A Not So Model Home by David James

neoprene short shorts that clung to every crack and bulge. On each tray of food that the waiters carried were incredibly elaborate finger foods and appetizers that trumpeted hours and hours of cooking and hand assemblage. And then there was the alcohol. It poured from bottles that seemed to be everywhere. Everywhere. This was reality?
    As a tray of bubbling champagne flutes with the label of Dom Perignon prominently displayed for the cameras floated by, I grabbed a glass and downed it, bolstering my courage.
    When everyone was in place, I felt like the science nerd at a party of high-school cheerleaders. So I did what any socially outcast person would do: I moved nearest people who were the least threat to me, and that person turned out to be Aurora. We camped out in one of the cabanas, owing to Aurora’s third bout with skin cancer.
    It was then that a cameraman moved in on the two of us. There was no hiding.
    The assistant, who was part of the audio dialogue, prompted us to start the ball a rollin’.
    The question: You’ve met the contestants. So how do you think they’re going to fare?
    Like a coward, I turned the question over to Aurora, who immediately slipped into her persona, which was a natural. She looked at, no, confronted, the camera, then gave her verdict: “I think they all have a good shot at winning Ian’s hand, seeing that we’ve just started. But I have my eyes on Gilles. He’s rude, arrogant, and self-absorbed. I don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
    I would have thought that these qualities would make him the perfect match for Ian. In all candor, these were the qualities that pushed Ian to the top of the international world of beauty. He was not only known for styling some of the world’s most famous women, but he gained his real fame by berating those same women for seeing shitty hair stylists. His famed disagreement with Elizabeth Taylor over a hairstyle reduced her to tears. It also made him a star. And even more famous. And infinitely desirable.
    The camera swung to me, waiting for me to add something wonderful and remarkable. I froze up. I knew I was supposed to add something to what Aurora had so adroitly thrown out there, but I was so nervous I couldn’t come up with a great, insightful sound bite. Nothing. So I merely said what popped into my head: “I don’t know what Gilles is after, but he seems like gold-digging Eurotrash.”
    After it was out of my mouth, I realized that I should have been more diplomatic, but goddammit, this show was after reality and that’s the reality that the champagne fed me. Fuck ’em.
    Aurora tried valiantly to cover up the mess I had made, then sat in.
    â€œI think what Amanda is trying to say is that Gilles has preconceived ideas of his worth as Ian’s possible partner and heir, and they don’t necessarily coincide with what’s good for Ian. As for the rest of the guys, what I saw on my first meeting appalled me. Most of the men were texting, playing video games, and not paying attention to information about this program,” she said, jabbing her pointy index-finger talon toward the ground for emphasis. “You’d think that they would be taking this whole situation a lot more seriously! I mean, if I were in the position to potentially inherit the kind of money that would make me secure for life and have a famous lover to boot, I would throw myself into the effort. But these guys are used to putting on some fancy clothes in Paris or New York and walking down a runway and having people fawn over them. Well, that’s not going to happen here. If these guys think they’re going to flash some white teeth, wear tight trousers, flirt with Ian, and be declared the best match for him, they better think again. We will have to see how things turn out. I don’t have any favorites yet, but today will produce some winners”—she flipped her head to camera number two