I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends (13 page)

“If you need saving in there, I’m your girl. Just give me a look and I’ll scoop you up and swoop in.”

“Let me give you a good squeeze!”

I was giddy from my first encounter with Ben, but as soon as I walked into the mansion, it hit me that for the last few hours the women had not only been boozing it up, but more important, they’d been bonding without me. It got eerily quiet and twenty-three sets of eyes burned through me (Lindzi, metaphorically still on her high horse, actually refused to look at me). Then I heard somewhere in the crowd:

“Oh God, that’s not fair! A model?”

Nope, this was not going the way I’d planned at all.

“Hi guys!” I chirped, trying to be friendly, even though as I scanned the room, I was shocked at how average this motley crew of women seemed. Ben walked in not long after I did and gave a welcome speech that kind of blew me away. He was so well-spoken and really cute. We locked eyes and smiled at each other right then, but I’d have to wait a long time for my turn to talk to him, as the other ladies shoulder checked each other like toothless hockey players to get his attention. So, while Ben made his way through the lot of us, I tried to make some early alliances.

I walked over to Kacie “B” Boguskie, from Tennessee, and complimented her dress. She pretended she didn’t hear me. “What do you do?” I asked so loud that it was impossible to ignore me.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” she sniped.

So much for Southern hospitality.

Samantha Levey, a tiny little pageant queen from Pittsburgh, asked me about
my
dress. I made the mistake of being honest. I told her it was Dolce and Gabbana but didn’t have time to clarify that it was busted and marked down before she cut me off and sneered, “Oooh, Dolce and Gabbana!” like I was some sort of big shot.

I’m all about first impressions and I hadn’t received very many warm welcomes so far. I hadn’t planned on drinking a lot, but I needed a lot more liquid courage if I were going to make it through this night. I got a glass of red wine at the bar, which was fully stocked with every drink imaginable. A few of the girls bellied up to the bar a lot more than the others. Jenna Burke, a blogger known as the Over-Analyst, was drowning her sorrows after her awkward introduction with Ben. (She misquoted his poignant statement to Ashley Hebert: “Things don’t end, unless they end badly.” She said, “Good things end badly.”) Elyse Myers, a personal trainer with a bangin’ body, and Jaclyn Swartz, an ad account manager from NYC, were both partying like they were on
Jersey Shore
.

It was obvious to me that some of these women weren’t going to make it very far on the show. Emily O’Brien, a stringy-haired Ph.D. candidate studying epidemiology, kept giving out hand sanitizer and talking about sexually transmitted diseases. She and Kacie B were talking major shit about Brittney Schreiner, a woman who’d brought her grandma to meet Ben, making her an early target and an outcast. As everyone else joined in on their shit-talking, not even really behind anyone’s back, Brittney gravitated toward me, the other pariah. Her granny left thirty minutes after she’d arrived. I guess it was past her bedtime.

Not a single person asked me one question about myself or had a real conversation with me. I felt like nobody made an effort to get to know me. It was confusing because I was trying to engage with all of them. I realized this was not a normal situation. It was definitely a competition.

In an effort to hog maximum TV time, Monica, from my limo, started rolling around on a couch with a “VIP cocktail waitress” named Blakeley Shea. She couldn’t make up a more distinguished, fake job title like everyone else does? How about hospitality executive? “You’re in my life forever,” Monica cooed to Blakeley. They didn’t look like lesbians; they looked like fools. Plus, the next day they got into a fight and hated each other the rest of their time on the show.

They weren’t the only ones desperate for airtime. Epidemiology Emily did a really lame white-girl rap, Nicki Sterling started a line dancing lesson in the living room, and Shawn Reynolds played soccer with Ben out in the driveway. When all the girls stampeded out of the house like elephants to join in, I hung back. I didn’t want to look like a stage five clinger already.

I picked out the women in the house who I thought Ben would like best: Lindzi, the horse girl, would go far for sure. Line dancing Nicki, a bubbly dental hygienist with an ass like Kim Kardashian, definitely had a shot. Two gorgeous blondes, Casey Shteamer and Rachel Truehart, a tomboy with a nose piercing, seemed shoe-ins. At one point in the evening Casey and I bonded in the one bathroom that all the women shared. (You can only imagine how filthy it was.) I helped her recurl her hair and we became fast friends.
Phew,
I thought.
At least one girl here likes me!

I finally got my first private one-on-one with Ben two hours after the party started. He took my hand and led me as far away from the house as possible, which made me feel special. But when we sat down I got a little tongue-tied. Being myself in front of the cameras with the whole crew watching was hard at first. The crowd threw my game off. I kept licking my lips like a snake and playing with my hair. My voice went up three octaves and I sounded like a nervous schoolgirl.

Ben and I had a short yet intimate conversation. We talked about our connection to Arizona. He actually grew up in Tucson and once owned a house in Scottsdale. While Ben talked, I sized him up to see if I was attracted to him. I definitely was. I did pick up on that sadness I’d seen on Ashley Hebert’s season and I instantly felt myself caring about him. It’s like something innate came over me to nurture him and—I can’t believe I’m saying this—
love
him. I will say he seemed very serious and I did worry that he was a little boring. I had an urge to tickle him and loosen him up a bit. He also blinked a lot and had a hard time holding my gaze. I wondered if he had trouble with intimacy.

Even though we had instant chemistry, he gave Lindzi, who had already changed outfits like Beyoncé at the Grammys, the highly coveted first impression rose. I was slightly jealous of her rose, but also a little relieved. It’s a double-edged sword. Whoever gets it may be safe until the next Rose Ceremony, but they are automatically hated and tortured by the other girls. I didn’t need to be hated any more than I already was. After my chat with Ben, I immediately did my first on-camera confessional called an ITM (In the Moment). I could feel myself swaying and, being a little drunk, I belligerently said about Lindzi, “Screw you and the horse you rode in on!” Oops.

We still had hours to go until the Rose Ceremony, while Ben talked to every single woman. My feet were killing me. I asked a producer if I could soak them in the infamous hot tub, but they said no because it wasn’t turned on yet. So I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a couple carrots and snap peas from a scavenged veggie plate and dipped them into the room-temperature ranch dressing. I grabbed a bottle of water. I was cutting myself off, no more booze.

It was a smart move because the more the other women drank, the more bananas it got in there. The biggest fight was between Monica, the queen of the mean girls, and poor drunk Jenna, who didn’t stand a chance against her bullying. Ben was clueless that this catfight was going down. If you rewatch the episodes, you won’t see me engaging in any of the drama that night. I never stood in a group of gossiping girls. I stayed out of the toxicity and negativity by sneaking out for a cigarette.

Okay, I wasn’t totally innocent. I did try to have a little fun at some of the girls’ expense. At one point Ben came over and sat with me; Shira Astrof, a thin blonde from L.A.; and Nicki “the tush” from Texas. After Ben asked where they were from, I joked, “Let me guess. You’re an actress and you’re a Republican!” Even though I was being a brat, Ben laughed. I was right on both, by the way.

Around 2:00
A.M.
, we finally met the host, Chris Harrison, for the very first time. He appeared out of thin air to announce that the party was over and the Rose Ceremony would begin soon. It was cool to see him in person after watching him on TV for twelve years. He was pretty cute. But Chris, who wore a shiny gold Tiffany Love Knot wedding ring, didn’t talk to any of the girls. He was a total pro. He nailed his speech for the camera and disappeared with Ben to sort through our headshots like a game of Hot or Not.

I knew Ben liked me. We kept locking eyes, and I was already starting to fall for him. I know it may seem cuckoo that I could have real feelings for a complete stranger within eight hours of meeting him, but I did! Seeing Ben at the Rose Ceremony just fueled my fire. We got a late start because a drunk and distraught Jenna locked herself in the bathroom and refused to come out. By the time a producer coaxed her out we all looked like hookers at the end of a shift—a mess of drooping makeup, limp hair, and wrinkled dresses. Regardless, we were lined up for the group shot that would appear in every celeb rag and website in America. Then we were prepared for Ben’s first firing line.

Though I was 99.9 percent certain I’d get a rose, there was a nagging possibility that I could be rejected, humiliated on national television, and sent packing. As Ben started calling names, I noticed that he paused dramatically in between each one and had a routine of sorts. He made a concerned face, looked up, then left, then right. I wondered if he did it on purpose so when the show aired they’d have time to stick in shots of the yet unchosen swallowing nervously, shooting daggers at each other, or holding back tears.

Luckily, Ben didn’t torture me too much and called my name in the middle of the pack. When he asked if I’d accept his rose, I purposefully answered, “I do.” It was clear Ben couldn’t remember all of the other women’s names, but I know he remembered mine because he kept staring at me between rose handouts and smiling. Suddenly twenty-four sets of eyes burned through me and a target was staple gunned onto my back.

I didn’t care, because I already knew Ben was my guy.

4

WHINE & ROSES

T
he first Rose Ceremony lasted well into the night and seven unlucky girls got the heave-ho. The sun was coming up and roosters were literally crowing outside. Exhausted and hungover, my seventeen new best friends and I went back to the hotel to recoup. We were allowed to sleep until the middle of the afternoon, but then we had to put on our stinky, rumpled clothes from the night before to do recaps. I was so tired I didn’t even put any makeup on. And that’s when we got the bad news: a producer informed us that the makeup artist was only provided to us for the first night. From now on, we were on our own. I was okay with this announcement, because I’d learned how to put on makeup for high-definition TV cameras back when I’d modeled in commercials. But this was a potential nightmare for everyone else, especially Blakeley, who had a tendency to cake it on; Lindzi, who had permanent eyeliner tattoos; and for the girls who slept in their makeup.

I thought about the first night: it was totally surreal. And Ben made some surreal choices. He kept Jenna, even though she basically had a mental breakdown in the bathroom. He kept mean Monica, who admitted to a few of the girls she thought Ben was ugly. And he kept Emily, who talked incessantly about heart disease. I wasn’t sure how I felt about his taste in women, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was under a lot of pressure, too.