Looking for Love

Geoff’s shoulders slump and the smile slides off his face. That’s how we know the cameras are off. How we know we can relax, too.

I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. You’d think after four weeks of being followed by a camera, living with this group of women, with the group of men right next door, you’d think I’d be used to it. That I wouldn’t still have to calm my nerves every time I remembered I was being filmed.

Our four weeks here will translate into four months of weekly shows for America to watch. Looking for Love. That’s the name of our show. I’m actually surprised it’s never been used before. I can see the commercials and trailers and bumpers in my mind. 

“Looking for Love,” the deep-voiced voiceover actor will say over an image of me making flirty eyes at Drew. “In all the wrong places,” he’ll continue as Drew gives me a curt, tight-lipped smile, stands up from the table and walks away.

Or, “Looking for Love,” the same voice-over actor will intone over an image of Maisey snorkeling. “In all the deep places,” he’ll continue as the shot widens to reveal Mark next to her, both of them looking gorgeous and somehow smiling through their snorkels.

It’s all coming to a close though. This is our second to last day of shooting. And tomorrow is mainly for any wrap-up shots, good byes, that sort of thing. Tonight is the big deal, the big reveal of the final couples.

And I’m so ready to be done. I was never really looking for love. My coworkers nominated me for the show as a joke, never thinking the producer would express any interest in me at all, let alone cast me. 

I’m 35, I keep myself in good shape, I’d say I’m average looking overall. But I just never had much luck with guys and dating. A few relationships that lasted about 9 months are the best I could ever achieve. But I hadn’t reached a point of desperation. I dated when I wanted, when I found someone I as interested in. When it didn’t work, I went home to my dog, my books, my movies, my cooking. I wasn’t in a rush. If love happened, that would be great. If it didn’t I knew I could survive and thrive on my own.

Nothing exciting about me for a reality show about love. And, yet, here I am.

Looking for Love is a little different from other reality shows about finding love. No one was eliminated throughout the show, by design. We started with eight women and eight men, and everyone is still here. The goal was for everyone to couple up. For us all to get to know one another and then to pair off in eight successful couples. 

The women live together in one house, the men in another house next door. We’ve never been allowed in the men’s house, they’ve never been allowed in ours. There’s a common space in the yards between the houses - a shared pool, of course, but also plenty of space to sit outside to eat or relax or play yard games. We spent a lot of time there.

But at the end of each days, we women retreated to our house and the men to theirs, and I think that’s where producers were hoping the action would be. I’m sure they wanted in-fighting. It’s clear they cast Antonio because both Dawn and Jazz have a thing for strong Latino men. It’s obvious they cast two women over thirty but only one man over thirty so we would argue over who could have the age-appropriate relationship and not be seen as a cougar.

Apart from a few spats in the early weeks, we did not deliver. Jess, the other woman over thirty, and I agreed early: keep it boring. Neither of us wanted to be the center of attention, though Jess was hoping to find true love.

So here we are, four weeks later. Each of us women standing with a single rose in our hands (they couldn’t get away from that cliche, unfortunately), waiting to present them to the man of our choice. 

There will be no surprises tonight. In the women’s house, we’ve known our final couples for the last two weeks. Halfway into the show, we all could see who was aligning with who. Which among us were hoping for love, and which just wanted to leave the show unscathed. Those of us without strong preferences yielded to those who had their eye set on someone. Though the producers forced us to mix and mingle with everyone, to give all the men a chance, we worked it out among ourselves early on.

The producers nod at Geoff, our host. He squares his shoulders, blinks his eyes hard and fast to refocus them, stretches his mouth in every direction, plants a smile on his face and nods back.

“Ladies, for the first time, tonight, you’ll be Looking for Love, in the men’s house.” The producers make Geoff repeat the sentence five times, Geoff providing different emotion, emphasis and pauses with each take.

And another camera catches our reactions five times. The first time is genuine. We’re shocked and delighted we get to see the inside of the men’s house. I imagine it to be just as well-appointed as our house, something straight off of HGTV, but with more masculine finishes. Maybe a muskier smell than the overly floral scent that permanently lingers in every room of our house.

But each time Geoff repeats himself, our surprise wans. On those shots, they’ll see more chatter between women than any big facial expressions. For the most part, the producers give us very little direction. Promise us everything can be used when they edit the episodes together.

Finally satisfied with Geoff’s performance, and ours, the camera people dash to the men’s house with Geoff. Just one stays with us to film us walking over. The producers have us wait for three agonizing minutes while the cameras set inside the house, awaiting our reactions, maybe getting shots of the men eagerly awaiting our arrival. We continue to chat, to speculate about the men’s house, to discuss travel plans to get home tomorrow.

Finally, the lead producer gives a big wave of his arm to motion us forward. We walk over in a clump, careful not to let high heels sink into the lawn, patting stray hairs into place.

The producer lingers to be at the back of the pack, out of the shot. As I pass him, I notice he’s trying and failing to suppress an enormous grin.

He knows something.

My mind begins to race. What could possibly happen? We’ve planned this so carefully. Each of us matched with a man. No arguments, no surprises. Keep it boring.

I’m sure my face looks worried and skeptical, not excited. I try to move the thought out of my mind, be camera ready so I don’t force the group to do multiple takes.

As we near the men’s house, the camera person moves to the back of our group, to get the reverse shot when they open the doors.

There must be some sort of automated mechanism in place, because the doors swing open. At first, we’re blinded by a spotlight. A trick for the cameras, surely. 

As the spotlight dims and our eyes adjust, we can see the men in a line in front of us. But that’s all we see. Their house is an empty shell. No furniture, no flooring, not even paint on the walls. A concrete slab with drywall up. Not at all the male twin of our house.

The men don’t appear surprised or confused. They stand there smiling while we women look to each other for information, for any kind of explanation. At last, all our eyes land on Geoff, standing at the head of the two lines that have formed, men across from women.

“Not what you expected, ladies?” he asks. The producers don’t make him repeat this line. At least not yet. Still none of us dare to speak or move. We’ve been trained not to ruin the shot.

Geoff continues. “I believe our men have something to show you.” He steps back quickly and quietly. A gentle smile on his face.

In unison, the men reach down and begin to unbutton their shirts. We all know better than to be excited. Nothing overly sexual will be happening here. This is a network show.

All the men remove their shirts. They look down the line at one another to be sure all are ready. Then they all cram their index fingers into their navels. Hard and deep. Nothing natural or delicate about it.

Then, one by one, their skin shimmers and fades away, revealing a soft clear plastic shell containing a mass of circuitry.

“Robots,” I whisper. I see a motion from a producer in the corner, and sort of raising his hand motion. We’ve been taught this - it means, again and louder. “Robots,” I say again, but still barely above a whisper because I truly cannot believe what I’m seeing.

Then, finally, the women give the producers what they wanted all along. Dawn and Jessie scream and rant, first at the men, then at the producers, then directly into cameras. Maisey faints. Jazz throws her rose at the man she planned to announce as her choice, then runs at him, fists flying.

I look at Luke, my chosen partner. I didn’t love him, but he was nice enough. Maybe someone I would have texted with out in the real world. He shrugs at me.

I turn to leave. I decide to give the cameras what they want. Why not? What do I have to lose. I don’t look straight into the camera, put just past it, off into the distance, like I’m talking to myself. I shake my head gently. “Looking for love in all the wrong places is right,” I say as I walk back to the women’s house.