by Sue Watson
I didn’t know what to say. I could feel my face redden. There was an awkward silence and everybody looked at the floor or into the fire. Rex was a popular guy and it was clear that they all shared his opinion. He was always laughing with Paul or flirting with Cindi and he even found time for Marcus, who he referred to as ‘my fellow actor,’ and Marcus was flattered by the A-list attention. I managed to stop myself from pointing out to him that an SS guy with a Texan accent in a Nazi mini-series was not comparable to Marcus’s Lear at the RSC – but Rex had them all eating out of his hand. Jonny was watching me with his watery eyes and I think he felt sorry for me, because he tried to change the subject.
“Hey Rex, I bet you’ll miss Kara’s massages. She gave you a good shoulder-rub today didn’t she?” Jonny said with a smile.
“What you tryin’ to say, Jonny boy?” said Rex slowly, turning to face him.
“I didn’t mean nothing Rex...it’s just... You two got on well, and she was good at sports massage...that’s all I meant.”
Silence. You could hear a pin drop.
“I hope you ain’t tryin to imply that me and Kara were anything other than buddies?” He said, threat twitching in his voice, anger simmering just under the surface.
“No, no Rex, me old mate... I just ...”
“Don’t you say that, Jonny boy. I have a reputation, a good one. Don’t even think it.”
“I wouldn’t – I didn’t. Oh I’m sorry mate, I don’t want to...”
“I am not your mate, Jonny.” Rex said slowly. “A guy like me and a guy like you – I don’t think so.” He stared at Jonny for a few seconds, before Jonny averted his eyes and looked at the ground. “That’s better” Rex said quietly, too low for the cameras to pick up, but loud enough to give Jonny a clear message. I looked over at Jonny who twitched his mouth slightly at me in a ‘that was awkward’ face and I smiled back. I wanted to shout at Rex, to tell him he couldn’t speak to someone like that – but I couldn’t, I was in enough trouble without seeking it out. I knew I was as bad as the rest of them, keeping quiet not wanting to get involved and find Rex’s heat on me. What was happening to the Tanya Travis who told the truth, who was never scared of anyone, from gangsters, to drug dealers to wife-beaters? Since when did Tanya Travis keep quiet, just because someone was a big celebrity and no-one else dared say anything? I’d hoped this place would give me strength but so far I’d just discovered weaknesses I never knew I had.
TWEET: @AgentDonna Tanya T denies sex with toyboy, sex with Sharon Stone, sex with Cindi Starr + all booze/sex binge claims #Don’tBelieveThePress
20
I Scream and a Thespian Queen
The next day, we were woken early once more and taken on a trek that was more arduous than the one the day before. It also involved swimming in the lake, much to Marcus’s horror.
“I don’t do water, dear” he said, shivering. “I’ll wait here.”
“Ah, come on Marko!” barked Rex. “We can’t all be jessies, can we?” he shot a look in my direction. “C’mon, I’ll wade in with you.”
“Well, seeing as you are offering” said Marcus, dipping his toe in the water with a squeal.
The day passed quickly and we returned very tired to the camp and went to bed. It seemed like I had only been asleep five minutes before Tiffany was shaking me awake, ready for the live show.
“Now, Carol-Ann’s just in make-up, she’ll be with us shortly. Same as before, you all sit round, Carol-Ann sets up the VTs of the past 24 hours then about 48 minutes in she will announce who’s been voted to do the next challenge. Is everyone OK with that?”
“Yeah, as long as it’s not Tanya,” Paul winked kindly at me. I nodded in agreement. “I hope it isn’t me, because if it is no-one will eat tomorrow.”
Cindi shot me a look and once Tiffany had flounced off she crawled over to where I was sitting. “Tan, you aren’t going to refuse again, are you?”
“I didn’t exactly refuse, but if it’s anything like the first one I can’t do it, Cindi.” She looked disappointed. “I’m not saying I won’t Cindi, I’m saying I can’t.”
She nodded and went back to her seat without saying a word, but everyone could see by her face what we’d just spoken about, and looks passed between them.
Carol-Ann eventually appeared. Her freshness and vitality seemed to be increasing in direct contrast to our ingrained dirt and exhaustion. Her shiny, clean bob swung around as she spoke and I envied the flowery scent of lathering soap and the stinging heat of a shower – something I’d always taken for granted until now.
Carol-Ann went through the same routine as before, seducing the viewers and teasing us with who it may or may not be. “Who have our viewers chosen to do tonight’s challenge?” she giggled to the camera. “Ooh, you naughty people at home are determined to make our celebrities suffer. And tonight’s challenge is called ‘I Scream’ – geddit?”
“She’ll ‘geddit’ in a minute,” hissed Marcus, whose colour indicated his blood pressure was rising by the second.
“If it’s me, I will vomit,” I whispered under my breath.
“I don’t doubt it, dear,” Marcus responded and Cindi smiled sympathetically.
“‘I Scream’ is an ingenious little challenge from our spa think-tank, involving a bucket of ice and a vat of yak’s cheese.” Carol-Ann said brightly to camera. “Yak’s cheese is a big part of life here in Nepal and in a nod to this national cheese our celebrity will sit, fully clothed, in a huge dirty great vat of it. Now, that’s all very well, you might say...but where’s the scream in that?”
Where indeed? From my perspective, total immersion in a container of putrid cheese would definitely provide me with endless possibilities for ‘screaming’.
“Well, the chosen celeb will be asked three questions, but with a bucket of sloppy yak’s-milk ice cream hanging precariously over them. Yummy!” Carol-Ann continued lightly, (like she was talking about Häagen Dazs). “Now, for each question the chosen celebrity answers correctly they will win a meal course for everyone in the camp which, if they get all the questions right means a slap-up breakfast, fabulous lunch and lavish dinner tomorrow night! If they get the questions wrong, they get an icy, cheesy shock over their head...and they lose a course.”
“Sounds darling,” Marcus whispered, “up to my neck in cheese on prime-time, it’s what my career has been leading up to all these years.” I closed my eyes, unable to speak.
“So, the question tonight is, who is going to have the chance to sit in a vat of smelly yak’s cheese that’s been sitting in the sun all day, with the delicious threat of frozen yak’s-milk ice cream landing all over them?”
“I can’t wait,” I whispered. Everyone was tense. Paul and Rex were gagging to do it, wanting to prove their masculinity and prowess and – in their defence – they were also keen to eat a decent meal. Cindi caressed her hair extensions protectively, clearly distraught at the prospect of a wrecked fake golden mane. Who knew the effects yak’s milk ice cream would have on hair extensions? I doubt the manufacturers ever considered this a possibility and had therefore not included this in their product testing. Marcus was playing up the revulsion but I reckoned he and Jonny would probably both do it for the air time. I, on the other hand, would have willingly poked my own eyes out with knitting needles rather than immerse any part of my body in greasy, foul-smelling cheesy goo that had been sitting in the sun all day. Apart from the obvious physical horror of it all, what on earth would such an act achieve – apart from public humiliation followed by another on-air meltdown? I had had enough of that before I even got to Nepal.
I tried not to let the thoughts of warm, sour cheese hit my stomach as Carol-Ann continued with the taunting dance in her cute little Havaiana flip flops. Her toenails were clean and shaped, perfectly painted in sugar-pink, while mine were dirty, snagged and unpolished. In the middle of all this I had been stung with deep toenail envy, something I’d never had before. I wanted to cry.
“So you, the
Great British Public have had your wicked way again!”
My hands itched, my head tingled with anxiety and the thought of ripe yak’s cheese all over me made my stomach lurch and my now infamous reflux twitch.
“And...the celebrity Britain wants to see up to their neck in warm yak’s cheese is... Tanya!”
I put my hand over my mouth in an attempt to prevent an instant projectile event.
“No. I can’t...no...no way. I can’t...” my head was shaking fiercely, my heart was pumping and my stomach was turning over and over.
“She’ll do it dear, she’s been up to her neck in worse than yak’s cheese, darling,” Marcus announced, like I wasn’t there.
“I’m not... I won’t...I...”
“Come on Tanya, let’s take a stroll through base camp,” Carol-Ann cajoled, all fake smiles and sugary lip-gloss. “Come on, cameras too... We’ll walk together to see just what this entails and then you can make your decision,” she said, assertively. The producer was obviously telling her to make me do it.
“Carol-Ann... Don’t you understand? If I had to jump off a mountain, even swing across a rope bridge – with the correct harness and all Health and Safety procedures applied – I would. But this... The stickiness, the smell...” I began to retch just thinking about it.
“We have to go to a commercial break now but join us in four minutes to find out if Tanya Travis has the courage to sit up to her neck in warm, smelly, yak’s cheese and win a meal for her hungry fellow celebrities. See you very soon!” she beamed to camera.
We went off air and relieved, she gently took my arm. “Look Tanya, this is silly. Our challenge project team have been working all week on this one and you owe it to them and the rest of the camp to do it...”
This had me straight back on my high horse. “If it’s taken a week for the so-called ‘challenge team’ to come up with the idea of filling a fucking tank with yak’s cheese for someone to sit in – then might I suggest you find a new ‘challenge team’?” I spat.
“Tanya, Tanya, calm down. You’re an old pro, you know the score,” she pleaded, like a nursery teacher to a four-year old. “The more you refuse to do it, the more the public will vote you in. They don’t like cowards, Tanya. You only have to prove yourself once.”
“I’m not a coward, but the idea of sitting in something disgusting horrifies me deeply. More than you can imagine. I can do icy water – well, if it’s clean... I can do snakes even, but I just can’t do slime and smell and dirt. And please don’t tell me yak’s cheese is in my contract – because it isn’t.” I said, starting to feel desperate.
Carol-Ann sighed. “OK, OK. Look, just do me a favour and pretend you’re undecided when we get back after the commercial break. Make it last, too. Lots of ‘will she, won’t she’ – if you flat out refuse, I’m left with 12 minutes of air to fill and I’m not that good,” she smiled.
“OK, I’ve been there myself. I won’t do that to you... I’ll pretend to think about it.”
So we came back after the commercial break and I ummed and ahhed and made like I was actually contemplating a vile bath of sour cheese. Then Carol-Ann said “Come on Tanya. I’ll take you over to the challenge – we know you can do it!”
I walked on shaky legs with her through the camp until we came to a large wooden tub with a lid on top. I could see three buckets suspended above a cauldron and the whole scene was lit up, like some kind of hellish fairground attraction.
I took deep breaths as we approached.
“So Tanya,” said Carol-Ann, looking into my eyes. “We all believe in you. The British Public believe in you. Now is the moment of truth!” and at her signal, two crew members pulled the heavy wooden lid off the sweating vat of putrefying cheese. The smell nearly knocked me off my feet. My hand was clamped firmly over my mouth and I could no longer hear what Carol-Ann was saying. Dimly, I saw the crew members put some steps up to the tub. Carol-Ann, still talking to the camera, took my hand and tried to pull me forward, but my feet refused to move. “Tanya? Tanya?” she was saying.
I was shaking my head, eyes watering. Carol-Ann had her hand to her ear and was listening to instructions from the producer.
“Tanya, the show has decided you can pick one camp-mate to help you with your challenge.” she said then turned to the camera. “Who will Tanya pick? Who can help her face ‘the cauldron of courage’?”
I was still staring at the bloody cauldron in horror.
“I’m going to have to press you on this, Tanya... Who would you like to come and help you with this challenge?”
“Marcus,” I whispered, not taking my eyes from the vat, still trying hard not to vomit from the foul smell. I felt he’d be firm but kind and didn’t – to my knowledge – have hair extensions that might perish in yak’s cheese.
“Marcus it is!” said Carol-Ann. A member of the production team ran off to get him.
I took deep breaths and looked around. I was aware of Ardash, standing just off-camera with the first-aid equipment; he was looking at me. I smiled despite myself and he smiled back.
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!” came Marcus’s voice, as he was led through the trees towards us and on entering the area he almost collapsed from the smell.
“Oh my Lord, dear...God...” he breathed at the sight of the cauldron. Which didn’t help. One bit.
I hoped Marcus would be strong, support me and cause a scene if they tried to make me do anything I didn’t want to. However within moments, he began screaming for smelling salts.
“How could you do this to Tanya, the poor wretch?” he wailed, throwing his arms around my waist. I moved up a step to get away from him, which was horrific as it took me closer to the yellow mucus-like contents of the vat. I was trying to contain my overwhelming nausea, but of course Marcus viewed this as a prime-time audition; I should have known.
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here!” he spat at the crew, now in full Shakespearean throttle.
“You can hold Marcus’s hand, if it helps,” offered a desperate Carol-Ann, ignoring his drama, more worried about the ratings if yet another challenge failed to take place. I didn’t think Marcus’s hand would be much help but I had to at least pretend and I tried my hardest to imagine getting in. I stood on the top step, and leant over the steaming, putrid muck.
“I can’t... I can’t... I’m sorry” I said, the fumes making me sway.
At this point, Marcus seemed to remember why he was here. “You can do it, dear Tanya!” he said, and went to hug me hard in an effort to provide visible on-screen consolation. In doing so, he inadvertently missed his step, fell into me and before I knew it, I was suddenly face deep in the viscous cheese. It took a couple of seconds for me to realise what had happened.
“Arghhh!!! No! Get me out!” I screamed.
“Give me your hand, dear!” said Marcus, leaning over the side and reaching in. But my hands were covered in a cheesy slime, and so slippery that the more I grabbed, the more I was sucked down into the fetid depths and the more we both shrieked. Like yellow sinking sand, it pulled me into warm, vile slime and as I retched and heaved it occurred to me that my life couldn’t get any worse. But I was wrong, because above me were three tubs of yak’s milk ice cream and Carol-Ann leaning in with a camera, to ask me the first question.
“What is the Nepali name for Everest?” she asked, like it was a simple maths question.
“What? I haven’t a clue...” desperate to avoid another dunking and only too aware of the icky stickiness in every crevice of my body I looked at Marcus questioningly.
His head was to one side; “Oh darling, I have not the slightest. I’m so very, very sorry Tanya...”
“Oh dear, Tanya, this means ice ‘scream’ for you!” Carol-Ann said gleefully.
“No, no wait!” I said, before an exuberant Tiffany could pull the chain and send freezing gunk all over me.
“It’s Sagarmatha.”
“Correct! Well done, Tanya! You’ve wo
n the celebrities a delicious breakfast!” said Carol-Ann, amazed.
“Oh bravo darling, well done – how on Earth did you know?” said Marcus admiringly.
“Ardash,” I said, “he told me on the first day we were here.”
“Well Tanya, next question!”
I tried to shift position and felt a wave of nausea. I could feel the yak’s cheese seeping in everywhere and I was desperate to get clean.
“I don’t think I can do another one, I need to get out,” I gasped.
“Oh no, the show must go on!” announced Marcus theatrically.
“And you’re doing very well, dear.” he whispered.
“So, Tanya, what is the national dish of Nepal?” Asked Carol Ann.
“Dhal Bhat,” I said quickly, before any ice cream could land on me. I’d seen enough rice and lentils already in my time here to know that one.
“Correct! And finally, why is the Nepali flag so unusual?”
At this one, I was stumped. “Marcus?” I said hopefully.
“Alack! I know not!” he said, throwing his hands to the heavens.
“I’m going to have to press you on this one, Tanya” said Carol-Ann seriously, as if the fate of the world depended on it.
“No, I’m not sure!” I said, panic rising. “I don’t know...wait! Yes, it’s the shape! It’s a funny shape, not a square or a rectangle!”
I turned triumphantly to Marcus – just in time to receive freezing, thick, foul-smelling gloop, right in my face. Tiffany had been a bit trigger-happy when she thought I was going to get it wrong. My triumph fled, to be replaced once more by revulsion as I wailed and flailed in hot and cold cheese and ice cream hell.
“Out, out, OUT!” I screamed and was heaved inelegantly from the sticky mass by two burly crew members. I retched as soon as I was on dry land, but Carol-Ann was clapping and congratulating me.
“Well done, Tanya!” she said. “Amazing! You’ve won three lovely meals for the camp tomorrow. Now, off you go and get washed!”