“Put me with Barnes,” PB said. “That way I’ll guarantee my time is slower.”
“Never thought I’d see you hell-bent on taking one for the team,” Imogen sighed. Since no one else knew about his contract, PB had told the girls his intention was to atone for his shenanigans in China, but I still understood Imogen’s reservations. He put an arm around my shoulder as he kept talking. The week before, I’d have shook him off instantly, but given the circumstances, I needed him. At least for now.
We paired Erika with Fortune next, only to realize where this math left us. I was grateful Imogen volunteered to go with Shawn, even if it meant I’d be paired with Greta.
“And I’m sorry, but I can’t fire on Shawn,” Melange said. “He screwed up royally, but he was a good partner to me. I can’t kick the puppy.”
“I get it,” I said, glancing to where Shawn sat hunched in a folding chair by craft services. His hoodie was pulled up, bare knees shivering in the crisp air, more specter than man.
Once we began, Melange’s aim proved peerless, even with the rainwafting intermittently through the forest. She shot Barnes twice in rapid succession, hitting him so precisely she even damaged his mic, Troy soon announced. After Barnes then missed the fifth bell and was DQ’ed, PB made good on his word and “forgot” to ring the last one.
Erika and Fortune both managed to complete the task before Shawn half-heartedly descended alongside Imogen, though the slippery terrain tripped him up. At one point, he collided into the rock, and it escaped before I could censor myself: “Careful!”
Despite his vacancy, Shawn completed the Tribulation, even if he was way behind Imogen. I knew his time would likely land him in the Trial, but it wasn’t my job to defend him anymore. Honestly, the sooner he was gone, the simpler this would become.
When my turn arrived, I stood on the promontory with Greta, Zara, and the stunt team. I peered down the rock face as I got in position, praying it wouldn’t trigger an encore panic attack like at the hotel in Shanghai.
My boot soles slid on the rock as soon as I rappelled over the side. I quickly identified a patch of moss and leapt to take advantage of the friction, steadying myself to smack the first bell.
To my right, an orange blur sailed into Greta’s back, a valentine from Melange. “I quit! Bring me up!” Greta instantly capitulated, still no fan of heights. Zara called to her in vain, but Greta was freaking out too much to properly hear that this was a one-way trip.
“Greta!” I shouted, trying not to detain myself. “They can’t pull you up. You can only rappel down, see?” I demonstrated on my rope for her, and she grudgingly followed suit, conceding a defeated smile as she passed me on her way down, already DQ’ed.
I continued with the bells, though they got trickier to reach each time. Right as I approached the final one, I heard a piercing screech below. I glanced between my legs to see Greta had landed clumsily in the mud, but the fall hadn’t prompted her exclamation. She was scurrying from Shawn, who raged at her, words indistinguishable.
And then it started. I gasped as he pitched handfuls of soupy mud ather. I released my carabiner, dropping rapidly, Shawn’s ragged cries growing more distinct as I sank: “… set me up? You put those videos on his phone yourself!? You were supposed to be my best friend!”
An hour later, Erika recounted the whole awful saga in the van. While Greta and I descended, Shawn had overheard Troy on a network call, relaying how the machinations Greta disclosed to me might affect storylines onBeverly Blonde—which is how Shawn learned the woman he’d once trusted so genuinely had orchestrated every recent calamity in his life.
Of course, that’s not what viewers ultimately see in the episode. A furious Shawn bolts past Fortune to inexplicably confront Greta the instant she touches ground, prompting PB to wrestle him away. Greta escapes through the mud on all fours as Imogen and Erika rush to her, Melange hobbling behind, orange rocket launcher still farcically in hand. Shawn howls about betrayal (certain details adeptly excised from the final sound mix), and Barnes seamlessly joins PB in dragging him off. I then plummet gracelessly into frame right as Shawn rounds on Barnes, releasing the single, solitary punch that lands squarely across his jaw.
39
2015
SEASON 20, EPISODE 9:
“Shawn of the Bed”
Imogen Cuthbert voluntarily cradling Greta Hendricksen was a sight I’d never imagined. “He wasn’t trying to actually hurt me,” Greta kept whimpering, though nobody disputed that.
While the camera and sound teams kept working, diligent as bees, the rest of the crew—from G&E to the stunned matron at crafty—froze on the sidelines. PB and Fortune hauled Shawn to video village, where Melange cupped his face, desperate to soothe him. Troy fretted over Barnes, examining his cheek like a career dermatologist, as Zara demanded a call with network legal. Meanwhile I was stuck hanging in my harness, knotted in the ropes and carabiners. I fought for a glimpse of either Shawn or Barnes, but both were eclipsed from me no matter how I craned my neck. An ambulance soon arrived to transport Barnes to the hospital per the show’s insurance requirements, and Fortune glumly took the bullet when Troy solicited volunteers to tag along and film with him. After I was finally freed from my gear by a benevolent stunt guy, I intercepted Barnes at the waiting ambulance, his jaw already turning colors. “Are you okay?”
“Honestly, I’m amazed it took this long for someone to hit me.”
I bristled at the camera on my left, too aware whatever I said could be repurposed later in an editing suite. “If I talk to the kids before you’re back, what would you like me to say?”
“That your doe-eyed boyfriend sucker punched their old man?” he replied, an undeniable flash of satisfaction in his eyes. “Say I smacked into the cliff going down.”
Troy brushed my shoulder, pushing past me to climb beside Barnes. “Coming, Luke?”
“No,” Barnes answered before I could. “He hates hospitals.”
The ambulance set off, sirens blaring, only to be outdone by a far more piercing cry from Greta: “Shawn, wait! I can explain!”
I pivoted to find Zara ushering Shawn and Melange into a waiting sedan. Shawn hid under his hoodie, almost floating between the two women. Despite my lingering anger, I joined Greta and Imogen in pursuing them—unsure what to say but knowing I had to say something—except PB and Erika halted us.
“Zara booked him a flight for tonight,” Erika said. “They’re driving him to the crew hotel downtown in the meantime. Zara thought it might help if Melange rode with him.”
