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We exchange good-byes, and I hang up and then pull back the shower curtain, steam billowing out. I step under the spray, and as I lather up my hair and wash my body, a strange calm descends over me. One I haven’t been privy to before when thinking about doing this reality show. I’m not sure how Desi talked me into it in the first place. My hopeless-romantic tendencies are working against me it seems, but this is real life. Well, as real as a reality show actually is.
I step out of the shower and hurriedly towel off and brush my hair out. I throw some casual clothes on since I know I’ll be doing hair, makeup, and styling there. I rush out the door, sipping hot coffee and gasping when it burns my tongue.
The drive takes me five minutes since I live close to the community center, and I pull into the designated parking lot, alongside the cars of the other participants. I glance down the line of them, wondering which one belongs to my match.
The white Camry? The Ford F-150? The Jeep with the sides removed?
I lean over and grab my purse and coffee. After booking it inside, I’m finally directed to my dressing room.
“Ah, last but not least, Alice. So lovely you could make it,” a man greets me as I enter the room. He pulls me in by my upper arms, planting air kisses on either side of my cheeks, and I frown in confusion. “I’m Boris Greene, the director. There’s your seat. Let’s get you looking … fresher.”
I fidget as his eyes roam my body, and I’m sure mine are narrowed to slits by the time he gets back to looking at my face.
That wasn’t necessary. The vibes he gives me make my skin crawl. Looking at him, I see nothing objectionable. It’s just a feeling I have—that all women have when they encounter someone who probably doesn’t have their best interest in mind. He lets me go when I start to back up and then rounds where I’m standing, heading toward the door.
“You must be Alice! I’m Gennie, and that’s Penny and Fiona.”
I glance up to see a tall blonde woman standing in front of me, smile plastered to her face as she gestures toward the two women right behind her. They already have full faces of makeup, and their hair is perfectly coifed.
“Hi. Yes,” I say, juggling my purse to stick out my hand for a shake, “I’m Alice Whitman.”
“Aren’t you just so excited?” She practically squeals after shaking my hand.
I note the huge smiles on all three of their faces. I’m not sure if excited is the word, but I’m trying to be optimistic. I’m not feeling like myself this morning. Usually, I would be bubbly and effervescent along with them, but today, for some reason, I have a sense of dread hanging over my head despite how calm I was feeling earlier.
I try to shake it off and remind myself that it’s only because I’m about to broadcast something very personal to me on national TV. Love isn’t a game in my opinion, but it’s about to be made into one.
“Alice? We are ready for you in hair and makeup,” a woman says, walking toward me with a calm smile.
Let the games begin.
