“I’ll make you whole again,” he said. He smelled like aftershave.
“I know you will,” she said.
And maybe he would. She wasn’t broken, but she wasn’t whole. Unlike many of the other women vying for his attention, she understood, through the strength of age and subsequent experience, that someone could house two opposing forces within the same body.
His voice hummed in her ear, and she laughed as a shiver shot down her spine. It had been a while since she’d allowed herself to let go, and letting go surrounded by cameras was more difficult. The wine helped. She felt at ease as he kissed her tenderly. She understood the appeal: of him, of the competition, of romance on camera, where the world could see the best parts of you. The lovable parts. Her body buzzed with unknowing. The future was hers for the taking. She kissed him back as the cameras and the gargoyles watched.
• • •
After her divorce, Linda moved on. She felt little for the dalliances with strangers she met through dating apps, but to hold and be held by people who didn’t know her secrets made her feel like she might be worth the love she craved.
The night Deja invited Linda to appear on the show, Linda was supposed to meet a young man named Nick, with blazing blue eyes and a similar love of gardening. He was her type: nurturing, gentle, naive. She nursed a martini near the door of her favorite local bar; a love of vodka ran in her blood, and she embraced it in her weaker moments. She scanned each person who entered. Instead of Nick, a thick woman in a tight red dress slid into the seat opposite her and snatched the martini from the table, downing it in one go.
“Excuse me?” Linda said. “That’s my drink.”
“You don’t need it,” Deja said. “Alcoholism runs in your family.”
As the woman bit into the olive, she winked at Linda like they had known one another for ages. She set the glass back down, now marred by a blue lipstick print.
“I know all about you. Your divorce. Your secret past.” She swallowed the last bite of olive and flicked the toothpick across the bar. “Your dead father.”
Linda’s stomach dropped. “How?”
“It’s all online, if you know where to look. I follow you.”
“On Instagram?” Linda had a lot of followers; she didn’t know most of them.
“Listen.” Deja leaned forward. “I need a contestant for a TV show. You can leave everything behind. Be a new person. Find love! Money, too, if you make it far enough.”
“Wait, a dating show? Like, reality TV?”
“The Groom. It could be a fresh start.”
Linda raised her eyebrows. It was the most well-known dating reality TV show out there. A bevy of past contestants went on and did things divorced from the lives they’d lived before. It was on the verge of being canceled, or so Linda had read.
“Nick isn’t coming, is he?” Linda gestured to the bartender for two more martinis.
“I’m your date, honey,” Deja said. “But not for long.”
Linda chewed on her olive. “A fresh start?”
“Our network has a lot of money. With money comes power,” Deja said. “Your bad credit? I can make it go away. The same goes for files that hold powerful information. They can be deleted. We don’t just have a lot of money. We have great lawyers, too.”
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Secrets have a way of getting out,” Deja said.
Linda inhaled the botanical scent of gin: juniper, coriander, lavender. She’d grown all of those herbs herself. After her divorce, she tried to take out a loan to open her own nursery, but every bank shot her down.
“I’m listening,” she said.
• • •
As had happened after her one other solo date with The Groom, Linda returned to the mansion and two waiting women in the living room. Twenty-five women had started their journeys there. Five competitors remained. One of the women, Marion, was sunk into the cushions of the white leather couch, her expression sullen. She held a glass of white wine but took no sips as Linda stood before her and waved with a flopping hand.
The other woman, Sabrina, lit up. Long yellow pajamas hugged her wide hips and round belly. She looked good in yellow; it was her signature color. She’d tamed her wild curls with a scrunchy, but several tendrils had sprung free. She looked relieved to see Linda again. She patted the cushion beside her and grinned.
“Tell me everything,” Sabrina said.
“Not so fast,” said Deja. “Confessional.”
With a flourish, Linda reached one hand out toward Deja and sighed. “Take me away.”
“If you hate it so much,” Marion said, “just leave.”
Deja lingered, unwilling to remove Linda from the scene of a potential drama. The cameraman who’d been filming the ladies-in-waiting perked up.
“You’re going to let her talk to you like that?” Deja said, smirking.
“Yeah, where’s that firecracker energy?” Marion said.
“I’m not lowering myself to her level.”
Marion slammed her body back into the couch.
Deja scowled as she gestured toward the confessional room. “After you,” she said.
• • •
