Page 16 of Playing With My Heart Strings

Then again, it was pretty obvious by the looks I was getting from the other girls here that I wasn’t at the auditions. If they do some dramatic reveal, they’ll probably be able to say I was “America’s choice” or some shit like that.

“Sage, you are going through!” Jarrod calls out.

Sage’s shoulders drop in relief, and she can’t seem to hide her smile as she walks out on stage.

As the number of spots dwindles down, the tension in the room steadily increases. I know that’s part of what Colette wants. The camera captures everything. I may not be a producer with the company, but I’ve seen a lot working in the communications department. I know from experience that drama makes for good television.

“For all you folks back home, we’re down to the final three spots, and the tension on this stage is palpable. Let’s meet the rest of the women, shall we?”

Two women who aren’t me are announced, and I roll my eyes at the fact they chose to introduce me last.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our last contestant is a very special young lady. Those of you at home may recognize her voice from a video that went viral recently. This was something not even our producers saw coming, but we always want to give you, the people, a voice of your own. So, without further ado, our last contestant, America’s choice, is…Baylor!”

I shake my head, knowing Colette would pull something like this, but plaster a smile onto my face as I walk out on stage. I squint to adjust to the spotlights, wave to the camera, then take my place next to the rest of the girls, some of whom have understandably shocked expressions on their faces.

“And with that, here are the ten women who will be vying for a record deal and Dusty’s heart!”

“Cut! That’s a wrap on that, everyone. Take ten, and we’ll do some individual filming next,” the director calls, and the stage, which once had an air of tension, is now a scene of bustling producers and camera crewmen.

7

dusty

Great Value Chris Harrison

Last night,I was told the recording of theHeart Stringslive auditions and contestant selection aired and I wasn’t allowed to watch. The only person I could talk to was my manager, and I had to use the hotel landline to contact him. The producers took my cell phone after the second day of filming the auditions and have kept it.

It’s not like I’m going to look up anything related to the show, but whatever. I get it. They don’t want us on social media or reading anythingHeart Stringsrelated. It’s been an adjustment not being so connected to the outside world and my fans, but I’ve never really been a huge fan of social media anyway.

I was given the rundown about how filming will work going forward. A few days a week will be for the bulk of filming, where I’ll spend time with all the women and “test out our chemistry.” Then we’ll have a day for interviews, followed by free days that the production company will use for editing the footage. Although, I’m not quite sure what kind of freedom I’ll have. From my understanding, I’ll basically have someone withme at all times except when I’m shitting, showering, or sleeping. I’m twenty-nine, for God’s sake. I don’t need a babysitter. I can behave.

Today, I’m meeting all ten of the women I—and the producers—chose.

“Dusty, are you ready?” the staff member assigned to babysit me today calls from outside my room, breaking me out of my thoughts.

Ready as I’ll ever be.I sigh as I pull a tan cowboy hat off one of the racks I had the styling team bring in. They tried to get me to fit into their specific image, but I told them it was either what I normally wear or nothing at all.

Today, I put on starched Wranglers, a white button-down, and a tan suit jacket with gator skin boots. I skip the tie, ignoring what the stylist told me to wear, and undo a couple of the snaps near the top of the shirt. If this is the way for me to keep a shred of control and possibly rebel against the label, I’ll take it.

After combing through my mustache with my fingers, I open the door and step out, looking my personal babysitter—Brent?—in the eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, probably about my appearance, but I raise my eyebrows at him and he quickly shuts it.

“Hello, Bryan.” I nod at him.

“It’s Brett,” he sighs. “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

He leads me to the car that’s going to take us to where we’ll be filming for the day. It’s a sleek, black Range Rover with tinted windows. I open the door and slip inside, the scent of leather filling my nostrils. Brody follows, and we sit in silence for the twenty-minute drive.

While the auditions were filmed in the production building, the rest of the show will be filmed in different locations around Nashville. The filming schedule obviously isn’t released to the public—they don’t want fans showing up and leakinginformation—but I have a hard time believing fans won’t find a way to show up regardless.

We pull up to a gated traditional European-style house—well, mansion may be a better way to put it—near Brentwood. Security opens the gate once they verify who we are, and we head down the long drive.

“How rich is Sparks Studio Productions?” I gawk at the scenery around us.

“Heart Stringsmay be new, Dusty, but SSP is not,” Brandon replies simply.

I’ll say.I can’t believe they can afford to buy these properties, but I guess if they’re filming several of these types of shows a year, it makes sense.

“We don’t own these properties, but the owners let us rent out the spaces we need.” He answers the question floating around in my head. “Here’s the deal. Today is when you’ll meet all of the women chosen to compete. It’ll kind of be like speed dating. You’ll have five minutes with each of them to get to know a bit about them. Then at the end, you’ll choose one woman you’d like to spend a little more time with one-on-one.”

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