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found our limo usine. We squeezed in and sat on the long vinyl seats, followed by six other women who found it one by one.
    I studied their faces as they entered the car. Each smiled nervously, looking around before the car began to move, as though the outdoors would somehow tell us where we were going.
    There was a small bar in the car, displaying a bottle of what looked like scotch and some glasses. One woman, a brunette, reached for it as soon as she got in. I smirked, amused at the thought that she could get wasted before we even left.
    Brittany, one of the villains , climbed in last. She looked around, an expression of haughty disdain on her face which intensified when her eyes landed on me.
    “Nicole, is it?” she asked. “Would you mind getting out to meet Craig just before me?”
    Before I had a chance to answer I heard snickers from the others and, if I doubted that she was implying that I’d make her look good by making my own terrible impression, my doubts were allayed when I heard the laughter.
    “Aren’t you worried that Nikki’s beauty will make you look like an ugly bitch? You don’t want to be rejected in the first five minutes, surely, Brittany,” said Julia. I knew there had been a reason I’d wanted her along.
    Brittany glared at her but was unable to come up with a response. She wa s a nasty piece of work, but hardly the sharpest knife in the drawer.
    I simply smiled sweetly at her, having already put my plan into action to be nothing short of charming. It wouldn’t last, I knew, but I could keep it up for a little at least.
    Finally the car pulled away and the chatter began. Most of the women simply seemed excited and giddy and I forgave them for it. It wasn’t possible to tell if their thrill came from the unknown man they were about to meet or from the free dress (which I was pretty sure we weren’t meant to keep) or the appearance on television and the hope to get noticed by some famous film director who had nothing better to do than watch shabby reality TV.
    I found myself analyzing their feelings far more than my own, but at a certain point I began to wonder how I felt. Was I excited? Sure, I was about to exit a car in front of cameras and there was a good chance that I’d trip on my dress and fall on my face. There was an even better chance that I’d say something incredibly stupid or inappropriate to this Craig person.
    But mostly, I realized, I wondered when I’d see the handsome Tristan again. My gut told me that he would be around the whole time, since he was in charge of things. John was our on-screen contact but Tristan would be the person who would make final decisions, like if a girl should be sent home for committing murder, arson, kidnapping and that sort of thing. I just hoped I could find a way to talk to him now and then without becoming a full-fledged criminal. Between him and Julia, I felt like I had a support system.
     
    After a ride that only lasted a merciful ten minutes, we pulled up in front of a house. The women contorted themselves in an attempt to see it, though you could hardly miss the thing. It was a bit of a monstrosity tucked into a beautifully wooded area; a giant stucco mansion, very generic looking and in all likelihood painted and dolled up just for this show. I wasn’t convinced, in fact, that it had been built for any purpose other than to house a herd of shrieking women. I would have much preferred a big old haunted-looking log cabin with character, but I supposed we weren’t there for the architecture. Stop being so critical , I told myself. My negative attitude wasn’t going to advance me on the show at this rate.
    Much to Brittany’s chagrin, we were handed an order by the driver in which we were supposed to get out of the car. There would be four other candidates and then me. Brittany was to go last, I supposed because she’d been deemed the most controversial. Of course, I was iffy in my own way. I braced myself in anticipation of