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Hogan’s Heroes nonstop.  I venture out into the living room and hear Schultz proclaiming that he hears, ‘nossingk, nossingk at all’.  The guys laugh.  I guess they’ve never seen it before.  I notice Joel and Mason holding hands.  They’re a couple now, one month in.  The producers have dubbed them ‘Joeson’ and insist we refer to them that way.  So stupid.  I can’t wait till this whole thing’s done and I can get back to Naomi.  She’s probably so lonely in that big loft without me. 
    I’m no more than a foot into the room when two cameramen pop out of another bedroom.  Damn.  I’d give anything to be able to retract into a shell right now, away from their blinding lights.  As though they’ve been given a script while I was in hiding, the guys start peppering me with questions:  What happened?  Where’d you go last night?  What, did you get a boner from that stripper?
    Alright, let’s get into it.  “I got a girl at home, waiting for me to get back.  It’s complicated, but I just, well, I don’t want to hurt her.  And believe me, she would not be cool with me having a lap dance.”
    Joel pipes up.  “She sounds like a bitch.  What other kind of fun is there here?”
    “You’re one to talk.”  We all know Joeson is having it regularly everywhere in the apartment.  It’s getting to the point where I don’t even want to sit on the furniture or eat at the table. 
    Joel shrugs.  I could tell his heart wasn’t in it anyway.  He probably got promised something for saying it.  That’s the big secret here.  The guys who make the producers happiest are getting huge modeling contracts when the thing’s over.  Personally, I couldn’t care less. 
    “I know what’s going on here; we all do.  They’re playing us against each other for the ratings.  I’m looking past the next two months into my future, which doesn’t include lap dances from skanks with cake on their tits.”
    The camera guys are eating it up.  They whisper to each other.  One of them asks if I want to do a confessional. 
    “Hell no I don’t.  Your guys will probably edit it to make it look like I said something completely different.  No thanks.  I’m going to the gym.”
    The camera guys try to follow me into my bedroom.  Technically, I’m supposed to let them.  If I refuse, they just use the footage from the remote cam that’s in every single room of the house.  So I just think, fuck it.  I strip down and throw on my gym clothes like I’m on the runway at Versace, blow a kiss to the camera, followed by a middle finger salute.  They follow me all the way to the fitness center, but about halfway through my forty-five minute silent run on the treadmill, they shut off the cameras and wander off.  It’s good to be boring.  Now I just have to keep it up for another two months, twenty-four seven.  What could go wrong?

Chapter Eleven
The confessional
     
     
    NAOMI
    Friday, April 9th
     
     
    I’m not excited to watch Bradley’s next Model House episode, but I have to see him, I miss him so damn much.  After last week’s stripper show, I cringe to imagine what this week will bring.  I wish we had a secret signal, like Carol Burnett had pulling her ear, anything to know he was thinking about me, just remembering he still has a girl would be a nice reminder for me.  I’d take anything at this point.
    The ashtrays are filling up fast as Viktor and Natalia light up their mixture of tobacco and hashish.  Someday I’ll probably get raided and end up in jail.  Just when I assume the noise in the living room can’t get any worse, a knock hits the door and I hear Natalia squeal, “Bros, welcome.”
    I peek around the corner and see Aleksey and Luka throwing their coats on the floor as Viktor comes over and grabs more glasses.
    “You don’t mind KuKu?  I don’t get to see them often, we party together, watch Bradley okay?”
    What could I say?  Run out there like a school principal,