George R.R. Martin - [Wild Cards 18] (26 page)

“Welcome to
American Hero,”
Peregrin said, looking into camera one. “We’re halfway through the competition, and we’ve lost quite a few of our heroes. But some of the teams have fared better than others.” She turned to camera three and her wings fluttered. “I know that some of the players here think we might be reshuffling the teams tonight.”

There were groans from the Hearts.

“But we’ve decided to keep the suits separated for now.”

The Hearts gave a small cheer. “However,” Peregrine continued, “our Diamonds team has not done well, and they are at a distinct disadvantage. So we’ve decided to let them draw one member from Hearts to even the teams up.”

There was stunned silence from the Hearts, and then an
angry murmur bubbled up. “You’ve
got
to be kidding!” shouted Drummer Boy, jumping to his feet.
“We’re
being penalized because
they
suck?”

Curveball placed a hand on one of Drummer Boy’s lower arms. “Calm down. It’s just part of the game.”

“It’s bullshit,” he said.

I glanced at Tiff to see how she was reacting. There was a Mona Lisa smile on her face. “Do we have to choose now?” Tiffani asked.

“No, you have twenty-four hours to decide. We’ll be bringing you back tomorrow night for the pick.”

“And cut,” came the director’s voice.

Peregrine cupped her hands over her eyes and squinted up at the lights. “Did you put the filter on that spotlight?” she asked.

“So, who do you want to bring over from the Hearts team?” I asked when we were back in the limo.

“Drummer Boy,” Tiffani said at once. “He makes the most sense. He’s the most powerful player on their team.”

Jetman opened the fridge in the limo bar and took out a beer. “You think he’s more powerful than Hardhat or Earth Witch?” he asked.

“Well, how handy is making steel thingamabobbies?” Tiffani asked. “Are we really going to need a trench anytime soon? And Wild Fox? Don’t even get me started on how crappy his power is.”

“We could take Curveball,” I suggested.

Tiff made a face. “Michelle, you and she have almost the same power. Why would we duplicate that? We’ve got to get someone who’ll work well with our team.” She leaned forward and touched my leg. “Taking DB will demoralize Hearts. It’ll break up their alliances. And if he’s got any showmances going, it’ll stop them, too.”

“Showmances?” Jetman asked.

“You know, when two people on a reality show become romantically involved for the duration of the show. Sometimes
they stick—like Boston Rob and that joker chick from
Survivor
, what was her name?”

“Amber,” Jetman replied. “She looked like she was a big chunk of amber. She even had bugs stuck in her skin. It was pretty gross, but I guess you never know what’s going to float someone’s boat.”

Tiff gave Jetman a big smile. “They won the money because they had this amazing alliance. I heard one of the PAs say that Drummer Boy’s been making time with every willing girl on the show. Ever since Curveball dumped him, that is. And they may be getting back together after that little scene when we were taping.”

Aside from Curveball calming him down at the studio, I didn’t really see much going on. But, honestly, I’m bad about picking up on that who’s-doing-whom stuff.

“I just don’t get all this intrigue,” Jetman said. “I think Drummer Boy’s a conceited jerk.”

“He’s a big guy, though,” Tiff said. “He could probably be handy in a brawl. Besides, if we lose again, we can get rid of him instead of one of us.”

I had to admit, Tiffani’s plan sounded good, especially the last part. I hated the idea of one of the last three Diamonds going home.

Jetman was fixing breakfast in the kitchen the next morning. He’d started doing that after we lost our first challenge. His cooking was a bit uneven—and he couldn’t seem to make breakfast without dirtying every dish in the house.

He was just scooping eggs into a serving bowl when I came in. “Morning, Bubbles,” he said, passing the eggs to me. “You want pancakes or waffles this morning?”

I looked at the table. A stack of bacon and about twelve sausages were piled on one plate. A large bowl of fresh fruit salad sat next to it. There was a basket overflowing with pastries—croissants, cinnamon buns, kolaches, and muffins.

“Uhm, I think I can find plenty of stuff to eat. You really don’t need to make anything else.”

“Oh,” he said. I turned toward him and saw a hangdog expression on his face.

Crap.

“But you know I can’t resist your pancakes,” I said. Actually, his pancakes were really bad. But he brightened and pulled another bowl out of the cabinet.

I sat down, put the bowl of eggs on the table, and loaded my plate with pastries, bacon, eggs, and fruit.

“Remember, you’ve got pancakes coming,” he said.

“Herummm,” I replied around a mouthful of food. My wild card power made me fat, but otherwise, I could eat anything I wanted and stay skinny.

Tiffani straggled in a few minutes later. Her face was sleep-swollen. I thought she looked adorable. With her kimono-style robe wrapped around her, she appeared tiny and delicate.

“Pancakes, Tiff?” Jetman asked.

“Gah, no,” she said. “Just coffee until I can get my heart going.”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“And caffeine is my drug of choice. Don’t get between me and my fix.”

I poured her a cup from the carafe on the table, put three sugars and a dollop of cream in it, and then passed it to her. She took a long pull and smiled at me. I felt my stomach flip-flop.

“I’m glad you’re all up,” said Ink as she sauntered in with one of the mobile crews. “The producers think all the heroes need a break from the competition.”

Tiff took another hit off her coffee. “How about three days and four nights in Jamaica?” she said.

“No can do,” Ink replied. “We’re shooting ‘Diamonds Pick a Heart’ tonight.”

“So, what’s the ‘break’?” I asked, using my ironic air quotes.

“You have a choice,” Ink replied. “You can have a thousand-dollar shopping spree, a trip to Disneyland, or a spa day.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t an off-camera event,” I said.

“Nope. It’s going to make for some great footage. But you
do get out of the house for the whole day. And, even better, no press obligations and no workouts.”

Jetman and Tiff both looked chipper at that. Neither of them liked working out.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland,” Jetman said as he ladled pancake batter into a pan. “I think I’d like to do that.”

Ink smiled at him. It was a great smile. “You’ll be getting the VIP treatment while you’re there. I think you’re going to have a wonderful time.” She turned toward Tiff and me. “And what are you two going to do?”

“I’d like to go shopping,” Tiffani said. “I’ve never even seen a thousand dollars in one place. But I don’t want to go alone.” She looked at me hopefully.

I was torn. I had plenty of clothes—even if most of them didn’t fit me anymore. And Disneyland sounded like fun. So did having a spa day. But Tiff gave me a pleading look, and I couldn’t resist. “I guess I’ll go with Tiffani,” I said.

Ink looked disappointed. I guess they hoped we’d each take a different “prize” so there would be more diverse footage to work with. “Be ready in half an hour.”

The Beverly Center wasn’t as swank as Rodeo Drive, or as trendy as Melrose Avenue, but there was a great variety of stores. We decided to start at Bergdorf’s and work our way through the mall from there.

“Oh my God,” Tiffani said, stroking a bright red cashmere wrap. “You’ve got to feel this.”

I smiled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been that excited about shopping. After all the modeling, I’d started to hate clothes. I usually wore inexpensive off-the-rack stuff and some of the nicer pieces that the designers would send around. That was one of the perks of the job. I had loads of status symbol accessories that were only mine because some designer thought Jill Blow would covet his $500 sunglasses because she saw me wearing them in
In Style
magazine.

Tiff picked up the price tag and blanched. “It’s four hundred
and fifty dollars. Every bit of clothing my sisters and I bought last year didn’t cost that much.”

Without thinking, I said, “You’re kidding.”

Tiffani rubbed the cashmere against her cheek. “Nope. When I said we were poor, I meant
real
poor.”

“I thought there was just ‘poor.’ ”

She laughed and carefully put the wrap back on its shelf, then ran her hand across the rainbow colors of the rest of the shawls. “We never went to see movies. They cost too much money. We didn’t go out to eat. We never had cell phones, or clothes that hadn’t been worn by someone else first. Or an inside toilet.”

I stared at her. “You’re kidding. How did you find out about
American Hero
?”

She laughed. “Honey, everyone has a TV. Even the folks without indoor plumbing.”

We wandered over to the perfume counter. Tiff took a bottle of Joy 1000 off the tester tray and spritzed a little on her wrist, then sniffed. She held her wrist under my nose. The heavy aroma of jasmine and roses wafted up. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just not my cup of frothy cappuccino.”

Tiffani sniffed her wrist again. “Mmmmm, I think I like it.” She glanced around for a salesgirl. One rushed over. I think she noticed the camera following us.

The salesgirl gave us a bright smile. “How can I help you?” she asked.

“How much is this?” Tiffani asked.

“Do you want the perfume or the cologne?” the salesgirl asked, putting bottles on the counter.

“Uhm, I’m not sure.”

I leaned over and whispered in Tiff’s ear. “Cologne will be cheaper, but doesn’t last as long as the perfume.”

“Tell me the price on both,” Tiff said.

“The perfume is one-hundred and sixty, the cologne is seventy-eight.”

“Does it buy you dinner, too?” Tiff asked. She looked between the two bottles, then put them both back on the counter. “I do want to get some things for my family. If I’ve got anything left, maybe I’ll come back.”

The salesgirl plastered on another toothy smile. “Certainly. We’re here until nine
P.M.”

Tiffani was already wandering toward the shoes. The salesgirl leaned over the counter. “Are you from
American Hero?
“ she asked softly. “Is that
Tiffani?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think you could get me her autograph?”

It stung. I was used to being the person who was singled out. “Just a minute,” I said, taking the paper and pen.

I walked to Tiff, who was looking at a pair of Stuart Weitz-man sandals.
“Three hundred dollars
for a pair of shoes?” she exclaimed. “Seriously, do people here just like pissing money away?”

“If they were Manolos or Jimmy Choos, they’d be a lot more expensive,” I said. I picked up a pair of Dolce & Gabbana pumps and contemplated them for a moment. At my current weight, I’d snap the delicate heel in no time.

“But these aren’t even all that pretty.”

“It’s fashion,” I replied, putting the pumps back on their display stand. “Hey, the salesgirl at the perfume counter would like your autograph.” I pulled the pen and paper out of my pocket and handed them to her.