Inside Straight

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.

Daniel Abraham Jonathan Hive

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?”