All Out Of Love

January 1st 2015

INT. Limo- Night

Producer 1: I’m sorry tonight didn’t turn out the way you wanted.

Madison: I know…

Producer 1: If it’s any consolation, know that all of the producers were rooting for you

Madison: Thanks

Producer 1: Do you need anything?

Madison: I’m fine.

Producer 1: Are you sure I can have one of the interns fetch you some sprite or some alcohol if you need some?

Madison: I wish that alcohol could mend my heart back together.

Producer 1: -deep sigh- How about we finish up your exit interview so we can wrap this up?

Madison: That’d be nice

Madison Wells was no crybaby.

Yet here she was, drowning her heartbreak at the bottom of a tub of Ben and Jerry’s chocolate chip cookie dough and praying that the ground would open up and swallow her.

Once upon a time, Madison Wells had been the girl who would’ve guffawed and shrugged off finding love on a reality television as a made up fantasy for the loveless, desperate and deranged.

Other than the maids from housekeeping who checked in every few hours to ensure she hadn’t swan-dived of the balcony, Madison was alone in the dark room. Production like it that way. Her emotional breakdown made for good television and good television meant that the empire which the producers of the show had capitalized on would survive for yet another season of debauchery.

Her family had called it the show for Jezebels and Lucifers’ who were cleverly disguised by the shimmery evening gowns and fancy tuxes worn by the desperate singletons blinded by the lights of Hollywood and the prospect of Instagram fame.

In a few short weeks, she would be the laughing stock of America. Her life would be over and she’d be grouped together with the train-wrecks and desperate damsels in distress. It wouldn’t matter that she was neither of those women or that she had remained the same person she’d been when her friends had hogtied her and dragged her to audition for the show.

Last year, she’d been the mousey school teacher from Atlanta, Georgia who followed the rules and spent most of her social life absorbed in her father’s church ministry. The opportunities to meet men were slim to none. At twenty-eight, she’d become an old maid before her time and resigned herself to the role which her father had given to her.

Now less than seven months later, she was far from the dudsy girl who had resigned herself to an inherited fate. All it had taken was ten pounds of makeup, a good weave, and a Wonderbra to set herself on a path that seemed perfect in the beginning but had gone horribly wrong.

It all started with last season’s dramatic finale of Chance At Love to figure out that the living life according to someone else’s rules had left her living a life which was empty and barren. Against her better judgment, as the final credits rolled across the screen and Ethan Wright sobbed uncontrollably after being dumped by Meghan Parks, she stupidly signed up for the next season as the joke of the absolute century.

In her mind, she’d never get picked. She was far from the glitzy glamour and beautiful people that came along with the show. Most of her clothes came from Goodwill or thrift shops and she was far from supermodel beautiful.

Yet all these months later, here she was.

The shrilling ringing of the phone nearby rang for the hundredth time since she’d been dumped. It was a suicide watch call which had only come into place after one of the men on the last season had decided that he was suddenly R.Kelly and decided he was a bird and swan- dived off the top of the hotel where the men were staying after being dumped.

She answered on the second ring, knowing that the producers would barge into her room if she didn’t answer.

“Ms. Wells?”

The voice on the phone was the chirpy voice of her assigned producer Ariel who had recently discovered what hairbrushes were actually used for. The kid was sweet enough as far as the production team went.

“I’m fine. “

Speaking more than absolutely necessary hurt. Someone seemed to have bulldozed her heart and forgotten to give her the memo.

“Do you need anything?” Her voice seemed airier than Madison was used to in their weeks of friendship.

The line was quiet for a few seconds. The swan dive off the roof seemed more promising with each passing moment. The only men who seemed to help ease her heartache were the two men whose names were plastered over her now empty container of ice-cream. Now even they had abandoned her.

“I think Ethan was dumb for not choosing you,”

Madison couldn’t help but crack a smirk as her friend tried to reassure her that Ethan Wright wasn’t the biggest douchebag on the planet. They both knew it wasn’t true but in the bubble of reality, dating shows, having a friend on her side had been a godsend. It had helped her avoid the unnecessary drama in a house full of girls looking for their ten minutes of fame.

“Can I get you anything before tomorrow’s reunion?” Ariel coughed, obviously feeling more uncomfortable by the mili-second.

Madison hung up the call, leaving the question lingering.

Did she need anything? She needed a new heart which didn’t as crappy as this one. Sighing heavily, tired feet tiptoed towards the bed as her body felt the weight of what tomorrow would bring.

In typical douchebag producer fashion and to ensure maximum rawness, there were only a few hours to pull herself together before she would be reunited with the man who broke her heart into a million pieces. Apparently, a freshly broken heart brought in more viewers than O.J’s high-speed chase. It didn’t matter that her wounds hadn’t healed and she wasn’t sure whether she’d kiss Ethan or punch him when she saw him again. Time was money and nobody cared if she was losing her mind.

In the dark she rehearsed potential questions, trying to pull herself together. Her gut tightened as her sobs became louder and more heart-wrenching. She could do this. She would make it through tomorrow. She wouldn’t cry in front of Ethan and the entire world.

A knock at the door interrupted her mini- therapy session.

She smirked, stumbling towards the door like a baby gazelle now learning to use its feet. Tomorrow morning she’d focus on being put together. Tomorrow she’d worry about portraying the perfect preacher’s daughter.

Tomorrow she’d focus on anything else but her medication was here.

At her feet were two more containers of Ben and Jerry’s ice-cream.

*.*

Of all the tasks single dads were forced to do, braiding his daughters’ hair was his least favourite. Still, Preston Carpenter was no different from the countless other dads who were forced to complete the painstaking task. Still, he wasn’t sure if any other men had four opinionated daughters to contend with.

He’d often wondered how his wife had done this even when she had started chemotherapy for the aggressive cancer that had taken her sooner than any doctor could’ve predicted.

“What are we watching tonight?” He yawned, brushing the hair of his youngest daughter Sammi who at four years old resembled a miniature Barbie doll. In record time he plaited her hair into two braids, cracking his knuckles as he scooted into the large oversized couch.

Immediately his girls surrounded him, fighting over who would be cuddling with their dad. After a brief moment of bickering, his wild rebellious brood settled down.

Moments like this made him miss Sema. His wife should’ve been here to help him with the girls and watch them grow. While his ability to parent on his own became much easier with each passing year, it became harder for his girls to remember their mother. Family videos could only do so much. Sammi had no recollection of the woman who had given birth to her.

It didn’t help much that for the first year after losing his wife he had thrown himself into his work and avoided talking about her entirely. After almost drinking himself into an alcohol-induced coma one night, his eldest daughter Saara suggested that the family needed to go to therapy.

Therapy had helped a whole lot but it didn’t take away the permanent ache. Sema was his childhood sweetheart. Despite coming from different social and religious backgrounds, they’d gone against their parents to be together. All hell had hit the fan when at fourteen, Sema found out that they were expecting their first child. Her parents had kicked her out and threatened her life calling her all sorts of names both in Somali and English. In their eyes, the daughter of immigrant parents who had sacrificed everything to work in America had brought shame to the family.

In the darkness, he wiped a rogue tear snuggling his daughters tighter. Sema had left him with the four best things in his life to keep her memory alive. Saara, being the adult-child that she was, squeezed his hand and rested her head on his shoulder.

“The finale of Chance at Love: Finding Mr Wright,” Preston scowled. He didn’t want to admit to his daughters that he found the two-hour-long show to be an absolute waste of his time. Most weeks he could barely keep up with the drama unfolding and wished he could do something more productive with his time.

Yet he knew watching the show with his daughters wasn’t about him. It was about keeping his girls reconnected to their mother.

“Don’t you think it’s a little dumb they name each season something cornier every year?” He scowled, chugging a sip of the Capri Sun his youngest had chucked into his arms.

“Shhh Daddy…Madison’s coming out in a minute,” The girls quieted him, their gazes glued to the television as the jilted contestant walked away from the man who he assumed all the girls were fighting over.

“Whose Madison?” He was as in the dark about trashy reality tv shows than the pope. Watching Chance at Love was his wife’s thing to do with the girls. Now that she was gone, he had stepped up to the plate to avoid his girls from remembering that their mother wasn’t there anymore.

“She’s the most awesome girl who's ever been on the show!”

Apparently, the jury was convinced that the girl who now graced the screen was the next reincarnation of the Virgin Mary. Still, he couldn’t help but be transfixed by the beauty who graced the screen and who despite her heart-breaking sobs somehow looked more radiant than the parade of fakery the douchebag had sent home each week.

She had the sort of timeless beauty he had only seen once before. Eyes which would too large on any other person seemed perfectly suited to her small heart-shaped face. He could tell by the way she spoke that she wasn’t the dumb cliché that the show insisted on showcasing each season.

This girl had depth. And the guy who had broken her heart had done a huge faux pas in letting an intelligent woman go.

He remained silent as the girls continued to chatter throughout the episode, wondering why he couldn’t tear himself away from the made-believe character on the television.

The episode soon ended with Mr. Douchenozzle choosing the girl with the obviously surgically enhanced body. Preston pretended to be happy but his daughters were all but cussing at the television.

“Don’t you agree that Ethan’s a total idiot for not choosing Madison over Malibu Barbie?” Four pairs of eyes glared at him, threatening him as the lone male in the family to side with them.

The doghouse his wife had often put him in was nothing compared to the ones his girls put him in if he wasn’t paying attention. He nodded, letting out a deep breath as their attention returned to the screen as the Heartbreak Special with Ethan’s jilted girls began.

His eyes immediately sought out Madison. Her eyes were full of unshed tears and she wore minimal makeup as if she had cried it all off. The hair and wardrobe department had probably spent an eternity trying to diminish that she was probably wearing

so little makeup. The outfit she wore reminded him more of social media influencer matched by hair which could probably rival any hair models. As stunning as she looked on the outside, there was a vacantness in her eyes.

She didn’t want to be there.

So far, she’d hidden under the radar during the presenter’s interrogation of the other jilted women. The camera panned in on her tears like it was the breaking news of the century. When Ethan entered the room to confront the unlucky-in-love contestants,

Instinctively, his hands balled into a fist. He was no reality show expert but even Ray Charles could tell that the chosen woman could barely form a single sentence together. Right was right and wrong was wrong. And wrong was choosing someone

“How does it feel seeing Ethan again Madison?” The overdone presenter smirked, obviously baiting her for a reaction which would keep the show on-air for another season.

“I’d rather not see him to be honest,” Her response bordered somewhere on the outskirts of polite and submissive and anger and frustration.

On screen, Ethan grew nervous licking his lips. He opened his mouth then shut it again.

“I don’t care what you have to say. It’s my turn to speak,” The room fell quiet as bravely, Madison Wells walked over the man who had broken her heart and slapped the taste out of his mouth.

And for the first time in three months, Preston couldn’t help the roaring laughter that came from inside of him.