P.J. Morse - Clancy Parker 02 - Exile on Slain Street (8 page)

“Okay,” Greg said. “So what we need from you is some Southern-fried wisdom.”

“But I’m from California. And I don’t like fried food.”

“Well, people who are watching aren’t going to know that.”

Hare volunteered, “I went to college in Atlanta, if it helps. Just say something about how you don’t like people on your lawn, you’ll open a can of whoop ass, call the police the ‘po-po,’ stuff like that.”

I started cracking up. “Whoop ass! Yes, I will open a can of whoop ass if one of these gals gets between me and my man! It’s like my momma always said, you gotta fight for what’s yours!” I then kicked my boot in the air.

Greg smiled and applauded. “You got it! I was getting worried about you. If you can preface everything with, ‘It’s like my momma always said,’ you’re golden!”

I finally understood that whether or not someone stayed or went was not based on her hotness or her chemistry with Patrick. A major factor was how easily producers like Greg could work with us, molding us to fit their preconceived storyline. For the first time that day, I felt like I understood the rules of the game.

Chapter Nine:
Attack of the Stripper Pole

S
ince it was getting chilly, I decided to head back into the house. I passed by Patrick, who was being accosted by Stacy, Tracy, and Casey. Even though the Inebriated Triple-Headed Hydra was busy trying to sit on Patrick’s lap all at once, he managed to poke his head out of the fray and call out to me. “Hey! I wanna talk to you! Katherine, right? My resident beer drinker and flame thrower?”

Hare aimed the lens right in my face, so I guessed it was my turn for getting-to-know-you time. Earlier in the evening, Patrick had taken some of the women off in corners for one-on-ones, but I didn’t think I would be one of them. I really hadn’t campaigned too hard for some alone time with him, plus a camera crew, because Kevin had to keep me around for a while. Then again, a woman commands attention when she spits fire.

Patrick led me over to a patio sofa with plush red cushions. When I sat down, he pulled me a little closer to him, and I wriggled away in response. Then I realized that dating on reality television is like a Chipmunk record, with everything at top speed. We’d barely exchanged any words, yet he kept his arm around me as if we were on our second or third date.

“So, are you going to be my tomboy?” he asked. He was already slotting me into a role, but there were worse roles out there than “Tomboy,” and it fit in well with Greg’s “redneck” story line, so I went with it.

“I guess. I’m sorry to say I’m not much of a lap dancer.”

“That’s okay. We all have our talents. What do you do for fun?” he asked.

“Oh, probably whatever you find boring.” I lifted my beer can, which was mostly empty. “I drink beer, I spit fire, I work, I play guitar, I shoot guns.” All of that was true. My license let me carry a weapon, although Kevin wouldn’t let me bring it on the show.

Patrick’s jaw dropped open. “I have to ask… what is a girl like you doing on a show like this?”

Instead of saying, “Earning a great paycheck,” I smiled and told him, “I love your band.”

“Now, am I going to have to worry that you are some kind of groupie? You strike me as the independent type.”

I decided it was time to play my card. “I grew up listening to the Nuclear Kings. I’m from Gardenia.”

“Get out! Man, I feel so old!” He rubbed the top of his freshly shaved head.

“It’s totally true! I learned to play guitar because of you guys!” The truth was that I actually started begging for guitar lessons after a babysitter played me a Sonic Youth record, but at least I owned a Nuclear Kings album in the past.

He took my hand and stroked it. “I knew you played guitar. I saw the calluses earlier. And I like it.”

I was all ready to talk music and maybe even squeeze out some tips about dealing with a record label, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lorelai approaching. She was ready to steal some camera time. I realized that she was wearing what seemed to be a dress, but the dress was, upon closer inspection, merely a dark blue negligee.

“Hey, there,” she said, touching him lightly on the shoulder. “I have something to show you.”

“Just a minute, sweetie!” Patrick said, raising his finger. He turned back to me. “I gotta talk to you later. Did you bring a guitar?”

“Nope. They limited me to one bag, but I’d be happy to try whatever you’ve got.” I briefly performed some air guitar.

“Absolutely.” Then his face came right at me. I was stunned — I’d barely had a conversation, and he was aiming his lips at my mouth. If he hadn’t been making out with at least ten other women that evening, I might have given him a chance, but I had a slow reaction. I turned my head at the last minute, so that he kissed my ear and received a faceful of hair.

“Coy!” he yelled, pulling back and removing a few red hairs from his mouth.

“I need a little music first,” I said, looking anywhere but his face. The last place to be coy was on reality television, but I found myself reacting as if it were a first date.

I even felt a twinge of jealousy when Lorelai slid her body next to his and gave him an intense kiss. I scooted aside so Hare got a clear view. I had to hand it to Lorelai — she knew which camera angles were good and what sped up the storyline. But no woman liked to have her territory encroached upon, whether she was actually interested in a guy or not.

Once the cameras were off me, I walked back toward the house, stepping over the body of either Tracy or Casey, who had passed out across the paving stones and was snoring loudly. The woman wasn’t in a hot-pink dress, and that was the only way I could tell Stacy from the other two members of the Inebriated Triple-Headed Hydra. “Gee, your best friends aren’t the kinds who hold your hair back when you puke, huh?” I asked her.

Tracy — or was it Casey? — just kept snoring blissfully.

Greg began running through the pool area, commanding attention. “Round it up, ladies! It’s elimination time!” He paused when he saw Tracy/Casey sprawled on the ground and looked at me, pleading, “Can you help get her up?”

“Great.” I said. I tried to pull Tracy/Casey up, but she was wobbly on her heels. “C’mon, kid. You’ll be sleeping like a baby real soon. Let’s go, okay?”

Like a rag doll, Tracy/Casey flopped into my arms. “I love you!” she cried.

My response was, “If you puke on me, I will drop you on your ass.” Despite my threat, I couldn’t suppress common decency, and I dragged her into the house.

The elimination was to be in the foyer, and someone from the production crew had dragged the tiers we stood on earlier in the day inside. I laid Tracy/Casey out on the lower tier. She thanked me, called me “Mommy,” and returned to her peaceful slumber.

I stood there for a bit in case we were going to start shooting immediately, but Greg was having trouble rounding up the women. Even Lorelai was helping with contestant wrangling. I was getting bummed. I actually led what could be considered a rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. I’d been stupid drunk many a time in my life, occasionally on stage. Only it never seemed this desperate before.

Then, a few more women wandered into the room and tried to stake out places on the tiers. One of them almost stepped on Tracy/Casey’s head. The remaining two members of the Inebriated Triple-Headed Hydra stumbled into the foyer.

“Hey!” I pointed at Tracy/Casey and Stacy. “She belongs to you, so you look after her.”

Stacy’s tube dress had wriggled down to a dangerously low spot. Hare was having fun trying to zoom in on her bosoms. She began clinging to Tracy/Casey. “Oh, my god! Poor Tracy!”

“Wait! I’m Tracy!” the woman she was clinging to shouted.

“Well, that clears that up,” I said.

Then Stacy tried to pick a fight with me. “I gave you my flask, and now you think you’re better than me. You know what? You look snotty!”

Tracy giggled in agreement. Casey yelled, “Snotty!” up from the floor.

Before I was forced to try to speak English with the Inebriated Triple-Headed Hydra, I heard a small voice from the stripper pole room chirp, “Watch this!”

I took that as an excuse to leave the foyer and head into the stripper pole room, which had become my unexpected DMZ. Dawn, who was strutting around on the stage in heels she clearly wasn’t used to, started prancing around the stripper pole, working herself up to a good spin. I could see Topaz and Tina clapping and shouting “Dawn! Dawn!” but Tina was snickering, too, ready to laugh out loud once she saw the amateur performance.

Dawn kept spinning, as if she were mustering up the courage to lift her legs for something resembling a flip.

Her legs left the floor, and she turned upside down, grasping the pole tightly in between her calves. For a moment, I was proud of her. I didn’t think she could do it.

Then the pole creaked. I heard an “Aaaaah!” and the top of the pole ripped right out of the ceiling, taking Dawn down with it. She was lucky. If the angle of her fall had been any different, she might have gone through the plate-glass window behind the pole.

I rushed over to Dawn and crouched down. She said, “I had been practicing in my basement… I never made this mistake before.” Blood had rushed to her cheeks, and her legs were still twisted up around the pole. The cameras kept on rolling to capture her shame.

Tina got her chance to laugh. I saw her pull Topaz away toward the foyer for elimination, leaving me with Dawn.

“They left,” Dawn moaned, looking at the place where Tina and Topaz had been standing. She looked like she was going to cry. Her new so-called buddies got her plowed, encouraged her to attempt something way out of her league on the pole, and left her there.

Kevin stuck his head in the room. “Guys! Hurry up! It’s elimination!” Once he saw the condition of the pole and the large hole in the ceiling, his jaw went slack.

I told him, “Uh… we got a problem here.”

Dawn groaned, pushed the pole away, and rubbed her right inner thigh, which was going to have a nasty bruise by morning. I patted her back but wasn’t sure what I could do to fix her embarrassment.

“What the hell?” Kevin’s face turned purple. Greg and some of the black-clad minions appeared instantly as Kevin came to our assistance. “People! What is a reality show without a decent stripper pole? Who is responsible for this? You are not filming
Attack of the Stripper Pole
here, okay?”

“You know, that wouldn’t be a bad idea for a one-off show.
Stripper Pole Nightmares
!” Hare sighed.

Kevin paused. “You better copyright that, or I’m gonna steal it. Now would someone get — honey, what is your name? — some ice?”

“My name is Dawn,” she gasped, trying to get up. She was going to be fine, but I was sure she was already dreading watching her accident on television.

I looked up at the ceiling hole, and I looked at Kevin, who was scratching his head. I wanted him to realize just how serious this was, but I tried to make it seem as if I were just musing, not like I was the resident bodyguard on the watch for a stalker. “Are you sure it was secured properly in the first place?” I asked.

The pole had been attached to a ceiling mount, which had popped out along with the pole. I picked up a screw that came out with it and rolled onto the floor. Meanwhile, Kevin was tearing into Greg: “Where did you get this? IKEA? The flea market? I told you to get a professional pole!”

I inspected the bolt, and it looked as if the threads had been filed down. It was only a matter of time before the pole gave way to some overenthusiastic moves, and it happened sooner rather than later. I slipped the bolt in the pocket of my jeans, as I couldn’t give it to Kevin in front of everyone.

A little stripper pole sabotage fit my mental sketch of Patrick’s stalker. Now we were definitely dealing with someone who made it on the show, either as cast or crew, and who was willing to take her time to eliminate the competition one by one.

A member of the crew appeared with a bag of ice, and I helped Dawn stand. “Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded, tugging her red leather micro-mini down as far as it could go, which wasn’t very far. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m going to be the girl who couldn’t even work a pole.”

“Look on the bright side. Maybe that’s a good thing. At least you’ll stand out,” I told her. “Hey, who else was on the pole before you?”

“Oh, everybody.” She proceeded to rattle off a list of names, only a few of which I recognized.

“Wow — it could have been anyone who fell,” I said, trying to make it seem like I wasn’t grilling her. Then again, she seemed so openhearted and innocent, with her huge blue eyes, that she probably wouldn’t have noticed. “Anyone you were surprised didn’t get on the pole?”

Dawn looked at me. “You,” she said. “You look fit enough to be on the pole, for sure.”

After seeing some of my fellow contestants showing off, I wouldn’t have taken a turn on the
Atomic Love 2
pole if it were made of platinum and hosed down with Lysol. Not to insult Dawn’s stripping aspirations, I fudged an excuse that would satisfy her: “I always wanted to try it, but I get motion sickness easily.”

“Oh.”

“Anyone else?” I asked.

“Well, Tina kept saying I should go first, but I didn’t see her get on. And Topaz said she wanted to keep her hair looking good.” Then she looked toward the foyer. “Guess I should go get eliminated.”

I offered my hand so I could help Dawn to the tiers. I figured that anyone who avoided the pole, besides me, was a candidate for filing down the screw that kept the stripper pole mount in place.

Chapter Ten:
Lockets Galore

Y
et again, we were arranged on the tiers. To simplify matters, we were put up there in the same order from that morning, which probably helped fire up Patrick’s memory. Lorelai, ever the teacher’s pet, kept reminding Kevin of which woman went where.

This time, Wolf was involved in placing the women, and I wondered how much of a say he had in who should stay and who should go. He spent an unusually long time making sure Cookie was placed just so, and I caught him sniffing her hair.