Unscripted (19 page)

Katie subtly raises her eyebrows and utters a noncommittal, “Okay.”

Although the house looks like experts built it, Katie doesn’t seem that impressed. She smiles and compliments the rest of the team, but lingers only for a few more seconds.

Next she hits Team Jock’s
Animal House,
shockingly the most creative of the bunch. At first glance, she’s confused, but after the guys explain the reference, she laughs loudly. The kids of course, think it’s a dump and will probably break it into tiny pieces once we’re gone.

Katie finally moves on to inspect Ryan’s team’s house. She’s gushing with praise, complimenting every aspect of the design. It’s the most boring of the bunch, but she acts as if Frank Lloyd Wright descended from heaven and created a masterpiece for her. Clearly, she wants picnic time with Ryan.

I watch as Katie and the kids walk to the judging area. She bends down to talk to them. “So we have to decide which team made the best house. Which one was your favorite? The first, second or the
third.
” Ha, nice emphasis on
third.

The kids scream out various numbers, but the consensus is number one. Team Stalker. Katie’s face falls.

“But did you see number three? It was so pretty. They even made a house for Puff, my doggie,” Katie pleads.

As she tries to convince the kids to vote her way, Will, Lisa and Grant scurry to the craft service area, talking in hushed tones. They look stressed. I edge a little closer, trying to catch a bit of the conversation.

“…clearly the best house…” says Lisa.

“…kill the suspense…” says Grant.

“…distance from Ryan…” adds Will.

I can only hear snippets, but it’s pretty obvious, Katie has already picked Ryan and that’s a big, big problem for us.

Will and Lisa walk up to Katie and pull her aside. Lisa’s skinny hands are moving as fast as her mouth, probably making Katie dizzy. Will looks more sympathetic, but just as determined as Lisa. Katie crosses her arms and shakes her head, but after a few seconds, she nods quietly, tucks her hair behind her ears and returns to the kids.

“Well, you’re starting to win me over to your side,” Katie says. “Maybe the first house is the best. Pink
is
my favorite color.”

The kids scream in agreement and run over to the stalkers. Katie looks furtively at Ryan and shrugs her shoulders slightly. He smiles in return. Yep, we have a problem.

Four hours and one boring picnic later, I’m back in my car checking my messages. There’s a text from Stephanie.

Whoops.

“Alright, everyone. I want you to stick to the guys like glue tonight. If any of them takes a stripper into the bathroom, a closet, whatever, I expect you to be there for every minute of it.” Lisa puts her hands on her hips, looking as though this is the most important night of our lives, or, at least, the most important night for the show. The rest of the producers are listening intently, while I’m trying desperately to hold the best deadpan expression possible. Inside, I’m cringing.

Tonight is a low point even for reality television. A few days ago, Lisa came up with a way to tempt the guys—inviting ten “hot women” (aka strippers) over for a drunken pool party. Our PAs spent the day buying gin, vodka, tequila and other judgment-impairing beverages. The plan is simple. Get the guys good and boozed up, catch someone in a compromising position with one of the strippers, film it and then show it to Katie the next morning.

And if that’s not obnoxious enough, Grant, Knit Cap and several of the male producers actually “auditioned” the strippers to make sure they’d be up to scratch. For two nights, the guys toiled away in seedy L.A. strip clubs, generously giving up their free time for the good of the show. I thought Grant couldn’t stand Knit Cap, but I guess when you throw a group of naked women and a few lap dances into the mix, some kind of weird male bonding takes place and now they’re all buddy buddy.
Gross.

“Make sure no one takes off their mics, and don’t let anyone slip away under any circumstances,” Lisa says just as her cell begins to ring. Thankfully, she ends her speech by stomping off to answer it.

The rest of the group wanders off to finish helping the art department decorate the outdoor terrace. The theme of tonight’s party is luau. All around me are fake palm trees, huge bouquets of tropical flowers, tiki torches and a prop that looks like an enormous bonfire. The guys will be wearing Hawaiian shirts, while the women will be dressed in grass skirts and tiny bikini tops. Nothing but class here.

“So what time is everyone arriving?” I ask Grant as he directs one of the camera guys on where to set up.

“Really soon. Just got the call that they’ve finished the group date and will be back here at the house in about forty-five minutes.” Grant wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Where did you end up telling them Katie is going tonight?”

“Spa,” Grant says as he points to a corner. “Right behind that pillar. Yeah, that’s good.”

“And when is the
entertainment
supposed to arrive?”

“Didn’t you look at your call sheet?” Grant barks.

I purse my lips. “Jeez. Why are you in such a shitty mood?”

Grant sighs and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Sorry, Crabby. I’m tired.”

“Don’t be mean to me, you jerk.” I shake his arm off and give him a weak smile. We’ve all been pulling thirteen-hour shifts, six days a week, so everyone has been on edge recently. I can’t take it personally. I’m sure I’ve been equally cranky.

“Love ya, mean it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” I jokingly push Grant away from me. “Now go and shoot some strippers, young man.”

The booze is flowing and the luau is now in full swing. The
ladies
arrived well after our suitors had downed at least four shots each. At the moment, things are pretty tame. Some of the guys definitely know what’s up. Suave Ryan has already taken his leave, feigning a migraine. As he made his way upstairs, he even shot me a little wink with those hypnotic blue eyes, as if to say,
I get it. It’s cool. But I’m not playing.
Katie is obviously smitten with him and he’s not going to let anything screw up his strategy.

Several of the guys are standing around the makeshift bar, pouring drinks for their guests, while others are sitting on lounge chairs around the pool, laughing and sipping piña coladas.

“Let’s do the limbo!” calls out one of the strippers, as instructed to do so earlier by Lisa. The guys cheer and high five each other.

Come to think of it, this is Lisa’s big night and she’s nowhere to be found. Neither is Will, for that matter. I whip my head around to see if I can spot either of them hiding in the corner, but they’re both strangely absent. That’s so bizarre. Why wouldn’t they be here for this? This is Lisa’s baby. Why isn’t she goose-stepping around the room, scaring the shit out of her troops?

Good God. Boobs!
I watch in horror as each stripper attempts to lean backward and dance seductively under a stick. They are all dangerously close to falling out of their tops, which I guess is nothing really new for them, but it’s a strange sight since there’s no music to accompany the game, just a drunk guy banging on a set of bongos.

Can I go home yet?

I notice a few of the women dragging Lee and Thick-Necked Joe toward the hot tub. A camera guy follows closely behind. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Knit Cap and Christine quickly edging their way through the area, trying to avoid the camera. As they start to head my way, Knit Cap takes her arm, whispers something in her ear and heads off in the opposite direction.

“Where’ve you been?” I ask Christine as she stands beside me.

She tries to smooth the wrinkles out of her little linen tank. “I thought I saw one of the guys go upstairs, but I guess he was just going to the bathroom or something.”

“You mean Ryan? That was ages ago. I think he went to bed.”

Christine looks around nervously. “No, I mean, yeah. I guess so.”

“Why were you with Knit Cap?”

“I wasn’t, I mean he was just there. So we walked out together.”

I stare at her. She’s acting weird. “Hmm. Well, did you see Lisa or Will anywhere?”

“Nope.”

“That’s so odd.” I shrug my shoulders. “Anyway, we need to follow the hot tub group.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan!”

I squint my eyes, giving her a suspicious once-over. Her face is flushed and she looks like a deranged cheerleader, smiling and nodding her head.

We head over to the hot tub where both guys are bobbing around the water with three of the strippers. They have it on full blast, so I reach over to the control panel and turn off the bubbles.

“Hey, what’dya do that fer?” slurs Lee.

“Sorry,” I say. “We can’t pick up what you’re saying on the mic over the bubbles.”

“Whatevs,” Lee says, dipping his head under the water. As he emerges, he shakes out his longish streaky blond hair and all three girls squeal.

“All right, ladies, I have an important question to ask you,” says Thick-Necked Joe. He does a silent beer burp. “Are either of you a shitter?”

Lee does a spit-take with his beer, and laughs so hard he breaks into a cough.

“I’m sorry. What?” asks one of the strippers.

“Wait, wait, lemme explain,” Lee says as he holds out his hand.

“We have a shitters club here among the brothers,” Joe interrupts. “I wanna find out if either of you could be members.”

The girls look perplexed. I’m right there with them. I look over at Christine and raise my eyebrows. She shakes her head slightly in response.

“No, no. You’re not explaining it right,” says Lee. “Lemme, let
me.
Okay. A few nights ago we were sitting around getting shit-faced…”

“Shit-faced.” The guys erupt in laughter and give each other high fives at that little play on words. The girls give a polite, if confused, chuckle.

“Anyway, anyway,” Lee says with a wave of his hands. “We were getting drunk…”

“Off our
asses!
” Thick-Necked Joe chimes in, with a self-congratulatory laugh. He raises his hand for another high five, but Lee ignores the terrible pun and continues on without looking at him.

This is like a car wreck. But I can’t look away. It’s like the world has stopped spinning so I can listen to Lee’s shitter story.

“And so the topic came up naturally in conversation.”

“Naturally,” Joe says, swaying a bit.

“So all of a sudden we were talking about shitting our pants. Like, who
hasn’t
shit their pants? So we all started telling our shitting-our-pants stories and realized, most of us have shit our pants at one time or another. So we made the shitters club.”

This is the story you tell to impress hot chicks?

“Wrestling match…” Joe blurts, smacking Lee on the back. They both erupt into manly giggles, if such a thing exists.

“Yeah, I have the supreme shit-your-pants story,” says Lee proudly.

Christine elbows me, and I look away. If I look at her I will start laughing. I can’t believe these people are talking about this on camera.

“It’s fucking hilarious.” Joe sits up straight. “Back in high school, Lee was trying to make his weight for a wrestling match, so this dude said, ‘Bro, you gotta take laxatives.’”

“It’s my story, I’ll tell it. So this dude said, ‘Dude, you gotta take laxatives.’ So I did, and they worked their magic. I won’t say more to spare your delicate ears.” He gestures to the three appalled-looking girls. “Let’s just say I made the weight, it was all good. So the match starts. And I’m kicking this guy’s ass. I’m taking the fool to school. So I bend down to do the ankle pick, and all the sudden, boom! My ass just blows up. Shit squirts all over the back of my singlet. It was fucking gnarly. And the dude, he’s like, whoa, but there’s no stopping. We had to keep goin’. So I take him down, and it’s just squishing and…”

“Ew!” The strippers laugh and duck their heads.

I can’t believe it, but they seem oddly charmed by this. Is the stripper delight faked? Or are they really digging on the shitters? I smile to myself, because if I hadn’t made it out of that job interview a few months ago, I would have been able to join their club, too.

Of course Joe decides to share his story, and it’s no surprise; it involved nachos, a kegger and a Super Bowl party. After being pressed, the girls all claim they are ineligible for membership, but I swear the blonde one was blushing.

I shift my weight from one foot to another and wonder how long I have to be here tonight. It’s 10:30 p.m., but I’ve been here since 11:00 a.m. and my eyes are already feeling heavy.

I turn to Christine. “I’m going to the production room to grab a cup of coffee. You want anything?”

“No, I’m cool,” she says without looking up from her clipboard.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. You have a good time.” Christine shoots me a dirty look as I skirt away.

Walking down the hall inside the house, I notice hushed whispers emerging from the back office. That’s not unusual for a shoot day, so I continue on and walk straight into what appears to be a particularly cozy moment between Will and Lisa. They’re sitting very close together, as in millimeters apart, and Lisa has just taken her hand away from Will’s face. Startled by my appearance, both turn in their chairs to look at me.

“Oh, uh, hi there. I’m just going to grab a cup of coffee and I’ll be out of your hair.” I rush over to the coffeemaker as I swallow an inexplicable lump in my throat.

That didn’t look like work. That was
intimate.
What the hell? The image of Will kissing Lisa creeps into my head, and an angry flush burns at my cheeks. How could he be into her? Judging by the way he reacted to Sasha Leeds I would think he’d see right through this crazy beyotch.

“Hey, Abby,” Will says a little
too
cheerfully. “We decided to watch the action from the monitors. It’s important that the guys don’t think they’re being scrutinized tonight.”

“Mmm hmm,” I say as I load my coffee with three spoonfuls of sugar.

“You know, that shit’s terrible for your body.” Lisa glances over her shoulder and stares directly at my ass. “It’s not fat that makes you fat. I stopped eating carbs a year ago because they turn straight to sugar.”

I take a sip of my coffee and smile, trying not to show how conscious I am that one of my thighs equal two of hers. “Guess I’m just saving my body that extra digestive step.”

Will laughs uncomfortably, slowly edging farther away from Lisa’s chair.

“Funny,” Lisa says, turning back toward the monitors.

“How’s it going out there?” Will asks.

“It’s good. Ryan already went to bed. The other guys are just getting progressively more drunk.”

“Okay, just make sure no one gets too drunk. They shouldn’t even be in the hot tub while they’re drinking. Keep an eye on them. I don’t want anyone getting hurt,” Will says.

“Sure,” I say, making my way back toward the door.

“Holy shit!” Lisa leans closer to one of the TV monitors. “One of the guys just snuck up the back stairs with a girl. Abby, go and grab a camera guy and get the hell up there now!”

Without saying another word, I sprint out of the room, thankful for a reason to escape.

I search for Grant outside and finally spot him standing by the pool. “Hey, Lisa just saw one of the guys going upstairs with a girl.” I point to the back of the house. “He snuck up the back staircase.”

“Goddammit.” Grant shakes his head. “Who is it?”

“I couldn’t tell. She noticed it on one of the stationary house cameras.”

“Okay. Take Devon and Mitch with you.” He gestures to a cameraman and sound guy.

“Go upstairs and find where they’re hiding.”

I nod my head, grab both guys and creep straight up the marble staircase toward the east wing.

I peek in three of the four bedrooms, which by the way are all absolutely disgusting. Not one piece of clothing is hanging in any of the closets. Shoes, dirty cups and plates filled with half-eaten food litter the floor. I wrinkle up my nose because the smell reminds me of old cream
cheese. It’s a damn good thing Katie never goes into this end of the house or she’d be canceling her contract with the network and catching the next flight out of town.

The last room is also a nightmare, all except for Ryan’s corner. His clothes are all neatly folded and are placed lovingly in the cubbyhole beside his bed. The floor surrounding him is spotless, and even his bed is made though he is currently lying on top of it, sans shirt (Will and Lisa who?) reading a book.

“Hey, did you see one of the guys come upstairs a few minutes ago?” I whisper from the doorway to the Greek God with the washboard stomach.