The Hotel Room Pitch

Jules wasn’t sure if his sore stomach the next morning was from the last two drinks he’d had at the hotel bar or the crazed woman who’d punched him in the gut. He wanted to throw up but he couldn’t get himself to do it.

Which meant he packed his bag the next morning in a low-level of sore misery and grunting. Who the hell did that weather vane think she was? Acting like everything was his fault, even though she was the one who didn’t see where she was going.

He checked his phone. Checkout was in an hour and then they’d need to make their way to the airport. At least the plane was on time – last time he’d flown, he was stranded in Atlanta for ten hours.

The hotel room’s phone started to ring. The concierge’s voice greeted Jules as he picked up. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sanders. The gentleman you informed us about last night is here and is on his way to your room.”

Jules blinked. What the hell had Sean and Derek gotten themselves into after he left?

He found out a few minutes later. Standing in the hall was a man in his mid-fifties, shades resting on above his black and grey eyebrows. His red and white Hawaiian shirt fit loosely on his body as he leaned in towards the door.

By the man’s side was an assistant half his age in a blue pantsuit and a cropped haircut dyed pink. She was busy tapping away at a tablet with a pen, occasionally dragging it across the screen. Her eyes never wavered from whatever she was doing.

The man’s eyes lit up the moment he saw Jules answer the door. “Hello, there! My name is Bruce. You must be Jules. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Jules’s eyes darted to the master bedroom where his friends had slept. “I don’t know what Sean and Derek told you, but I am very straight and not interested.”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, no. Jules, I saw what happened to you last night at the bar.” He handed Jules his business card. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk.”

The card was black with a glossy finish. Embossed on the card was his contact information, along with:

Bruce Jacobs (he/him)
Executive Producer, EZ Times Productions

A slick card if Jules was being honest. “What’s a producer want with me?”

“I’m going to be upfront about this,” said Bruce. “We want you on our dating show.”

Jules tuned out everything he said after that. He didn’t give his friends crashing into the room squealing with excitement much thought, either. They wanted him on a dating show? Him?!

He held up a hand, finger extended. “Full disclosure. I hate dating shows. Why would you want me on?”

Bruce’s smile faded. “For starters, we had a contestant pull out earlier this week. Which wouldn’t be so bad if we had any alternates left. But what I saw last night? You’d be good TV for an episode or two, I bet.”

Last night? Did Bruce mean his fight with that woman at the bar? That went so poorly that his stomach was still finding new languages to curse at him in.

“I’m flattered,” said Jules, “but I’m supposed to fly home in a few hours.”

Undeterred, Bruce nodded. “I understand. That means you have a few hours to think it over. Elena!” He clapped his hands. “Give them the Standard Contestant Contract.”

The woman in the pantsuit rolled her eyes and reached into her suit. A thick ream of paper was slammed down onto the hotel room’s dining table with a loud thud. Everyone stared at the contract that clearly needed multiple attempts to staple it together.

A loud creak broke their silence before the table collapsed under the contract’s weight.

“…Elena. Remind me to pay the hotel for new furniture.”

----

Jules’ hand hadn’t left his face for the last ten minutes.

Sean and Derek had spent that time not packing their bags – and claiming they already had. Instead, they were pouring over that thick contract, occasionally giggling and pointing at parts while they said things like, “I was wondering why they did this,” and “Oh, that explains so much”.

After they reached minute eleven, Jules’ hand finally slipped and slapped his knee. “What are you doing? I’m not going on the show.”

Sean didn’t look up from the contract. “Why not? You’d get to be on TV!”

“I hate dating shows!” Jules reminded Sean. “You couldn’t pay me enough to go on one.”

Derek’s finger landed on a densely written part of the page. “Fifty thousand dollars.”

That was an oddly specific amount of money. Money that he knew neither of his friends had. He turned to look at Derek, jaw slightly agape.

“Some reality shows pay an appearance fee for going on their show,” said Derek. “And some of those will pay you more depending on how far you go. That’s how they’ve structured this one. If you make it to the final four, they will pay you fifty thousand dollars.”

Fifty… thousand… He dreamed about what he’d do with that kind of money when he was in college. See the world, get a fancy car. Now?

“After taxes, that would be enough to pay off my student loans!” Now, he had far too modest of a dream. But freeing himself from those payments would give him a new lease on life. But… going on a dating show… “I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

Derek waved him off. “Please. Most people these days don’t go onto dating shows to find love. They do it for exposure, or for the fame, or the experience. Think about it like a crazy vacation.”

That was one way he could stomach this whole thing. An insane vacation where he pretended to be on the hunt for true love, all while on the prowl for money.

Jules found a sick satisfaction in the idea. Being on a dating show and completely tearing it to pieces. There was a catch, though. If he wanted that fifty thousand dollars, he couldn’t just set fire to the place and be done with it. He’d have to survive getting eliminated. Which meant he’d need to do something he’d never expected.

Jules turned to his friends, defeated. “When do we need to be at the airport?”

“Three hours,” Sean said, looking at his phone.

“…Then you two have three hours to teach me the ways of reality dating.”

The excitement on their faces made him immediately regret this decision.