Page 10 of Playing With Matches
“You can have a seat,” she says to me.
Rob is the “show daddy” forPlaying With Matches, and the one who allegedly has been dying to talk to me. I tried to learn more about the show on the way down here, but there’s not much info out there. All I know is that it’s a three-night special, slated as part of the grand finale to the “Summer of Love” lineup on a major network. Filming is being rushed. It’s all coming together at the very last minute. Probably because they are subbing in for another show that was mysteriously canceled.
Dean, who went to UCLA with Rob, was able to fill me in a bit more. Rob founded Goodfellow Productions a decade ago, and he’s produced a bunch of super successful reality shows. Everyone says he has a magic touch.
“Just be careful,” Dean had warned me. “He’s a chameleon. He’s great at what he does but he’s got a rep for being a bit of a trickster.”
I shudder at the lizard reference. Can’t stand them. But if any of that’s true, I have yet to see any evidence of it. I haven’t found anything overtly negative about Rob online. If anything, people seem to adore him. He has a couple of Emmys and a large collection of sports memorabilia, some of which he’s donated to charitable causes. He’s made several “most eligible bachelor” lists and has won multiple awards for being a “pioneer” and “visionary” of reality-based programming. I feel like I’m in good hands, but I’m reserving judgment till we have our face-to-face chat. I want to be sure we’re all on the same page, and I need to hear more about Rob’s vision for the show.
The lobby doesn’t offer up many clues. Cement floor. Shag rug. Modern leather sofa that’s more for looks than comfort. Glass table, complete with a two-year-old issue ofVarietymagazine. Standard stuff. The receptionist is chewing gum. She blows a bubble, and I jump when it pops, loudly.
Why am I so on edge? Is it the investors? They’re really pressuring me to do this show, no matter what. I’m not even sure I have a choice in the matter. I hate feeling railroaded.
“Jackson! There you are! Man of the hour!” Rob jogs into the lobby from the hallway, smiling enthusiastically. He’s wearing lightweight, black sporty tech pants and a simple, green microfiber athletic top. High-end European athletic trainers complete the picture. His well-groomed hand is already outstretched to shake mine. I jump to my feet and grasp it. His grip is firm.
Then he completely surprises me, pulling me in for a hearty impromptu bro hug and a slap on the back.
“Man, I know you don’t know me from Odin, but I just gotta give you a hug and say thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” Rob’s smile is infectious. I cannot help it. I’m instantly grinning goofily, too. It’s one of those awkward good-faith smiles where you have no clue why you’re doing it, your brain is still struggling to come up to speed, but your face believes it’s worth it, the reason is coming.
“Okaaaay,” I say awkwardly.
I size Rob up as he pulls back. He’s a little shorter than me. Wiry. Super tan, like he spends his weekends on the water. Green eyes and thick strawberry blond hair. There’s something youthful and slightly feral about him. Like a sporty Peter Pan. He could be a Lost Boy.
Rob waves his left hand back and forth in front of me, like a bride showing off her engagement ring, and I note the wide gold band.
“Met my wife through your app, Dude,” he says, shaking his head reverently. “Never thought I’d get married. But here we are, and it’s all because of YOU!” He points at me. “Come on back to my office,” he pauses. “You need water? Green juice? Butter coffee? Did Casey offer you water?”
“He didn’t look thirsty,” Casey blows another bubble and continues to play with her virtual pets.
“I’m good,” I say.
Rob’s office is decorated similarly to the reception area, but there is crap everywhere. Movie and show posters and random sports memorabilia. Cereal boxes. A bobblehead that looks just like him.
He moves a box ofPlaying With Matches-emblazoned water bottles off a seat so I can sit down, then grabs one and tosses it to me.
“So Jack,” he says.
“Jackson,” I correct him, smiling politely. Jack, Jackie, Jax, I’ve never been partial to the usual nicknames people come up with for me.
“Sorry, JackSON,” Rob amends, stroking his chin. “I think I need to tell you off the bat that this show is apassion projectfor me. I’m in a place I never thought I would be. In love, married to the woman of my dreams. Hell. I’m about to be a dad. I am just so happy. And I owe it all to YOU. So as far as I’m concerned, if you don’t want to do this show with me, then I don’t want to do this show.” He leans forward, squeezes my forearm, and gazes intensely and imploringly into my eyes.
“It’s you and me, Man. We’re gonna show the world what’s possible with the new tech that’s out there. If a simple guy like me can find his happy-ever-after due to the brilliant app that you’ve brought to the market, then anyone can.”
“Wow,” I’m not sure what to say. “That’s quite the pitch.”
He leans back in his chair, playing with the gold ring, spinning it on his finger.
“All true. Tania and I probably never would have gotten together if it wasn’t for your technology.”
“How long have you been married?” I ask.
“Not long, a couple of months.”
“And you actually met your wife through AI Swiper?” I ask. Why hadn’t anyone told me about this before I took the meeting? Our teams are supposed to be tracking success stories like this. Certainly, our PR firm would want to know about this.
“Yeah, that’s one of the reasons I was so determined to have you on the show. I’ve been on it since the first beta,” Rob shakes his head with affirmation and admiration. “Two words: Life. Changing.”
“What about your wife?”
