Walk of Shame (4 page)

I was a nervous freaking wreck.

I was standing in front of a wall
of carnations, in a crazy long evening gown, and more pins in my hair than I
had strands to style. And my five-freaking-inch heels were off and stashed in
the corner until I had to put them on to be ready to greet the guys. I did look
good, though.

Like, really good.

"Take a deep breath,"
Troy instructed. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm going to vomit,
and my heart is pounding in my ears."

"I could get you a shot of
something to calm you down," he offered.

"Doubtful that'll help me
keep the names and faces straight," I muttered.

"Well, no. But it might help
you stop vibrating on camera," he quipped.

I looked down at my shaking
hands. "How about a core ball to bounce on while we wait?"

He didn't look amused.

I laughed. "Yeah, okay.
Let's hit me with some vodka."

"One shot, coming up."
He nodded to an assistant who disappeared and reappeared with a shot glass.

I tossed it back, cringed, and
stretched my neck, hoping to relieve some of the tension.

"Better?" Troy asked.

"A little."

"Good. Keep in mind, there
will be sixteen guys tonight. You want to pick twelve to keep. If someone just
irks you or gives you the creeps, he's gone tonight, no questions asked."

"Right... wait. I thought it
was fifteen."

"Someone else contacted us
and asked us to throw his hat in the ring."

"So you just let some random
guy join in?"

Troy smiled. "He isn't a
random guy. And production has fully screened him, just like the rest of the
men. If you don't like him, send him packing with the others."

"Ugh."

He got a signal from one of the
crew. "All right, Princess. The first limo is waiting. You ready?"

I took a deep breath.
"Okay."

"All right," he took me
by the shoulders and led me over to the mark on the stonework under our feet.
"Stand here to greet each guy, smile, breathe, and fake a relaxed
expression."

He walked away, the red lights
lit up on all the cameras, and the first limo began to pull up.

"I'm not wearing any
shoes," I said through my smile.

Troy made a show of looking down
at the extra inches of material pooled around my feet and sighed.

Someone signaled for the limo
driver not to stop and they drove on by, around the bushes, to pause and wait
again. I don't know what the guys inside the limo thought about it, but oh well.

I hiked up my dress and shimmied
over to the side, put the shoes on, and took my place again, giggling the whole
time.

"Are you ready now?"
Troy asked from the sidelines.

"Yep, I'm good."

He nodded to the assistant, who
said something into a mic.

The limo pulled around again and
stopped in front of me. The first guy stepped out looking dark and fine, and
wearing a purple shirt that complimented his coloring perfectly. And when he
approached, I got a whiff of him, and the man smelled better than I did.
Mmm-hmm.
And as we exchanged hellos and pleasantries, I knew I wanted to remember
the purple-shirt dude.

We hugged, and I was struck with
a thought...
What if I mark the guys in some way?... A way to sort them, or
categorize them...
I mean, seriously, what if more than one of them was
wearing a purple shirt?

I scanned the area and my eyes
landed on all the carnations on the wall behind me. I smiled and pulled a pink
one from the edge. "Can I get you to let me stick this flower in your
front pocket?"

Stephan smiled, "You sure
can."

Someone moved off camera and put
pins on the stone ledge for me.

We laughed, I moved to get a pin,
walked back over to him, paused to make it easier on post-production editing,
and tried it again. "Can I get you to wear this flower for me
tonight?"

He smiled again, "You sure
can."

"I love this purple shirt on
you," I told him as I pinned on the flower.

"Thank you. You're dress is
amazing."

We said our temporary goodbyes
and he went inside.

Pause for production, pose on my
mark, enter man number two. Greet, small talk, hug, goodbye. Pause for
production, pose on my mark, enter the next man. Rinse, repeat.

Limo one had held four men.
Stephan, James, TJ, and Mitch.

Limo two was more of the same,
except for man number three... or I guess he was number seven, overall. Drake
was another good-looking man, pulling off a turquoise shirt and clean-shaven
head when he stepped out of the limo. His smile was awesome. He had one of
those smiles that people say reached their eyes.
Mr. Too Smooth
. He
didn't bat an eyelash at the cameras, and seemed totally at ease in front of
them. I'd have to keep an eye out for him, for sure.
...Hmmm. Maybe I just
had a thing for handsome black men that wore brightly colored shirts.

Limo two had held Darren, Mack,
Drake, Patrick, and Tyler.

Limo three held some surprises.
The first guy stepped out in full Native American regalia, headdress and all.
The dude just brought a smile to my face.

"I love it! Hello," I
greeted.

He matched my smile, "Hello.
They said you like learning about other cultures."

"Yes, I do." My eyes
couldn't stop sweeping over his clothing. "I'm guessing the
southwest?"

"Yes, Hopi. And I've brought
you a gift." He pulled a bracelet out of a pocket.

I held out my wrist for him.

"My mother makes the
jewelry. She uses the same silver overlay method our ancestors used. The
repeating pattern is our symbol for waves and water, which brings life and
growth."

"It's gorgeous, thank
you." I leaned up for a hug.

He hugged me back. "It's
nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too.
I'll see you inside."

"Bye." And away he
went.

I signaled to the crew that I
needed a moment. I was ten guys in on five-inch heels. I went behind the wall
of flowers, took the shoes off to stretch my calf muscles, stretched my arms
out to try to loosen up my back, and drank some water. The makeup artist
touched up my face when I put the bottle down and disappeared into the shadows.
I put my shoes back on and went back to my mark, rolling my head and stretching
my neck as I went.

"You ready, now?" Troy
asked.

"Yep," I clapped my
hands to rev myself back up. "Ten down, six to go. Let's roll!"

Troy stepped back and cued the
limo.

The next guy stepped out in
traditional Indian garb. "Good evening," he said as he approached.

"Good evening, I'm Emma. How
are you doing tonight?"

"Oh, I'm doing well. I'm
Yamid. Needed a little break?"

"Yes. A little water and a
little stretch and I'm good as new."

And then he didn't say
anything....

So I just stared at him.

"It was nice to meet
you," he finally said, and began to walk away.

"It was nice to meet
you." And then I smiled to myself, unsure if the guy was just shy, or just
didn't like what he saw. Either way, I still had five more guys to meet.

The next guy came out wearing
black pants and a long, sheer white shirt layered over a regular white dress
shirt. The sheer shirt had gold embroidery on it. And the guy wearing it?
Oh,
yeah.

"Hi, I'm Emma."

"Phillip. How are you?"

"Good, I'm loving the theme
of this car. I can't place the culture of the shirt, though."

"The Philippines."

"Wait," I smiled.
"Phillip the Filipino?"

He grinned. "Yes, my Dad
immigrated over here, and when I was born he wanted to pay homage to his
homeland. So, he named me Phillip."

"I have to ask how old you
are."

"Thirty-seven."

"What do you do?"

"I work for the US Fish and
Wildlife Services. I study animals that have been proposed for the endangered
species list."

"Very interesting."
That explained the kind and patient vibe I was getting from him. The man wore
his age like a badge of maturity, and it was hot as hell. The way his dark hair
fell back in waves, and the way he held himself, screamed of intelligence. I
went over, picked a pink carnation from the wall, and pinned it on him before
we said our goodbyes.

The third limo pulled away and I
found myself a little disappointed. I was enjoying the clothes.

The last limo pulled up and I
found myself curious as to whether or not the theme would continue.

Out came a man in hip waders and
a cowboy hat with mosquito netting around his head.

I tried not to giggle. It didn't
work. "And where are you from?" I asked.

He smiled. "Alabama."

"And the outfit?"

"Well, they said you like
different cultures, and I figure what I do is very different from what you're
used to. It must count as a different culture."

Oh, my.
I was dumbstruck,
I couldn't help it. It was the accent and deep voice combination he had going
on. I was standing there with the silliest grin on my face. His voice was like
melted butter coating my eardrums, just listening to him talk could make me
sigh.

I didn't care what the man did
for a living, or even if we were compatible. The voice was getting a red
flower.

The next time the limo door
opened, the first thing I saw to come out was a bare knee and the bottom of a
tartan plaid. I lost it. I dissolved into a fit of giggles, but clapped my
hands to let him know I wasn't laughing at him. I was loving it.

He got out with bagpipes and
started playing for me.

Hot damn, I'm done!
And
not that I would forget the guy in the kilt, but I went over to the wall of
flowers and picked a red carnation off to pin on him.

Guy number three in the limo came
out in full dress army uniform, and I have a thing for uniforms. Dark blonde
hair, blue eyes, had the all-American look. And as he came closer, I zeroed in
on the Purple Heart medal.

Yep, I'm sold.
"They
saved the best for the last limo, I see," I said.

"Well, I'm glad to hear
we're not all dressed like my group is."

"Oh, no. There are some
suits in there."

"Well then, they lose points
for not listening to what the lady likes."

"Ah ha! Well, the uniform
only counts if it belongs to you."

"Very true. It's mine. But
it's a couple years old. I left a year and a half ago, at the end of my
enlistment."

"How many years?"

"Nine."

"How many deployments?"

"Three."

"So, you used to travel the
globe and now you just travel the country."

Oh yeah, those blue eyes were
doing a whole simmering/smiley thing. "Well, yeah, but at least now no
one's throwing grenades at me."

"Well that always makes for
a better day."

He chuckled. "Yes, it
does."

I moved to get a red carnation
and a pin. "Can I interest you in a flower?"

"As long as you're the one
putting it on me."

I grinned, pinned it, and gave
him a hug.

I'd been so dazzled by the last
three men that I was pretty sure none of us had bothered to introduce
ourselves. But that was okay, because I had pinned them all with red carnations,
so they weren't going anywhere.

By my count, I should still have
a guy left, but no one was getting out of the limo. I was torn between just
standing there and waiting, and going up to the limo and knocking on the
window.

Suddenly, the driver's door
opened and out steps a guy in a Marine Corps uniform. His smile was familiar...

"Good evening, Emma."

The voice and the smile triggered
my brain. "Trevor? You're the surprise guy who wants to throw his hat in
the ring?"
Aw, damn.

"Any girl I can impress with
my killer knowledge of good bargains is a girl I want to get to know better.
After spending some time with you, the idea of you getting hit on by fifteen
other guys wasn't sitting too well with me."

I was smiling, big time. "So
you decided to come onboard and make it sixteen?"

"Well, yeah, because then at
least one of them could be me. If I weren't under a contract to work with you a
couple weeks ago, I would have asked you out then. Plus, you were in from out
of town. I didn't know where you lived or what your story was. When I found
out, I was even more interested."

"Will you leave the fake,
formal dialogue behind?"

He smiled, "For you, miss,
anything."  

"So, the Marines? For how
long?"

"Six years, two deployments.
I don't like to talk about it much. I've been out for four years, now. But if
it's uniforms you want, then it's uniforms you get."

That explained his protective
instincts showing when he talked about not getting in any other car with some
other driver, and telling me about restaurants I could walk to and not get lost
trying to find. "Well, I'm flattered. But you're not free to RV full
time."

"Aw," he waved a
dismissive hand at the limo. "I only do the chauffer thing to bring in
extra money so I can eat out and maybe afford to go do something on a Saturday
afternoon. I'm a free-lance graphic artist. I've even designed some logos for
small companies and book covers for indie authors. I'm hooked up with a few
websites that match clients up with artists. You should check out my professional
website."

I laughed and hugged him before
he went inside.

Here's where the game/reality
show gets super corny. The main house has this big ballroom, and towards one
end sits a platform, at least for night one. There's a couch up there for the
girl to sit with each guy, one at a time, and chat with them. There are sheer
panels of material draping around three sides to give the illusion of seclusion
from other people, but you still have the cameras, microphones, and everybody
facing the front side can still see you. In essence, the girl is holding a
court of sorts as she judges who is, and who is not, worthy of continuing. Thus
Troy's habit of calling me 'Princess'.

On the upside, my feet were
killing me and I was going to sit for the next few hours. On the downside, I'd
become the object of everyone's attention. This would be harder for me than
meeting them all one-by-one. Their eyes were going to be glued to me for the
rest of the night.

It did help that the ballroom had
patio doors that opened out to the pool area. At least then the guys would have
distractions so that maybe they'd lay off me a bit. Their scrutiny was going to
put me more on edge than the idea of the cameras.

Troy escorted me into the room,
interrupting the men's little gatherings they had going at different seating
areas around the room. "Good evening, gentlemen."

"Good evening," they
called back in unison.

"Now we begin the portion of
the evening where you are free to approach Emma and talk to her a little more
on the couch. Please do not interrupt another gentleman already talking to her,
wait until she is free. And please, when you get your turn, limit yourself to
ten minutes. This will take us about three hours, unless some of you guys get
greedy and take more time. And nobody gets more than one turn, so make the most
of your time. Spend the rest of your time getting to know your new roommates. You're
all going to be spending more time with each other than with her, so you all
need to figure out how to get along."

Troy turned to me, then looked
off camera. "We need to get our Princess touched up before we get her
placed."

Different crewmembers were
hanging along one of the side walls, behind the cameras. Someone came at me
with a powder puff and applied more foundation powder. Then she decided I
needed an eye shadow touchup as well. While she moved back to the side of the
room to retrieve her palette, the hair woman stepped forward and took care of a
few strands that had gone awry. The makeup lady came back and brushed at my
eyelids before stepping away for good.

Mercifully, Troy took my hand and
guided me up the three steps that had no railing. He'd either known that I
gripped railings when walking in the stilts, or he'd just gotten really good at
his job and knew stilts required a steadying hand from time to time.

"And turn away from the
men," he told me, not bothering to lower his voice in the pretense of
privacy.

I wrinkled my eyebrows, but
turned away.

"And adjust your
dress."

I looked down at the effects of
gravity on the gown. "Oh, geez." I hiked up the front and made
adjustments.

Chuckles came from around the
room.

"Knock back this shot because
you're vibrating again." He handed me a shot that he'd been hiding in his
other hand.

I took it and knocked it back.

A few men cheered.

"And now sit and get comfy.
There are more pillows behind the couch, if you need them." He reached
around and straightened with a bottle of water. "Take this, you should
hydrate, you only stopped once for a sip of water the whole time you were
outside. Production doesn't want it on camera while you're talking to the guys.
So drink it after one guy and before the next, and tuck it between the cushions
while the men are up here. We brought you more flowers in," he said
pointing to a small pile tucked behind the coffee table's centerpiece, "in
case you want to pin a few more, little miss I-like-throwing-curve-balls-at-the-crew."

I smiled. "Someone has to
keep them on their toes."

"And take notice, they're
all wearing name tags for you now."

I looked out to see that they all
had, in fact, put them on. "Aw, it's the first sign of their devotion to
me. Gotta love that."

I gained a few more chuckles and
started to feel a little more at ease in front of everyone. I also needed to
keep in mind that this was the worst it would be. After tonight, the crowd of
men would only grow smaller. I knew the moment we ventured out in public, with
the cameras, we were bound to attract an audience. But I'd decided to worry
about that later.

I settled on the couch, took a
sip of water, and tucked the bottle away.

Troy did a formal introduction
for the segment, for the sake of the cameras, and he stepped down and away.

The guys all passed looks between
one another as they looked around, trying to decide who would be first. The
mood in the room had been light, but with the formal reminder that every moment
was being filmed, the guys were thrown off-center again.

And with them suddenly
self-conscious, I fed off that and became nervous again, too.

Trevor stood and came across the
room, towards me. It was a relief that someone had the balls to make a move. He
smiled as he came up the steps. "May I join you?"

I made a mental note that Trevor
was the type to take full advantage of the fact that he worked for the network,
and therefore had some higher level of comfort with the situation than the
others did. "Of course."

"This is really weird,"
he whispered.

I laughed. "I know. I can't
decide if it's the whole shrouded platform, or the idea of everyone staring
that's weirder."

"And then you have all of us
in various kinds of formal clothing..."

"And then the crew all
dressed in black t-shirts and pants."

"Are you ready for all
this?"

I shook off the same chill I got
every time I thought about what I might be getting myself into. "I sure
hope so."

"So, when you were here last
time, I didn't ask. Where do you call home, like what address do you use?"

"Well, I come from southeast
Pennsylvania. I grew up about an hour outside of Philly, my parents still live
there, and my little sister. My address will lead you to a post office
box."

"So how do you get
mail?"

"I have a forwarding service
that weeds out all the junk mail and then sends out the rest to me once a week,
I send them emails with whatever the campground's address is that I'm staying
at, and they send it out to me."

"Awesome."

"So, you don't actually have
your own RV?"

"Ah, no. I have a tent,
though."

I laughed again. "You slept
in your own bed last night and drove on down here today, didn't you."

"Well, yeah. I drove my
motorcycle over. I figured I can't show you my rig, but I can show you my hog.
And then we can discuss how easy it would be to attach one of those motorcycle
racks to the back of your rig."

"That would be handy to have
out on sites. Do some sightseeing on the motorcycle instead of always using my
gas-gulping truck."

"Is that what you do
now?"

"Well, I usually throw my
bicycle in the bed and drive to the spot, then pedal around."

"Got 'cha."

"What about you? Why are you
in LA?"

"My Dad is an agent and my
Mom works with costuming. I came back here after my enlistment ended. I felt
like I needed to re-ground myself with family. Now I'm ready for the next step,
I'm just not sure what that step should be. But then you showed up in my car
and sparked my interest."

Troy walked into Trevor's line of
view and tapped his watch.

"It's seems I gotta go. Good
luck." He stood to take his leave.

"Thanks."

I touched my hand to my nose to
conceal the smile I was wearing. This night was full of surprises. Plus I had
calmed down a great deal while talking to Trevor.

Drake broke away from the small
group he'd been talking to. Mr. Too Smooth with the shiny head and turquoise
dress shirt eased on up the stairs. "May I?" he asked.

"Please."

He moved a throw pillow and sat.
"So, I read your blog."

I smiled. "Oh, yeah?"

"You're pretty funny once
you get started on something."

"Thank you. So you know what
I do. What is it that you do?"

"I'm a songwriter."

"Do you sing as well?"

He laughed. "When I have to.
I'm okay at it, but not like you need to be to make money at it. So I stick to
writing."

"How did you end up RVing
full time?"

"Well, I was flying from one
city to another, trying to get my foot in the door, and for the occasional
meetings. And that meant hotel rooms. And that had expenses piling up. So, that
had me thinking to relocate, but I had been getting nibbles in a couple
different cities and I didn't know which place would be better for me to move
to. But then I found, as the years moved on and as I got past the nibble stage
more and more, they were content with small internet meetings. And that opened
up some options for me. I got the fifth wheel and now park it in whatever area
looks interesting, and move it when I have to go a physical meeting, camping as
close to the city as I can."

"Does your music change as
your surroundings do?"

"Oh, definitely. And it was
the right decision for me. Otherwise, I'd have ended up living in a tiny
apartment in a city and I'd be suffocating from it."

"I hear that."

"How did you end up
RVing?"

"I guess I just got tired at
looking at travel brochures. I watched the Travel Channel growing up and didn't
want my view of the world to be tied down to a box in the corner of the room.
My writing actually got started from me picturing myself in all these other
places and imagining what kind of life I might have, living there."

"Very nice."        

"Thank you."

Drake was getting looks from the
other guys. "I think I better move on and let someone else have a
turn."

"Can't have the natives
getting restless."

Yamid must have found his
courage, because he swooped up to the platform, cutting off one of the other
guys.

This guy just wasn't racking any
points up with me tonight. I have a thing about rude people. I don't like them.

He helped himself to a seat.
"This is a very different kind of meeting than I'm used to," he said.

I smiled. "For me, as
well."

"I am not used to the woman
controlling the situation."

Aha.
"Well I make it
a policy to not let anyone control me. If I don't agree with what's going on, I
walk away."

"You would not expect your
husband to make decisions?"

"Yes, but to make them with
me, not for me."

He made a face.

I made one back.

He was back to not saying
anything.

"What brought you to coming
on the show?" I asked, because I was genuinely curious at this point.

"My friends suggested that I
apply."

"Have you ever watched
it?"

"No. But I understand that
you pick who will be the best husband for yourself, the best provider and
caretaker."

'Caretaker'? Are you freaking
kidding me?
I thought. "What kind of work do you do?"

"My family owns a few
hotels."

"And you do what for
them?"

"I travel among them. I'm
the main accountant. I double check the books and handle all the taxes."

"How far spread out are the
hotels?"

"They're along the east
coast. They're spread from North Carolina to New York."

"So, you're tied to that
region. You don't really get out into the middle of the country, do you?"

"No, not really. But, as
part of the owner's family, I do get to stay in a suite whenever I'm at a
particular hotel for a few days auditing the books."

"That sounds lovely." I
stared down at the assortment of flowers on the table. They had four different
colors laid out, red, pink, pale pink, and white.

"And if you're just
traveling back and forth between hotels, you probably stay at the same sites as
you have before."

"Of course, I am a preferred
customer. I get the best sites."

"You also probably own your
own home, as well."

"Oh, yes. I have a condominium
on the waterfront. My family all own condos in the same community."

"Keeping the family
together."

"Yes."

"Are there any other
traditions your family maintains here in the US?"

"Everyone in my family wears
the traditional garb. It is far more modest."

I picked up a white carnation and
a pin. "The lady's clothing is absolutely gorgeous. I've seen some with
exquisite detailing."

Finally he'd found something to
smile about. "Are you skilled with a needle and thread? My sister is quite
good at doing the embroidery work. I'm sure she'd be happy to teach you."

"Not really. That's why I'm
in awe of those who are."

His face fell.

"May I pin a flower on your
lapel?"

He smiled again. "Yes."

He walked away, looking proud of
his white flower.

I pulled the water bottle out and
shook my head. I quickly chugged the water because my Scottie McHottie was
waiting next, and Troy wouldn't let him up until I was done and the camera
could catch me without the water bottle. I shoved the bottle between the
cushions and smiled my readiness.

Troy signaled him on, and I began
to realize that Troy was just as much their point man as he was mine.

I looked at his nametag as he
approached. "Liam, have a seat, sir."

"Thank you." He sat
down. "I'm afraid we forgot about the introductions outside."