MAIN SQUEEZE RECAP: IS BEA SCHUMACHER THE WORST MAIN SQUEEZE EVER?
by Nichole Sessuber, vanityfair.com
When plus-size blogger Bea Schumacher was announced as the star of this season of Main Squeeze, I was over the moon: Was it possible that, after all these years, my guilty little pleasure was going to be interesting, and even—forgive me for saying it—woke?
The answer is no.
Or it might be yes.
Or it might not even matter!
Because here’s the thing: Right now, the show is bad.
Last night’s episode was one of the most painful I’ve seen—even worse than the one where they forced the racist guy and the black guy into a hot-dog-eating contest. Because while that was disgusting, it was also absolutely entertaining.
Not so, last night’s horrific adventure on the high seas, where Bea was forced to wear a bikini (at least, I assume she was forced—she certainly looked unhappy about it), endure the snide taunts of men with the emotional maturity of Lindsey Graham, fend off one man who sought to fetishize her body, and finally capitulate for some light frenching with a Frenchie who couldn’t be more obviously vying for camera time. (To be clear, ABS, I will absolutely watch whatever hot-chef Luc spin-off you decide to make; you don’t need to force Bea to make out with him to get me on board!)
The only moment of last night’s episode where Bea seemed at all happy—well, not happy, exactly, but at least like an actual person—was when she was telling off Kumal, the trainer she kicked off the show for insulting her body to her face. It was nice to see Bea stand up for herself, but the show can’t keep going back to that well. It will get too boring too quickly, and we’re not watching this show for a seminar on body image; we’re in this for the romance! For the drama! For the fantasy of it all!
But there’s nothing fantastic about what we’re seeing now. This part of the season is always a little awkward: We don’t yet know the suitors well enough to be particularly attached to any of them, so we’re dependent on our connection to the Main Squeeze to stay invested in the season. I’ve spent the last two weeks ready to stan Bea harder than I’ve ever stanned before, but even beyond the show’s terrible one-liners, she just seems stilted and uncomfortable—and frankly, it’s hard to watch, let alone root for her. Understandable? Definitely. Enjoyable? Not in a million years.
It’s not clear whether the problem is Bea’s negative attitude (as Asher contended last night) or if the entire setup of this season is simply an exercise in schadenfreude at this poor woman’s expense. But there’s one thing I’m sure of: If next week’s episode is as grim as this week’s, it will be the last one I watch this year.
“Hey guys, can I have the room for a second? I need to chat with Bea.”
Lauren’s tone was casual, but her voice definitely had a haggard edge. The various wardrobe, hair, and makeup people scurried quickly out of the room where Bea was readying for her next segment: a rundown with Johnny about the dates she’d be going on this week.
“Is everything okay?” Bea asked carefully. She wasn’t even sure what to be afraid of—was she going to be fully nude this week?—but whatever was going on, it didn’t seem good.
Lauren sat down next to Bea and exhaled deeply.
“Our ratings took a hit last night.”
Bea felt a surge of relief—she nearly burst out laughing. “Is that all?”
“Bea, this is serious. If this is just a blip, it’s no problem—but if we see a steady decline, well.”
“If we see a steady decline, what?”
“Let’s just say it won’t be good for either of our careers.”
Bea’s expression hardened. “Okay. What do you want me to do about it?”
“The truth is, there’s been some backlash to your perceived attitude toward the show—and toward the men.”
“Backlash?”
Lauren sighed. “Bea, it’s hard for the audience to believe you could actually fall in love here. And since that’s the whole reason they’re watching…”
Usually, the leads come here looking for love. But you didn’t. Asher’s words still echoed in Bea’s mind, a constant, accusatory thrum threatening to dislodge what little confidence she was clinging to in the wake of the past week.
“What am I supposed to do?” Bea struggled to maintain composure. “The other women who come here are living in a fantasy, but you keep putting me in these nightmare scenarios.”
“I literally had you drinking champagne on a luxury yacht off the Malibu coast surrounded by handsome men,” Lauren snapped. “If that’s not a fantasy, I don’t know what is.”
“Men who objectified me at best and humiliated me at worst!” Bea shot back. “If you want the audience to buy what we’re selling, you have to stop assuming that I’m going to experience these dates the way you would. I don’t live in your body. Men don’t treat me like they treat you.”
“What about Luc, then?” Lauren narrowed her eyes. “He was wonderful to you, but watching the footage back, you seemed like your mind was somewhere else.”
Bea closed her eyes and nodded.
“You’re right. I don’t know, maybe I was still upset about the boat.”
“Or maybe,” Lauren said shrewdly, “you don’t actually have the stomach to pretend to fall in love with someone you don’t have feelings for? Because if that’s the case, Bea, you and I are both in a lot of trouble.”
Bea swallowed hard. “I’ll do better this week. I promise.”
“Good, then that’s all we need to say about it.” Lauren’s expression softened, and she looked a little pained. “It’s pretty unfair that all the good stuff is pretend while the bad stuff is completely real, huh?”
Bea laughed softly. “When you put it that way, I guess it kind of is.”
“Keep your eyes on the prize, okay, Bea? Your future. Your career. You’re not doing this for a man. You’re doing it for yourself.”
TEXT MESSAGE TRANSCRIPT, MARCH 10:
RAY MORETTI & MARIN MENDOZA
Hi, Marin. This is Bea’s friend Ray—we met at her birthday a few years ago? Sorry to bother you, I dug up your number from an old group thread. I’ve been trying to get in touch with her, but none of my texts or emails seem to be going through? I don’t know if you have any way of reaching her while she’s filming, but I really need to talk to her. So if it’s possible, can you give her the message?
Thanks. I really appreciate it.
You have a lot of nerve to text me.
Please don’t do it again. And please leave Bea alone.
She deserves so much better than you.
Half an hour later, Bea walked onto the lushly dressed garden party of a patio where she’d shoot her rundown with Johnny. But when she stepped outside the mansion, the person she saw literally jumping for joy wasn’t her toothy host—it was Marin.
“What the hell?” Bea asked before she could stop herself—Marin was already rushing toward her and clasping her into a vise-grip hug, and it felt so good to get a moment of genuine happiness.
“I’m really here, can you believe it?!”
Bea laughed—part delight, part confusion. “I can’t! What is this, what’s happening?”
Johnny clearly wanted to get in on a group hug, but as that would have been very weird, he gave a little fist pump instead. “Best friends, reunited!”
Which is when Bea noticed that the cameras were already rolling.
“Oh wow, we’re getting right into it, huh?”
Johnny smiled broadly and escorted Bea and Marin to a table set with tea and scones. “Marin and I have some fun surprises cooked up for you this week, Bea—but first, can you tell us about Marin? How did you two meet?”
“We were roommates freshman year at UCLA,” Bea answered. “We were completely different—she was always out partying, and I just wanted to stay home to study and watch old movies.”
“It was so sad,” Marin piped in good-naturedly.
“Marin, do we have you to thank for getting Bea out of her shell and turning her into a star?”
“Nah, she did that on her own.” Marin smiled proudly. “I just dragged her to idiotic frat parties on occasion.”
“They were the worst,” Bea groaned.
“Listen, no one’s saying frat parties are good, but the frat guys wanted girls to make out with other girls, and I wanted to make out with other girls, so our interests were temporarily and powerfully aligned,” Marin explained as Bea cracked up.
“Speaking of making out,” Johnny said, reaching for a segue, “Marin, do you want to tell Bea what you’re doing here?”
“YEAH, I do!” Marin beamed. “Okay, so actually, I first came here three days ago, but we kept it secret from you.”
“What! Where was I?”
“I don’t know, filming your confessionals or trying on gowns or however you spend your time here.”
Bea nodded—none of that was wrong.
“While you were doing that, I was meeting your suitors.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know! I got to grill them about who they are and what they want in life and, best of all, what they think about you.” Marin sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile, while Bea felt increasingly anxious. Had the guys been honest with Marin? Did they say terrible things behind her back—and on camera?
“How, um. How did the conversations go?” Bea stuttered.
“Really well,” Marin reassured her. “I felt like I got a great sense of who the guys are. And that’s why I’m so excited that I got to choose which two guys are going on your one-on-one dates this week!”
“Wow.” Bea’s eyes widened. “You finally found a way to be in charge of my love life.”
“It’s like when you let me swipe your Bumble, but on TV.” Marin grinned.
“So Bea,” Johnny said, his voice low and dramatic, “are you ready to find out who you’ll be dating this week?”
“Do it to it, Johnny.” Bea matched his movie-trailer tone, and Marin snorted.
One of the PAs scurried over with two small pieces of poster board, which Marin placed facedown on the table before delivering a speech Bea was sure she’d rehearsed with Lauren.
“Bea, I think you have a lot of terrific guys here, but two of them really stood out to me as perfect matches for you. The first guy I chose is sweet, funny, and has a great attitude about life in general and this show in particular. You should have seen how excited he was when I told him I’d chosen him for a date with you—I hope you’ll be just as excited. Your first date this week is…Sam!”
Marin flipped over the poster board to reveal Sam’s face. Other than the fact that he was the youngest guy in the house and that he’d accidentally poked her during the premiere, Bea knew absolutely nothing about him. He was definitely attractive—and if Marin liked him, he must be fun to spend time with. Bea chalked this up as a win.
“Are you excited?” Marin looked at Bea expectantly.
“Totally!” Bea enthused. “Great pick!”
“Okay, Marin,” Johnny went on, “who gets to join Bea for her second date this week?”
“This guy and Bea have a lot in common—they’re both super smart, both keep up with the news, both a little bit argumentative, but in a really charming way.”
Hmm, this didn’t sound like any of the guys Bea had met. Had Marin unearthed a gem?
“Of all the guys in the house, this is the one I could most see you ending up with, and I’m hoping you’ll come to agree with me on that. So I really hope you’re excited for your date…with Asher!”
Marin turned over the second poster, and Asher’s smug face stared back at Bea, looking like he saw right through her even in two dimensions.
“Bea, you and Asher had a little bit of a disagreement last week,” Johnny goaded. “Do you think Marin made a good choice here?”
“I—um.” Bea didn’t want to embarrass Marin; she figured it was best to err toward tact. “I haven’t spent much time with Asher. It will be interesting to get to know him better.”
After they finished filming their segment, Bea and Marin had a few minutes to chat before Bea needed to film producer interviews to discuss her thoughts on her upcoming dates, so they holed up in the empty wardrobe room, where Marin immediately made herself comfortable on a green velvet sofa.
“So, you having fun on the show so far?”
She gave Bea a pointed glance, and Bea sighed. It was no use faking anything with Marin.
“I know, okay? I already had a whole talk with Lauren this morning—I’m gonna try harder to seem happy this week.”
“Try harder to seem happy? You’re kidding, right?”
“No?”
Marin exhaled in frustration. “Bea, I know that doing this show is about your career, but if you spend this entire time avoiding making connections with really great men who came here specifically to meet you…that would be pretty colossally self-sabotaging, even for you.”
“Wow, have you been talking to my mother?”
“I’ve got to tell you, I’m with Sue on this one.” Marin grabbed Bea’s hand and pulled her down onto the sofa beside her. “Babe, why should millions of Americans care about your ‘journey to find love’ if you don’t?”
Bea sank down into the sofa as Marin put her arms around her, realizing how grotesque this whole experience had made her feel, how much it stung to put on a happy face around all these men while steeped in the knowledge, every waking minute of every single day, that none of them were remotely attracted to her.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I thought pretending would be easier.”
“Don’t you see?” Marin snuggled up against Bea. “It’s good that it’s not easy. If it were easy, that would mean you didn’t care about finding love. But I know that’s not true, Bea. I know how badly you want this. And I know how close you came to having it.”
Bea closed her eyes, pained and relieved to be with someone who knew the real reason why she couldn’t feel happy when she was kissing Luc.
Marin squeezed Bea’s arm. “Bea, do you think it’s possible that you don’t want to date any of these other men for real because you’re still hoping that somehow you might end up with Ray?”
“It’s not like I can just force myself to fall out of love with him,” Bea protested.
“I know. But you can try to move on—particularly since, you know, you’re currently starring on a show where they’ve literally flown in handpicked men from all over the country to date you?”
“Men who despise me.”
“That’s not true! I met them all, and a lot of them really like you—especially Sam and Asher.”
“Sam is a child, and Asher is a jerk.”
“Sam’s more mature than you’d think—you’ll see when you spend time with him. And Asher is totally your type.”
“He’s a smug know-it-all!”
“Correct! Your type! You act like I wasn’t present for all fifty of your professor crushes.”
“Sure, in college.”
“What about that editor you met at that book party two years ago? You wouldn’t shut up for weeks about how hot he was.”
“No one’s saying Asher isn’t hot—”
“Aha!” Marin’s eyes lit up. “So you are interested in him.”
“What does it matter if I am?” Bea huffed. “You saw him on the boat. He publicly accused me of coming here for the wrong reasons, of wasting his time.”
“And I agree, his methods left something to be desired,” Marin concurred. “But was anything he said actually, you know, untrue?”
Bea sighed. She absolutely hated to admit that it wasn’t. But none of these men seemed to understand just how much it could cost her to be open with them.
“I know what happens when I fall in love,” she said quietly. “And I can’t—last year was so bad, Mar. I don’t know if I can live through that again.”
Marin smoothed Bea’s hair out of her eyes. “You can live a long life never being hurt—and never quite being happy. If that’s what you want.”
Bea shook her head—it wasn’t.
“So try, Bea. Okay? You don’t have to get engaged, you don’t have to give anyone your heart. But at the very least, just promise me you’ll try.”
After a long moment, Bea nodded.
“I promise.”
HIGHLIGHTS FROM SAM COX’S MAIN SQUEEZE APPLICANT SURVEY,
AS POSTED ON ABS.COM
Sam Cox
Volunteer basketball coach
Short Hills, New Jersey
Cambodia
Mint chip. No, fudge ripple. Or peanut butter! Also Cherry Garcia. And Phish Food. Wow, I have a thing for jam band ice cream flavors, but I hate their music. What do you think it means?
My mom, Claudette, is the chief cardiac surgeon at Mountainside Hospital. She’s brave enough to hold people’s lives in her hands, and strong enough to live up to the responsibility.
Okay, Main Squeeze, getting deep with it. Respect. Oh, you want an answer? I have no idea.
The next morning, Bea had to get up at an ungodly hour for her date with Sam. Alison dressed her in artfully tattered boyfriend jeans, a whisper-thin Monrow tee, a men’s soft leather bomber with the sleeves pushed up to Bea’s elbows, and vintage Nikes, so Bea knew they were going somewhere casual, but she had no idea where. And Lauren insisted that the surprise not be spoiled—so Bea and Sam were going to be blindfolded for their limo ride to their date.
“Seriously?” Bea asked when a PA produced two black satin blindfolds emblazoned with rhinestones that formed the Main Squeeze logo.
Sam looked skeptical, too, but Lauren was having none of it.
“I promise,” she assured them, “you’re going to be more upset than I am if we lose time at your destination, so can you put on the blindfolds so we can get moving?”
And that’s how Bea and Sam came to be blindfolded, led into a limousine with two cameras trained on their every move, and driven clear across Los Angeles at six o’clock in the morning.
“Where do you think they’re taking us?” he asked.
“Maybe some sort of escape-room scenario?” Bea ventured. “Otherwise I have no idea what’s with the blindfolds.”
“I gotta say, this is some real Eyes Wide Shut nonsense for a first date.”
“Oh,” Bea deadpanned, “did I not tell you we’re going to a secret murder orgy?”
“Way better than a public murder orgy,” Sam quipped. “Those always end in jail time.”
“Crap, do you think they’ll be mad about all our cameras?”
Bea heard a fluster of movement that sounded like Sam was flailing wildly around the limo.
“Guys! Guys! Did you know they don’t allow cameras in secret murder orgies? Our date is ruined!”
When the limousine finally rolled to a stop, Bea and Sam stumbled out of the limo together, still blindfolded, and were forced to walk another five minutes or so before they stopped for the official unveiling.
“Bea and Sam, welcome to your very first one-on-one date!”
“Thanks, Johnny!” Bea said brightly.
“Now, tell me,” Johnny said smoothly, “do you two have any idea where you are?”
“We drove for about an hour,” Bea started, “and without traffic at freeway speeds, that puts us maybe sixty miles from the compound? But it’s much sunnier and hotter than it was when we left, so that would mean we drove inland, and probably south, too, and if you account for—”
“Okay,” a producer broke in, “that was a rhetorical question. Bea, Sam, can we take that again and have you guys just shake your heads?”
“Damn,” Sam whispered, “remind me to take you with me if I ever actually get kidnapped. What are you, a secret agent?”
“Or a superhero whose primary power is having spent half my life in L.A. traffic,” Bea whispered back as they both shook their heads solemnly, per the producer’s instructions.
“All right,” said Johnny grandly, “on the count of three, go ahead and remove your blindfolds. In three, two, one—”
“Holy shit!” Sam blurted in the same second Bea shouted out, “We’re at Disneyland!”
“I can’t believe this!” Sam guffawed.
“Right?” Bea laughed. “Happiest Place on Earth!”
“You can say that again.” Sam grinned as he wrapped Bea in a tight hug and gently kissed her cheek.
“Worth getting up for a date so early in the morning?”
“Bea, I’d hang out with you anytime. But is the park even open?”
“Technically,” Johnny explained energetically, “the park won’t open to the public for another three hours. But you two get to go in now.”
Sam cheered and hugged Bea again. She couldn’t tell whether he was genuinely into her or just swept up in the thrill of the moment, but Marin’s voice echoed in her mind: Try.
Okay, Mar, she thought. It’s just one date. I can do this.
The first hour inside the park was a mad rush from one attraction to another—Bea and Sam could have quiet conversations in tucked-away corners of the park once other visitors were allowed in, but this private time was the producers’ only opportunity to capture footage of Bea and Sam on the bigger rides, and they weren’t going to squander it. They screamed their faces off on Space Mountain and made spooky noises in the Haunted Mansion—Bea shrieked when Sam aimed a well-timed poke at her middle just as an animatronic ghost appeared beside them.
“I can’t believe you poked me again!”
“Too soon?”
Bea laughed, and Sam threaded his fingers through hers. It was the first time she’d held hands with a man since Ray grabbed her hand in the Lyft home last summer, and she was surprised by how easy and uncomplicated it felt, by how carefree the vibe was on this entire date. After they’d been on a few more of the big rides (and narrowly averted catastrophe when Bea’s mic pack got stuck in the safety bar of Big Thunder Mountain Railroad), they went to the Jungle Cruise to slow the pace down a bit and build in some time for conversation.
“Have you ever been to Disneyland before?” Bea asked as they drifted past a bamboo forest.
“Just the one in Florida. I grew up in New Jersey, so that was closer.”
“New Jersey, really? You don’t have an accent.”
Sam raised an eyebrow at Bea. “When’s the last time you heard a Black guy talk like Snooki?”
Bea laughed. “Touché.”
“Nah, my parents were really into the whole prep-school thing, not a lot of kids with accents where I’m from.”
“Really? Like you wore a blazer to school every day, the whole bit?”
“Oh, big-time. The blazer, the polo shirt, the loafers.”
“No.”
“Yes. When I finally got to college, I was so happy I didn’t even know what to do with myself. People wearing sweatpants! To class! All my dreams were coming true.”
“And, um, when did you graduate from college?”
Sam laughed. “Okay, I see you. Yes, I am the youngest guy in the house. I graduated from college two years ago.”
“Which makes you…”
“Twenty-four. Six years younger than you, right? Is that so much?”
Bea shook her head, but truthfully, she wasn’t sure.
“And what have you been doing for the past couple years?”
“I went right to Teach for America after college, I taught fifth-grade math and coached the girls’ basketball team, which was basically the best thing ever. So I finished that up last summer, and now I’m figuring out what comes next.”
“And you think what comes next might be a wedding? A family?”
Sam shrugged. “My whole life, my attitude has been to say yes to everything. In college, a professor of mine recommended me for an internship teaching English in Cambodia, and it turned out to be the best summer of my life. That’s what made me decide to apply for Teach for America. A few months ago, I was walking through a mall when I saw they were recruiting guys for Main Squeeze. My buddy told me I should apply, and I was like, ‘Sure, why not?’ I thought it would be funny. Now here I am. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.”
“That you were meant to be on reality TV?”
“No, not that.”
He held Bea’s gaze—and part of her wanted to lean in and kiss him, to let herself believe that this sweet, incredibly attractive man was actually into her. But something in her gut told her not to, that this wasn’t the time, that maybe he was pretending. Like Luc, like Ray, like her. So she pointed out a fake tiger in the fake jungle on their fake adventure, and they let the moment pass. But Sam brought the conversation up again a few minutes later as they poked around the Mad Hatter’s Haberdashery, trying on increasingly large and ridiculous hats.
“What about you?” he asked. “You’re ready for marriage, kids, that whole bit?”
Bea pulled on a huge stuffed clownfish hat that was at least twice as tall as her head. “Marriage, yes, I think so. Kids, for sure eventually, but probably not right away. With my career, I’m lucky to travel all the time—London, Paris, New York. So I’d probably want to wait a few years.”
“Hmm, sounds like our timelines might not be so different,” Sam said. “Now, tell me what you think. This is the one, right?”
He was wearing a humongous Goofy head that dipped so low it covered half his face—Bea burst out laughing.
“If your goal was to make me take you more seriously, I’m not sure this is doing the trick.”
He reached out his arms and stumbled blindly toward the sound of her voice.
“What if my goal was just to make you happy?”
In the end, they went with the classic mouse-ear hats: Mickey for him, Minnie for her. As they stood in front of Sleeping Beauty’s Castle to film their last few shots before the park opened to the public, Sam pulled her close to him, near enough to feel the contours of his muscled body against her. This didn’t feel as straightforward as holding hands—it felt risky and exciting and decidedly un-platonic. Was it what she wanted? Was it way too much? Or was it even real?
Bea closed her eyes. “Do you think you’d like me if we were somewhere else? Instead of on TV?”
“If someone said, Hey Sam, here’s this hot boss career lady who works in fashion so her looks are always on point, she loves roller coasters and drives a convertible and wants to figure out how to balance family with trips to London and Paris? Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’d be interested.”
She looked up at his handsome, youthful face, his silly mustache that somehow worked on him, his Mickey ears and goofy smile.
“And you?” he prompted. “You think you’d like some guy who’s two years out of college and lives with his parents and has no idea what he wants to do with his life? You think I’m such a catch?”
“Wow, you live with your parents, huh?”
“Yeah, I left that part out earlier.”
“You really know how to charm a girl.”
“Nah, I don’t know. But I’m trying to figure it out.” He dipped his head, leaning his forehead against hers. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically small.
“What’s holding you back?” He wasn’t defensive, just genuinely inquisitive.
Bea’s chest felt tight with emotion, with some deeply buried feeling struggling to exorcise itself. She wanted to say something eloquent, but failing that, she said something honest: “I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of making a fool of myself. Or believing in the wrong person. Or getting hurt.”
“And a kiss could lead to all that?”
Bea nodded, her eyes wet. She hated herself for not being able to do this simple thing that came so easily to so many people.
“Okay, then.” Sam took a step back, then dropped dramatically to one knee and kissed her hand. “That’ll have to do for today.”
Bea laughed through her tears. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re in front of a castle, Bea! You gotta let me do the Prince Charming bit.”
“And that’s enough for you?”
Sam stood up and stepped close to Bea.
“If time is what you need, I can give you that. If reassurance is what you need, I can give you that too.”
Bea threw her arms around Sam’s neck and hugged him tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
The sun was bright and warm, and Bea heard the distant shouts of children. The park was finally open, reminding Bea that this moment that had been just theirs would soon belong to everyone.
MAIN SQUEEZE FAN LAUNCHES PETITION TO BAN NASH & COOPER FROM SPIN-OFFS
by Amanda Tillman, vulture.com
Avid viewers of Main Squeeze know that aside from getting engaged and living happily ever after, there are two prizes that contestants on the show are hoping to win:
The first is more Instagram followers, which leads to more #SponCon (that’s sponsored content, wherein advertisers pay ~influencers~ up to $10,000 per post, depending how many followers they have). The second is more camera time (which translates to more fame, which translates to, you guessed it, more Instagram followers)—and, if you’re really lucky, a coveted spot on one of Main Squeeze’s many spin-off series, such as perennial favorite Main Squeeze Mansion, where twenty castoffs from previous seasons spend the summer in the mansion looking for love.
These spots are usually reserved for fan favorites, but a couple always go to notorious villains—and this year, Nash and Cooper are in the clear lead for that title. The duo have become completely inseparable, spending seemingly every waking moment calling Bea a whale, a cow, a hippo, a hog, a heifer (which is another word for cow, for those keeping track at home!), and, perhaps most memorably of all, a bacon-wrapped ball of squishy lard.
Nash and Cooper might think these antics will increase their chances of being cast in a spin-off, but one Main Squeeze fan, Lilia Jamm from Helena, Montana, wants to make sure Nash and Cooper never bathe in the bright lights of the Main Squeeze cameras again.
“Nash and Cooper are bullies,” Jamm wrote in her petition on the website change.biz to ban the pair from all future Main Squeeze spin-offs. “They are MEAN, pure and simple, and they should not be rewarded for their rude behavior. What does a bully want? ATTENTION!!!!! So let’s not give it to them!!!!!!”
Jamm isn’t the only fan who feels this way—at the time of this article’s posting, her petition already had more than 20,000 signatures. It remains to be seen whether the Main Squeeze producers will listen, but one thing’s for sure: All of us watching this season are waiting on tenterhooks for Nash and Cooper to face some serious consequences for their constant belittling of Bea.
During the month before they started filming, Lauren had asked Bea if she had any particular dream dates, either in L.A. or around the world. In Los Angeles (aside from a free meal at any truly great restaurant, or In-N-Out, frankly), Bea had only one answer: She’d always fantasized about having the Los Angeles County Museum of Art all to herself.
LACMA was Bea’s sanctuary in L.A., the place where she felt most comfortable. When she left her home in suburban Ohio to start college at UCLA, one of the first things Bea did was get on a bus to visit this museum. She wandered through the galleries for hours, lost in the vivid colors, the ancient artifacts, the outsized sculptures that made her feel like a tiny person at home with giants, her favorite childhood story come to life.
Bea had dreamed of being alone in a museum since she was a kid reading From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler with a flashlight under the covers. So when Lauren told her she’d be doing just that for her date with Asher, she felt a mix of trepidation and elation. Of all the men in the house, Asher seemed the most averse to self-indulgent fantasies—so it made Bea a little uncomfortable that he was about to join in for hers.
Alison had a host of outfit options, but all of them felt wrong to Bea—a sequined Sachin & Babi cocktail dress was too fancy (it was just a museum, not a gala), but a pair of slacks and a sleek button-down from Roland Mouret seemed too businesslike. They finally settled on a Sally LaPointe silk pajama–inspired outfit in sapphire blue that matched Bea’s eyes almost exactly: easy, flowing pants and a matching blouse with an asymmetrical hemline, paired with nude strappy Prada sandals.
“Classy and sexy at the same time,” Alison said, but Bea struggled to feel either as the hair and makeup people gave her a fresh face and tousled waves.
As the production van made its way through West Hollywood’s crowded streets toward LACMA, Bea’s nerves seemed to coil more and more tightly, wondering if the night with Asher would be congenial, or if he had more accusations to levy—accusations she still had absolutely no idea how to answer.
She didn’t relax until the rows of lanterns outside LACMA came into view—the iconic sculpture where so many tourists snapped their selfies without ever bothering to venture into the museum beyond. There were no tourists tonight, though; the entire LACMA complex was blocked off for filming.
The lantern sculpture was called Urban Light, and it consisted of 202 immaculately restored antique streetlamps placed in careful rows of ascending height. The producers had Asher waiting in one of the middle rows, leaning against a lantern with his tall, easy posture, his lanky frame cast in warm light and blue shadow. With his gray jeans and a button-down shirt and backlit silhouette, Bea could almost imagine he was Ray as she approached him.
“Bea. Nice to see you. You look great.” His tone was awkward, stilted, like this was a real date. The thought made Bea smile—if this was a “real” date, what were all the others?
“Thanks.” She gestured toward the museum entrance. “Shall we?”
Asher nodded, and they walked off in silence. This is going to be some really compelling TV, Bea thought, and nearly laughed again as they walked inside.
“I always start at this one gallery on the third floor,” she explained. “Do you mind if we go there first?”
“Lead the way.”
They rode the elevator up, and Bea guided them through a maze of galleries to one you’d hardly know existed unless you were looking for it—or got lucky. Tucked in a corner past rooms full of modernist masterpieces was the museum’s sole impressionist gallery: precious Cézannes, scant Renoirs, and even a few Monets. Bea walked over to her favorite painting in the room, the bridge at Giverny at sunrise, Asher following in her wake.
“Hey.” Asher moved beside her, his arm brushing against hers. “I owe you an apology.”
Bea kept her gaze trained on the painting, tried to keep her tone casual. “Oh?”
He turned to face her. “This isn’t the way I want to say this, but I hope you’ll understand why I have to.”
She furrowed her brow. “What isn’t the way you want to say it?”
“Fuck.” Asher exhaled.
“No cursing!” a producer piped in.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Bea, from my vantage point on that fucking boat, it seemed like you were goddamn pretending with every man you fucking encountered. I didn’t realize until much shit piss later how awful the other men fucking were to you that day. If I had, I never would have fucking confronted you the way I did. You have every fucking right to be angry with me, and I apologize for my goddamn behavior. I was feeling annoyed and insecure, and I fucking took it out on you. Which was, you know.”
“Fucking shitty?” Bea chimed in with a small smile.
Asher nodded. “Exactly goddamn right.”
“Asher, come on.” The producer shoved his way past the cameras and into their setup. “You know we can’t use any of that. We need to take the whole apology again.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Asher folded his arms. “The point is to assure Bea my apology is genuine. If I give you something that would air on television to make me look like a great guy, how is she supposed to know if I’m serving my interests or hers?”
Bea felt her whole heart lift—for the first time since this show started, she finally had a way to know that a man was telling her the truth. Bea was half-convinced Lauren would find a way to use this footage to make Asher into a joke on the show, but at this particular moment, she couldn’t find it in herself to care.
“Can I ask”—Bea took a step toward him—“if you felt like I wasn’t the person you came here to meet, why didn’t you leave?”
“I made a promise that I would really try to make this work.”
Bea smiled. “That’s funny.”
“Is it? Why?”
“I made the same promise. As recently as two days ago, in fact.”
“Yeah? And how’s that going for you?”
Bea looked up at him long enough for it to get uncomfortable—except it didn’t.
“I don’t know yet.”
Asher smiled at her. “Is it cliché if I ask if we can start over?”
Bea laughed. “Absolutely, it definitely is.”
“So I shouldn’t do the thing where I reach out my hand to shake yours and say, ‘Hi, I’m Asher.’ ”
“Not unless you want me to kick you off the show right here and now.”
“Ah, an escape hatch! Good to know.”
“Hey!” Bea faked being offended, but they were both still beaming.
“Do you want to go downstairs and see some modern stuff?” she asked.
He nodded, and without another word about it, they walked down the museum’s wide central staircase side by side.
The more time they spent ambling through the museum’s dozens of galleries, surrounded by Rothkos and Picassos, the more Bea found herself enjoying Asher’s company. He listened attentively while she talked about Picasso’s use of hats to add levity to paintings of his depressed friend, the photographer Dora Maar. She’d written her art history thesis in college about Picasso’s reduction of a fellow artist to her clothes and her emotions, as if that were the truth of her.
“Well,” he asked, “how do you find the truth of someone, then?”
“If not through their hats?”
“I’m serious.” He nudged her. “Tell me something true.”
Bea opened her mouth, then closed it again, her heart suddenly pounding.
“It’s okay,” Asher encouraged her. “I’m listening.”
“I’m afraid that at the end of all this, I’ll be alone. And all the people who’ve said horrible things about my body will say, ‘See? We were right about her. We were right about all of it.’ ”
“And if you never really take a risk, you’ll never have the chance to find out if they were?” Asher asked pointedly.
“You’re going to have to stop doing that.” Bea blushed.
“Doing what?”
“Seeing past my tough exterior.”
“I like your tough exterior.” Asher’s lips quirked in a small smile. “When I look at you, I like everything I see.”
When they walked out of the museum into the crisp spring night, Bea wasn’t ready to leave. The producers told her they had time for one more stop, so Bea led Asher to the cavernous Resnick Pavilion, which had a new exhibit showcasing some of the museum’s more controversial works of the last sixty years.
“This looks remarkably like a pot I made at summer camp,” Asher said, pointing to a lumpy brown sculpture.
“It’s a Claes Oldenburg—a baked potato.”
“I should have said mine was a baked potato. It looked like one.”
“You did pottery at summer camp?”
“You’re surprised I wasn’t out playing soccer? I would have sat all day by myself with a book if they’d let me.”
“Sounds like we were pretty alike as kids,” she said.
“I’m glad one of us grew out of it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. After all the semi-intentional arm brushes and leg nudges of the evening thus far, the warm weight of his palm felt full, somehow, or even heavy—and she loved it. She wanted more.
The sound of 1940s swing music floated toward them from the back of the pavilion, and they wandered toward it to discover the source. It turned out to be a life-size sculpture of a 1938 Dodge Coupe, placed on a plot of fake grass strewn with empty beer bottles. The door was open to reveal two figures in the backseat—a woman lying back with one knee propped up, and a man on top of her fabricated in chicken wire, completely transparent except for his left hand, opaque and white, prone between her thighs. The music was part of the exhibit, the soundtrack of the couple’s lovemaking.
Bea read from the description mounted near the sculpture. “They exhibited this in the 1960s, and the County Board of Supervisors tried to make them remove it. They called it pornography. But the museum refused—so they had to keep the car door closed if children were present.”
Asher smiled at her. “Pretty sexy stuff.”
“Did you just say ‘sexy’ to me?”
He laughed and extended his arm. “Do you want to dance?”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded, and Bea let him pull her in, his hand on the small of her back, his Old Spice scent near enough to inhale. He was a remarkably good dancer—strong frame, sure step—and his hands felt amazing sliding over the smooth silk of her blouse.
“How can you dance like this?” She gazed at him with wonder.
“I was raised going to temple because my dad is Jewish, but my mom is Chinese—she’d never been to a bar mitzvah. When I started getting invitations, she was sure all the other kids would know how to dance and I’d look like an idiot. So she made me take ballroom lessons at the senior center.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I was the twelve-year-old Fred Astaire of Tarrytown, and I spent my Tuesday afternoons dancing with old ladies. Between that and the pottery, I was a pretty popular kid.”
They laughed, and Bea felt him bring her a little closer. Her breath got quicker, and he gently squeezed her waist. The music stopped—the song was over, and there was a pause before the next one began. Bea knew what would happen if this were actually a real date, if they were somewhere else, if he were braver, or if she were, if—
He dropped his hands abruptly, jerked back and left her moored in infinite space, the cameras jutting through, black and claustrophobic as she felt the blood rush to her face, her breathing fast and shallow.
“I’m sorry,” he said dumbly. Bea stood stock-still, trying to ward off whatever she was feeling until she was anywhere else, wishing Marin could be here to witness this moment so she would never shove Bea off a cliff into abject humiliation ever again.
“Okay!” said a producer. “Let’s take that again, get you dancing to the next song, then we can slow it down for the end-of-date kiss—you guys ready to go?”
Asher looked pained. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” He turned to Bea. “I’m sorry.”
Bea kept her face impassive, her tone deadened. “It’s no problem. Let’s call it a night.”
Ok y’all, time for this week’s kiss-off ceremony: Bea’s rocking a purple lip (shade: “You’re turning violet, Violet!”) and presumably dismissing some Barneys who’ve barely gotten camera time. Let’s see who gets the ax!
First kiss goes to Sam—no surprise there, how cute was their date?? Tho she really should have kissed him imo BEA IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, MAKE OUT WITH HOT MEN IN DISNEYLAND, OK?
Next up is football hero Wyatt, looking so cute in his sweater! Build me a fire, Wyatt! Bea looks so happy to see him and hug him, I seriously need these two to get their one-on-one next week. @MainSqueezeABS pls make this happen???
Third kiss goes to Luc, and if he thinks we didn’t all see him cop a feel when Bea leaned in to kiss him, HE IS SORELY MISTAKEN. (oh god she’s so lucky truly how soon until overnight dates????)
Kisses for Jefferson, Trevor, Jaime, and Kindergarten Ben. Snooze! Jefferson seems like he has potential, but he’d better make an impression soon, or he’s gonna get swept off with the rest of these also-rans.
Kisses, inexplicably, to Nash and Cooper???? Does Bea seriously not see that these two are GARBAGE, or is this blatant producer manipulation? Main Squeeze Nation, let us bow our heads and pray for the imminent removal of this human refuse. 
Wait, is Bea kicking off Asher?? I know she was blindsided when he wouldn’t kiss her (same tbqh!!!!!!!), but it seemed like she liked him so much?? Hard to say now, though—he looks miserable, and so does she.
Phew! Asher gets the final kiss!!!! I have a feeling there’s more to come for these two—and I can’t wait to find out what it is.