I hardly get to spend time with Daniela before Les whisks her away to the part of the resort reserved for the contestants. Hard to believe but there are actually places in my resort where I’m not allowed to go to, and it’s driving me crazy. But it’s only for two more weeks, so I don’t mind it. At least, I got to put a face to the name.
Daniela Simmons.
I’m not supposed to know anything about the women beyond what they tell me during our “dates” which are anything but spontaneous. But I have it a lot easier than they do, for even their personal phones have been confiscated for the duration of the show. Instead, they’ve been given phones courtesy of the production company but all calls and texts are monitored.
It’s five weeks of prison, if you ask me, although I’m exempted from having my phone taken away because I have a resort to run. Even with Archer onsite, sometimes there are decisions that require my approval—like whether it’s okay to kick everyone out of the pool area because the show is shooting a scene. If I’d known filming a reality TV show on the property was this crazy, I would have said no. But Mitch and his non-profit need to raise awareness about the needs of the Nepali people and so I signed on the dotted line.
As Sean’s radio squawks about more crew required in Gazebo 2 because Daniela is about to meet the remaining contestants, I can’t help but feel sorry for her right now. She’s about to step into the world of reality TV drama and love connections—where nothing is real, and everything anyone says or does is, as Les always says, “editable.”
Is that even a word?
I meet Daniela four hours later on the main balcony overlooking the ocean. Sean told me that she got to spend time with the other women, enjoying lunch in one of the guest houses in front of all the cameras before making her way here. After such a busy day, I’m glad to see her still smiling and not looking the least bit tired.
Up close, the first thing I notice about Daniela are her big green eyes. They’re dazzling. And she’s also got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. She’s tied her long brown hair in a pony tail, and a few loose strands frame her oval face.
I like her sense of style. It’s a bit eccentric, the pairing of a simple top and that billowy skirt earlier as one example although right now, she’s wearing loose printed pants and pretty sandals grace her feet. A light green scarf circles her neck and drapes generously over her shoulders and chest. The green of her scarf certainly plays up her eyes.
“I’m sorry I’m a week late—“
I cross my arms in front of my chest and scowl. “You better be sorry. You kept me waiting all this time.”
Daniela stares at me for a moment before she realizes I’m joking. I can’t believe I’m flirting with her but I am. Knowing she’s a late addition, someone who didn’t have to go through the rigorous selection process with their profiles photographed and their reactions filmed ahead of time, is a refreshing thought. Or at least, I hope she really is a late addition just as Les says. If he’s as ticked off by her late arrival, then she may not be as prepped as the other girls were.
“Honestly, I don’t mind that you’re late. I’m happy you’re here and I hope you enjoy your stay at the Aida Resort.”
“Why the name Aida?”
I shrug. “My mother picked it out.”
“Do you always do what your mother says?” she asks, raising her eyebrow knowingly. “Like naming resorts and not climbing Mount Everest?”
I have to stop and stare at her before the expression on her face gives her away, and we both chuckle. “Just those two instances. But Aida is not just something she picked out of the blue. It’s the name of a local deity, and it’s also my grandmother’s name. She was born in Saint Lucia.”
“Oh.”
For a few moments we don’t talk, though Daniela is watching me carefully. I know she’s waiting for the question everyone probably ends up asking her and I decide not to beat around the bush. “I hope you don’t mind me asking—“
“I don’t. You might as well ask me.”
“—what happened? How did you become…?”
“A paraplegic?”
“Yes,” I reply. “But it’s okay if you don’t want to answer. It’s quite rude of me to ask.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not like I can hide it, can I?”
I shake my head.
“I got hit by a drunk driver three years ago. I was on my way to pick up my sister at a party, and this woman, she just…I don’t know…she’d been drinking at home and decided to get into her car,” she says. “I was in a coma for two weeks and when I woke up, I learned I was a like this.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
She rubs the tops of her thighs. “Don’t be. It could have been worse; I could have died, but as it is, I just don’t have use of my legs. If you really want to get more detailed, I have what you’d call incomplete paraplegia where I don’t have any motor function in my legs, but I have some sensation. I can feel pain, pressure and temperature. But I can still do a lot of things even though I’ve had to learn how to do them differently,” she says, smiling. “I drive a car, go on hikes with my sister with that big wheel addition, and I swim.”
“Swim?”
“Why not? I swim laps three times a week at the local pool. It just means that I have to have strong arms and upper body.”
I can’t help but gaze unabashedly at her, allowing myself to get lost in her green eyes—until I remember that the cameras are rolling. “We have a pool here, too. In fact, we have quite a few.”
“I noticed, though I also happen to notice that there’s a clear blue ocean out there, which is probably bigger than all your pools combined,” she says, cocking her head toward the ocean and I have to grin. I like her already.
“I saw that your resort offers water sports for the guests, like scuba diving, parasailing, and those nifty things that propel you through the water like a dolphin or snorkel.” she continues.
“A Seabob,” I chime in. “Yes, we do have those, though we have something better than that if you want to snorkel.”
“Really? Is that on the agenda for tomorrow?” she asks excitedly and I see Les frown as he stands behind one of the camera operators. “Or is it only reserved for your paying guests, the ones not involved with the show?”
In Daniela’s case, I honestly have no idea. Les handles all the contestants’ activities and I only join them on a one-on-one basis. I’m supposed to be the prize, after all, the specimen kept under glass and so I’m usually kept under lock and key.
But I’m not happy that Les insists on not allowing Daniela some time to explore the island. So she was a week late. So what? Schedules aren’t fixed and I’ve seen things change when needed. While waiting for Daniela to finish socializing with the other contestants, I’d checked my schedule for the next two days and found that I don’t get to spend time with her at all. There’s dinner tomorrow and that’s it—two hours of sitting at a table pretending to have fun while the camera crew make sure the lighting is perfect and that nothing is out of place.
Les is acting like Daniela is already out of the game even before she’s barely in the game. He assumes that along with Presley and Marilyn, I’ll give Daniela the boot since, allegedly, I’d narrowed my choice down to either Bianca or Camille.
But Les has forgotten something. I still get to make some decisions. And although, up until this morning, I’d been willing to go along with whomever the production chose for me, that was before Daniela Simmons wheeled herself onto my dock. I like her, and I want to get to know her better even if it takes me until the last day of filming to do it.
Maybe even longer.