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

by Courtney Robertson

  We made out a little more at dinner, but our kisses were so quick that producers jokingly shouted at us to keep them going longer. When we refused, they gave us our first nickname as a couple—the Pecking Pirates.

  It was definitely the best date I’d ever been on in my life and I wanted to savor every moment of it. But a couple of things Ben said during dinner raised red flags. Like, he asked me how I was getting along with the other girls. How did he know drama was going on already? The other thing that concerned me was when Ben reminisced about his glory days of staying up and partying all night. He claimed he was ready for the next phase of his life, settling down and marriage, but I wasn’t so sure. I worried Ben might be immature. And that the other girls were already talking about me.

  Of course, I pushed those red flags out of my mind because Ben gave me a pink Core Balance band bracelet. He always wore a white one so when he pulled a pink one out of his backpack for me, it was a sure sign in my mind that I was his favorite.

  At the end of the night, which was freezing, he gave me his coat to wear and we sat in a swing talking, kissing, and cuddling. “This is the best first date I’ve ever been on,” I said. “Me, too,” he replied.

  They separated us for our final interviews, and then we left in separate cars.

  The next morning, I woke up happy, thinking about Ben. This could work, I thought. It could be him and me at the end: Ben Flajnik could be my husband. After Nicki rolled her rump out of our shared bed, I secretly wrote Ben one of my signature love notes in my journal, ripped the page out, and folded it. Tonight was the cocktail party and Rose Ceremony and even though Ben had given me a rose on our date and I was safe for the week, I wanted him to know how I felt.

  The other women, who were very envious of my new bracelet, had an entire day to get ready for the party. It was too much idle time. Some, like Jaclyn, Elyse, and Jenna, had stayed up late drinking bottles and bottles of wine while I was on my date. To cure their hangovers, they hair of the dogged it and started drinking mimosas early. Others, ahem Blakeley, used the entire time to get ready. I’m not kidding. She hogged one of the bathrooms for three hours. Her intense beauty rituals and bad manners just gave Kacie B and her former couch lover, Monica, an excuse to talk shit about her nonstop. Not that Blakeley didn’t deserve it. I noticed that she was super bossy and high maintenance with the PAs, ordering them to get her drinks and food. Maybe because she was a VIP cocktail waitress she wanted someone to wait on her for a change. I don’t know. For someone who probably earned a living on tips, Blakeley was also surprisingly lazy. Once, as I walked by her room, she called my name out. I poked my head in the door and found her sitting on the floor putting (more) makeup on.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I asked. Maybe we were going to bury the hatchet.

  “Can you close my door?” she answered, completely seriously.

  “Sure,” I said, and then slammed it as hard as I could. Maybe not.

  Nobody really asked me about my date with Ben, which was rude, but also totally fine. I didn’t want to confide in them anyway. So I put on my best poker face. I wanted to play it a little cooler than Kacie B, who was flying around the house sweating rainbows. We get it. You’re in a good mood. Nicki must’ve had a sixth sense that my date went well (maybe we bonded subconsciously in bed?) so she was snappy with me all day. I overheard her whining that I shouldn’t be allowed to have any one-on-one time with Ben at the cocktail party because it wasn’t fair to everyone else.

  At least Samantha, the little Chihuahua always running her mouth, had the cojones to insult me to my face. She was constantly harshing on me, about everything from being so tall to my diet. “There’s Courtney the model eating another salad!” she’d sneer as I ate. Samantha wasn’t as tough as she looked though. She could dish it out, but she sure couldn’t take it. Once, when I told her to leave me alone or I’d “dropkick” her, she ran to her room crying. She was so upset she was late to a cocktail party.

  By the time we all headed to the cocktail party in Sonoma, half of the girls were hammered and/or on the verge of hysteria. I threw on a white lace dress I’d borrowed from my sister and prepared myself for the inevitable shitshow. Nicki and Rachel were really nervous, and the few women who didn’t get any date with Ben that week were practically catatonic. Nicki even asked the group, “What’s the plan tonight? Who thinks that people who had dates shouldn’t get time tonight? Courtney shouldn’t have any more time with Ben.”

  “I don’t think there should be rules,” I said, defending myself. I didn’t want anyone telling me when I could, and couldn’t, talk to Ben.

  Later, Nicki apologized for being snappy toward me. I didn’t want the girls to hate me so I stayed away from Ben as long as possible. I also didn’t want him to think I was being aloof, so I asked a producer to pass along my note. I also whistled at Ben like a construction worker whenever he walked by. (I did this throughout the show and it would end up being one of our inside jokes.) Despite trying to respect the girls’ wishes that I keep a low profile, I needed to have a one-on-one chat, so I interrupted Lindzi, whose face was now as orange as a construction cone from all of the free bronzer. I apologized to both of them, but Lindzi didn’t seem to care. She made stinkfaces here and there, but for the most part, to her credit, she’d stayed out of the drama so far.

  Ben read my note out loud on-camera. I was mortified, but should have known better. Nothing was private on this show. On the cover I’d written: Rose are red/Violets are blue/I like you a lot/I hope you do, too. As he read the inside I cringed even more:

  Dear Ben,

  Thanks for the nice date last night. I woke up feeling happy and wanted to write you a love note. I could see you being my husband. There I said it. It’s out there …

  Lucky for me, the note never made it on the air. There was way too much other juicy f’d up drama swirling around us that night. Even though the party only lasted ninety minutes this time, it was a disaster. We could tell how many girls were being sent home because we counted the roses on the platter. It made everyone nutty. Blakeley followed Ben around like a stalker, as the Pink Ladies continued their verbal assaults on her character (calling her “jugs” and a “bitch”). When Ben gingerly told Blakeley to give him some space, she ended up crouching in the fetal position in a corner of the luggage room sobbing. Brittney, the girl with the granny, was not adapting to the reality show lifestyle at all and angrily pushed a camera out of her face. Jenna Burke flipped out again and passed out drunk in a bed.

  Rumor had it that our cast was the drunkest the producers had ever seen. Which is not surprising, considering our beloved Bachelor’s livelihood was based on alcohol. There were times at our cocktail parties when they actually had to close the bar because they didn’t want everyone wasted and throwing up. I heard that the cast of conservative Jake Pavelka’s season spent more money on their food budget than on booze. “I don’t think any of us ever got drunk,” one of the girls on that season told me. “We were like grandmas. We’d sit and talk and have tea.” Same with born-again virgin Sean Lowe’s conservative cast of characters.

  I hated doing interviews, but while all of this insanity was going down, I was happy to be pulled away. I was escorted down to a barn in the vineyard, which the crew had converted into a mini studio. While the camera and sound guys set up for my ITM (or TMIs, as the girls had now dubbed them), I sipped a glass of red wine as a producer put on Adele’s song “Someone Like You.” I felt so comfortable and I just wanted to make the crew happy. I wanted to make them laugh. I wanted them to like me.

  * * *

  KEEPING IT REAL

  Cheers to the Clichés!

  Watching The Bachelor or The Bachelorette at home and want your own cocktail party booze-fest? Drink anytime someone says:

  1.I didn’t come here to make friends.

  2.We have a strong connection.

  3.I feel like my wall is up.

  4.[Insert name] threw me under the bus.

  5.The
words “journey” or “process.”

  6.[Insert name] isn’t here for the right reasons.

  7.I came here to find love.

  8.I could be going home tonight.

  9.I’m falling in love with more than one woman.

  10.This is the hardest decision I’ve ever made in my life.

  11.I can be myself around him/her.

  12.I have to trust my heart.

  13.At the end of the day …

  14.I just don’t see him with her.

  15.You haven’t seen the last of me.

  * * *

  I would end up making their jobs a little too easy. I didn’t say anything too outrageous that night, just that it was “a war out there.” But soon I would get a little too comfortable with the crew and insert my foot in my mouth a lot. Very soon.

  When I went back to the house for the Rose Ceremony, Blakeley was still being bullied by the Pink Ladies. As Ben handed out roses I couldn’t help but be a little cocky. I knew he liked me.

  This wasn’t going to be that hard.

  I’d just sit back and watch all of these self-sabotaging cuckoo birds implode.

  5

  BUFFETS & BREAKDOWNS

  We weren’t even that far into the journey, and yet everyone, now sixteen of us, were already going a little stir-crazy, especially me. Emily talking incessantly about her mind-numbing job in epidemiology was like nails on a chalkboard. Rachel and Nicki were terrified they were going home every moment of every day. Kacie B took it upon herself to be “Julie McCoy, cruise director” of the group. She’d lead sing-alongs on bus and car rides and pose irritating ethical questions, like the ones you’d find in a Scruples board game, to jumpstart conversations. Shut up already!

  By the time we got to our next destination, San Francisco, a lot of the girls were emotional and on edge. The first night we were given our own rooms at the historic Fairmont Hotel, but didn’t leave them. We got to order in anything our little hearts desired from room service, but there was no television. I felt like I was being groomed. With absolutely nothing else to do, I journaled for two hours. Even though the girls were annoying, I was relieved when we took over the entire penthouse and the presidential suite as a group. It was better than being in solitary confinement. And we got to pick our own roommates. I chose my new friends, Casey and Rachel, the hot blonde, unaware that she snored like a freight train.

  Most of us, in our normal lives, worked out a lot. I consider it part of my job back in L.A. Going without regular exercise was starting to make us testy (though Kacie B was always chipper, probably because she’d somehow hid weights and a jump rope under her bed). We tried to schedule what we called Yard Time wherever and whenever we could. We’d even resorted to doing laps of the driveway back in Sonoma. Thankfully, there was a real gym at the Fairmont. Once, I saw Jaclyn headed to the gym carrying a workout water bottle filled with vodka. “I’m only gonna burn like ten calories,” she slurred. “But I can’t wait to watch TV!”

  The hotel was beautiful, but I had cabin fever. San Francisco was intense for me, especially knowing that I wouldn’t have a one-on-one date with Ben because I’d just had one. Plus, my secret smoker cover was totally blown when one of the producers came into the suite and announced, “You can go down to smoke now.” Jaclyn and Blakeley overheard this and decided they wanted to smoke, too, which bummed me out because I cherished the private time.

  At the Fairmont, Nicki and I bonded while working out together. When we walked into the gym I felt like I was walking on air. I watched the news for the first time in weeks while I ecstatically exercised on the elliptical. The physical release was so intense I may have even cried post-coital-like tears.

  As I was working out, I checked out a cute guy who walked in wearing a baseball hat pulled low and black socks with his workout clothes, a look I think is so hot. Oh shit, it was Ben! He spotted Nicki and me, walked over, and made small talk. I felt relieved and proud that I was watching the news and not Maury. Maybe because he thought I was worldly, he talked to me more than Nicki—something that she definitely noticed and definitely didn’t appreciate. He jumped on a machine right behind me and as he worked out, I could see him watching me in the mirror. I was happy I was wearing my Lululemon workout pants, which make every woman’s butt look amazing.

  The producers knew we needed a special treat to stay happy so they made sure the food was really yummy in San Francisco. We had a catered spread 24/7 at the Fairmont and a lot of the girls took advantage of the endless amounts of food wheeled in. The three down days before the Rose Ceremony were so long and tedious if you didn’t get a date that a lot of times we had nothing better to do than stuff our faces. I devoured pastries and eggs for breakfast, giant salads with salmon for lunch, and plates of pasta for dinner. I even saw skinny Rachel eat a whole box of Cheez-Its in one sitting. A couple of the women, who shall remain nameless (Nicki), gained ten to fifteen pounds during taping.

  While we all sat around eating and drinking our feelings, Ben gave Emily the worst one-on-one date ever: a terrifying climb to the top of the Bay Bridge. She matched her pink construction helmet with a full-blown panic attack. After burning however many thousands of calories walking up the darn thing, poor Emily probably wouldn’t eat on their dinner date. Even though she admitted to Ben the lame fact that an online dating site matched her up with her older brother, she still got a rose and was safe for the week.

  From our hotel window, we saw fireworks going off and we knew they were for Ben and Emily. It was like the cannons going off in The Hunger Games, except I knew Emily was making out, not being harpooned with a bow and arrow. This whole experience felt eerily similar to The Hunger Games so far: we were fighting to the death for Ben.

  Picturing Ben kissing Emily made me want to throw up in my mouth a little. It really bothered me. It bothered everyone. Earlier in the day room service staff had wheeled in a fancy silver tray stocked with top-shelf vodka and every Bloody Mary accoutrement known to mankind, so many of the girls were sloshed and belligerent. I don’t usually partake in day-drinking—I don’t like to drink hard alcohol because I’m such a lightweight—so I didn’t really get to bond with the other girls who were day-drinkers.

  * * *

  KEEPING IT REAL

  Embrace Your Inner Villain

  by Kalon McMahon

  Can you name the guys from Emily Maynard’s season? Can’t remember that many?

  You remember the guy who wins.

  You remember the guy who you wanted to win.

  You maybe remember the guy who cried after two weeks of knowing Emily.

  And you remember me—the guy you hated from day one.

  If you can tell a good story, people will listen, regardless of which character you play in it. Just don’t be boring. Otherwise you just end up a Bachelor statistic, and statistics don’t get to write books.

  “Celebrity,” no matter how brief, is not a commodity. It’s a vehicle. And if driven correctly, this vehicle will take you wherever you want to go. It opens doors. When you are newsworthy, it becomes much easier to shed light on the things that are important to you. Two years ago I participated in a charity date auction to benefit CAPS (Citizens for Animal Protection). The date consisted of a helicopter ride to my family’s ranch for an afternoon of drinking champagne, riding horses, and shooting guns. I sold it for a measly $600. Flash forward to after I was on The Bachelorette, virtually the same date sold for $10,000. So the moral of the story is that if I have to be a dick on TV in order to be a better person in real life, sign me up every time.

  Fortunately for me, I got the chance to totally redeem myself on Bachelor Pad 3. If nothing else, BPAD3 proved just how fickle the Bachelor Nation and Bachelor fans can be. One second I’m being tarred and feathered for calling Emily’s daughter “baggage,” and then poof, I became America’s sweetheart’s rebound romance. I mean if Lindzi Cox liked me, I can’t be that bad—right?

  * * *

  The more dates Ben had
the more connections he was making. The tension between everyone was palpable. Kacie B, who was now rooming with Lindzi, was the ringleader of the girls who didn’t like me. They had a big dance party listening to their clock radio, jumping up and down on the bed. When I saw them after, I asked, “Where was my invite?” I was met with crickets.

  To kill time and keep the peace I started taking long naps. The other women all complained that I slept all day, but they didn’t know that Rachel’s buzz saw snoring kept me up all night.

  The next day I wasn’t on the group date, “skiing” down one of San Fran’s steepest streets on fake snow wearing bikinis, which was okay because it terrified me. The downside was that it alienated me even more from the rest of the women. The upside was that Emily and I actually bonded a little in the suite together. She was a lot nicer to me when nobody else was around. She told funny stories about being a nurse, and how people always came into the ER with things stuck in their butts. I confided to her that when Chris and I broke up, it felt like a piece of me died. She then confided in me about the humiliating reason her last serious relationship blew up. Her longtime boyfriend was cheating on her the whole time and proposed to another girl while they were still dating. Ouch.

  Besides a few fleeting moments, it absolutely stunk being trapped in the hotel room again while eleven of the other women, including my BFF’s Casey and Rachel, went on the group date. The only thing that made me feel better about it was that I heard later that Kacie B fell down more than the other girls.

  Sure, I had mild cabin fever, but Brittney was totally freaking out. She couldn’t handle the show and wanted to go home as soon as possible. I sensed that the producers wanted to let her go too, but that they couldn’t let her just waltz out the door with no explanation about why she suddenly disappeared. But Brittney didn’t want to waste any more time. She packed her shit up in the free purple swag bag, rolled it right into the night portion of the group date (Rachel got the rose that night, yay!), and told Ben she was outta there. And that was that. She was gone.