I couldn't believe I was the first one awake, at least among my room-mates. We were sleeping four to a room, but they were actually enormous suites, and thankfully we each had our own twin bed. I was bunked with Brittany, Joy, and a girl from Italy named Ariana.

I was hoping to take a jog before getting dressed for the day. I threw on some cropped yoga pants and my Drive Shaft t-shirt, the fictitious band from Lost. I had such a huge crush on Charlie. It was sad how obsessed I was with that show. And I still am.

After donning my running shoes, I left my room. I was honestly shocked that I didn't hear anyone else moving around yet. I had assumed everyone would be up, primping and deciding whether they could wear their evening gowns to breakfast. I didn't even make it to the end of the hall before a camera man pounced on me. Okay, he didn't exactly pounce, but you get the idea. I was startled enough that, while descending the stairs, I held my hand over my racing heart and tried to catch my breath. 

Before heading out, I decided to explore the mansion a little. Benjamin had told us at the close of last night's event, that we had the run of the mansion and the property surrounding it, and that if any areas in particular were off-limits, they would be marked with very obvious yellow signs. And venturing into off-limits areas was grounds for being sent home.

I walked around the first floor, which was stunningly large. It seemed like I could walk and walk and never come to the end of it. There were several large-ish rooms that I would classify as living rooms, but I'm sure the rich and entitled would give them some snooty names like drawing room or conservatory.

There was one room not far from the ballroom in which we'd gathered last night. On the door was one of the very obvious signs stating, PRIVATE: Keep Out  and underneath that, it said Ready Room. I snorted a small laugh, thinking of Captain Jean-Luc Picard aboard the Enterprise in his ready room, standing at the replicator and placing his order of "Tea, Earl Grey, Hot."

I came upon a flight of stairs that wasn't blocked off, so I wandered down. At the bottom, to one side there was a long hallway with many doors, all of which had bright yellow signs declaring them Private. Probably where the producers and other staff slept.

To the other side of the stairs there was a set of double doors, unlocked and unmarked. I opened one and found a game room, a workout room, and a huge in-home movie theater. The basement was partially underground, but one wall was made entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows and provided a breathtaking view out over the scenic mountainside, with a snippet of the Pacific Ocean off to the far right. I noticed a smallish door off to the left that led outside. I went out and pulled my arms around me when I felt the crisp morning air hit my skin. Early June and it was still nippy first thing in the morning here in the mountains. I stood and observed and listened. It was so peaceful.

I noticed a faint little wearing of the grass from the side of the mansion into a thicket where there was a somewhat hidden tunnel carved out, just big enough for one person to sneak through. It almost looked like the trees had just grown that way, forming a natural tunnel, but with the lightly trodden path, I could tell it had been deliberately formed. I crouched under the low branches and crept along the path, wondering if I'd see any wildlife, or if maybe it led to a pond. The camera man was right behind me. When I came out on the other side of the thicket, I saw a small but pretty house, more like a cottage, actually. I assumed it must be a guest house, or perhaps a servant's house. I wondered who was staying there.

Just then, the door flew open and a man stepped out in white athletic shorts, a baseball cap and no shirt.

"Shit!" I hissed and leaped back inside the thicket, trying to obscure myself from his view. I practically knocked the camera out of the cameraman's hands. "I'm sorry," I hissed again. Luckily, it didn't appear that other man heard the commotion.

I watched while he started swinging his arms, shaking his legs and then he took off jogging in the opposite direction. There must have been a driveway on the other side of the small house because he just disappeared, and I was sure this wasn't his main pathway to and from the mansion. In that short time, I made two observations – one was that he was extremely fit and fairly tall, the other was that he had many tattoos over his torso and his arms. Tattoos weren't necessarily a deal-breaker, but I had never liked them, in general. I could understand getting one small tattoo in a clandestine location, but to have so many scattered all over wasn't something I had ever liked very much. Yet, he didn't exactly have a tattoo sleeve, so I decided to leave the topic open for discussion.

I hadn't gotten close enough to see if he was a recognizable celebrity, like some of the women thought, but I knew one thing for sure – I had stumbled upon the bachelor's house. That would be my own delicious secret, hopefully for days to come.

I retreated back into the thicket and eventually came back out on the lawn outside the mansion's lower level. I turned and asked the cameraman, "Why didn't you tell me he was staying there? I'm not supposed to see him, am I?"

"I didn't know," he said. "They must have overlooked this entrance to his private quarters."

"Don't tell anyone it's there. Please," I begged. I wasn't planning on having a late night rendezvous with the bachelor or anything, but the information might be valuable at the right time, for the right person.

"All right, I won't," he laughed.

At that point, I realized that I didn't really have time left for my jog, so I decided to check out the breakfast options in the kitchen, which I'd only seen in passing on my mini tour earlier. Once I set foot inside, I realized the kitchen matched the rest of the mansion – enormous and gorgeous. There was a ridiculous amount of counter space for food preparation, three sinks, three dishwashers, a massive industrial stove, and two refrigerators, larger than I'd ever seen.

We had been told we would be responsible for our own meals at breakfast and lunch time, and the kitchen would be well-stocked. Dinners would be provided for us, either catered or prepared on site. I was happy for that, actually, because I didn't want to be force fed who knows what around the clock for six weeks; it would be nice to have some control over my food, since I might not be in control of much else after I met the bachelor. In addition to doing much of our own cooking, we would be responsible for our own laundry, and someone else would come in and do the cleaning and trash jobs.

The same camera man captured my every move.

"Oooh, this will be exciting," I teased. "Just watch how I fry that bacon." He started laughing and I said, "With the way you're following me around, I should at least know your name."

"Merle," he said with a chuckle.

"Hi, Merle, I'm Harper," I smiled.

He kept rolling the camera while I found the stash of coffee. There was a large coffee maker on one of the counters. The instructions were taped to the counter next to it. "Hmm, 42 cups. That should be enough to get us started."

Once the coffee was brewing, I looked into one of the two gargantuan refrigerators. They weren't lying about having them well-stocked. One refrigerator had yogurt, cheese, milk, eggs, tortillas, lunch meats and tons of condiments. There was also a variety of foods from around the world that I didn't exactly recognize. The other refrigerator contained giant tubs of deli meats and a variety of other meat, with the rest of the space crammed full of fruits and vegetables.

I pulled out two dozen eggs, some milk, some spinach, green peppers and some pre-cooked bacon. Luckily the drawers and cabinets were labeled, so I quickly found the onions as well. I decided I would bake a few pans of egg casserole, one with spinach and bacon, the other with peppers and onions. I loved to cook and I almost never had an opportunity to do it for a crowd. When I was growing up, cooking for my dad and me consisted mostly of canned or boxed meals, although, once in a while, on the weekends, we'd spend the day together in the kitchen making chicken cacciatore or some other dish that we loved but rarely took the time to make.

As I worked, I found myself wondering about the bachelor. I was warming up to the idea of finding a man who was interesting and charming, and he certainly seemed that way when I talked to him last night. And oh, that voice. I hoped that he would be a well-dressed, professional type, being that I was the same type. I found order and predictability to be comforting. Neat schedules made me inexplicably happy.

After the eggs were in the oven, I sat down with a hot cup of coffee. I desperately missed my phone. We were stripped of all electronics before we entered the house – they couldn't take a chance on any of us spilling information to the outside world. I sipped at the coffee and enjoyed the view from the mountains. It was so peaceful and quiet. I wished I could live in a home like this, apart from all the hustle and bustle. I loved my job and I loved the city, but this was so...rejuvenating.

A few other women wandered in and practically broke out in choruses of Hallelujah! when they smelled coffee. We had all gone to bed very late last night, and caffeine was going to be essential for most on this particular day. One of the women put some water on the stove for tea as well.

"Hi, I'm Harper," I smiled. "I hope the coffee's not too strong."

"Hello, Harper," one woman said. "I'm Gemma." She was beautiful with dark hair and freckles, and she had a British accent. 

"England?" I guessed.

"Yes, London," she confirmed.

I also met Bianca from Brazil, Jacqueline, a redhead from the US, and Jordin, also from the US. Jordin was a big girl, like plus-sized big, and almost six feet tall, as far as I could tell. It made me wonder if she was taller than our bachelor, as I'd only seen him at a distance. And would he have any objection to women who were taller than him. It was nice to see that the producers hadn't chosen only skinnie minnies for the show.

"Thanks for making the coffee," Jordin said. She had a great smile that lit up her entire face. "You're a lifesaver."

"No problem," I said. "There are two pans of eggs in the oven. They should be done in about fifteen minutes. There's a ton of other food available, too. The eggs won't be enough for everyone, but they're a start anyway."

"Thanks," they all said as I showed them the stashes of food that I'd found earlier, from bread, bagels and cereal, to canned veggies and bags of chips.  

"Thanks," said another woman who had just come in. "It was very kind of you to do this."

"No problem. I love to cook," I said. "I'm Harper."

"Elena,"she smiled. Elena was beautiful and voluptuous as well.

"Where are you from, Elena?" I asked, searching for the hot pads.

"Cyprus," she said with a small smile.

"I've heard it's lovely there," I remarked. I opened the oven and pulled out one, then the other casserole. Some of the other women had started making toast and cutting up fruit. A few others were looking for alternatives. I realized I still had so many names to learn.

A short woman with dark skin, beautiful long black hair and an attitude came in and groaned, "Peppers? God, I hate green peppers!" I guessed her accent to be Mexican. "And spinach? Seriously?"

"Excuse you," said another woman who had walked in just before her; I think her name was Sara. "She didn't have to cook anything, and you certainly don't have to eat it." She turned to me and asked, "What's your name?"

"Harper," I answered. "You're Sara, right?" I said, confirming what I thought to be her name.

Sara nodded, and then she turned back to the Mexican woman. "There's plenty of other food, so please help yourself."

The rude woman just brushed past without uttering a thank you or I'm sorry, and yanked open the fridge. Yet another woman walked in just then and said in a sing-song voice, "Good morning, Salma," to the beautiful but bitchy Ms. Mexico. Then she turned and greeted the rest of us, saying, "Hi, I'm Bella." Her cheerful greetings took the edge off of a touchy situation.

"Hi, Bella," we all said. Then told everyone our names again to help each other learn them.

"I made coffee," I said to Salma after that, thinking maybe a little caffeine would make her more civil. I pointed to the cupboard to her left and said, "The mugs are up there."

She opened the cupboard, grabbed her mug and filled it, all without a word or eye contact. While she did so, I observed her carefully. She looked a lot older than us; like at least twenty years older. It was just that her skin tone wasn't as bright and she had a few more laugh lines than the rest of us. Well, I hesitated to call them laugh lines, since I wasn't even sure if she knew how to laugh, in addition to the fact that she was basically Oscar the Grouch.

"You're welcome," I said in a polite yet very sarcastic way.

Still nothing.

Dove sauntered in next, wearing large glasses and her hair in a messy ponytail. She muttered, "Oh, lovely, we get to eat like the common folk." She was talking to Valerie, who walked in just behind her.

"I can't believe you just said that," Jordin snapped at her. 

Dove just rolled her eyes at Jordin, and she headed for the refrigerator. "Lovely," she sneered. "Full of trans fats and high fructose corn syrup."

"There are lots of fruits and veggies in the other one," I told her.

She opened the other fridge and examined the produce. "Seriously? None of this is organic?! Ugh, I am so going to have a word with the producers." She grabbed a container of strawberries anyway and placed them on the counter. "How do you get these little green thingys off?" She whined. I stifled a small laugh. 

"What are you laughing at?" She fumed. Valerie was no help at all; she just stood beside Dove and grumbled, "I can't believe we have to make our own food." They might as well have had neon signs over their heads, proclaiming them clueless socialites.

I ignored Dove's comment and found a colander and a knife. I dumped the strawberries into the colander and rinsed them. Then I showed her how to hull the strawberries by inserting the knife under the stems and twisting it. 

"I'm going to cut myself," she pouted.

"I'll do it for you if you can ask nicely."

Her answer was simply, "Ugh," so I walked away with my cup of coffee in hand.

I wandered to the dining room and found Demi sitting at the table, alone with her plate of eggs. She hadn't done anything new to her hair, except maybe she brushed it, but I wasn't sure. And I was fairly certain that she thought she was living in the late 20th century when I saw her white shorts with wide blue stripes and a cut-off t-shirt that said Atari on the front. She completed the look with knee-high gym socks. As I studied her, I realized the look was kind of stylish, depending on if she was going for cute and retro, or I just hopped off a time machine from 1985.

"Hi Demi. Why are you sitting here all alone? You should try to make some friends."

"Well, everyone was sitting here, but when I came to sit down, they all left."

I looked around and of course, the cameras were rolling like always, but I sincerely wondered if Demi was some kind of practical joke. How could the WMEB producers have seriously picked such an awkward girl to compete on this show? I hoped they hadn't done it on purpose to make fun of her or to make the show more sensational somehow.

"I already ate, but I'll sit with you til I finish my coffee," I told her and she smiled at me with those yellow teeth. I wondered if I could mention Crest Whitestrips in casual conversation and hope she would get the hint.

Brittany came and sat by us a little later, a bagel and some strawberries on her plate. Dove must have given it a try or convinced someone else to help her in her hour of need. "Good morning, ladies," she said cheerfully. "I seriously can't wait for some sausage," she said. 

"Is someone cooking some?" I asked innocently.

"Not that kind of sausage, hon," she said, giving me a devious look. Demi laughed loudly and awkwardly while I just shook my head. Lovely. She didn't want to see if the bachelor was kind or compassionate, she just wanted to see his schlong.

The rest of breakfast was organized chaos with a variety of people cooking an ever larger variety of foods. It was easy to pick out the Doves from the others by their snide comments and passive-aggressive actions. I could only be thankful that there were cleaning staff who would take care of the mess we'd left behind, some of us more than others. It would be an interesting six weeks with all levels of manners and cleanliness living under one roof.

_____

Just so you know, I spent a lot of time on the morning activities in this chapter, just to lay a little groundwork and introduce some of the characters and their personalities. They will meet the bachelor in the next chapter. Thanks so much for reading, voting and commenting.

By the way, is it weird that I really wanted you to read "Breakfast with Psychos" to the tune of "Breakfast at Tiffany's"? lol

Would you consider giving my story a shout to your followers and friends? I'm happy to give a shout out in return? <3