For Real(45)

“Dude, are you okay?” Troy says. “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks,” I snap.

“No, I mean, you look like you’re gonna hurl. Are you gonna hurl? Please don’t do it on me.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine, just a little carsick.” Maybe he’ll stay far away from me once we get to the Love Shack if he thinks there’s still a possible threat of vomit.

A producer is waiting to meet us when we arrive, and he ushers us into a restaurant and leads us through to a tiny private room in the back. In one corner is a table set with a basket of strawberries, a pot of melted chocolate, and a bottle of what looks like champagne but is probably sparkling cider. Piled in another corner is a bed-sized heap of pillows in shades of pink and red and gold. The room smells strongly of incense, and dozens of pink candles cast a flickering glow over everything. Next to the pillows, I spot a large bottle of massage oil. There’s low music with a strong beat playing in the background, the sort I imagine might be used to underscore porn.

“Welcome to your very own Love Shack,” says the producer, and his tone makes me suspect he thinks this whole setup is as ludicrous as I do. “Your hour alone starts now. Your camera crew won’t be in here with you, but your mikes will remain on. If you choose to remove any clothing, please do not remove your mikes, or we’ll have to stop the timer while we send your sound guy in to reconnect them. Before we begin, I need you both to sign these release forms agreeing that the network is not liable if you contract a sexually transmitted disease while on our show. Do you have any questions?”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I say before the conversation can get any more disturbing. It’s bad enough that our sound guy is now swapping out my microphone for the necklace kind, like it’s a given that I’m going to take off my shirt.

“See you in an hour,” the producer says. “Enjoy yourselves.” He closes the door behind him, and my stomach turns over as I hear the lock engage.

I cross my arms, then uncross them and wipe my hands on my filthy jeans. I feel intensely awkward standing here in the middle of the room, especially because I’m positive there’s a hidden camera somewhere—they would never let us go unfilmed for an hour. The pile of pillows in the corner actually looks kind of inviting, but after that mention of STDs, I’m not sure it’s safe to touch anything. I set down my pack and perch on the very edge of one the straight-backed chairs, absently rubbing my aching shoulders.

Troy sits down across from me. “You sore?”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s fine.”

“You know, I could help with that. There’s even massage oil over there.”

I must be even more tightly wound than I thought, because that one little comment is all it takes for me to snap. Before I can stop myself, I’m yelling. “Troy, knock it off, okay? Stop making stupid innuendoes, stop coming on to me, and stop trying to touch me! Just because we’re stuck in this ridiculous room together doesn’t mean I’m actually going to do anything with you, okay? I’m sorry if you have some sort of weird expectation because this turned out to be a dating show, but I’m not going to take off my clothes. If that’s what you were after, you should have picked Philadelphia as your partner.”

Troy rolls his eyes. “I don’t want you to take off your clothes. Trust me.” He says it like the very thought disgusts him, which is actually kind of insulting.

“Then why do you keep feeding me cheesy pickup lines and getting pissed at me when I reject you?”

Troy shoves his chair back and starts pacing around the room. “Oh my God, Claire, I’m not pissed that you’re rejecting me! I don’t want to hook up with you. You’re covered in paint, and you smell like goats, and you’re way too young for me. Not to mention the fact that I’m gay.”

I blink at him. “Wait, seriously?” Suddenly, nothing makes sense.

“Yeah, seriously. Is that a problem?”

“I mean, no, of course it’s not a problem. But if you like guys, I really don’t get why you’re pissed at me right now!”

“I’m pissed because you’ve been acting like a judgmental * all day! The second you looked at me, you wrote me off as a moron!”

“Well, aside from the toothpaste idea, it’s not like you’ve done much to change my opinion, Troy! ‘Can we get some samoas in New Delhi?’ ‘Come on, Indian cabdriver, drive rápido!’ ‘Yeeeeah, baby, fasten your seat belt, you’re gonna have funnnn doing steamy challenges with Troooooyyyy.’ ” I stand up and imitate his stupid gyrating dance to drive my point home.

“I’m playing a character! This is a television show! The producers wanted a big, stupid frat boy, and that’s what I’m giving them, okay? You could at least try to see past the surface.”

Somehow, even though I know Will’s CEO-dad story is fake, it never occurred to me that other people’s backstories might be, too. How did that not cross my mind until now? Then again, it doesn’t change the fact that Troy’s advances, real or not, are grossing me out. “Fine, play an idiot for the cameras if you want,” I say. “I don’t care what image you present. But leave me out of it, okay? If you don’t even want to touch me, stop offering to massage me! The fact that you’re gay doesn’t make it less creepy!”