Playing With My Heart Strings, page 5
“Baylor.” I take it and get a better look at her. She’s beautiful, with lush, bouncy curls and full curves. She doesn’t fit the typical image for reality TV—I hate that my mind immediately goes there, but it’s not entirely false. Most of our competing reality shows cast max size-two women, so it’s refreshing to see Sparks Studio Productions prioritizing diversity.
“I don’t think I saw you earlier this week. But then again, there were so many people here that it’s hard to keep track as it is.” She laughs, her eyes gleaming.
“Yeah, there are a ton of people here. I’m not sure how the producers keep everyone straight.” I chuckle nervously.
“Producers? I don’t know how Dusty is able to keep everyone straight. But at least he only has to get to know ten of us, right? Actually, that’s not very reassuring,” she says, her mouth moving a mile a minute.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” I try to reassure her.
“Right, right. I’m getting ahead of myself. I need to not get so worked up over it. What’s meant to be, will be, right?” She gives me a tight smile, but her nerves reflect in her eyes. Is this how I should be feeling? I mean, I’m nervous, but it’s for an entirely different reason.
“Ladies, if I could get your attention please!” As Colette St. James walks through the sea of women, all eyes snap toward her. “We’re about to start filming, so if everyone could please listen for a moment.”
“Here we go.” Sage gives me a nervous glance as the other women crowd around Colette, although the chattering doesn’t completely stop.
Whispers of, “Will Dusty be here tonight?” and, “I hope I don’t go home,” can be heard from all sides of me.
I’m wedged between Sage and a dark-haired girl with a sharp stare and fox-like features. We make eye contact for a split second, and while I give her a soft smile, she looks me up and down, assessing me. Instead of acknowledging me, she lets out a puff of air, a tiny smirk creeping into her lips.
All right, then.
“Okay, ladies, here’s how this is going to work. There are a lot of you tonight, so we want to make this as quick as possible so you can get settled and ready for a big day of filming tomorrow.” Colette steps out onto center stage, her heels clicking against the laminate floor. “We’ll be calling the names of only the contestants that made it through. Ten of you will advance. Twenty of you will be going home.”
Whispers intensify as the reality of what is going to happen sets in. It finally feels like an actual competition.
“If your name is announced, you’ll walk out on center stage then line up on the risers. Got it?”
Heads bob up and down around me.
“Great. Let’s roll.” Colette gestures to the cameramen before the host of the show steps out onto the stage as the space floods with lights and music starts playing.
“Welcome back to Heart Strings! I’m your host Jarrod Stone. You’ve seen women from around the country sing their hearts out for the chance to win over Dusty Wilder’s heart. Tonight, ten of those women will move forward.
“Every week, there will be eliminations, and every week you, the viewers, will have the opportunity to vote and save one of the bottom contestants to give them another shot at winning Dusty’s heart and a record deal.
“Now, without further ado, let’s meet the women!”
Jarrod announces the first couple women, and even though I know I’m making it through, my heart still races.
“Next up, we’ve got Aspen!”
The fox-faced girl next to me gives me the side-eye as she plasters on a smile and steps forward, heading to center stage.
Great. Of course, she made the cut.
Six of the ten names are called, and they still haven’t announced me yet. I wouldn’t put it past Colette to do some dramatic reveal, but it’s also my understanding that they want to keep my real identity a secret. After all, it wouldn’t be a great look for the production company if everyone knew that they had planted someone on the show.
Then again, it was pretty obvious by the looks I was getting from the other girls here that I wasn’t at the auditions. If they do some dramatic reveal, they’ll probably be able to say I was “America’s choice” or some shit like that.
“Sage, you are going through!” Jarrod calls out.
Sage’s shoulders drop in relief, and she can’t seem to hide her smile as she walks out on stage.
As the number of spots dwindles down, the tension in the room steadily increases. I know that’s part of what Colette wants. The camera captures everything. I may not be a producer with the company, but I’ve seen a lot working in the communications department. I know from experience that drama makes for good television.
“For all you folks back home, we’re down to the final three spots, and the tension on this stage is palpable. Let’s meet the rest of the women, shall we?”
Two women who aren’t me are announced, and I roll my eyes at the fact they chose to introduce me last.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our last contestant is a very special young lady. Those of you at home may recognize her voice from a video that went viral recently. This was something not even our producers saw coming, but we always want to give you, the people, a voice of your own. So, without further ado, our last contestant, America’s choice, is…Baylor!”
I shake my head, knowing Colette would pull something like this, but plaster a smile onto my face as I walk out on stage. I squint to adjust to the spotlights, wave to the camera, then take my place next to the rest of the girls, some of whom have understandably shocked expressions on their faces.
“And with that, here are the ten women who will be vying for a record deal and Dusty’s heart!”
“Cut! That’s a wrap on that, everyone. Take ten, and we’ll do some individual filming next,” the director calls, and the stage, which once had an air of tension, is now a scene of bustling producers and camera crewmen.
7
dusty
Great Value Chris Harrison
Last night, I was told the recording of the Heart Strings live auditions and contestant selection aired and I wasn’t allowed to watch. The only person I could talk to was my manager, and I had to use the hotel landline to contact him. The producers took my cell phone after the second day of filming the auditions and have kept it.
It’s not like I’m going to look up anything related to the show, but whatever. I get it. They don’t want us on social media or reading anything Heart Strings related. It’s been an adjustment not being so connected to the outside world and my fans, but I’ve never really been a huge fan of social media anyway.
I was given the rundown about how filming will work going forward. A few days a week will be for the bulk of filming, where I’ll spend time with all the women and “test out our chemistry.” Then we’ll have a day for interviews, followed by free days that the production company will use for editing the footage. Although, I’m not quite sure what kind of freedom I’ll have. From my understanding, I’ll basically have someone with me at all times except when I’m shitting, showering, or sleeping. I’m twenty-nine, for God’s sake. I don’t need a babysitter. I can behave.
Today, I’m meeting all ten of the women I—and the producers—chose.
“Dusty, are you ready?” the staff member assigned to babysit me today calls from outside my room, breaking me out of my thoughts.
Ready as I’ll ever be. I sigh as I pull a tan cowboy hat off one of the racks I had the styling team bring in. They tried to get me to fit into their specific image, but I told them it was either what I normally wear or nothing at all.
Today, I put on starched Wranglers, a white button-down, and a tan suit jacket with gator skin boots. I skip the tie, ignoring what the stylist told me to wear, and undo a couple of the snaps near the top of the shirt. If this is the way for me to keep a shred of control and possibly rebel against the label, I’ll take it.
After combing through my mustache with my fingers, I open the door and step out, looking my personal babysitter—Brent?—in the eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, probably about my appearance, but I raise my eyebrows at him and he quickly shuts it.
“Hello, Bryan.” I nod at him.
“It’s Brett,” he sighs. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”
He leads me to the car that’s going to take us to where we’ll be filming for the day. It’s a sleek, black Range Rover with tinted windows. I open the door and slip inside, the scent of leather filling my nostrils. Brody follows, and we sit in silence for the twenty-minute drive.
While the auditions were filmed in the production building, the rest of the show will be filmed in different locations around Nashville. The filming schedule obviously isn’t released to the public—they don’t want fans showing up and leaking information—but I have a hard time believing fans won’t find a way to show up regardless.
We pull up to a gated traditional European-style house—well, mansion may be a better way to put it—near Brentwood. Security opens the gate once they verify who we are, and we head down the long drive.
“How rich is Sparks Studio Productions?” I gawk at the scenery around us.
“Heart Strings may be new, Dusty, but SSP is not,” Brandon replies simply.
I’ll say. I can’t believe they can afford to buy these properties, but I guess if they’re filming several of these types of shows a year, it makes sense.
“We don’t own these properties, but the owners let us rent out the spaces we need.” He answers the question floating around in my head. “Here’s the deal. Today is when you’ll meet all of the women chosen to compete. It’ll kind of be like speed dating. You’ll have five minutes with each of them to get to know a bit about them. Then at the end, you’ll choose one woman you’d like to spend a little more time with one-on-one.”
“What happens with the rest of them?”
“You’ll have more time with everyone in a group setting. Then on Wednesday, based on how your interactions go, you’ll choose seven women to continue on. At the end of the episode, viewers will get to save one of the bottom three women during live voting.”
Damn, so they’re cutting two people right off the bat. They don’t mess around here.
“How will I know who to keep?” This whole thing suddenly feels a bit overwhelming. Sure, I’ve had fans showing their affection for me, but I’ve never dated ten people at the same time.
“You’ll have your favorites, of course. But the production team can help you make your decisions. After all, we want a good show, right?” He winks at me, and then the car comes to a halt.
I step out of the Range Rover, and production staff instantly flock to me, guiding me into the massive property.
Immediately upon walking into the house, I notice a chandelier overhead and a checkered tile entryway opening to a massive sitting area with a fireplace. I walk across the living area to double doors that open to a huge deck. It overlooks a pool that looks like it came straight out of a scene from ancient Rome, with its marble columns and sculptures.
“There’ll be time for a tour later.” A voice over my shoulder startles me. “But it’s stunning, isn’t it?”
I look back, and it’s just Jarrod, the show host. I assume we’ll become best buds by the end of this experience if he’s anything like the old host of the Bachelor franchise shows, Chris Harrison, was.
“Yeah, it’s definitely way out of my budget.” I laugh.
“Well, get used to it, because you’ll be staying here for the next few weeks.” He claps me on the shoulder as he walks away and stylists take over. They lead me to the master suite bathroom where the entire hair and makeup department is set up.
By the time late afternoon rolls around, I’m already exhausted and ready to call it a day and we haven’t even started filming anything. I can already tell it’s going to be a long night.
“Dusty, over here.” Film crew members direct me to the spot I’m supposed to stand.
“Let’s get a shot of Jarrod and Dusty together!” the director yells. “Action!”
Jarrod puts a hand on my shoulder. “How’re you feeling, man? You ready for this?”
I put on an artificial smile for the cameras, although the pit in my stomach isn’t fake. “I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I’ve never dated this many women at once.”
“Man, I would’ve thought a big country music star like you would have women falling at his feet.” Jarrod chuckles.
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Sure, they do tend to fall at my feet, but that doesn’t mean I date several of them at once. Musicians may have the reputation of getting around and having fun, but some of us are just trying to put food on the table and get by.
I give him a playful nudge instead and say, “You’d be surprised, Jarrod.” God, this is so cheesy. This isn’t me.
“Cut!” the director calls. “That was great, guys. The women will be here soon, and then we’ll start filming again.”
About twenty minutes later, a touring bus pulls up in front of the house. Not quite what I was expecting, considering the house we were filming at, but maybe they didn’t want to use a limo for fear of really ripping off other dating shows. I’ll never understand reality TV.
One by one, women file off the bus. They’re all ushered inside, but that doesn’t stop some of them from waving or trying to steal glances at me.
“Dusty, we’re going to have you stand here.” A producer directs me to the small courtyard next to the house.
Another fifteen excruciatingly slow minutes pass, and nothing happens. My mind starts to wander a bit, and my stomach growls. I’m hungry. Is there going to be any food here?
After a little while longer, the director finally comes back, as well as the executive producer.
“All right, everybody, the moment we’ve been waiting for.” She claps her hands together. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
The cameras start rolling, and Jarrod dramatically walks toward me. It all feels so scripted, except I have no idea what to do.
“Hello, Jarrod,” I say, wanting to break this awkward silence.
“Dusty. We’ve got ten amazing women here to meet you. Are you ready?” he asks as if we didn’t already have this conversation.
“I am.” Is it hot out here? Maybe a suit jacket was a bad idea for early summer in Nashville. At my side, my hands are slick and clammy. Am I nervous? There’s no way I’m nervous; this isn’t real. It’s all just for show, right?
“Best of luck to you, Dusty.” He gestures to the house as the doors open and the first woman walks out.
She’s stunning, and I shield my eyes to make sure I’m seeing her clearly. Why the fuck would they have me facing the sun? I take in her long legs and suntanned skin. She’s wearing a denim skirt and a flowy white top, and her caramel-colored hair falls just below her shoulders.
“Hi, Dusty.” She smiles as she takes my hands. “I’m Katherine. It’s so nice to meet you.”
I remember her voice from the second day of auditions. “You look stunning.” I’m not even sure what comes out of my mouth next, but I do know I need to get a grip, otherwise I’m not going to remember anything from these conversations besides how gorgeous they are. That’s not what I’m here for.
Our five minutes feel like thirty seconds, and I’m not convinced that I didn’t black out for half of the conversation. All I remember is her saying she’s not from Tennessee, but she was so glad that she made the trip out here for the show.
“I’m so glad we got to talk. I’ll see you later?”
I nod, and she smiles as she says goodbye then walks back into the house.
Jarrod comes out of nowhere. “So, first lady of the day? What’s going through your head right now?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I may have blacked out for those five minutes,” I reply, to which he laughs.
“How about we move so you can sit for your next conversations. Maybe that’ll take some of the pressure off?” he suggests, and I nod.
We walk to a shaded area where benches are already set up. Thank God, because if I had to stand out in the sun any longer, I’d start sweating through my clothes. That would not look good on television.
“All right, man, I’ll check back in with you later.” With that, he’s gone, and the next contestant, a tall, fair-skinned blonde, is walking out.
“Hi! I’m Jordan.” Instead of taking my hands like Katherine did, she pulls me in for a hug.
It takes me a moment to gather myself, but I hug her back, getting a whiff of her perfume. It smells like peaches and florals. I blink to prevent myself from sneezing.
“How are you, Jordan?” I ask as she releases me from the hug and I gesture for us to sit.
“I’m great! Super excited for this opportunity.” Her bubbly voice reminds me of sunshine. She reminds me of sunshine with her bright hair and big, expressive eyes.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m originally from Knoxville, but I made my way out to Nashville a few years ago to try to pursue music. Now I’m here.”
I know a lot of the women who came on the show are musicians, but it has me curious about how many of them are here just to move their music career forward. Not that it really matters to me, because at the end of the day, that’s all I’m trying to do, too.
“How has that gone so far?” I’m hoping she’ll give me an idea of her intentions, if not for myself, then for the show. People love speculating whether contestants are “here for the right reasons” or not. At least, that’s what I’ve heard from my cousin who watches a lot of dating shows.
“You know, it hasn’t exactly been successful, hence why I’m here and not doing my own concerts or recording albums. But I truly came here to meet you, the record deal was just an extra benefit.”
She seems sincere, but I feel like they always do. Then, once the experience gets more stressful, you learn their true motives.
“Well, it was great to meet you, Jordan, but I think our time is up.” I stand, giving her a quick hug. Our conversation was pleasant, and now that the nerves have started to dissipate, I’m finding myself eager to meet the rest of the women.
