Authors: Sarah Gates
Anna’s perfect certainty from earlier was wavering. She pictured herself in a crowd of girls dating the same man. It wasn’t appealing. Nor was the layering on of make-up to withstand the assault of high-definition cameras and bright lights. She would be like a greasy burger in a cake shop—entirely unwelcome and out of place. Whoever the guy was, he’d see that straightaway.
On the other hand, if Kate made sure she was perceived well, Anna could come out of this with a bunch of pre-bookings for her café. Maybe she could even throw a grand opening. Plus the money could go a long way for a small-business owner.
Another thought knocked against the inside of her head. ‘Kate, what if he sends me home on the first night?’
‘Then you return to your real life after just twelve hours.’ Kate was grinning now, like a child who’d eaten the last chocolate before her sister even found the box. Anna’s mind whirred. She would come back to a café, her café, with the work underway. Getting everything sorted before she left would be a rush, but not impossible.
‘Think of what you could do if you play it smart. This money could be like a shortcut. Skip to “go” and collect twenty-five grand,’ Kate said. ‘You could outfit the café with all the little extras …’
Not for a second did Anna think that mention of the amount was accidental. But she couldn’t help letting it influence her.
‘Okay.’ The word slipped from between her lips.
‘You’ll do it?’
‘Yes. I’ll do the show. I’ll make sure the guy rejects me and I’ll come home and live my dream after a twelve-hour detour.’
* * *
After the decision was made, the days ran together in a blur. Anna spent hours poring over financial statements and budgeting until the numbers stuck in her mind. She had every figure memorised, as well as a speech about why the bank should approve her loan. The bathroom mirror watched as she answered every question the bank manager could possibly throw at her.
The meeting itself was uneventful. She answered a few token questions, signed her name on the dotted line where instructed and walked out with enough money in her account to lease the premises. It didn’t feel real. Everything was too easy. She’d expected to fight for it.
Her boss at Stressed accepted her resignation immediately—despite the lack of notice. Unlike Mr Jhadav at the supermarket. When she told him she was leaving his eyes crossed over, an expression of strange disbelief and barely disguised fear. But since she didn’t even have an employment contract with the supermarket, she didn’t hesitate to hand in her name tag, shirt and letter of resignation and walk out.
Anna spent hours in the old building that would house her café. Using brand new tools from the nearest hardware store, she ripped the old cabinets from their walls and created a pile of rubbish at the front of the shop, just inside the door. Any old equipment she could sell went online to earn a few extra dollars. The rest of the time, Anna’s phone was glued to her ear. She contacted a handful of recommended tradespeople, met with them and discussed her plans. When their quotes came in, she’d choose those she was happiest with and contract them to start work on the café.
On the Friday evening before the show, Ben helped her move all the rubbish into his parents’ trailer and unload it again at the dump. Then he helped her clean the property from cornice to skirting board. Apart from the occasional question about the café, Ben spent the entire time berating Anna for agreeing to go on
Love Elimination
.
‘You don’t need to go on a TV show to get a guy,’ he told her, rolling up his sleeves to reveal heavy tattoos covering the bulging muscles of his arms.
‘I don’t need a boyfriend! For the millionth time, I’m just doing a favour for Kate.’ Ben had his own urban dictionary of insults that he used against the vapid wannabes on reality television. There was no way she was going to admit to willingly becoming one of them.
‘That’s right. What you need is a good lay,’ he replied before tackling a line of shelving Anna had decided to keep, pulling it away from the wall so he could dust in the cracks. Anna launched herself at him, engaging in a sword fight to defend her honour—him with the duster and her with the elongated attachment of the vacuum cleaner.
‘I do not!’ she cried, swiping for his shoulder as she saw an opening.
‘So you admit! You’re not getting any.’ Ben snatched her weapon, holding it above her reach.
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘And it’s confirmed, ladies and gentlemen.’ He took a bow and threw the vacuum cleaner tube in Anna’s direction.
She fumbled, but caught it and clipped it where it belonged. Her frustrations, sexual and otherwise, could be used to remove the awful eighties tiles from the kitchen splashback, via judicious use of a hammer and chisel. ‘Oh, just shut up and clean.’
‘Sure thing, your majesty.’
They worked in relative peace until Kate rushed through the door. The bells which Anna hadn’t yet got around to removing jingled with her arrival. How Kate moved at such a speed wearing Eiffel Tower–high heels, Anna couldn’t understand. Or, more to the point, Anna didn’t know how she managed to avoid succumbing to gravity and injuring herself.
‘Wrap it up now, folks. Anna and I are going shopping,’ Kate announced, spotting Anna’s handbag in the corner of the room and sweeping it into her arm.
‘We are?’ Anna asked.
Ben shook his head and opened his eyes wide. He reminded Anna of a goldfish. ‘Wow. You’ve changed, Anna. You haven’t even started filming yet and the fame goes to your head …’
Anna ignored him. So did Kate.
‘Why are we going shopping?’ Anna asked.
‘Because you need clothes for the show. You’ll need a dress for every night—and some casual clothes. Op-shop hand-me-downs are not going to cut it.’
‘Those women supply all the clothes they wear on the show?’
‘Yes. Unless there’s a special date or it’s the finale.’
Anna ducked down to pick a stray piece of twisted metal from the ground, mainly to hide her face. ‘I can’t afford to go shopping, Kate.’ There was no way she could afford even one new dress. There was a reason she frequented op shops and it wasn’t a love of vintage fashion.
‘I know.’ Kate grinned, digging through her bag until she produced a shiny credit card. ‘Meet my company card, with which we will purchase all the necessary clothes appropriate for the small screen. I want my sister to be fashionably dressed, of course. Viewers love a good outfit.’
Anna hesitated.
‘Come on, Anna. All you have to do is try on what I throw at you.’
‘Go on, Anna. What rags-to-riches tale would be complete without a shopping montage?’ Ben said.
‘Your dessert café is going to be fashionable, right? Don’t you think it’s important that people perceive you as stylish while on the show?’
The argument put a halt to any further objections Anna was about to raise. After majoring in marketing at university, Kate had fought her way up the ranks of one of the most difficult industries: television. At just twenty-seven she was a producer on WestMedia’s newest hit reality show. Her sister could be trusted on this.
Anna took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a millisecond. ‘Fine.’ She put her cleaning supplies on the ground and grabbed her jacket. ‘Thanks for all your help, Ben.’ She pulled him into a hug and he followed closely behind as they left the building.
Love Elimination
was everywhere. From the moment his plane touched down in Australia, Luke Westwood was surrounded by the highly photoshopped promotions posted over buses, trains and city billboards. The women had two types of bodies: the thin, toned, sexy Victoria’s Secret supermodel kind and the Kim Kardashian curves kind. They didn’t have faces, those were cut off, because that would ruin the suspense of the first episode.
The advertisements only disappeared when he arrived at the beachside mansion where he’d be living for the next few months. His luggage was stripped of his phone, laptop, books and anything else he could use to distract himself from the fact that he’d agreed to star on reality television. A dating show, of all things. As if the past media coverage hadn’t been enough for one lifetime. He had thought he was finished with the media the day he retired from professional snowboarding after the last Winter Olympics. The pre-show coverage was so bad, he wasn’t surprised when his mate Harrison had called practically the moment Luke’s plane landed.
‘What the hell, man? I just saw you on TV,’ Harrison had yelled down the phone. Luke had pushed it away from his ear, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.
‘Nothing new there.’
‘You’re on a reality dating show. Since when did you have trouble with the ladies?’
‘Since never,’ Luke had replied.
‘You’re not thinking about settling down?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Here’s my advice,’ Harrison had said, unasked. ‘Ditch the show and get back to the slopes. I’ll even be your wingman; make sure you get laid. You can find wives up here too. You hate the media’s attention. Come home, man.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why? Give me one good reason.’ When Luke hadn’t replied, he’d continued, ‘Come on. The coaching career can’t be that bad. I hear one of your guys got silver in the Cup Alpine Series.’
‘I’m doing someone a favour.’
‘The old man’s pimping you out now? Some favour.’
‘I owe him a debt.’
Their relationship had never been easy, but Tyson Westwood had really come through for him when he was injured. For the first time in his life, Luke felt what it would be like to be close to his father. They were working on it—and Luke was willing to do
Love Elimination
for a chance at a ceasefire between him and his father.
‘If this is his way of hurrying along the grandkids, you know the bimbos on those shows just want to be famous. And your money—they’re probably all gold diggers.’
‘I don’t have that much money.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘None of the family riches. Just the snowboarding winnings.’
‘That’s not what I hear. The gossip channels are buzzing with the size of your trust fund.’
Luke sighed, knowing his protests had fallen on deaf ears. But he really wasn’t the billionaire everyone assumed he was. He pushed the conversation out of his mind and strode further into the mansion, until he was standing in an oversized living room full of fake fruit.
A crew member appeared in the doorway, clearing his throat. Luke followed his lead through the beachside mansion. They passed rooms of luxury that reminded Luke of every hotel he’d ever lived in, except for the fact that this mansion was in the middle of the tropics. Their destination—the boardroom—was spacious and almost entirely beige. Unlike the rest of the mansion, this room felt lived in. The
Love Elimination
crew surrounded a mahogany table covered with laptops, stacks of paper and folders. This was obviously the lair from which the producers and director plotted the best ways to convince twelve women to fall in love with an injured, retired snowboarder.
Director Joe Burning, who Luke had met only once before when signing his contract, stood at the head of the table.
‘Please, sit down,’ Joe said, sliding a whiskey towards an empty chair. Luke tensed but did as he was asked, ignoring the glass. ‘Are you ready for today?’
‘Sure.’
‘Have you memorised the women’s names?’
‘I think so,’ he lied. Watching the promo videos was enough torture that he’d only submitted himself to a one-time viewing. The contestants had bounced across the screen, introducing themselves with whitened smiles. Everything was glossy and bright. The women all looked and sounded the same.
‘Good. There’s one missing from your package: Anna.’ Joe tapped at his tablet and brought up a picture of a beautiful girl-next-door type. She had light brown hair that fell an inch below her shoulders, pale skin, bright blue eyes and a round face. She didn’t fit in with a lot of the other women. For a start, she wasn’t on a beach wearing yoga clothes in her promo shot. Nor was a pair of double Ds the focus of the picture—the neckline of her dress was equally appropriate for a family function as for a night in the clubs. Unlike every other promotional shot, hers was just an ordinary photo of a smiling woman taken in front of a rundown building.
‘It’s almost dark,’ one of the producers said. They’d explained to him earlier that they would start filming the minute the light faded from the sky and continue filming until the wee hours of the morning, just before the sun rose again. Filming Luke’s introduction to each of the twelve women would take hours and the easiest way to achieve continuity was to film through the night. Luke only hoped post-production wouldn’t get too annoyed at all the footage of him yawning. In all his twenty-seven years, he’d rarely stayed up past midnight. Those early-morning training sessions weren’t exactly conducive to all-nighters.
Joe nodded. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
With that, they filed out of the mansion and fifty metres down the beach to the villa where the women were housed.
* * *
All Anna’s priorities disappeared. She forgot about getting herself evicted and her café. Only one thing remained: she really needed to pee. The toilet was on set and she wouldn’t be allowed on set until they’d filmed her introduction.
They didn’t tell her how long she’d be waiting before meeting the show’s suitor—the ‘ideal’ man she’d be fighting eleven women to win. Supposedly. Until then, she was in lockdown. No luggage. Nothing but the clothes on her back and the rings on her fingers. The driver of the black sedan wouldn’t even turn on the music; his only concession was uncovering the digital clock in the middle of the dashboard. He wouldn’t unlock the doors and he left the vehicle after an hour, leaving her with no one to direct her complaints to.
When she was finally released from the leathery prison, her driver led her from the road onto a beach with her bladder bursting. Their location was obscured by the darkness. All she knew—from the plane ride—was that she was in North Queensland. Her first holiday in about ten years. Some holiday.
Anna’s muscles were stiff and her ankle threatened to roll with every step of her wedge heels on the golden sand. The crew handed her a tall flute of champagne and pointed an oversized camera in her direction.