She probably hadn’t meant for him to give up on talking to her so easily. Ricardo glanced at the clock. He still had plenty of time. He’d simply go knock again and….
Just as he opened his door, Sue opened hers. Or so he assumed. Until he realized it wasn’t Sue at all stepping through that door.
It was Monty Shaw.
He was wearing jeans (Ricardo had never seen him in jeans) and sandals (ditto) and a slinky burgundy T-shirt that made the shade of blue in his eyes sparkle like a sun-drenched sky—and his hair was wet, as if he’d just washed it. They locked gazes, both startled. Monty recovered first. He smiled shyly, and said, “G’day.”
“Hey.”
“Guess I’ll…see you downstairs, too.” With that, Monty closed Sue’s door carefully behind him, turned, and headed off to wardrobe.
Sue’d been acting weird, all right. What a relief it had nothing to do with him—and that it was good-weird.
Once Ricardo had dressed and the stylists were finished with him, he made his way to the ballroom. The tension there was thick enough to cut with a knife. The women, each of them up for elimination, sat quietly. Kevin Kazan paced by the window like he wanted to escape. Monty, in a snazzy gray Armani and his hair styled, was running lines with Iain. John was still in makeup. Although Ricardo didn’t want to make anybody cry into their foundation, he couldn’t simply say nothing to his girls. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that Sue had received her fair share of “consolation” the night before, since she seemed a heck of a lot more collected than he’d seen her in quite some time.
He wedged himself between Sue and Bev on the sofa and put an arm around each of them. He gave them a squeeze and said, “It’ll be okay.” Although it wouldn’t. At least one of them was going home.
He glanced up as John strode in, striking in his lean black suit. John paused, framed by the archway, as if he was considering where to place himself in the room, but before he needed to choose whether to join Kevin or everyone else, Iain sent them to their marks and the process of setting up the scene began. John stood center back, between Kevin and Ricardo. Ricardo would have loved to tell John how tempting he looked in that suit (with cufflinks? Oh yes.) But doing it with Kevin right there just felt wrong. Still, when John allowed their upper arms to brush, Ricardo could hardly keep himself from shouting at the crew to hurry up already and get it all over with. Because couldn’t they see he and John had better things to do?
Finally, after what seemed like half the morning, tape rolled. Monty smiled at the small group of magicians while Ricardo pondered how strange it must feel for Sue to be facing her new beau across the room—at least as strange as standing right beside him, unable to touch anything more than elbows.
On Iain’s go-ahead, Monty began: “Greetings, Magicians. I suspect you’re eager to hear who will be moving on to the Final Four. Not only will this elite top tier of contestants be competing for the title of Grandmaster Magician and a coveted quarter-million dollar prize, but for making it this far, they’ll win so much more. A five-hundred dollar shopping spree at Ruth’s House of Shoes. Five hundred dollars worth of Prestige cosmetics. Five hundred dollars from Petsmart, for all your performing doves’ and rabbits’ needs. And a thousand dollars to spend at Bordeaux Formalwear. That’s twenty-five hundred dollars in prizes…but that’s not all. In addition, each Final Four Magician will perform in his or her own half-hour prime time magic special.”
Any other day, Ricardo would have probably been bowled over by that announcement. Now, though, it was just icing on the cake. John Topaz loved him. All other news paled in comparison.
“That means our audience hasn’t seen the last of Ricardo the Magnificent, Professor Topaz, and Kevin Kazan. But who will star in the remaining show? Bev, Jia, Sue…please step forward.”
The front rank of magicians broke away and stepped up to the gaffing tape X on the parquet floor. It seemed unfair to Ricardo that upper-body strength had figured so prominently in the last challenge. It was a shame Jia and Sue had ended up pitted directly against one another, or that neither of them had trusted the other enough to do the right thing with their hang-time points. If they had, Kevin Kazan would have been stepping up there instead of Sue.
“Bev,” Monty said, “what would it mean to you to win your own half-hour special?”
“It would be incredible, Monty. School visits, library visits, I only get to perform for a few dozen children at a time. But on television, and then later, on DVD…it would be a dream come true.”
“Unfortunately, Bev, that dream won’t become a reality just yet. You’ve been voted out of the Mansion…and it’s time to say goodbye.”
At the sound of those words, Ricardo’s heart sank. Not that he’d expected her to make it even this far. Just that he would miss her so much. Bev’s head sagged, and she stood very still. Everyone watched her. No doubt the pause would be edited to be shorter, or longer, or filled with dramatic music in post production. But there in the ballroom, in real time, in real life, it stretched painfully long. Until finally Bev looked up again, and said in a choked, small voice, “I didn’t really think I’d end up in the Final Four. But I guess there was always a shred of…hope.”
Monty’s voice was soft. He was starting to choke up, too. “We’ll miss you, Math Wizard.”
Bev nodded brusquely, first to herself, then to Monty. Then, turning, to the remaining magicians…after which, she strode, red-faced and stiff, out of the ballroom.
Monty took a deep breath, centered himself, and continued. “Jia, what would it mean for you to continue on to the Final Four?”
“I’ve worked so hard to get to this point, Monty. Incredibly hard. I know I have what it takes to compete with the best of the best. Sue is a strong competitor. There’d be no shame in losing to her. And if I don’t earn that half-hour TV special now, I’m confident that I’ll land a show of my own someday. I’d just prefer it happen sooner rather than later.”
“Spoken like the showman we all know you are. And Sue? How do you rate your chances of moving into the final phase of competition?”
“I think my chances are very good, Monty. I’ve done well in every challenge up until now. I’ve done my best. That’s all anyone can do.”
“Wise words. Two contestants, both beautiful, both talented, both deserving. And only one slot left in the Final Four—so unfortunately, one of you…is going home. And that magician is….”
Another hideous pause—no doubt Iain had told Monty to linger there so a commercial break could be inserted. But then Ricardo saw Monty take an extra few moments to gather himself, and his voice, when he finished, was tender. “The gift shop girl from Magicopolis. Sue, your time in Magic Mansion has come…to a close.”
Sue nodded. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes, but nothing like the raw, uncontrollable deluge of sobs she’d been prone to the last few days. She smiled bravely, and said, “It’s okay.” And maybe, if Ricardo didn’t know what he knew, he would suspect she was reassuring herself that everything would be all right. But now he could see she was actually speaking to Monty. And not just from contestant to host, either. “I’m okay. I’m fine. And it was a privilege to be here, and to perform…and I’ve had so many phenomenal experiences, and made so many special friends, that as far as I’m concerned, I am a winner.”
She turned to Jia first, and pulled her into a hug. Jia had never struck Ricardo as the huggy type, but the two of them embraced, and whispered encouragements to one another, with a totally unscripted enthusiasm. Sue approached the male magicians next—Kevin with a perfunctory hug, John with a tender kiss on the cheek, and finally, Ricardo.
After the incident where they’d all broken down over surrendering their Gold Team medals, Ricardo had promised himself he wasn’t going to cry on camera again…and at the feel of Sue in his arms for possibly the last time, he felt that resolve disappear. “Shh,” she murmured, “it’s really all right. Ricardo, I swear. It’s fine.”
“I know,” he sa
id. “I know you’ll be happy.”
Sue pushed him back to arms’ length, laughed tearfully, then gave him a playful shake. “But if you don’t win this thing for the Gold Team,” she teased, “I will never forgive you.”
As Sue exited the ballroom, tall and striking in her sparkly heels, John surreptitiously pressed a silk handkerchief into Ricardo’s hand. A laugh escaped Ricardo that probably looked like an embarrassed sob. He’d never been in love with another magician before. He shook out the gossamer square of red fabric and carefully blotted the corner of his eye, doing his best to seem appropriately somber.
“Magicians,” Monty said, “we’re now down…to the Final Four. And this week…is History Week. Magic is an art that’s steeped in tradition. For your first History Week challenge, each of you, with the help of a stylist, will design your own close-up act, complete with costumes, banter, and illusions—and this act will be a period piece. Choose any era you wish to represent, but choose wisely. The winner of this competition will win a strategic advantage in the final challenge. You’ll be judged not only on showmanship, skill and charisma, but on accuracy and originality.
“And not by the home viewing audience. The four of you will perform, simultaneously, for a crowd of one hundred spectators…on the historic boardwalk in Atlantic City.”
Chapter 34
DRESSING UP
Marlene flicked through the dailies, marking a shot of Jia putting on mascara, and another of Kevin pumping iron, that showed them looking focused and resolute—eyes on the prize. The other two members of the Final Four were a bit more difficult to capture in a determined frame of mind. Lately it seemed they were never without giddy grins on their faces. Or their hands roving down each others’ bodies the minute the handhelds wandered away, and there was no one there but themselves…and the wall cams.
They were wreaking havoc with the narrative. Just like Sue, who’d wept and slobbered her way through the entire series, and then faced elimination with a casual shrug. She and Monty had announced their I-love-yous mere hours before, and in the light of Monty’s dazzle, there was simply no way she could muster up the grief. She just wasn’t a good enough actor.
Iain plunked into his chair, took a long drink of his vitamin water, and raised an eyebrow at the shot of Professor Topaz pinning Ricardo to the wall. “I thought Ricardo would wear that guy out in a few days,” he said. “But I guess I underestimated the Professor’s stamina.”
“I’m sure they’re running on endorphins at this point. Did you divvy up the stylists?”
“Eventually. They all wanted Jia—just like you said. So I went by seniority and gave her to the gal who’s been here the longest. After that, they sorted themselves out. Once Jia was out of the running, everyone had their favorites.”
“And the flight?”
“All set.” Iain flicked through a few more shots, marked a nice one of Jia pounding on a temperamental heating vent, and said, “So…did you want me to mention anything to the Mansion’s Horniest Gay Couple?”
“Mention what?”
“That they’ll be on display in front of a big crowd of people. And it’s probably not going to be in their best interests to be fawning all over each other in public.”
Normally, Marlene would have assumed Iain was just looking for an opportunity to wield his power over the contestants. But it was still early in the day, and “sleep-deprived Iain” hadn’t yet reared his head. Since Iain sounded sincerely concerned, Marlene figured “Marlene the bitch” could hold off the snippy answer she was eager to give. “It’s their lives to live, Iain. Taping in public is always iffy.”
“Our hundred viewers are signing non-disclosure agreements, but….”
“Right,” Marlene said. “Have the private audience sign all the paperwork you want. The crew knows better than to go around telling tales, but the general public? Someone won’t be able to resist blabbing about what they saw on a blog somewhere. If Ricardo and the Professor want to go public now, who am I to say they can’t?”
Besides…the Magicians wouldn’t have access to online fallout until the show wrapped, and even more importantly, the general voting phase of the competition was finished. Whether Ricardo and the Professor made a big public splash with their relationship or not, Magic Mansion was still anybody’s game.
___
It was nearly midnight by the time Ricardo made it back to their room—the room he now shared with John, with its tiny bed and its falling-down appeal, off the beaten path of both the cameras and the other contestants. Not that anyone would have stopped John from moving into Ricardo’s dorm room instead, with its big bed and private bath. But the dim little room in the servants’ quarters belonged in some inexplicable way to the both of them. Everyone knew it; someone had even penned and Ricardo beneath Mr. Topaz on the paper star on the door. And so that was the place Ricardo, for the moment, was calling “home.”
John was still awake, lying in bed in his robe, reading. He slipped his bookmark into his book, set it aside, and pressed himself up against the wall so Ricardo could sit on the edge of the mattress. Ricardo ran a hand down John’s thigh, and said, “I’ve never been so exhausted.”
John said nothing. He simply waited. The silence, somehow, felt encouraging—or maybe it was the compassionate look in his eyes. “Today I had a voice coach,” Ricardo said. “And a choreographer. And I tried on—” Ricardo stopped himself before he said a hundred pairs of jeans. He and John had made a pact to surprise one another with their new routines…and for the opportunity to see a brand-spanking new Professor Topaz act, live, in person (and in turn, to be seen by him) was worth the agony of not being able to talk about his preparations in anything other than the most abstract terms. “I’m not sure about this. It’s all so new.”
Not only was it new…but it felt risky. Ricardo and his stylist had combed history for a period that would showcase Ricardo’s talents, from medieval juggler to futuristic space traveler (who just happened to have linking rings dangling from his belt.) They all felt so much like costumes, though, Ricardo had nixed every idea, one after the other…until his stylist suggested the 1950’s.
And he remembered how the hula hoop segment of his short-running stage show had always wowed the audience.
It wasn’t just any hula hoop act, either. While the audience was busy watching Ricardo stack more hoops around his waist and neck, his hands were free to palm a number of coins that he’d then produce from “thin air.” It was acrobatics. It was magic. It was flashy. It lent itself well to performing on a boardwalk, where Ricardo would stroll and mingle with the crowd. And in terms of period and theme, it was absolutely perfect.
The choreographer was on board immediately. The way her eyes shone, you’d swear she was just given the opportunity to go back in time and choreograph West Side Story. She walked Ricardo through a few steps, putting his body through new and exciting moves that would leave him sore in a bunch of interesting places. He was really beginning to envision this new act taking shape when he saw the vocal coach and stylist off to the side in a surprisingly heated debate. A pair of hoops he’d been spinning around his neck did a few more lazy revolutions and then fell to the ground, and the vocal coach looked up at the clatter.
“What is it?” Ricardo said.
The coach fluttered his hand. He was a wrinkled, frail-looking man in his seventies with a neckerchief, a small mustache and a startling, booming voice. “It’s just that this whole hula hoop idea, darling…do you really want to come off so nelly?”
The choreographer gasped.
“I don’t look nelly,” Ricardo spluttered.
His stylist said, “He looks hot.”
“Of course he’s hot.” The vocal coach gave a small, affected toss of his head. “His hotness is not in question. The boy’s scorching. If I tried to pick him up, I’d get singed. But I’m looking at him through working class America’s eyes, and I’m telling you…he looks nelly.”
Ricardo might have been ou
traged, if the image of his childhood self in the Dracula costume—tilting his head coyly, thrilled to be wearing his mother’s lipstick—didn’t flash past his mind’s eye…if he didn’t suspect the vocal coach might be right. He tapped one of the hula hoops with his toe. It sprang into the air, and he caught it nimbly. He bounced it a few times, gathering his thoughts, and finally said, “I don’t care who knows I’m gay. But it doesn’t need to be the only thing they see when they look at me, either. I’ve seen plenty of men work with hoops and make it look masculine. So, if the three of you are on board…that’s what I’m going to do.”
Now, watching John watch him, Ricardo wondered how he seemed to John. It felt too soon to ask. And he wasn’t sure he was prepared to hear an honest answer.
“Think of the strangeness as an opportunity,” John said. “Working with people we wouldn’t have access to otherwise, getting exposure we’ve never dreamed we could. It’s all change. And change is difficult, even when it’s a change you’ve been looking forward to.”
Ricardo toyed with the collar of John’s robe. “All change?”
John smiled. “No. Not all….”
The next few days were a blur of fittings and rehearsals. It was tempting to do the same old linking rings act in a randomly-chosen period costume, but the thought of just “phoning it in” was even scarier than the pressure of developing a new twenty-minute act in such a short amount of time. Ricardo wasn’t going up against the dancing chihuahua act at a dry corporate retreat, after all. He was competing against three accomplished professionals.
In the end, he rejected the “greaser” look for a more colorful bowling shirt (settling finally on sparkle-gold and black) with skin-tight jeans. The loafers were fabulous, and the socks matched the shirt’s aqua piping and embroidery. The whole “teen idol” getup seemed painfully appropriate.
The choreographer paid particular attention to the manner in which Ricardo held himself—apparently the way he turned his elbows in and thrust his weight on one hip was too fey. Since he didn’t want to overdo it and come across bandy and bowlegged like Kevin, he focused on small, moderate changes. If anything, his years of skating had taught him accuracy and control.
Magic Mansion Page 30
