Not So Model Home - By David James Page 0,32

much of the “artwork” in Ian’s home had to be pixilated because it was too obscene for television. But the time you watched a few minutes of the show, you would’ve sworn you had cataracts. When it came to the end of the episode and my peep show, the two of them sat with mouths wide open even though they had seen it dozens of times on the Internet.

“Your bazongas are huge on a wide-screen TV!” Regina said, downing the contents of her champagne flute. “Good thing you don’t have a 3-D TV. Those things could’ve poked my eyes out!”

Up came the reaction shots, followed by Aurora, who wrapped up the show by giving a brutally honest assessment of the guys:

They’re rude, crass, untrustworthy, and self-centered. When they’re not trying to outslime each other, then they’re texting and not connecting with another human being in a meaningful way. I don’t see how some of them are going to make it with their toxic personalities. Now, I know that Ian is not easy to get along with. He’s tough, egotistical, ruthless, paranoid, and could stand to lose a few pounds, so I need to find someone who could put up with his antics and his paunchy abdomen. But this is going to be a struggle to find a guy with some sort of integrity. I refuse to lower the bar here, and it’s pretty low as it is. Drake and David are the standouts so far. David can be a little sarcastic and high-and-mighty, but he has honesty. And Drake, he’s loyal, hardworking, doesn’t get involved in the petty interactions of the others, and like David, he seems to be honest. He’s a bit dark, but I think that characteristic appeals to Ian as well.

The show cut to scenes of upcoming episodes (even though they weren’t even filmed), most of which were assumptions of where Jeremy and the editors were sure the show would head in the future. The editors cleverly used dramatic reaction shots with verbiage that could have been used no matter what ensued. It was like a fortune-teller or astrologer, giving predictions so vague and adaptable, the listener would read more into them than they actually deserved. The next-episode scenes were followed by credits that surprised me. The number of people who put on the show was far greater than I had seen at the filmings, so I wondered what cost savings Jeremy gained by using an unscripted format. The credits revealed, like with any TV program or movie made in Hollywood, that everyone within a 100-mile radius got a credit on the show, whether they styled our hair or walked Jeremy’s dog.

I waited a moment to ask what Alex and Regina thought.

“Fuckin’ great, Amanda. That bitch slap is going to make you famous. Fuckin’ great,” Regina said, finishing her champagne.

“And you?” I asked, looking at Alex and realizing that his reply was the only one that mattered.

“You did great, kid. I’m proud of you,” he replied.

I studied the tone and inflection of his comment, and searched his face again. Alex had a terrific poker face, but I could see behind the mask. He thought I did a great job. Mostly. I could see the ten percent that wasn’t on board. I felt like a failure. Then, like me reading Alex, he read my thoughts.

“Hey, hey, what’s that face for?”

“What?” I said, lying to him.

“I can see what’s going through that head of yours. Amanda, you’re on a reality show. It’s not Masterpiece Theatre. That’s okay.” He grabbed my chin delicately and turned my face to look directly into his eyes. “Y-o-u a-r-e o-n t-e-l-e-v-i-s-i-o-n, Amanda. That’s a billion-to-one shot. And you stole the first show. Stole it! And you kept your dignity. So stop feeling sorry for yourself. You aced it.”

I believed him. Mostly.

Alex continued, sensing that he was on a roll with his ego boosting. “On the first show, you’ve established your character and it’s a hit. It resonates with viewers. You’re the voice of reason on this morally topsy-turvy program of conniving gold diggers. There’s almost no one on the show who’s likable, but you are. You stand up to the bullshit. You fight back. People like you.”

“That’s right, Amanda. I really liked you . . . rooted for you,” Regina slipped in.

“Oh, that’s just the two of you saying that to make me feel better.”

Just then my iPhone, which was on silent, started jumping and buzzing on the tabletop like a cicada on a