Daniel Abraham - Inside Straight

“You’re wrong about him,” Ana said.

“No, I’m not. Just wait, it’ll be Diamonds House he sneaks back from next.”

“Yeah. But he’s not going after every woman on the show. He’s never looked twice at me.”

Kate glanced at her, distracted from her introspection. Then, she laughed. “Is he really that shallow?”

Ana was fairly sure he wasn’t, but on this matter, she couldn’t argue.

“Don’t worry about it, Ana. He’s totally not worth it.”

More cameras invaded the next day. Like Ana could be bothered by the presence of more cameras. But these came with complications.

John Fortune opened the door to the house without knocking. “Hey—John here! Anyone home?”

“Yeah.” Ana came out to meet him from the kitchen, where she’d been snacking. She’d been taking advantage of the food she didn’t have to buy or cook herself. That was probably what the cameras would show—round-faced, unsvelte Ana, always eating. “What’s up?”

“We just stopped by to do some interviews. Where is everyone?”

“I thought you guys check the footage every day.”

“We haven’t gotten to last night’s yet.”

She said, “There was kind of a blow up. Big TV drama, as Bugsy would say.”

“Then it’ll be a good time for interviews, won’t it?” Michael Berman, all smiles, pushed his way in past the couple of crew who were lugging equipment. “Is Curveball around?”

Ana felt her gaze darken, her expression shutting down. Getting protective. Kate did not need to be talking to this guy today. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Berman persisted.

“Yeah.”

John, always diplomatic, stepped between them. “We’ve got five other people here to interview. Maybe DB—he’s always ready to talk. We’ll be setting up on the back porch.”

Oh, not the backyard…

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Ana said, fidgeting suddenly. “That may not be such a great idea. I’m not sure you want to go out there.” What was she going to tell them? It wasn’t like she could hide it, they’d see footage of the whole thing.

“Why not?” John said—and headed straight for the back door.

Ana followed him. Even from the window the churned-up soil and mounds of earth were visible. How was she going to explain this? Maybe she could put it back the way it was. Flatten the ground, talk Gardener into planting some grass …

“Holy shit!” John stepped onto the porch.

Quickly Ana said, “I—I was sort of … practicing.”

When he turned to her, though, he was smiling. “That’s a real mess out there.”

“Yeah, well. The craters are Kate’s.”

John just kept grinning. “Oh man, I love you guys.”

Drummer Boy dwarfs his chair, dwarfs the surroundings. He fills the frame, so that it’s hard to tell if it’s a trick of the camera that makes him seem huge or if he really is that big. All six hands are in motion, tapping the arms of the chair, tapping the air as if working imaginary drumsticks, or just twitching to an unheard beat.

His expression changes in response to a question. He glares, evoking the punk rock persona that made him the front man for the hottest band going. When he speaks, all six hands clench.

“You want to know who I think should win? Who the cares! This whole thing is bogus. Everyone who says I’m just here to get publicity for the band? They’re right, ’cause that’s all this show is good for. Cheap thrills and shameless self-promotion. It sure as isn’t about heroics. Maybe Kate’s right. Maybe I should just worry about getting all the hot chicks here into bed and let the show take care of itself.” He laughs, then, but the sound is bitter. “All of ’em except her . ’Cause if she wants a reputation as the Ice Queen, that’s fine with me.”

A rare look of uncertainty darkens his gaze for a moment, as if he’s realized he’s said too much. But the expression only lasts for a heartbeat, to be replaced by his usual, solid glare.

First among losers

Jonathan sat at his laptop and didn’t write. The cursor blinked.

Well, I’ve been voted off .

He backspaced to the beginning and sat, tapping his hands on the kitchen table. It was smaller than the formal dining table big enough to house almost thirty people. This one would only fit ten or twelve, even though there were only three of them in the great rambling mansion they called the Discard Pile.

Or, colloquially, Losers Central.

The thing about Hollywood is that it’s made up of total fakes and posers. Television is brimming over with people who have the depth of mud puddles and the compassion of sex-starved piranhas. I’m actually glad to be off the show. Delighted. Seriously .

He highlighted and deleted it.

The problem was how to deal with the public in a way that acknowledged the humiliation of having gotten booted in the first round without actually losing face. It wasn’t a simple thing.

“Hey!” Joe Twitch said, “Isn’t this place fucking great?”

Jonathan looked up. “Joe …” he began.

Twitch held up a hand fast enough to make a whooshing sound like some cheap kung fu sound effect.

“I know, you buy the whole ‘we lost’ thing,” Joe Twitch said. “But I’m telling you, they’re gonna bring us back. Like later in the show, we’re gonna go back in. Why else are they keeping us in this kick-ass mansion, eh? Butlers and maids and everything. There’s a pool.”

“Joe,” Jonathan said. “We lost. They’re keeping us around because they think we’re amusing. We’re a fucking sideshow.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Joe Twitch said. “But you wait. You’ll see. These shows do it all the time. Bait and switch, they call it. Or hey, bait and twitch. Get it? Twitch and … Ow!”

Twitch slapped himself fast enough to make a little popping sound where the air rushed back in behind his arm, and Jonathan felt one of his wasps die. It was a small price to pay.

“Can’t you keep those things under control?” Twitch asked. “Fucker stung me.”

“Sorry. Sometimes a few just slip out,” Jonathan lied. “You should put something on that welt, though. I think they have something in the bathroom.”

Joe Twitch vanished. The laptop stayed the same.

Some people might say we’ve lost. I think of it as being differently victorious .

[Backspace.]

John Fortune came into the kitchen with a couple of grocery bags on each arm. He smiled and nodded to Jonathan.

“Hey,” Jonathan said. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good,” Fortune said, hauling the sacks up to the countertop. “Just got a little snack food for you guys. And a new controller for the video game console. King Cobalt broke the last one.”

“He gets excited,” Jonathan agreed.

“At least he’s having fun, right?”

Fortune started unloading the food, stocking up the refrigerator and pantry.

“How’s it going?” Jonathan asked.

“What?”

“The show. You know, the next challenge. The teams.”

Curveball , he didn’t say.

“I think things are going pretty well,” Fortune said. “They don’t really let me in on much. Just do this, get that. But Peregrine seems happy with things. And Berman’s as happy as he ever gets.”

“Berman?”

“Network guy,” Fortune said. “He was at the Chateau Marmont. Armani suit.”

“Twentysomething, visibly without conscience, hitting on all the women in descending order by cup size?”

“That’s the guy,” Fortune said. “I have the honor of delivering his dry cleaning to the office next.”