The Praetorian

by Dawn L. Chiletz

  “Next up, Kari Haston,” Esto says.

  A petite brunette stands, snapping her gum. She must realize it’s a bad idea, because she immediately reaches into her too tight skirt pocket to retrieve a wrapper. She raises her eyebrows at the guy sitting across from her and he nods. It makes me wonder if they know each other.

  I turn slightly to get a better view of him, but now all I can see is the back of his head.

  A few minutes later, Esto calls, “Bobby McNeal.”

  A tough-looking black man rises and scratches his head. I see a tattoo on his arm, which looks familiar, like I’ve seen it on a perp. He pulls his sleeve down over it as he exits. I wonder how much I’ll learn about these people during the game. I’m insanely curious. Trying to figure out what makes people tick is my passion.

  After a few more minutes, my name is called. Remaining contestants stare at me as I stand. As I pass the seat across from Kari, I note the guy she made contact with is wearing a baseball cap and it’s pulled down over his eyes. His face is turned toward the window and he’s the only one who doesn’t study me as I walk down the aisle.

  I step down the stairs and am struck dumb by the enormity of where we are. It’s dark outside, but there are lights shining all over the gigantic mansion in front of me. It’s white stucco combined with rock and brick. There are detailed awnings and peaks, the likes of which I’ve never seen before. Even the air smells like money. Cripes, this guy must be a gazillionaire.

  After a brief moment of awe, I quickly walk toward Bryce Donahue, who’s standing near a large, decorative water fountain. It’s a statue of a Greek god, but I don’t have the time to figure out which one. I make a mental note to make sure my mouth isn’t hanging open as I approach Bryce.

  “And here we have Reed Manning, from Los Angeles, California. Hello, Reed, it’s nice to meet you.”

  I reach out my hand to shake his and nod my head. The light from the camera is almost blinding. I remember from the interviews they asked us not to look directly into it unless we were told to.

  “It’s says on my form you’re a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department. How long have you worked there?”

  “Seven years.”

  “And what brings you to the show?”

  I force myself to smile, but I’m not sure it looks okay, based on the way he reacts. “I’m interested in all aspects of protecting and serving, Bryce.”

  “We’re excited to have you here, Reed. Best of luck.”

  He motions to my right, and off in the distance, I see the rest of the group. I hold my head high and join them. If I learned anything in my years as an officer, it’s that confidence is key, whether you feel it or not.

  This show is going to take everything I have and then some.

  I’m doing my best to wait patiently for the music. That’s my cue to start. I hear utter commotion and probable confusion around me as a production assistant gets the literal “troops” in line. I guess they want the moment the contestants enter to be as effective and grand as the commercials.

  I insisted I would not wear the leather pants again. Leather pants are overrated and uncomfortable. I’ve never worn them before the ads. I’m more of a ripped jeans kind of guy, which is what I’m wearing now. I’m keeping these combat boots, though. They’re kick-ass. They can have the cape back. My days of pretending to be a superhero ended when I was six.

  One of the makeup girls hops onto the platform and moves backstage to where I’m standing. She approaches me nervously. I roll my eyes. Not at her, but what’s in her hand.

  “Sorry, Mr. Creed. I need to make sure you’re not shiny.”

  “I haven’t been shiny a day in my life, sweetheart. I’m more the dark, twisted type. There’s nothing light about me.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, eyes wide.

  I smirk, and she swallows hard. She likes me. I can see it on her face. “Come on,” I say, waving her toward me. “Do what you have to do.”

  She stands in front of me in her tight little striped T-shirt and pigtails and reaches up to tap my nose with powder.

  “Boo,” I say with a jolt.

  She shrieks and falls backward, but I grab hold of her. She laughs awkwardly and glances down at my hand on her arm.

  “Thank you for catching me,” she flirts, eyelids batting.

  “You’re welcome.” I eye her pigtails and think of gripping them tightly while I screw her doggie-style over the edge of my guitar throne. Hmm, I’m liking this show more and more. “What are you doing later?” I ask her.

  “That will be all, Jen.”

  She quickly steps aside, and her cute face is replaced by Clark’s ugly mug.

  “What did I tell you, huh? What was one of the two rules I gave you?” he asks.

  I bare my teeth. “I’m not a child, Clark. Don’t go there.”

  “Relax, Roman,” he says, holding up his hands as if to placate me. “I’m looking out for you, remember? I only asked you to do two things.” He glances down at his watch. “The show hasn’t even started yet and you’ve already broken rule one.”

  “I didn’t fuck her. Yet.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Chill the fuck out, Clark. I’m not going to screw anyone on the set or from the show. During filming.” I add for good measure.

  He rolls his eyes. “And what else?”

  “I’m not going to lose my temper. That is, unless you keep getting in my face.”

  “I won’t. I only wanted to make sure you were clear on what to do, and knew your lines.”

  I sigh in frustration. “This isn’t my first dog-and-pony show. I know what I’m fucking doing. Go away.”

  “I will, but do you know your lines?” he asks nervously, wringing his hands.

  I squint at him and cross my arms over my chest. “I know them. They’re on the teleprompter anyway. Go bug someone else before you piss me off and I ruin the show before it starts.”

  He takes a deep breath. “I’m going, I’m going. Please remember to smile.”

  As he walks down the stairs, I cringe. How am I going to make it two weeks with people always telling what to do?

  Dawson approaches from the side with a phone in his hand. “For you. It’s Natalie.”

  I instantly worry. She never calls unless it’s an emergency, especially when I’m working. Grabbing the phone from his hand, I press it to my ear. “What’s going on?”

  She sounds rattled. “Someone was just up here, knocking on the door. The doorknob turned like they were trying to get in. It scared the crap out of me. I thought you told me no one was allowed.”

  “Goddammit,” I shout. “Don’t worry. I’m on my way.”

  I shove the phone at Dawson and start toward the side stairs.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where are you going?” Clark asks, hurrying toward me and pressing his hands into my chest as if that would be enough to stop me.

  “Someone was in the west wing. Scared Natalie half to death. I’m going to find out who and kick some ass.”

  “No you’re not. Filming is about to start.”

  “I fucking told you no one was supposed to go into my private area. The fact that the show hasn’t even started yet and someone already disregarded my one stipulation, makes me want to tell everyone to go fuck themselves.”

  “Boss, let me have one of my guys check. I promise I’ll find out what’s going on. Maybe someone got lost,” Dawson says, trying to calm me.

  “Yes. Please. Let Dawson figure it out. Please stay, Roman. Natalie’s fine, right? Everything is quiet now?” Clark asks.

  Dawson places a hand on my shoulder and leans toward me. “I’ll personally kick their ass. I promise you.”

  I take a deep breath to calm myself and point at Clark’s face. “If this happens again, I don’t care how into filming we are… If anyone sets one foot in the west wing, I’m out of here. Do you understand?”

  Clark nods as I motion for Dawson to go. Dawson takes off in a hurry, t
alking into his earpiece.

  The anxiety builds within me. Why did I agree to this? It’s exactly what I was afraid of.

  “I’m going to talk to Esto. I promise, this won’t happen again,” Clark says angrily.

  I swallow hard, trying to hide my real emotion. My anger comes from fear and my need to protect the ones I love. If someone had gotten into that room, every wall I’ve built over the years would have come crashing down. What’s in that room is the reason for everything I do, everything I am, and everything I’ve fought for my entire life. No one will ever take that from me. No one.

  We pass through the front doors into the main entryway, past double stairs ascending to the left and right, and down a long hall to the back of the house. Standing with the others in front of Bryce Donahue, a few camera operators, and a large set of double doors, I find I’m now more interested in taking in the environment than the contestants. I’m guessing Roman Creed is on the other side of those doors and what may happen next is causing both anticipation and anxiety. Part of me is excited. The other part wishes this day was over.

  I wonder what he’ll be like. I wonder if the media has represented him accurately. Thanks to my recent experience with reporters, I have my doubts about their commitment to publicizing facts instead of opinions. I kind of hope he’s not the cocky bastard he seems to be. It would make potentially working for him much more appealing. Part of me wonders if his attitude is all an act, like the hard, confident armor I usually wear. I worry that if I show any weakness, someone will find a way to use it against me. I’m certain this game is not the time or place to trust anyone with anything personal, past or present.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to The Praetorian. Behind these doors is the main meeting room. We’ll call it the forum. This will be the meeting area for everything relating to the game and where final judgements are made. The door to my right,”—Bryce says, pointing his hand in the direction of a door to the side of the hall—“is the confessional or diary room. Should you choose to use it, you can speak your mind about the game, fellow contestants, or anything else you might want to say. The other players will not have access to what you share; however, you may use the room as a group or with any other willing participant. It’s also the place where you will vote and share your answers to questions in the game. There also may be times you’ll be asked to speak with your future employer face to face.”

  He moves slowly to the left and stops in front of a large abstract painting. I’m certain it’s for effect. The camera follows him.

  “From here on out, if you hear us use the word principal, please know we are referring to Roman Creed. Principal is a term used in the world of security and refers to your future employer and the one you’ll be protecting.

  “In a moment, I’ll ask you to enter the forum, take five steps forward, then stand in formation as instructed. Everyone clear?” he asks, glancing around the room. People nod, and Bryce seems pleased. He presses his fingers to his ear and smiles. I assume someone is speaking to him.

  “And now, without further ado, and on behalf of Seamore Productions, we welcome you to… The Praetorian.”

  Bryce steps aside, motioning to the doors in a grand gesture, and the lights behind us go dim. The blinding set lights make it difficult to focus. The double doors creak open slowly, as if they’re remotely controlled. We all step into a pitch-black room in formation, as instructed by Esto. I swear I can hear my heart thumping in my chest, it’s so quiet. My hand flies to my hip out of habit, reaching for a gun that isn’t there.

  A few seconds later, the song “Returns a King” begins. At the first break in the music, there’s a loud roar of metal feet hitting the ground. The lights briefly flash, illuminating a herd of Roman Troops in black and red about twenty feet in front of us. Surprised, I almost stumble back.

  During the second flash and with a second thunderous march, I notice they’re holding long spears they pound on the ground at the same time they collectively take a step toward us.

  During the third flash, I see they’re holding shields inscribed with the same markings I’ve seen on the bus and in the house. I believe it’s the band’s logo. They’re wearing helmets with red-and-black flourishes on top. After several seconds, the music stops and voices sing long notes that echo throughout the dark room, as if they are all around us. Drumming begins, and the lights turn on and stay lit. An electric guitar plays along with the drums and the guards move in formation, stepping back to create a pathway to the throne. It’s very dramatic.

  A single spotlight shines on the silver guitar throne, but it’s empty. My attention is quickly diverted by trumpeters and snare drummers dressed as soldiers, who play fiercely as they stand on stairs of gray stone on both sides of the room. Red-and-black twisted drapery billows behind them, swaying lightly as if we’re outdoors and there’s a breeze. The light on the throne goes dark, and the guards continue to pound their spears in time with the music.

  The music ends as deep, dark voices sing a single vowel sound. We’re in the dark once more as the overhead lights shut off abruptly. Then a single spotlight dances around the room, not stopping long enough to see anything at all. Deep voices join in. Finally, with a miraculous high note, the spotlight stops on the throne and a man stands with his back to us, his cape blowing in the breeze. It has to be him, just like in the commercials. Goosebumps break out up and down my body and I smile in awe. I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life. It’s like we’ve been transported to ancient Rome.

  The music plays and then only the drums as the lights flicker and flash. I can’t see him anymore. Then, with a sudden boom and stomping of feet, the spotlight comes on again and there he is, siting on his throne, one leg bent at the knee and draped over the arm. The guards are no longer present. It’s as if they disappeared into thin air.

  Roman Creed leans his left arm on the armrest, holding his lips in his fingers as if pondering something. Although I know it’s in my head, it feels as if he’s staring directly at me. He drops his hand and smirks in time with the final beat of a drum.

  I swallow hard. Maybe it’s the pageantry and quite possibly the slow build of excitement, but I think—no, I know—he’s the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “And cut!” a voice booms overhead.

  There’s brief clapping around us and cheers from the crew. I don’t move. I am fixated on him and feel almost paralyzed. Is he still staring at me? A stagehand crosses directly in front of me, breaking my line of sight, and I snap out of my trance-like state. Glancing around, I feel better when I see the other contestants are as much in awe as I am.

  Bryce asks us to return to the hallway while they re-set the room. I slowly follow the group, glancing back over my shoulder to see two people approach Roman Creed. One hands him a bottle of water. He rises, and the other man removes his cape, leaning into him and saying something in his ear. His shoulders fall, and he nods as if he’s relieved.

  I face forward and have to stop quickly, almost running into the man in front of me. I shake out my arms to help myself focus as the doors close behind us.

  Bryce laughs as we all emit a collective overwhelmed sigh. “That was something, right?”

  There are a few mumbles and then he holds up his hand to get our attention. “I know this has been a long day, but I promise we’re almost finished for the night. The crew needs a few minutes to clear the area, then we’ll get you situated in your assigned spaces inside. We’ll do brief introductions, then room assignments and a snack before we settle down for the evening.”

  He motions to his left. “Feel free to grab a bottle of water off the refreshment table and as we said before, refrain from speaking to one another at this time.”

  Turning in the direction he pointed, I notice the table and walk toward it, reaching for the same water bottle as another woman. She and I both let go at the same time and both motion for the other to take it. I want to tell her to go ahead, but I can’t talk. I
pick up a different bottle and nod to her. She smiles. She has short, almost black hair and dark eyes. Thinking back to what I know about reality TV, I’m pretty sure I should be scoping out perspective allies. I ponder the idea of becoming her friend. After all, with guys out numbering girls in this competition, we women need to stick together. She looks strong. Her eyes tell me something else. Is she sad or angry? Maybe I’m misreading her. I’m tired. I need to get myself together. I have to put my best foot forward at all times. This is a game I intend to win.

  I’m relieved when Dawson tells me a newly employed guard was simply turning the handle of the door to make sure it was locked.

  “I spoke to Natalie and the guard. She knows it was a mistake that won’t happen again. I told the guard to keep his hands off the door,” Dawson says in a calming voice.

  My shoulders drop, releasing the tension I’d been feeling since Natalie called. “Let her know I’ll stop by after filming is over. We can have a late dinner to catch up on the day.”

  Dawson nods and speaks into his two-way radio. Then he covers his ear, pressing on his earpiece to hear the response over all the noise from the crew. I move closer to him and overhear him as I sit back down on my ridiculous throne and take a sip of water.

  “I want all the extras removed from the grounds. There’s no reason anyone should still be here. Make sure you check everyone’s name off the list as they get on the bus,” he commands to whoever is on the other end of his radio.

  “That went well,” Clark says as I hand the bottle back to him.

  “I suppose.”

  Esto is standing at the front of the room and is speaking to someone and staring in my direction. It’s no surprise when he approaches me. “You were amazing. How’d it feel?”

  I shrug. “I feel like a bigger asshole than normal.”

  Esto laughs. “Please don’t. I can assure you it’s going to look amazing when it airs. Now comes the fun part. Are you ready with your lines?”