable!”

  “I have this feeling I might be your girl.”

  “I love wine.”

  “I’m in it to win it!”

  “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  “I love long walks on the beach, red wine, and boys with long, dark hair named Ben.”

  “I really want the first impression rose. You won’t be disappointed. Trust me.”

  “The search is over …”

  “If you need saving in there, I’m your girl. Just give me a look and I’ll scoop you up and swoop in.”

  “Let me give you a good squeeze!”

  * * *

  I was giddy from my first encounter with Ben, but as soon as I walked into the mansion, it hit me that for the last few hours the women had not only been boozing it up, but more important, they’d been bonding without me. It got eerily quiet and twenty-three sets of eyes burned through me (Lindzi, metaphorically still on her high horse, actually refused to look at me). Then I heard somewhere in the crowd:

  “Oh God, that’s not fair! A model?”

  Nope, this was not going the way I’d planned at all.

  “Hi guys!” I chirped, trying to be friendly, even though as I scanned the room, I was shocked at how average this motley crew of women seemed. Ben walked in not long after I did and gave a welcome speech that kind of blew me away. He was so well-spoken and really cute. We locked eyes and smiled at each other right then, but I’d have to wait a long time for my turn to talk to him, as the other ladies shoulder checked each other like toothless hockey players to get his attention. So, while Ben made his way through the lot of us, I tried to make some early alliances.

  I walked over to Kacie “B” Boguskie, from Tennessee, and complimented her dress. She pretended she didn’t hear me. “What do you do?” I asked so loud that it was impossible to ignore me.

  “I’m not going to tell you that,” she sniped.

  So much for Southern hospitality.

  Samantha Levey, a tiny little pageant queen from Pittsburgh, asked me about my dress. I made the mistake of being honest. I told her it was Dolce and Gabbana but didn’t have time to clarify that it was busted and marked down before she cut me off and sneered, “Oooh, Dolce and Gabbana!” like I was some sort of big shot.

  I’m all about first impressions and I hadn’t received very many warm welcomes so far. I hadn’t planned on drinking a lot, but I needed a lot more liquid courage if I were going to make it through this night. I got a glass of red wine at the bar, which was fully stocked with every drink imaginable. A few of the girls bellied up to the bar a lot more than the others. Jenna Burke, a blogger known as the Over-Analyst, was drowning her sorrows after her awkward introduction with Ben. (She misquoted his poignant statement to Ashley Hebert: “Things don’t end, unless they end badly.” She said, “Good things end badly.”) Elyse Myers, a personal trainer with a bangin’ body, and Jaclyn Swartz, an ad account manager from NYC, were both partying like they were on Jersey Shore.

  It was obvious to me that some of these women weren’t going to make it very far on the show. Emily O’Brien, a stringy-haired Ph.D. candidate studying epidemiology, kept giving out hand sanitizer and talking about sexually transmitted diseases. She and Kacie B were talking major shit about Brittney Schreiner, a woman who’d brought her grandma to meet Ben, making her an early target and an outcast. As everyone else joined in on their shit-talking, not even really behind anyone’s back, Brittney gravitated toward me, the other pariah. Her granny left thirty minutes after she’d arrived. I guess it was past her bedtime.

  Not a single person asked me one question about myself or had a real conversation with me. I felt like nobody made an effort to get to know me. It was confusing because I was trying to engage with all of them. I realized this was not a normal situation. It was definitely a competition.

  In an effort to hog maximum TV time, Monica, from my limo, started rolling around on a couch with a “VIP cocktail waitress” named Blakeley Shea. She couldn’t make up a more distinguished, fake job title like everyone else does? How about hospitality executive? “You’re in my life forever,” Monica cooed to Blakeley. They didn’t look like lesbians; they looked like fools. Plus, the next day they got into a fight and hated each other the rest of their time on the show.

  They weren’t the only ones desperate for airtime. Epidemiology Emily did a really lame white-girl rap, Nicki Sterling started a line dancing lesson in the living room, and Shawn Reynolds played soccer with Ben out in the driveway. When all the girls stampeded out of the house like elephants to join in, I hung back. I didn’t want to look like a stage five clinger already.

  I picked out the women in the house who I thought Ben would like best: Lindzi, the horse girl, would go far for sure. Line dancing Nicki, a bubbly dental hygienist with an ass like Kim Kardashian, definitely had a shot. Two gorgeous blondes, Casey Shteamer and Rachel Truehart, a tomboy with a nose piercing, seemed shoe-ins. At one point in the evening Casey and I bonded in the one bathroom that all the women shared. (You can only imagine how filthy it was.) I helped her recurl her hair and we became fast friends. Phew, I thought. At least one girl here likes me!

  I finally got my first private one-on-one with Ben two hours after the party started. He took my hand and led me as far away from the house as possible, which made me feel special. But when we sat down I got a little tongue-tied. Being myself in front of the cameras with the whole crew watching was hard at first. The crowd threw my game off. I kept licking my lips like a snake and playing with my hair. My voice went up three octaves and I sounded like a nervous schoolgirl.

  Ben and I had a short yet intimate conversation. We talked about our connection to Arizona. He actually grew up in Tucson and once owned a house in Scottsdale. While Ben talked, I sized him up to see if I was attracted to him. I definitely was. I did pick up on that sadness I’d seen on Ashley Hebert’s season and I instantly felt myself caring about him. It’s like something innate came over me to nurture him and—I can’t believe I’m saying this—love him. I will say he seemed very serious and I did worry that he was a little boring. I had an urge to tickle him and loosen him up a bit. He also blinked a lot and had a hard time holding my gaze. I wondered if he had trouble with intimacy.

  Even though we had instant chemistry, he gave Lindzi, who had already changed outfits like Beyoncé at the Grammys, the highly coveted first impression rose. I was slightly jealous of her rose, but also a little relieved. It’s a double-e
dged sword. Whoever gets it may be safe until the next Rose Ceremony, but they are automatically hated and tortured by the other girls. I didn’t need to be hated any more than I already was. After my chat with Ben, I immediately did my first on-camera confessional called an ITM (In the Moment). I could feel myself swaying and, being a little drunk, I belligerently said about Lindzi, “Screw you and the horse you rode in on!” Oops.

  We still had hours to go until the Rose Ceremony, while Ben talked to every single woman. My feet were killing me. I asked a producer if I could soak them in the infamous hot tub, but they said no because it wasn’t turned on yet. So I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a couple carrots and snap peas from a scavenged veggie plate and dipped them into the room-temperature ranch dressing. I grabbed a bottle of water. I was cutting myself off, no more booze.

  It was a smart move because the more the other women drank, the more bananas it got in there. The biggest fight was between Monica, the queen of the mean girls, and poor drunk Jenna, who didn’t stand a chance against her bullying. Ben was clueless that this catfight was going down. If you rewatch the episodes, you won’t see me engaging in any of the drama that night. I never stood in a group of gossiping girls. I stayed out of the toxicity and negativity by sneaking out for a cigarette.

  Okay, I wasn’t totally innocent. I did try to have a little fun at some of the girls’ expense. At one point Ben came over and sat with me; Shira Astrof, a thin blonde from L.A.; and Nicki “the tush” from Texas. After Ben asked where they were from, I joked, “Let me guess. You’re an actress and you’re a Republican!” Even though I was being a brat, Ben laughed. I was right on both, by the way.

  Around 2:00 A.M., we finally met the host, Chris Harrison, for the very first time. He appeared out of thin air to announce that the party was over and the Rose Ceremony would begin soon. It was cool to see him in person after watching him on TV for twelve years. He was pretty cute. But Chris, who wore a shiny gold Tiffany Love Knot wedding ring, didn’t talk to any of the girls. He was a total pro. He nailed his speech for the camera and disappeared with Ben to sort through our headshots like a game of Hot or Not.