Synopses & Reviews
Chapter OneDo You Believe in Love at First Sight?This week's bachelorette wobbled more than usual, as if thrown off balance by that crown of blonde curls. The host supported her arm in the classic father-of-the-bride pose, his grip noticeably tight. The drumroll thundered, the cameras zoomed, and the curtain snapped back like a magician's scarf. There he stood, the anonymous Bachelor #2 transformed into blood and suntanned flesh: "Randy!This was the one moment I still enjoyed, that instant of truth after all the jokes and posturing. Melissa smiled -- she had been told to smile -- but her gaze was unfocused. I doubted she could differentiate her beau-to-be from the smear of lights. But she faked it well, her eyes settling on him like a well-practiced blind girl's. The prompters stoked the audience into a touchdown roar, but I knew this couple was doomed.I sat back in my love seat, the drone and surges of Manhattan traffic filtering through my 6th Avenue window, as I previewed an advance edit of "Who Wants To Be A Blind Date: Episode #71. This was the best perk of my job, better than the monotony of identical weekends in the Caribbean. I preferred private evenings in my pajamas, body collapsed into the cushions after a long work-out, hair wet on my neck from the bathtub. I settled my wineglass -- its unused mate collected dust in the cabinet above my sink -- on a stack of contestant applications lying on my coffee table. The empty video box rested beside it with a sticky note from Donna, the other chaperone, curling from its front: "Ashley, enjoy your weekend off."Yours,
DShe would be whisking this lucky couple off in the morning, her motherly presence a constant reminder that theywere the escorted guests of a large and legally-minded corporation and not a pair of college delinquents cavorting on spring break. I poured a second glass of Viognier, curled my bare feet on the cushion beside me, and studied the tape, thankful to be alone.Melissa broke her gaze first. The woman always did. It's part of the sexual contract, almost a legal obligation for the show. While she looked off, Randy slid his eyes down her front. The camera usually missed that, but it didn't matter. She had already given everything away. If he had known to watch the tilt of her smile, the direction her eyes swerved, how her fingers curled, he would have seen what he was walking into.Men are easier to read. Even with the mute on, I could tell whether a Bachelor left the toilet seat up, what sexual positions he thought he liked, and how often he called his mother. Randy strutted across the soundstage, stiff and cocky. He brandished the standard smirk, unable to disguise his pleasure at the sight of his prize. Melissa wore her body with the casual confidence of a small child or professional model. The third button of her blouse bobbed unfastened.I sighed as the host drew them into an obligatory hug. Melissa was one of my casting picks, so I felt a maternal pang of guilt. Sort of like God looking down at the mayhem he'd wrought on Eden. I had finagled a choice guy into the Bachelor #3 seat, but of course she'd sided with Randy, the face my college intern had swooned over when she'd fished him from the sea of headshots in the bin on my desk.My professional and personal esthetics rarely crossed. I had a soft spot for misfits: crooked teeth, crescent noses, connected eyebrows, any break from themonotony of billboard beauty. After my first week reading applications and forwarding quirky candidates to the producer's desk, my altruism was rewarded with unveiled threats: it was either them or me. I rose to the task, wielding my letter opener through the necks of the undesirable. The secretary taped over the "Ashley Farrell" on my mail slot with "Attila the Nun," a nickname I secretly cherished.I maintained the lowest running average for predicting winning bachelors in the office, so I felt no shock at Melissa's treason. I guessed fewer than one winner in six, impressively below random odds. Donna always waited to see my pick before dropping her dollar into the betting cup in the conference room.I had chosen Melissa not because I liked her face -- those pouty lips made me wince -- but because of the modicum of wit displayed on her application. She was beautiful enough, the one "Who Wants To Be A Blind Date criterion chiseled in stone. The homely I shuffled into a tray on the secretary's desk to receive our standard "Thank you for applying" letter, the producer's splotchy signature photocopied on the bottom of the page. But after that first cut, the application questionnaire ordained their fates.Most of our candidates were as verbal as toddlers, their handwriting little better. I skimmed the same answers lunch hour after lunch hour: "Why do you want to appear on "Who Wants To Be A Blind Date?""So I can meet the man of my dreams."The question, "What special qualifications do you possess?" usually produced a laundry list of bra and waist sizes, so Melissa's non sequitur had leaped from the page: "Because I'm Zelda Shilling's #1 fan!"I had assumed she was being funny or -- as mycollege roommates once called me -- spunky. Anyone who skimmed the front page of "USA Today in the past month knew Zelda Shilling was the Mafia's answer to Jackie O. Though well-preserved for a middle-aged woman -- if you didn't mind the taut cheeks and jawline that multiple face-lifts produced -- she was not the look "Who Wants To Be A Blind Date coveted. Worse, her years of scaling the underworld ladder of vice and had filed her tongue to profane...
Synopsis
Spending long, languid weekends in St. Thomas would seem like a dream job for most people. For single, thirty-something Ashley Farrell, however, it comes with the humiliation of having to act as chaperone for the varlous bachelor and bachelorette winners of a popular TV dating show. But this dead-end junket shows signs of new life. Between safeguarding the morals of curvaceous Melissa and voracious Randy and avoiding the diamond-dripping wife of a reputed crime boss, Ashley is attracting the serious attention of a tall, deliciously sexy stranger she met on the airplane. Things are definitely looking up!
Until she discovers a dead bodyguard on the beach...
Until she finds herself surrounded by FBI agents...
Until she is arrested for murder...
And now there's big trouble in paradise for sure!
About the Author
Chris Gaveler teaches high school English in Viginia.