Ana Takes Manhattan

Now would be the perfect time to turn into someone else. Doesn't have to be someone completely different. Just a chilled-out, easier-going version of myself would be nice. Someone whose shoulders aren't way up by her ears. Or whose right eye doesn't feel like it's about to start twitching.

Why does it have to be him down on one knee? I can think of at least three other guys who could be doing this right now. And he's way closer than he needs to be. With little effort, I could run a hand through his thick brown hair with all those natural golden streaks.

"Marry me, Ana," he whispers calmly.

The words shouldn't surprise me, but they do. Especially the way he says my name. Like he's holding a small bird. I tuck a stray, frizzed-out curl behind my ear just as the cool mist from the fountain reaches my face.

Come on, Ana. Loosen up. This is the perfect day for a proposal. It's still early in the summer. Not too hot. Mostly clear blue sky. Central Park's Bethesda Fountain and the small lake nearby look both luxurious and welcoming.

"Thanks again for volunteering to do this…" I never even got his name after he delivered our generators this morning. Maybe it's Chad. Or Jack. He looks like a Jack. Jack from the Midwest. Corn-fed but also a little bit savage. Like one of those young Abercrombie & Fitch models who should be able to afford food but always looks famished.

"You're probably wondering why I do the rehearsal myself," I say to help ease the tension between us. I hope I'm not the only one feeling tension. "I just think it's not much of a camera run-through if the cameras don't get the chance to actually run through things exactly the way they're meant to go. When you're dealing with a surprise proposal, the rehearsal is really critical. And as the producer, I'm responsible for all the details—know what I mean?"

He licks his lips but doesn't respond. His scent is intoxicating. Like bubble gum and the sea.

I force my shoulders down and shake my head around like a boxer about to enter the ring. Problem is, the clock is ticking and my mind has gone completely blank. Mostly because his V-neck T-shirt is exposing a beautiful triangle of smooth, tan skin.

"So…what do ya think?" He sounds playful but also a bit worried.

There's an undeniable heat between us. It's like we're in a warm bubble and the world has stopped and nothing is happening. Wait, why is nothing happening?

I look around and realize he isn't the only one waiting for my response. The entire production crew is waiting. My response is everyone's cue to begin this rehearsal.

I have no idea how long I've been out of it, but now I'm very much back in it—and no doubt visibly flushed.

It's fine. No biggie. But if I open my mouth right now, I'm pretty sure a high-pitched YESSS will come out. So I nod.

Finally, a smile spans his square cheeks just as a Spanish guitar glides into the silence. I look up at a dozen or so rowboats dotting the lake behind him. On the boat nearest us, a young man wearing a white tuxedo struggles to stand. He steadies himself, takes a deep breath, and begins belting out "O Sole Mio."

A wave of activity ripples across the other boats as men and women put down their oars and reveal hidden violins, clarinets, flutes, and a tambourine. Within seconds, the lake has turned into a concert hall.

"It's now or never…" A children's choir joins in with the English version of the song. Little girls wearing long pink tutus and boys in gray suits and bow ties walk toward us, each holding a glowing candle inside iridescent flower-shaped holders. They surround us, circling the fountain.

The performance comes to a sudden stop. The sound of wings flapping makes us all look up. Some of the children gasp as five snowy white swans swoop around us to land gracefully in the fountain. As soon as the last swan settles, the music picks back up where it left off.

Right on cue, he stands up and pulls me close. His fingertips slide up my forearm, and I'm completely undone. Losing my balance, I roll my ankle. How does one roll their ankle when one is standing still? Luckily, he catches me before I tip over.

"You okay?"

"It's fine. I'm fine."

Before I can say anything else, he tightens his grip around my waist and starts to spin me into a dance around the fountain.

I'm feeling everything at once. Excitement. Nerves. Joy. My senses are on hyperalert. When the sun tucks behind a cloud, I can even feel the slight change of temperature and notice the children's candles shine brighter.

A small crowd has gathered. Families, joggers, and even the soapy bubble street performer have all stopped to watch. I'm outside my body, watching us too.

I feel his strong hands on my back, guiding me. This can no longer be considered dancing. More like caressing on the move.

I'm not sure if the cameras are getting the right shots or if we're anywhere near the marked spots we're supposed to be landing on. Now we're back where we began, and I notice my hands have migrated from his shoulders to his waist.

The song ends just as he dips me over the fountain. He holds me there as if he doesn't want this moment to end. I wish I could think of the perfect thing to say right now. Something clever. Or cute. Something other than "What's your name again?"

"You could use a little kick." Chuck, our lighting director, has appeared and flicks his beloved electronic meter in my face. I imagine him out to dinner at a restaurant, shoving it into people's faces and arguing with the hostess about inaccurate exposures. The thing beeps loudly as it glides from my forehead to my mouth like it's mining for gold. I'm just glad it can't read my thoughts. It would pick up things like: Did anyone else notice what happened a moment ago? Did he feel it too? Will he be handling all of our lighting and power needs from now on?

"Those clouds should be gone in a few, and the sun will be just above the bridge." Chuck slaps me on the back. "Your timing is right on."

"Thanks," I croak.

Chuck walks away, and I'm left alone with him. "And thanks. That was perfect…you." Hopefully someone will mention his name today.

"Anytime," he says teasingly.

"Okay, well, see ya."

I leave him standing there and speed-walk toward the trees where we've set up our video village, an outdoor control room with nine monitors tucked behind an Astroturf wall. The moment I sit down, every muscle in my body softens. Even the little ones on my forehead loosen, relieved to be behind the scenes again.

I pick up my clipboard from a narrow table set up in front of the screens and check off "Proposal Run-through" on my list. Two sets of walkies are also on the table, one for the crew and one where I can hear the talent microphones. I nudge the crew walkie earpiece in my ear while simultaneously checking out the monitors.

"Ana for Jackie."

"Go for Jackie."

"Let's get the kids and swans back to starting positions."

"Copy that. On it."

On proposal days everyone switches from reality TV crew to undercover agents.

"Jackie for Ana."

"Go for Ana."

"The trainer wants us to start with the swans in the fountain."

"What? Why?"

"She says they're tired."

"That's not going to work." Swans in the fountain preproposal? Puhlleeeze. "Help her with the birds, Jackie."

"Copy that. On it."

My phone vibrates with the message I've been waiting for.

Jorge: Leaving the cafe now.

"Ana for Chuck."

"Go for Chuck."

"Maria and Jorge are on their way. Are we good to go?"

"Two minutes. Just adjusting the crane to get more of the fountain."

"Okay, well, hurry up," I say and quickly text back: Go to the spot where we rehearsed yesterday. And after you've danced around the fountain, dip her!

I hit send and then add: But only if it feels right.

This will be the perfect season premiere of Marry Me, You Fool! The rest of this season's episodes were all filmed, edited, and ready for air. So why have I waited until the last minute to cast the most important slot? And why does it have to be this couple?

Real love.

It's the one thing you can't fake on reality TV. No matter how extravagant I make the surprise proposal, if the couple isn't deeply in love, the episode won't be special. It'll miss that secret something that makes you root for a couple and then cry in relief when it all ends happily.

As soon as I watched Jorge's casting video, I knew he and Maria had it.

It wasn't simply because Jorge had a great idea for their proposal. But you can tell a lot about a person by the way they're planning to propose. Most people go on and on about how much they love their partners and how I should pick them because their proposal idea is so big and original and whatnot. Most of the time they're way off the mark.

Marry Me, You Fool! automatically rejects the following:

1. Cooking the ring into a chocolate soufflé
2. Dropping the ring in a glass of champagne
   (The ring should not come into contact with any edible items.)
3. Creepy lipstick on the bathroom mirror proposal
4. All scavenger hunts and puffs of airplane exhaust
5. Placing the ring in a box within another box and then having the audacity to suggest that box be placed inside another box
6. Anything involving seashells

The truth is, Jorge's casting video stood out because it was…insulting.

"I'm going to be honest. I hate your show." Jorge started his casting video with a slightly bitter look in his eyes. "I think pretty much everything on TV exploits instead of educates the masses in a positive way…" At this point in the video, he peered over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone. "But my girlfriend loves your show."

Here, Jorge softened his gaze. "This is Maria." He held up a picture of a happy graduate in her cap and gown. "She watches every single episode of Marry Me, You Fool!, including the reruns. She's a neonatal nurse, and even after she's worked all night, she still watches an episode before coming to bed.

"I restore art and historic architecture. Sometimes I volunteer for low-income communities, and she's always so supportive. I think we could tell her that you're doing a before-and-after show about a project I'm working on in Central Park. Even though she's extremely shy, I know she'll do it for me." After a long pause, he continued. "If it were up to me, I'd propose in a more intimate way. But I want to do this for Maria because your show makes her happy. And all I want to do is make her happy."

From the moment I met Maria, I understood what he meant.

"Sorry about the mess." She greeted me nervously at the door of her apartment. Her hair was up in two braids that wrapped loosely around her head and met in the back.

As the crew set up the lighting for her interview in the living room, she showed me all the cards and photographs on her fridge. Dozens of adorable children she's cared for since she started nursing and still stays in touch with. That's when I had the idea to hire a professional children's choir for her surprise proposal.

Maria was fidgety when she sat down under the lights. She kept checking her hair, worried the braids were coming undone.

"I was about to delete my online dating profile when I saw his. I was working nights at the time, so we messaged each other for weeks before we finally set a date to meet in person. We had been so uninhibited in our texts, I felt like I already knew him. We met at Riverside Park in the Bronx. He had a bottle of rosé champagne and miniature gourmet sandwiches set up on a rowboat for us. As I stepped onto the boat, he said, 'Is it too soon to ask you to marry me?'" She was more relaxed in front of the cameras, and her eyes started to water. "We both laughed, and I was so happy. It was such a relief to know we were feeling the same way."

That's why we're re-creating an enhanced version of their first date. Jorge told me he calls Maria his sunshine, so I hired the Harlem Symphony to perform "O Sole Mio." The swans were my idea—a completely unrelated, last-minute addition for a little oomph. Bringing them and their professional trainer in from Canada made us go slightly over budget. We had to house them in New Jersey for a month and pay hefty park fees to close off the area until the swans were trained to land in the fountain.

But everything will be worth it. Because after producing this show for eight seasons, I know how to make the predictable flow of each twenty-four-minute episode still feel shiny and new.

I jam the talent earpiece in my other ear and quickly scan all the shots on the monitors. I see the swan trainer and Jackie shooing the last swan out of the fountain. On the crane's wide shot, I catch a glimpse of Generator Hottie running for the trees on the other side of the fountain. Such a graceful runner. Like a gazelle.

On the center monitor I spot Maria and Jorge walking hand in hand along the final stretch of Poets Alley that leads to the fountain.

I take a deep breath. I love it when things come together exactly as I've planned. I've learned to trust my gut when it comes to finding the perfect season premiere. And this is it.