“And who… Oh, fuck me running!” she crowed, clocking me. “Is the prodigal poster child for internalized homophobia back for another round?” She staggered toward me, tripping on her scuffed stilettos. Parental instinct took over, and I caught her before she hit the floor.
“Just when you think chivalry’s been nuked in the balls,” she slurred, breath boozy on my neck, sunglasses slipping as her glassy doll eyes met mine. “I wonder if you’ll feel their teeth when they rip your throat out…”
11
2015
SEASON 20, EPISODE 1:
“The Viper Room”
Thus embarked the drunkest first class to brave the Atlantic. Even the Amish girl knocked cocktails back with the best of them. Only Jiamin refrained, hiding behind an iPad, while I nursed a rum and Coke beside Troy.
Somewhere past Greenland, however, the drinks were abruptly cut off. When I asked Troy why, he briefly hesitated, gnawing his lip. “The others have done this enough times to know what it means, so I’m nottechnicallygiving you information they don’t have. Legally, contestants can’t compete with liquor in their systems, so we halt access to alcohol twelve hours before any competition.”
“You’re saying we’ll film a Tribulation right after we’ve landed?!”
“No, I’m telling you a firm production rule everyone knows,” he replied. “Zara, my co-showrunner, is adamant about the drinking. She deals with the liability stuff.”
“Won’t we shoot the opening credits first?”
“We haven’t done opening credits for a while. Wasted airtime.”
“Ecklund’s still hosting though?” I hadn’t seen him in years, but now I craved the certainty of that beer-stained polo shirt come to life.
Troy only gave me a cryptic wink, returning to his emails.
An hour later, I crawled over him for the bathroom, crossing paths with Jiamin. “God, these kids can drink,” I whispered.
“Were you expecting something different?”
“I guess it’s more noticeable at thirty-four than at twenty-two.” I shrugged. “When was your last season?”
She sighed, indulgence already fading. “Four years ago. I did three in a row before I stopped.”
“Same!” I said, probably too eager. “Are you close with anyone else who’s coming?”
“I mostly focus on nonprofit work now,” she said flatly, and stalked back to her seat.
I’d encountered enough of Jiamin’s type over the years: folks too polite to admit they’d already formed their (unflattering) opinion about you. If I was too controversial for sensible players like Jiamin and too old for Hartt’s rabble-rousers, I’d have to survive the first few episodes on athleticism alone. Nonetheless, I was cautiously optimistic I still had some gas in my tank. One of the perks of being a stay-at-home dad was I’d maintained my exercise regimen. No matter what anyone said about the person inside, no matter how broken I appeared, my body was the one thing I still trusted to help me withstand this game.
Two other cast members were waiting at the airport when we landed in Rome, fresh from St. Petersburg. “I spy some sexy commies!” Hartt cheered upon seeing Tatianna and Aspen at baggage claim. They’d headlined the short-lived (and terribly titled)White Russians, which tracked the scantily clad scions of Russian oligarchs, partying in Miami until their visas expired. The jaded Tati sported a blond bob with blue tips, while beefy vacant Aspen was pumpkin-orange in a mesh tank and white cargo pants, diamond studs gleaming in his ears. I wondered if he was one of thegay guys Hartt alluded to. His face was handsome in a pinched way, but I didn’t anticipate us connecting. I attempted cursory conversation with Tati instead, though when I inquired what she’d originally moved to the States to pursue, she blankly replied, “Trolls.”
She produced her phone to reveal elaborate dioramas of little troll dolls in schools, cityscapes, even farms. “Trolls, yes? Modern art. I buy used on eBay and arrange little… how do you say,scenes? They sell big with people who collect installations.”
“It’s cool you still filmEndeavorwhen you’re doing so well with your art.”
“Who said I do well?”
“… Didn’t you say they sell big with people who collect installations?”
She stared back, face terse. “The three people in the world who buy installations. What, you know somebody? I do commission for right price.” I shook my head, and she shrugged, unfazed. “I also design kaftans.”
“Separate from the trolls?”
“No, they have troll faces on them. Very popular in Midwest US.”
Our private bus drove north into the burnished hills of Tuscany, and I drifted off against the window, only shooting to groggy attention once Troy announced, “Welcome to Cortona!”
