Ryan
I rolled myself to the left, grabbing the wrench and pushing back underneath the car. I tightened the bolts manually before grabbing the drill and finishing off the job. The towel at my side was caught underneath the wheel of my cart so I tugged hard, ripping the fabric in half. A sigh escaped as I wiped the oil from my hands, staring up at the underside of a 2012 Altima. The customer didn’t need it back for two days, but I just wanted to get it out of the way. There was plenty of other work I could focus my energy on.
Pushing myself out from under the car, I sat up, staring around my business. I had started this mechanic shop a few years before and had built it to the point where I had two part-time employees and myself now. I did most of the work to keep my labor costs down, but I could afford to hire an entire team to run the place if I wanted to. I never wanted to be that guy, though, the one who owned the shop but never had a speck of dirt on him. I worked for a guy like that in high school. He didn’t even know how to change a tire.
My watch beeped three times and I looked down at it, realizing it was already lunchtime. As if the watch were dictating the actions of my body, my stomach growled, letting me know it was the perfect time for the tuna sandwich in my lunch bag. I put my tools up and made my way to my office, scrubbing my greasy hands before sitting down with my brown lunch sack. As I took a bite of my sandwich I hit the button on my phone, seeing I had missed a call. I didn’t recognize the number, and figured it was probably some customer, not aware I had a landline for the business.
I set my cell phone on the desk and, putting it on speaker, called my voicemail. The chips in my bag were a little more than crushed, and as I typed in my access code, I made a mental note to stop laying my tool bag on top of my lunch when I got there in the morning. When the voice on the messages started to play, I paused, not recognizing it at all. The woman was excited, overly excited, and talking as if I had just won a new sports car.
“Mr. Ryan Carson, this is Evelyn Owens, Producer with GNTV Networks,” she said. “I have your application in front of me and I do have to say, you seem to be exactly what we’re looking for! If you could call me back at this number right away I would really appreciate it! Have a fantastic day!”
I furrowed my brow, realizing it couldn’t have been a mistake, she knew my name. What application was she talking about? I hadn’t applied for anything, not in a really long time. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, intrigued by the call. I really hoped it wasn’t a spammer.
“Evelyn Owens’s office, Sue speaking,” the secretary answered.
“Yes, I’m Ryan Carson, a Ms. Owens called and left a message,” I replied.
“Mr. Carson, thank God you’ve called, she’s been in a panic all morning,” the secretary said, further confusing me. “Hold just one moment.”
“I think you might be mista—” I sighed, as I was put on hold, but only for a brief moment.
“Mr. Carson, this is Evelyn,” she answered excitedly. “I thought you might not call back.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Owens, I don’t understand what this is about,” I replied.
“Oh! Well, you’ve been selected for our new reality TV series,” she said, excitedly, with that used car salesman tone back in her voice. “It’s really very exciting.”
“I — what?” I almost burst into laughter at the thought. “I didn’t apply to be part of a reality show.”
“Well, that’s odd,” she giggled. “I have your application and headshot right here in front of me. Ryan Carson, twenty-nine, six feet two inches, green eyes, lives in rural Indiana, owns a mechanic shop—”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I said, shaking my head, until suddenly a light bulb went off, and I knew exactly what had happened. My asshole best friend, Miles, probably sent in an application in my name, trying to play a joke on me. That idiot had done shit like this since we were kids. I was starting to think that he enjoyed torturing my ass. I almost felt bad for the woman, she seemed so damn excited about the whole thing.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Owens, but I believe there has been a mistake.” I rubbed my face and leaned forward on my elbow, shaking my head. “I am not interested in being on a reality show. I barely enjoy family photos every year when I was a kid. I think a friend played a practical joke on us both.”
“Well, it looks like we are in a precarious situation here,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Would you at least like to hear about the show before you completely write it off?”
“Sure,” I said, gritting my teeth and forcing a smile. “Why not?”
“Oh good,” she said excitedly. “You would come here and film the entire thing. The premise is, you get married to a complete stranger, someone who you don’t meet until you are standing at the altar.”
“Married? Me? That’s not gonna help your case for talking me into this,” I chuckled, flinching at the idea of getting married, especially not to a complete stranger.
I barely ever even dated, never having time to deal with the drama that went along with it. I was more than happy just getting laid every once in a while and doing my own thing the rest of the time. Marrying a complete stranger on TV sounded horrific, but then she talked about the terms.
“Well, the sweet sugar topping on this, is that if you stay married for just six months, we will award you, as a couple, one million dollars,” she said. “If one of you leaves early, the one who leaves gets half a million and the other gets nothing. Kind of throws a spin on it. After the six months is up, what you do is up to you, you can divorce, continue the marriage, or whatever you like.”
“So, let me get this straight, if I stay married, on national TV, to a complete stranger for six months then I get half of a million-dollar prize. And, if I leave early, I still get that same amount?”
“Yep,” she giggled. “Got your attention, now don’t I?”
This, at the time, seemed like a novel idea. I could leave the marriage early, beating her to the punch and collect my half million, leaving her with nothing. I mean, she would do it to me, right? That amount of money could afford me at least two more locations plus allow me to spruce up the main garage. I had always wanted to expand the business, I just assumed it would take a decade or so until I was at that point. With this, I could almost immediately become a chain.
“All right, say I am interested, just hypothetically now,” I said. “When would filming for this start?”
“You would be scheduled to fly out here to Los Angeles in one week to sign the contracts, that would give you enough time to secure your affairs at home,” she replied. “Then you would start filming the following day. We would provide you an itinerary and I would be meeting with both of you after the ceremony, and on a regular basis after that. We would go over the events of the day, discuss my expectations, and I would help wherever I could to raise the viewing numbers.”
“Okay, one week,” I said, rubbing my chin.
How could I pass this up? It wouldn’t be a real marriage exactly, right? Sure, it might be legal, but it wouldn’t mean anything, we were perfect strangers. The whole idea of having a real marriage put me off because of the drama and claustrophobia of the whole thing. With this it should be straightforward, and I could probably even create an alliance with the girl so we both win in the end. It may have started as a joke, but seriously, I didn’t know how I could turn it down.
“What about the tickets to Los Angeles? Who pays for those?” I asked.
“Why, we do of course,” she said, happily. “The production company will reach out to you and schedule the whole thing. You just show up at the airport, pick up your ticket and you’ll be on your way. You don’t even have to bring that much, we’ll be providing a wardrobe for you.”
“So, there is no cost out of pocket for me?” I asked.
“None at all. Just your time.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, blurting out the next sentence. “All right, I’ll do it!”
We talked for a few more minutes, but to be honest I didn’t remember a word of it, I was too busy shouting at myself for agreeing to something so stupid, just for the money. When we got off the phone, Miles was in my crosshairs, so I immediately dialed his number. He was not going to get out of this one easily, that was for damn sure. But I didn’t want him to know I knew quite yet, not until I could get him in person, face to face.
“Hey dude,” Miles answered. “I was just thinking about calling you. I had some fine tail last night, though I had to kick her out, she was nesting already.”
“Sounds miserable,” I laughed. “But then again, you always do end up with the ones who just don’t get the hint, even when you tell them from the beginning you aren’t a relationship kind of guy.”
“They all think they can change me,” he sighed. “So, what’s up?”
“Are you busy?” I asked. “I was gonna head over to Margo’s Diner for some lunch.”
“Yeah, man, I could use some food,” he replied. “Meet you there in ten?”
“Perfect,” I said, hanging up the phone.
I grabbed my coat and headed straight over there, more than excited to let him have it over the whole thing. When I got there, he had grabbed a booth at the back, so I climbed in and sat, staring across the table at him. He glanced up at me and tried to look away, finally putting his menu down and staring back at me.
“Okay, obviously something is up. What is it?”
“I got a call today from one Evelyn Owens in LA, congratulating me on being picked for a new reality TV show,” I said, lifting an eyebrow. “Kinda funny, because I didn’t apply to any TV shows.”
Miles immediately started laughing hysterically, covering his face as his body bounced up and down. He tried to say something, but the laughter had taken him over. I just sat there, with a straight face, watching him revel in his successful prank.
“Man,” he said through his laughter. “I didn’t think you would actually get picked, but the thought of it was funny. I can’t believe that they chose you, this is fucking amazing. Are you gonna do it?”
“At first, I was like ‘hell no,’ but as it turns out, the joke is on you,” I smiled. “Especially when I roll out of that thing with half a million dollars in my motherfucking pocket.”
“What?” he said. “You’re gonna share that right? I mean I set you up with it.”
“Dream on,” I laughed. “But I will buy the first round at the bar when I get back. We can celebrate my divorce.”
“Does this—”
“No! I already know what you are going to say,” I said, putting up my hand. “We made a deal to never get married, to stay bachelors forever, but this doesn’t count, it’s not real.”
“Hmm,” he said, lifting an eyebrow. “Unless of course you fall in love.”
I burst into laughter. “Fat chance, my friend. Fat chance.”