I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends (14 page)

The next day, we drove out to Malibu, thinking we were moving into the mansion. As we mingled in the kitchen, Chris Harrison appeared from nowhere. The women turned on like a light switch and pounced on him. He introduced himself individually to each of us and I tried to be as normal as possible. The others, especially Kacie B, were busy kissing his ass, maybe hoping he’d put in a good word with Ben or, more likely, hoping he was imagining them as the next Bachelorette in case this didn’t work out.

Chris walked us out to the lawn to film a segment. He announced that this season would be different from seasons past: we’d be leaving the mansion immediately and traveling with Ben all over the world. For our first destination shoot we were heading up to Sonoma, where Ben ran his winery. Contrary to popular belief, Ben didn’t
own
a winery. He grows his own grapes on an already existing winery, like renting office space. But many of the women, including myself, were under the assumption that Ben was the second coming of Kendall-Jackson.

After the expected squealing and jumping, we flew up to San Francisco and piled into vintage white convertible Rolls-Royces, dividing ourselves into already forming cliques. I gravitated toward raspy-voiced partier Jaclyn Swartz, my hair-curling buddy Casey Shteamer, and beautiful blonde Rachel Truehart. Kacie B, Nicki, Monica, pageant queen Samantha, and Emily were forming their own Pink Ladies’ gang. Blakeley, who at thirty-four was a senior citizen in
Bachelor
years, and Lindzi, who rarely spoke to anyone, were lone wolves. The rest, frankly, were floaters, not really a blip on the radar. I kind of missed Anna Snowball. At least I remembered her name.

KEEPING IT REAL

How to Get Noticed by the Tabloids

The key to becoming a
Bachelor
star and getting a lot of ink right off the bat is having a back story. Give them something to write about! Even if it’s bad!

Release a mug shot.

But only if your hair looks good in it.

Overcome adversity or tragedy.

AshLee Frazier was an orphan. Sarah Herron only had one arm. Car accidents, diabetes, and dumped at the altar all work, too.

Have a weird job.

Shawntel Newton didn’t even come close to getting the guy after two tries but because she ran a funeral home, she nabbed magazine spreads and even got a book deal.

Be sexually ambiguous.

Many former contestants have been dogged by gay rumors. Keep everyone guessing; it adds to the fun.

Flaunt your virginity.

Sluts are a dime a dozen. The girls and guys who get the most buzz are the born-agains like Sean Lowe or the never-haves like Ryan Hoag or Corrie Adamson.

Have fangs.

I think that speaks for itself.

We arrived at a gorgeous rented house overlooking a vineyard and Ben greeted us at the door. Immediately the women took off to find their bedrooms. A gift bag was waiting for each girl—actually a Guess rolling suitcase. It was filled with swag, including bikinis, skinny jean leggings, CC Skye bracelets, and skin care and tanning products. Lindzi was a big fan of the bronzer and her hands were often stained bright orange. Go ahead and YouTube it.

Unlike the others, I didn’t run around the house like a chicken with my head cut off. I strolled into the kitchen by myself to check out the fridge. I was thrilled: it was packed with real, healthy food. I felt like I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in days and I was starving. Even more thrilling, Ben walked into the kitchen and we were by ourselves for the first time. He told me that the first thing he did on Ashley’s season was check out the fridge, too. He grabbed a bottle of wine and, as we chatted and flirted, word spread like wildfire that he was alone with me. By the time he popped the cork, everyone—the other women, producers, cameras—swarmed us like bees.

The first date card was announced on the lawn at dusk. As we gathered around Ben, the sun setting behind us, he kept eyeballing me, not so inconspicuously. “Oh my God,” my new pal Casey whispered. “He likes you!” I tried to brush it off, but later Casey told me that it was at that exact moment she and some of the other girls checked out. I was unpleasantly surprised when Ben told Kacie B she got the first one-on-one. I already found her grating. I sort of didn’t care though, because I was tired from traveling and Kacie B would only be getting a short evening date. I held out hope that I’d get the longer all-day, one-on-one date in Sonoma.

When Kacie B was getting ready for her date in the hall bathroom, I walked by and told her that she looked beautiful and to have fun. After she left with Ben, the rest of the girls made the first of our many family dinners and ate together out on the patio. When we weren’t in hotels, we were left on our own to cook meals. Monica, who had already designated herself the group’s resident astrologer, also offered to be chef. She made a giant salad, throwing in tons of meat and cheese without asking anyone if they were vegan or vegetarian. At this point, I wasn’t eating dairy, or chicken, so I had to make my own dinner. Even though it was a small thing, this seemed to alienate me from the group. They thought my diet was “weird” even though Kacie B was gluten free and back then nobody knew what the heck that was yet. I thought they’d all be judgmental about my smoking, so I decided to keep that a secret for as long as possible.

After dinner, the producers gathered us all in the living room so we could film the group date card scene. There was a knock on the door; the card was read aloud. Names were rattled off. I wasn’t one of them—meaning it was fairly certain I’d get the last private date with Ben on this leg of the trip. I was so excited, but so exhausted. I desperately wanted to go to bed, but instead we answered a bunch of questions like, “What do you think the date will be tomorrow?” Or “What do you think Ben and Kacie B are doing right now?” Nobody was saying anything interesting. I piped up with a few sassy comments just to get myself out of there.

After the crew packed up and left us alone in the house, I had an intense urge to run away. Nobody was there to stop me. All I needed was my wallet and I could run like a gazelle through the vineyard into town, find a pay phone to call a cab, and escape to the airport.

Instead, I just went to bed. Or tried to. I quickly realized there was no such thing as a good night’s sleep on this journey. The big partiers (Blakeley, Jaclyn, Monica, Elyse, and more) stayed up late drinking bottles of local wine, playing cards, and cackling—most likely about Monica’s inaccurate, totally amateur astrology readings.

I was assigned a double bed with Nicki, a complete stranger. “I guess it’s you and me, Texas!” I joked to her. Registered nurse Jamie Otis got shoved into the corner of our room on an air mattress, which made a fart noise every time she moved. I got about three hours of sleep.

At the ass-crack of dawn a producer gently woke me up and I dragged myself out of bed. Throughout the entire process, I never knew what day or time it was because I forgot to bring a watch. Huge mistake. I was totally disoriented. It took me a minute to figure out where I was and what the heck I was doing there. Then the house exploded in chaos. It was the first time we all had to get ready at the same time, in the same place.

I shuffled into the kitchen to get coffee. Some women were making breakfast. Elyse’s specialty—bagels with peanut butter and bananas—was quite popular. Others were making themselves mimosas. A couple sat on the counter gossiping about Kacie B’s date last night. I wanted to avoid overhearing anything that would bum me out, so I left to get ready for my day’s activities. While the other women went on their first group date I had plans that included lying out by the pool, napping, and sneaking in some exercise by walking up and down the driveway. The driveway was as far as we were allowed to stray from the house.

At this point in the trip, there were still a lot of girls, but I could go days without seeing someone. For example, I rarely crossed paths with Jennifer Fritsch, an accountant from Oklahoma, because she was on the group date and slept in a room far away from me upstairs. When I was hanging out, she might have been doing an interview and vice versa. Roommates tended to be stuck together and have a similar schedule. Which could be good or bad. Whoever roomed with Blakeley would have been frustrated because she spent an eternity in front of the mirror primping. Whoever roomed with Lindzi may have gotten old-fashioned advice like “Ladies don’t chew gum.” I got to know Nicki pretty well in Sonoma since we were sleeping together and I found her to be a worrywart and insecure. She was always so nervous she’d be sent home.