Noooo, is all I can think. He’s just swooped in at the last minute, dazzled Simon, made me look rubbish. I get it, I do, his ideas are big and flashy and – who knows – maybe it really will work. But we’re getting further and further away from what the show has always been about.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my thoughts and feelings to myself. Simon has made up his mind, and what Simon says always goes.
Lockie grins. Not too wide, not obnoxious – just enough to give off that air of modest-but-still-smug.
‘I really appreciate the vote of confidence,’ Lockie begins his acceptance speech, ‘and I won’t let you down. You’ll see – this year’s show is going to be spectacular.’
‘So, you’re happy to crack on with the new plan, Cleo?’ Simon checks – as though it might be optional. It’s only a choice if I choose to no longer have my job.
I force a nod. My disappointment tastes bitter in my mouth.
‘Of course,’ I manage to say. ‘If that’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ Simon says firmly. ‘I think it will be great, if the cast is made up of recognisable faces. And with Lockie in charge of storylines – sometimes it takes a spark to start a fire.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Lockie says. ‘I’ve already got a list of contacts who’d kill to get their clients on board. We can halt all casting efforts – if it’s people we’ve seen on TV, we know we’re getting gold, so I’ll have their agents book them in. People with built-in followings, the right kind of chaos vibe for the show, all single – or willing to be. We’ll go viral before the first show even airs.’
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ Simon says, clapping his hands together with a loud slap. ‘We’re back in the game, people. Go make it happen!’
Well, that’s that then. I can like it or lump it.
As I gather my notes, tucking my pen neatly into the spiral of my pad, it’s hard not to wonder how many more seasons I have in me. It’s been a slog, with the viewers dwindling and the mood shifting from fun to something more stressful. But now not only will I be doing things in a way that I don’t want to do them, I’ll be taking my orders from Lockie. I’ll have to do whatever he wants, because it’s what Simon wants now too. But is it what the viewers want? Only time will tell. And if the ship is going down, well, it’s always felt like my ship too. I may as well be on it when it does.
5
If there’s one thing reality TV thrives on, it isn’t romance, or drama, or even copious amounts of alcohol. It’s product placement.
Nobody really talks about that side of it, of course, but it’s capitalism that pays the bills, so we rely heavily on adverts, sponsorship deals and oh-so subtle (or oftentimes not at all subtle) product placement.
The drama sells the show, but the advertisers keep the lights on. That said, it’s not always easy, to work in product placement on a show likeWelcome to Singledom, where contestants are marooned on a desert island. It’s easy enough with bikinis and swim shorts, pretty much the only clothing anyone wears while participating, but it’s not so easy with things like protein powders and fake tan.
Still, like I said, capitalism makes the world go round, and it’s been months since Lockie and I started working together. Almost all of the plans are in place. The only things left to sort are this and the contestants we’re going to drop in as the show goes on. Lockie, who has been running the show pretty much, is of the opinion that we need to deep-dive into the lives of our contestants. We haven’t even met them, given that they’re all TV regulars, their agents have sorted everything out, but oddly I feel like I know them. We’re cyberstalking them, seeing if they have any exes who might want to get involved, or if we can work out what kind of people push their buttons. It’s all part of Lockie’s biiiig plan. I still hate it.
Have we been working together? No. Not at all. Don’t get me wrong, we’re getting things done, I’m doing his bidding, but we’re more like rivals than colleagues. I’ll be glad when this season is over, because it will be a hit or it will be a flop, and then we’ll know who was right, me or Lockie, and, I don’t know, I’m not sure which is worse, or which would make me more likely to stick around.
So it’s just me and Lockie, in a room full of swag, trying to work out what products we can feasibly place within the show that will seem natural, not like an ad.
‘The good news is, with the contestants being influencers, they’ll already know how to flog most things,’ Lockie says as he rifles through boxes.
‘Yeah,’ is all I say.
‘You look awfully miserable for a woman holding a giant inflatable duck,’ Lockie jokes. ‘Looks like you’re both feeling… deflated.’
I laugh politely.
‘Well, I think he’s going to stay that way, I can’t see him working with the island aesthetic,’ I point out.
The island does have the most beautiful pool – man-made for the show – that looks like a lagoon with a beautiful waterfall. Floating around on a giant duck might be nice, but it’s not exactly in keeping with the survival vibe, is it?
‘True,’ he says, rubbing his hands together with the enthusiasm of a person who is about to unwrap their birthday presents. ‘Shall we start with the swimwear?’
He holds up a bikini so barely there you could mistake it for a sample of the material they use to make bikinis – not an entire one. It’s bright orange, with little beads on the spaghetti straps, and a similar little cluster of beads that will form a heart right at the top of the butt crack of whoever wears it. That’s probably the part that covers the most.
‘I cannot imagine wearing nothing but this kind of thing for weeks,’ I blurt. ‘Weeks and weeks of thongs and trying to avoid nip slips.’
‘Both of which make great TV,’ Lockie jokes. ‘Swimwear is easy, and it pays well, and contestants are always thrilled to get free clothes.’
‘They’re hardly clothes,’ I point out. ‘They’re hardly swimwear. Not practical at all, for surviving on the island.’
