Steve (watching tape): Remind me to send a Thank You card to FOX for playing all my Best Actor performances two or three times before we got to this week’s show. Or at least make a collect phone call. You should see how little the cheap bastards paid me for putting up with this crap, I mean carp, I mean crap.
What’s that? Oh, right. My first impressions of Randi? Rockin’ bod. Yes, Jon Dalton said the same thing about Nicole Delma, and no, it’s hardly any more accurate this time.
So we’re introducing ourselves and I said, ‘Randi, huh? That’s kind of a weird name for a chick. My name’s Steve, but everyone here calls me Vicky.’ Crickets chirped. Man, what crawled up this chick’s ass? It’s like she doesn’t know I’m an actor and it’s all a joke. Don’t worry babe, America’s laughing at you, not with you.
So, I’m supposed to drive her crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once. But, I digress. My goal is to work her up so much that she ends every private confessional with a psychotic Howard Dean scream. I smash things (My dream role was always Godzilla. At last, I have arrived), drink milk straight from the carton, squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, leave the toilet seat up, and the bed unmade; all the things you would expect would annoy a tight-assed b!tch like Randi who’s pretending to get married to a fat, obnoxious slob for a bunch of money. Then I did the Naked Dance (it’s the next Macarena, kids) at the spa…
Steve: <William Shatner impersonation> Come. Out. And. See. The. Naked. Dance. </Shatner> I was naked just then…very nude.
I was only able to get past the Truth in Advertising laws because my tighty whities were virtually sucked into my abundant girth. If I couldn’t scar Randi for life with that image, you, dear reader, will do. I followed that up with my tour de force, a drunken plea for her to join me in the hot tub. Never let it be said that I am unable to play a dramatic role:
‘Randi, Randi, wherefore art thou, Randi? What wind in yonder hot tub breaks? It is a fart, from Steve large as the sun.’
Drunk and horny, I moaned her name a few more times, proving they should have named my character Randy. She can be Steve.
Randi: Hi, My name is Randi Coy. I keep reliving last night in my mind hoping that whatever drug I was on when I signed on for this project has worn off, but it hadn't. I'm still there, he's still there and I'd rather not think about the details. I'm here for the money. I'll do just about anything for the money. I have no shame. I hope my family feels the same.
Randi: This is a business deal.
Steve: Suddenly she thinks she’s Brian Heidik. Honey, I know Brian Heidik, and you’re no Brian Heidik. Although I suppose you may have a similar acting career in your future.
Act II: What is this “Brunch” you speak of?
Randi: When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was reach for the bottle beside the bed and clutch it for dear life. God, I wish it had been something stronger than water. I felt like I had a hangover, and I am sure I looked just as rough. I'm not the kind of girl that is "naturally" pretty. It takes a lot of work to create the full Randi effect, so I had to get up and get going. Black eyeliner is my best friend in times of trouble, so I applied about twice as much as the regular person would. I needed my strength as I went down to face Steve again. I couldn't get the sound of his singing out of my head. The hot tub scene from the night before has scarred me for life.
Steve: Boy, am I glad I didn’t get her in bed after all. Talk about Coyote Ugly. Yeesh.
So, our objective today is to wear down her unease a little so we can hit her again later. A little rope-a-dope, if you will. Picking a bouquet of flowers from the centerpiece on the table (nothing’s too good for my sweetheart) as a peace offering, I meet her in the courtyard for brunch. After a half-assed apology for my behavior last night, I tell her I’m not going to touch the champagne they left on the table. Well, maybe just a sip. I can stop anytime I like.
Talking with my mouth full, I begin to pile on the pet names. Sweetheart, Love of my Life, Light of my Eye. She says no pet names, just Randi thankyouverymuch. I note that if we’re supposed to be a couple, we’ll be expected to call each other Sweetheart, and Honeycomb, and Sugar Smacks, and Frosted Flakes…Cinnabon…Krispy Kream….mmmm…Oh, sorry, I got distracted there. I’ll wear her down eventually. She still refuses. ‘It’s not like I’m trying to sleep with you. Even though I would. You like to roleplay? Ever play pirates? You can call me Cap’n Crunch. Rowwwwr!’ She stares blankly. This chick needs a sex therapist. Fortunately, we’ve got one ready, but that’s the grand finale for today.
Randi: At breakfast, Steve hadn't changed. I had hoped that they would pull some sort of groom-switch, but nothing. He was still there, looking as Steve-like as ever, only hungover. He starts in immediately with the apology. He is trying soooooooooo hard to impress me. Poor guy is OBVIOUSLY infatuated with me. I let him think that it's all going to be okay and I even sort of smile at him. Then it's time to face breakfast. The idiotic producers have provided more champagne. As if this lout needs MORE alcohol? He assures me he won't drink any and then proceeds to slug down the entire glass in one gulp. My mother would die, and if the champagne guzzling at 9 a.m. didn't kill her, his incessant chomping of food and gabbing with his mouth loaded would. It is like sitting at a table with Jabba the Hutt. And then he is surprised when I can't go along with his plan to call me Hon or Sweetheart? Give me break. He's smacking his lips, chewing and saying, "Love of My Life." I am forced to give him one of my trademark withering looks. The one where my eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as I draw my jaw back tightly and strain my facial muscles.. It has a chilling effect on people. Steve? He doesn't seem to notice. He just claims he isn't trying to sleep with me. Yeah, right, buddy.
Steve: Our hostess, whose-name-isn’t-really-important-and-is-about-as-useless-as-the-hostess-from-Joe-Millionaire, comes out to tell us that today we’ll be meeting with a real wedding planner to pick out the cake, the flowers, and make all the preparations that a real couple would make for a real wedding. As she leaves, I tell the Ice Queen that the hostess is pretty hot, and that maybe I’ll try and hook up with her after the show is over. But no, her name’s still not important.
Randi: Then we get out assignment. Hang out with the wedding planner. Act like a married couple. We can do this. Surely, we can do this. I mean, come on, Steve, this is not hard. Then he actually makes a comment about trying to hook up with her after the show and I realize that he is, in fact, delusional and quite probably insane. It's going to be a long, long day.