We disembarked into a tent village of production madness, the medieval town of Cortona cloistered on a hill a few miles off. Italian crew darted about, testing lights, assembling cameras.
“Remember, I want cameras rolling immediately after sunset!” a powerful female voice blasted in English from every walkie, followed by a maelstrom of Italian translation.
The voice approached: a severe middle-aged woman with a Michigan State ball cap fixed tight to her head. She’d donned a hunter-green plaid work shirt over faded jeans, piercing eyes rigorously scanning us. The rest of the cast volunteered greetings of varying enthusiasm but all deferential, even Vanessa. Before this power player reached me, Troy promptly appeared with a sweating iced coffee, fresh from craft services. “Luke, meet Zara Norris, my co-showrunner and the law of the land.”
Zara eked out a frigid smile. “Hi, Luke. I know this was a last-minute ask, so thanks for joining us. I’m sure the fans will be excited you’re returning.” Before I could blunder a response, she pivoted to the others, opening a sleek gray sack. “Time to surrender.”
As a production assistant distributed pre-printed adhesive labels, people dutifully turned off their phones and dropped them in the bag. “Per usual, these will be in a temperature-regulated safe during your tenure on the show,” Zara explained, then came to me, bag extended.
“Oh, sorry, I don’t think this applies to me,” I whispered sheepishly. “I get calls every day with my kids.”
Her eyes flashed ever so briefly, but she remained granite. “Your contract states you’re entitled to a daily video call, not what device you make it from. You’ll be using a production computer under our supervision.”
I felt the other contestants’ eyes, blood in the water. “That’s… not what I thought.”
“Zara, it’s my bad. I should’ve been clearer,” Troy interjected. “Luke, I’m sorry it feels like we’re springing this on you. Call your sister to explain, then we’ll take the phone?”
My hands were shaking, and I didn’t know if it was from rage or fear, the control already slipping away. I prayed the kids hadn’t already left for school, the rings tolling their merciless monotone, until: “We’re almost out the door, they won’t be late,” Jenny answered.
I heard Wallace call for me in the staticky cavern of our hallway, and my lower lip began a war to plunge to my chin. “Jen, it’s not that…”
“Wait—what’s wrong?”
I inhaled. If I was going to cave, it wouldn’t be five minutes after arriving. Not when I only had to endure one episode for the biggest check I’d receive any time in the near future. “Everything’s good. Just put the kids on.”
Stripped of my phone, I joined the others in a walled tent amid crunched water bottles and two sputtering fans, the Italian sun broiling us untilfilming began after dark. Eventually Vanessa knelt beside me, unhappily sober and basking before the lazy propellers of the fans.
“How much longer do you think?” I asked.
“Long enough to guarantee we’re pissed and sloppy on camera.”
I offered her a water from the nearby cooler, which she accepted grudgingly. She’d been fully ostracized by the other women, so maybe I had a fellow loner. “So… where’s home?”
“Can you not?”
“Look, I realize people expect me—”
“I don’t give two shits about your politics. I just don’tcare. I’m not interested in being your friend,” she muttered. “There are no friends here.”
“I had friends when I was on the show before.”
She eyed me blankly. “And how’d that work out for you again?”
The flaps of the tent parted, and in breezed Drew Ecklund, face considerably more tucked than when I saw it last. “My people!” he proclaimed before spotting me. “There’s the man I wanted… Luke the Duke, back in black!”
Drew swallowed me in a hug, and a smile escaped me, grateful for any known quantity. He nodded at Vanessa with an exaggerated wink. “I see you’ve met my favorite little firebrand.”
“Eat my ass, you human doughnut,” she replied, slinking away.
“She’s a charmer.” Ecklund’s hands flew to his face dramatically. “And God, I’msosorry about you and Barnes. Totally thought you boys would go the distance.”
“What can you do?” I shrugged, quickly steering the conversation elsewhere. “It’s so great to be back, though! I can’t wait to see how the show’s changed.”
“The Tribulations are insane now. Can you believe that Swiss kid lost his toe last year?”
Before he could elaborate, Troy returned. “Who’s ready to get Season 20 rolling?”
The guys would stride into the Arena shirtless wearing only blackcompression shorts, while the women donned black leggings and sports bras. Production assistants lugged in privacy screens, and we changed in shifts while local makeup artists did stray touch-ups. “Don’t get used to this. HMU’s just here tonight for entry looks,” Zara warned.
