Still, since he could see that trying meant something to Fabian, at least, John gave the cabinet one final shove. In the uppermost cutout, Fabian’s face grimaced. “We’re ready,” John said, and the carpenters came and recorded their measurements. When Fabian was allowed to step out of the cabinet, his forehead was gleaming with sweat. John looked at him harder, deeper, seized with the worry that maybe the pressure had ruptured something inside him: a weak gall bladder. An inflamed appendix. A hernia. But thankfully, no, Fabian was still whole and sound. Only profoundly disappointed in himself.
As the scoreboard was readied and the cabinets, now open and empty, were arranged behind the two teams, John decided that if he did end up voted off at the end of this loss, at least he knew that he actually had tried. And that once the competition was over, he would see Ricardo soon enough.
Hopefully.
Unless Ricardo was too busy making appearances. Because whether or not Ricardo ultimately won, there was no way he would need to go back to working bachelorette parties now that America had seen him in all his handsome, perfectly-poised glory.
John almost looked up and sought Ricardo’s eye—almost—but at the last moment he changed his mind, unable to bear an apologetic look like the one the Red Team had elicited from Sue. He found his teammate Jia’s eyes on him instead. She looked angry enough to scream. He could only imagine how badly she wanted a cigarette. Or ten.
When Monty announced the Red Team’s final score, 38-1/4 inches, John presumed (solely by the fact that their score had been announced first) that they’d been completely trounced.
“And now, Gold Team, you’ll need to come in at thirty-eight and a half inches or more…”
Bev was nodding and whispering to her team, who were all hanging on her every word.
“…and your final score is…wow, a whopping forty-three and a half inches. Gold Team won with room to spare.”
The Gold Team clasped hands all around and jumped up and down, whooping and hugging, with Bev at the center. John couldn’t exactly begrudge them their win. They’d come by it fair and square. But even more than this single battle’s victory, John envied the spirit of the Gold Team, the closeness they’d spoken of at dinner earlier that week.
And then he realized that one of his team members was probably feeling even worse than he was.
He slipped his arm around Fabian, gave him a very un-magicianly squeeze, and said, “You did your best. We all did. And that’s something nobody can take away from us.”
Iain called a five-minute break while he whispered heatedly into his cell phone, and Monty strolled over and peered into the Red Team’s cabinet, saying, “Tough break, yeah? She’s a beaut.”
The Red Team members were spared from coming up with any sort of a reply when Iain signaled Monty over and began whispering to him with great enthusiasm. “I don’t like it,” Jia said. “He’s looking way too intense.”
“Nothing we can do about it now,” Fabian said.
A script supervisor handed Monty a sheet of lines, which he glanced over, and Iain called for the cameras, crew and magicians to take their places again. John stood at the back of his group, fixed his eyes on Monty and waited.
Iain said, “Take it from the last line.”
Monty nodded, composed himself with a few breaths, then lit with sudden excitement and said, “Gold Team won with room to spare! Unfortunately for you, Red Team, that means that one of you…will be eliminated.”
Fabian made a very quiet noise in his throat that plainly conveyed, “See? What’d I tell you?”
“And that player is the one who cost the Red Team their victory tonight: Fabian Swan.”
No vote?
John felt as if his heart had stopped. As if he’d surely not heard what he thought he’d just heard. But then Fabian’s head sagged down as he absorbed the words himself, and he shook it slowly side to side, and he made not a sound.
“I’m sorry, Fabian,” Monty said sadly. “It’s time for you to bid your team goodbye.”
Fabian gathered himself, bent and gave Jia a polite kiss on the cheek, then turned and shook John’s hand without meeting his eyes. John couldn’t say whether or not the departing magician wanted to even shake Kevin’s hand, but what happened next must have surprised Fabian as much as it did John.
It started with a handshake…but then Kevin hauled on Fabian’s arm and dragged him into a solid embrace. And he held him there, patting his back, and rocking side to side. And then, after long seconds, he spoke. “I didn’t know, swear to God. If I knew, man, I never would’ve…I just didn’t know.” When he let Fabian go, tears were coursing down Kevin’s cheeks. He swiped at them angrily, defiantly, and said, “It was an honor to be on your team, Fabian Swan.”
___
Marlene rewound the dailies from cameras three and seven. One caught the light reflecting off Kevin Kazan’s tears just right. In the other, it was obvious how red his eyes were, how his eyelashes had glommed together into shiny wet points.
Great footage.
She sorted through a few more angles even as the trailer door opened, and Iain collapsed into the chair beside her. It must have been past midnight. He’d thrown himself down with such force he nearly split the chair in half.
“It’s a damn good weeper shot,” he finally said, “I’ll admit that. But I still think you owe me an explanation.”
“Oh, really?” Marlene reversed in slow-mo and a tear crept up Kevin’s cheek and disappeared into the corner of his eye.
“If you played it my way and switched the boxes, you would’ve had that big payoff when the Red Team’s cabinet trapped one of the girls inside and wouldn’t budge. It would’ve been great.”
It would have—and it would have made Professor Topaz out to be the big hero. But he’d come as far as he had by flying under the radar and avoiding making enemies, and to draw attention to him like that would be as effective as painting a big target on his forehead. Marlene had no intention of telling Iain that she was secretly hoping to get Topaz into the Final Four, despite what the executive producers wanted. She couldn’t have explained precisely why she’d developed a fondness for the old man herself.
“Here’s the thing, Iain. If we really did use that cabinet-switching idea as our twist, the audience wouldn’t have thought we were watching their footage and then decided it actually was a pretty cool idea. They would have assumed we leaked our plan to the Red Team somehow—and if there’s one thing that pisses off a viewer, it’s cheating.”
Iain shrugged sullenly. Once he’d heard that the Red Team had rigged their own cabinet, he’d been dying to see the sabotage in action.
“Even better,” Marlene told him, “audiences love a good comeuppance. The way we worked it tonight—instant karma. Kevin Kazan acts like an idiot and ends up getting his own idol thrown off the show. Satisfying, or what?”
“Yeah. That did work out okay. I guess.”
Way better than okay. Who knew Kazan had that kind of waterworks in him?
Iain stretched and said, “If that’s all you need….”
“One last thing.” Marlene sent a document from her PDA to the printer, and handed him the printout. “I had Monty and a couple of cameras stop off in the library. Give this to him, then go grab Sue and have her meet him there for one quick shot.”
Iain perked up. “Are they gonna, y’know…go at it?”
“What? What do you…? No. Of course not. That’s crazy.”
Chagrined, Iain pried himself from his chair and slunk toward the door.
Before he left, Marlene added, “I’d never stage an affair with an amateur like Sue. You’d be able to spot the lack of chemistry a million miles away.”
___
“What is it?” Sue whispered as Iain pulled her into the hallway. “Is everything okay? Is my family okay?”
Man oh man. These contestants were wound up tight. Normally, Iain would have enjoyed being as ambiguous as he could and watching Sue work herself into a tizz
y by the time she got to the location—but his eyes were full of grit, he was dying for a shower, and the sooner they got the damn shot, the sooner he could go home and go to bed. “It’s nothing like that. You’re fine. Team leader stuff. That’s all.”
“Oh…okay, then. I guess that’s to be expecte—”
“And here we are. You stand in the doorway. Monty’s going to read something to you. You give him an answer.”
“But why—?”
“Was there some part of those instructions you didn’t understand?”
“No,” Sue said quietly. “I understand.”
Iain turned to the ornately carved wooden desk. It was one of the few original pieces left in the mansion, and likely Marlene had nixed his cabinet-switch idea just to get a chance to showcase it. Monty, for all his blond surfer-babe charm, looked very official, even imposing, sitting behind that desk in his charcoal pinstripe suit, with the lighting low, and a crystal glass at his elbow… “Is that scotch?” Iain sputtered. “Drinking on the job—are you insane? Who do you think you are, Ken Fucking Barron? I’m giving you exactly one take—”
“No worries, mate. I won’t touch it ’til you say it’s a wrap.”
Iain’s head throbbed. He pinched his temples, then turned and backed out of camera range. “Okay, fine. Just…go on. Go.”
Tape rolled, and Monty said, “Hi, Sue, come on in and have a seat.”
Sue did as she was told. She looked good and nervous.
Monty continued. “Congratulations on Gold Team’s victory tonight. Kevin was on to something when he said a team was nothing without a good leader. Unfortunately for him, that good leader is you.”
“Thanks, Monty,” Sue said hesitantly.
“Which is why we’re giving you a little heads-up on the next vote.”
“Another elimination? But how…?”
“Not an elimination, but a vote that will affect you, all the same. You’ll need to say goodbye to one member of the Gold Team, but that magician won’t be voted off the show. They’ll join your competitors instead.”
Sue looked thoroughly aghast at the mere thought.
“Since you won tonight’s challenge,” Monty said, “I’m able to give you a little perk. While I can’t let you choose the magician who gets switched…I can allow you to select one teammate you’d like to keep on your team.”
Sue groaned and put her face in her hands.
“Choose wisely, Sue. You’ve got a diverse and talented bunch—and you’ve made friends with them all. Which of them do you need by your side to keep winning challenges?” Monty leaned forward and steepled his fingers. “Which of them would turn around Red Team’s losing streak if they were to switch sides?”
Sue twisted the edge of her nightgown and blinked back tears—she was a pretty good weeper herself, though Kevin’s outburst was better, since you’d expect plenty of crying from someone like Sue.
“Who’s it going to be, Sue? Who will you grant immunity from getting voted off your team?”
Sue took a few deep breaths to compose herself, then said, “I choose Ricardo, Monty. I want to keep Ricardo.”
___
“The Gold Team leader has spoken. She’s decided she wants to keep Ricardo the Magnificent by her side. And so, one of her other talented teammates will join the ranks of the enemy. Who’s it going to be? That’s up to you, the audience.
“Will it be the oldest female contestant in the game, the spirited spiritualist Muriel Broom?
“Will it be the beautiful and talented assistant-turned-magician, Amazing Faye?
“Or will it be the Gold Team’s MVP from tonight’s challenge, the clever Math Wizard, Bev Austin?
“I’m your host, Monty Shaw, bidding you happy voting. Remember, your vote will decide who dons the Red, next time…on Magic Mansion.”
Chapter 20
UNEVEN TEAMS
VIDEO JOURNAL - AMAZING FAYE
When Red Team unveiled their Zig Zag Cabinet, I’ll admit, I was a little scared. It looked really, really good. They’ve got some serious talent over there—especially now that all their deadweight is gone. They’re all pros. Not that the Gold Team members aren’t…we’ve got Ricardo. He’s good.
What’s funny is, back on the first day, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when Sue picked me—because, come on, she works in a gift shop. I really thought it was some kind of fluke that she’d come in second place on that initial challenge, and Red Team was going to be the team to beat. I even figured if there was one consolation to being on a team full of losers, it would be that I could outshine them.
And then we won. Every single challenge.
I think sometimes luck, or fate, or whatever you want to call it…I think that plays a big part in people’s lives. I wouldn’t have chosen to be on Gold Team myself, but now look at us. We’re kicking some serious ass.
Which isn’t to say that providence is just going to hold your hand and present everything to you on a silver platter. You’ve got to work for the things you want. And I’ll be damned if I ever bomb another challenge.
___
“Can’t you get a move on?” Iain said. Interns. Honestly. Sometimes it seemed like they were more trouble than they were worth. Even the free ones. But Iain needed to make do with what he had, and he’d be damned if he ended up on the receiving end of yet another one of Marlene’s snotty looks. And he’d be damned if these little twerps kept him from going home at a decent hour, too. “Paint faster, people. It’s not the Sistine Chapel.”
In an ideal world, the studio’s prop room could have provided the necessary accouterments for the show. “I need lots of wands,” Marlene had told him. So he’d put a call in, and they’d sent down a good two dozen of them.
To which she’d responded with a “look.”
If she meant a thousand, she should have been more fucking specific.
When he finally found a manufacturer who was willing to overnight the damn things to him, they cheerfully informed him that they would do just that…after an eight to ten day manufacturing period. Because apparently the need for magic wands was not so great that anyone in the whole damn country would stock a thousand of them.
Which, of course, Marlene needed for tomorrow.
Luckily, once Iain ducked back into his trailer to pace and swear, he spotted the piece of “chalk” he’d given the Math Wizard during the filming of the intro, a piece of dowel covered in white correction fluid, and he had his great idea. Not terribly great—magic wands made from dowels didn’t look nearly as good as the wands from the prop department, which were tapered on one side and carefully finished, with a glossy ebony body and a faux ivory tip—but at least he’d have them in time for the damn stunt.
If only the pathetic interns would stop screwing around and get to work.
___
As much as Ricardo enjoyed the company of his teammates, the time they spent waiting for things to happen was nerve-wracking. There was a pool on the property, but it was out of repair, drained and off-limits. There was a workout room, but Kevin Kazan was usually in there pumping iron—and the grunting noises he made with each and every curl, extension or raise were, frankly, disturbing (plus there was the thought of his perspiration coating everything…just, ew.) There was a full bar…but with handhelds drifting through their living space hoping to spy a bit of interpersonal conflict, even between challenges, it seemed unwise to give in to temptation and go the unfortunate Ken Barron route. And there was a hastily-manicured section of backyard that seemed ideal for sunbathing, but once Ricardo and Sue spread out their towels, they soon discovered that clouds of gnats from the unkept areas were quick to descend on them. Besides, it turned out the grass had only been painted green. It poked right through the towels and prickled their backs, and it crunched every time they rolled over.
So it was with a certain dread-tinged relief that Ricardo greeted Iain when the producer strode into the front hall, where the Gold Team members were perched on the edge of the fountain
, wagering guesses as to what the odd chemical smell in the water might be. Dread, because the sight of Iain meant the announcement of some weird, contrived activity that would ultimately end in someone getting voted off. But relief, since the anticipation was killing them.
“Heads up, kids. It’s time for your next stunt. Swing by wardrobe, then meet me in the basement at five-fifteen ready to roll in your brand-spanking new swimwear.”
The basement? That part of the mansion had been strictly off-limits to the contestants.
Iain turned and left. Ricardo looked at Sue, who shrugged. No one tried to stop Iain. It wasn’t as if they were under the illusion that he might tell them what they were up against.
As the teammates stood to head over to wardrobe, Muriel said, “Do you think there’ll be pudding involved?”
Faye grumbled, “There’d better not be.”
“I dunno,” Muriel said as they trooped into wardrobe and began making their way past racks of sequins and satin. “I could really go for some pudding.”
While Ricardo scrutinized the three-way mirror to determine which sparkly gold briefs made his butt look shapelier, it occurred to him that he’d presumed he would only don such a costume while lounging beside a serene, blue in-ground pool. The word “Mansion” in the show’s title was no doubt to blame for his misconception that anything in his reality TV experience would actually be glamorous. Then again, some things you just can’t anticipate. Like painted grass. Or giant vats of pudding.
The wardrobe assistant stuck her head into his makeshift changing stall, looked directly at his butt, and said, “Definitely that pair.”
Ricardo took a deep breath and nodded. He supposed there wasn’t anything left to do, other than show up and try to make the best of things.
The basement, it turned out, was vast. Its ceilings were high and there were no exposed beams or concrete walls, as would be found in any normal middle-class home. But there was still a dank, utilitarian feel about it, all the same.
The tile floors were set with drains, and the camera rigs and lighting hugged the wall with the electrical box and hot water heater. A four-foot-tall pool with inflatable sides took up most of the set. Hard to say what it contained. A silver solar cover shielded the contents from view.
Magic Mansion Page 16
