Paige Excerpt 1

Paige

I’m sweating bullets. Scratch that, I’m closer to sweating full cartridges of bullets. It wouldn’t surprise me if the ATF showed up and arrested me for unlawful amounts of nervous sweat or something. I shift anxiously on the gold Chiavari chair, trying to talk myself out of running for the hills. 

I was originally excited to be cast on the reality dating show, Midwestern Matchmaker. But as I wait in the country club conference room for my official welcome interview with the producers, my entire nervous system is screaming at me to flee.

My best friend Missy and I got hooked on the series a couple of months ago when we’d reached an all-time low in our dating lives. Like the rest of our generation, we grew up on people making a spectacle of themselves in hopes of finding love. As such, we decided that if something better didn’t come along, we would audition to do the same. Happily for Missy, her “something better” showed up in the form of a gorgeous single dad who traded life in the big city for a more normal upbringing for his twelve-year-old daughter, like something straight out of a Hallmark movie. And yes, I’m jealous.

My “something better” was starting to look a lot like the grocery store freezer section where they keep the Ben and Jerry’s. Cherry Garcia and I were getting hot and heavy there for a few months. And while I could see a lifelong relationship with him, he’s going to have to be my side guy. I want more. 

“Paige Holland?” My sweat glands respond like an uncapped fire hydrant. It’s seriously gross. 

“Here!” I gingerly stand up and smooth out the skirt of the nineteen-fifties-style vintage dress that I picked up for next to nothing at my favorite secondhand store, Love Me Again. Then I grab my purse and hurry toward the man in the silver suit who’s holding a clipboard. Upon closer inspection, I notice his shirt and tie are also silver. His shoes are gray suede.  He looks like a robot. 

Mr. Roboto turns around and starts walking toward a door on the side wall. “Follow me.”

We walk into a conference room with a large table in the middle. “This is Paige Holland,” he tells the assortment of people sipping coffee and nibbling on pastries. 

Heads swivel in my direction, and I’m suddenly the focus of at least eight pairs of eyes, maybe ten. I can’t count right now to save my life. 

The beautiful brunette woman sitting at the head of the table announces, “Paige, I’m so glad you could make it! I have very high hopes for you.”

Trina Rockwell is the host of Midwestern Matchmaker. She’s so gorgeous, I wouldn’t be surprised if all the male participants who come on the show didn’t fall in love with her at first sight. Tall, gloriously thick brown hair, and full of confidence turns out to be an intimidating combination for a petite blonde like me. 

“Thanks for having me, Trina.” My voice cracks, making me wish the ground would open and swallow me whole. 

Trina tells the table, “Paige is the seventh-grade math teacher right here in Elk Lake. Isn’t that great?” She’s so enthusiastic you’d think I was part of an expedition moving to Mars to breed the first generation of Earth Martians. Side note: My uncle Ben is convinced the Nazis bugged out to Mars after World War II and have been there ever since. I’ve often considered getting him a tinfoil hat for his birthday. Also, I make a mental note not to tell that story in a nervous rambling.  

The mélange of grunts and grumbles that follows Trina’s excitement regarding my participation in the show suggests her audience isn’t quite as thrilled about me as she is. 

Trina stands up and addresses me. “I won’t bother to introduce you to everyone now.” She waves her hand from one side of the table to the other like she’s professionally spokesmodeling the group. “But this is our production team. You’ll see them around a lot once we start taping. They’ll have suggestions for you along the way.”

Shifting from one ballet flat to the other—I wasn’t going to risk wearing heels and falling over—I mumble, “I thought you were doing the matching.”

“Oh, I am. The team here will help by letting you know which side is your best, making sure you’re standing in the light, and reminding you to speak up so the microphones can pick up everything you’re saying. They’re on hand so we can give postproduction the best scenes possible.” Her smile is blindingly bright, like she couldn’t imagine a more wonderful thing than being well-lit. Um, hello, Trina, how about world peace, and no more starving children? 

But I don’t say that. Instead, I go with the profound, “I see.” Which I don’t because I’ve never done anything like this before. The only time I’ve ever been on TV was when that tornado ripped through Elk Lake the spring I was in the second grade. Neither my mom nor I saw the camera on the corner of Main and Elm, but it was there. We found that out later in the evening when my parents were watching the local news. The NBC reporter’s microphone picked up my scream, “But I have to pee now!!!” Needless to say, I was a local celebrity for the entire year following. FYI, fame is not all it’s cracked up to be. Still, I’m glad it was in the days before viral videos, because I would have been destined to be a gif for sure. 

I eye the empty chair at the table, hoping Trina will invite me to sit down before I fall down. I’m starting to get light-headed. But instead of picking up on my distress, she points to the corner of the room where there are several large lights facing the wall. As she walks in the direction of the mini set, she motions for me. “Let’s get some footage of you for show teasers.” 

My feet feel like they’ve broken through the flooring and have started to sink toward the center of the Earth. “Excuse me?”

“It’s no biggie. I just want to ask you a few questions and we may or may not use the recording during airing.”

“I … I … I …” I have forgotten how to speak English.

 

 

“What do you do for a living?” Trina Rockwell, the host of Midwestern Matchmaker, asks me.  

“I’m the seventh-grade math teacher in town. I teach at the same school I attended when I grew up here.” I glance over at the producers sitting at the table and a couple of them are yawning. Good times. 

“What are your hobbies?”

“I love to watch romantic comedies, and I’m really into waterboarding.” In truth, I love to paddle board and I have no idea why I said waterboard. To clear things up, I add, “I don’t like to torture people.”

Well, it looks like no one’s tired anymore. Every eye in the room is once again on me. 

“I meant to say, I like to paddle board, not waterboard.” Blank stares. “Paddle boarding is standing on a board and using paddles to move yourself around the lake. Waterboarding is, you know, tying someone down and putting a cloth over their face before pouring water on it to simulate drowning.” I watched a very informative television special on it which is the only reason I know so much about that particular form of torture.

A deep voice suddenly shouts, “Trina, can you please join us at the table?” 

She puts one finger up in the air before telling me, “Give me a sec.”

As she scurries away, I wonder how much time will pass before she comes back with the news that I’m no longer going to be on the show. I focus on breathing deeply, as I hear a multitude of words being bandied about. “Is she kinky?” a female voice wants to know. 

Before Trina can answer, a male voice says, “Kinky is handcuffs and whips, not waterboarding. My concern is that she’s unhinged.”

“She’s just nervous,” Trina tries to put them at ease. “She’s a small-town girl and not used to this kind of thing. Give her a break.”

Another male voice joins the fray. “I’m all for giving her a chance, but the minute she talks about waterboarding on the air, she’s off the show.”

 Trina walks back to me, rolling her eyes. “Just to be clear, you’re not into intentionally harming people, right?”

My eyes bug out to the point I’m pretty sure they’re making a break for it. “No. I just said the wrong word. I’m totally normal.” Thinking about my behavior today, I add, “In relationships.”

“Good. Now, you like to watch rom-coms and paddle board. Anything else?”

“I’m a pretty good baker,” I tell her. “One of my friends owns a bakery in town.” Thinking it might help her to feel better about me, I add, “Faith is married to Teddy Helms.”

“The actor?” Oh yeah, Trina’s excited. 

“Yep. Teddy used to spend his summers here, and he recently came back to visit his grandfather. That’s when he met Faith.”

“That’s a great story! I wonder if we could talk Teddy into showing up for a scene or two.” She taps her chin with the tip of a pen like she’s urgently sending a Morse code that will win the war. 

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking him,” I tell her honestly. While I’ve known Faith since kindergarten, I’m still a bit starstruck around her husband. 

Trina waves her hand back and forth. “Forget that for now. I’m jumping ahead of myself. Tell us what kind of things you like to bake.”

“I make the best peanut butter cookies you’ve ever tasted.” While not a humble statement, it’s an accurate one. “They’ve won a blue ribbon in the county fair for four years running. They’re even better than Faith’s.”

She claps her hands with so much enthusiasm you’d think I’d just given birth to a litter of kittens. “You are the perfect small-town girl!”

Someone at the table calls out, “As long as she’s not wanted by the FBI.”

“Or Interpol …” another helpful voice contributes.

Trina asks a few more questions that I forget as soon as I answer. I’m seriously starting to wonder if this show is for me. But then I remember I’ve had a grand total of six dates in the last two years. If I want to stay in Elk Lake, I’m going to need some help. 

 Trina eventually approaches me and takes my hands in hers. “I can’t wait to have you on the show, Paige. You’re a real prize.” 

Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck convoy, I nod my head. I’m starting to realize what the repercussions could be for going on Midwestern Matchmaker. I could meet the man of my dreams and live happily ever after, or this experience could be a total failure.

Either way, I guess I’m about to find out.  

 

 

 

Paige

Who in the world is the new woman walking into the ballroom? She must be someone special because all the cameras, except for the one pointed at Tim, turn in her direction. Staring at her, I realize she looks kind of familiar, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. I don’t generally hang out with highly polished and glamorous people, and this chick looks like she just walked off the pages of Vogue magazine. 

Trina glides back across the ballroom with Tim trailing behind her. “We have a guest!” she announces with so much excitement, you’d think Jesus was here to bless the bread and wine.

On impossibly long legs and stilettos high enough to impress any of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, the new woman glides toward the host. “Trina …” she croons.

“Thank you for coming tonight, Eva.”

Holy hell! Eva? As in Tim’s ex, Eva?

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She turns toward the camera closest to her and offers the most blindingly fake smile I’ve ever seen. No wonder her acting career never took off. 

Meanwhile, Tim is standing next to Trina as stiff as a toy soldier awaiting his execution. 

Eva walks toward him and when she arrives, croons, “Tim, it’s so good to see you again. How have you been?”

His expression morphs from shock to pure loathing. It’s clear he’s trying to decide his best course of action because he doesn’t respond for several seconds. When he finally breaks his silence, all he says is, “Eva.”

“Daaaarling …” She sounds like she’s a long-lost Gabor sister in those old-time movies. “I was crushed when I heard what a hard time you’re still having with our breakup.” I want to punch this woman right in the face. 

Tim cocks his head to the side before replying, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Eva.”

Striving for a look of innocence and failing, she says, “Trina told me you’ve been unable to move on because you’re still in love with me.”

“I never said love, Eva.” Oh goody, Trina’s decided to enter the fray. “I said that Tim wasn’t emotionally free of you.” Potatoes, potahtoes, am I right?

“I know it was hard on Tim when I left.” Eva bats her eyes like she’s holding back tears. “But I had no choice. He and I got married too soon and when Holden showed up, I knew I had to go to him.” Her lashes flutter like a llama with conjunctivitis. 

“Do you have anything to say to that, Tim?” Trina wants to know. 

Tim glares at his ex. “You only knew Holden for a week before you left me. We’d been together for four years.”

Eva looks at Tim with pity before dropping a bomb. “Tim, I knew Holden before I’d ever met you.”

The look of horror on his face says it all. He’s about to lose it—spectacularly. 

I feel compelled to do something to save him from this humiliation, but I don’t know what. Without thinking, I step forward and declare, “Which makes you the villain, not Tim!” I sound like I’m playing a live-action game of Clue. It was the butler in the pantry with a butter knife!

Eva turns her head and sneers at me condescendingly. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Paige Holland.” When that doesn’t seem like a self-explanatory enough declaration, I add, “I’m an old friend of Tim’s.”

“Then why haven’t I ever heard of you?” she wants to know. 

“Why didn’t Tim know about Holden?” I retaliate. 

“Are you saying you and Tim were having an affair while he was married to me?” That’s not what I was saying, but it does make me wonder if Eva had been cheating on Tim throughout their marriage.

Before I can accuse her of that, Tim steps forward and takes my hand. “Paige, please stop trying to help.” 

Part of me knows I should listen to him, but I don’t. Instead, I spin around and yell—yell— “No, Tim! This bimbo is not going to come in here and act like the wounded party. She’s the one who cheated, she’s the homewrecker …” Talk about giving Midwestern Matchmaker their money’s worth, I’m full-on guaranteeing they’ll be picked up for another ten seasons if they can keep delivering the level of drama I’m offering. 

“Timothy …” Eva says, “I want to know if you were cheating on me?”

“So would I,” Trina feels the need to add. 

Tim exhales loudly. “Paige and I went to school together. That’s all. We didn’t become friends until I moved home.”

While true, that kind of hurts. I just told the world we were old friends and he relegated me to mere acquaintance status. But then he squeezes my hand and adds, “But we’re very good friends now.” Aaaaand I melt. 

“I think you’re lying,” Eva tells him. 

“I can see why a liar might tend to believe the worst in people,” he retorts. 

Eva spins toward Trina. “You said he was a hot mess. You said the only reason he came on this show was to get even with me!”

Before I know what I’m doing, I rush at Eva with the intention of ripping every last hair out of her head. Tim pulls me back in the nick of time, and reminds me, “This is going to be televised, Paige.”

“Not if I can help it!” I tell him. And this is where I totally lose my mind…