did. She knew everything about him. His favorite foods, his weird allergy to all things sesame and his preference for tea over coffee. She also knew that often when he was in the middle of an important meeting, he was really zoned out creating cartoon characters in his head. Everything.
“Right.”
“I’m not lying now. I would pick you. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. And by the way, nice job getting rid of that booger.”
“It wasn’t a booger,” she hissed. “It was a piece of lint.”
“Whatever. The point is, you’re the only woman here I would want to get to know better.”
“Really?”
“I would want to know why you wear your hair all back in a bun like that. And I would want to know why you’re dressed all in black, and I would want to know why you keep squinting at the camera.”
“Because you made me take off my glasses, and I can’t see very far,” she reminded him.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t know that if I had just met you. Brock’s a fool. Here he’s got the most amazing woman right in front of him, and he doesn’t know it.”
A reply sprang to her lips, but before Bridget could open her mouth, Buzz interrupted her.
“Yo, chicks! Places.”
“Apparently Buzz doesn’t understand the basics of political correctness,” Richard murmured, turning his attention to the fact that they were about to start broadcasting again. “Go sit down, open your silly invitation and I’ll take you out for ice cream afterward.”
“Your treat,” she insisted. “And I’m ordering extra fudge.”
He smiled, bent down to kiss her cheek and headed back to the foyer where the monitor was.
Bridget sat down in the chair that Buzz had picked out for her and girded herself against the rejection that was to come. She smiled at Raquel who gave her a thumbs-up sign, and Bridget mimicked the gesture.
Chuck came back into the room with the fifteen envelopes in his hand. He waited until the cameramen were in place around the room and watched Buzz as he silently counted down to live with his fingers.
As soon as Buzz made a fist, the lights on the camera lit up, and so did Chuck’s smile. “Hello everybody, we’re back.” He turned to Brock who had come into the living room to stand next to him. “Brock, have you made your very difficult decision?”
“I have,” he nodded dramatically. He wrapped an arm around the host’s shoulders and shook him a bit. “And it was difficult. What man in his right mind could decide between all these lovely ladies? It was almost impossible.”
“I understand, Brock. But rest assured that each of the women not selected tonight will receive as a consolation gift a free year’s supply of Breathe Better Mouthwash. So you see, there is a light at the end of this particular tunnel.”
Brock smiled wistfully. “That does make me feel better.”
“Now to the moment we’ve been waiting for. I have in my hand fifteen invitations, ladies. Please wait until I’ve distributed them all, then when I give the word, go ahead and open them. Those with a green card will continue on, and those with a red card…Well, at least you’ll have fresh breath.”
Brock lifted his arm from around Chuck’s shoulders, and Chuck moved forward to present each of the invitations to the women. Some women tried to hold them up to the light to see the color of the card within it. Some blew kisses to Brock. Others tried to fan themselves with the invitation in an effort to calm their nerves.
Bridget dropped the invitation in her lap and tried to focus on the hot fudge sundae that she was going to order. She also was thinking that the idea of proving to Richard that there had to be some man out there…somewhere…who might find her desirable still had merit. Why it was important, she wasn’t quite willing to deal with, but that it was important couldn’t be denied.
First she would need to find someone who found her attractive enough to pursue her. Or pretend to pursue her.
Hey, that was an idea. Maybe she could hire an actor.
“Ladies, open your invitations,” Chuck announced.
Of course, she wouldn’t want an actor who looked like Brock. She would want someone more real looking. The type of man who Richard would believe she could attract. She wondered how much actors charged for a few hours of work.
“Wait, we’re missing one.”
If Richard and she did manage to steal Breathe Better Mouthwash from V.I.P. and Richard did open up his own ad agency, then no doubt times would be lean for a while until they got the business off the ground. She’d have to be frugal about this.
“I picked eight,” Brock said forcibly enough to jar Bridget out of her musings.
Realizing that she actually had forgotten she was on a television show, she glanced around the room to size up the situation. All of the women had their invitations open. Green and red cards abounded. That is, seven green cards and seven red cards. One card was missing.
Hers!
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot to open mine,” Bridget muttered a little sheepishly digging into her invitation. She pulled the card from the envelope and held it up for the camera to see. There. Green. Just as she expected…
“Green!” she gasped.
“Green!” Richard shouted from off camera.
“Green!” fourteen women screeched simultaneously, turning their heads in unison to see this purported green card.
“Green,” Brock confirmed. He turned to Chuck to explain. “She was always making funny faces at me. I like a woman who can make me laugh.”
“And there you have it, everyone. Our heartthrob has chosen. Tune in next week to see how this particular plot thickens. Watch as some women will woo, and others will boo-hoo when they get the red card. Next time on Who Wants To Marry a Heartthrob? brought to you by Breathe Better Mouthwash, the mouthwash choice of singles. Because your future could depend on it.”
“And cut,” Buzz called. “Let’s clean it up, guys.”
Richard marched over to where Brock was chatting with Chuck and rudely tapped the actor on the shoulder.
“What in the hell was that?” Richard asked when Brock turned around.
Brock broke out into an all-white-tooth grin. “Great show, huh? Hey, man, thanks again for this opportunity. It’s only been a few weeks since I got canned from The Many Days of Life, but I’m really starting to worry about my career, you know. Last week at the mall I was only stopped twice for an autograph. Twice,” he repeated in low whisper. “That’s pathetic. But this is going to put me right back on top. I’m sure of it. The Many Days of Life will have to take me back.”
“Look at my face,” Richard demanded. “Do I look like a man who cares about your career?”
