I grin as I maneuver around so that I’ve got a view of his guesthouse. “Ahhhh, yes. There are, apparently, channels.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I’ve heard way too much about what yogurt does to Wes’s intestines.”
“Well, that sounds…like a personal medical issue.”
“Yeah, you and the whole crew would agree.”
It’s silent for a moment. Left as we are without chaperones, it’s hard to know where to start or what to say.
“Where are you?” he asks, his voice raspy, and I can hear the rustle of sheets in the background.
“Out on the balcony at the back of the house…I can see you, by the way. Well, I can see your guesthouse.”
The light in the distance flicks on, and something shifts—just a slight movement. “That’s better,” he says. “Now I can see you too. But whoa, you didn’t tell me it was cold out here.”
I laugh. “You’re from New York. This is not cold.”
“What do you know about my city?”
“Excuse me, but did you so quickly forget where our flight was departing from when we first met? And, oh my God, you’re the worst kind of New Yorker.”
“Well, excuse me, but your profile said you were from Los Angeles. There’s no such thing as a quintessential New Yorker.”
“My profile?” I ask. Of course, they’d give him those little questionnaires we filled out. “What else do you know about me?”
“Well, Cindy Woods, I know that you went to fashion school at my mother’s alma mater and that your favorite movie is Sister Act 2 and you’re terrified of ladybugs and that you believe in aliens.”
“I’ll have you know that ladybugs are very entitled, okay? And there’s no way we’re alone out here,” I tell him. “It’s just obnoxious to assume we’re the only intelligent life in the universe.”
“Honestly, as long as you’re not a flat-Earther, I can live with the rest. And I guess when you look at it like that, you sound more logical and less Roswell, New Mexico, gift shop.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Roswell. Don’t tease me.”
“We should go,” he says, and then quickly adds, “I mean, depending on how…”
“Depending on if you pick me?” I ask. It’s so hard not to ask him outright why he’s here and if he sees himself with any of these other women. Without anyone else around, it’s hard not to feel like we’re playing by a silly set of made-up rules for no reason.
“Wow, this is weird.”
“You’re the one who chose to date twenty-plus women on a television show.”
“Well, you are one of those twenty-plus women who chose to be here.”
“Touché.”
“So triplets, huh?” he asks. “Your little siblings. You said they were triplets, right?”
“Yeah…you know, I thought seeing my stepmom raise triplets would make me never want to have kids…but now I just want a really big family.”
“I always wanted siblings,” he says. “I was always the one kid in a room full of adults.”
“Yes, this! I mean, I wasn’t in fancy rooms like you were, I’m sure, but it was always my dad and me for so long, and for a while there, I felt like I was more of a middle-aged man than I was a little girl.”
“The rooms weren’t always fancy,” he says. “Mostly fancy, but not always.”
“I knew it.”
“So you and your dad were close?”
I nod, even though he can’t see me. “We only had each other. We were best friends. Now that I’m older, I miss those days when it was just us. I always remember how quiet it always was with just us, and then after he got married, there was always noise. The house felt full. Quiet was nice, but the noise was…comforting in a different way.”
“Like white noise,” he says softly. “Not in a bad way.”
“No, not at all.”
“Kind of like New York City.”
“Yes, I honestly have a hard time falling asleep if it’s not to the sound of sirens.”
“God, yes, I need my city noise. Except on my block it’s the doorman across the street saying, ‘Hey, boss,’ on repeat followed by honking horns.”
I chuckle. “Well, I didn’t have any doormen on my block, but I did have a bodega lady who communicated entirely in grunts. My roommate was fluent.”
For a moment there’s a lull, but it’s enough to remind me that we’re almost strangers.
“The family business,” I say. “Taking over must be stressful.”
“It’s…It’s difficult. Mom’s not ready to move on…I’m not ready to step in, but I’ve got a great team in place. There’s just…a lot.”
“Way to be vague,” I say with a laugh.
“Sorry,” he says knowingly. “I just have to be careful. Certain things get out…LuMac loses value, and anyway…”
“Is your mom okay? Can I ask that?”
“She’s alive,” he says tentatively. “I guess just not in a way that brings her joy. She’s having to let go of the things that made her…her. So, anyway, enough about me.”
No, I nearly say, more about you. If we were in the real world, I would want to unravel the inner workings of Henry Mackenzie slowly, savoring every layer.
“Shit. I gotta go,” he says. “I think I just saw someone up by the trucks. Talk again soon?”
“Promise?” I ask him.
But there’s no answer. I sit there for a moment longer, waiting for a response, but nothing. I shove the walkie-talkie in the pocket of my hoodie and stand up. Just as I’m about to walk back inside, Henry’s light flickers off and on twice in quick succession, and I can only hope it’s his secret way of telling me yes.
I close my eyes, and for just a moment I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to run my fingers along the edge of Henry’s jaw and kiss him good night.
The ten of us are led into a small, crowded boxing gym. The members of the audience are mostly fans of the show who have answered casting calls for extras. It’s hard not to see them whisper and point as we all settle into the front row. We’ve been instructed to dress for a ringside date night. Whatever that means.
Outside of the Rocky movies, I have next to no knowledge of boxing, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong in lace-up espadrilles and a black gingham romper.
Beck stands in the middle of the ring on a stepladder, shouting directions through a microphone. “Mallory—wave, Mallory!”
Behind her, Mallory waves limply.
“Mallory,” Beck continues, “will be your point of direction. If Mallory motions for you to cheer, you cheer. If she’s telling you to be quiet, I don’t want to hear you so much as breathe. You hear me?”
Stacy leans over and whispers, “Is it weird that bossy Beck is a turn-on?”
I laugh. “Don’t make me ship you two.”
On the other side of me, Anna abruptly announces, “I need to pee. Can a producer take me to pee?”
Mallory sighs and dutifully begins to climb under the ropes. On the way here, Wes gave us a very serious lecture about trying to talk to extras or anyone else we saw while we were out, and we were expressly told not to go anywhere alone.