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“That’s very open-minded of you,” smiling sweetly at him. He wasn’t the only one who could act, after all.
    “I go on impulse. Instinct. A woman who’s voluptuous and curvaceous appeals to me as a mate. To be honest with you I wish there were more women here with your curves.”
    Never in my life had I felt like a piece of meat. I’d never understood when women talked about being objectified, not really. But suddenly I felt as though I was being sized up like a side of beef, poked and prodded, tested for freshness. Would my hips bear him fine pups? Were my breasts melon-like enough to satisfy his carnal urges?
    Again, I checked myself before speaking, hard though it was.
    “Well, that’s nice to hear,” I said. “And I’m so excited to meet you. You’re so…handsome.”
    “I just can’t wait to get to know you more. I like your smell,” he said. What a charmer. He wasn’t so good at behaving like a gentleman, was he? Tristan was right: this man was terrible with women.
    “Thanks. I like yours too.” He did smell good---that I could admit, at least.
    We chatted in a fairly banal way for the next few minutes and then the delightful Brittany walked up and smiled at me. “Do you mind if I interrupt?” she asked as the cameras zoned in on her. She seemed to feel entitled to a second conference with Craig.
    “He’s all yours,” I said, standing up. I was grateful to have an excuse to leave. I felt fairly confident that Craig would keep me around, and I had no real urge to spend more time being insincere.
    “Thanks so much,” said Brittany, putting a set of cold fingers on my forearm. Her frigid fingertips gave me the impression that she had no blood circulation. Maybe she was a zombie. How great would that be? It would certainly explain her boring personality and lack of brains.
    “You’re sooo welcome,” I said, and walked away, shuddering off the icy touch.
    “How did it go?” asked Julia when I found her.
    “It was fine. He doesn’t hate me for being the size of a house, so that’s nice. I think Shakespeare wrote a sonnet about that. ‘A rose that’s as fat as a whale still smells as sweet,’” I said.
    “Idiot,” said Julia under her breath.
    “It’s okay,” I said. “He seems nice.” A cameraman was making his way over to us so I shifted to my girl-in-awe-of-handsome-bachelor-man tone. I wondered if there were hidden cameras as well to capture our less attractive moments. I sort of hoped so.
    Sorry, mom.

Seven:
Dismissals and Wolves
     
     
    By the time Craig had spent time with each of the remaining women it must have been midnight at least. It seemed that days had passed, not hours, since I’d first met Julia back at the studio. I’d spent most of the evening by her side, getting to know her and liking her more and more.
    John gathered us all in the living room again. It was slightly less pristine than it had been when the evening had begun; I could see why they served champagne instead of red wine, as the splash marks from clumsy females faded quickly after contents of glasses had landed on unwelcoming cushions. A room full of women and booze had never been appealing to me and this evening had reminded me why. But at least no cat fights had erupted, possibly out of fear of the giant dog in our midst.
    “Ladies, it’s time for the dismissal cere mony,” said John solemnly.
    Dismissal. What a word for it. I sincerely hoped that any rejected women would get fired out of a cannon. I’d be safe, regardless of my fate; they could never fit me down the barrel of one of those things.
    “One by one, Craig will call the names of the women he’s chosen to remain with us in the house. Those who are not named must immediately le ave.” Oh, please add “or be ripped apart by wild dogs.” Please please please.
    Craig took over , standing poised in the center of the room, surrounded by tidily arranged candidates.
    “Brittany,” he said after a suspenseful pause (no surprise