Saturday July 24

11:30am PST

"Can you believe that we've been here a week and you and I haven't gotten at each others throats or anything yet?" Race asked from his place next to me in the small van. We were currently speeding down a California interstate to an unknown location. The two of us had situated ourselves in the back seat, a camera man sitting on the other side of Race. Occupying the seat in front of us were Cherry and Mayfly, who seemed to be engaged in a conversation about The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and in the front passenger seat was another camera man. Behind us was an identical van carrying the other four remaining contenders.

"Well I've actually been considering killing you in your sleep or something to thin out the competition, but then I realized I'd be stuck with Skittery," I joked. My ears reddened as soon as I had said it, afraid he wouldn't realize that I was only kidding. To my relief he let out a laugh.

"Well that's why you should get him first. Hell, you could even pass it off as self-defense!" he theorized. "Then when you kill me you'll have the room all to yourself."

"...Did you just advise me on the best way to kill you?"

"You know," Cherry interjected, "it really isn't fair that Dutchy now has a room all to himself."

"You're just pissed because you're left all alone with Jan," Racetrack retorted with a good natured grin. Cherry retaliated by sticking out her tongue. "Oh, that's attractive!"

"You think Jan is bad? Try living with Smartass!" Mayfly groaned. "It's like living in a beauty salon, only without the really crappy tabloid magazines."

Racetrack and I nodded in sympathy. After our mini movie marathon the previous evening she had come to our room, begging us to let her stay there until Smartass fell asleep. "She has this 'pre beauty sleep beauty ritual' or something. The products smell like barf and I think inhaling them is doing some major damage to my brain," she had explained when she showed up at our door wearing PJs. Skittery had already fallen asleep and, since none of us wanted to risk waking him, the three of us decided it best to sneak down to the library and ended up talking down there until well past 2:00am. Not the best of ideas when we had to get up this morning at 8:00.

"Please! I can take Smartass," Cherry told her. "I'd take a bitch over a dumbass any day."

"I can handle bitch, but she takes it to a new level. With Jan I can just block out her stupidity. I've dealt with enough idiots in my life to build up immunity to their drivel."

"Ooo," Race interrupted, "let's put Jan and Smartass in a room together. Smartass can bitch all she wants and Jan won't care because she won't understand the insults."

"I have one better!" I said. "Let's put Smartass and Skittery in a room together and see who kills who first."

Mayfly snorted. "Talk about your death matches. Normally, I'd bet on Skittery, but Smartass is more lethal than I think people give her credit for."

"Yeah," Race agreed, "woman are always crazier."

"Exactly, I—Hey!" Mayfly smacked him on the shoulder. "I resent that sexist remark!"

"Hey! You can't hit a gay man, that's homophobia!" Race yelled as he returned the favor.

"Children," I chided, "if you can't behave yourselves I'll turn this van around and neither of you will be able to ogle Jack." They both folded their arms in mock anger. Cherry snickered at the entire ordeal.

"Seriously, you guys are a bit nutso. I'm just waiting for it to get down to the nitty-gritty final four and see if you guys still have this 'Three Amigos' thing going on," she said with a smile.

"How do you even know we'll get to the finals?" I asked. "Any one of us could go home at the next elimination. Any two of us, in fact."

Cherry shrugged. "I don't know…I just feel like you guys have 'Final Four' written all over you. With me included, of course," she added with a grin.

"Aw, are you jealous because we won't let you into our clique of ultra cool people?"

"Shut up, Mayfly," Cherry said with a nudge as the van pulled into a parking lot situated between two stores, one a men's clothing store (Delphino's), the other a women's clothing store (Marlata's). Both looked very expensive.

"Shopping trip?" Mayfly suggested as we glanced from store the store.

"That's way too tame," Race said. "It has to be something worse than that."

The four of us piled out of the van as the other one pulled in behind us. It was nearly noon and the summer sun was beating down on us mercilessly. I was seriously beginning to regret my choice to wear jeans that day. I looked enviously at the girls, all of whom had opted for skirts.

Dutchy sidled up behind Racetrack and me. "Hey," Race whispered to him. "We all took a vote and decided that it's not fair for you to have a room to yourself, so we're going to send Skittery over there when we get back."

"Ha!" Dutchy cried. "That's what you think. I just had to spend an hour sitting next to the little ray of sunshine in a cramped little van. You guys can keep him."

As the two of them stood beside me bickering I caught sight of a limousine pulling into the parking lot. I nudged Race and pointed to it. "I think we're about to find out what's going on."

The limo pulled up in front of us and the engine stopped. We stood there silently and awkwardly, waiting for the door to open and for the blur of hot pink we had come to know as Medda to emerge and tell us what our next bizarre task was.

The door popped open, but instead of a crazed looking woman in a bubble gum gown we were greeted by Medda looking semi-normal for once in a brown tweed suit with matching pumps. Behind her an equally well-dressed Jack also stepped out of the limo, sporting a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a dark blue tie.

"Hello! I trust you are all doing well," Medda greeted us. "As you can see both Jack and I are dressed for the occasion."

Oh crap! Were we supposed to wear something nice? My eyes darted about our group, meticulously scanning each person's ensemble. I let out a sigh of relief when I realized everyone else was dressed similarly to me. Well, except maybe for Smartass, but I don't think she owned anything that was truly casual.

Medda, as if reading my mind, laughed, saying, "Don't worry, you are all dressed perfectly fine…for now." She smirked knowingly, stepping back and allowing Jack to take over from there.

"As you are aware, my family comes from money. As heir to the family fortune it is my responsibility to make sure my family's name is well respected at all times." He looked at each of us very seriously before continuing. "I cannot be with a person who is going to bring scandal and dishonor to the family name. This doesn't only mean that the person I choose must avoid things embarrassments like drugs or run-ins with the authorities; this also means that the person I choose will need to attend any social functions looking good and knowing how to behave properly. That means knowing proper table etiquette, polite conversation, and…" he paused, smiling, "dance."

"You've got be fucking kidding me," I heard someone (I think Skittery) mutter.

"Now, I don't necessarily mean dance with me nor do I mean a professional dance ability," Jack explained, "but rather a basic sense of dance to serve you at any event you attend. For example, an elderly businessman—or his wife—may be interested in dancing with one of you and I'd prefer not to be embarrassed."

By this point Medda had collected eight envelopes from the limo and began handing one to each of us. "Do not look inside of these just yet," she instructed.

"This challenge will consist of essentially three stages: appearance, etiquette, and dance." Jack continued, counting each one off on his fingers. "Here you will be taking care of appearance. Each of you has been given an envelope containing two thousand dollars. When I say 'Go' you will run to one of these stores," he instructed, pointing to the stores on either side of him, "depending, of course, on your gender, and find an outfit you think would be suitable for a high-class social function. You will have an hour to put together an outfit with shoes and accessories. For the challenge tonight you will only be allowed to wear clothing purchased here, minus any undergarments. Work quickly because you will need to be back here by the end of the hour and anyone who is late will be disqualified from the challenge.

"From here you will all be brought back to the house where you will have lunch with Mrs. Mary Patrick, a renowned etiquette teacher, who will teach you the basics of table manners and polite conversation. At 2:00pm you will take a one hour dance class with Daniel and Eva Watts to learn the basics of ballroom dance. The Watts own the best dance studio in the city," he informed us with pride. "You each will also be given a ten minute private lesson with them to clean up any rough areas.

"At 4:30pm you will each have someone there to do your hair and, for the girls, make-up. Don't worry guys," he added with a wink, "you can also have some basic make-up if you want. Just remember, you are in complete control and it is your responsibility to make sure they make you look good. If you don't, it's your own fault," he said with a serious look. "Finally, at exactly 5:30pm a limousine will pull up to pick all of you up and bring you to a small event I am hosting for perspective business associates. If you are not downstairs when it arrives you are disqualified from the challenge."

Medda stepped forward, taking over from where Jack had left off. "The winner of this challenge will not be treated to a private dinner with him." An upset murmur washed through the group. Medda, though, smiled. "Instead, the winner will be able to spend the entire day with Jack tomorrow…alone."

That perked us up. The groans of disappointment quickly turned to squeals of excitement. Near the edge of the group I saw Smartass practically licking her lips at the thought of an entire day alone with Jack. She caught my eye and shot me a smug grin. She obviously thought she had it in the bag. Considering her posh upbringing, she probably did.

"Are you all ready?" Jack asked with a teasing smile. Barely waiting for our responses, he shouted, "Go!" He and Medda both took cover in the limo as the group shot forward, boys veering left, girls going to the right.

I was leading the boys' group and shot through the revolving door into the icy cold store. Skittery was right behind me and all but shoved me out of the way as he ran passed to the racks of jackets. I looked out the window and saw Dutchy and Race running neck and neck toward the door. I thought about waiting for Racetrack, but it hit me that, as much as I liked him, this was a competition. At the end of the day he was my competitor and he sure wasn't going to be doing me any favors. With a final quick glance outside, I followed Skittery's lead and began browsing the jackets.

Black…navy blue…grey…brown…green? Ew… I looked at each jacket, trying to find the style and color that would best suit me. I may be gay, but when it comes to fashion I'm not exactly knowledgeable of what does and doesn't look good on me. I quickly dismissed green and grey, the former because the color seemed like it would induce vomiting and the latter because it seemed a bit too elderly for me. Brown didn't seem as though it would really do anything for me, either.

As I made my way over to the three-way mirror I was holding two different navy blue jackets and three different black jackets. I hung them all up on a nearby hook, grabbing the first of the blue ones and trying it on. Too sailorish I thought, dismissing it immediately. The first two black ones were soon dismissed as well. The third black one slid on easily, the silky inner-lining rubbing smoothly against my skin. I looked in the mirror, studying the jacket at every angle I could. Not bad… It was well-tailored, falling just to my waist line, and suited me very well. The cufflink buttons looked like they were pearl. Not something I'd usually go with, but it somehow seemed to really work for me.

I heard a shrill wolf whistle and saw Race approaching the mirror, jackets and pants in hand. "Not bad!" he told me, nodding his head in approval.

I blushed, slipping the jacket off. "Thanks, I think I'm going to go with it."

"You know, I saw a pair of slacks that would probably go nicely with that." He turned his head to the far right of the store, pointing to a mannequin wearing a pair of tailored black slacks.

"Thanks," I repeated. I turned, but then paused. "You're not just saying that to screw me up, are you?" I asked, a bit ashamed of my own doubt.

He feigned innocence. "Would I do that? Well…yeah, I would…but in this case I really mean it," he said with an earnestness I rarely saw with him. Suddenly, I felt guilty for dismissing him as only a competitor a few minutes earlier.

"Thanks" I said for the third time, making a mental note to offer my help to Race if he so requested it.

I abandoned the other jackets where I had hung them and jogged toward the slacks he had indicated. Somewhere behind me I heard a crash and sounds of a struggle. I glanced in a mirror and saw Dutchy and Skittery on the ground fighting over a black shirt. As entertaining as it was, I didn't allow myself to dwell very long on the scuffle, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand.

Racetrack brushed passed me, holding a navy blue jacket and matching slacks. "Just think," he called out to me, "as crazy as this is for us, it must be even worse for the girls right now!"


12:50pm PST

The eight of us were seated at the dining room table waiting eagerly for our etiquette teacher to arrive, not because the idea of an hour being told how to properly hold utensils excited us, but because none of us had eaten since breakfast. Identical place settings were in front of each of us, consisting of two forks, two spoons, a knife, a small bread plate, a glass of water and ice, and a wine glass. We had already placed the napkins on our laps. Well, most of us had.

"Race, that's supposed to go on your lap," an annoyed Smartass scolded. Racetrack had opted to be different, stuffing his napkin into the front of his shirt so that it hung down like a bib.

Cherry gulped down more of the ice water. "Christ, when is this woman getting here? I'm starved!"

Dutchy was eyeing the trays of food that were sitting on the cart at the front of the dining room. "Ooo, I think I see baked potato!" he exclaimed. "I hope the food at the event tonight doesn't suck. Like I can pass on the hoity-toity caviar and stuff, just give me a nice burger and fries."

Smartass snorted, shaking her head in dismay. "I don't know how you expect to win this thing. You don't know the first thing about culture." A devious glint sparkled in her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. "Besides, I think we can tell from this challenge that the winner is likely going to be of the female persuasion."

"Oh bull!" Dutchy cried. "I don't recall Jack saying 'Oh by the by, vag trumps dick!'"

"You really are delusional, aren't you?" Smartass said more as a statement than a question. "Jack said that, as an heir, he needs to avoid scandal." We men at the table shared confused looks with each other, prompting an exasperated Smartass to elaborate. "Jack is not going to want to stray from the norm which, as we all know, is boy marries girl, not boy marries girl."

"What next, Smartass? Are you going to be screaming 'Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve'?" Racetrack asked, obviously a bit miffed.

"Look, I'm not condemning the lifestyle; I just don't think Jack's family would want him to choose a boy as his life partner."

"Sad that I actually have to agree with Smartass," Cherry said, "but she does make a valid point."

"We guys have as good a chance as you girls," I put in. "Mayfly probably agrees with us!"

In response, Mayfly shot me a sheepish, almost apologetic smile. "Guys, you know I'm one hundred percent pro-gay and all…but I think it's a really good point. I mean, if this were some Joe Schmo I could see it going either way, but in this case I think the odds are tipped in our favor."

What happened next was an array of yelling, slurs, and all around arguing. From every side someone was shouting, trying to get their point across:

"You guys need to face facts!"

"You're just jealous because Jack is obviously more gay than he is straight!"

"What is he going to say when he shows up at a function with a guy as his date?"

"Yeah, cause gay couples are so fucking scarce in fucking California!"

"Jack was totally staring at my package today, so I think we can conclude that he's queer as a three dollar bill."

"Uh, did you see him looking at my fucking boobs?"

"You mean that look of terror? Yeah, saw that."

"You are all fucking dumb as shit, so who really cares?"

"Can we please use our inside voices?"

The doors leading to the dining room slammed open, banging against the walls with a resounding crash. In a flash the shouting stopped and we all fell into our seats, hands resting on the table. We looked to the doors and saw a tall, thin, older woman standing there, clipboard in hand. Her wheat blonde hair was completely pulled into a tight, neat bun atop her head with a pencil sticking through it. Her eyes were hard, her lips twisted into a "no-nonsense" scowl. Her gray suit was crisp and clean, not a thread out of place. She looked like the kind of teacher that would slap unruly students on the knuckles with her ruler without batting an eye.

She stood in the doorway, her eyes looking down the table, examining each of us as though we were a mud splatter on her good linen. She walked in slowly, eyes still observing us. Finally, she took a place at the head of the table and set her clipboard down. "Hello," she said coolly, "I am Mary Patrick and, as I am sure you know, I am here to teach you proper etiquette so you do not make a fool of yourself or of Mr. Kelly tonight." She walked around to where Race was sitting. "Your napkin goes on your lap," she told him with a cold tone. When he made no move to correct his napkin's placement, she grabbed it, yanking it from its place, and dropped it on to his lap.

"We will begin with the utensils. Have any of you ever taking an etiquette class?" She asked. In her eyes I could see that she had already decided who here was worthy of her time and who here was not.

Smartass raised her hand, sitting up tall in her seat. "I have Mrs. Patrick. I'm Vaughn Kensington."

Mrs. Patrick looked at Smartass, her eyes squinting. Finally, her mouth twisted into what I can only assume was an attempt at a smile. "Very well, Miss Kensington, I hope you can set a good example for everyone else." Smartass smiled like the Cheshire Cat, looking around the table to make sure everyone else had heard that.

The next hour consisted of Mrs. Patrick talking and Mrs. Patrick scolding. Mostly she scolded. First she explained the use of each utensil, pointing out the salad fork, soup spoon, entrée fork, and dessert spoon. "When you are dining, just remember to start from the outside and work your way in," she advised.

Next, the food was brought out, beginning with a small salad of greens, cherry tomatoes, diced onions, cucumbers, and olives, topped with a creamy dressing. I spied Dutchy wrestling to stab a tomato with his fork. "C'mon you little fucker," I heard him mutter. He dropped the fork in defeat and, after glancing up to make sure Mrs. Patrick wasn't looking, grabbed it with his hand and popped it into his mouth. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to escape her watchful eye.

"Polite guests do not use their hands!" Mrs. Patrick told him. "This is not a burger joint!"

I managed to do fairly well with the lesson, only being scolded once for sipping my soup. In my defense, though, I was only sipping it because it was so hot and I didn't want to scald my tongue. While this wasn't the actual challenge, I had a feeling Mrs. Patrick would relay to Jack how we had behaved during the lesson. I spotted her making notes a couple of times during the meal.

"No, no, Mr. Higgins!" she cried. "You do not hold your knife and fork as though you are about to stab someone with them!"

It was clear that Racetrack wasn't one of Mrs. Patrick's favorite pupils of the day. From using the wrong fork for the salad to putting his elbows on the table to chewing loudly on the ice in his glass of water, Racetrack seemed completely oblivious to any of her teachings. Right now he was trying to cut his filet minion, though as she stood over him scolding, his face grew redder and redder. "I prefer to hold them this way. Besides, you never know when the need to stab someone will arise," he retorted with a not so surreptitious glance toward her.

If Mrs. Patrick recognized the veiled threat she didn't show it. Instead, she pointed to Smartass who was also cutting her meat, though in a much classier manner. "See how Miss Kensington cuts her meat? She holds the utensils delicately." Smartass stabbed a piece of the meat with her fork, raising it to her mouth. Before eating it she shot Racetrack a smug look.

"Psst! Blink!" I looked across the table to Mayfly. "Do you want my asparagus?"

"Do not whisper at the table, Miss Bennet!" Mrs. Patrick admonished. "If what you are saying is polite conversation—and it should be—you can say it loud enough for everyone."

"I was simply offering my asparagus to Blink…er…I mean to Mr. Keller."

"I think it's pretty darn polite of her to offer me her food," I joked. Mayfly shot me a thankful smile. Mrs. Patrick just scowled.

"Hell yeah! Dessert!" Dutchy shouted as plates of tiramisu were brought out on the cart. When Mrs. Patrick shot him a look he stammered, "I mean, uh, how delightful! They are now bringing out the desserts."

"I'm afraid I must pass on dessert," Smartass announced. "I do have my figure to look out for. I'd hate to not fit in my brand new dress."

"So why bother sticking around?" Cherry asked after shoving a spoonful of tiramisu into her mouth, ignoring Mrs. Patrick's reminder about not talking with food in your mouth.

"Because," Smartass explained, smiling sweetly, "leaving while others are still enjoying their meal would be rude." Mrs. Patrick's lips once again twisted into a sort of smile as she patted Smartass' head.

"Good doggy," Racetrack muttered as his eyes narrowed in Smartass' direction.


3:40pm PST

One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three I counted in my head as Eva and I danced around the ballroom floor in our ten minute one-on-one session. Daniel was standing to the side watching, beating a cane against the floor to help me feel the rhythm of the music. My palms were sweating, my head looking down at my feet as I tried in vain not to step on Eva's toes.

I'm not a complete dud when it comes to dancing. I like to think I have a good sense of rhythm and I can hold my own when I go out to clubs, though alcohol often helps. Still, I was having a bit of trouble getting this down.

"You're doing better," Eva said with an encouraging smile, "but try not to keep your head down so much. Remember, you need to talk to the woman you're dancing with."

"Sorry," I told her with a sheepish smile. "I just feel as though I need to look at my feet."

"Believe me, they aren't going to go anywhere without you." I cracked a smile, loosening up a bit. After an hour with Mrs. Patrick, Daniel and Eva were a breath of fresh air.

The eight of us had been milling about the ballroom waiting for the lesson to start. Smartass was explaining to a rather bored looking Cherry her background in ballroom dance. Dutchy had found a small grand piano and was currently improvising on it with Mayfly adding vocals here and there. Jan and Racetrack were both trying to get a head start by pairing off and trying a few steps on the floor. Skittery, as usual, had ostracized himself from the rest of the group and was sulking in a chair.

And me? Well, I was just in the middle of it all, observing a little of everything. Mostly, though I was watching Racetrack. I have to admit I was very impressed by his ability. He didn't strike me as the dancer type and yet I watched as he seemed to float across the dance floor, his foot stepping in exactly the right spot with every move. His body moved with ease and even when Jan stepped on his foot, as she did countless times, he didn't show it in his expression.

I'm not sure how long I watched him, but at one point he caught my eye and gave me both a sly smile and a wink sending me into a blushing frenzy.

At precisely 2:00pm the doors opened and in walked a medium sized guy and a minute woman. The man had green eyes, brown hair and the beginning of a brown goatee while the woman had deep blue eyes and fiery red hair. He was wearing loose slacks and a T-shirt and she was wearing a tank top, wrap around skirt, and heels so high they practically made her as tall as me. "Hi," the man called out jovially, "I'm Daniel Watts and this is my wife, Eva." Eva gave a small wave. "We're here to give you all a quick dance lesson. I hope by the time you walk out of here you'll be pros, but don't worry too much. Just do your best," he said with a wink.

We were paired off by height. I was with Jan, Mayfly was with Dutchy, Racetrack was with Cherry, and Smartass got stuck with Skittery. It was probably for the best, though, seeing as she was the only one who could effectively deal with his crap. Both simply glared at each other with identical scowls.

"Men, take your lady's right hand with your left and place your right hand on her waist. Ladies, place your left hand on your man's shoulder," Daniel instructed, showing with Eva as his partner. "We're going to start with a simple box step. We're going to step to the men's left—that'll be your right, ladies—and then back. Ladies, when we step back, you will actually be stepping forward," he explained, seeing Jan trying to step back as I stepped back. "Now men will step to their right and ladies to their left, and finally the men will step forward as the women step back."

We all practiced this with our respective partners. I could see Racetrack and Cherry smoothly going through the steps, Cherry adding a hip pop with every step. Dutchy and Mayfly seemed to be doing well, though every now and then Dutchy would step too far forward squashing poor May's toes. Skittery looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, especially with Smartass as his partner. His body was slumped and it looked more like she was dragging him around the floor than actually dancing.

"No, Jan, go to your right," I explained as she once again stepped in the wrong direction. She bit her lip in frustration. I could tell by the look in her eyes that this dance was going to take every brain cell she had. Poor girl was doomed. "Which hand do you hold your make-up brush in?" I asked, feeling a bit of inspiration.

She raised her right hand up. "This one…my…right?" she asked, smiling triumphantly when I nodded.

"Now which hand do you hold your compact mirror in when you're applying make-up?" This time she raised her left hand. "Good job. Now I want you to step to the brush side." As I stepped with my left foot she stepped with her right foot without hesitation. "Very good!" I congratulated. "Now, step to the compact side." She stepped smoothly to the left.

She giggled as we began stepping side to side. "I think I've got it now! You just need to remind me of which side."

I smiled, finding her childlike joy charming despite how unfortunate it was that her entire perception of right and left depended on her make-up habits. "You ready to go forward?" I asked. "Just remember forward is the lips direction and back is the hair direction," I reminded, hoping she wouldn't actually need that to remember front from back. "So…brush…lips…compact…hair," I muttered softly to her as we made a perfect box.

"Brush…lips…compact…hair…brush…lips…compact…hair," she kept whispering to herself softly over and over, her eyes closed as if she were in deep meditation.

At the front of the room Daniel clapped to get everyone's attention. "Very good, everyone! I can see that you all have at least a basic sense of dance. We're going to go into some steps that are slightly more complicated. If you have trouble, just raise your hand one either Eva or I will come and help you get back on track. Don't forget you each will also have a ten minute private session with us after the group lesson." He nodded to Eva to start the music and the two started a small routine, showing us what they hoped to teach us in the remaining time.

The last fifty minutes were a blur of twists, turns, dips, kicks, and, for some, a couple of lifts. It was as if Daniel and Eva had taken every step in tango, salsa, mambo, waltz, and swing, mashed them up together in a nifty fifty minute abridged version and then spewed it upon us hoping we would soak it all up through some form of osmosis. My hips were moving in ways I didn't even know were possible, my head was spinning, trying to grasp every new move shown to us, and my feet were beginning to throb in pain, though that could have been attributed to my partner.

"Oh, did I step on your foot again?"

I grunted a yes, glaring at the teal and silver heels Jan was wearing. Unlike with the box step, this time I couldn't be frustrated with Jan for her inability to pick up the steps. Aside from Racetrack and Cherry, who were going at it like pros, and Smartass, who would have looked more graceful with a more enthusiastic partner, everyone seemed to be struggling a bit with the steps. As poorly as I was doing I knew I could take solace in the fact that Skittery was a flailing mess.

Just when it seemed Jan and I had mastered the spin out and spin in the music came to an abrupt halt. "Unfortunately," Eva announced, "time is up for our group session. We're going to begin the private sessions beginning with Ashleigh and going through each person alphabetically. In the meantime, the rest of you can wait out in the hall, but, out of respect for whomever is in here for their session, please keep the noise to a minimum!"

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, not realizing how much of a sweat I had built up in the past hour. The group, minus Mayfly, trekked to the door. I had a feeling most of us were going to be pairing up and practicing as much as we possibly could in the narrow hallway. As I passed Mayfly, I shot her a thumbs up. She responded by smacking me on the ass playfully.

"Hands off, May!" Race admonished, "I saw him first." He grabbed my arm protectively, linking his through mine and resting his head against my shoulder.

Having finally gotten used to Racetrack's brand of teasing, I simply smiled and walked out, arm and arm with him, like a groom and his bride. "Sorry, May, but I've got to go with Racetrack seeing as he actually has a penis and all," I called out over my shoulder.

"Dude, penises are hot," he proclaimed to me.

"Hell yes, brother!"


5:20pm PST

I stood looking in the foyer's full length mirror. Looking back at me was my completed look for the evening and I have to say, in all honesty, I looked pretty damn hot. I had gone with the black jacket with pearl buttons and the black slacks Race had pointed out to me. I had also found a dark green button-up which, when the fabric was in a certain light, reflected as being black. It worked nicely with the jacket and slacks, in my opinion. I was lucky enough to fine a black silk tie with flecks of green that topped off the entire ensemble. With the remaining money I grabbed a pair of black dress shoes.

When my stylist, Erica, arrived I simply asked her to give my hair a trim and comb it so that it fell to the right and a little over my forehead. She gave me a bit of concealer and foundation to cover up a couple of stubborn blemishes and when I stepped out of the chair to the mirror what I saw staring back at me was one sexy beast. "You'll knock 'em dead!" Erica assured me in a thick, gum-chomping New Jersey accent as she brushed a few stray hairs from the collar of my jacket.

I heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up from my reflection to see Dutchy and Jan descending. Dutchy seemed to have won the black shirt he and Skittery had been fighting over. With it he wore a dark grey blazer and matching slacks. As much as I had thought the grey looked too elderly for me, on him it simply seemed to work. He had opted not to wear a tie and the top button of his shirt was open to, revealing a small flash of his upper chest. His hair didn't look the slightest bit different, though, and the shagginess of it clashed with the suavity of his outfit.

Predictable old Jan had managed to find a teal gown, though I had to admit that, for once, her teal ensemble wasn't horrible. The gown was a baby doll dress that came to just below her knees, Around the waist was a silver braided belt that tied on the side and brought out the bits of silver in the fabric of the dress. Her shoes were the same ones she had been wearing during our lesson. Her strawberry-blonde hair was a mass of curls that had been pinned on top of her head, a few curls falling down around her face. She seemed to have kept her make-up simple, opting for a little teal eye shadow and pink lip gloss. Two silver hoops dangled from her ears and a silver choker was situated around her neck.

"You guys look very nice," I complimented.

"Not so nice as you," Racetrack said as he jogged down the stairs behind him. I could hear the clacking of heels behind him and saw Mayfly and Cherry also on their way down. Behind them a very sulky looking Skittery shuffled down as well.

Racetrack had managed to find a pinstripe suit which he wore with a white shirt and white bow tie. His shoes were those old-timey black and white shoes and I'm almost positive I saw the chain of a pocket watch hanging down. All he needed was a fedora and a cane to complete the look. His hair was slicked to the side in a way that is just so sexy, but that you can't really describe why it's sexy. You just know that it is.

Mayfly's gown was a dark red spaghetti strap dress with a corseted top that looked as though it were silk. The skirt flared out slightly, a small red petticoat under it, and fell to her knees. Her shoes were open-toed stilettos with criss-crossing rhinestone buckles. In her ears I saw the glint of rhinestone earrings. Her eyes had a smoky black-purple shadow and a dark liner, her lips a dark red. The front sections of her hair had been pulled back and pinned with a jeweled barrette. The rest of her hair cascaded down her back in wavy tendrils.

Cherry's black strapless dress was tight and short. I mean really short. Like, upper thighs short. She was wearing black stockings with super-high black platform heels, making it difficult to distinguish where the stockings ended and the shoes began. Around her neck was a long silver chain that hung almost as low as her navel. Hanging on the chain was a large black and silver medallion. Long black earring dangled from her ear lobes, catching the light every time she turned. Her brown had been situated atop her head with small rhinestones stuck in here and there. Her eyes were completely lined in black and her lips had a dark reddish-brown hue.

Skittery's suit was completely black with only his red tie giving the ensemble any color. His hair was an unruly mess, curls hanging down into his eyes. This, combined with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes cast downward, and the general sour expression on his face, made for one scary looking guy.

"Where's the little rich girl?" Dutchy asked Mayfly.

She jerked her thumb back to the second floor. "She's still getting herself ready. Her hair and make-up person left ages ago and she said he was so incompetent she has to completely fix everything. You should see her fucking dress, though. It looks like the dress Audrey Hepburn wore in Roman Holiday. I can't believe she was able to find that for only two thousand dollars…and could still afford shoes and accessories."

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess she got herself another tiara," Racetrack assessed.

Mayfly nodded. "It's even bigger than the one she already has."

I glanced at the grandfather clock and did a double take. "She had better hurry if she wants to win this," I said, pointing to the clock. "It's 5:30."

As if on cue, the front door was opened by a door man and there in the drive-way was the stretch limo. I looked back toward the stairs. "Should…should we tell her?"

Cherry snorted. "Please! We are not her keeper. She was told the rules of the challenge," she said as she sauntered out to the limo. Mayfly, Skittery, Jan, and Dutchy followed her lead, leaving only Racetrack and me to determine what to do.

For Racetrack the answer was obvious. "Hey, Smartass! Hope you can find a pumpkin to take you to the ball!" he yelled, quickly grabbing my arm and pulling me out to the limo. He shoved me in and slammed the door behind him as he slid in next to me. "Go!" he ordered the driver. And with that the limo pulled out, leaving behind what I'm sure would be a very pissed off Smartass.

"Ah!" Dutchy said, making a big show of spreading his legs out. "It's so much cozier in here with just seven people."


7:00pm PST

The banquet hall was buzzing with music, chatter, and the clinking of utensils against fine china dishes. The red velvet curtains had been tied back away from the ceiling to floor windows, giving the guests a view of the beautiful night sky. To the far right was a moderately sized dance floor, behind which a band had set up and begun playing soft "mood music." Above the dance floor was a massive chandelier that was tediously swaying back and forth.

On the other side of the room three tables were set up. We contestants sat at one table, the furthest one back. At the next table were four couples ranging in age from late twenties to early sixties. The front table was occupied by Jack and Medda.

Medda had returned to her favorite color, though in a less severe shade. She wore an empire waist, floor length gown in light pink. Her hair had been pulled up and in the back a pink rose was clipped in. Jack was wearing the same dark blue suit and white shirt, only now he had a silver tie to top off the ensemble. Unfortunately, his hair was once again slicked back in that way I hated.

When we had arrived the other guests were already situated in their seats. I was surprised to see such a meager amount of guests, having expected to enter a ballroom crammed with rich, snobby blue bloods, the men talking to each other about finances and their wives talking to each other about the latest fashion show they had attended. I was not expecting to see only eight other guests besides us.

Upon seeing us, Jack had greeted the group with a simple hello, not even commenting on Smartass' conspicuous absence. He asked us each to take a seat at the back table and to enjoy the meal before he returned to his private table. I noticed Cherry pouting, obviously upset that she wouldn't be able to sit next to Jack. Still, she sucked it up and slid into the seat to my right. Race and Mayfly were right across from us with Jan and Dutchy next to them. The seat to my left was empty as Skittery had chosen to sit on the other end of the table as though sitting by the rest of us would give him some fatal disease. Can't say I was complaining.

We were about forty minutes into our main course—lamb with mint jam, potato au gratin, and spinach with a creamy cheese sauce—when Medda stood, clinking her fork against her glass to get everyone's attention. "I hope everyone is enjoying their meal!" Her comment was met with murmurs of agreement from everyone. "I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all on the behalf of Mr. Jack Kelly for coming this evening." There was a round of applause as we congratulated ourselves for getting dressed up and coming to a fancy dinner. Yay us.

"Dessert and coffee will be served shortly and, after that, the dance floor will be open for any couples who wish to take advantage of it," she informed us. "For now, while I have everyone here, I would like to toast to young Mr. Kelly." She raised her wine glass in the air, turning to Jack who was feigning embarrassment, though his smile betrayed how much he was enjoying the attention. "To Jack!"

"To Jack!" we echoed, raising our glasses as well.

"May he live a happy and prosperous life with his future soul mate." She smiled in the direction of our table before adding, "Who we hope he will find within the coming week."

"Here, here!" Jack called out, raising his glass in our direction.

With that the kitchen doors swung open and waiters emerged, each carrying two plates of crème brûlée smothered with a light rum sauce. At the end of the line were waitresses carrying coffee pots.

Mayfly dug her spoon into the carmelized sugar, scooping out the creamy dessert. "God, this…it's like an orgasm in my mouth!" she cried a bit too loudly. "Oh…sorry," she said, covering her mouth when two people at the next table looked over at her quizzically. "But seriously, it's delicious!"

"You can have mine," I offered as I flooded my coffee with cream.

"Thanks!" She grabbed my plate and plucked the dessert off, dropping it on to her own plate. "Mine!" she said, smacking away Race's hand as he reached out to scoop up a glob of the dessert with his finger.

"Excuse me," a female voice called. At the end of a table was a twenty-something woman in a silver gown that probably cost about as much as a car for a regular person. Her jewelry, which included a large diamond ring, probably added up to more money than I had ever spent in my entire life. She was semi-attractive, for a girl, though slightly too emaciated for my taste. "Would one of you gentlemen care to dance with me?" she asked, a coy pout playing on her lips.

I glanced at the other guys at the table. Skittery hadn't even acknowledged her presence, keeping his head low, Dutchy was looking at her the way I imagine he would look at an alien if it were to suddenly pop out of someone's stomach, and Racetrack was too busy trying to shove his finger into May's dessert. "I guess I will," I finally said, standing and offering her my arm like I had seen men in movies do.

The woman giggled, taking my arm in delight. "How cute," she cooed. "I'm Dominique."

"Brent," I responded as we walked to the floor. So far there was only one other couple there. The band was playing a song that I recognized but couldn't quite place. We assumed the position (doesn't that sound dirty, like we were about to engage in some perverse sexual act or something?) and began to sway in time to the music.

"So where are you from, Brent?" she purred, her fingers gently stroking the back of my neck and head.

"Uh, Louisiana," I managed to tell her while I tried to disengage her fingers from my hair. Wasn't this chick married?

"What a coincidence! I'm a Southern Belle, myself."

"Uh, yeah, that's, um, cool…" Was she grinding into my crotch?

"And what do you do?"

"Well, I write a bit. Mostly freelance stuff right now. And you?"

She smiled, showing off all of her perfectly white, perfectly straight teeth that I'm sure her husband's money had paid for. "I lay around the house and tell my hired help what to do."

"Lie," I corrected.

"Hm?" she asked, obviously taken aback.

"Uh, grammatically it should be that you 'lie around the house,' not 'lay around the house.' 'Lay' refers to an inanimate object while 'lie' refers to a living creature," I explained while simultaneously wondering it correcting someone's grammar was considered polite conversation and, more importantly, whether or not I actually cared if it wasn't.

If she was insulted she didn't show it. "Thank you for the lesson, professor," she said teasingly before twirling under my arm.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a very pleased looking Cherry stepping out onto the dance floor with an older, equally pleased, man. Right behind them were the man's wife and Racetrack who, despite throwing me a look of disgust, immediately turned on the charm as he danced with the woman. Mayfly was finishing up dessert, taking the hand of a man who looked to be in his thirties, while the man's wife was pulling a reluctant Dutchy from his chair onto the floor.

As I was looking in amusement at the array of dancers on the floor, my eyes fell upon a rather angry looking man. No, not Skittery. This man was looking at me and Dominique, his eyes blazing. Obviously this was her husband and, judging by the look on his face, he was not enjoying the sight of us dancing. To be fair, between Dominique's hand stroking my back and her hips gyrating against my groin, I didn't blame him.

"Uh, I don't think your husband likes us dancing," I whispered to her. She giggled in response.

"He'll get over it." She nodded her head to toward her husband who was leading Jan to the dance floor. "See, he has his own dance partner." And with that she simply tightened her grip around my neck.

He may have been dancing with someone else, but his eyes were still trained directly on us, watching every move. His eyes narrowed every time she touched her hand against my neck. He bit his lip when she nestled her head against my chest. When her hand clamped down firmly on my butt his face turned a dark red, almost matching the pink tint mine had taken on.. He gently shoved Jan away and stalked to where we were, yanking me away from the horny young woman.

"Just who the fuck do you think you are?" he hissed. "Who gave you permission to screw around with my wife?"

I tried not to let on how frightened I was by this man who looked like he could rip my head off with one hand, focusing instead on remaining as calm as I possibly could. "I'm sorry, sir, but I was only dancing with her. I wasn't trying to…I mean…I'm not attracted to your wife." I winced, scrambling to retract my statement. "What I mean is that…I'm gay."

He still looked doubtful. "I don't like guys trying to pick up my wife."

"In that case, why don't you dance with her?" I suggested, gently pushing her toward him. "Sir, honestly, I'm not trying to fight or start anything." I was mentally praying that the enraged man would give it a rest and go on his merry way with his nympho wife and leave me in peace.

God must have been on my side that night because the man took his wife's arm and led her away, though not before shooting me a withering glance. I let out a slow breath, brushing at the back of my neck with my hand as though I had to rid any trace of the crazy lady's touch from my skin. Stupid hetero woman causing trouble.

"Blink, save me," a desperate Mayfly whispered into my ear as she came around me, wrapping her arms around my neck just as Dominique had. "My dance partner over there is a bit too touchy-feely for my taste," she explained, "so if you dance with me, at least until he finds another partner, I'll completely love you forever and ever and I'll even stop calling you 'Blinky,'" she begged, looking at me with what I can only describe as puppy dog eyes. "That psycho woman hasn't given you a phobia of straight women, has she?"

I laughed, placing my hands on her waist. "I think I can manage for your sake."

She gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "You are seriously the best like whoa!"

"Like whoa?" I repeated.

"Yeah…it's like even beyond just amazing and stuff… it's like whoa," she told me as though that made perfect sense. The sad thing is that, to me, it did.

"I've been hanging around you way too long," I informed her as the band started up a new song.


9:45pm PST

Medda was pacing back and forth in front of us as we sat huddled near the back of the banquet hall. Most of us were leaning on one another in an attempt to stay awake. It was almost ten o'clock and the rest of the guests had said their good-byes half an hour earlier. The waiters were busy grabbing the dishes and coffee mugs that were still cluttering up the tables. The band had already packed up, but had been offered free cups of coffee for a job well done and were currently enjoying them in the far right corner.

"Jack, unfortunately, had to leave," Medda informed us, "but he asked me to give you all your evaluations for the day and announce who has won the private date with him tomorrow." She grabbed a stack of papers that were situated on a nearby chair. "Let us start with…Ms. Bennet!" Mayfly looked up at the overly cheerful woman, obviously a bit tired from the evening. "Hm…Not bad, Ms. Bennet. You look very lovely tonight, though perhaps red shoes would have been more appropriate for that dress."

"Mmm…whatev," she mumbled with a shrug and a yawn.

"I also must express my sympathies for getting stuck with Mr. Richards. I should have warned the girls that he has a problem with wandering hands. You handled the situation very well, though, Ms. Bennet," Medda congratulated before continuing down the sheet. "The Watts said that you have a nice sense of rhythm and, with more practice, you could really impress on the dance floor." She paused, looking at the last part of the evaluation sheet, shaking her head. "Unfortunately, Mrs. Patrick says your table manners need improvement and you are persnickety."

Mayfly's head shot up. "Wait, are you serious?" she asked incredulously. "She actually called me 'persnickety?' Who the hell actually uses the word 'persnickety' anymore?" she asked me. I responded with a shrug.

"Next is Mr. Durnham," Medda said, ignoring Mayfly's comment and seeking out Skittery among us. He was located at the very back of the group, slumped in his chair with his usual "I don't give a fuck" attitude. "Your attire is fine, though a little more color may make you seem more cheerful," she suggested. Yeah, I'm sure that appearing cheerful is high on Skittery's "To-do" list. "For dance," she went on, "it says you were not open to even trying and that you seemed to have a very sour attitude. Mrs. Patrick says that, while your table manners were acceptable, you did not look very inviting and your conversation skills need work."

"What-the-fuck-ever," I heard him mutter as he slid down further in his seat.

"Mr. Keller!" I looked at Medda who was studying what I assumed to be my evaluation sheet, a small smile on her face. "Your outfit is very nice, though the eye patch seems a bit peculiar. But we can hardly fault you for that," she added quickly as if she thought her comment had offended me. "The Watts say that, while you are not the best of dancers, you showed a great effort and worked with what you had. Mrs. Patrick said that you slurped too much and that you had a very smart aleck personality, but you seemed to pick up table manners quickly. I am also very impressed with the way you handled the little 'incident' tonight. You conducted yourself with great class. Well done, Mr. Keller!" she commended, shuffling on to the next evaluation.

"Go Blink," Race cheered, clapping his hand on my shoulder.

"Sadly, Ms. Kensington was not able to join us," Medda announced as though we hadn't already noticed her absence, "so I will have to skip her incomplete evaluation and go on ahead to Mr. Higgins' evaluation."

Racetrack laughed. "I have a feeling I wasn't one of the favorites," he whispered to me, though his expression showed no sign of fret or worry.

He was right for the most part. "Mr. Higgins, your outfit, while attractive, is a bit too much and a bit too costume-y for these kinds of affairs. The Watts say that your dancing was superb, but Mrs. Patrick says that you were her least favorite person to teach, claiming that you are rude, inattentive, and childish." Medda shook her head. "Tsk, tsk! You will have to do better in the future, Mr. Higgins."

"Oh, yes ma'am," Race said with mock seriousness, "I will study hard and do all of my homework and I will be the best gosh darn reality show contestant you've ever seen!"

His sarcasm, though, was lost on the faux Swede who simply nodded. "Now we come to Ms. Sanders."

"Here!" Jan chirped, raising her hand.

"Ms. Sanders, your gown is beautiful, though perhaps better suited for a high school function. Your dancing needs work, according to the Watts. I also understand there was some trouble when you were dancing with Mr. DeWitt tonight. Something about brushes and compacts?"

"Oh, yes," Jan explained. "Mr. DeWitt wasn't telling me if he wanted me to go to my brush or my compact and that got me all confused!"

Medda's eyebrows shot up, studying the young dimwit for any sign that she was joking. There was none. "I see…" she said cautiously. "Well, Mrs. Patrick said you did fairly well, though you still cannot tell your utensils apart. This brings us now to Ms. Shown."

Cherry limply raised her hand. She was currently slouched in her chair, legs splayed out to the sides. "Please close your legs, Ms. Shown," Medda asked. "I have to start by telling you that your dress is far too scandalous for this kind of event. If you were to show up in that at a large event on Jack's arm people would think you were a hired escort, not his date. With that said, the Watts praised your dance ability and Mrs. Patrick said that, while you still have a few things to work on, overall your table manners are quite nice."

Medda placed Cherry's evaluation form in the back of the pile. "And now we have come to Mr. Svenson." I glanced at Dutchy who was busy staring at his shoes. "Your attire is nice, but your hair needs to be cut and styled so that it does not hang in your eyes," Medda admonished. "The Watts said that your dancing is clumsy, but you at least tried. Mrs. Patrick said that you tend to speak and act without thinking."

Medda placed the stack of evaluations on the chair before turning back to us. "Now you all did fairly well, though some did better than others. Jack and I took a moment before to go over the evaluations and we have both agreed unanimously on one person as the winner." She paused, her eyes looking over each of us, giving every person a moment of hope that they had been the winner. Finally her eyes rested squarely on me. "Mr. Keller, congratulations!"

Behind me a small chorus of applause broke out and an even smaller bout of whooping that I'm sure was coming from Racetrack. "Nicely done!" Mayfly said, giving me a small hug.

"Be ready to go tomorrow morning at 8:00," Medda instructed. "You and Jack will have a surprise date and will not be returning to the house until dinner."

I have to admit I was completely surprised. No, not surprised that I had won. I'm not arrogant or anything, but I felt that I had a really good chance, especially after the evaluations were read aloud. What surprised me was how I felt when Medda said my name. I'd expected a sense of joy and pride; what I felt was indifference. Even when I saw Medda's eyes connect with mine, when I saw that she was about to name me the winner, I just wanted to shrug and say "Whatever." Here I was getting an entire day alone with the man whose love I'm vying for and the first thought that comes to mind is "whatever"? Something is definitely wrong there.

As we were leaving to pile back into our limo I expressed my concerns to Racetrack. "I wouldn't worry," he said with a smile. "It's been a long day and an even longer night. You're probably just tired beyond comprehension. I could be told I won a million dollars and I'd probably have the same reaction to it." As if to prove his point he yawned widely, rubbing his eyes. "Don't worry about it," he assured me, slinging his arm around my shoulder, "just think about your date tomorrow and how glorious it will be." He gave me a small pat on the chest before adding, "And don't worry about little ol' me sitting all alone back at the house."

After he said it, I realized how much I'd rather be spending the next day back at the house keeping him company.


AN:…Was that chapter long enough for you? Seriously, I didn't intend for it to be so massive, it just kind of turned out that way.