‘But for the show… yes,’ Cece added. She was standing slightly behind Romeo-Dylan, trying to hide in his shadow.‘He could come down here and talk to me about what’s happening on the show. I could be his sounding board.’
Of coursenowshe could fucking speak in sentences.
‘I can think of a thousand reasons why this won’t work.’ I resisted the urge to bury my entire fist in my twitching eye. ‘One, where are you going to find the time, Dylan?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll find it.’
How?!I barely managed to restrain myself from screaming.
‘Okay then, two, where amIgoing to find the time? We’re down to the absolute bare bones in terms of crew. We can’t bring anyone new into the bubble. And now you’re telling me you want to do all this extra filming? That means cameras. That means sound. That means lighting. That means me, coming down here and holding your hands. I’m good at my job, but I can’t fucking time-travel.’
‘We could mount cameras up there,’ Frida, one of the camera operators, said.
I glared at her, but she’d worked with me too long and wasn’t scared of me anymore. Undeterred, she outlined a perfectly sensible plan: to put mounted cameras in the living room, hang some shotgun mics, and keep them running 24/7. ‘Call it ‘Convent Cam’,’ she suggested.
It was a good idea. We’d already put mounted cameras and shotgun mics in the living spaces in the Villa to cover our crew shortfall. Plus, if I had to keep the eliminated Juliets on set, I might as well make them sing for their supper. We could capture these friend chats that Romeo-Dylan and Cece wanted to do, but also some slice-of-life Convent stuff, which we could turn into bonus website or social media content.
I couldn’t believe the idea hadn’t already occurred to me, to be honest. It was basically the same premise as mine and Lily’s first ever credit as producers:Adjudication Station, theDesert Island Castawaywebshow about the group of eliminated contestants who eventually decided the winner.
But even though Convent Cam was a good idea, it would generate fucking hours and hoursand hoursof footage to scrub through. More work, to add on top of the teetering mountain I already had to tackle.
‘You’ve got to admit you’re a disaster on camera,’ I said to Cece, who seemed like the weakest link. ‘Like I said, I don’t have time to come down here and hold your hand. Neither do Carrie or Suzette. You and Rani and Samantha are all out of the game. We’ve got twelve other women up at the Villa to focus on. Plus him.’ I gestured at Romeo-Dylan.
‘I’ll hold her hand,’ he said.
‘Don’t you fucking dare hold her hand,’ I snapped at him, annoyance finally getting the better of me. ‘We agreed on the story we’re telling this season, Dylan. Epic romance. Fairy-tale shit. If the audience sees you running down here to hold her hand, it’ll look like you’re trying to find a wife while having a fuckbuddy on the side.’
‘I meant metaphorically,’ he replied. ‘I’m not an idiot, Murray. I know the story we’re telling. I’m not interested in telling a different one. We’re still on exactly the same page. I just want to add this little subplot.’
I argued the point longer, out of a combination of principle and desperation, but that was the moment I gave up. This was going to create a lot of work, but if I got Romeo-Dylanoff-side and he decided to be uncooperative, that would create even more.
Plus, I reflected, the evening breeze brushing my sweaty hair back as I sped up the hill on my golf cart, Cece really was a disaster on camera. My best bet was to let them try it, for Romeo-Dylan to see that she was in active agony, and for him to end it out of kindness. People always reacted better if you let them think they were doing things on their own terms.
I parked the golf cart back at the trailer village and hiked over towards the Villa. Suzette and Carrie and I had re-divvied up our evening duties when my unplanned detour had been added to the schedule. Suzette was doing the set-up for tomorrow’s single date. Carrie was pinch-hitting for me and doing an interview with Juliet-Dylan. I’d taken over her job, supervising the shoot set-up for the Dylans’ one-on-one intimacy time, which we were filming at the centre of the hedge maze beside the Villa.
It should have been easy. I’d set up a million intimacy time shoots over the years. It was hardly rocket science.
‘What are you doing?’ I barked at Tim and Tom.
They both froze. ‘Um… is this not right?’ one of them asked.
‘Have you never seen an episode of this show in your life?’
Marry Me, Juliethad an extremely maximalist aesthetic. We dripped with the visual language of romance: candles, roses, fairy lights, lush velvets and satins.
The convo couch that Tim and Tom had set up looked like the student dive bar I used to meet Julia at when she was doing her PhD. They hadn’t scattered the cushions right, and some threadbare patches on the couch were showing. They’dstrung one sad string of fairy lights on the trellis behind it. On the coffee table, two – two! only two! – tealights were flickering.
‘We’re not finished yet,’ the other one said.
‘Have you started?’
They exchanged glances.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. ‘Go to the set dressing trailer. I want three blankets. Jewel tones: blue, green, magenta. More cushions to match. More fairy lights—’
‘We’ve got fairy lights.’ One of them pointed to the green shopping bags sitting next to the coffee table.
‘Morefairy lights. One of the outdoor chandeliers. How many candles have you got?’
