Page 51 of One to Watch

“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 walked 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?”