So...after you left.
Yeah, I was pretty ragged....what with the dunk tanks....and the tshirt they made me wear????Please????? I am fairly certain, and will certainly contact our legal team about this, but have to FIRMLY BELIEVE that being COERCED to wear REVEALING AND UNFLATTERING SWIM/WET WEAR constitutes a DIRE FORM of WORKPLACE HARRASSMENT.
Just saying.
Anyway, so after...the event in the ballroom...I gathered the shattered remains of what was left of my drenched, shivering, camera blinded self and barricaded in my hotel room.
Turned off my phone, huddled on my bed and watched mindless hours of late night backwater tv...there was this marathon of a show called "Trouble with Tracy" which even in my stupefied state struck me as mind numbingly dreadful. But whatever, I watched six straight hours of this atrocity before collapsing into a mercifully dreamless sleep...
Next morning I woke with a traumatized start, my initial impulse to blow out the door in my sweats and sleep mask and hoof to the dining hall for all important coffee curtailed by sudden suspicion of Vince and his so called "production" team.
I peered stealthily out of the peep hole in my door and SURE ENOUGH, LURKING THERE OUTSIDE MY DOOR was some minion with a camera--I caught sight of their greasy little head and hopefully perked apparatus right outside...
Heart thumping, I crept quietly around my room, pulling on unseasonably early am ensemble of jeans and sweater, and a few swipes of makeup--never can be too careful--then armed myself with one of my larger duffel bags and burst explosively out my door.
"GAAAAGHHH!!!!"
There was a satisfying crunch as the camera person went down on top of their equipment. I sailed on past without a backward look toward the elevator.
Amateurs.
So breakfast...a few matches clustered decorously at white clothed tables sipping coffee, silverware and china clinking in otherwise dignified silence...
Some of the haze had cleared after my fourth cup of java and I was staring limply at the ominously named but rather tasty looking pastry offering called a bear claw (?) and contemplating a nibble, when A CIRCUS paraded into the dining hall...
Yes.
I stared, at a loss, as RoKay, Razza and Vince billowed into breakfast in a self important entourage of camera crew.
RoKay particularly looked very pleased with herself...her hair was piled up in some high ringleted do and she was sporting unaccountable brutal slashes of blush on her round cheeks and blue eyeshadow up to her forehead, as well as wearing an uncomfortable looking exercise/couture jumpsuit in neon orange and blue. (Wait--did I catch an odd resemblance to those very uncomfortable looking racing suits from Apocalypse??? You know, the ones with the wedge shoulders and corsets that they introduced for a short period in the third Apocalypse??? Somehow I suspect that even in a Dystopic neo-colonial society that kind of exercise wear would never gain prominence, if only for pragmatic reasons)
Anyway, the serene breakfast peace pervading the cavernous space of the dining hall was immediately shattered.
"--THE INTEGRITY OF THE SHOW." RoKay grabbed Vince's rumpled polyester jacket arm and clung to it for dear life, while pointing something out to Razza as they processed through the archway, taking care not to step on any of the ubiquitous sound and lights, not to mention crew scurrying around like rabbits underfoot. "LIKE, TOTALLY LIVING IN THE MOMENT, YOU KNOW? I ALREADY EMPATHIZE SO MUCH WITH ZARA. THIS TOTAL CONNECTION WITH HER GIVING ME GOOSEBUMPS. I THINK JO SAID THE SAME THING ABOUT HER CHARACTER IN APOCALYPSE, BACK WHEN SHE STARTED." She paused, hand over her chest, for an obvious moment while the production team clicked away importantly.
What? I wrinkled my nose, attention distracted from my bear claw. Who was Zara, and WHAT WAS THIS SHOW being talked about???? My skin prickled apprehensively...is it just me, or are there WAY TOO MANY SHOWS already taking place under each others' feet this season????
"THE CREATIVE PROCESS...TAKES SO MUCH ENERGY, YOU KNOW? SO HUNGRY THIS MORNING...TOTALLY JAZZED....CAN'T WAIT TO GET GOING I FEEL SO JUICED ABOUT THIS DO YOU FEEL AS GOOD ABOUT THIS AS I DO?" RoKay ended the pause and demanded at top volume. She was heaping a plate high with fruits, doughnuts and protein bars, the hotel's complimentary breakfast items, then processed to the head table. Razza unctuously pulled out a chair for her and she plunked down importantly. "AND I SO TOTALLY FEEL THE CHEMISTRY ALREADY, BETWEEN US, I MEAN, BETWEEN ZARA AND EXAN, DON'T YOU?" She had turned her gaze earnestly toward Razza, who was staring besotted at her over his own empty plate. I could see the milk white shine of his teeth peeking out from his dark curly beard.
Oh good gracious, what was this already????
Feeling my head start to throb, I got up and started winding between tables to where Vince was still standing at the breakfast counter, trying to make a decision between a sugar dusted blueberry muffin and an energy bar.
"VINCE" I murmured urgently, plucking at his unfortunate maroon suit coat, trying not to wince at the deplorable, pill texture. What, did the man actually dredge up his horrible fashion statements from thrift stores???
"Elsie!" That grin was indefatigable, even before breakfast. "So where's your camera?" His eyes strayed behind me, brow knitting.
"You want to produce me, you're going to have to try harder than that," I informed him loftily. "But that isn't the issue here--Vince, WHAT IS THIS SHOW RoKay is bellowing about???" I gestured to her table, where she and Razza had their heads bent over the breakfast menu, perusing options.
"Oh the show?" Vince perked, recovering from his momentary disappointment that I had successfully eluded his camera tail. His grey eyes lit up with a reverent gleam. "Wow. Elsie. What a woman. Didn't know they made them like that anymore. Little long in the tooth for my usual taste, but--"
"Vince!" I shook his shoulder, trying to dislodge the glassy film that had come over his expression. "I don't care your latest hookup--not my business--I'm talking about THIS SHOW that RoKay is TRUMPETING ABOUT all across the dining hall!"
"Ah. Yes." Vince collected himself, shaking his head. "Originally she was going with the title 'SpinorSpace' but we came to the conclusion that might be a little obscure for most of the uneducated viewing public, so we're floating 'StarBurn' as the working title--"
"Wait, wait, slow down," I swayed, massaging my suddenly bursting forehead. "We? Who? What show? How, and when, did all this start?"
"Here, come have a seat, I'll pitch it," Vince placed a rather smarmy arm across the small of my back, his new car/pipe scent washing over me and ushered me over to a small table near a window. I was too overwhelmed to resist as he pulled out a chair and motioned one of the waitstaff to bring us coffee.
"This had better be good," I croaked, watching the waiter deftly pour a dark steaming stream of gratefully strong brew into my thick porcelain cup.
"Oh it's a total winner, all the way around," Vince was cranking out another of his cheshire grins at the waiter. "We'll have the southwestern omelets, extra bacon, a side of horseradish for me." He ordered.
I let my tired head fall into my hands. "But I don't understand--when did all this happen? Sometime last night? I was there, till almost ten--"
"Yeah, it was all very spontaneous, one of those inspired evenings," Vince threw himself back into his chair and gazed, energized, out the window at the snow capped mountains stabbing into the swollen, low grey clouds swathing the sky this morning. "Good god. Maybe it's this place--this air--don't know when I've been this charged--"
"Please, start at the beginning," I implored. "I still have no idea what you're talking about, remember?"
"Ah, yes." Vince recollected himself and scooted closer to the table, bringing his rather massive personal presence to bear fully down on me. "So last night at the bar--"
"Just going to point out here--do you know how many bad ideas have started out with that line?" I pointed out wryly, taking a sip of my coffee.
"Yeah, yeah, a couple of my marriages too," Vince acknowledged gracefully, nodding his plush head. "But this is different! She was different! Never met anybody like her in my life before!"
"Who?" I took a resigned slug of coffee, almost welcoming the deep burn down my throat.
"Lynette!"
Even the way he said it, the way his tongue moved around the syllables, had an infatuated ring to it.
I closed my eyes. "Really? Lynette?"
"Yes! So at first, I brushed her off--thought she was pretty obnoxious, you know? She came over and started raking me over the coals about that sci-fi- what's it show we had up and running a couple years ago, the one that tanked--"
"SpaceJumpers? Where the astronauts had to accelerate to light speed to reach the future in order to save people back on earth from the disasters they kept hearing about through the mysterious information stream coming out of the black hole?"
Vince snapped his fingers. "Exactly! What a dud, eh? I think four people watched the show, and every one of them hated it. Never had so much negative press in my life! My thought was, they should have added more boob and it could have taken off--"
"Which didn't happen," I intercepted firmly. "We're talking about LAST NIGHT, Vince. Not last year."
"Yeah, so, right," Vince agreed, spooning the contents of the sugar bowl into his coffee and stirring it dreamily. "So there's Lynette, at the bar last night, dredging up the show and getting hostile. She's pushing some ratty sheaf of papers into my lap. I'm about to call security, give her the old heave ho, but then another round of shots, and, what do you know, a couple rounds later we're up in my suite and things are...ah...getting so much more...clearer...." A faraway, mystical light dawning in his eyes.
I kicked his shin under the table.
"Oh! Ah! Yes. So. Really a GENIUS idea. So well worked out. Apparently she's had it on the back burner all throughout this other Nobel/astrophysical business she's been wrapping up for the past twenty years. Has all the angles."
"I'm waiting," I said grimly, hand clamping my mug handle.
"Picture this--Bush era, NASA budget brutally slashed, hundreds of hardworking scientists forced to abandon their life's work and dreams. A group of disillusioned Gen-Xer astrophysicists in a super classified project decides to head off into space in their top secret, experimental stage space craft. Along with a few intelligent aliens who have been kept off the radar far from repressive government for irrational security reasons..." Vince has tipped back in his chair, his eyes half closed, fingers steepled. "Their goal: to find and propagate understanding between intelligent life across the universe. As a subplot though, we have the constant shifting romantic alliances and philosophical dialog between the main characters about whether the spread of life and higher intelligence, what have you, is really a noble and feasible at all, given the current age and state of the universe. It's going to play out so well--a kind of erotic and cosmological journey of discovery...we'll be experimenting a lot with zero gravity sex scenes--"
"Vince." I insert myself firmly into his daydream. "Can I even express to you what a GODAWFUL idea this is???? Those same four people who hated SpaceJumpers will be the ONLY people to watch, and then crucify this travesty!"
"What?" Vince tipped back to the floor again, squinting injured at me across the table.
I am starting to sweat. "I don't know what Lynette may have done to you, or pulled over your eyes last night, but it has CLOUDED YOUR BETTER JUDGEMENT. PLEASE LISTEN TO ME--"
But his head is swiveling.
I gulp, and turn fatalistically to see another parade grandly making its late entrance into breakfast.
Lynette. Surrounded by Jake, Quenby, Ashley, SextoPop, with a very dejected looking Philandro trailing along behind. Lynette's head turns, she surveys the dining hall with a cat-with-the-cream-smirk--she touches Jake's shoulder and murmurs something to Quenby, then slides forward. Moving toward our table.
"You know, I am just going to leave you two love birds to it, this morning," I scooted my chair back and stood, preparing a hurried backtrack to my original table.
Sorry, Lindzi, but it was just too early for all this. I was barely aware of the predatory gleam and besotted wolfish grin spreading across Vince's face, but Lynette's smirk of victory as she tosses her ratty hair over one shoulder and struts toward him--unmistakable.
I had nearly made it back to my original table with the untouched bear claw still on my plate, when another hand touched my shoulder, light and tentative.
"What?" I brushed a weary hand over my forehead.
"Elise?" A soft linen scent, poignant voice...
"Bronnie? Good morning?"
"Elise, can I talk to you? Can we talk to you?" She gestures to another table where a small circle is seated, watching me. Kerry, Chandra, Shanese, Sam, Myriam and Fresco. Heads pulled close together in discussion. I take a long parting glance at my bear claw almost in reach two tables away, but allow myself to be pulled toward the waiting group. "Thank you so much, Elise, it's just--we're all so concerned," Bronnie gestures earnestly, her expressive, graceful hands waving around her floating ash blonde hair and tasteful grey blouse. "This strange show business of Lynette's--and they're using such shady tactics to get everyone involved! Poor Philandro--she's forcing him to be Captain Xoltar! it's practically emotional blackmail!"
"Emotional blackmail?" I repeated, with foreboding, as Bronnie's purposeful fingertips dug into my arm, weaving me toward the waiting table of matches.
"Yes! You know--that regrettable incident with the shattered glass at the end of his cooking show last year?" Bronnie's wide, clear eyes focused on mine, bleeding solicitude. Her tone a breathless, tragic whisper. "Philandro was one of the loudest voices against this show, and then Lynette brought up the poor astronaut--you know the medical establishment decided the stomach pumping was only a proximate cause, he'd had a heart attack, old age, such a bullying tactic! She said they were going to dedicate the whole show to his memory, and of course, out of misguided obligation Philandro HAD TO JOIN. It's unbelievable what she's doing to swing everybody under her control--"
"OH! ELISE!!!! FINALLY!!!!" Kerry jumps up from the table and grabs my hand in both of hers, pumping it effusively. "THANK GOD WE HAVE YOU!!! WE HAVE TO STOP EVERYONE FROM THIS MADNESS!!!!"
"Er, I'll do my best," I disentangle my hand and pull back a chair, avoiding the fulsome gratitude beaming at me from those dewy hazel eyes.
But she leaned forward, heaving dramatically, her thick hair brushing over the tangled napkins between us. "HAVE YOU HEARD ABOUT THIS HIDEOUS NEW SHOW IDEA OF LYNETTE'S?" She shuddered expressively.
"Um. Vince let me in on a couple of deets," I allowed.
"THEN YOU KNOW." Kerry clutched my shoulder in her rather sharp nailed hand. I tried to shift without being too noticeable. "TOTALLY BESIDES THE POINT THAT FROM A WRITER'S PERSPECTIVE, THE STORY BOARD IS UTTERLY WORTHLESS, I MEAN, WHO CARES ABOUT GEN EXERS ANYWAY??? DIDN'T THEY ALL LIKE, DIE, AT THE BEGINNING OF THE MILLENIUM???? PLEASE?"
"Uhm," Bronnie cleared her throat in mild protest.
"BUT BESIDES THE TOTALLY FAKE AND LIFELESS PLOTLINE--WHO EVEN CARES ABOUT ALIENS AND COLD SCIENCE ANYWAY WHEN THE WHOLE PARANORMAL ARENA IS POURING OPEN TO US SO ABUNDANTLY, ANYWAY?" Kerry raised theatrical eyes to the ceiling. "BESIDES ALL OF THAT IT IS SO TOTALLY OBVS THAT LYNETTE JUST COULDN'T STAND CRYSTAL GETTING ALL THE ATTENTION AFTER JOSH'S RESCUE AND WILL DO ANYTHING IT TAKES TO GET EVERYBODY BACK TO WATCHING HER!!!!"
"Pretty disgustingly blatant, actually," Chandra murmured, shaking her head and tracing an abstracted fork through the remains of her home fries.
Bronnie sighed abstractedly, stirring her gently scented white tea with her spoon.
"We all know what we saw," Sam asserted in his tinny robot voice from across the table, forcing all eyes over to him. Shanese laid a hand over his scarred, larger one as his intense eyes focused on mine. "Down there in the basement. Crystal is the real deal. We can't be distracted from what she's bringing to all of our attention--"
"Do we all really have to have another one of those seances though?" Fresco leaned into the conversation, freshly shaven face grimaced painfully. Even for breakfast the boy had made an effort, hair gleaming in immaculately styled marcel, crisp button down shirt pressed with knife edge cleanness. "I mean, we found Josh and all. Nobody else is missing, are they? I don't see the point--"
"But that IS the point, Fresco," Kerry informed him gently, patting his hand. "We have NO IDEA what's waiting for all of us out there--what we MAY BE MISSING by only living in awareness of this SURFACE DIMENSION--"
"I kind of like this dimension though," Fresco protested feebly, holding onto his fork. "I'm happy without any of these other ones she's talking about, especially if there's any more of this spooky--" he threw up his hands in surrender. "All this ghost talk and haunted basements and what not, self locking doors..." he shivered.
"If Crystal thinks we should have a seance--" Sam began grimly, but the table's attention was captured by another group of newcomers, arriving from the far end of the dining hall.
I noticed Chandra still couldn't help her gaze from traveling like a mindless paper clip to a super magnet as Finn blew in, looking rather bed rumpled but unfairly hot, accompanied by a freshly troll-do'd Bohnhead and...Tristan? Had to be him, hair swirled artistically over his forehead, wearing a coy little batman tshirt along with a knitted cape and leggings to breakfast.
"TRISTAN!!!! OVER HERE!!!!" Kerry stood up and waved manically, like a lifeguard trying to gain the attention of a flailing non swimmer in shark infested waves.
Tristan's eyes darted guiltily over to our table. He paused undecided, hovering beside Matt and Bohnhead.
"TRISTAN!!!! COME ON!!!!" Kerry telepathed urgently.
I could see him roll his eyes slightly, then detach from the other two and sidle over our way. Kerry bounced up and met him halfway, clutching at his protectively folded arms. "Oh! Tristan! Elise has agreed to help us! They HAVE PHILANDRO!!!!"
"Um." Tristan's gaze flickered uncomfortably over our table, he offered a halfhearted finger flutter toward us. "Yeah, Kerry, I think it's a no-can-do now...actually...I've been offered full reign with costuming....so...." he shrugged apologetically.
"TRISTAN!" Her heart wrenching cry of stupefied betrayal echoed over the blenching table. "YOU CAN'T--YOU KNOW WHAT YOU SAW--"
"Actually, I didn't," Tristan tried to shrug off her still clutching fingertips. "If you remember, I took the elevator up, so I wasn't part--"
"BUT YOU KNOW!" Kerry cried brokenly.
"So you're just going to dump us all because Lynette promised you some hypothetical gig?" Chandra scooted back, jaw dropping in protest.
"Really, man, you have to remember where your duty lies in a situation like this--" Sam began rather pompously.
"Sorry, I've already started brainstorming patterns," Tristan held up a hand. "My fingers are totally on fire--look, they're all itchy and twitchy and ready to go. The floodgates are open: I can't stop now. SHANESE!" He ducked his head over Kerry's shiny golden blonde one. "PLEASE--JUST LISTEN--!"
"Huh?" Shanese, who had been sitting quietly, shifted apprehensively in her seat. Sam placed a protective hand on her arm.
"I have a WHOLE STAR SYSTEM designed around you--just think about it--SHAN-GRI-LESE--planets of gorgeous, voluptuous women, what an empowering platform for alternatively proportioned females--"
"Wait--a whole star system of women?" Fresco objected, pulling back in his seat. "How's that going to work? I may not be a nobel scientist like Lynette, but I can see a sure fire hole in that scenario."
"Indeed." Chandra tossed her mane of dark hair over her shoulder, a telling crease between her brows. "I thought this was 'rigorous science' for the masses, according to her argument last night."
"Oh," Tristan batted a dismissive hand. "They did away with that pesky, vestigial y chromosome millenniums ago in that system, totally evolved reproduction past the outdated male female barriers."
"What?" Fresco opened his mouth to protest.
"Just think about it, Shanese! Promise me!" Tristan called over the intervening table.
"Shangrilese," She murmured, eyes filming meditatively as she stared diffidently into her lap.
"SHANESE! YOU WOULDN'T DESERT US!" Kerry threw a desperate glance over her shoulder.
Sam started to pull out his chair threateningly, and Tristan made a quick dart for it, waving over his shoulder.
"Later peeps!"
"You'd never think about joining up with Lynette's sleazy show, would you?" Bronnie breathed toward Shanese, clasping her hands in entreaty.
"No, of course not. I know what I--well, what all of you saw," Shanese denied, raising her manicured hands. But she looked torn.
I decided to try to go intercede--see what was brewing with some of the more...impressionable matches. The recently arrived Bohnhead and Finn seemed like a good place to start.
"Guys, I'm going to see what those two have to say about themselves," I announced. "Got to get all sides of this issue."
"Oh, must you?" Bronnie's voice cracked pitifully as she stared up at me with her huge sad eyes.
"COME BACK TO US!" Kerry's voice echoed fearfully after me as I got up to trail once more between tables.
Bohnhead and Finn were already wolfing down piles of pastries and bagels--a benefit of having supercharged male metabolisms, I guess, while Tristan considerately perused his menu. "Gentlemen?" I paused delicately by their table.
"Ah. Elise," Finn pushed awkwardly at the chair next to him and ended up nervously knocking it over. "So what's up? What's going on? Good day mate!"
"Good to see you too," my gaze traveled grimly to Bohnhead, who ducked. "Yeah. So." I continued over the awkward silence. "Guess all of you have taken a side in this--ah--show versus seance debate going on?" My eyes locked accusingly on Tristan, who was trying to hide behind his menu.
Bohnhead was the first to break the impasse, clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Well, it's just--if I have a new career direction lined up, it may have a positive impact on my court case, you know. Show the public I have a work ethic, and plans..." His grey eyes left mine and flicked back down at the table.
"And I get to run the ship's maser fusion shock shield field deflector weapons system. At least I think that's what she called it. All mine," Finn blinked up, dreamy eyed, toward me. "My career's been in a bit of a slump since Apocalypse. This should really pick it all up, you know?"
I gave up. "Well. We'll see about all of this." I promised grimly. Setting my shoulders, I traipsed back, full circle, toward the table by the window where Vince and Lynette had enshrined themselves, and Lynette was currently consuming my southwestern omelette with extra bacon. Not that I could have eaten either anyway--thank you Ghandi--but my stomach gave an unworthy growl of protest as I approached, the sweet aroma of bacon wafting under my nostrils.
"Lynette!" I rounded sternly on the too kitschy domestic scene. She and Vince smiling across a small alpine flower vase in the center of the white linen table, surrounded by formal settings of china and flatware, framed in the majestic gloom of the grey mountain morning through the grandiose picture windows.
"Er?" Lynette's fork perched halfway to her mouth didn't so much as flinch as I hove up next to her, glowering impressively down at her. She was wearing a sharp shouldered suit jacket and pencil skirt combo--misleadingly professional attire apart from perhaps the too low cut eggshell blouse beneath the jacket.
"What am I hearing about some SHOW you are trying to pitch to all of my matches, whom I will have you know, are ALREADY SUPPOSED TO BE COMMITTED to one, and ONLY ONE SHOW, at this time, which is #life season 7????"
Lynette blinked, bored, the cool white light of the overcast morning reflecting on her angular jawline and rather frizzy hair. "We aren't going to start filming during your precious season, Elise. Please. No conflict of interest."
"Except for what are YOU doing here, trying to market your scheme to our network head WHILE YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE CONCENTRATING ON BEING PART OF A REALITY DATING SHOW????? What about the reasons you came here, Lynette? Remember? The finding a mate, and reproduction we discussed at length? Over the phone? Or did you momentarily forget?"
Lynette had the grace to drop her gaze, her lipsticked mouth drooping. "Plans change sometimes, Elise."
"What? So you're no longer following up on your stated reasons for being here?" I demanded.
Lynette pursed her lips, finally setting down her fork. She clasped her bony hands together over her plate. "You know as well as I do, Elise, that sometimes you come into something with one idea, and then as the field develops, you find yourself branching out. So no. Whereas my initial goals, setting out, may have been dating, the finding of a suitable life partner, what have you--"
"Lynette, I am very disappointed to hear this. I feel like you misrepresented yourself to me, and to Lindzi, and to the rest of us here in the room as well, who all came here under the impression that you as well as they were here to seek romance with each other. I thought we had an understanding, especially after our conversation yesterday with Malika--"
"Elise, miscalculations happen everyday." Lynette gave a patronizing sigh. "Yes. Originally, coming out of my nobel lecture series I thought, yes, the next step would be the traditional marriage and family. That's the norm, right? But now, here, this new direction just opened up"--she swooped an all encompassing hand around the room. "And I think, why not? I can have more impact on society at large by educating rationally formatted minds rather than changing diapers for the next ten years, let's face it. Carl Sagan did it, Kip Thorne--and not so successfully themselves. So why not Lynette Spinfried? And the material they put out? Please. Contact? Try ET for overgrown nerds and amateur stargazers. And Interstellar? Move over and kiss my ass!"
I recoiled. Was she forgetting these were major blockbusters and all she was aiming for here was a mediocre network cable series? Delusions of grandeur, anyone?
"I'd just like to point out, Lynette, that you're not exactly breaking new ground here, with your so called popular science based space show. This has been done before and with pretty standard run of the mill piss poor results. I don't see why you happen to think your particular concept is going to fly so high when so many others have failed. The American viewing public likes sex and fight scenes, drama, comedy, and sports. On a third grade level. Just about everything else tanks, give it a season or two. I see a bleak and dismal future for any show that attempts to popularize or educate the public about science--"
"Why do we always have to sink down to the lowest common denominator of our demographic?" This was Vince breaking in plaintively, forgetting for the moment the chunk of bacon hanging off the fork he had just speared it with. I noticed it was dripping with horseradish sauce, and tried not to wince. "It really galls me, how everybody in television these days just tries to dumb down and sex up every show. I watch cable sometimes and can't even tell which show I'm watching anymore: they're all the same."
"You know--" I rubbed my tired forehead, words just deserting me at this point...Lindzi, isn't this the same man, who, every time we have a drop in ratings informs us the problem is "not enough boob"?
But words weren't really needed anyway, because, at that moment, another party blew into the room, fairly dramatically at that.
"I SENSE A PRESENCE....THE CLOUDS ARE GATHERING....ANOTHER MANIFESTATION IS IMMINENT!!!!!"
It is Crystal, her long dark hair unbound and hanging down over her rather voluminous red satin nightgown (she really gravitates to that particular fabric/color combo, I've noticed) face regally pale and eyes hollowed out sightlessly. She is pointing vaguely out toward the direction of the mountains. "THEY'RE COMING....FOR HER...THE BABY...IN DANGER...WE MUST INTERCEDE WITH THE SPIRITS!"
With a dutiful shuffle all the clustered occupants of Kerry's and Bronnie's table began pulling their seats out to trail toward her. Although I noticed Fresco was a good ten feet behind the rest of them, casting a longing glance back at his unfinished breakfast. I guess this was the signal for the latest seance...should I attend as well?
My stomach gave another growl, and I decided to give the event a pass, and catch up on developments afterward. Bear claw, watch out.
----------
It was getting on toward lunch time when I got the text summons on my phone--two impatient beeps. The first from Crystal, demanding a conference immediately and then a more diffident one from Bronnie.
What could they want? I punched in a couple of time slots and called in the stylist--what with all the cameras churning around the chateau at the moment, and the fact that our rose chamber is as rigged as the hope diamond exhibit with sound and eyes from all angles, the comfortable days of slouching around the hotel in slippers and sweats are a thing of the past.
After winning a minor battle with the stylist regarding a second layer of spanx she thought would be beneficial (excuse me??? what does she think she's prepping me for? Royal ball in Victorian England???) I tripped breathlessly down the hall toward the elevator, grimly ignoring my small procession of competing cameras. A couple of them I KNEW were Vince's.
Oh well.
Arrived at the rose chamber, lit up intimately, the homey wallpaper with its rolling pattern of ivy and cabbage roses cascading down to the ivory wainscot, our plushy chairs paired discreetly in prep for the upcoming confidences that were to be channeled straight from murmured tete a tete to national prime time with a mere seven second delay. I braced my shoulders in apprehension, smothering a trepidatious sigh as I stepped in and arranged myself in the interviewer's seat.
Cameras panned, taking in the scene.
Decorous knock on the paneled door.
"Come in!"
And Crystal flounces through the door, looking rather petulant despite the Egyptian queen headdress she's now sporting over a neckline plunging, full black leather suit and red cape--dear lord, the girl must be feeling the pressure to compete with Lynette right now...I stared, nonplussed, into her narrowed eyes, her hands braced on her hips, deep purple lips set in a no-nonsense frown.
"Uh, please have a seat, Crystal. Make yourself comfortable." I gesture vaguely to the seat across from me, trying to resist the urge to scoot back from her dramatically suited figure.
She throws herself down into the seat, tossing her cape over the back of the chair with a preoccupied wave. "Thanks for meeting with me, Elise. I have some serious concerns right now, about the direction our group is taking."
"Um. Yes. Thank you for sharing, Crystal. Anything I can do to make your experience here more...comfortable..."
"I think we are past comfort right now." Crystal leans forward, steepling her red nailed finger and glaring starkly over my forehead into the cameras hovering over us. "We have passed a threshold, this season, that I fear none of us has the power to return from."
"Well." I shift awkwardly. "Sorry to hear you feel that way, Crystal. We do our best here to ensure our matches have a positive--"
"I don't know when I have ever felt a more chilling, ominous ambiance than the one surrounding all of us here at the chateau." Crystal interrupted me, her violet eyes glittering...wait...violet? Had the girl invested in colored contacts for the occasion? I stared again, trying not to be too obvious.
"Well, Crystal, I hope you know that all of us at #life are fully invested in the safety and security of all our participants. We would never knowingly put any of you into any situation that could be regarded as dangerous to your wellbeing--"
"The threat I am trying to discuss with you now is not one that a human security team is equipped to handle, quite frankly." Crystal took a deep breath, her chest swelling portentously through its tease of leather straps. Lynette, watch out.
"I share your concern, Crystal. Any risk to our matches is one I am unwilling to take. All of your welfare, from any quarter, is priority number one."
"Is there any water in here?" Crystal glanced around the room. Belatedly I realized that the guttural undertone she had been speaking with might require extra hydration--I tossed her a water bottle from the raft stashed beneath camera one, and took and extra for myself as well. Never can be too careful.
"Thanks." she cracked open the lid and took a long haul. "I had hoped that more attention might be paid to the manifestation earlier--we made a lot of progress and I don't think it got any footage. Which was daunting."
"Maybe next time not so early in the morning?" I suggested gently. "Psychologically speaking, early am is not a high energy time bracket. We don't tend to get much good interaction before about 2pm, so the camera teams aren't prepped--"
"The spirits world does not live by #life's production schedule." Crystal gave an imperious hand wave. "When a manifestation is imminent, it is IMMINENT and needs to be attended to PROMPTLY."
"Well--" I bit back a retort that if the spirit world wanted its own forum it could hire its own production team. The LAST thing I needed right now was ANOTHER CREW running around underfoot, after all. "We'll try to remain sensitive to their needs as well, in future," I tried to sound optimistic.
"All right." Crystal leaned back, partially appeased. Then her sharp brows furrowed unpleasantly again though. "And also--my work is severely hampered because I was told Lindzi was unavailable? So much of what is being revealed seems to specifically pertain to her--the process is really thwarted without her physical presence."
"Uh, yeah, well, Lindzi, as you know, is a newly wed--this is a special time for her and her significant other right now. They're currently secreted away on a romantic camping trip--"
"Romantic camping trip?" Crystal's nostrils flared distrustfully. "Isn't that, like, a contradiction in terms? Plus it's been raining outside all day and the forecast calls for more for the next several days!"
I shrugged apologetically. "Let's hope the fires of passion keep them warm."
Crystal shook her head, dissatisfied. "I guess it can't be helped, then, but when she gets back, I'd like a one on one seance--"
"Um. Crystal? Could I offer a little--ah--personal advice here?" I leaned forward cautiously, not wanting to unduly offend but feeling it was my duty to insert here.
"What?" Crystal raised a caustic, steeply plucked eyebrow.
"Um. You know, I'm sure Lindzi will be flattered, and everything, by all this attention she's generated from the spirit world. Who wouldn't be, after all? But, I don't know if you know, she's a little bit conservative...church of LSD....not so receptive to the whole medium/seance scenario. If maybe you could communicate back to the spirit world that they'd maybe, you know, want to redirect to a more favorable recipient--"
"The spirits choose who they want to manifest to! Not the other way around!" Crystal was sounding distinctly irritable now. She stood back up, flapping her cape back around her in an angry whoosh. "Just get me a one on one with Lindzi, please, as soon as she returns from this backwoods honeymoon of hers!"
And she flounced out, in a heavy whiff of frankincense.
Well. I stared after her, rather lost.
On to the second meeting, I guess.
----
"Hello?"
My shoulders automatically relaxed at the musical voice tentatively entering the room.
"Come on in!"
Bronnie ushered in, her peaceful aura coalescing perfectly with the gentle homeyness of the floral decor and low lighting in the rose chamber. She ran a preoccupied hand through her aureole of fair hair, eyes warily taking in the banks of watching cameras flanking us from all angles, but took a seat, smoothing her flowing palazzo pants as she eased across from me.
"Thank you so much, Elise, for agreeing to meet."
"Of course! Of course! Anytime. Thank you, Bronnie, for taking the time to meet with me." Something about her winsome feminine presence just brought out an elaborate courtly civility, I noticed.
She braced her shoulders in her silky coral blouse, long fingers twining in her lap, and tilted her long legs to better advantage under the glare of the camera lens overhead. "You know, I'd never try to insert myself, normally. I have the utmost respect for you and Lindzi and what you're doing for all of us here..."
"That's just fine, Bronnie, we're just so honored that you would choose to join us on what must be a very personal journey for you," I assured her. "Any concerns you have--any way we can enhance your experience--"
"Well there is one small request, if I could mention," Bronnie tilted her square jaw considerately, a finger perched beneath her elfin chin.
"Anything at all!" I asserted heartily.
Bronnie took a deep sigh, her chest heaving under her silky translucent blouse. "I'd like to have a one on one? A date? There's been a connection--and I'm also worried--"
"Of course! Of course!" My ears perked and I leaned forward, engaging her space. My mind immediately racking for great date ideas for Bronnie and the mystery gentleman--crap. All I could come up with was canoeing and a day bus trip to downtown Banff. What the hell? Maybe this sequestered regal mountain setting is romantic looking, but when you get down to it, NOT A HELL OF A LOT TO DO AROUND HERE. I suppressed the rising panic, plastering over it with a smile. "I'm sure all of America--I mean, our international viewing public--is so interested to learn who the lucky guy will be!"
"Well--" Bronnie stared down meditatively at her pale fingers interlocking interlocking in her lap. "I don't know whether anybody else has noticed or not...don't even know how my interest will be received by the gentleman in question...but I'm taking a risk here. That's why I came to #life, after all." Her huge soft eyes swept up, confronting me wistfully. "And I'd like to get the chance to see how he interacts with my children, before anything at all happens from this point--they're my ultimate priority, after all--"
"Of course, of course," I reassured her. Okay, kids plus Bronnie plus guy. Did this help expand options, or make things more complicated? Horseback riding! My mind seized gratefully on the idea. Wait--did they even have horses in Canada? Maybe donkeys? Pack mules? Elks? Did people ride elks?
Bronnie gulped, rolling her eyes soulfully to the ceiling and blinking away wetness from her long lashes. "And I am also concerned because of the recent rift we've been experiencing--so divisive and discordant--I am concerned that those of us who are responsible try to immediately bridge over this unfortunate gap--"
"Oh. Yes. The Lynette/Crystal divide." I crossed my legs, uncomfortable. "Indeed--that does seem to be becoming an issue."
"Yes." Bronnie continued blinking, dabbing at the corner of her eye. "So tragic, this tribalism that sometimes develops--"
"Wait, have you seen situations like this develop before?" I seized gratefully on this morsel, leaning forward. "What the hell is this anyway? It's like these...well....tribes, for lack of a better term, just mushroomed up overnight! So hostile and nasty! And so deep rooted, for happening so suddenly!"
"Oh yes," Bronnie nodded her bright head, resigned. "A few times, during particularly intense set scenes. The actors and crew will get so identified with their roles they internalize and resort to these barbaric, instinctual social patterns. We have psychologists on hand specifically to deal with the situations when they arise--this type of thing is so hard to unseat, once it sets in."
My hackles were rising at this ominous statement, but I continued anyway. "Yeah, I'm really at a loss, myself. Lynette was totally intractable when I confronted her this morning, and Crystal herself wasn't much more reasonable either."
"Yes." Bronnie tilted her head modestly, and sniffed. "Which is a main reason why I would like to step forward--as a kind of ambassador, if you will--and reach out to one of the members on the other side of the divide whom I believe has been tragically misguided and influenced by the more rancorous elements of this group."
"And that person would be....?" I breathed softly, waiting with baited breath.
Bronnie sighed again, placing an almost transparent hand at her throat. She fought internally for a moment, then slumped. "Philandro."
"Okay!" Score. "Consider it done, Bronnie. I'll coordinate with him and we'll try to have something set up for you, hopefully by about six this evening, all things working out. The weather has been a trifle uncooperative--"
"Please," Bronnie waved a dismissive hand. "I am so not fastidious about the whereabouts and location of the date. I'm sure you'll have something wonderful on hand."
"Well yes." I agreed hopefully, standing up with her. "I'll be in touch."
"Thanks, Elise," She enveloped me in a gentle hug, her linen scent washing over me in a soothing wave.
"And Bronnie--since you have experience with these things--" I coughed discreetly, "maybe you could help me out, with some of the details?"
It took a few moments, but between us I managed to pull out the nitty gritty of our "tribal" situation...the lines have broken down along perhaps a predictable fault: those matches who took the elevator to the basement and participated in the seance and Josh's rescue (minus, of course, Philandro) are on the Crystal side of the divide, most of the rest have faithlessly migrated toward Lynette, in hopes of scoring the suspiciously multiplying 'grand roles' on this as yet hypothetical show StarBurn.
So we have, tribe Crystal:
Bronnie
Chandra
Kerry
Fontine
Russell
Fresco
Myriam
Sam
Shanese
Gator Girl
Josh (I assume these two, as stars of the seance, will be affiliated with her, anyway)
And for tribe Lynette:
RoKay
Razza
Philandro
Bohnhead
Finn
Tristan
Ashley
Quenby
Jake
SextoPop
James (I hear that Lynette seduced him to her side through a promise to give him set design)
Lindzi--not that I wish for your honeymoon to be anything less than ecstatic and free from any and all other concerns--but I REALLY WISH YOU WERE HERE RIGHT NOW, TO HELP BRAINSTORM THROUGH THIS SITUATION.
NAMASTE.
--------
Okay. Here went. I squinted fatalistically out from under the brim of my poncho hood, a steady drip from the rib of the black umbrella wavering over self, Max and Mitch as we huddled next to the trail. The rain had stopped, hadn't it? I put out a tentative finger and was rewarded with a chilly plop.
It was dripping off the trees, not coming from the sky, I consoled myself, ears perking at the disheartening tattoo of heavy drops striking the fallen leaves in the echoing, empty forest around us.
"...And they're coming!" Max panned the camera out, as a doleful file of dispirited looking horses mounted by unrecognizable poncho swaddled figures filed slowly up the trail. "Crap. Looking like that we could have used extras, this whole take."
"They're probably having fun, right?" I tried to sound optimistic, trying to make out faces under the voluminous shadow of the poncho hoods. Oh. Maybe not so much. I caught a momentary glimpse of Philandro's pale, set jaw, up in front.
Crap. Was the family date with Bronnie and kids turning out to be a bust? It had struck me, I had thought fortuitously, while planning this event, that Canada HAD TO HAVE horses--of course: the Mounties...if worst came to worst, we could simply borrow some of their steeds for the occasion of Bronnie family date. But that hadn't proved necessary: turned out there were actually several stables full of horses specifically kept for the purpose of recreational riding in our near vicinity (!) so score. Or maybe not.
"I think my horse is stuck in the mud." A young voice called from the back end of the small procession. Either Milo or Orange, impossible to tell which.
Mitch's camera automatically swiveled in toward the scene. Indeed, the final horse was displaying some actual emotion at this point, bucking its head and attempting to pick up its feet from the tromped up mud slick that the horses ahead had churned up. A small, slight form attempted to hang onto the reins of the distressed animal as it fought to free itself from the mire.
"Honey--don't pull on the reins like that. You're going to hurt the horsey. Be gentle." A dark poncho that must contain Bronnie turned around and endeavored to coach the combo of rearing horse and straining child. "He's more frightened than you are right now! There. See?" The horse managed to drag itself out of the sludge with a horrible slurping sound and staggered back into line after the other three.
Max winced. "Don't know, Mitch. Think we're even going to want to use this footage? Can't even see their faces under those ponchos. Think we could get them to pull down their hoods?"
A angry spatter of rain hitting our umbrella sobered him up. "Well. Maybe not." He conceded, dutifully pointing the camera out toward the retreating backsides of the horses. Totally covered in mud splatters.
"Gaaagh!" It's all over my camera!" Mitch protested, and indeed--we all raised up our hands and closed our eyes as a brutal hail of mud splatters from the horses' hooves hit us as the trail processed by.
We were just starting to recover and move to our next position when my phone Vrrrped.
"Shit." I glanced down.
GET. BACK. HERE. NOW. WHERE R U????
Who? What? I stared down in confusion.
Vince?
Am mid production be back soon. Unless emergency?
I typed back.
GET HERE NOW. HOW DID YOU GET OUT?
Um? I stared at the offensive green bubble, several choice thoughts itching to come out under my fingertips.
SENDING TEAM TO GET YOU.
Huh?
"We're moving on," I said decisively, clicking off my phone. "Come on guys. This rain has to let up at some point. Who knows? Maybe they'll be able to take down their hoods and we'll get some great shots of the whole fam staring off at the mountain vistas, you know, with the noble horses blinking in the foreground."
"Hmmm." Max sounded pessimistic, but he hoisted up his camera anyway. "All right then. Location C, here we come."
We began sloshing through the wet undergrowth of dead leaves once more, squinting up through the depressing landscape of grey sky, grey leafless trees and shapeless, dripping grayish pines, and mud.
When an approaching, whining roar startled the shivering forest stillness--a protesting snapping of small brush as something reared angrily toward us. What?
I turned, to see a large four wheeler veering through the uncut woods, spraying out chunks of leaves and mud behind it. Besides the driver there was another occupant--the huge unblinking eye of a camera swerving toward us.
"Oh crap!"
"Who the hell?" We froze in a paralysis of shock as the monstrosity barreled toward us, narrowly avoiding running our braced figures down but splattering us with another barrage of dirt and leaves as it ground to a chugging halt. Two hands reached out and started hauling me up by the shoulders--my mud and rain slippery poncho barely proving any protection as they dragged me into the sputtering, loudly idling vehicle.
"Max! Mitch! Help!" I struggled through mouthfuls of dirt spattered poncho, but it was too late...
I was hauled up and thrown into a cramped back seat while the vibrating vehicle beneath me jolted forward, peeling down another couple of saplings in its wake.
"Keep filming! Maybe we'll get some shots!" I bawled back over my shoulder at my wondering camera team.
Good gracious. My hands found the hard sides of the vehicle and I braced as we bounced unheedingly down the trackless woods--what the hell? What if we overturned or somebody bounced out? But miraculously we all managed to stay inside...Between the jouncing trees a huge shape started to hurtle into view--my lips pursed.
The hotel.
Vince was bringing me back.
Unbelievable.
I had managed to coordinate with Max and Mitch to pick me up from a side exit several hours ago, and elude the ever present parades of cameras infiltrating the hotel at this point: they had found me one of the gigantic, anonymous shrouding ponchos they used for inclement weather shots and I had quickly donned it in the sanctuary of the ladies', then hustled out through the halls with my head down to rendezvous with them. Success, I had thought.
Now, as the grim square figure of my erstwhile prison spun back into view, I realized not.
We bounded unevenly back over the velvety lawn--leaving gashes of tire tracks in our wake--and bucked to a sudden halt that nearly unseated all of us next to the very same side exit I had slunk out of. What? My captor and the camera guy hustled me, dripping and protesting, back into the heavy door, which clanged shut behind us.
"Why am I here? What are you doing?" I demanded angrily, the hood falling off of my head as I stared into the interested eye of the camera back in the rather welcome dry warmth of the hotel hallway..
"Vince needs you to produce tonight. We have an event. In the ballroom." The camera guy explained in those calm irritating tones of narration.
"But I WAS producing! How can I produce something else when I don't even know what's going on, anyway?" I lashed out.
"Eh! Elsie!" A breezy, ringing tone echoed down the hallway and I looked up, through a ragged tangle of muddy hair, to see Vince framed in the hallway ahead. Fedora pulled down over his waving locks. A leather motorcycle jacket tonight--wow, he must be in a mood. And a fanny pack, peeping out over the waistline of his lounge pants. He braced his hands on his his hips, shaking in a silent chuckle. "Oh, the camera's loving this right now! Beautiful! Got to get cleaned up though! Big night tonight!"
As if to corroborate his statement, ahead of him, just visible in the mouth of the hallway opening into the grand foyer, two belabored figures hustled past with some giant box balanced between them, hustling away toward...probably the ballroom. I conceded fatalistically.
"Vince! You can't do this to me! I have my own production to run! You can't just kidnap me and force--"
"Get her cleaned up and sent to wardrobe. We're shooting in forty five," Vince jerked a thumb toward the elevator, eyes on my captor, clearly having finished his conversation with me. With a final, satisfied nod he strolled off unconcerned, bleached hair floating behind him as he headed out into the lobby.
"Come on, we can do this the hard way or the easy way," My captor breathlessly informed me, clamping my arms behind me as he herded me into the elevator alcove.
----
"What the hell are we doing here tonight? And why haven't you responded to my texts?" I demanded, hurtling up to Vince as soon as I caught sight of his small figure loafing in through a far door of the grand ballroom. I was breathless, both because of the three layers of spanx (!) I had been sausaged into by Vince's nazi wardrobe team and because I was trying to weave in and out of multiple camera tracks, and innumerable hoses and cables strewn between islands of blue plastic that had suddenly blossomed up in the hours since I had left the hotel.
"Ah--just a moment here." Vince breezed importantly. Okay, guess he was conferencing via bluetooth and trying to excuse himself...I waited, stewing, while he ended with a couple quick pleasantries, then turned, rubbing his hands together. His maniacal grey eyes alight, staring up into mine. "Hey there Elsie! See you're dressed up for the occasion!" He swept an arm over my squeezed and flattened figure. "Looking....good."
"VINCE!" I demanded sternly, ignoring the giant camera suddenly zooming in on us from behind. "What are you doing here? And why have I been torn away from a potentially BLOCKBUSTER DATE for this--this---" I threw a frustrated hand over the confusion of lights, plastic and tubing that had fulminated across the erstwhile elegant expanse of the grand ballroom. "What even is this?"
"Hehehe." Vince chortled, his eyes flicking fondly over the tacky chaos blooming around us. "Thought you should be the one to produce this, considering you originated the idea yourself, Elsie! Musical hot tubs! Remember?"
"NOOOOOOOO!" I felt the floor lurch hideously under my feet, the glaze of camera lens sheening blindingly across my line of vision. "IMPOSSIBLE.....YOU CAN'T.....THEY CAN'T....LINDZI!!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!" This last cry was ALMOST A PRAYER, LINDZ....
OMG.
"But, Vince, we GOT SUED--I almost got FIRED last time we did this--it was a disaster--we had to have therapists on hand for the emotional trauma for months afterwards...." I was begging, somehow on my knees and scrabbling in supplication at Vince's fanny pack.
"It was hilarious! My all time favorite episode!" Vince kept up his demonic chuckling, continuing to rub his leathery knuckled hands together. "What a glorious clusterfuck! Absolutely classic!"
"They will never forgive us! I'm going to lose all leverage--any control I have left--" I lamented, the horrible visions and possibilities swarming up into my brain. "Vince, you weren't there--you didn't see the aftermath--it totally wasn't worth the two minutes of frenzy we got afterwards! It was terrible! Please believe me!"
"Too late! All set up now--phone lines, text codes, everything!" Vince continued blithely...
I shut my eyes, resigning myself to the worst.....
No matter what they've put us through these past couple of days, Lindzi, the matches DON'T DESERVE to be subjected to this form of torment....I am literally writhing around inside in abject shame at the monster I unwittingly unleashed in season two....so wrong on so many levels, but I went ahead with it anyway, out of a heedless notion that it would be good for ratings...which it was....but that was so beside the point...
Behind my hyperventilating eyelids as I wandered around in a miasma of guilty horror and helplessness the plastic hot tubs swelled up, heavy hoses and circulation jets taut and thrumming with activity. The overhead chandeliers dimmed to tiny, imperceptible sparks in the dimness and deep, low shades of violet, red and green started their exploratory spangle over the austere, sculpted molding at the edges of the ceilings and walls...the atrocity was really happening....matches started filing in from the grand entrance....Lindzi, I can't tell you the CLAUSTROPHOBIA OF NIGHTMARES it was, to have cameras following my progress on tracks, under the misapprehension that I am somehow PRODUCING AND IN CHARGE of this UNTHINKABLE DISASTER IN PROGRESS while actually having NO CONTROL WHATSOEVER to impact the scene unfurling hideously under my feet.
"LADIES AAAAAND GENTLEMEN! #LIFE SEASON SEVEN!!!!" A mic'd voice echoed in over a sound system.
So he'd brought in an mc for the occasion too....of course.
"WELCOME TO MUSICAL HOT TUBS!!!!!!" some kind of obscene drum roll. Please. If they knew what was about to happen, they would all STAMPEDE OUT OF HERE IN A RUN TO PRESERVE THEIR BASIC HUMANITY RIGHT NOW. A few of the matches looked uncertain, their faces and skin reflecting the lush colored glow of the shifting spotlights during the announcement, but no...they were all standing trustingly still. Like a herd of sheep surrounded by bears and wolves.
"YOU WILL ALL BE ASSIGNED TO ONE OF SIX HOT TUBS, BASED ON OUR VIEWERS' CHOICE OF WHO THEY WOULD LIKE TO SEE TOGETHER IN A HOT TUB! THIS EVENT IS LIVE! IT IS INTERACTIVE! ANYONE WHO CHOOSES MAY CALL IN AT ANY POINT TO INFLUENCE THE COURSE OF THE EVENING AND CHANGE UP THE HOT TUB ASSIGNMENTS AT ANY TIME! AND OF COURSE---" Another ominous thrum of percussion. "THERE IS THE TUB OF SHAME! THE SEVENTH TUB!!!!!" The ballroom precipitated into blackness, a sudden piercing strobe stabbing into bleak relief the middle hot tub "WHERE THE CONTESTANTS DEEMED UNWORTHY BY OUR VIEWERS WILL BE CONDEMNED TO SPEND THE EVENING! THE TUB OF SLIME!!!!!"
A horrified gasp erupted from the matches, and many of the standing camera crew as well. "DO YOUR BEST, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TO STEER CLEAR OF THE TUB OF SHAME!!!!!"
I closed my eyes. Should I crawl into it right now? But somehow I couldn't...the knowledge of that burbling, slurping tub of glow in the dark goop replete with its squishy rubber critters--I couldn't imagine Vince would leave those out for this occasion--making my skin crawl with the horrible recollection. Poor Rowena--my hand clenched in the panging memory of our match who had the breakdown after the ill-fated night on season two--lets just hope the psychotherapy worked out and she has returned to a life of relative normalcy by now--
"AS YOU HEAR YOUR NAMES, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE COME FORWARD AND ENTER THE TUB YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED!"
I don't even remember who was assigned to which tub, Lindz. My eyes were squeezed shut in mortification. Sounds of innocent laughter and splashing...conversation weaving around unwitting of the horrors about to be unleashed....
And finally, there it was.
I braced. A horrible, mind bending scream, like the shrieks rising up from the fiery pits of the damned suddenly split the atmosphere of the ballroom....our viewers had chosen their first victim..."YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME....I THINK THIS QUALIFIES AS A HATE CRIME!" Oh. Poor Tristan. I screwed my eyes shut in mute sympathy.
And of course, the abject terror of the unfortunate matches as they were manhandled into the tub of shame was JUST TOO FUN to stop, once it had started....
Match after match, hauled KGB style out of the now horrified, silently waiting hot tubs, matches furtively gripping the sides as YET ANOTHER CONTESTANT was pulled, frantically calling and pleading, and herded into the center of torment....
"HELP! HELP! I CAN'T SEE! I'M BLIND!" Madaam Zaher, an unrecognizable figure coated in eerie plasmic goo rose up out of the burbling swamp in the center of the room, arms dripping as she lumbered upwards and then fell again with a splat into the pulsing mass of goo, plastic spiders, rats...bats....centipedes....
"THE MERMONSTER! I SWEAR! HE'S DOWN HERE!" RoKay floundered up out of the morass, arms and hair webbed with glimmering toxic sleaze. Just then the crew arrived with another cowering, hopeless victim in tow. He clawed entreatingly at the merciless arms gripping his, pale bare chest quivering in the dim violet light.
"PLEASE!!!! I'LL DO ANYTHING--SERVE THE WHOLE SENTENCE!!!! I SWEAR TO YOU!!!! WON'T EVEN PUT UP A FIGHT! JUST DON'T THROW ME IN THERE!!!!" It was Bohnhead. Clutching desperately at the arms attempting to loose him into the mire. But to no account. With a shrill screech of terror he dropped into the ominously glowing pool of sludge, which clapped shut over him.
"Mama! Mama!" Fresco plunged blindly through the middle and collided with Jake, who was bawling like a baby....
"They're all over me! They're eating me!" Someone I couldn't even recognize under the film of glowing ooze flailing and flapping miserably, slapping at one of the rubber spiders...
By the end of this juggernaut of an evening I think only three of the matches avoided submersion in the dreaded tub of shame: Fontine, Myriam and James.
But all were shaking, either with paralyzed fear of being dragged helplessly away into the pit of horror that was the tub of shame, or with the trauma of the actual experience...
I myself was sitting in the fetal position, rocking and trying to block out the pitiful howls that echoed brutally throughout the chasm of the grand ballroom....
.....mercifully fast forward to breakfast, next morning....
A few silent, hollow eyed matches were visible at tables around the bleakly grey morning light staining through the windows this morning...picking furtively at the crusts of slime still sticking to skin and hair....Do you remember how impossible that stuff was to clean up? Dried like cement. Anyway. Not much conversation....late morning. I think everyone was pretty much wordless after the travesty of the night before.
As I drifted unseeingly past the whiteclothed tables, bear claw resting haphazardly on my limply held plate I caught sight of a motion. A wave.
I turned. It was Bronnie, slender hand silhouetted against a side window. I gazed tiredly at her shadowy form, then set my shoulders and went over to join her.
"So how did it go?" I asked, with a pitiful attempt at perkiness, breaking off a nervous crumble of my pastry and rolling it in my fingers. "Your date, I mean? How was it with Philandro and the kids?"
"Well." Bronnie's eyes looked bruised this morning, a lighter, clearer version of the relentless grey of the mountains and clouds surrounding us. Her cheeks were almost supernally pale, smooth hollows shadowed under the almost transparent pallor of her skin. She hugged her concave chest in protective arms. "I don't know, Elise. I don't know."
This didn't sound good. I drew back a chair and sat down heavily, then took a bite of my bear claw and chewed, fatalistically. "So what happened? Did the horse ride go all right? No one fell, or got stuck--"
"No," Bronnie shook her fair head reassuringly. "The ride was okay....dinner was all right...But Philandro. I don't know if I can bring him back." There was a melancholy undertone to her musical voice. "And the kids really didn't help...the first thing Milo said, of course, was 'so you're the guy who killed the astronaut...'" Bronnie heaved a sigh, shaking her head. "Sometimes I think all this information exposure we have these days is too much. Not that I want to shelter my kids in any way, but there is still such a thing as tact."
"One would hope." I agreed.
Bronnie clasped her slender hands in front of her. "I tried to tell him he didn't owe Lynette anything, that she was manipulating him and if he didn't want this--didn't want to take on this ridiculous role of Captain Xoltar he didn't have to." Her eyes traced the well chosen stalks of arnica and wintergreen in this morning's bouquet in the center of the table. "But you know how it is with some men--they feel the weight of the world on their shoulders: you can't get them to shrug off an obligation if they believe they owe somebody, or something."
"Do you think you could have some kind of feelings for Philandro, given the right conditions and timing?" I tried to phrase the question delicately, biting off another morsel of the (surprisingly tasty) bear claw and picking a stray chocolate chip off my lap.
"I don't know." Bronnie blinked, her light eyelashes fanning over her large, doe like eyes. "I never thought, at this point in my life, I'd have to make a decision like this again. Life partner? I was supposed to have that all figured out, fifteen years ago." She sucked in a breath, the pallid glow of the cloudy morning limning her perfect features. "And now with the kids to think about, it's a whole different level of responsibility in picking someone out to build a future with. Do I like Philandro? Am I attracted to him?" Her tremulous voice cracked as she stared across the dimlit linen table cloth. "Yes." She whispered finally. "But I can't let my feelings be the final word--if I can't trust that he'll make the right decision in a crisis: if I can't believe he can put his sense of self ahead of somebody who is trying to manipulate and bully him, there's no way I can put myself and my children into his care. I'm sorry." She dabbed forlornly at her eyes with her napkin. "Sorry Elise--I didn't mean to get this emotional--"
"It's okay." I tried to assure her. "The show brings out a new level of vulnerability in everybody--you can expect to have emotional moments and catharses in the upcoming weeks. It's all part of the process."
"Thanks," Bronnie's shoulders shook as she honked stoically into her napkin. Her pale eyes peered out blearily, red rimmed, to smile at me. "It helps so much to have someone to talk to, you know."
I reached out to touch her arm. "That's what we're here for, Bronnie. Any time."
----
So, midmorning to early afternoon, pretty languid. A lot of people probably afraid to venture out of their rooms to see what else Vince might have in store for them...after a morning huddling in my room and chasing channels to see whether I could catch another episode of "Trouble with Tracy" I must admit, I wasn't thinking so clearly myself. Had to start coming up with date ideas, I realized, and I had sat down with a paper and pencil and started brainstorming out couples and potential dates--I wanted to create a reward precedent for the matches who had already paired off. You know, sort of highlight them as role models. Fontine and Russell, Fresco and Myriam, Shanese and Sam...if only the damn rain would stop there would be something for these couples to do, if I could only think of something...
Vrrrp.
I stared down at my phone, heart in my mouth.
GET DOWN TO LOBBY. CASTING PREP.
Of course, Vince.
Casting prep? My fingers shook as I stared at my phone. I took a final look at my abortive paper of date ideas and then shuffled frozenly out the door...not even caring that I was still in slippers and sweat shirt. What the hell, if Vince could wander around unscathed in his atrocious wardrobe choices, what was I dressing up for? I ignored the startled glances of the production team that wandered after me as I trailed off toward the elevator, my phone hanging dejected out of my hand. Lindzi, sorry to wish your honeymoon to a close, but HONESTLY, THE PAST TWO DAYS WITHOUT YOU HERE....
I blinked stuporously into the too brilliantly lit foyer as the elevator slid open, the glinting chandelier lancing merciless crystalline sparkles off the highly polished balustrades and marble surfaces.
Two ubiquitous crew members were hurrying up through the front doors, holding overstuffed bags...my eyes traced the flourishing words glaring out from the printed paper and then bugged, my heart failing me.
FREDERICK'S OF HOLLYWOOD????? WHAT THE WHAT?????
I turned, my mouth dropping open, to see Vince ambling toward me from the opposite side of the lobby, flanked by camera crew and a very self satisfied Lynette. Wearing high heels, she towered a good foot over Vince, but that didn't stop the two from staring into each others' eyes and smirking. I passed a tired hand over my brow...what was going on?
Vince caught sight of me and gave a genial wave. "Ah, Elsie," his overconfident bass reverberated across the pillared floorspace. "Just like I ordered. Great. We're all here now. Get ready! We're having a casting party!"
"Casting party?" I shook my head wearily, as two more menials hurried up the outside stairs, bearing more bags...I could catch sight of some sequins and faux fur peeping out. Great. Just great.
"Yeah!" Vince's chest swelled proudly. "You know, Lynette's show! StarBurn! I figure: why wait? I'm casting!"
"I thought everybody already had assigned roles," I argued hollowly. "That's what I've heard anyway--"
"Yeah, but it hasn't been PRODUCED," Vince pointed out, obviously. "That's why we're having the event tonight, give it some vavoom, the stamp of public audience, why we're bringing in the costumes--"
"Costumes?" I balked. "You mean, all this lingerie that's coming through here..." I gestured toward the incoming parade of crew hurrying in with still more bags from the circle below the grand entrance.
"Well, yes, I have to be able to make an informed decision about which of the matches get the roles, don't I?" Vince leered lasciviously as another minion sailed past, some kind of feather boa trailing out of one of his bags. "Which reminds me, you might want to clean yourself up there, Elsie,shower and shave and what not, it's going to be a big night--"
"But I'm not auditioning!" I balked. "And neither are a substantial portion of the matches here anyway! And this is #life we're shooting here! Not some hypothetical sci fi show none of us signed up for--"
"STARBURN, you mean," Vince reminded, cheshire cat grin breaking out over his leathery tanned face. "And yes EVERYBODY is auditioning for a role tonight! That's part of the party! That includes you too, Elsie, so get going! Suit up! get the matches in order! Time's ticking!" He snapped his fingers over his head and moved on, entourage following enthusiastically in his wake as I stood there opening and closing my mouth like a beached fish....
In my sagging rubbery fingers my phone vibrated again. I picked it up reflexively and stuck it to my ear. "Yes? Hello?"
"Elise?" The voice was smoky and dark. Vaguely familiar. But, in my current fog I couldn't place it. "It's Marcus here."
"Marcus?" I shut my eyes, trying to remember.
"KoloKranz." He clarified, after an awkward pause.
"Oh! Of course! How are you?" I raked a tired hand through my frazzled hair. "What's going on with you? Sorry I haven't had the time--"
"Yeah, listen, my people have had a hard time getting through to you. What's up?" He asked, sounding slightly chagrined.
I gave an unhinged bark of laughter, eyes trailing yet another minion bearing bags of Frederick's. "You know that is a great question, Marcus. Or an even better question, what ISN'T up?" I laughed heartily at my own joke, not caring that he wasn't sharing it.
"Um. Well. I didn't know if maybe you could spare some time to look over some of my ideas--"
"You know--" I stared out of the glistening, reflective plate glass doors, down the darkening marble staircase leading into the formal central circle fronting the Chateau. Like a beacon of hope the dome light of a car glimmered through an open passenger door. I could see keys still in the ignition next to the empty drivers seat as another crew member hurried up with a bale of lingerie in his arms. "I think I can make it to the Calgary airport in a couple of hours here. Yeah. Where do you want to meet?"
"Uh...." Marcus seemed momentarily floored by the suddenness of the proposition. "Well. I'm in NYC at the moment--"
"Done." I slipped furtively out the door just swishing shut behind the incoming minion with his baggage. "It may take me a few hours and some jet lag, but I will be there ASAP. Let you know when I arrive."
"All right then." Marcus sounded surprised but pleased. "I have a penthouse, looking over the Park you know, get a car ready and have you down there."
"Great." I slipped my phone into my pocket and dove into the car, slamming the door behind me throwing it into drive with a sweating palm. I lurched off with a squeal, my foot trembling as I hit the gas. The crew member hurrying back out the door only had time to look and point before I peeled off down the front circle--probably laying some rubber, you'll have to let me know--
SORRY, LINDZ. BUT I NEVER SIGNED UP FOR THIS. I JUST NEED A DAY TO RECUPERATE AND THINK THINGS THROUGH....I WILL BE BACK, BUT I NEED A ME-MOON RIGHT NOW.
NAMASTE.