Page 21 of Unscripted

It was a madhouse with producers and PAs flitting about. Laptops covered almost every available surface. A small table against one wall was stacked with pizza boxes and cases of water. A walkie-talkie charging station had been set up next to it, filled with batteries and manned by a very focused PA making sure everything was charging correctly.

In the middle of the chaos was a massive wall of televisions. There had to have been about thirty small TVs mounted to the back wall of the space, displaying every live feed from inside the villa, each once capturing a different room and space and angle.

During my binge watch of past seasons of the show, I had become familiar with the set-up of the infamous villa: the infinity pool, the massive, shared bedroom where all contestants slept, the outdoor kitchen, the fire pit. But to view the technical bones of the show like this, with every camera broadcasting to one spot, was a whole other experience; one that made my stomach churn.

This was where my future, as far as the viewing public was concerned, would be decided. In a matter of hours, my face would be on these screens; I would be watched and talked about. A storyline would be created, and I would play a role in it. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that the show, while essentially being shot and aired in real time, was without producer intervention. I just hoped that I would be given a fair edit and at the end, when I left the villa, I would be able to walk back into the real world with my head held high.

A foreboding feeling lingered in my gut as we left the Hut and made our way to the wardrobe tent where I let the show’s stylists put me in whatever they wanted. Had I been paying more attention at the time—was I not so distracted by the thought of being a pawn in the reality television game—I would have intervened.

I had already climbed back into the golf cart, Harry driving me down the road we came up, when the fog of panic in my brain cleared and I looked down at myself. I blinked and then blinked again. I was wearing what could only be described as a single scrap of fabric. The red material was so tight, the hemline so short, it was almost indecent. My boobs were pushed up to my clavicles, and the shoes on my feet were so high I wasn’t sure I would last ten minutes in them, let alone the hours I knew were ahead of me.

“I can’t wear this,” I said to Harry, panic laced in my voice.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you look fantastic. Men love red. So do the viewers, according to all the focus groups. I had to bribe Tina in wardrobe to put you and only you in the color,” he said, beaming at me, thrilled that his intervention worked.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It seemed I would have no choice in the matter. Even if I did, the way Harry was zipping back toward the villa made it clear that we were back to the tight schedule that I had been following since my arrival in Italy.

I wished we could have gone to that rocky outcropping at the edge of the property one more time. I wanted a moment for myself to stop and breathe and catch up to my life. I would have happily stood there, staring out at the sea, all day.

Soon enough, we were back where we started. Harry eased the golf cart to a stop at one of the white tents set up along the side of the driveway and turned to me.

“Poppy,” he said, hesitance in his tone.

“Harry,” I countered.

“This is as far as I go with you today,” he said.

“What! You can’t leave me. What am I supposed to do without you?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow for confessional interviews, and then I’ll be with you every step of the way, but for now, this is it for me. I’ll be in the Hut watching and rooting for you.”

“But what am I supposed to do? Like, logistically, where am I supposed to go?”

My brain was short circuiting. I had assumed that Harry would be by my side until the cameras started rolling. Did this mean that it was all about to start? Was my entrance into the villa only minutes away instead of the hours I had assumed it would be?

“Someone from sound will be by soon to meet you. They’ll explain how the mic works and get you all set up, and then one of the senior producers will take it from there. Because the opening scene is such a production, they keep set as clear as possible. All junior producers watch from the Hut. Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer until you head up to the villa, so you won’t have to sit alone with your mind spinning, which I know it’s been doing all day.”

So, he hadn’t been oblivious to the spiraling emotions I had been trying so hard to repress. I didn’t know if that made me feel better or worse.

“Poppy,” he continued, reaching out and gripping my hand in his. “I know this is a lot, but the arrivals are the hardest part. Once you get in there, you’ll get to meet everyone, and then you can have fun. I’ve seen past contestants make really special connections in here, whether it be romantic or even just friends.”

I clutched his hand as I let his words wash over me.

“You’re going to have the best time,” he said. “Just be yourself and try to have some fun.”

We sat in the golf cart for a moment longer. For the millionth time, I was overcome with gratitude for him.

“Thanks, Harry. You’ve made this all really easy so far,” I said.

It had actually been far from easy, but I knew there was no chance I would have even gotten to this moment without him.

“I’m glad. Now get out of my cart. And remember, shoulders back and tits out when you walk into that villa,” he sang out.

Laughing at his advice, I disembarked the golf cart and stood by the side of the driveway, waving him off as he zipped away.

I walked into the holding tent and took a seat on a folding chair that had been set up.

I can do this, I repeated to myself. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.