We Interrupt this Transition

CHAPTER NINE: Pre-Show

A few months later….

 

The contestants started lining up outside DarkRoom Studios in Gardenia. Garden had rented two soundstages specifically for the event, and already a queue was forming.

Near the front of it, Victor Rubin was applying powder to his face using a handheld mirror, carefully trying to avoid getting any on his leopard print ascot or sport coat. 

“Ugh,” scoffed the person in line behind him.

Victor looked over to see a man wearing a full charcoal gray suit and red power tie. Was this man auditioning for a role on a reality TV show or did he think he was waiting for a job interview at the accounts receivable department of purgatory? Victor wondered. 

“Beg pardon?” Victor asked. 

“I mean, what are you doing?” the suited man asked disdainfully.

“Applying powder. Helps to prevent shiny skin in front of a TV camera.”

“Oh,” said the suited man, surprised. “I thought you were putting on makeup.” 

“Well, I am,” said Victor. “It is makeup.”

“No, I mean, I thought you were like, putting on women’s makeup,” said the suit.

“Makeup is makeup. Unless you are referring to the woman Charlotte Tillbury, whose company made the makeup, as opposed to, I don’t know, Max Factor,” said Victor. “What does it matter, anyway?” 

“For a moment there I thought you might be one of those perverts who puts on makeup to sneak into women’s restrooms,” said the suit. 

Victor narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“Oh, Oscar.” Oscar offered a handshake.

Victor left him hanging. 

“Sorry. Can’t. Makeup on my hands,” Victor explained. “Victor.”

Victor went back to applying his makeup. 

“So,” said Oscar. “What do you think it’s going to be?” 

“Does it matter?” asked Victor, rhetorically. 

“Well,” Oscar rebutted, “yeah. I mean, this show better not have any woke crap in it. I miss when TV wasn’t all about trying to push some agenda, you know.”

“It’s a macho-man contest,” said Victor. “Hard to see how this would be ‘woke.’” 

“Well, it’s Hollywood, you know. Everything Hollywood does is woke,” explained Oscar.

“It’s Gardena,” said Victor. “Hollywood is about a half hour up the 110.” 

“You know what I mean,” said Oscar. “Like, every reality TV show, the Hollywood elites go out of their way to, you know, like, have a bunch of different minority groups and stuff, and weirdos and crazies with, like fursuits and pronouns. Like, where are the normal people? Where are the people who, you know, live normal, ordinary lives. Go to church on Sunday, pay their taxes, like, real Americans.” 

“Mmm hmm,” said Victor dismissively. “Let me guess, you’re ‘not here to make friends,’ you’re here to ‘win’?” 

“I mean sure,” said Oscar. “The money would be nice. But mostly I just want to show people what the backbone of America looks like. Maybe even speak some common sense. You know, tell people the truth for once.” 

“Ah yes,” said Victor, dryly. “Well, you certainly have your work cut out for you.” 

“Don’t I know it,” said Oscar, who missed the sarcasm entirely. 

The line moved forward, and Oscar and Victor moved through the double-doors to a security tent. After getting their bags searched and passing through a metal detector, a production aide at a booth asked for their names and IDs, and printed out their contestant name tags. Then they started to head inside. 

***

Rafael, having taken three bus transfers and walked three blocks, was starting to feel very overheated. Part of it was that he was wearing three layers of clothing - a button down checked shirt, over a heavy-metal t-shirt, over a binder. He ended up in the line right behind Jett and Bradley. 

“Hunh,” said Jett, carrying a parasol to keep the sun off of recently pink-dyed hair.  “More variety than I would have expected,” as he waited by the back of the increasingly growing line with Bradley. “How do I look?”

Jett hiked up his white thigh-high socks, pulled down on his crop-top t-shirt, and smoothed out his plaid skirt. Bradley grinned. 

“You look great, as always,” said Bradley.

“Awesome. So, looking around at the other contestants, doesn’t this seem weird to you?” Jett continued. 

“How so?” asked Bradley.

“It’s a macho-man contest. I was expecting like, a parade of hunks, and yeah, there’s a couple, but there’s also a few bears, a couple twinks, some otters… something’s going on here, and I’m really hoping I’m right about it being super genderfucky.”

“It couldn’t be that thing the queens were talking about at Hamburger Mary’s, could it?” Bradley said, concerned. 

“No way,” said Jett. “I’ve thought about it, and it’d be horribly illegal.”

Bradley quickly turned around to get a better look at the competition, and when he recognized - or sort of recognized - Rafael, he did a double take. “Hey! Uh, you look familiar, but I can’t quite place you - have we met before?” 

Rafael looked up at Bradley and thought, and then it came to him. “Oh, right! Yeah, You’re… Brandon?”

“Close! Bradley.”

“Yeah, I think we must have run into each other a couple months ago at the L–” Rafael stopped mid sentence as he realized he was just about to accidentally out Bradley at the ‘macho man’ contest, which might not be a great idea. “...el Rio Mexican restaurant?” 

Bradley shook his head. “Probably not. I’ve never even heard of El Rio. Maybe it was at the center in WeHo?” 

Rafael winced in embarrassment. 

“Yeah. I’m Rafael. Nice to see you again. You're here for the contest thing, right?” 

“Yeah, Jett and I both applied, we both got picked. Oh, right, this is my boyfriend, Jett!” said Bradley. 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Jett. “So, are you with the crew or something?” 

“Uh, no,” replied Rafael. “I’m a contestant.” 

“Us too!” said Bradley, and high fived Rafael in celebration. 

Jett was more than a little confused. 

“Er, yeah, but…” started Jett. “How did you… I thought this was a men’s only contest.” 

Rafael frowned. “It is,” he said. “And I am.” 

Jett looked Rafael up and down, curiously. 

“Seriously?” asked Jett. 

“Jett,” admonished Bradley, softly. “You’re being rude.”

“I mean, uh, yeah,” said Jett. “Okay.” 

“I’m trans,” explained Rafael, in frustration. “I’m a trans man.” 

“Oh,” said Jett. “Right, right.” 

Jett looked around uneasily. 

“Hey, Jett. You okay?” said Bradley.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just was kinda thrown for a loop there,” said Jett. 

“I actually kind of assumed you might be trans,” said Rafael, “until Bradley called you his boyfriend.”

“Pshh,” said Jett, dismissively. “No. As if. Don’t really see the point in the whole trans thing. I mean, why not just wear the damn clothes you want - be as hot as you want, and still be a guy, you know? That’s what I don’t get about those so-called trans women. You don’t have be a woman if you want to fuck men.”

“There’s more to it than that,” said Rafael. This femboy was really starting to get under his skin. 

“Is there?” said Jett. 

“Yes,” said Rafael, with conviction. “A lot more.”

Rafael sighed, and hoped the entire competition wasn’t going to be like this. Jett’s dismissals reminded him too much of his mom, who kept saying that he didn’t need to be a trans man when ‘she’ could just be a butch lesbian instead. Of course, one of the two things keeping him from being a lesbian was that he didn’t like women sexually. 

The other was that he wasn’t a girl. 

Still, his parents treated his transition as nothing more than ‘a phase’ and insisted that someday he’ll ‘admit it’s okay to like girls’ when he ‘comes out of the closet for real’ - ha! like it wasn’t real when he asked to go on puberty blockers and got flatly denied, like it wasn’t real when he headed to Planned Parenthood by himself on his eighteenth birthday to get a consult for testosterone. 

Until just this moment, Rafael thought it might be a generational thing. But this… flaming gay guy in women’s clothing just set that theory on fire and pissed on the ashes. Stupidity is not limited to age, nor it seems, heterosexuality.

“Oop! Line’s moving,” said Bradley.

Indeed, it was. Bradley let Jett step a few paces ahead of him to talk to Rafael. 

“Hey, uh, Rafael. I don’t know if I should have said something but uh, I’m sorry for not speaking up for you in front of Jett. It’s just that… he’s my boyfriend, and… uh, you know how it is, right?” 

“It’s okay, Bradley,” Rafael lied, because no, it wasn’t fucking okay. “I’ve heard a lot worse.” 

***

Leonard and Ethan were a little frazzled after a two hour drive up north via the I-5. But finally they made it to the address specified in the email.

”Hunh. I think DarkRoom Studios is right over there. What does that sign say?” said Leonard, driving his Kia Rio, pointing at a medium size sandwich board placed in front of the studio.

“‘Untitled Garden Alpha Reality Project,’ and then right under that, it says ‘Don’t park at Hustler Casino, they will tow.’” Ethan said from the passenger seat. “Looks like we just park in the street. We’ll have to walk a bit, I guess.”

More than a few other people - almost all of them men - were taking the same option - parking in the street and walking over to the studio entrance. There was already a long queue.

The nearest available space was three blocks away, and Leonard had to really put all his parallel parking skills to the test to squeeze into it. 

“Do you have the paperwork?” he asked Ethan. 

“Yep,” said Ethan, holding up a pocketed folder. “And backup pictures on my phone. And my tablet.”

“You brought your tablet?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know how much waiting around they’d have us doing, so I decided to load up on ebooks.” 

“Damn, wish I had thought of–” Leonard was cut off as Ethan reached behind him and handed him a paperback copy of The Thursday Murder Club, by Richard Osman. 

“I believe the rappers say, ‘ya boy has ya back,’” said Ethan. 

“Hell yes, Ethan. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

They headed out of the car. Leonard stopped by to set up his phone for filming and clipped on a travel lavalier microphone to his collar. 

“You’re serious about this Jordan Klepper thing, aren’t you?” Ethan pointed out. 

“As serious as you are about making your sister Kayla eat humble pie. Why not have some fun with it?” said Leonard, shutting the trunk and starting to walk towards the queue. 

Once they got in line, they were soon joined by an impressively fit twenty-something man wearing an UnderArmour t-shirt, comfortable sweatpants, and athletic sneakers. Next to him was someone who was clearly his buddy, a less athletic, shaggy-haired man wearing a bowling shirt and cargo shorts with flip-flops. 

“Hey,” said the shaggy-haired one, “Is this the line?”

“Yep,” said Leonard. 

The shaggy-haired one and the athletic one high fived each other. 

“Alright! Time to kick some ass!” said the athletic one. 

Leonard already had the camera rolling. 

“So, hello. I’m Ethan. This is Leonard. Well, he’s Lenny. Everyone calls him Lenny. Except me. I call him Leonard because I first saw his name in print and it kind of stuck. I asked him if he wanted me to start calling him Lenny, but he said he was cool with it.” 

“Hey,” said Leonard.

The athletic one offered a handshake. Leonard took it, then offered it to Ethan. “I’m Jacob, and this absolute legend over here is Gooch. We’re both kinda psyched we got picked for this.”

“I’m hoping it’s like, some sort of Ninja’s Got Warrior Blood Ultimate Challenge where you’re like, there’s a series of platforms you have to jump on with like a spinning rod that you have to duck or something, and then at the end you get thrown into a pit of mud by a weird Japanese mascot, named Chichi-kun.” said Gooch.  

“That is oddly specific,” Leonard said. 

“It’d likely be Chichi-san

,” said Ethan. “Chichi is a humble way of referring to your own father in formal speech, you’d want to use a more formal honorific.” 

“That is even odder and more specific,” said Leonard. 

“I watch a lot of anime,” explained Ethan. 

“So,” said Jacob, “Weird safety briefing video they sent to us, right?” 

Leonard nodded. “I mean, I suppose. They probably want to have all the liability covered. Though it was a little strange that they specifically mentioned not to bring snakes or reptiles.” 

“Twice,” said Ethan. “But that’s not the part I found strange. What I’m more worried about was when they explained that during this first info session, that we were specifically instructed to stay calm when the twist of the series would be revealed to us, and that they expected that almost every contestant would drop out of the running after hearing what the twist was.”

“It’s reality TV,” said Gooch. “There’s always a twist.” 

“Yeah, but what could be so twisty that most guys would drop out after just hearing about it? I have a theory,” said Ethan. 

“Oh,” said Jacob. “Go on.” 

“They’ll offer to pay us for our spare organs. Why else would they need to take a blood test from us if we decide to participate?” 

Leonard and Jacob laughed, but Gooch was deadly serious.

“No man, I think the kid’s got a point. What if this is all like some sort of secret way to harvest organs to make Biff Mozos immortal or something,” said Gooch. 

“You think that could be possible?” said Leonard, egging Gooch on, in an attempt to get some good content on camera. 

“All I know is, billionaires are weird dudes, that’s all I’m saying,” said Gooch. “Guy owns Garden, arguably one of the biggest companies on the planet, and he goes to space in a rocket shaped like a penis. I mean, if I was going to go back to space, I wouldn’t do it in a rocket shaped like a cock.”

“Back to space?” Leonard asked.

“What’s that?” said Gooch.

“You said back to space?” Leonard pressed the question.

“No I didn’t,” said Gooch. 

Leonard shook his head, figuring he must have heard wrong. 

“So, what line of work are you in?” asked Ethan of Jacob. 

“Oh, I’m a personal trainer, I work at L.A. Fitness but I make a bit of money on the side for one-on-one sessions,” said Jacob. “But Gooch here’s got his own business.”

“Really?” asked Ethan.

“Yeah, I dropped out of high school because I kept forgetting to show up, but I decided to start my own business - and it took off. It’s called ‘Puffs4Pets.’” 

“Puffs4Pets,” Leonard said. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

“Ah, yeah,” said Gooch. “I sell custom-made bongs. For pets.”

“Bongs… as in marijuana bongs?” asked Leonard. 

“For pets?” continued Ethan. 

“Yeah!” said Gooch enthusiastically. “‘For the Purrfect Puff of Meowijuana, or a Doggy Doobie with your CannaCanine.’ We also do custom orders.” 

“And this is a successful business?” asked Leonard.

“Yeah. Are you looking to become a franchisee?” said Gooch. 

Ethan and Leonard silently shook their heads. 

“Nah. We’re computer geeks,” said Ethan. 

“We’re not geeks,” said Leonard. 

“Oh. Sorry. Leonard is not a geek,” said Ethan. A pause.

“I’m pretty sure I’m a geek,” Ethan clarified. 

“What kind of a geek are you?” asked Jacob. 

This was it, thought Leonard. Jacob and Gooch - like all the other jocks he knew growing up - would spring on Ethan’s exposed weakness and he’d be ready to counter with some devastating quips, putting the musclehead and the dropout dud in their place. His lips twitched into a pre-smirk.

“I’m a computer science major at UCSD,” said Ethan. 

“Oh?” asked Gooch. 

“Mostly focused on Python, though I’m teaching myself Rust. Rust is interesting because it’s a low level language that allows you to access your hardware and memory directly, instead of having to go through an abstraction layer or deal with the nuisance of a garbage collector when variables go out of scope. It uses a concept called ‘ownership’ to keep track of what variables are in memory and when they’re no longer needed,” Ethan infodumped.  

“Awesome,” said Jacob.

Gooch nodded approvingly. 

“Yeah man. Sounds like you’re passionate about it,” said Gooch. “And it’s like me with my pet bongs, and Jacob with personal training. If you enjoy doing it, it’s not work, right?” 

“Oh,” said Leonard, realizing that these guys were actually nice, and feeling like a shit for wanting to make ‘content’ out of them. 

“Oh, what’d you guys do for your video?” asked Jacob. 

“Oh, we basically just introduced ourselves. Leonard talked about how he wants to do stand-up. I talked about how I’m getting revenge on my sister,” said Ethan.

“Trust me. She deserves it,” said Leonard. 

“Oh. Maybe we didn’t have to go all out, then,” said Jacob.

“Nah, are you kidding, Jake? It was awesome. I built this obstacle course out of a children’s playground, and Jacob here ran through it like a beast. Didn’t even let the concussion stop him.” 

“The concussion?” asked Ethan, wincing. 

“Don’t worry,” said Jacob. “It was a very light concussion.”

“I was so nervous during the teleconferencing call,” said Ethan. “Was pretty sure they weren’t going to pick me.”

“Nah, I think they pretty much picked anyone who wasn’t completely crazy or like, an obvious threat,” said Jacob. “I mean, they approved me, and Gooch was in the background mooning the camera in mine.”

“What?” Ethan and Leonard said. 

“Yeah, Gooch and I have been in this game since middle school where we moon each other unexpectedly,” said Jacob. “It started in middle school when I mooned Gooch when his parents were renewing their wedding vows.”

“Oh god, you remember that time we were both trying to moon the other, and we were there with our asses out, trying to get the other one to turn around first, but neither of us did, so we just like, stood there, bare-ass out, back to back in some sort of reverse high noon, and then your mom walked in to offer us some lunch and asked us what the hell we were doing?” Gooch smiled, as did Jacob who exploded into laughter.

“And this dick,” said Jacob, pointing to Gooch, “told her that we had invented the sport of ‘fart pong.’”

(‘Hunh,’ thought Leonard. ‘Maybe there’s a way to get some funny material out of this after all.’)

***

“We certainly have our work cut out for us, don’t we, Jimmy?” Erin said, in the makeup chair. 

“Nervous?” Jimmy was looking at the shot sheet he was committing as much as possible, to memory. 

Erin was dismissive. “Nah.” Then she admitted: “Well, yes. I didn’t think I’d get this nervous. I didn’t get this nervous on The Vocalist.” 

Jimmy put the shot sheet down on the makeup table. “Hosting is a bit higher stakes. It’s okay to be nervous. Just know you’re not doing this alone. If we need another take, I’ll call another take. Sam’s going to be in the booth, I’m going to be on the floor, and Julia’s going to be right there waiting in the wings, cheering the loudest. We’ve all got your back.”

“Still a big deal,” she said. 

“You know, Richard Dawson gave me some advice right before I started my first network primetime gig with Shark Attack.”

“Richard Dawson?” said Erin. “The Family Feud guy?” 

“That’s the one. He told me that what he really loved about doing the show was that he froze a moment in time for the families that had never occurred before. He called it ‘magic.’ Game show hosts are masters of ceremonies. We’re here to get the party started, to show everyone a good time.”

“Heh, Richard Dawson was a little bit of a dirty old man, always kissing the girls, probably not the best person to be taking advice from,” said Erin. 

Jimmy leaned in, and scooched his chair closer. “Actually, I asked him about that specifically.”

“Oh?” Erin raised an eyebrow. 

“Did you know that he’d always get permission before the show to do that? In writing?”

Erin’s other eyebrow joined the first one in shock. “No. No I did not.” 

“Yeah, on the contestant form there was a question: ‘Is it okay if Richard Dawson greets you with a kiss?’ Most said ‘yes.’ He started doing it because there was this one contestant who was very nervous, and so he kissed her. Just for ‘luck and love,’ as he put it.” 

“How come I’ve never heard this?” said Erin. 

Jimmy shrugged, and threw up his hands. “Racism. TV execs were upset that he kissed black women and white women equally.” 

Erin rolled her eyes. “Ugh, that tracks.”

“It was the late seventies, early eighties. I wish I could say it was different times - but… it’s not that different. Though he did cut the kissing out when he came back for the ‘90s revival.”

“And he helped you get your nerves out before Shark Attack?” Erin asked.

“More than that. He inspired me. All those little bits of banter I used to do with the contestants, gently ribbing them when they’d give a hilariously wrong answer? I got that from him. From Feud. I mean, everybody does it now, but he pioneered the idea that as a game show host, we can laugh with each other without laughing at each other. And that’s what I’ll tell you - let’s say you do mess up. Don’t worry about it. Laugh at the imperfections. We need imperfections. Imperfections are natural. Organic. It makes this seem real. We’ll all be laughing with you, okay?” 

An aide came by, and tapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “Say, Jimmy, the one contestant you told me you wanted to talk to arrived. He’s going through makeup right now.”

“I’ll be right there. Can you get Sheri to meet me in the green room?” Jimmy then turned back to Erin.  “Erin, you’re going to be great. You got this.”

Jimmy flashed a thumbs up, which Erin returned with heart-hands, and then Jimmy headed off. 

***

“Uuuuuuugh.” Jett squirmed, dramatically, in the contestant make-up area. “I wish you had just told us that we weren’t supposed to put on makeup before we left the house. I spent a good hour on this.” 

The makeup artist swung Jett around in the swivel chair, wiping off Jett’s makeup with a towelette. “Sorry. But we need to redo your makeup for a couple of reasons. Your makeup looks great in real life, but we need a couple different techniques for the lighting and cameras. Plus, there’s a contractual thing.”

“A contractual thing?” asked Bradley, from the next makeup chair over. 

“All makeup products by all cast and contestants have to be provided by M-A-C. It’s part of the product placement deal. Don’t worry, we’ll get you all spiffed up, but we need you to remove what you have on.”

Jett looked at Bradley, and whispered, “See, I told you! Why would a macho-man contest be sponsored by a makeup company! This has to be gender-fucky! I’m gonna be rich!”

However, he must not have been whispering soft enough, because Victor, at the next station down, joined in the conversation. 

“Not necessarily,” he said while his own face was being wiped down. “M-A-C actually tries to market itself to women and men. And that makes sense. It is an untapped market.”

Victor looked over at Jett, and looked him up and down.

“Well, relatively

untapped.” 

Victor’s makeup artist was annoyed with Victor’s application of way too much makeup. “What did I say? Hold still and let me get this off your face.”

“Again, apologies. I thought it would need to be long-lasting and durable under the lights,” said Victor.

Victor’s makeup artist wiped some sweat off his brow with his sleeve. “If you were going for stage makeup, yes, but this is television. On the cameras you’re going to look like Mike Meyers.”

Jimmy Howard walked into the contestant makeup area, turning a couple of heads on the way. 

“Hey, Vicki,” said Jimmy to the makeup artist at Rafael’s station. “Is Mr. Espinar nearly done?” 

Vicki applied some setting spray to Rafael’s face and nodded. “Yes. He’s done. Just needed a light touch.” 

Jimmy reached out to Rafael for a handshake. “Good, good. Rafael, hi, I’m Jimmy Howard. You remember, we spoke on the Zoom call?”

Rafael swallowed nervously and took the handshake. “Right, right. I’m Rafael.” 

Jimmy smiled warmly. “Yes, I know. I remember. And if I didn’t,” he pointed out, “you’re wearing a nametag.” 

Bradley looked at Jimmy and Rafael in confusion, and reached out to get Jett’s attention and direct it in that direction. 

Jimmy motioned towards the backstage area. “So, Rafael, we do need to talk to you specifically. I felt I should do this myself. C’mon, follow me.” 

Rafael, a little stunned, removed the makeup bib, and got out of the makeup chair and followed.

Jett laughed, which annoyed his makeup artist greatly. “Oh my god. Makeup sponsorships and they’re pulling the trans man aside for a ‘special talk?’ Bradley, what did I tell you? This is going to be gender-fucky as hell.”

Victor furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, but was that just Jimmy Howard? The game show host?”

Bradley smiled and nodded . “Yeah, I actually did my zoom interview with him and a woman named Sheri, so we know he’s attached to the project somehow. Jett did his with a woman named Sam and a man named Pranav.” 

“He’s directing, actually,” said Vicki, who moved down two stations to start work on Bradley. 

Victor’s eyebrows raised in surprise, which was handy, because that’s where the makeup artist needed to apply powder next.

“Hmm. Maybe you’re right. Maybe the twist is genderfucky.” He shrugged, and pointed to a man in a gray suit already seated on set. “If it is gender-fucky, Oscar over there is going to absolutely flip.”

Jett looked over to Oscar. “Ugh. Who wears gray on television?”

“People with no imagination or taste,” explained Victor. “Anyway, when they reveal the twist, best be ready with your best expressions.”

“Best expressions?” said Bradley. 

“You know. Your ‘I’m shocked and scandalized!’ face.” At this point, Victor portrayed his best shock and betrayal expression, and even did a fake gasp, leaving his mouth open in a wide “O”. It was incredibly hammy.

“I don’t think I can make that face,” said Bradley. 

Jett cattily smirked at Bradley. “Oh, sweetie, I’ve seen you make that face dozens of times.”

“When?”

“When do you think, Brad?” 

Victor offered a handshake to Jett, (because of course there was never any makeup on his hands.)

“Victor,” he introduced himself. 

“Jett. This is my BFFBFWFB, Bradley.” 

“BFFB– what?”

“It’s a private joke between us,” said Bradley. “Stands for ‘Best Friend Forever Boy Friend With Fabulous Beard.” 

“Ah,” said Victor. “I too am a ‘friend of Dorothy,’ though regrettably single.” 

Jett grinned. “Do you swing?”

Bradley looked horribly offended. “Jett! You know I don’t like it when you make those jokes, even though I know you don’t mean them.”

Bradley’s makeup artist guided him out of the chair and pointed him to the stage. 

“Sorry, Bradley,” said Jett. “I’ll see you soon, I want to make some suggestions regarding my color palette.” 

Jett’s makeup artist rolled their eyes. 

When Bradley was far enough away that Jett was sure he couldn’t be heard, he turned back to Victor, whispering. 

“No, but seriously,” said Jett. “Do you?”

Victor shrugged. “Maybe.” He didn’t. But this was good to file away for future reality-show drama fuel. Love triangles and infidelity were one of the classic Reality TV plots. 

***

Sheri was already waiting when Rafael and Jimmy arrived at the spartan but functional green room.

Jimmy held the door open for Rafael. “Rafael, this is Sheri, who’s a counselor and licensed psychologist.” 

Sheri headed over and shook Rafael’s hand. “So nice to meet you, Rafael. Always nice to meet a fellow ‘friend of Blahaj.’”

Rafael shook Sheri’s hand, but looked confused. 

“Okay? So… what’s going on?” he asked. 

Sheri sighed. “There’s only so much we can tell you. Legally, I mean. Game show laws apply, we can’t give you any information that gives you an advantage over the other contestants. But what we can say is that when you hear the twist of the show, you may think you’re ineligible to compete. We wanted to let you know - and I made sure of this personally - that you are absolutely eligible, and to reassure you that you’re going to be treated exactly the same as every other contestant.” 

“Okay, but… that’s,” Rafael stammered. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Jimmy patted Rafael reassuringly on the shoulder. “Sorry. That’s literally all we’re legally allowed to tell you. Don’t worry about it. It’ll all make sense once we make the big reveal.” 

Sheri crouched a little bit in order to make sure she was looking Rafael right in the eyes.  “And Rafael? If you decide to drop out right away, that’s fine. I’m going to be saying this a lot if you stick around, so get used to it - this is just television. It’s not real life, right?”

“Oh…kay?” said Rafael. “I’m afraid you’ve just made me more confused about what’s going on.”

Jimmy grinned. “Perfect! That level of confusion and disorientation is exactly what we’re looking for in our contestants. Now. Let’s get you to the soundstage and into your contestant’s chair.” 

As Jimmy escorted Rafael to the stage, Rafael realized he had a rare opportunity. “Mr. Howard? There’s one last question I want to ask you.”

“Yes? Go ahead.”

“There was this rumor growing up, that one of the contestants on Shark Attack got so scared of the animated sharks that–”

Jimmy cut Rafael off. 

“Ah, I see where you’re going with this.” Jimmy looked around, to the left and the right, then grinned with the gleam of a mischievous child in his eyes. 

Jimmy brought his voice to a low whisper, and leaned in, conspiratorially. “He did! Guy was so nervous and I think he might have been sick with something, and it reeked so bad we had to shut down filming for two days to air out the studio! If you look at the reruns, you can tell the difference between the episodes we filmed before and after, because there’s a slightly different pattern on the contestant seats.”

Jimmy held up a finger to his nose. “But if you tell anyone about this, I’ll deny everything!” Jimmy winked. “Good luck, Rafael!”

Rafael took his seat, laughing. 

***

Jimmy headed to the control room, where Sam was waiting and already set up with the headset. “I don’t know, Sam, I’m kind of disappointed we didn’t get a folding chairs with our names on the back of it,” said Jimmy, when he finally got up to the control room. 

Sam rolled her eyes. “First, these seats are far more comfortable, secondly, what are you, from the past? Where have you been?” 

“Wanted to give Erin some encouragement, and Sheri and I gave the ‘you’re going to be a real contestant’ talk to Rafael. God, I hope he drops out early,” said Jimmy. “He seems like a good kid.” 

“Right. Well, they’re getting the last contestants into the seats. Are you ready?” asked Sam, taking her executive producer seat as showrunner in the back. 

“Are you ready?” replied Jimmy, settling into the director’s seat, putting on a headset and looking at the screens in front of him, running his fingers over the buttons of the console. “This is your show.” 

“I’ve already gone to the toilet, Jimmy,” said Sam. “Don’t know what else I can do.”

“Oh, that reminds me…” Jimmy said, and pressed a button on the console. 

In the studio, Jimmy’s voice rang loud and clear over the speakers. 

“Good morning contestants. This is Jimmy Howard, the director speaking. We’re going to begin in about fifteen minutes, before we do, I have to give you a few safety messages.”

Jimmy cleared his throat. Out in the studio, more than a few curious heads turned towards the speakers. 

“First, this is probably your last opportunity to run to the bathroom. Secondly, if anyone has any water bottles or drinks, they need to have their lids secured and stowed away. We don’t want any accidents with the electrical equipment on set. When the show begins filming, you’ll hear a countdown over the speakers. It will go 5, 4, 3, and then the last two numbers will be silent. After that we’ll be live. Remember that anything you say can be picked up on the microphone, so if you can, try not to curse. Your mothers may be watching this.  Contestant number 108, stop picking your nose, we can see it from the booth.”

The assembled men laughed. 

“There is no contestant number 108, is there?” asked Sam. 

Jimmy silenced the microphone. “Of course not,” and winked at Sam. 

Jimmy flipped through his clipboard until he found the safety briefing. The one that the lawyer, Roen, had prepared for him. He turned the microphone back on. 

“Now, there are a lot of people here - if you’ve ever been on an airplane this is going to sound familiar. In the event of an emergency, calmly make your way down your row, down the stairs, and outside to the waiting area. It’s important that you promptly comply with all instructions from our safety staff… they’re the people dressed in all black, waving to you now.”

Indeed, in the studio, all the security guards and various production runners were waving. 

“There is also no smoking, including the use of electronic cigarettes.” 

Sam spoke into her microphone softly at the same time Jimmy was addressing the audience. “Sheri, Pranav, that’s your cue.” 

“Coming to the stage right now are two people who will be a part of this program the whole way through. Dr. Pranav Vadekar will be our lead medical advisor for any physical health questions, and Sheri Winston is our lead psychological advisor for mental health and stress management.”

The two stepped out onto the middle of the stage area and waved, to some light applause. 

“We’ll tell you more about their roles in the program later, but for right now, these two people have the right and the responsibility to overrule anyone else on set if it comes to your physical or mental health safety. If they tell you to do something, do it.” 

“In the meantime, hang tight and we will be filming in T-minus 10 minutes.” 

***

Erin would not stop tapping her heel against the ground in a steady staccato rhythm. “Julia, tell me truthfully, how do I look?”

“You look like a TV star,” said Julia, giggling. 

Erin nodded and smiled. Then frowned. “I should ask someone else. You’re my wife, you’re biased,” said Erin. She then turned to a random lighting professional. 

“Do I look okay?”

The lighting tech looked at Erin with incredulity. 

“No, you look terrible,” said the lighting tech. “In fact, Ms. Culver told me personally that I’m to take my beautiful face and sexy body-” the lighting tech was a pudgy, plain looking man in his late fifties “-and host the show, and you should secure this fill light.”

“Hmm,” said Julia, deepening her voice in a resonant Darth Vader impression. “The sarcasm is strong with this one.” 

“Thank you,” said Erin. “That helps.” 

Erin turned back to Julia, and kissed her gently on the cheek. 

“Ooh! What was that for?” said Julia. 

“For luck and love,” said Erin. “Luck and love.” 

Erin headed to her starting mark on the floor.

***

Jimmy, up in the control room, on the other hand was confident and ready. “Standby music. Get ready track 31, standing by for the pan, ready camera five, have a good show folks, here we go. And… roll it!

Jimmy raised his hand, and counted down on his fingers. “Five. Four. Three.”

The last two numbers were silent, as Jimmy counted them down on his fingers, then pointed directly at the screen.  

***