Page 7 of His Choice

“What? Did not,” I protested.

She patted my cheek. “Cliff, you’ll need to change things up a bit if you settle down with someone. You’re too easy to figure out, and that’s a disadvantage when the person you’re with doesn’t have your best interests in mind. I say that from experience. The only time I surprised your father was when I walked out on him thirty years ago.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now.”

My mother rolled her eyes. “You’ve had this same behavior since you were a child. Whenever you wanted to try something but were afraid of the consequences, you’d tell me all the reasons you weren’t going to do it. In the beginning, I’d say ‘okay’ and let you be. Then you’d mope, wishing you had taken a chance. Finally, I started deciding things for you. I signed you up for Little League baseball, football, soccer, and every other sport you ever worried about playing, then excelled in. You got joy from those things, and you never remembered that you had been too scared to enroll.”

“I don’t recall…”

“And it was the same for the writing contests, the student council, and which college to attend,” she added.

“I was a kid…”

“And as an adult, when you said you made a mistake when you became a schoolteacher, but you were afraid to leave it to open a gay club in Boston with your buddy. Who gave him your share of the upfront cash that was needed to get the venture going? You or me?”

“You,” I whispered. She had done it without asking me.

“Then you felt guilty that I used my retirement savings, you repaid me like I knew you would, quit your job, and began a career that makes you happy and has made you millions,” she added.

I nodded. She wasn’t wrong. “Okay, but this time is different. There’s lots that I know I will hate about doing the show.”

Mom smoothed her dress again, as if it had wrinkled just by debating me. “Yes, you will. But you want a boyfriend. It’s just another one of those things you talk yourself out of, worrying it will end badly. Sweetheart, do you think I don’t hear the sadness in your voice when you tell me about your friends and their families? That’s who you want to be. Where you got that genetic coding from, beats the hell out of me. But that’s you, and you won’t be happy otherwise. Here’s a chance for you to get it.” She grabbed her purse from the top of the bed. “So, do what we do whenever we want something.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

My mother looked at me like I was an idiot. “Whatever we need to.” She shook her head, then kissed my cheek before exiting the room to make her way toward the stairs.

I didn’t want her to believe she controlled the decision, so I shouted to her descending figure. “I might still say no.”

“Okay, darling,” she yelled back cheerily, clearly not believing me for a second. “Lock up when you leave.”

* * * *

A couple of days had passed since I signed the contract for the program, my attorney at my side. I had hesitated when the production company’s lawyer pointed out that I needed to sign a non-disclosure agreement which forbade me from sharing private information about the show’s contestants, unless permitted by all parties. He had claimed it was to protect individuals’ privacy, including my own, as everyone else needed to enter into the same contract. Though that sounded good in some respects, it meant I was limited in what I could voice on camera regarding rationale for whom I might deselect as a potential partner. I hoped that wouldn’t somehow backfire and make me look like an ass.

There were a few other conditions. I needed to house the cast and crew, though I’d be reimbursed. And though the show would be a combination of pre-taped segments and live broadcasts over the course of seven nights, I needed to agree that I and others associated with me would not watch any of it until the finale was over. The producers didn’t want me to base my final selection on anything that might have happened behind the scenes that I wasn’t meant to witness. Producers wanted my potential suitors to freely confess their feelings when I wasn’t around. No doubt, the hope was contestants would be on their worst behavior without me observing them, and drama would boost the ratings.

Failure to comply with any of the rules would result in legal action. The other participants would be forced to sign the same agreement, including not watching the program until the filming was done so they wouldn’t know what I might be saying about them, either. To further ensure compliance from all participants, our internet-enabled devices were to be confiscated. Also, interactions with friends, loved ones and business associates had to be pre-approved. If granted, they would be monitored by a His Choice staff member to ensure all parties were following the rules.

I alerted my business partner and co-owner of my clubs, Silas Beame, that all communication during production would need to be through my landline speakerphone, or he’d need to visit me in person to ensure he wasn’t spilling secrets of what was happening behind the scenes on His Choice. Silas had laughed the entire conversation, finding the restrictions to be overkill for something as frivolous as a reality show. He hadn’t minded that or the added workload, though, as he’d hoped the His Choice publicity would drive up business at our clubs. Silas had already papered our establishments with promotional posters and viewing party invitations, and he had been working with Keller to update our club webpages and my social media accounts.

As expected, once news made its way through town that I was doing the show, Flynt Tilson asked for audience with me to demand his pound of flesh. I had agreed to invite him and his family over for lunch since it was a Saturday when his dad, Adam, could take a break from his mayoral duties.

“Hi, guys,” I greeted as Flynt, Adam, his husband Myles, and their other son Josh, walked through the entrance.

“No servant greeting us today?” Adam joked.

“I don’t have servants. They’re…the help,” I reminded him for the millionth time.

It was a warm day, and all four were dressed in short-sleeved shirts and shorts, showing off their tans. Adam and Myles were as handsome as ever, and it did make me think about how great it would be to find my own good-looking guy during the television shoot.

“We brought the boys’ swimsuits like you suggested,” Myles said, holding up a canvas bag. “They’ve been excited to use your pool ever since you sent the invite.”

“Yes, of course. I told you guys to bring yours, too. We can have a barbecue out on the patio. It’s a beautiful day. It’s a shame to stay inside.”

Adam smirked. “Yeah, it must be awful to be stuck in this mansion. Take away the beautiful trappings, climate control, billiard room, chef’s kitchen, gym, library, game room, and home movie theater, and what does this place have to offer?”

“Lots of bedrooms, an office, a dining room, a couple of family rooms, and a sunroom,” Josh answered, misunderstanding that Adam’s question had been sarcasm.