“Didn’t you hear me? It’s not guaranteed,” I say, finally voicing one of the cons for taking this trip in the first place. The column in my mind I’d conveniently erased from the whiteboard when booking those blasted plane tickets.
“You’re a huge fan of the show,” he says, turning back toward me, fingers gripped on the edge of the dusty dresser.
“Sure. So is everyone that auditions. It wouldn’t be one of the longest running TV game shows without having legions of superfans.” Rationality has never been my strong suit, so I’m surprised at how reasonable I’m being. “Besides, we don’t know each other. They only cast pairs with interesting histories. I don’t think meeting in a hotel lobby and almost fucking counts asinteresting.”
“We have to do something!” he says, throwing his hands up in the air in apparent exasperation. “I can’t tell my mom I lost this job, which means I can’t be home during the day when I’m supposed to be working which means...which means...” He groans loudly and drops his head into his hands. I can tell by his motionless, sculpted shoulders that he’s not crying, but his misery is an overpowering fog creeping through the room.
The bed I’m sitting on becomes a boat, one with holes in the siding, filling and sinking and, just like Leo, I don’t have a flare to call for help. IfMadcap Marketis a half-inflated life raft floating by for both of us, shouldn’t we at least try to take it to safety?
It’s that question that prompts me to say in a tentative voice, “We could pretend to date.”
Leo’s head rises slowly, one eyebrow quirked. “Go on.”
“Strangers who almost slept together won’t get us on the show, but if we were a couple...” I say, the thought still forming fully. “I just think we’d have a better shot.” That’s why I wanted to audition with Buckley. I knew our relationship status would gain us brownie points.
A smile crests across his face. “Does that mean you’re in?”
Despite the ridiculousness of my uncharacteristic snap decisions, I decide I have to see this pipe dream of mine through and this devastatingly sexy no-longer-faux-concierge might be my only shot. This, like everything else related to this trip, could go up in flames so easily, but Leo’s kindness and honesty have wedged open my trust. I want to help him.
Caution? Meet Wind.
“Yeah, I’m in,” I say, anxious.
We shake on it.
Eight
Leo’s shocked expression tells me he was not prepared for the sheer level of intense love I possess for a grocery-themed game show.
“How many episodes of this are we going to watch exactly?” he asks. We have his laptop plugged into the TV through an HDMI cable. I’ve been giving him a crash course on the series, streaming and dissecting all my favorite episodes so he understands the tone, structure, and style. Pointing out which prepared package tapes make for the most compelling contestants. We’ll need those to craft our cover story, which is threading together loosely at best.
“No! You askedmeout,” Leo adamantly argued.
“Is it so unbelievable that you’d have made a move on me first?” It was a hit to my ego to say the least.
“Look, we’re already nerding up my reputation by saying we met in aMadcap Marketfan forum—which feels a little pandering, by the way—so this is the least you could do me.”
I sighed but relented, inking as much detail as possible onto a napkin from the takeout we ordered. When finished, I made us both sign it. It won’t hold up in court but having a physical manifestation of this agreement is pertinent. We have equal amounts to gain and lose.
“In our story, you’re a big fan. We’ve only watched four episodes so far,” I say. I’m browsing the streaming library for a specific episode—one Mom really loved.
“They’re an hour each.” Leo groans for emphasis.
I arch an eyebrow. “Do you have anything better to be doing and anywhere better to be?” He zips his lips at that, defeated. I would feel bad about the low blow, but we’ve been laughing over his hatred of the concierge position for the last few hours between episodes, so I know he won’t take it personally. I hit Play again on the computer. “It’s all about strategy. The better you know the game, the easier it will be plotting our plan of attack.”
“You sound like we’re going to war.”
“Have you been watching? It’s a battle just to make it to the finale. Did you not pay attention to the episode where they made them joust with stale baguettes while standing atop a tower of Campbell’s Soup cans?”
“If only Andy Warhol had been alive to see that. His art wouldn’t have been as shocking.” Leo’s sarcasm is playful and enjoyable. Buckley never had much of a funny bone, which isn’t to say he was humorless. It was more that he gave every aspect of life very serious consideration with little room for mindlessness.
After Mom died, I needed mindlessness. I needed escape. I needed someone who understood that. For the first time, I consider that our breakup was for the best. Maybe our paths were carved out too differently. Maybe I needed to venture off mine for a while, get lost, see what I find.
Turns out, I’ve found a former-faux-concierge who’s opposed to binge-watching. Even so, I lean over and notice he’s been taking notes on the hotel stationery pad. He’s got neat, organized handwriting. It’s endearing and makes my anxiety morph into excitement.
I wonder momentarily if this is the kind of adventure Dad had in mind during our call earlier today.
“There’s just one more episode I really want us to watch.” It featured a mother and son duo and while it’s never said explicitly, it’s alluded to that the son is queer and the mom couldn’t be more accepting. Annoyingly, I’m suffering brain fog and can’t quite remember which season that was, as if I haven’t seen each of these episodes a couple times.
