Stephanie Doyle - Who Wants To Marry a Heartthrob?

“You mean Brock Brickman,” the host corrected her quickly.

“That’s right.” She smiled and pulled her shoulders together a bit more to enhance her cleavage. “Brick Brockman. He’s my ideal man.”

“Okay, moving right along. You, Jenna?”

A sultry brunette with impossibly blue eyes stood and drew all eyes to her. Bridget had already determined that this woman was no fool. She had a goal, and Bridget assessed that Jenna would be undaunted in the pursuit of that goal. This woman was going to marry Brock or land a role in a soap opera.

Whichever came first.

She looked at Brock then shifted her head slightly, no doubt to give her best side to the camera, and told everyone in clear strong tones, “I’m looking for someone who completes me. Someone who fills my heart and is filled in return by all the love I have to give. I don’t want just a husband, but a life mate. A partner. Someone I can share my innermost feelings with, not to mention my innermost…desires.” She sat down again with a flick of her hair and a sultry glance that might have been aimed at Brock, or at the camera behind him.

Wow. That was some speech, Bridget silently applauded. She only hoped she didn’t have to follow that.

“And Bridget, tell us what are the pieces that make up your Mr. Perfect?”

There were times, she decided, that life could be entirely unfair.

“Uh…well, he…should…uh…I suppose I’m looking for…” The camera guy zoomed in on her and the blinking light above it forced her to turn her eyes away. The light also didn’t help with her stuttering.

“Ah,” Chuck extolled. “I see we have a shy one here. Please, don’t be scared. All of America wants to know what it is you’re looking for in a man.”

All of America. Bridget gulped. “I guess what I’m really searching for is…”

“I’m sorry.” Chuck stopped her with a raised hand and turned his back on her to speak directly to the camera. “But we’re out of time.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” she muttered under her breath.

“This is the part of the show where Brock must retire to his solitary space. In that space he will have to ask himself ‘Is she the right one for me?’ Fifteen women will receive an invitation, and in that invitation there will be either a green card or a red card. Green means she gets to go on to the next show to see if she can win the heart of our heartthrob. Red means that life has chosen another course for her. Tonight only eight cards will be green. We’ll be right back to watch our ladies open their invitations. As always Who Wants To Marry a Heartthrob? is brought to you by Breathe Better Mouthwash, the mouthwash choice of singles. Because at those critical moments it’s important to have good breath. Your future could depend on it.”

Bridget winced at the phrase that Richard had finally decided on as the tag line for the campaign.

Breathe Better Mouthwash—because your future could depend on it.

She’d told him it was too dramatic. But with Chuck saying it as if mouthwash were a life-or-death decision, she thought it superceded dramatic and launched directly into the melodramatic. Typical Richard, she thought to herself. Always pushing. Always going over the top.

The red lights on top of the cameras abruptly went dark and Bridget breathed a sigh of relief. During each of the intermissions some of the women had had a chance to speak with Brock one-on-one. Getting close to him, however, meant running a gauntlet of pointed elbows and spiky heels.

Fortunately, Bridget had an edge over the crowd since she wasn’t as afraid of bruising as some of the other women were. She had actually made it to his side during the last commercial, but had only managed, “Hi, my name is…” before someone—her money was on Jenna—had knocked her out of the way. Now would be her last chance to impress him if she had any hope of getting a green invitation.

She stood up, scanned the room for Brock and saw him being whisked away by Chuck down a hallway that led to one of the studies in the back of the house. She was about to follow in pursuit when, of all people, Richard moved in front of her path.

“Okay, I’ll say it. I was wrong and you were right. I never should have made you do this. I’m sorry.”

She knew she should have been thrilled with such a statement, especially coming from someone who hoarded apologies the way Scrooge hoarded coal on Christmas Eve. But hearing this from Richard at this particular moment wasn’t good news. No doubt after watching her on the monitor, it was obvious that she didn’t belong with the others. But she wasn’t going to let the fear that she might have made a fool out of herself on television stop her from getting what she wanted.

And what she wanted was Richard. No, no, no, she thought, shaking that idea completely out of her head. She wanted Brock. Well, not really Brock. Just another night with Brock to teach Richard a lesson.

“Richard, move out of the way.” Bridget attempted to move around him, but he stepped with her, continuing to block her path. And he was big. Sometimes she forgot how tall he was, but when she stood toe-to-toe with him she barely reached his chin. It was the lean, easy quality about him that made her forget sometimes that he was, in fact, a lot of man.

“No. I guilted you into it. I forced you in front of a camera, made you put on all that makeup, which I know goes against your whole inner-beauty-motto thing—although I have to say, it really does look nice on you—and now I’ve set you up for this failure.”

His last item had her stopping in her tracks. “Failure?”

“I know and I’m sorry. You’re going to have to open that stupid invitation, get that red card. It’s going to be horrible. But listen, I talked to Buzz and I specifically told him to keep you off camera as much as possible. It will be like the Oscars. As soon as he sees red, he’ll move the camera off you.”

It was stupid and not like her at all, but she actually felt tears welling up in her eyes. His lack of faith in her, well, womanhood, was crushing. Despite the makeup, despite taking off her glasses and despite her attempt at eye fluttering, he didn’t even consider the possibility that Brock might pick her. All he saw was a failure.

“I’m really sorry, Bridge.”

“Me, too,” she mumbled trying to contain an odd feeling of loss, as though she’d had something within her reach, but now it was fading from sight. Forcefully, she stopped the tears. The last thing she needed to do was actually cry and ruin Raquel’s artfully applied mascara.

“And if it means anything, I would have picked you.”

She lifted her face and met his hazel-green gaze. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

He cupped her face in his hands and leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the nose. “Look into my eyes.”

“You’re not going to hypnotize me, are you?”

“No,” he chuckled. “You know when I’m telling the truth. And you know when I’m lying, right?”

She 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.