Magic Mansion (8 page)

Cameramen took a few sweeps of the group, twelve magicians in all, while Marlene called out, “Look at the mansion—look lively,” but all John could think about was Ricardo. If the cameramen captured some fleeting expression of yearning in his eyes when they swung past him, the sight of the mansion was not its cause. Ricardo was.

Marlene said, “Step over here, folks, and arrange yourself around the front steps in a semicircle. If you’ve found a buddy, feel free to whisper to them, hold hands, what have you. The viewers thrive on seeing the chemistry between the contestants.” John glanced down at Jia, who stood rigidly, staring straight ahead. He couldn’t imagine holding hands with her any more than he could imagine high-fiving Fabian. He glanced down the line at Ricardo, who was captive in the middle of a chain of women—the young lady in pink lamé on one side and a pair of middle-aged women on the other. Ricardo met his eye, and gave a small “what can you do?” shrug.

It was good he had allies. Too bad they weren’t the same allies John had somehow begun to cultivate by the mere act of walking across a lawn. He supposed the sight of him holding hands with Ricardo wasn’t quite what the producers had been looking for anyway. Personally, it would have been a huge thrill to make such a bold statement…but professionally, it would have been a disaster. No doubt both magicians could be re-cast in the morning, with hardly a blip in the production schedule, for even attempting such a stunt.

A handsome young man off to the side read from a sheaf of papers while a stylist powdered his brow and arranged his blond hair. A producer spoke with him briefly, then he slipped into the mansion’s front door. That door hadn’t seemed terribly large from a distance, but up close, with a man beside it for scale, it looked easily twelve feet tall. At the sight of that door, the enormity of this strange adventure upon which John was about to embark came clear.

He might not be the hand-holding type, but he did exchange a look with Fabian before the doors swung open, and the handsome young man strode back out and announced, “Welcome, magicians. I’m your host, Monty Shaw, and this…is Magic Mansion!”

Chapter 9

FIRST CHALLENGE

Cameras zoomed in on the host. Still more cameras swooped past the line of magicians. Sue Wozniak, the gift shop girl, squeezed Ricardo’s right hand. Bev Austin, the Math Wizard, squeezed his left. Spiritualist Muriel Broom held on to Bev’s other hand, completing their clique—four strong, a full third of the players, bonded over the horrific morning they’d spent in front of the green screen. This was it—their big break. From here on out, they’d all be TV personalities…worst case scenario, only for one hour. But even then, they’d play on the intro for six more weeks, twirling and smiling and flinging cards and summoning spirits and writing with a pretend piece of chalk. Even that brief exposure would be enough to give any of their careers a meaningful boost.

“Welcome, magicians.”

Sue squeezed Ricardo’s hand so hard he began to worry she might strain a ligament. He gave her a quick double-squeeze and she let up. A bit.

“Twelve very different performers will enter these doors, but only one will emerge with the coveted title of Grandmaster Magician. Are you up for the challenge? Let’s find out. I’m your host, Monty Shaw, and this…is Magic Mansion!”

“One more time,” Marlene called out. “Softer on the A’s.”

Monty went back into the mansion, then exited again and repeated his lines. They did five takes, and then moved on to the next segment. By then it was after ten. The sky was dark, and the air had turned chill. Comfortable tuxedo weather, but not so comfortable ballgown weather. Sue was looking very…perky. No doubt it would only endear her to the male viewers in the eighteen to twenty-four group.

“Let’s form a cluster here.” Marlene indicated the front patio. “Taller magicians toward the back—Jia, you come up front. You too, Faye. Stand on that mark, Monty, and announce the challenge.”

Both Sue and Bev hauled on Ricardo’s hands, as if to say,
What challenge?
He gave them each a smile as reassuring as he could make it—because surely they wouldn’t make him eat worms or roll around on the ground in his new tux.
 

Would they?

He felt very alone as his cohorts filed to the front of the group, but the feeling was short-lived. Professor Topaz took Sue’s place—holding his hand? No. But pressing into him from elbow to shoulder?

Oh, yes.

Ricardo restrained himself from throwing back his head and whooping with glee.

He hadn’t been able to dig up much on Professor Topaz’ life. It wasn’t as if the Professor kept a Facebook page where he traded LOLs with his fans and blogged about whether he’d had the patty melt or the tuna on rye for lunch. So Ricardo tried his best not to presume the Professor was available, or even openly gay. The thing that had happened between them—the warning to Ricardo about keeping his real magic under wraps that took an unexpected turn—was quite possibly just some fluke, a reaction to the stress of the audition, a way to let off steam.
 

But in case it
wasn’t
, he’d had a little spiel prepared about how he was hoping for a chance to get to know the Professor better—though he’d somehow failed to prepare for the camera hovering beside him. He’d developed a lengthy and persuasive explanation about how he completely understood if the Professor was not in a position to develop that particular sort of relationship with Ricardo, and if so, it would still be totally awesome to get to know him as a mentor. And, hopefully, a friend. But with the camera there and the other magicians all around them, instead he condensed it down to, “It’s
really
good to see you, Professor.”
 

The Professor held his gaze for a long moment, then said, “Call me John.”

Magical words? Hardly. But they made Ricardo’s heart soar nonetheless.

“Everyone look excited,” Marlene told the group as the cameras orbited around them. “Monty just greeted you. You’re seeing the mansion for the first time. And you’re thinking to yourself,
I might really win this thing
.”
 

Ricardo had never entertained the notion that he might actually win the competition. But Professor Topaz—
John
—seemed happy to see him. And that made him feel even giddier than the prospect of being on TV.
 

A teleprompter off to the side of the magicians began to scroll words, and Monty read, “From Harry Houdini to Criss Angel, magicians have long been known for getting out of tight spaces. But tonight, we’re going to see how long you can stay in.” He lavished a bright white smile on them. “I hope no one’s feeling claustrophobic.”

Marlene signaled to the crew. “Okay, that’s plenty of tape. Let’s load up the golf carts and take the talent over to the fishtanks.”

At the front of the group, Sue whispered to Muriel, “Did she say fishtanks?”

“Maybe they’re full of Jell-o,” Muriel suggested.

Ken Barron, the escape artist, grumbled, “I just bought this suit.”

At least now Ricardo didn’t need to say it himself.

Golf carts pulled up, and it seemed as if Ricardo would get a moment alone (well, off-camera, anyway) with John. Was there any one part of his speech that he could do justice to on a three-minute drive to the other end of the estate? While he considered if it would sound noble without any context to let John know he was valued as a mentor as well as anything else, or if it would sound more like a weird brush-off, a familiar hand slipped into his, and pink lamé rustled against the side of his tux. “I didn’t know there’d be a challenge tonight,” Sue whispered. “This dress is held up by double-stick tape.”

While Ricardo’s attention was on Sue, Iain shuttled John onto a golf cart with one of the other magicians, and the need to sort through the Professor-speech for a key point evaporated.

Maybe that was for the best. Ricardo suspected he needed more than three whispered minutes to explain where he was coming from.
 

The group reassembled in the east garden of the mansion, where floodlights bathed four fish tanks on platforms in harsh halogen glows. Since escapology was involved, Ricardo had been expecting coffin-sized tanks, but despite all the tubes and hoses hooked up to them, these were small and unassuming.

The animal wranglers beside them in tall rubber boots, though, were not.

The cast was assembled, the teleprompter rolled, and on Marlene’s cue, Monty addressed the group from beside the four platform tanks. “Magicians, tonight you’ll be competing for the right to pick your teammates. And the top winners will receive a special reward—so you’ll want to do your very best. Most people can hold their breath for two minutes or so, but certain types of extreme athletes have been known to go far longer without air.”

Marlene said, “Stroll around the fishtanks now.”

Monty strolled. “The world record for holding your breath without loading up on pure oxygen first is eight minutes, fifty-eight seconds. But in Magic Mansion, you can beat that record—because we’re adding a little twist.”

Marlene said, “Stand beside the tank stage right.”

Monty stopped beside a tank. “Should I point to it, or…?”

“Don’t point. Don’t gesture. This isn’t The Price Is Right. Do you even have that in Australia?”

“When I was a kid.”

“Well,” Marlene said, “don’t be a showcase model. Just hold your arms naturally and talk. And repeat the last line. Make the twist sound ominous.”

Ricardo felt a camera lingering on him as he swallowed hard. He’d always thought of a “twist” as an ironic dance on the beach, or a slice of lime in his cosmo. A “twist” in the context of a challenge sounded plenty ominous already, thank you very much, without any additional effort on Monty’s part.

Monty smiled for the camera, then repeated, “But in Magic Mansion, you can beat that record…because we’re adding a little
twist
.”

It definitely hadn’t needed any help sounding more ominous.

“For your first challenge, your head (and only your head) will be sealed in these tanks, and the timer will start once the oxygen is removed. On the console in front of you is a red stop-button that will open the box immediately—but that button will also stop the timer.”

Presuming the buttons even worked. They must work. Right? They had to. Off-camera, an EMT lounged on the edge of a fountain. He had a crowbar and a sledgehammer within easy reach. Ricardo trusted the sledgehammer even less than he trusted the button. But he supposed brain damage was brain damage, no matter how you managed to achieve it.

“You’ll receive one point for each second you hold your breath,” Monty said. The magicians, as a group, looked up at a scoreboard-style timer. “But if you really want to
pump up
your score, hit the yellow button on the console in front of you. Turbo-charge your challenge, and we’ll
pump in
some water.”

A technician flipped a switch, and the tank beside Monty filled with water in a huge whoosh.

No wonder they hadn’t gone with the full-body tank. It wouldn’t have filled quickly enough.
 

“If you choose to hold your breath underwater, we’ll multiply your score by a hundred and fifty percent. Every forty seconds is as good as a minute.”

Bev muttered, “Good thing I’m wearing the waterproof mascara.”

Ricardo didn’t suppose math wizards got much practice holding their breath.
 

Monty strolled over to the tank on the other end, which filled with a whoosh. “And if you’re looking for a real challenge, mega-charge it. Hit the green button and we’ll add a little something extra.”

“Add the fish,” Marlene said, and an assistant opened the tank lid while an animal wrangler dumped a dozen fish into the water. “Go ahead, Monty.”

“Do the challenge with a little company, and we’ll double your score.”

“Are those piranha?” Kevin Kazan whispered. “I think they’re piranha.”

“They are no such thing,” Bev said. “They’re a completely different shape.”

Ricardo suspected Kevin knew full well what piranha looked like. He’d just been trying to freak everyone else out to gain an edge. Nice try.

“They’re doctor fish,” Jia Lee said blandly, which sounded vaguely reassuring. Until she added, “They nibble.”

“These little fellas originally hail from Turkey, though you’ll find them in spa waters of many parts of the world, including Belgium, Hungary and Japan. They’re used to exfoliate calluses and eczema because they feed on human skin—but if you’re feeling brave, a minute or two with the fishes could make a difference in who you room with for the duration of your stay…at Magic Mansion.”

Marlene called. “Cut. Empty the tanks and dry ’em out. First up, Fabian Swan, Muriel Broom, Bev Austin and Professor Topaz. Everyone else, stand on that concrete pad and look anxious.”

As if Ricardo needed any help.
 

Chapter 10

PRETENSE OF FAIRNESS

An assistant draped a towel around John’s neck as he placed his head inside the plexiglass box. Maybe, if he focused on keeping his suit clean, he could manage to stop thinking about the way that lowering his head into the U-shaped slot on the tank felt like positioning himself in a guillotine. Claustrophobia, he could handle. Water was fine, too—he’d done plenty of surfing in his teens and twenties, claiming the ocean would never harm him due to his Chamorro blood. Even the fish seemed too small to inspire terror.

It wasn’t the challenge itself that was daunting. It was the act of being so profoundly exposed that worried him. Most magical apparatus had sides or curtains that shielded the magician from the public. But this clear tank left everything in plain view—and the cameras circling them like buzzards ensured that no moment of panic would remain undocumented.

A fitting first challenge, John supposed.

Marlene headed off to the production trailer to enable herself to see the challenge from several points of view at once on her video monitors. Iain lined up the magicians alternating male and female, so John had Muriel Broom and Bev Austin to either side. Before they were interred, Bev muttered some numbers, then told Muriel, “The multiplier’s going to be the key. We should all add water.”