The Charm Offensive

by Alison Cochrun

It’s like the stories he reads before bed, tented under Star Wars sheets long after his parents have told him to turn out the lights—stories about knights and towers and magic kisses.

This world where happily ever afters are guaranteed. He watches, and he imagines himself as one of the women, being waltzed around the ballroom by a handsome prince. “Turn off that anachronistic, patriarchal bullshit,” his mother snaps as she comes into the house carrying two grocery bags, one under each arm.

“Crippling is a bit much. I like to think I’m sort of dabbling in depression.”

“You look like an Indian Kevin James in an ‘after’ weight-loss photo.”

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” she asks. By “it” she clearly means his breakup three months ago and the fact that he’s about to see his ex for the first time since they divided up their assets, Ryan taking the PS5 and the apartment and all the real furniture, Dev keeping the Disney collectible mugs and the DVD box sets. “It” being the fact that Dev has to work side by side with Ryan for the next nine weeks.

He doesn’t want to go on awkward first dates with fit, well-groomed, West Hollywood queer men who won’t be able to look past his scrawny physique, his Costco-brand jeans, and his very uncool prescription glasses.

“Is this about him almost falling off the horse?” “I wish he had fallen off the horse,” Skylar seethes. “Maybe if he’d been trampled, we could’ve cast a Jonas Brother or a subpar Hemsworth.” “I think all the Jonases and Hemsworths are married.” “Oh, is that why we’re stuck with a constipated computer nerd?”

He’ll say he’s looking for someone passionate with a great sense of humor, but what he really wants is someone easygoing and agreeable who will happily adapt to his life in San Francisco.

“You’re the best handler we’ve got, and it’s gonna take the best with this guy.”

He feels the pressure of it weighing down on him, and before his generalized anxiety turns the corner into full-blown panic attack, he runs through his coping strategies: three deep breaths; count to thirty in seven languages; tap out the Morse code for “calm” thirteen times on his knee.

“And who knows,” Maureen says cloyingly. “Maybe you’ll even find real love by the end.” He won’t. That’s the one thing he knows for absolute certain.

The man gripping the front of his tux (Dev?) slides his fingers into Charlie’s hair to adjust the crown, and it’s too much.

Consider this the first lesson from your new handler: anything you say can be taken out of context. Your soliloquy about letting me touch you could easily be inserted into a very different kind of scene.”

“I know you’re freaked out right now, but at the end of all of this, you’re going to find love,” Dev whispers. “In nine weeks, you’re going to have a fiancée.” And that’s when Charlie truly does vomit, all over Dev.

Charles Winshaw is somehow the most beautiful man Dev’s ever seen in real life, even with vomit in his chin dimple. Even talking absolute nonsense. Even with all the nervous sweating.

It’s almost a perfect—albeit unconventional for this show—meet-cute, except instead of putting out an arm to rescue Daphne, Charles flinches backward at her physical contact with his chest.

“What the hell was that? How can two sexy people be so offensively unsexy together? Take it again!”

He tries not to obsess over what he did to anger Dev. Naturally, he obsesses over it.

“Just one more contestant to talk to,” Jules continues, “and then you’ll need to choose four women to send home in the Crowning Ceremony.” He wants to tell Jules about his new plan to send himself home at the Crowning Ceremony,

The only thing audiences want more than a happy ending is drama.

“I’m not really looking for love.” “Then why did you come on this show?” “To have my ass kicked in front of twenty million viewers, apparently.”

Dev wants to call bullshit. A reputation of being difficult isn’t enough to blacklist you from any industry when you’re as white and male and traditionally handsome as Charlie, not to mention a certifiable genius. But this is the most he’s said all night—multiple grammatically correct sentences in a row—so Dev doesn’t call him out on it.

He would spend two weeks writing a script—open up his heart and pour it all onto the page—and then, out of nowhere, he would sort of wake up, realize every word was shit, climb into bed, and watch The Office until he could face the real world again.

Lauren L., 25, Dallas, professional cat cuddler:

The guesthouse where he will live for the next three weeks with Dev, who showed up with a duffle bag and moved into the second bedroom like it’s summer camp.

He tries to refocus on things that calm him: Excel spreadsheets, quiet libraries, one-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles, 90-degree angles.

He hand-sanitizes and warns Charlie in advance.

So he tries to kiss Angie like it means something, and he waits for the feeling he generally associates with how kissing another person should feel. He waits, and he waits. He doesn’t feel anything at all.

Dev reaches over for Charlie’s hand, which is still tapping out the pattern on his leg. He moves slowly, so Charlie has time to avoid contact if he wants. Charlie doesn’t avoid contact, and Dev’s warm fingers come over his like a weighted therapy blanket.

“But the women aren’t going to want to date a man who freaks out every time they touch him!” she continues. “The contestants are going to pick up on how awkward he is, and then this whole thing is going to fall apart!” “Oh, please. The guy is a millionaire with an eight-pack and a tight ass. The women will see what they want to see. He’s a blank canvas for their romantic delusions.” This is Ryan’s contribution to the conversation.

“I think you all underestimate the power of Dev’s charm offensive,”

“I like Angie for a possible next princess. In her initial interview, she talked about bisexual representation and—” “You think our next princess is going to be biracial and bisexual?”

“I suppose we could use Angie’s sexuality as an obstacle. Have Charlie question her loyalty.…” “As a bisexual woman, I’m going to vote hard no on that one.” Maureen glares at Jules. “I don’t remember giving you a vote.”

“I also think we should be cautious of vilifying one of the few women of color this season. The whole confrontation with Megan already felt like baiting an angry-black-woman trope.”

Ryan is the one who speaks up. Maureen always listens to Ryan, which is how he managed to fail his way into a senior story producer job.

As soon as Charlie spots them behind the cameras, he makes a get me out of here face at Dev, like he thinks this is a normal date, and Dev can text him with some fake emergency about his cat.

If Charlie repeats his words as a question one more time, Dev is going to smash banana in his beautiful face.

Charlie Winshaw is everything Dev is trying to avoid by not dating, and Dev’s current state of hunger makes it more difficult to deal with Charlie in general.

He orders a cup of tea, a side of fruit, and two veggie sausages. Dev orders the crab eggs Benedict, a side of bacon, and a side of sourdough toast; he intends to eat all his gluten and animal by-products robustly.

“Any of these hot dudes ever going to hook up with each other?” “No…” “Then what is even the point of it?” “The science

“When you can barely make it to a third date with a woman, it’s hard to imagine another person permanently in your life.” “But you look like that.” Dev gesticulates wildly, upending the puzzle box from its display stand. “I don’t get how you’re bad at dating.” “You could only spend thirty minutes on a practice date with me because you had such a thoroughly miserable time.”

He doesn’t explain that he never enjoyed those dates either, that he hated the pressure to be perfect, to conform to the assumptions people made about him based on how he looks. He doesn’t explain how the dates were something he did out of obligation, because dating was something he was supposed to do. He doesn’t explain how they always felt wrong, like Charlie was putting on a costume that didn’t fit quite right.

You know, I think this is the best practice date I’ve had.” Charlie doesn’t tell Dev it’s the best date he’s had, period.

“And he’s pretending to like puzzles and The Expanse? He either takes his job very seriously, or he’s secretly trying to fuck you.”

“I promise you, at least half the people you meet are secretly trying to fuck you, Charles. You’re just too innocent to notice.”

He steps into Charlie’s reach and lifts a hand, and for one fleeting, foolish moment, Charlie thinks Dev is about to cup his cheek. Which would have been weird. And unwanted, obviously.

“What are you looking for in a partner?” “Oh. Well. I…” Charlie stammers, then stops, like he thinks he can just get out of this conversation by simply tapering off. Dev scrubs his face and waits for Charlie to pick the sentence back up. “I am, well, I’m into puzzing,” he finally says. On Dev’s left, Jules snorts. In front of the cameras, Daphne looks offended. “Is that a sex thing?”

“When we were together, all those days I couldn’t get out of bed… did you think I was crazy?”

Something he probably should’ve pieced together sooner. So he asks, inelegantly: “Wait, are you gay?” The tension in the backseat of the town car breaks, and Dev starts laughing. “Yes, Charlie! Oh my God. How did you not know I’m gay?” Honestly, the possibility hadn’t even occurred to him. “In my defense, you’re obsessed with helping straight people find love, and your cargo shorts are heinous.” “The way I dress has nothing to do with the fact that I like dick.”

“The worst part is, I knew going into the relationship that Ryan didn’t want any of those things, but I thought I could change his mind. I thought that if I were good enough and fun enough, Ryan would want to be with me forever.”