Magic Mansion (35 page)

Ricardo turned to the other side and eyed his butt. “You think?”

“Not without adding chaps…and I’d never hear the end of that. Besides, your package looks great as it is. Chaps would be overkill.”

True.

She wrapped his wrists in tape to complete the acrobat look, then told him to send Professor Topaz in. John murmured, “You’re killing me,” as they passed each other in the hall. Ricardo did his best not to indulge in a happily-gloating smirk.

Sue and Jia were waiting by the vestibule fountain, both of them cute as can be. Wardrobe had put Jia in a slinky red snake-charmer ensemble, complete with latex snake, and Sue in pale blue stunt-rider costume with a cowboy hat, high-heeled white cowboy boots and decorative silver spurs. “Holy crap,” Jia said to Ricardo, looking directly at his crotch. “Watch where you point that thing.”

Ricardo and Jia laughed, and it seemed as if Sue would too…until her chin trembled, and she gave a loud sniff. Tears welled in her eyes. Ricardo knelt beside her, took her hand, and said, “Suze? What is it?”

“I can’t stop thinking…about yesterday.”

Neither could Ricardo. But not for the same reason. “Homesick?”

“What? No. Not at all.”

“Okay….” Then Ricardo had no explanation for the tears.

“It’s the boyfriend,” Jia said. “Gotta be. Probably something he said.”

Sue squinched her eyes shut, then nodded. “Gary. His name is Gary.”

“Did he propose to you?” Jia asked.

Sue nodded again.

Maybe they were tears of joy. “And…you said yes?” Ricardo guessed.
 

Sue screwed up her face and shook her head no.
 

Ricardo supposed they hadn’t actually looked like tears of joy, only that he’d been hoping they were. One thing was for sure. He felt relieved Sue hadn’t accepted that weenie’s proposal. He sat down beside Sue and put his arm around her, and the dam broke. She mashed her forehead to his shoulder, cupped her hand below her eyes to keep from getting mascara on his leotard, and started to weep. “I told him…we’d talk about…it later.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Ricardo said. “We’re gonna be taping a challenge any minute now. Stop making your eyes puffy.”

“He’s right, you know,” Jia said. “And that was smart, what you told that guy. What was he thinking, trying to force you into making a decision like that when you’ve got this competition on your mind? Some people just don’t get it. He probably thought he was doing you a favor. Self-centered dope.”

Sue did laugh, then. A timid, wet chuckle. “He is kind of a dope.”

Jia patted her knee. “Just because someone asks you to marry them doesn’t mean you’re obligated to say yes. Women are trained to put everyone else’s happiness above their own. But you wouldn’t be doing him any favors if you went ahead with it when you didn’t really love him.”

Sue’s tears slowed as Jia warmed up to her own tirade of advice.

“Who says you need to get married, anyway? You know what I think? You need to get to know
you
better. Work on your career. Pick up a few hobbies. Figure out what you want out of life. And this guy, if he’s not willing to wait? Then screw ’im.”

“Screw him,” Ricardo repeated.

“Yeah,” Sue echoed. “Screw ’im.”

“Screw who?”

Kevin Kazan. Ricardo felt his heart sink at the sound of Kevin’s voice. Why couldn’t he have been the one eliminated instead of Faye? The three Magicians sitting on the edge of the fountain looked up—
screw you
undoubtedly hanging there at the edge of Jia’s tongue—but she contained herself, and instead they just looked.

Kevin was all bulging oiled pecs and blackletter tattoos in a strong-man costume, with a broad leather belt, leopard print shorts, and thick leather cuffs.

Ricardo’s wardrobe assistant had been wrong. There was a costume gayer than the white leotard. It just wouldn’t have fit him. And, damn it all, the black bowler they’d dug up looked good on that creep, too. Ricardo was jealous for a moment there…until John stepped out of wardrobe.

John towered over Kevin in his trademark top hat—but this one had a red band to match his red bow tie and brocade vest. The vest was fitted within an inch of its life—no doubt a few staple-gun tacks were in place to make it look as painted-on as it did, contrasting gorgeously with the flowing sleeves of the white silk shirt. His plain black slacks were tighter than he normally wore them, too, leading Ricardo’s eyes down, down, down the long stretch of his thighs. To his over-the knee black leather boots.

And his whip.

“You’re drooling,” Jia whispered.

Iain bustled into the foyer with his phone at his ear, saying, “…I know it doesn’t look as realistic, but if we used actual popcorn we’d be fending off seagulls all day….” He trailed off his phone conversation, gave the contestants each a long look and said, “Not bad. But where’s Bev?”

The door to the third wardrobe room opened, and there Bev stood, all in white, filling the doorway. The entire doorway.

They’d dressed her as a clown.

It was a Perrot clown at least, classic white-on-white, and not the comedy whiteface type that’s the subject of many a phobia. Even so…it wasn’t exactly Bev’s most flattering look. Perrot’s outfit was supposed to be elegant. Bev appeared as if she’d just wandered out in her very large pajamas.

Iain stared for a moment, and then said, “Okay, let’s go. We don’t want the big slushie melting on us.”

They trooped outside, where Iain took a second look at Sue and sent her off to the stylists to have the bags under her eyes dabbed with hemorrhoid cream. Ricardo didn’t have much attention to spare for Sue’s predicament, though. He was too busy taking in Monty in his ringmaster ensemble, all skin-tight white riding pants, shiny knee boots and high-cut red tux jacket with tails and yards and yards of gold braiding and fringed epaulets.

And the bleachers.

And the bouncy house.

And the crane at the far end of the lot with six trapezes hanging from it.

“Wow,” Bev remarked. “Is that red Kool-Aid in the swimming pool? Muriel will be so disappointed she missed it.”

A carpenter tacked a sign that read
Kevin
above one of the trapezes. A sound man at the top of the bleachers announced a check, and a musical note blasted from the platform that shook the palm trees. A pickup truck with a bed full of ice backed up to the red swimming pool and a bunch of assistants started shoveling it in.

“They’re not gonna make us go in there,” Jia said, looking apprehensively at the pool. “Are they?”

Ricardo suspected they were. And that once he did, his package in its white leotard would look nowhere near as impressive.

Once the shuffling and the prep were complete, the contestants lined up with Monty facing them, and the cameras rolled.

“Welcome, Magicians, to the final challenge of Circus Week. In many ways, life is like a circus. It’s colorful and loud. It’s full of dizzying highs and plummeting lows. It’s got its fair share of clowns. And it often…leaves you hanging.

“In this elimination, you’ll be contending with your very own circus, Magic Mansion-style. Today, each of you will be a ‘circus of one’ in a timed challenge. First, it’s up the bleachers where, at the top, you’ll find a calliope. Play a note to announce your circus has come to town, then run back down and proceed to the refreshments.”

Monty turned to the bouncy house. “Next, it’s a trip through the attractions—complete with popcorn.” An assistant opened the front panel to reveal the blowup pen was filled with foam packing peanuts. “Once you’ve had your fill, it’s into the pool to slake your thirst with a refreshing frozen drink.

“Your goal is to complete these tasks in the least amount of time, racking up the fewest seconds on the scoreboard. And then, it’s showtime. And your
performance
…could change everything.”

Everyone looked to the trapezes.

“Each trapeze is marked with a name. Find yours, jump up, grasp the bar with your hands, and hang on. Every second you’re able to stay on your trapeze is a second you’ll be able to use strategically to adjust your score. Are you ready?”

“Flexed arms on the trapeze,” Kevin asked, “or locked elbows?”

“‘Are you ready’ was a rhetorical question,” Iain called out, striding up with a clipboard. “Here are the actual rules.” He guided an assistant through the course, showing everyone specifically which marks they needed to hit, ending with the trapeze dangle. While they watched, wardrobe assistants replaced their shoes with gymnastic flats so no one popped the bouncy house with a heel or a spur. “And on the trapeze,” Iain told Kevin, after he consulted with each of his phones, “straight arms. This isn’t a chin-up challenge. Questions? No? Okay, Monty, go ahead.”

“One more thing.” Monty indicated the scoreboard, which now showed six positions—with a white line above the bottom two. “Someone who falls below this line…will be going home. So move fast, and hold on tight.”

Ricardo’s focus was all on the bleacher stairs. He could take them, no problem. But Sue, beside him, was readying herself too. She was a strong runner, with long legs. And speaking of long legs, John would probably make short work of—

An airhorn sounded, and Monty shouted, “Go!”

Ricardo ran.

John was off like a rocket, bounding up the bleacher stairs like they were regular stair-steps. Petite Jia fell behind quickly. Ricardo pounded up the metal seats neck and neck with Kevin and Sue. A blat of a calliope, and John was already on his way down, huffing, “Be careful,” at Ricardo on his way past.

Up top, Sue slapped the calliope keyboard first, then Ricardo, and right on his heels, Kevin. But Kevin didn’t stay in fourth place for long—he gained ground on the way back down the bleachers, and pulled ahead of Ricardo. The calliope bleated above them as Jia finally gained the top, while poor Bev was still struggling up, one step at a time.

The bouncy house was rocking by the time Ricardo leaped into the packing peanuts. It looked as if it should have been easy enough to power through them, especially since the guy who’d demonstrated the stunt had done it in a less than a minute. But the demo guy hadn’t had three other flailing magicians in there with him. Ricardo took a step, and someone else fell, bouncing him off his feet. Ricardo didn’t go down, exactly, with packing peanuts surrounding him on all sides. But neither could he lever himself up. Everywhere he tried to push off, with either a hand or a foot, he only sank deeper into the packing foam.

Finally, unable to think of any other way to propel himself toward the bouncy house exit, he attempted to swim. The foam peanuts geysered up in a whispery crunch. Someone else fell—or maybe the same someone—and the displaced force caused a wave that rippled through the fake popcorn. Ricardo found himself propelled forward, and suddenly the exit was in sight. He clawed toward it, foam susurrating all around him, when behind him a distinct crack sounded, followed by a gasp and a curse.

Ricardo realized he’d never heard John say, “Fuck,” before.

He turned to look, flailed, and smacked his hand against the vinyl wall. Unlike the packing peanuts, which only sifted away under his grasp, the wall had some grip to it. Not a lot—it was flexible, after all. But enough. Splay-fingered and glad for the sweat on his palms that allowed him to stick, Ricardo dragged himself along the inflatable wall until he came to the gap. In a spill of packing foam, he tumbled down the exit slide and onto the lawn…the first one out.

He allowed himself only the smallest glance behind him—Kevin and John were bursting out of the popcorn foam, though who was gaining leverage by holding on to whom was unclear.

Then John brushed away the packing peanuts that were clinging to his face, and Ricardo saw it was covered in blood.

Paralysis locked Ricardo in place, until he saw John had no intention of stopping—and neither did Kevin. Ricardo turned and ran toward the pool, but the momentary hesitation had cost him. Kevin drew abreast of him by the time they reached the edge of the pool. John not only passed them, but launched himself into the slushy red water with a powerful jump that carried him nearly a quarter of the way across the pool’s length.

Ricardo did his best to imitate the maneuver, and actually had a moment, mid-air, when he thought he might gain ground on Kevin by virtue of being more aerodynamic.

And then he hit the water…and the cold hit him.

A 55-degree ice rink was one thing. A 55-degree swimming pool was another. He burst out of the water, gasping, but the cold was like a fist that locked his ribs tight to his lungs, squeezing out his breath. Kevin bellowed in pain when he plunged in, and the encouraging sound of his agony propelled Ricardo forward. John had already climbed from the pool by the time Ricardo reached the far ladder, grabbed it…and fell back in. His hands had seized up with the cold, numb and weak. His feet, then. He’d need to do most of the climbing with his feet.

But just as he grabbed at the rungs to take another try, Kevin nailed him with a red, cherry-flavored splash, knocked him back, and scurried up the ladder himself. That fucker probably can’t even feel his hands anyway, Ricardo thought, nerve damage from all that damn weight training.

“And Professor Topaz takes his trapeze in just under three minutes,” Monty called out.

Ricardo was elated—but only for a moment. There was still some kind of “strategy” in play…and no doubt Kevin would use that strategy to try to take out his biggest competition: John.

Kevin dashed across the lawn. He was a plodding runner, but he had a good head start. Ricardo followed, tucking his hands into his armpits as he did, in hopes of warming some feeling into his fingers.
 

“Kevin Kazan is at the trapeze in three minutes, four seconds! The Professor is still holding on.”

Ricardo skidded to a stop beneath his trapeze, blew once into each of his hands, then jumped up and grabbed.

“Ricardo the Magnificent at three minutes, eight seconds.”

Four seconds—Kevin only had four seconds on him so far. That wasn’t long. Ricardo would just need to catch up with Kevin, somehow, by dangling longer from the damn bar.