The car makes a turn off the highway that makes it clear my Malibu guess was right, and ten minutes later, our SUV pulls to a stop in front of a large, gated home that’s instantly recognizable to me—a cliffside mansion I’ve seen countless times on one of my favorite reality TV shows.
“Oh my gosh!” I blurt, my butt dancing on the car seat beneath me. “This is the mansion from The Engagement Experiment!”
Six
Savage
As our SUV rolls to a stop in front of a large Mediterranean-style home seated on a cliff in Malibu, Laila shrieks, “My mom and sister are going to freak out we’re living at the mansion from The Engagement Experiment!”
I’ve never watched the long-running reality TV dating show Laila’s referenced, but I’m familiar with its basic concept, since Sasha watches it with Mimi sometimes. Also, my feed on Twitter is constantly filled with memes and tweets about that show, so I’m passively kept up to date on the gist of it.
“Is this where Savage and I will be living for the next three months?” Laila excitedly asks the driver.
“It sure is,” the man replies, making Laila squeal and bop around in her seat.
The bodyguard in the passenger seat says, “Please wait here, while I do a sweep of the area.”
When the bodyguard exits the car, the driver steps out, too, leaving Laila and me alone. Laila leans back and says, “Have you ever watched The Engagement Experiment?”
“No, but I know the concept. A bunch of fame-hungry women live in a big house, vying to get ‘selected’ by some random dude who’s been anointed ‘Prince Charming’ by the show, for no discernible reason. At the end, the ‘happy couple’ rides off into the sunset, only to break up as soon as their contract allows, at which point, they become influencers who can charge upwards of fifty grand per Instagram post.”
Laila makes a face like she’s offended.
“Oh, come on,” I say. “You can’t possibly think anyone actually finds true love on that show.”
“Some of them do,” she insists. But when I look at her like she’s naive, she adds, “At least, I think they think they do . . . for a little while. Whatever. The only reason I asked if you’ve seen the show is to explain that, at the beginning of each season, before the contestants start getting the boot, thirty women live in this house together, and there’s plenty of room for all of them. So, I think we should be able to avoid killing each other over the next three months, if only barely.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
The bodyguard returns and says we’re all clear, that there are no paparazzi or stalkers to be found, and Laila and I exit the car, where we’re greeted by an attractive brunette in glasses.
“Hey, guys,” the woman says brightly. “I’m Rhoda, a junior producer at Sing Your Heart Out. I’m here to give you a tour of the house and get you settled in your new digs.”
Laila jumps for joy at the woman’s news and then proceeds to chatter with her excitedly as we head toward the house. Inside the front door, Laila abruptly stops chatting when she beholds the large entrance foyer. “It’s exactly like it looks on TV!” Laila gushes. “I can’t believe this is my life!”
The producer laughs. “You mentioned in a recent interview that you and your sister always watch The Engagement Experiment, so we thought we’d surprise you. As luck would have it, the timing was perfect and the house is empty.”
“That’s so lucky!” Laila exclaims. She looks at me, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. “Aren’t we lucky, Savage?”
I know Laila is looking for an exuberant reaction from me, but I can’t supply it. Not when I feel like I got hoodwinked into pimping out not one but two reality TV shows—and for half the salary I’d originally negotiated. “This might be a stupid question,” I say, walking behind the producer and Laila as they head into the living room. “But whenever Laila and I do our required ‘happy couple’ social media videos every night, won’t fans recognize this house and think our relationship is nothing but a set-up?”
“We’ve got an easy solution for that,” the producer says. “In your first video tonight, you’ll explain the producers of Sing Your Heart Out supplied this famous house to you because, one, you didn’t want to show your actual home on national TV, and, two, the producers heard The Engagement Experiment is one of Laila’s all-time favorite shows.”
“Perfect!” Laila squeals.
The producer continues, “With you two living here and filming your behind-the-scenes videos, we’ll get some fantastic cross-promotion between the two shows. Plus, the audience will adore seeing you two living in this famous house. It’s a win-win-win.”
More like a singular win, I think. For the network.
But Laila is thrilled. “Genius!” she exclaims, twirling around. And even though I’m annoyed with the producers, I can’t help smiling at Laila’s obvious joy. The girl is a lot of things, but jaded ain’t one of them. I’ve seen this bubbly, sunny side of Laila many times during the tour, but never with me. Always with someone else, from afar. And I must admit, finally getting to experience Laila’s happy, sweet side, up close and personal, is making me forget I’m annoyed that the show is exploiting my valuable image and name to promote a cringey-ass dating show without my consent.
“Ooooh!” Laila coos, sprinting into the next room. “I’d know this kitchen anywhere. Ha!” She addresses the producer. “Remember that time those two guys from Jenny’s season had that food fight in here?” She snaps her fingers, like she’s trying to come up with something.
“Damian and Gregory,” Rhoda replies, without missing a beat.
“Yes!”
Rhoda chuckles. “I worked on The Engagement Experiment that season. I even got mashed potatoes in my hair during that famous food fight.”
“Shut up!” Laila shrieks, clearly enthralled.
The producer nods. “True story. I worked on that show five seasons—one through five, before getting promoted to help Nadine launch a certain singing competition that turned out to be the network’s biggest hit, ever.”
Laila grabs the woman’s arm like she’s gripping a flotation device during a plane crash. “Rhoda, you have to tell me every juicy detail from your five seasons on The Engagement Experiment. I have to know everything you know!”
The producer giggles. “I can’t tell you everything. I’ve signed an NDA.”
“Okay, just tell me this: was the food fight real—or did the show tell Damian to throw that first blob of mashed potatoes?”
“I really can’t say.”
“Shoot. That means it was fake?”
“I can’t say.”
Laila pulls at her hair comically, like she’s a patient in an insane asylum. “Gah! I need to know! Please, please, Rhoda, come over here after work one night this week to hang out with me, so I can get you to spill all the tea. Thanks to my NDA, I wouldn’t be able to tell a soul anything you tell me, right?—but I have to know everything!”