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 ladde
r 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.
Unfortunately, as he hung there by his frigid, aching fingers, Ricardo realized that dangling from the bar was difficult after ten seconds, painful after twenty, and downright excruciating after thirty. He chanced a look to see how Kevin Kazan was doing. Kevin was looking right at him.
Smiling.
Damn it. If there were only a way to knock that bastard off his trapeze—with what, a packing peanut? He’d hardly notice. And there was no dust to throw at him either; the grounds were a soup of red slush. Ricardo’s shoulders burned, really burned, and his fingers were screaming.
“The Professor’s been holding on for nearly a minute…and Sue’s out of the pool!”
Sue dashed across the lawn, leapt up and grabbed her trapeze. She was sucking air in huge sobs.
“Kevin and Ricardo hanging past the minute mark, too. Bev jumps into the pool as Jia climbs out. It’s still anybody’s game.”
“Hurts your hands,” Kevin said cheerfully, turning to John. “Don’t it?”
John didn’t answer.
“Shoulders, too. Back, sides…. Think how easy it’d be to just…let…go.”
“Jia’s almost at the trapeze.”
“Can’t feel too good, what with the taste of blood in your mouth.”
John looked straight ahead.
“Hands burning. Delts. Pecs. You’re shaking, old man. But me, I could stay here all day.”
Still, John resisted the bait.
Kevin kept going. “Don’t even know who smacked you back there in the popcorn…do you? Wasn’t me. I was at the other end of the castle. Who else got it in for you, huh?”
“Shut up,” Ricardo gasped.
Kevin ignored him. “You think anyone care ’bout what happened to your man last year? That’s old news. All they care ‘bout is the quarter-mil, and you standing in their way.”
John closed his eyes, gave a grunt…and let go.
Monty said, “And the Professor is done, as Jia takes her trapeze. Great job, Professor Topaz.”
The seconds ticked by, pain raging through Ricardo’s muscles…and that bastard Kazan was still fucking smiling.
“Ohmigod,” Sue gasped, as she let go, too—with Jia’s fingers slipping off right after.
“Sue is out. Jia is out.”
Ricardo shut his eyes and focused. It would feel so good to let his hands slide from the bar. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Unfortunately, no matter how strong the will, the body can only be pushed so far. Despite how hard Ricardo tried, eventually he felt his fingers…begin…to slip.
His knees felt like rubber when his feet hit the ground. “And Ricardo the Magnificent is done. Well played, Ricardo. And Bev is struggling with the ladder—that’s four times she’s fallen back in.”
“Go, Bev,” Sue called, and Ricardo turned to cheer on poor Bev, who shrieked as she forced her way out of the frigid red water.
Kevin finally let himself drop from the trapeze as Bev hauled herself out of the pool and began trudging her way across the lawn in a waterlogged, pink-stained clown suit. By now everyone was cheering for her, even Kevin. Though Ricardo suspected he only did it so he didn’t come across as a complete jerk by kicking the underdog when she was down.
Bev paused to catch her breath, hands on knees, drinking great gasps of air, although the respite racked up still more time to her score. No doubt she was painfully aware of each and every second. Finally, when she could straighten up, she leapt up and caught the bar while all the other Magicians cheered wildly. She hung there, still gasping for air, for twelve seconds. And then she dropped.
Iain called cut.
One assistant wrapped Ricardo in a robe while another pressed a cup of black coffee into his hands. Ricardo was shaking so hard his teeth actually clattered together. John had been taken off to the sidelines where a pair of medics fussed over his nosebleed with ice packs and gauze. Bev sat on the lawn with her head between her knees like she was about to faint. Jia was ranting about freezing to death. Sue had collapsed into a sobbing heap. Kevin, though, simply stood there in his robe with that fucking smile fixed in place, and looked around in triumph at each of his competitors.
“Okay,” Iain said, “listen up. We’ll get some portable heaters out here to dry you off, but then we’ve got to go right into the scoring.”
The scoring. Great. Why not just declare Kevin the winner of the whole damn thing and save everyone the trauma of another gauntlet of challenges?
Bev raised her head from her knees and asked Ricardo, “Did they say how the trapeze time was being counted?”
“No. Not yet.”
She wrung red Kool-Aid from the hem of her blouse. “Pay close attention when they do. It’s probably going to change everything.”
Chapter 32
PLAYING THE GAME
John’s head ached. He had no idea whose elbow had found his nose in the bounce castle…but it only served to cement his growing unease at the necessity of using his True magic to stay in the game. A bloody nose was negligible in the grand scheme of things…but from here on out, he’d need to stop relying on the Truth before an accident occurred that he couldn’t simply shrug off.
When it was all said and done, he refused to put Ricardo through the needless loss he’d endured himself.
In both his hands, with its face carefully concealed, he held the card he’d filled out according to the rules Iain had explained, and then clarified with a few phone calls and re-explained following Bev’s persistent questioning. John hoped it would be enough, but he couldn’t be sure how the other magicians had played their strategies.
A podium was arranged for the magicians that hid the heaters at their feet from the camera, and also gave them something to hold on to so their shivering wasn’t quite so apparent. The scoreboard stood before it, with the white line separating the two lowest positions from the rest of the group. Iain sent Bev to the podium while the cameras found their places, as Sue and Ricardo whispered about what this next round of the competition might mean.
Cameras rolled, and Monty read from his teleprompter, “The results are in from the Big Top Challenge. Let’s see how long it took each of the magicians to arrive at their trapeze.”
The scoreboard flashed, and random characters scrolled through the empty squares…and finally flickered into the contestants’ names…and their scores.
BIG TOP CHALLENGE
1. Professor Topaz 2:59
2. Kevin Kazan 3:04
3. Ricardo the Magnificent 3:08
4. Sue Wozniak 4:09
_________________
5. Jia Lee 4:25
6. The Math Wizard 5:41
While they’d been given the official times with which to make their strategic decision…the numbers looked a hell of a lot more threatening on the massive screen. Especially with the huge white line two-thirds of the way down.
“Impressive scores,” Monty said. “But this challenge is not only
about strength, speed, endurance and luck—it’s about strategy. Each player was given the option of improving their score by the amount of time they dangled from the trapeze…or applying that time to one of their competitor’s scores as a penalty. Let’s see how each contestant chose to play their strategy.”
Cameras rallied around Bev.
“Math Wizard,” Monty said, “this challenge was clearly a struggle for you.”
“I’d claim that age had something to do with it, Monty, but considering the Professor’s score, it would be ridiculous to use my age as an excuse. I’m out of shape. That’s that.”
“Still, you did finish the physical leg of the challenge—proving you have a lot of heart. As to the strategic part, you were given an important decision to make. You hung from the trapeze for twelve seconds—and that means you can either improve your own score by those twelve seconds…or you can apply them to someone else’s score as a penalty. Bev, since you’re our resident numbers guru, I’m sure everyone’s eager to hear the logic behind your decision.”
“Well, Monty…my score was so low to begin with that it was unlikely any of the other Magicians would penalize me by adding their hang-times to my run-time. Unfortunately, the spread between my score and the others, combined with my poor performance on the trapeze, ensured that even if I applied my strategic points to my run-time, I’d still come in dead last.” Bev’s voice was strong, but in her hands, the card she was clutching shook. It could have been the cold…but John wasn’t entirely convinced of that.
“In the end,” Bev went on, “my decision might or might not make a difference, depending on how all the other magicians vote. But I opted to apply a twelve-second penalty to one of the stronger competitors.” The whole set went dead quiet as she flipped her card, and read aloud, “Kevin Kazan.”
On the scoreboard, Kevin’s time changed to 3:16.
John swallowed, and realized his throat had gone coppery dry. He’d hardly dared hope anyone but Ricardo and Jia would vote to push Kevin below the elimination line. But Bev’s twelve-second penalty, though small, was exhilarating to see applied to Kevin’s score.
Magic Mansion Page 28