FF (June 2013) Q. Kelly - Reality Lesbian

Lucy Marshall can’t believe it when her gay best friend, Henry, tells her that he applied for her to be on a lesbian dating show. First of all, she’s straight. Second of all, she’s straight. (And third of all, she’s straight!) When the show expresses interest in casting Lucy, Henry urges her to shove aside her guilt and misgivings. She needs the vacation. She needs the job connections. No one goes on reality TV to find true love, so what is the harm if she pretends to be gay?

Dr. Zara Winters is the lead on “Will You Marry Me?” She’s dark, brooding and sexy as hell. Their immediate and intense attraction brings out Lucy’s competitive nature, and she questions everything she thought she knew about herself. Can Lucy tell Zara the truth? How will Zara react? What about Zara’s connections with the other contestants, who include a gorgeous international model and a hot twenty-three-year-old with whom Zara has obvious physical attraction?

Tune in to your e-reader to find out!

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Sample

Chapter One

Lucy Marshall had slept with a woman once—a fumbling, drunken encounter in college. Alcohol and ten years had turned Lucy’s memories of the experience into thin, wispy threads, but once in a while, she thought about her mouth on Darcy Clark’s stomach and Darcy’s mouth on Lucy’s breasts. The encounter hadn’t been terrible. In fact, it was quite nice but didn’t change the reality that Lucy liked only men.

Which was why she gaped at her best friend, Henry. “You signed me up for a lesbian dating show?” Lucy sputtered.

Henry grinned. “I sure did.”

“Why?”

“The Bachelor, Survivor, Big Brother, these other shows, they haven’t contacted you, right?” Henry flapped his hand. “I read about this show called Will You Marry Me? It’ll be on that new GLBT cable channel. The show’s kind of like The Bachelor but for gay men and lesbians. I figured our chances of getting on it would be better. Less competition. Smaller applicant pool.”

Lucy grimaced. She loved Henry, she really did, but he had a habit of entering them both for reality shows. He said it was so she wouldn’t be jealous when he ratcheted to movie stardom. Usually, she didn’t mind. She found it kind of endearing. This was different.

“I’m straight, Henry.”

“Pshaw. So are half the applicants, probably. The producers won’t care, and you get a free vacation. Free booze, free food. What’s not to like?”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Girl, I applied to be on The Bachelorette. If this queer can play straight on TV, then you can play lesbian.”

“That’s different. You’re in a minority group.”

Henry chuckled. “You overthink. You gotta loosen up.”

“I’ll get right on that,” Lucy said dryly.

“Good girl. I’ll email you a copy of the application I filled out so you know what to say when the show calls.”

Lucy gave her best friend a small smile. She patted Henry on the head and said: “Okay, okay, whatever you insist.” She was safe. The show would never call and ask for an interview. None of the shows did, thank goodness.

*****

Two weeks later, Lucy’s cellphone rang, and the caller said his name was Drake Sheldon. He worked as a casting agent for Will You Marry Me? Did Lucy have a few moments for a quick preliminary interview?

“Um.” Lucy mentally stabbed Henry several times over. Damn him for putting her in this position. “Um,” she repeated. “Wow. You know what? I didn’t apply for this show. You must be mistaken.”

“The application says that your best friend Henry Bonfontaine nominated you.” Drake ran through the basics of Will You Marry Me? The first season would feature twelve gay men in Los Angeles competing for love. The season was set to air in July and August on the new Rainbow World cable TV channel. While it aired, season two would enter filming. “We’re going with more contestants this time around,” Drake said. “Ideally, twenty. If you’re chosen, you will compete for the hand of a particularly desirable woman. Filming will take place in upstate New York.”

Lucy found herself somewhat disappointed—and surprised that she was disappointed. It wasn’t like she would do the show, right? “Why isn’t season two in Los Angeles?”

“Listen to this. Camping. Hiking. Softball. Swimming. Upstate New York is perfect. Who needs L.A., right?” Lucy practically heard the smile in Drake’s voice as he upheld lesbian stereotypes. “The show pays all your travel expenses. Your food. Lodging, accommodations. Every red cent.”

“I see.”

“Are you ready for the preliminary interview?”

Lucy gazed around her living room. Oops. No. Henry’s living room. She was sprawled on the couch and had been watching a Seinfeld DVD. The time was three p.m., and she hadn’t changed out of her pajamas. Doritos stained her fingers orange. Four months ago, she was laid off from her reporter job at The Washington Post, and despite impressive connections and flurries of applications every week to newspapers and magazines, had only landed sparse freelance assignments. Henry, damn him, still worked at the Post. Last month, Lucy moved in with him. No choice; she couldn’t afford her apartment payments, and she certainly wouldn’t return home to her parents.

Eh. What the heck. Answering a few questions never killed anyone.

“Can I ask you something first?” Lucy wondered.

“Shoot.”

“Twenty lesbians living in a house,” Lucy said. “Aren’t they pretty much gonna hook up with one another and not pay attention to the—I don’t know what to call her—the head contestant? Especially if she’s staying at a separate location? Maybe she isn’t?”

Drake sighed, conveying: Asked and answered a million times. “The lead will live at a separate location, yes, and five women will be kicked off the first night. If any of the contestants kiss each other or as much as hold hands, they’ll be kicked off the show. That’s incentive enough not to try anything.”

Lucy had her doubts. If a woman and a woman clicked, nothing would keep them apart, but she kept her thoughts to herself. “Who’s the lead?”

Another tired sigh. “All I’m allowed to divulge at this point is that she’s a vet and thirty-five years old.”

“War vet or animal vet?”

“Animal vet. She’s a doctor.”

Memories of Dr. Hopcatcher, the kindly, stooped veterinarian who tended to Lucy’s childhood pets, floated into her mind. She’d loved his last name, his gentle way with her animals, his jokes and the lollipops he gave her.

“Huh,” Lucy said. “Interesting. I like vets.”

Drake proceeded to ask a few basic questions about Lucy’s status. U.S. citizen? Could she be fingerprinted tomorrow and submit to a background check? Would she be willing to meet with him tomorrow for a brief camera test and to fill out detailed application paperwork? Her highest level of education was a master’s, right? She could spare between three days and five weeks away for filming, correct? That kind of stuff.

Lucy answered in the affirmative to each question then tacked on one of her own: “Why did you contact me? What did Henry put in my application that piqued your interest?”

“You’re gorgeous in the picture,” Drake said simply. “And you play softball.”

Lucy laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “I think.” Yeah, she was gorgeous, although she rarely paid attention to her looks. She wore her blond hair cropped short because she hated muss and fuss. The haircut lent her a chic, businesswoman look, but thanks to her big, expressive blue-green eyes, she also projected softness and comfort.

“How long have you been out the closet?” Drake asked.

Lucy’s stomach constricted. Could she do this? Out and out lie? Apparently, yes. She squeezed her eyes shut and recited what Henry put on the application. “I’m only partly out,” she whispered. “Some of my friends know, but my family doesn’t.”

“To be honest, that’s another reason I called you,” Drake said. “We want a nice mix of all types. Women who have been out since they were in diapers or since they were ten. Women who came out only a couple of years ago. Women who aren’t quite there yet—women like you. Unfortunately, most of our applicants are women who have been out quite a while.”

“Mmm.”

“If you’re chosen, would you tell your family before you left for the show that you’re gay or let them find out on national TV?”

Lucy’s parents didn’t get cable, much less fancy cable, but they’d find out somehow. Sooner or later. “That’s a tough question,” Lucy said. “Is it okay if I don’t have the answer yet?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. That’s fine.”

*****

“Awesome!” Henry exclaimed that evening after Lucy told him about Drake. “I knew they’d call. Put in a good word for me, okay? I want to be on season three.”

Lucy chewed on a thumbnail. “I lied to that man, Henry. I really don’t feel com—”

“Hey!” Henry said. “Stop that. Nail chewing is gross times ten on TV.”

Lucy removed the offending thumbnail from her mouth. “I don’t feel comfortable pretending to be someone I’m not.”

“You’re bisexual,” Henry said.

“What? I am not.”

“Darcy Clark,” he replied knowingly.

“Drunken one-night sex doesn’t equate to bisexuality.”

Henry shrugged. “Take it up with Alfred Kinsey. My point is, you’ve had sex with a woman. You’re practically a lesbian.”

“I like men. Their voices. Their rippled chests. Their big hands.”

Henry grinned. “Whoa, girl. Preaching to the choir here.”

“I can’t go tomorrow. Yeah, I have rotten luck in relationships, but I’m not so desperate I have to turn to women.”

“Do it for me, Lucy. Do it for me.”

Lucy laughed. “For you?”

“Okay, do it for you, too. You could use a change of scenery. Clear your mind. Breathe fresh air.”

“I have ethics, Henry.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “Ethics schmethics. These women who are gonna be on the show, only one or two will be there to find tru wuvvvv. The rest of the women want the vacation. The fame. To get pootang after the show airs. It’s the nature of the beast. What do you do here all day, huh? Watch TV and eat. You’ve given up, Lucy. Maybe you’ll meet someone on the show who can help you land a job. Networking. Connections. This show is your way out of unemployment, I’m telling you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucy mumbled.

She told herself all that night and into the next morning to disregard Henry. To instead listen to her head, to her conscience. To not meet Drake Sheldon for the camera test.

Lucy went. Lucy met. Four weeks later, Drake offered her a spot on the show. Lucy swallowed, thought about the futile mountain of online applications she’d submitted the past month, said a silent apology to lesbians everywhere, and whispered: “Yes, I’ll do it.”

*****

Drake and two cameramen filmed Lucy’s introduction package a couple of weeks before she left for upstate New York—specifically, for Evington, New York. They met her at the National Arboretum in Northeast D.C. The men examined the July sun, squinted, mumbled about positioning and then turned their intimidating cameras onto Lucy. Drake stood behind the cameras and prompted Lucy with questions. For example:

“Tell us about yourself. Who are you, what do you do, and why have you signed up for this show?”

Lucy smiled, making sure to expose her pearly line of white teeth. Henry’s instructions. “Smile more!” he had exhorted during their rehearsals the past three nights.

“I’m Lucy Marshall,” she said brightly, pretending that beads of sweat didn’t drip down her back. She didn’t want to think about how her forehead looked. Couldn’t they have done this in air conditioning? The temperature at the gardens had to be at least eighty-five degrees. “I’m thirty years old, and I’m a journalist. I used to work at The Washington Post. I’m freelance now because I was caught up in a round of layoffs earlier this year. I have the most incredible best friend. His name is Henry, and he nominated me for the show as a surprise.” She chuckled. “I was surprised, all right, but I’m excited about meeting new people and hopefully falling in love.”

“Have you had much luck in relationships?” Drake asked.

Lucy shook her head. “I seem to fall for the dark, broody types. The bad guys. I mean—girls. Women?”

One of the cameramen, a bulky dude, slashed his hand in front of his throat. “Start that part again.”

“I fall for the dark, broody types. The bad girls. The users. The takers. I give my all, and…” Lucy sighed, a mosaic of her exes forming in her mind. “They use and discard me. It’s a horrible feeling. I’ve learned that I can’t trust anyone. I can’t let go without getting hurt.”

Drake spoke: “Will that be your main issue going into this voyage? Trusting the lead, allowing yourself to fall in love? And then her possibly hurting you? Breaking your heart by choosing another woman to get engaged to?”

“Yes.” Except, no, my biggest issue will be the fact I’m lying about being gay.

“We need more than yes answers,” Drake said. “Remember what we discussed? Try to incorporate my questions into your answers.”

Lucy forced a game smile even as the sweat bubbling on her backside multiplied and multiplied. “My biggest fear going into this voyage is that I’ll open myself up, I’ll trust her, I’ll fall in love, and she’ll stomp over my heart like everyone else has.”

“How long have you been out of the closet?” Drake asked.

Lucy kept her gaze squarely on the camera. No guilty shift of the eyes, no ma’am. “I’m not out to my parents,” she said. “Not yet. I wasn’t out at the newspaper, either, but I am to a few friends.”

“When did you realize you were gay?”

“It was a gradual process.”

Drake interrupted: “You need to explain what the ‘it’ is. Use pronoun antecedents, okay? When this airs, I won’t be in the segment. It’ll just be you speaking to the camera.”

“Okay.” Lucy took a deep breath and reminded herself that Henry was right—no one went on reality TV to find true love. “Realizing I was gay was a gradual process. I slept with a woman for the first time in college. We were both drunk, but it was an amazing experience. It felt right. After that, I hooked up with more and more women. Got into relationships.” A self-conscious chuckle. “Got my heart broken.”

Drake and Lucy whisked through more questions and answers for the next half hour. After that, Lucy jogged back and forth in front of the National Capitol Columns. Her usual exercise attire comprised of a ratty T-shirt and baggy navy blue shorts. Henry had forbidden her to leave the apartment in these clothes today. He’d bought her tight black shorts and a sleeveless blue top, and declared that she did the outfit proud.

*****

Two Thursdays later, Henry took the morning off work and drove Lucy to Dulles International Airport. She’d fly directly into Albany International, and someone from the show would meet her there. Lucy’s mind kept saying: I can’t do this, I can’t, I can’t, but it also kept saying: Yes you can, yes you can, get ahold of yourself woman. Reality TV ain’t reality TV.

Lucy loved The Bachelor and The Bachelorette shows. The cheese. The drama. The good-looking people, particularly the shirtless, drool-worthy guys. And yeah, sure, the romantic proposals at the end. Even so, she knew in her heart that these relationships were all but doomed. People that good-looking didn’t need to go on TV to find a date. Fame lured them.

So Lucy kept telling herself: You can do it. Hopefully you’ll last long enough to make connections with people who can help you find a job.

She and Henry hugged goodbye, and he breathlessly wished her good luck. “I’ll miss you,” he said.

“Me too.” Lucy would have to surrender her phone in New York. Outside contact with the world would be forbidden for as long as she was on the show. Lucy had told her parents she was hired for a freelance assignment. Phone contact would be sporadic, so she’d email when she could. She’d given Henry her email password so he could check for messages from them and send a few sentences from “Lucy” every once in a while.

Yes, she was devious. Plotting. Terrible.

“Br