‘I want to see how far I can get using my brain,’ he says matter-of-factly, cutting to the chase. ‘I’m not the biggest or the fastest, but I think I’m strategic. I’d like to test myself. See if I can out-think the competition – see how far I can get.’
Now this I like the sound of!
‘What kind of strategies do you have up your sleeve?’ I ask.
‘Forming alliances. Reading people. Convincing the stronger guys to do things for me. I figure brains can always manipulate brawn. Maybe the women will be drawn to that for a change,’ he points out.
I can’t help but smile. This is good – something fresh. And he even said ‘women’ instead of ‘girls’ or ‘chicks’, which I like too.
‘I think you could bring something different to the show,’ I tell him. ‘What do you think, Lockie?’
He’s been quiet. Perhaps that’s a good sign.
‘So physically, you’d struggle,’ Lockie tells him. ‘You think you can talk your way into winning, but that might not go down well. People like to see one of the boys – loyalty. Can a lone wolf really win?’
‘He’s smart. He’s got a game plan. That’s exactly the kind of angle we need,’ I say to Lockie in a hushed-ish tone. ‘No one ever has an actual strategy.’
‘It’s reality TV, not chess,’ he replies. ‘You get fireworks from fire and explosives, not logic.’
What am I even supposed to say to that?
We let Jon go, like he’s our child and we’re sending him to his room to save him watching us bicker in front of him.
‘I’m just saying, we won’t be able to push him into a storyline, if he’s that smart,’ Lockie says.
‘There are no storylines to push people into,’ I point out, irritated. ‘People have free will.’
‘You’ll have free will too. To go down the jobcentre when this series gets cancelled because you cast Mr Shy and Mr Smartarse,’ he says through a grin.
‘Because Little Miss Watch-me-on-the-toilet is going to save the day,’ I reply.
I can’t imagine the two of us agreeing on anything.
By six o’clock, I’m knackered. My eyes feel bleary as I look over my notes scrawled with names, pros, cons and the occasional doodle. Lockie, of course, still looks maddeningly fresh, like he could do another eight hours without so much as a coffee to pump him up.
‘Well,’ he says, with a satisfied sigh, ‘that was fun.’
‘You thought that was fun?’ I check. ‘It was closer to torture.’
‘Torture for you maybe,’ he replies. ‘But I’m new to this, it’s a challenge for us, and every person we met was looking at a potential plot for the series. Someone here today is going to win the show, I can just tell.’
‘Right,’ is all I say. ‘Well, we’re done for the day, and I’m tired and starving, so…’
Lockie stretches, arms above his head, shirt pulling taut across his shoulders in a way that is hard to ignore.
‘Want to grab dinner?’ he suggests.
My stomach lurches. For a split second, I’m tempted – although I’m not sure why. I guess our speed date was good but, I don’t know, now I know him, and he’s my colleague. It’s probably not a good idea. He is the enemy, after all. The man who is going to ruin my show.
‘I’ve got lots to do tonight, so I’d better go straight home,’ I say. ‘But thanks.’
‘No worries,’ he replies. ‘I’m sure some of the others will be up for it.’
Oh, of course he wasn’t asking just me.
I pack up my notes quickly, avoiding his eyes, and head out into the cold evening air. The city buzzes around me – buses hissing, people hurrying, chatter – the only thing louder is the growling of my stomach.
Was it the right thing to do, saying no? It was just dinner, and we do need to try to find a way to work together. I need him onside, really, if I’m going to stop him hijacking this show with his ‘scripted reality’ – dinner could’ve been… strategic.
