Walk of Shame
Authors: O. L. Gregory
Walk of Shame
O. L. Gregory
Text Copyright ©2015 O. L. Gregory
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the
author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
This book is licensed for your
personal enjoyment only. It may not be resold
Chapter Eight
-
Week
One - 12 Men Left
Chapter Nine
-
Week
Two - 10 Men Left
Chapter Ten
-
Week
Three - 8 Men Left
Chapter Eleven
-
Week
Four - Seven Men Left
Chapter Twelve
-
Week
Five - Five Guys Left
Chapter Thirteen
-
Week
Six - Still Five Guys Left
Chapter Fourteen
-
Week
Seven - Four Guys Left
Chapter Fifteen
-
Week
Eight - Three Men Left
Fed Up
The stupid idiots in the stupid
novel were making out again. If I'd been watching a movie, the dramatic music
would have cued up in the background five minutes ago. In about another minute,
the music would be taking a turn as the couple took things into the bedroom, or
up against the nearest wall what with the way the author had the girl moaning
and the guy groaning.
And the really horrible, awful
part of the whole situation was that I was the author.
There I was, sitting in my comfy
little living room, looking out over a moonlit lake, on a Friday night, and my
only companion was a golden retriever. I know, pathetic, right? I mean, I could
get a date, that wasn't the problem. It's that my life was just not set up so
that I can have an actual relationship.
And I could change my lifestyle,
but I really didn't want to. I liked my life. Hell, I loved my life.
I just wished I had someone who
would lift me up against a wall, carry me off to the bedroom, then still be
there come morning, and still be around for repeat performances as time went
on.
I looked back down at my computer
and resisted the urge to delete a full day's worth of work. It wasn't horrible
work, I just didn't enjoy writing about a character that I was so thoroughly
jealous of in the moment.
I set my laptop on the coffee
table instead. I stood, stretched, and walked over to the trio of windows
looking out onto the beach. Goldie, my creatively named golden retriever, let
out a soft 'woof' and started thumping her tail against the floor.
"You wanna go out?"
She lifted her head, her tail
making big swishing wags, and then she whined.
I took that as a yes. I didn't
really even need to ask. She always wanted to go out. "C'mon."
Up and to the door she went. I
opened the door, took the three steps down to the ground, and she beat me
around the front end of the fifth wheel, grabbing her stick along the way.
I loved this campground. I'd
added it to my running list of favorites on my desktop. Decent sized sites,
full hook-ups, excellent wireless signals, the satellite TV reception was
great, and right on the beach, overlooking a peaceful lake. They even had
mountains way off in the background, for crying out loud.
The price in-season had been out
of my league But the winter pricing was doable, and so here I am.
Goldie dropped her stick at my
feet once I'd caught up to her. And like the dutiful human that I was, I picked
it up and threw it further down the beach for her. March was too early to be
throwing it out over the water.
"Oh my God, that was weak.
You throw like a girl!"
I scanned for the face that went
with the familiar voice and saw him inside the window of the travel trailer in
the site next to mine. "Yeah, well, last time I checked I was one."
He laughed and took my response
as an invitation to join me on the beach.
Ben was a nice enough guy. He'd
pulled in two days after I had, about six weeks ago. He had apparently accumulated
two months of vacation time over the last few years with his job. They were
changing their policy and they weren't going to let the employees carry over
their paid time off from the previous year anymore. So, rather than lose it,
he'd rented a travel trailer and had taken off. We'd talked and gotten to know
one another during those first couple of weeks. He'd taken me to dinner a few
times. But, the man lived in New York City, and I am
so
not a city girl.
Goldie sure liked him though. She
brought the stick back and dropped it at his feet.
He picked it up and launched it
down the shoreline. And then we fell in step together and walked down the
beach. If Goldie hadn't have liked him, I never would have went out with him,
even as friends. I had always gone with the line of thinking that if she got
all protective and growled at someone, there was a reason for it.
"So, how's the word-count
today?" he asked.
"Fifty-six hundred."
"Wow. Good job."
"Yeah, but I don't like the
entire last scene I did. It felt... forced."
"Why?"
"The dialogue sounded
contrived, and the actions predictable. It just wasn't flowing for me."
"So what do you do?"
"Read over it again
tomorrow, highlight what bugs me, and try to play the scene from a different
angle. If that doesn't work, I'll look at my outline and try picking a
different scene to work on."
He chuckled. "I thought
bringing yourself out here, so you could have an inspirational setting to work
in, was supposed to help you."
Goldie brought the stick back and
Ben threw it again.
"It does, and it has, very
much. It's just that not every scene writes itself. In the meantime, I have all
this to watch and see around me."
"Have you eaten yet?"
"No, but I have some
leftovers I was going to heat up."
"I have stew in a crock
pot..."
"You cooked? Like, with real
food?"
"Hey! I've been doing pretty
well for myself lately. And as long as frozen vegetables count, then yes, I
used real food. You wanna come have some with me?"
"Sure. Getting tired of
eating by yourself again?"
"I just can't get used to
it. I'm just now getting the hang of all the quiet."
"I thought that's what you
wanted?"
"Yeah,
and it was nice for a couple weeks. But I'm looking forward to getting back to
the hustle and bustle."
I stomped back into my fifth
wheel an hour later. We'd had a pleasant dinner, trading banter back and forth,
cracking jokes, and laughing. It was nice, but then he tried to kiss me and I'd
dodged him. It wouldn't have been a big deal, but then instead of taking the
hint, he propositioned me to spend the night with him. ...Really? ...
Really?
He was going back to the city in
less than a week and he wanted to start up sex now?
And this isn't the first time in
the last four years that I'd been living like this that this same situation has
come up. It's the story of my adult life. Meet a guy who's only going to be
around for a few days or weeks, get chummy, then get propositioned.
I'm not gonna lie. I took a
couple of them up on their short-term offers over the years. But I wanted a
relationship, dammit. But then again, did I really want to give up being able
to wonder around on my own terms? I go where I want, when I want, and the only
thing I have to consult is my checking account.
Mountains, beach, valley, desert,
warm, cold, snow, sun, whatever I'm in the mood for, I head for. A week, a
month, maybe two, sometimes for just a couple nights, depends on what I want to
see. Goldie and I have a goal to at least hike a bit in every national park in
the contiguous forty-eight states.
If I had a husband, I'd have to
give up some of that flexibility. Not to mention that the vast majority of the
guys I meet don't RV full time. Which means I'd lose that flexibility
altogether.
Ugh.
I flopped on the couch and turned
on the satellite, flipping through the channels.
I finally settled on a rerun of a
reality show called
Walk of Shame
. I watched as the starring girl went
out on dates with all these handsome men. She was down to the last four, all
proclaiming to have feelings for her, all having families that just loved her.
Her own family on camera, trying to help her decide which one of the four she
was going to send packing at the end of the show.
I watched as she cried to the
host about how they were all great guys and she didn't know which one she
should get rid of.
"Um, chickie," I called
out to the TV, "ditch the mortician. You're a pediatrician. Someone along
the way will sue you for trying to drive business towards the mortician hubby
the minute you can't save their kid. Plus, I mean really, when he comes home
after touching and preparing dead people all day, do you really want him
touching you? It's a little creepy."
Personally, I thought she should
go for the dude who used to be a circus clown. He could totally dress up and
come entertain the kids in her waiting room on busy days. That guy had just
earned his degree to work with imprisoned youths. I'd totally give him a job,
if I could. I'd wait until Halloween, throw a movie night at the detention
center and show them Stephen King's
It
. Then I'd send the guy in his
clown suit in and scare the crap out of all of them.
She ended up ditching the
architect at the end of the show. I don't know, I thought he held a certain
appeal, even if she had cringed when he showed her some of his designs while on
their date. I guess she didn't want him getting any ideas about her living in
one of his tiny house designs.
But it had gotten me thinking
about how if these people, who had nice, normal lives and lived in one place,
couldn't find someone appropriate to date and have a lasting relationship with,
then there must be no hope for me. I mean, they didn't really have an excuse,
and they still couldn't do it. I was just doomed.
They ran the ending credits and
then threw up an advertisement about how if you want to be the next contestant,
to go online now and fill out an application. I'd seen it a million times
before. But this time had me wondering... What if I did it? What if I spent a
couple months there, met some guys, and found someone? They'd have to pick guys
for me that could live the lifestyle, right? And if we met while we were
stationary, we could plan our travels after the show to coincide with each
other, right?
I pulled my computer onto my lap
and typed in the website.
For the record, I thought I was
about to do a very stupid thing. But, I also figured that thousands of other
girls were filling out the application and that nothing would ever come of it.
So, I indulged my impulse and filled it out. They'd provided a box and plenty
of character allowance to explain why I thought this might be my only option at
finding love. I'd also driven home the fact that they'd never taken on people
who had a legitimate lack of opportunity to find someone compatible to both
themselves and their lifestyle.
I quickly hit the submit button
before I chickened out. And as soon as I did, I picked up my cell phone and
texted my sister. 'Omg. I just did the dumbest thing, ever.'
'What?'
'I just applied to be on
Walk
of Shame.'
'You've got to be kidding! We
make fun of that show.'
'I know.'
'...I have no words.'
'I know.'
'If they pick you, are you going
to do it?'
'I don't freaking know.'
'I think you should. It'll make
great material for a book.'
'Har. Har.' I got up to close the
blinds and lock the door. It was time to head for bed.
The Phone Call
Two weeks after my lapse in sane
judgment, I was packing up and securing my stuff in preparation to put the fifth
wheel back on the road. My sister was about to go on spring break from school and
I was going to pick her up at college and take her back to Mom and Dad's. I was
going to park the trailer in their yard and we'd spend the week getting spoiled
by Mommy.
Chloe was going to help proofread
some of my latest drafts, Mom was going to cook, and Dad was going to lecture
us on the dangers awaiting young women alone at college parties and campgrounds
again.
My phone rang just as I had
finished up with the kitchen area. I looked at the caller ID and didn't
recognize the number. I almost ignored it, but hit the button to answer,
"Hello?"
"Hello, have I reached Miss Emmaline
Jacobs?"
The last time I was asked that in
such a formal matter, it was a small publishing house interested in one of my
books that I'd sent in a proposal for. My heart started beating a little faster
as I got excited that I might be getting another one of those phone calls. "Yes,
this is she."
"My name is Elaine Brown,
and I work with casting for
Walk of Shame
."
I couldn't form words. My jaw hit
the floor so hard I think I might have bruised it.
She must be used to getting
silence on these calls because she pretty much ignored it. "We received
your application to be on the show, and we wondered if you'd be willing to come
in and do an interview with the producers."
"Uhhh... I guess... When were
you thinking to schedule it?"
"Next week. We'd like to get
it in as soon as possible, in case things don't work out and we have to find
someone else. We'd fly you in, pick you up at the airport, and put you up for
two nights. We'd make sure you got home, as well."
"Well, I guess I could move
some things around... How about later in the week?"
"We can fly you in on
Wednesday and then back out on Friday, if that works for you."
"Yes. I think I can make
that work."
"What airport would you be
flying out of?" Elaine asked.
"Philadelphia International.
If you could make my departure and arrival times during commuter train hours,
I'd appreciate it."
"Sure. I'll send you an email
with all the confirmations and links for you."
"Thank you."
"You're very welcome. Have a
nice day."
"And you as well."
We hung up,
and I stood there another few moments in total and complete shock. I seriously
had no idea what I wanted to do. Throw up, maybe?
It's a bit of a production to
pull a truck with a fifth wheel through a college campus. Fortunately, it was
later in the evening, after most students had left. I'd had to pull into a
nearly empty parking lot across the street from her dorm.
I'd texted Chloe about five
minutes out, and sure enough, she came bouncing out of her dorm before I'd even
attempted to invent a parking spot. She put down her bags and threw the door
open. She started squealing and Goldie flew out to her, barking and whining her
heart out.
"Someone's ready to go
home," I commented when she climbed in and tossed her laundry bag and
loaded backpack behind the seat and then patted her leg so Goldie would jump
back in.
"I've been ready all
afternoon. My last class of the day ended at twelve."
"Sorry I couldn't get here
any faster. But the thought of driving this in heavy traffic, on these side
streets, with kids walking and gawking all over the place..."
"It's all right. If I'd have
had to wait for Dad, I'd be here another hour and a half."
"Uh, Chloe," I said
while I was negotiating my way back out of the parking lot.
"Yeah?"
"Someone from casting called
me yesterday."
"Casting? Casting for
what?" Then her eyes grew huge. "Ohhh! You mean for the show?"
"Yeah."
She started laughing. "Oh,
my God! They picked you!" She got to laughing so hard she was snorting.
"It's not definite yet. They
want to fly me out to Los Angeles on Wednesday, for two nights. They want to
interview me."
"Well, are they interviewing
anybody else?"
"I don't know. They just
said they wanted to do it as soon as possible, in case it doesn't work
out."
"So, are you going to do
it?"
"I don't know. I mean, it's
stupid, right? We think this show is stupid."
"Well, are they going to
pick guys that live on the road, too?"
"I don't know what their
screening process is."
"Well, go find out. Most
people have others in their area they could be dating instead of looking for
someone who lives in another part of the country. You don't have that luxury.
If they're going to pick guys that live on the road like you do, I say go for
it."
"But cameras will be
following me around all over the place."
"They can't follow you all
hours of the day... They boil an entire week down to an hour or two, minus
commercials."
"I don't know. I guess
they'll leave me alone long enough to sleep, maybe. They want to catch all the
highlights. I'm assuming they'll have cameras on all the time so they catch
anything interesting."
"Nah, once they get
beginning shots of you doing your morning routine, maybe following you on a
morning run that you and Goldie take, they'll leave you alone, unless you're
with the guys or getting something from one of them."
"And that's another thing.
What am I going to do with the pooch?"
"Easy, you either take her
along, or you leave her with me. They film in the summer, right?"
"I guess. Wait, you sound
like you really watch the show."
"I do."
"I thought that we thought
it was stupid."
"Some of the couples from
the show really get married."
"And so you've been watching
it?"
"They have all the back
episodes on YouTube. I think I'm more fascinated by it than anything else. It's
like intensified speed dating, but more like speed relationships. You get a
shot at working your way through a dozen relationships all at once. I think,
with your lifestyle, it's worth a shot, if the guys are screened
properly."
"Wow," I said as I
pulled onto the highway. "You've put thought into this."
"Why wouldn't I? It would be
super cool to brag about my big sister being on the show. Besides, you're not
the only one in this family with an imagination."
"I have
to admit, I'd sure be interested to know what they all would be doing for a
living."
"Absolutely not," Mom
declared.
"Why?" It had taken
everything I had not to whine my question at her. I actually had to remind
myself that she no longer held the power to tell me 'no'.
"Because, that's not how you
find a husband."
"Okay. Then tell me how I'm
supposed to do it."
"You move back home, you go
out to the-"
"No," Dad interrupted
and pointed to the back door. "That door swings one way, out. Live here as
long as you need, get your feet on the ground, and then once you move out,
you're out. Unless your place burns down, or you're injured and can't stay by
yourself, then you can move back temporarily. Come and visit as often as you
can. But kids move out and stay out."
Chloe and I shared a smile.
"She didn't move out,"
Mom countered. "She just goes on extended camping trips in a
trailer."
"She's also twenty-seven
years old," he muttered before turning to me. "Em, where do you
live?" Dad asked.
"Legally? In a post office
box. Physically? I RV full-time. All my stuff is in my 'trailer'," I
answered.
"And where don't you
live?" he asked.
"I don't live here," I
said, repeating the same routine he and I have a million times before because
my mother just couldn't grasp the concept that my roots were mobile.
"Well, you could rent an
apartment here. Your Dad and I have friends who have sons-"
"No! Please, we've been
through this. I
like
living in the fifth wheel. I
like
moving
around and trying out new places."
She sighed. My Mom had been born,
raised, and continued to live, in a five-mile radius. And she liked it. My
genetics had not lined up that way.
"So, living the way I do,
how would you like for me to go about finding a husband?" I asked her.
"I don't know, but not this
way! You do not date twelve men all at the same time. You do not kiss twelve
men, all at once, on national television. You were not raised that way."
"Oh, Mom, please,"
Chloe jumped in. "We were raised to not sleep with a dozen guys all at
once. You never put restrictions on kissing."
I burst out laughing.
Dad slapped his forehead and
rubbed it, as he questioned his fate with daughters.
And Mom shot daggers straight out
of her eye sockets.
"Mom," I said, laying
my hand on hers across the kitchen table to reassure her, "I promise I
won't kiss them all at once... I'll kiss them one at a time, and sometimes off-camera."
It was Chloe's turn to burst out with
laughter.
That was it. Mom was done. Up and
out of her chair she went, and off into the bedroom. It must be hell when your
kid grows up and insists upon doing things her own way.
Dad sat down at the table and
scrubbed at his face. "I hate that you're out there traveling the country
by yourself."
"Which is why you made me
get my permit and go learn how to shoot a gun. And then you made me get Goldie
and go for dog training lessons."
"Yes, I didn't want you out
there defenseless against guys looking for a vulnerable woman."
"And so?"
"And so I don't hate the
idea of your doing the show."
Chloe's eyebrows shot up and I
just smiled.
"If you're dating these guys
on camera," he reasoned, "then you can't just up and disappear.
You'll be supervised."
"Supervised?" I
deadpanned.
"Yes. Or more like the guys
will be supervised. Everything they say or do will be televised. I like that
kind of accountability. And, hopefully, I've raised you to be smart enough to
filter out the whack-jobs pretty quick. And, by the time the cameras disappear,
you just might have yourself a decent guy for a relationship. If nothing else,
I'll be able to sleep at night for a couple months and not worry about you
being out there all alone."
"The lack of worry is all
you care about, isn't it?"
"Someone will know where you
are twenty-four/seven. And that, sweetheart, is worth its weight in gold to
your old man. And, if you end up marrying this guy, I'll never have to worry to
the same extent, again." He knocked his knuckles on the tabletop, to
signal the end of him giving me his opinion, and stood to go outside and mow
the lawn.
Chloe and I just sat at the
table, looking at one another. That wasn't how we thought the talk with Dad
would have gone down. In the end, we started giggling like we did any other
time we got away with something and felt triumphant over it.