Bellamy's Redemption

“When I was on the show with Alanna, I really held back. I can see now that hiding my feelings and not communicating enough is what got me into trouble, and why she didn’t choose me.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Actually, I think she just didn’t like me as well as she liked Antonio, but the producers told me maybe it was my bad ability to communicate. I really don’t know.”

“Who can say why two people fall in love?” I said. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“See, that’s why I like you. You just always know exactly what to say. What do you do again? Are you a therapist?”

“No, I’m an interior designer.”

“Oh, right. Is um, Emma short for Emily? I mean, I know sometimes it is, but in your case is it?”

“No. I’m just Emma.”

“Do you ever call yourself Emmie?”

“No.”

“Oh. Why not? You should, it’s cute.”

“Huh. I’ll think about that. Bellamy is an unusual name. Is it a family name?”

“Family name? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Was it your mother’s last name before she got married, or something like that?”

“Yeah, no. My name’s not Bellamy Timberfrost. That’s just something they made up for television. Like Cashmere. I’ll bet that’s not her name. And, um, maybe Vanessa. Is Vanessa a real name? My real name is Dirk Wiedenbueller. My parents call me Dirky. If you marry me you’ll be Emmie Wiedenbueller. But, I mean, that’s just our little secret.”

I looked around at all the camera people.

“You won’t believe how much this gets edited,” he said.

“Oh. Weird.”

“So, back to me and my emotions, I hope I didn’t catch you off guard.”

“Not at all,” I said.

“Let me just, real quick, do this,” said a girl with some hair gel in her palm. She stuck her hand between us, and with a couple of flicks of her wrist, she magically turned Bellamy’s hair into a cool, casual style. A powder puff gently blotted my nose. Some lip gloss was dabbed onto my lips. Bellamy looked unfazed, but I felt my pulse quicken a little. Was I becoming an important part of the show? This was the first time any attention like this had been paid to me. I’d seen them fix up Bellamy now and then, but never any of us girls. It all took no more than four seconds, and then she dashed away.

“Thanks,” said Bellamy. “Anyway, Emma, as I was saying, I want to be myself. The real me is a crier. I hope you don’t mind.”

Why would I care? “I don’t mind at all,” I said.

“Really? Cool. ‘Cause I like to climb mountains and look at eagles flying overhead, and cry.”

“How about that? Good for you.”

“Do you think the other girls will mind?”

“I have no idea. But I don’t mind.”

“In that case,” he said, reaching into his pocket, “would you accept these Deluxe sapphire and diamond earrings?”

“Sure!”

“Here you go. These little posts are tough! My fingers are