by P. J. Morse
Kevin and I finally reached the edge. When I grabbed the concrete, I opened my eyes again, and the chlorine stung. Then again, they needed a lot of chlorine in that pool given where some of my fellow contestants had been. I fumbled toward the body and tried to keep Kevin’s head above water. I had hoped he might stir eventually, but he didn’t.
Topaz surprised me, putting in some physical effort for what I figured was the first time in her life. She grabbed the back of Kevin’s shirt to pull him out. To avoid a tumble into the water, she wedged one of her black stiletto heels against the lip of the pool for leverage. Suddenly, she slipped and fell on her butt, hard, but she got up again and kept pulling. “C’mon, big boy. Let’s go,” she grumbled at Kevin.
Some of the other girls fluttered around. As Topaz pulled Kevin, I pushed him until we got his butt over the edge.
I screamed his name over and over, if only for the benefit of the women flocking by the pool, so they could realize this wasn’t just television. The members of the camera crew finally set down their gear and rushed to the side of the pool.
“It’s real! It’s real!” I yelled while scrambling out of the water. I kept feeling this greasy stuff under my fingers, probably the same stuff that caused Topaz to slip, but I clung to the tiles and hoisted myself out.
“Holy shit! Kevin! Dammit! Wake up!” Topaz hovered over him and gave his chubby cheek several stinging slaps. “This better not be a joke!” Her fingers bounced off like his face was a trampoline.
Bumping against me, Lorelai shoved Topaz aside and frantically pushed up and down on Kevin’s chest. Topaz pushed her back, but Lorelai slapped Topaz away. Before a catfight broke out, I screamed, “Lorelai! Stop! He’s gone! You’re going to break his sternum!”
Lorelai grew quiet and just flopped back on her behind, right at my feet, her shiny red hot pants soaking in the pool water that had splashed up. She started sobbing. Out of all the women there, her emotions about Kevin seemed the most genuine. I knew from her audition tape that Kevin was the man behind her big Hollywood break.
Patrick, the rock star, finally emerged from the pool cabana, sans shirt. He must have been sleeping. After the first night, with a few notable exceptions, he avoided being torn into pieces by the contestants by going to sleep early and claiming to need regular naps. No wonder the production crew had been force-feeding him Major Rager, a bright orange, near-combustible energy drink that was sponsoring the show.
“What the hell?” he asked, lifting up his aviator sunglasses and rubbing his eyes. All of the contestants loved that sexy-sleepy, rumpled look. “We’re not doing the pool today. It’s drink day.” Once he noticed Kevin, he flinched. “What happened?” he asked to no one in particular.
“I think he’s dead,” I told him.
Patrick walked back into the cabana and returned with a stack of white towels and a few cans of Major Rager. “We’ll wait for the ambulance,” he said, stroking my wet hair. He then wrapped me in a towel and handed me one of the energy drinks. I had a gulp, and the caffeine hit me right away.
While Patrick moved among the contestants, trying to comfort them, I stood quietly. Kevin had hired me to protect Patrick from a stalker who may have been on the set of “Atomic Love 2.” I assumed that Kevin, my boss and the man behind the reality-show curtain, was safe. I was wrong.
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