Eight Weeks to Mr. Right (7 page)

I told him about reading the news from La Joie that their CEO, Andrew Audrave, was going on the inaugural season of a new show called
Eight Weeks to Mr. Right
, which was currently holding auditions for female contestants. I knew that most of the contestants would never have heard of Andrew before applying for the show, but I was very familiar with him. I’d been following him for years.
 

“After all,” I said, “he’s really young to be CEO of a big company like that. It’s very unusual.”

“How did he get there?” Ben asked, and I told him about Andrew’s dad stepping down due to health problems and surprising the industry by wanting his son to succeed him. But the board had voted him in, and so there he was.

“Huh,” Ben said, an unreadable expression flickering across his face.

I hesitated, wondering what he was thinking.

“So it was almost a joke when he announced that he’d go on this reality show,” I continued. “This young CEO, he’d been in the position for a few years but was still trying to prove himself. And then he decided to do reality TV? When he was worried about people not taking him seriously enough?”

“It does seem like an odd choice,” Ben agreed.
 

“I thought so too. But the more I thought about it, I realized it was all part of his strategy. Get younger people into the industry, everyday people. People who watch reality TV.”

“So you’re saying you think he went on the show as a career move.”

“I
know
he did,” I said. “He didn’t really expect to find love, not in the start. He just wanted the exposure that being on national TV can bring. It’s free advertising and gets a whole new demographic interested in his perfumes, people who think the older, more established brands are old-fashioned and overpriced.”

“Okay,” he said. “That makes sense.”

“So I figured, he’s doing this to advance his career, why shouldn’t I? Working for La Joie is my dream. It’s been my dream since years before Andrew decided to go on the show, since before he was ever named CEO. And like I said, I was lonely in New York and bored with my job. And I just thought…why not?”

“Why not indeed,” Ben said. “That makes a lot of sense.”
 

I pulled at a thread on my sweater, thinking back on that decision.
Mr. Right
was a new show, so no one had heard of it yet when I’d decided to apply. Somehow, it had felt like the safety of obscurity would follow me once I’d been chosen and started filming. There had been a disconnect between knowing that the show would be on TV, and actually seeing myself appear on network television.
 

At the time, I never would’ve guessed that anyone would care if I only went on the show to further my career. I’d known enough not to tell the producers outright, but back then the idea that other contestants or viewers would think poorly of me for my choice had seemed as remote as thinking I might actually be romantically attracted to Andrew. Now, it all felt a little more real. The reality of reality TV.

“So what about you?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. “What have you been doing since high school? How did you get into the job you have now?”

“I’ve mostly stuck around here,” Ben said. “I got a communications degree, worked for a couple of other nonprofits, learned the ropes. When something came open at the San Francisco Mentorship Alliance, I applied, and I’ve been there for about three years. Pretty boring.”

I looked at him sitting there in his old but comfortable apartment on his cozy couch. His hair fell over his eye as he spoke, and he pushed it back with one hand. He looked confident, calm. Like he knew what he wanted out of life and knew how to get it. Like maybe he already had it.
 

“I don’t think it’s boring at all,” I said. Ben was the last person on earth I would’ve described as boring, especially in that moment. “I think it sounds really wonderful. Good for you.” He looked back at me, and our eyes caught for one second, two seconds, three, before we looked away.
 

“Ben,” I said tentatively. “If you still want it, after all this…I’d love to move in here.”

He smiled at me. “And I’d love to have you.”

And so it was decided.

WEEK 3

The next day, I moved my stuff into Ben’s apartment. I’d gotten rid of almost everything I owned before leaving New York, not wanting to move it across the country, so I had just two suitcases to bring over. I’d gotten lucky finding a place that already had a bed and small table, and my bedroom furniture would just have to remain sparse until I figured out my long-term plan.
 

I was surprised at how natural it felt to be moving into Ben’s place. After not seeing him for over a decade, I had expected things between us to be awkward at first, but we’d slipped easily back into a familiar camaraderie that normally came after many months. We chided and joked with each other, and sometimes it felt like no time at all had passed, except of course that everything in our lives was different now.
 

We still hadn’t talked about our breakup all those years ago, though in some ways I supposed it no longer mattered. I was long since over getting dumped, much as it had hurt at the time, and tended to naturally remember the many good times throughout our two years together more than the painful end. Still, though, I wondered. Did he even remember his high school boy logic?

It was Thursday, so after getting my few belongings put away in my new bedroom I had agreed to meet my sister, Sophie, for a quick bite to eat after work. Like Ben, Sophie hadn’t left San Francisco, and I was jealous of the stability she had now. At twenty-seven, two years younger than I was, she was living with her boyfriend of five years and happily settled in her job as a kindergarten teacher.
 

And here I was, the older and supposedly wiser sister, with almost every aspect of my life up in the air.
 

We met at a small grocery store near Sophie’s place. I looked through the sandwiches in the display case while Sophie ran around the store grabbing veggies and household staples.

“There’s no hurry,” I’d told her, but Sophie was often a ball of nervous energy.
 

I was absentmindedly reading the label on some prepackaged chicken and pasta when Sophie came back around the corner with her basket, ready to check out.
 

“Okay, done! So how are things?” she asked, and I grabbed a sandwich and coconut water and we got in line as I thought about it.

“Things are okay,” I said. “It’s kind of a weird time. Oh, and I moved in with Ben today.”

“You did?” she asked, surprised. “Are you…dating?”

“No, no,” I was quick to assure her. “Just friends. Anyway —” I waved a hand as though to clear the topic away. “How are you?”

“Good,” she said. Things were always good with Sophie — never great, never terrible. She was the most stable person I knew. “One of my students swallowed a button today, but other than that.”

“A button?!” I laughed. “That seems like a really bad thing to eat.”

“It was a small button,” she amended. “I’ve had kids eat worse things, but it wasn’t fun. His mom was nice about it, though.”

“I am so glad I don’t work with kids,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t know how you manage to keep them alive.”

“It’s fun,” she said. “But I am looking forward to summer vacation. Tomorrow’s the last day!”

“Already?” It
was
June, I reminded myself. “How’s Matt?”

Matt was Sophie’s boyfriend. He wasn’t particularly social, but I’d met him enough times over the years at family gatherings and birthdays to have a generally positive impression of him. Not who I would’ve chosen for Sophie, but they seemed happy enough.
 

“Good,” she said again. “I haven’t seen him much lately because he’s gotten really into this new video game. But we usually have dinner together.”

It was a lukewarm recommendation, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. Sophie had always sought out stability at any cost, and if Matt was playing video games at least he wasn’t cheating on her, or draining her bank account, or cutting down her self-esteem one jab at a time.
 

“So what’s it like watching yourself on TV?” she asked me, and I wondered whether she was trying to avoid the topic of her boyfriend the same way I was trying to avoid the topic of Ben.

I hadn’t talked with Sophie since before the first episode aired, and anymore I wasn’t quite sure where to start. “It’s been strange,” I said, because that seemed like the most accurate way to sum up the roller coaster of emotions I’d experienced after being loved the first episode and hated the second. “Have you been watching?”

“I have,” she said. The line inched forward, and Sophie began unloading her basket onto the checkout belt.

I opened my mouth to say more, but then Sophie gasped. I followed her gaze to the rack of tabloids and magazines behind the checkout. “January, have you seen this?”

I had not. On one of the tabloids, splashed across the whole front page, was a photo of me and Ben at dinner, leaning toward each other with twinkling eyes, and looking for all the world to see like we were on a date. From the angle of the photo and the way we were leaning toward each other, Megan and Mario were nowhere to be seen. “CAUGHT ON A DATE,” the headline boomed. “Mr. Right star spotted in San Francisco with another man.”

“Oh my god,” I said. “That photo in the restaurant. Megan was right!” I was stunned. I’d never thought I would be interesting enough to the public that the tabloids would write about me — certainly not interesting enough that they’d put a photo of me on the front page.
 

But here it was, in full color and with “more on page 3!”

Sophie picked up the magazine and peered closer at the photo. “It does look like you’re on a date,” she said.
 

“We weren’t,” I insisted, a little too defensive. “There was another couple there with us.”

“Oh, so a double date,” she said with a sly smile, and I rolled my eyes.

Sophie put the magazine down on the belt as the woman in front of her finished checking out and moved away from the register.
 

“You’re not going to buy that trash, are you?” I asked in disbelief.
 

“Of course I am!” she said. “Don’t you want to know what’s being said about you?”

I grudgingly agreed. But as I waited for Sophie to finish checking out, I stared at the photo on the front cover. He really was attractive. Ben and I were looking at each other with such joy on our faces. It was easy to see why the tabloid would’ve interpreted our postures and expressions as being on a date.
 

Misinterpreted, that is.

Outside, we found a table in front of the store and sat to eat our meals. Sophie began reading the article out loud to me as I ate. “‘We’ve been watching the drama unfold on
Eight Weeks to Mr. Right
, but it looks like one of the women wanted to make extra drama. January Burleigh was spotted on June 17, before the second episode of the series aired, at a restaurant in San Francisco with her unknown date.’”

I groaned. I “wanted to make extra drama”? That was the last thing I wanted! This was getting out of control.
 

“‘January is still in the running on the show, and we’re guessing she’s going to stir up some trouble in upcoming episodes. An anonymous source confirmed to us that although January made it farther than most in
Mr. Right
, she was eliminated before the final round. Is she trying to get back at her would-be beau by appearing out on the town with another man?’”

“Are you kidding me?!” I said. “They’re just making things up and reporting it as fact!”
 

“That’s what tabloids do!” Sophie said.
 

I sighed. But why did they have to direct their wrath at me? I’d done nothing wrong, or at least nothing worse than any of the others.
 

“Uh-oh,” Sophie said, scanning down the article. “Do you want me to keep going?”

I groaned. “Read it.”

“‘The inaugural Mr. Right, the dreamy Andrew Audrave, told us exclusively that January was the source of much of the drama during filming of the show. “She never got along with the other girls,” Audrave said. “I didn’t see it personally, but apparently there was a lot of bickering.” Audrave was not able to confirm to us when or even whether January was eliminated.”’”

“What?!”
I exploded. “That’s not true at all! Who told him that?”

My cheeks were hot, and I felt humiliated. This was so much worse than I ever could’ve expected. First I was vilified to the nation. And now Andrew, the man I had fallen so hard for, thought poorly of me?
 

“I can’t believe this.” I put my face in my hands, no longer hungry. I wished Ben were here. He’d know what to do. He’d know how to handle this negative press, all these lies being told about me. About us.
 

I took my hands away from my face and peeked at the photo again.
It’ll be okay
, I thought.
Ben will make it okay.
Just seeing his face there in front of me made the corners of my mouth curl into the start of a smile, and made me feel better.
 

“‘Our anonymous source tells us that January may have been dating the mystery man for several years before she even went on the show,’” Sophie continued, “‘adding fuel to the fire that January created last episode when she admitted that she had no interest in Andrew, and was simply on the show in hopes of gaining an in with his company, La Joie Parfumerie.’ Who is this anonymous source, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.”

“There’s probably no source at all,” she said. “They probably did make it all up.”

Again I desperately wished that Ben were there to comfort me and tell me what to do.
 

“So…” Sophie started. “You’re sure there’s nothing going on with Ben? I always liked him.”

“Positive. Nothing is going to happen,” I assured her. But before I could say anything more, my phone rang. It was an L.A. number I didn’t recognize.