Magic Mansion (31 page)

Yes, indeed, John thought. Every man for himself.

Chapter 28

SPECIAL SURPRISE

“Red Team is gone,” Monty told the magicians, “and Gold Team is gone, and instead the strongest half of the contestants remain—three women, and three men, each of you with a very good chance of making it into the Final Four. The former Red Team won the privilege of deciding your fates…for all of you. But in doing so, they’ve not only done away with the teams…because, you see, there’s a twist.”

Just when John had assumed things couldn’t get any worse. Two more weeks, he told himself. Hang in there two more weeks.

“The power to decide whether to play in teams or singles wasn’t the only prize up for grabs in this challenge. There’s a second reward at stake.”

Monty turned to the scoreboard, and immediately, all the letters and numbers began scrolling and flashing into random characters as the board rearranged itself. When the cameras had all the footage they needed, Iain signaled to a gaffer who pressed a single button, and when the lettering unscrambled, the board read as follows:

TIGER TRAINER CHALLENGE

1. Professor Topaz: 3 − 3 − 3 (Total 9)

2. Sue Wozniak: 2 − 3 − 3 (Total 8)

3. Ricardo the Magnificent: 2 − 3 − 2 (Total 7)

4. Kevin Kazan: 2 − 1 − 2 − 1 (Total 6)

5. Jia Lee: 1 − 2 − 3 (Total 6)

6. Math Wizard: 1 − 2 (Total 3)

“Since there are no longer teams, the Magicians who will receive the second prize are the top three scorers: Ricardo, Sue, and the Professor. Kevin, it looks like your own strategy has served you poorly yet again.”

“I don’t care ’bout no dumb-assed challenge reward,” Kevin said belligerently. “I’m here to take the top prize. Everything else is weak. Think you can distract me with some stupid dinner, some shopping spree? Nuh-uh. I’m better off finishing this competition myself.”

“All right, Magicians,” Monty said, “you’ve worked hard today. Go get some rest. Later this week, the top three will get their special surprise…and then you’ll all compete in an elimination challenge.”

John walked back to the mansion numbly, losing himself among crew so he didn’t need to figure out which contestants he should or shouldn’t talk to, and what he should or shouldn’t say. Though it was awkward when the stylist who usually did his hair fell into step beside him said, “You’re not seriously sixty-three, are you? I’d put you at fifty. If that.”

“Clean living,” he told her. And Casey would have laughed himself silly at that, given that they would snort, smoke or swallow whatever their friends put in front of them—though neither of them were enamored enough with the party drugs to take their relationship with them anywhere past a simple flirtation. Ah, Casey. You’d have plenty to tease me about over this fine mess.

Too easy, babe. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel. You give me scads of ammunition by taking everything so damn seriously.
 

“Good genetics,” the stylist said. “Men inherit their hair from their maternal grandfathers.”
 

John had never known any of his grandparents, but he wondered if Rose would have been pleased to hear it. You could never tell with her. Although she considered Guam a dirty word, and every reference to it was taboo, occasionally she seemed as if she regarded her heritage with a certain truculent pride. He veered away from the stylist, planted himself at the bar, and set about helping himself to the very good scotch, though he supposed he should be careful not to overindulge. He didn’t want to roll into his room stinking drunk and give Kevin a chance to erode his confidence even more.

Or to let Kevin provoke him into revealing a Truth that couldn’t be un-shown.

“There you are.” Marlene parked herself beside John as he swirled the remains of his first drink around the bottom of his glass and did his best to talk himself out of a second. “Somehow I imagined that the guy who crushed the competition and rid himself of team leader Kevin Kazan all in one fell swoop would look a little bit happier. What gives?”

“It’s just nerves,” John said. “The stress of the unknown. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“You should be celebrating the fact that you made it this far and not drowning your sorrows.” She considered her next words for a moment, and the plunged ahead. “Initially, you were picked for the show because we had a race quota to fill. You know how it is. Token black. Token Asian. And those Tongan guys on the last few seasons of Weighty Matters were a big hit among several demographics, so a Pacific Islander was a big score for the Mansion.”

“What are you saying…you picked me because I’m Chamorro?”

“Not me, personally. The executive producers. Plus you’re older, too. And gay—Ricardo hadn’t signed on yet at that point. They wanted to represent a wide range of races and ages and everything else, half women, half men. You, Bev, Jia…quotas. Remember how I said you wouldn’t win? That’s because nobody expected anyone other than the young white men to still be standing this far into the game. Well, except Jia—she’s got a pretty vocal following and a reputation for being a good performer and a smart businesswoman. You, on the other hand, haven’t made any big waves lately in the magic community—and yet, here you are. Which just goes to prove that you never can tell who’s going to crumble under the pressure and the competition, and who’s going to thrive.” She screwed the top back onto the scotch, and said, “Believe me, Professor. You’re thriving. But this week, you’ll need your strength. So cut yourself some slack and figure out how to go to your happy place. Without this.”

John allowed himself a small smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Marlene held his gaze for a long moment, then reached into the pocket of her black cardigan, and pulled out a key. She dangled it in front of John.

“What’s this?” he said.

“Since you’re not on the Red Team anymore, no sense in you bunking with Kevin.”

Frankly, that was the best thing John had heard all day…but he’d never had access to a room that locked. It didn’t make sense. Not with the dorm-style arrangements and the players and staff going in and out. While Marlene was friendly enough with him, he sensed a test of some sort…especially right on the heels of her warning that he keep his hands to himself when it came to Ricardo. “And what have I done to merit a lock?”

“Only four dorm rooms were set up—the other big bedrooms had problems that couldn’t be patched up with a few coats of paint, but the servants’ quarters are still in pretty good shape. I’ve had your stuff—and Bev’s—moved down there so that each player is truly on their own now. But it’s pretty far off the beaten track. We wouldn’t want any interns stealing your underwear and selling them on eBay. So…they’re locked.”

Most definitely a test. Probably another night-vision camera.

Still, John was eager to tuck himself into bed without waiting for Kevin Kazan to accuse him of some sort of nonsense in the middle of the night in that ridiculous, trumped-up ghetto patois of his.

Marlene led John past the crowded kitchen, through the catering crew, into a plain, sturdy hallway with several small bedrooms branching off either side. Two rooms across the hall from one another had a paper star taped to the door: one had
Mrs. Austin
written on it in marker, and the other,
Mr. Topaz.

“We’re sending dinner to your rooms tonight. Chicken, fish or veggie?”

“Fish, please.” John supposed he should be glad his meal wouldn’t consist of painted pegs.

While he waited for dinner, he checked his things. Everything appeared to be intact—even his underwear. His new room didn’t have much to explore. There was a narrow twin bed that smelled of mothballs, a plain bar on which to hang his wardrobe, and a nightstand. At least there was a small window, and it looked into an overgrown part of the yard that John could potentially pretend was anywhere. The solitude was the thing he welcomed the most. And he hadn’t allowed himself to fully acknowledge how much he’d been missing it.

The mattress squeaked as John lay down with his dog-eared Hemingway, but despite the bed’s discomfort, he felt more at home, more relaxed, than he had since he’d first arrived. He read, but only perfunctorily. Mostly he listened to the sounds of the house: the dry wind outside, the rap of the pneumatic nail gun in the yard, the clatter of gear being shifted, the rise and fall of crew’s voices down the hall. He was half-asleep by the time he realized that the rapping had changed, and it was no longer the construction crew outside, but someone tapping on his own door. Marlene, no doubt, making sure he hadn’t gone back for the scotch. Or maybe his new neighbor Bev, seeking to form an alliance with him.
 

What he really hoped was that it was Ricardo. Despite Marlene’s cautions. And despite the fact that he was doing his best to pretend he didn’t. He opened the door, and yes—it was Ricardo…who slammed the door behind him and threw his arms around John’s neck, silencing the protest John was about to make with a lingering kiss.

Though John regretted it, he was the one to turn his mouth aside, and say, “Wait.”

“My tongue’s a lot better today—almost good as new.”

“Not that. I’m sure we’re being taped.”

“There’s no camera in here. I asked the gaffer. He said there wasn’t.”

John touched Ricardo’s hair. It was free from styling products, soft and natural. Without makeup, in his jeans and his T-shirt, this would be how he would look at home, just him and John. The anticipation was a tantalizing pang in John’s chest. It seemed as if he’d forgotten how to look forward to something…until now. “We can’t be sure. And whatever we do in these next few days, these last few challenges, could affect us for the rest of our careers.”

“Why would anyone care about us?”
 

“You never know. The less gossip we provide people with, the more we can keep the focus where it needs to be. On our talent.”

“Talent?” Ricardo scoffed. “This show doesn’t even have anything to do with magic. If there was one thing I agree with Faye about, it’s that. Magic Mansion stunts aren’t about anything but dumb luck.”

“Like the grit that happened to blow itself into Kevin’s eyes.”

Ricardo couldn’t quite suppress a smile. “You could tell, huh?”

“Ricardo…” John stroked his cheek. “Be careful. When you’re obvious about using True magic…it doesn’t end well.”

“It’s fine.” Ricardo rose onto his toes and coaxed another kiss from John. His lips were too sweet to resist—but thankfully he showed mercy and ended the kiss before it went anywhere John would regret. “No one will ever know.”

“Humor me. You’ve got looks, and talent, and style. Enough to win on those qualities alone.”

“You really think I could win?”

John gazed hard into Ricardo’s eyes. “I know you can.”

“I dunno.” Ricardo slipped his arms around John’s waist and trailed his fingertips down the seat of John’s pants. “I’ve got some pretty stiff competition.” A few more of those caresses and that would be true…literally. Ricardo released John and took a step back. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said. If it ever does come down to you against me, I want you to go full-out and give it everything you’ve got. If it turns out I lose to you—that would be just as satisfying to me as winning the big prize myself.”

___

The matter of whether or not his room had come with a hidden camera or two did plague John, just on principle. Over the next few days, when he returned to his new room, he scoured the molding and the wallpaper. Plaster?
Yes
. Wood?
Yes
. Metal?
Yes
. The mansion showed him the impression of dozens of tiny nails holding the lath to the studs.
 

Camera? The house didn’t answer.
 

Fine, what was a camera made of? John thought. Circuitry? Glass? Plastic?
No
, the mansion claimed.
Nothing like that.

It was somewhat reassuring, he supposed, but revealing something with his True magic was certainly not foolproof. Not if he couldn’t figure out the right questions to ask.

After a few tedious days where the talent had nothing to do, an assistant tapped on John’s door and told him to be in the lobby by eleven in his formalwear. John did his best not to read into it…though he dreaded that the formalwear had something to do with the “special surprise” he’d won with the conspicuous use of his talent. The other magicians joined him in the lobby, looking sparkly or sleek. Except Bev, who seemed to have dressed for a PTA meeting in a wool suit and sensible shoes.

A black stretch limo with Magic Mansion decals on the doors awaited them at the foot of the stairs—a tight squeeze for all six of them plus a handheld. But at least the cameraman was willing to sit next to Kevin. “What do you think your big surprise is going to be?” Bev asked Sue and Ricardo; although they were no longer wearing their Gold Team medallions, they still functioned as a single unit.

“I dunno,” Ricardo said. “Do you think we’ll finally get to perform?”

Kevin’s overly loud reply startled them all. “Why don’t y’all ask the Professor? He seem to know a lot o’ things.”

Everyone went quiet. Jia narrowed her eyes as if she might be ready to launch into yet another squabble…but instead she opted to watch and wait.

When no one took his bait, Kevin went on as if someone had indeed prompted him. “Like the brown pegs. Seem like he knew were all o’
them
were. Don’t it?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jia spat. “You’re just jealous.”

“I got nothin’ to be jealous about. I made four runs by myself. None o’ y’all made four runs. Only reason I didn’t win…was ’cos I didn’t have Miz Marlene whispering sweet nothings in my ear.”

“What are you accusing him of, exactly?” Bev demanded. “Cheating? Or sleeping with the producer?”

The limo pulled up in front of a theatre before she could make Kevin explain himself. He just crossed his arms and smiled knowingly as the moods of all the magicians took a steep plummet.

John knew he should have gone for at least one white peg. Now look where his poor judgement had gotten him.

When the limo doors opened onto a red carpet, there was no time left for should-haves and what-ifs. Dozens of Magic Mansion fans were gathered, many in red or gold, since they wouldn’t know the teams had been dispensed with until that week’s taping had been edited and aired. A few young Asian women appeared to be cosplaying Jia Lee in Geisha makeup, dragon gowns and haughty sneers. Someone toward the back was waving a hand-lettered sign that read
Bev equals Winner!
And a pair of awkward pre-teen girls in front wore custom jerseys with
Team Ricardo
stretched across their training bras.