“Cave of Blunders”
When Hartt slipped in the mud, it reminded me of my daughter falling on the playground—except she’s never cried as much,” I said, hitting the punchline hard.
A wry smile escaped Zara, but it vanished just as quickly. Taking Shawn’s advice, I’d brainstormed harmless ways I could incorporate the kids into interviews without exploiting them. At least that was the goal. As we finished my session, I briefly glimpsed a toddler in the snow on the home screen of Zara’s phone. Did we actually have something in common?
“I didn’t know you had kids.”
“Nephew,” she replied, not looking up.
I knew I shouldn’t, yet… “I’m sorry, but did I offend you somehow?”
She squared her shoulders. “Luke, I don’t know what your previous producers were like, but your position here demands being candid about your life. Mine, frankly, does not,” she said curtly. “If you have questions about your contract, I’m your point person. If you want to discuss yourfeelings, find Troy. We fulfill different purposes. Now, please get Melange. I need to interview her about eliminating Winston in the last Trial.”
My knuckles sufficiently rapped, I found Melange upstairs, dressed like an archbishop at a drag show. Shiny spiked epaulettes capped a red lace top and leather bra, her tresses crimped into a frenzy atop a crown of crucifixes. She struck a pose proudly. “So, am I serving Vatican Versace realness or what?”
“Sorry, I’m not that kind of gay.”
She grimly gave my T-shirt and jeans the once-over. “No one thinks you are.”
“Zara’s ready for you.”
“And they’re ready foryoudown the hall.”
“Who? For what?”
She winked coyly over her glimmering shoulder. “Deal with the devil.”
I entered our increasingly musty bedroom to discover Troy against the wall, two camerawomen and a sound guy flanking him. PB reclined on the bunk across from mine in a cut-up Harvard tank top, fondling an old tape recorder.
“The man of the hour!” Troy exclaimed. “PB asked to film with you, and I thought interview day could afford you two some privacy.”
I nodded to the tape recorder. “What’s that for?”
“Occasionally one needs receipts, but you I trust,” PB said, tossing it aside and gesturing me to my bunk. “So, how do you feel about your position in the game?”
“As a one-man Bad News Bear?”
“You might be at the bottom of the rope, but guess who’s the schmuck clinging above you?” He smiled wryly. “We’re floating, just like Melange, and it’s time we three unite against Hartt’s alliance. Those unimaginative goons will target you two for the Trials every time.”
“I can handle the Trials.”
“Yeah, congrats on rediscovering your balls the other night, but you won’t win this game simply by surviving every elimination.”
“I have before.”
“When you were achild.”
I inhaled, not appreciating his smugness. “And you care what I do because…?”
“Because I can reverse our trajectory, but even I can’t dismantle that voting bloc alone.”
“If you’re such a wunderkind, why isn’t anyone else begging for your help?”
“Do you know I’ve won this show four times?” he asked, and it was hard not to be impressed. “That doesn’t come without pissing people off. You and I, however, have a clean slate. Plus, Melange likes you, and her instincts are razor sharp.”
“You’ve had a week to approach me. Why come courting now?”
“Would you align on day one with a total stranger who hasn’t competed in a decade? No offense, but you’re not exactly up to speed on the state of this union,” he replied. “Do you even know why I startedEndeavor?”
