I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends (26 page)

Us Weekly
wasn’t much better. They infamously called me a “Man-eater” on their cover and announced that I was “worse than you think” because I was a lush and had a secret sex tape. How did they know about a sex tape?

The original cover
Us
planned to feature was a family member’s mug shot from an arrest a couple years before. When I got wind of this distressing development, we offered up my sister Rachel for an exclusive interview (I wasn’t allowed to do press yet) in exchange for never running the mug shot. But that wasn’t good enough. They wouldn’t drop the mention of a sex tape.

Allegedly, my ex Cavan had been offered $1 million from porn distributor Vivid Entertainment, for a tape, if one existed, but he refused to acknowledge the offer. He called me for the first time since we’d broken up: “I’m a perfect gentleman,” he told me. “I would never do that to you. Or my mother.” He was a quality guy.

The National Enquirer
wasn’t about to let that mug shot go and they did end up running it in a despicable story. Needless to say, I was an absolute wreck in New York City. I understood that I was fair game; that’s part of signing up for
The Bachelor
. I actually thought the “Man-eater” line was kind of funny and listened to the Nelly Furtado and Hall and Oates songs of the same name to get more insight into what being a “Man-eater” actually entailed. But in no way did my family deserve to be dragged into this mess. I was wracked with guilt that my decision had ended up hurting them so profoundly.

While I was staying at the Off Soho Suites, Ben called me and we had a hasty conversation. He said he was having a hard time and didn’t know if our relationship could recover from all of the negative press he’d read.

“Ben, you know me. You know how much I love you.” Since Sundance, Ben had been making more of an effort to make me a priority. But when the media shitstorm started, he flipped the switch back to invisible man. He was no J. P. Rosenbaum.

“I need a little space, Courtney. A couple days to think about everything.”

I felt sick and heartbroken. But I told him, “Of course, I understand.”

Ben was about to dump me, my family was in a shambles, and I was totally alone, literally and figuratively. I decided it was time for me to break the rules and take matters into my own hands. I e-mailed a reporter from Wet Paint and told her to meet me at Freemans, my favorite restaurant on the Lower East Side. I figured if she could just meet me, she’d see that I’m really a nice person. I just needed one person on my side to maintain my sanity. We talked for a few hours over many needed cocktails. I told her when the time was right I would give her an exclusive on the ring. I trusted her and she promised me she wouldn’t report that we were engaged. It was a major coup for her to have me as a direct source and she wasn’t going to blow that.

I made it through my Stein Mart shoot, barely, then hopped on a plane back to L.A. I wore my sunglasses on the flight, not because I didn’t want anyone to recognize me, but because my eyes were as puffed up as pizza rolls from crying so hard. The woman sitting next to me was reading the Man-eater cover story and started peppering me with questions. I pulled my earphones out hesitantly, but realized a complete stranger was the perfect person to unload on. I got us a couple little bottles of wine and purged everything about Ben and the show on this poor, kind stranger.

When I got home, I hadn’t heard from Ben in days, so I wrote him a last ditch e-mail:

My love,

I want you to know I really miss you, and that you’re on my mind. What a mess we’re in, to say the least! I understand 100 percent where you’re at with everything. I know you’re scared and I’m right there with you. My heart has already been broken by all of this. Words cannot describe how disappointed I am with the way this has all played out. After going through something so traumatic, I can so clearly see what’s important in life, and what’s not. I have been in survival mode, and have found a strength within that is pulling me through. I put myself in your shoes every day, and have felt your pain. I care about you so deeply and find peace in knowing you will be okay, with or without me. Lately I picture losing the life I dreamed of having with you, as well as the feeling of not knowing what could have been.

I don’t want to live my life with any regrets. And as of right now, I’m choosing to focus only on the positive side of things. I’m alive; this will all go away. I fell in love with the man of my dreams … I’m willing to fight for you and our relationship. The thing that’s strongest in my heart is my love for you. We have so much to learn about each other, and that will be the fun part ;). I hope you can trust in everything I say to you, and know I’ve always had your best interest at heart. I just wanted you to know where I’m at, before it’s too late. Know I love you more than anything.

All my love, C

P.S. I wish I could be with you on Valentine’s Day. I made you a mix CD. I hope you listen to it ;).

Ben never responded to this e-mail and he never got me a Valentine’s Day gift. For anyone else who cares, here’s the playlist of love songs I made for him on iTunes:

“Forever” by Ben Harper

“Dreamin’” by Feldberg

“This Year’s Love” by David Gray

“When the Night Comes” by Dan Auerbach

“Paradise” by Coldplay

“Conversation 16” by the National

“Wasted” by Angus and Julia Stone

“Where Dirt and Water Collide” by the White Buffalo

“I Would Do Anything for You” by Foster the People

“50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” by Paul Simon

This is a terrible thing to say, but on February 11 Whitney Houston died suddenly and tragically, and I was thankfully forgotten and not followed by the paparazzi for a few weeks.

Around this time, I went out to get a haircut and afterward went to Earthbar on Santa Monica Boulevard for a smoothie. I noticed the paps mingling around but they weren’t there for me. They were following Russell Brand, who had recently split with Katy Perry. Funny enough, Russell and I had on matching outfits: black fedoras and denim shirts (hey, it was a hot look at the time). He turned around, we locked eyes, and I smiled. We did kind of look alike. He marched right over to me and put his face close to mine.

“You’ve got little eyebrows all over your face,” he said in his adorable British accent.

“Oh, I just got a haircut!” I said, laughing and brushing the little hairs off my face. “They say I look like you in the media,” I added, not knowing if he had any clue who I was.

“Well, my mum tells me I’m very handsome, so you should take that as a compliment,” he said. “Why are you in the media?”

I told him I was on
The Bachelor
and had just gotten engaged. “Wait, you mean to tell me you got engaged on a television show! So you’re engaged to a total stranger!” Yep. Nail on head.

Actually, I didn’t even know what I was. On actual Valentine’s Day, I met a
Bachelor
producer at a Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf in the afternoon to discuss me going on the “Women Tell All” episode. It would be a
Bachelor
first: the final two women had never appeared on it before, as it created more mystery surrounding the finale. But the producers wanted to give the women the chance to confront me and also give me a shot to defend myself. I really didn’t want to do it and my contract didn’t require it. I definitely had to appear on “After the Final Rose” no matter what, but this decision was totally up to me. I was leaning against it.

I still hadn’t heard from Ben and was crying throughout the meeting.

As the producer tried to convince me to do the show, I finally received a text from my fiancé, who was in Las Vegas to promote his wine:

“Happy v day. It’s a really awkward day for me right now and not sure how to approach it with you. Just wanted to say hi.”

I handed the phone to the producer to read the message.

“I’m done,” I said flatly. “And I’m doing the ‘Women Tell All.’”

I went home and drank a few glasses of wine so I wouldn’t send an impulsive, rage-filled response to Ben’s emotionless text. An hour later I was ready to be civilized: “All I wanted to hear today was that you still love me, and it’s clear you don’t feel that way anymore. I think we need to talk about this tomorrow.”

“I agree,” he wrote back. “I will call you at 5:00 when I get home tomorrow evening.”

I finished the bottle of wine, so incredibly pissed off. And then I finally stopped crying. I was over Ben Flajnik and his bullshit.

THE NEXT DAY
at 5:00 on the dot, he called. We had another one of our quickie convos, as if we were talking about one of his gourmet grocery lists and not the painful end of our relationship. I turned the tables on him. This time I was the one being short, snappy, and unemotional.

“I’m done. I can’t do this,” I said, not a tremor in my voice.

Of course, now that I was over and out, he dragged his feet, pausing awkwardly and trying to be nice. But I’d had it.

“And I’m doing the ‘Women Tell All’ for myself.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, surprised.

That was pretty much it. Mr. Communication had little else to say so we got off the phone. And we were officially broken up. All that was left to do was watch ourselves fall in love and get engaged on TV.

12

RANTING, RAVING & CHEATING

L
ess than a week after Ben’s and my engagement imploded, I faced the firing squad on the “Women Tell All” special.

When I arrived on the set, in another new Alice and Olivia dress, I was kept far away from Ben, who had to face the wrath of the rejected himself. I had gotten a text from him the day before while I was at lunch with Casey. He asked to meet me after the show at a Happy Couple safe house to talk. I reluctantly agreed.

“I feel like we owe it to ourselves to talk face-to-face,” he texted. “Even if it’s a straight-up cry fest.”

Jeez, Ben, like this day wasn’t stressful enough?

I was also given my own trailer, separate from the other women, who were all together. To keep calm, I guzzled white wine. I went over my game plan in my head: apologize, be humble, and show vulnerability. Do
not
be defensive, and most of all, do not cry on-camera.

Chris Harrison stopped by my trailer. He hugged me and said, “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.” The only problem was he wasn’t fine. He felt really sick and was as pale as a ghost. But he was a pro and, as we all know, the show must go on.

While they got a shot of me pacing in the parking lot, a producer, one who’d always managed to say the wrong thing to me, came up to me and gave me unwanted and idiotic advice: “Just be a girl.”

I finally got my cue. I walked into the studio and though there was some clapping, I only heard the loud boos from the audience. It made my soul hurt. It got so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I scanned the room. Fans were shaking their heads in disgust and my old roomies were huddled with each other whispering. This was an absolute nightmare. Unfortunately, I was wide awake. The tears started rolling down my cheek. So much for not crying on-camera.

Jenna Burke, the Over-Analyst blogger who got sent home after she passed out in a bed, broke the ice by saying she wanted to give me a hug. She walked across the stage to embrace me.

Chris abruptly told the crew he needed to stop taping. He was so ill he had to go lie down in his trailer. After he walked off the stage, I was left alone in the middle of the studio like the lamb for the slaughter. Audience and cast members hurled insults at me like I was on
The Jerry Springer Show
.

A producer came to my rescue and sat with me face-to-face so I wouldn’t have to look at anyone. My mike was still on and a pool of reporters camped backstage overheard our conversation.

“I don’t know if I can show that emotion again,” I said.

“You have to,” the producer said. “This is for you. This is for you and Ben.”

I was crippled with fear and bowed my head again so nobody could see me cry.

As my shoulders were shaking, Monica Spannbauer shouted out, “Look at her! She’s laughing!” Elyse, who by now had seen the “sight for sore eyes” episode, shouted, “You love the paparazzi! You love the attention! This is what you want!” Samantha the Chihuahua was shrieking at me, too, but I was so traumatized I blocked out what she said.

I found it fascinating that they claimed that I was in this for the fame. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Plus, during filming, when the cameras weren’t there, so many of these same women sat around talking about what it was going to be like when they were “famous” after the show started airing. They were excited about being recognized and hoping for lucrative opportunities.

One audience member made a heart shape with her hand and mouthed, “I love you!” But the verbal abuse became so bad I was taken back to my trailer until Chris was ready to shoot again. When he felt well enough to give it another go, the torture continued. It didn’t help when he started off with, “The women are understandably pissed. I mean
pissed
at you,” then left me hanging in the breeze. I’m going to forgive him for not coming to my defense that one time, because he was sick. But he didn’t seem to have my back at all.