I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends (11 page)

On August 21, I called a producer and asked her to scratch me off the list. “Listen,” she said. “You owe it to yourself to at least meet the guy.” When I was still unsure, she told me to take two more days to think about it. But I’d made up my mind. After I officially pulled out, my dad sent me an e-mail with the subject line “A Well-Made Decision.”

“Bug,” he wrote, addressing me by my nickname, “I would like to compliment you for how you reached your decision on the
Bachelor
program. You thought about it from every angle and bounced it off your trusted friends. You came to a very sensible decision, one that is right for you. Time to move forward with new projects … try to nail down the Fruit of the Loom job. Why should a girl who made $32,000 for one photo shoot last August take two months out of her career and lose all control on how her image is used on national television?”

I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders, but at the same time, over the next week I felt lonelier than ever before. Unattached for the first time in forever, I fell back into my old habits. I called Chris, even though we hadn’t spoken in two years. He’d opened his own raw food restaurant in Florida and was doing really well. He immediately booked me a ticket to visit Labor Day weekend.

I decided to go, even though I knew if my mom found out she would disown me. I was still unsure that I’d made the right decision about
The Bachelor
. I wanted to see if there was anything left with Chris and if a weekend with him would settle my mind once and for all.

But it was the same old story. Though he told me he loved me and we still had amazing physical chemistry, there was something important missing. In a last-ditch effort, I tested Chris one more time: I told him I was considering going on
The Bachelor
. Instead of begging me not to, he was supportive and said it would be fun for me. After, we went swimming in the ocean, and even though his perfectly lean, raw-food-sculpted body glistened in the sun, I had a sinking feeling. I knew this would be the last time I ever saw him.

As soon as I got back to L.A., I e-mailed the producer again and said I’d made the wrong decision. I told her that I wanted to be on the show and was ready for an amazing love story, if they’d still have me. This was something I had to do for myself and I couldn’t turn it down for Chris, my mom and dad, or anyone.

“We were so disappointed, we took your pictures off the wall,” the producer said. “We’ve already picked all the girls.”

After a long pause, she told me to bring in my contract right away.

The next morning, over a cup of coffee, I flew through the monster document, initialing every lower right-hand corner, without even opening the pages all the way. I dropped off the contract and gave the producer a hug. She gave me a packing list that said to be prepared for all seasons.

It was official. I was going on
The Bachelor,
one of the most iconic shows in the history of television. I was going to meet Ben Flajnik. I only had a little over a week until I had to report to a hotel in Westlake Village, the holding pen until the infamous limo ride to the mansion in Malibu. Holy crap, I had a lot to do.

First, I found a model friend who agreed to rent my spare bedroom while I was away (I’d started being smarter about my money). It would be the first time I’d had a female roommate since I moved to L.A. ten years prior. I gave my sister Rachel all my account information and my modeling contacts so she could manage my bills and my career while I was away. Ironically, one of the last shoots I did before I left was for Kay Jewelers’ Neil Lane engagement ring collection. I was a fake bride with a fake husband for the day.

Second, I got my wardrobe ready. I counted out the possible rose ceremonies and borrowed five dresses from Rachel, even though we’re not the same size, and two from another model friend named Carrie. I didn’t buy anything new. Here’s why: When I was dating Jesse I nearly went broke buying new designer stuff. I felt so much pressure to always look good when we went out, just in case he was photographed by paparazzi, but I never got my own style right. I’d try to match his look, but it was just plain bad. Jesse was in an Affliction phase and I was wearing cringe-worthy outfits like denim skirts, Jack Daniel’s T-shirts, and cowboy boots. Perez Hilton was all over my ass, no matter how hard I tried to look good. Once, when I made the unfortunate decision to wear a leopard-print tube dress with purple heels, Perez scribbled on my face with his poisonous white pen, “Butt ugly!” I refused to spend my life savings on clothes ever again. The other reason I didn’t go on a big shopping spree was that I was superstitious. I thought if I bought all new dresses I’d be sent home the first night. The only new thing I bought for the show was a journal.

Third, I sowed my oats. To be honest, I had a premonition that I would be engaged to Ben and he might be the last man I’d ever make the sex with. So for the first time in my life, I was a tiny bit promiscuous the week before I left. I had one more rendezvous with Adrian, who was living in the penthouse of the W Hotel on Sunset. After we hooked up, he showed me an eco-friendly website he was working on and we had a long conversation about an article in the
New York Times
discussing Dan Savage’s “monogamish” philosophy. Adrian actually had a girlfriend at the time, but it was okay, he said, because they were in an open relationship. I tried not to judge. Then I told him about going on
The Bachelor,
the most monogamous thing on the planet and, to his credit, he didn’t judge.

I also had a hot hookup with a gorgeous model/actor friend of mine, who I’d met on a Lucky jeans shoot a couple years before. The photographer wanted us to kiss, but he refused because he had a girlfriend. I never forgot that. I was so impressed with his devotion. Now that we were both single, he took me on what started out as an innocent day date, a walk on the beach and lunch at the Library Alehouse in Santa Monica. Then he came over to my house to watch TV. He left around 5:00
P.M.
, but texted me ten minutes after he left that traffic was a nightmare and he was coming back to wait it out (which if intentional was a brilliant scheme, especially in L.A.). I’d taken a shower—I always think it’s sexy to have long, wet hair—and, pretty much as soon as he walked in, we jumped into bed. I let him leave without telling him about
The Bachelor
. I just told him I might be gone for a little while.

I didn’t tell Cavan either. Our breakup was still pretty fresh and I thought it would crush him. I also decided not to tell Dylan, even though we were on pretty good terms and he’d recently fixed my screen door. Not being up-front with him would come back to bite me in the ass.

I did tell Chris, who I could tell was disappointed, but he didn’t or couldn’t tell me not to go. I decided to text Jesse, since he was a celebrity and could be linked to me in the tabloids. His career was heating up again; he’d been offered a starring role on the revived TV show
Dallas
. He immediately called and warned me that it was a bad idea because the girls on the show were “dorks.” When I told him it was too late and that I was committed, he moaned, “Fuuuck this guy is going to pick you.” Jesse asked to come over, but I said no. He wanted to meet up before I left but we never did.

I was ready to be Ben’s girl.

ON SEPTEMBER 14,
producers came to my house and shot my “package” for the show, a short video about my life. They filmed me sipping coffee at Urth Caffe, riding my bike to my favorite farmer’s market to pick out flowers, and making a salad in my kitchen, after they spruced up the background. I talked for hours about heartbreak and wanting to find true love and what I liked about Ben. It would have gone a lot faster if I didn’t live next to the Santa Monica airport. The planes kept messing up the sound.

The night before I left, I lay in bed thinking about Ben. It suddenly hit me that if he did propose, I may have to move to San Francisco. I’d be willing to do that. I also thought about the twenty-four other women and how I hoped to make at least one or two new lifelong friends. But I also made two promises to myself:

1.
Don’t let my temper get the best of me.

I’m a Cancer and my mood can flare up quickly if I’m not careful.

2.
No fights on-camera.

I was nervous about being snookered into a lot of deep group conversations with the other women. As I mentioned earlier, I’m not big on sitting around talking about my feelings. That part of the show would definitely be a challenge.

I’m not going to lie. I did have a strategy going in. I can be effectively manipulative. My goal was to win the girls over, even if I didn’t like them, and make friends with everyone. I admit I can be picky with what type of girls I get close with. I always say it’s like dating. You have to play a little hard to get with girlfriends, just like with a guy. You can’t get jealous and you can’t be too readily available all the time. It’s almost exactly like Paul Rudd and Jason Segel in
I Love You, Man
.

And if I liked Ben, my plan was to win him over with my emotional and nurturing nature, another big Cancer quality. You can stop laughing now.

Finally, the big day arrived. On Saturday, September 17, at 1:00
P.M.
, a town car arrived at my house and I began my
Bachelor
journey. I brought the two suitcases I was told I was allowed to bring, and only later I found out that some of the girls brought five. One bag was full of summer stuff, and one covered fall. I brought plenty of bikinis for hot tubbin’ and a lot of accessories, like beanies and scarves, which could add a pop of color to the basics I’d packed. I had one small makeup bag—eyeliner, concealer, and bronzer were my staples—because I was told we’d get help from a makeup artist. And last but not least, I threw in my favorite lingerie, just in case. I packed perfectly. Though if I had to do it over again, I would’ve taken my vibrator.

KEEPING IT REAL

The Perfect Packing List

by Jaclyn Swartz

When I first got the call that I would be on
The Bachelor,
my first question was, “What the hell do I pack?” (Well, after “who is going to dye my hair and paint my nails?”—so, really the third question.) I was so excited to show off my killer wardrobe that I knew would be juxtaposed with at least seventeen Hooters waitresses and NBA dancers. The rules are very clear in that you are only allowed to bring two checked bags, but since I was
sure
I was getting to hometown dates (ha!), I brought seven.

About $550 dollars in baggage fees later, I am giving you a list of the crucial things to pack:

1.
Ten Rose Ceremony Dresses (at least). Night One dresses are the most important.
Go short!
Show some leg, you prudes.

2.
Bring the sequins, but leave your glue-gunned plastic crystal pageant dresses at home. One Jamie Otis was enough.

3.
Fake lashes. I didn’t bring these because I literally didn’t know how to do makeup before I went on this show. Big mistake,
huge!

4.
1,000 bikinis. You will end up wearing these in freezing cold tundras while ice skating and performing weird plays. So stock up.

5.
Light jackets that are fitted and casual-cute. It gets cold at night on dates (when you aren’t in your bikini)—and I would never be caught dead in a cardigan.

6.
Accessories, accessories, accessories. Chances are, a top you bring will look like another girl’s top. So don’t you want to win at this game and accessorize your look? Toodles, loser: I got my one-on-one!

7.
Sunglasses. Just kidding. You aren’t allowed to wear these on-camera. But don’t worry: if you are on this show, you won’t need these to hide your ugly face. Chances are, you’re pretty—so congrats!

8.
Hair products and hair tools up the wazoo. Come prepared, but if you bring mousse for crunchy curls, I will definitely be making fun of you. A lot.

The entire ride I was on my cell phone, knowing that very soon it would be gone indefinitely. I called my sister and she cried. I texted Jesse and he wrote back simply, “I’ll always have your back.” And finally, I called Chris. We didn’t have much to say to each other.

“Think of me,” he managed to eke out. “Don’t get engaged.”

If Chris had asked me in that moment not to do the show, I probably would’ve dramatically stopped the car and hopped out, like Tom Cruise should have done in
Vanilla Sky
. But I guess he didn’t want to hold me back. Chris, not Tom Cruise.

When the limo pulled up to the hotel, not one but two production assistants (PAs) came down to get me. They brought me straight to my room and took away my phone. My room was really depressing. It overlooked an air conditioning vent and had absolutely no light. I asked if there was another one available because I’d be isolated there for the next two days and would go stir-crazy. We were allowed to watch pay-per-view movies, but there was nothing else to do. No phone, nothing to read, no music. Sure enough they moved me to a nicer room overlooking a courtyard.

I sat by the window and stared at a big tree for what felt like an eternity, welling up and overwhelmed by emotion. I snapped out of it when a parade of producers, one by one, started knocking on my door to introduce themselves. There were so many of them I couldn’t keep track of their names or figure out who was the most important. A few I recognized from Finals Weekend, like the handsome guy, others not so much. I didn’t know it at the time, but there were more than twenty-five girls at the hotel that day.

The next thirty-six hours were a whirlwind, and yet, I still never saw another contestant. I taped a segment for
Access Hollywood,
showing how I perfectly packed my suitcases for the show (thank God I’d skipped the vibrator). I did the photo shoot for the headshot that would accompany my bio on the ABC website and would be framed for Ben to gaze at before Rose Ceremonies. Producers asked me how I was going to introduce myself to Ben. The audience absolutely loves it when the girls do something unique or wacky when they first meet the Bachelor, like only wearing a wine barrel or challenging him to arm wrestling or something. I was adamant though—no song and dance routine for me. I wanted to be myself.