by Josie Brown
"How?" Abu asks.
"For some time, ISIS has been looking for a platform to highjack—in this case, television," Ryan explains.
"How do they figure?" Jack asks.
"Its Middle-Eastern terrorist strikes are too distant—and recently, too frequent—to cause much shock and awe on the American psyche," he explains. "We're tethered to our phones’ apps, our video games—and yes, TV reality shows. So, why not hijack one? The terrorists can hold the celebrities hostage. Worse yet, kill them off in front of their adoring fans."
"Granted, some of those people are so vapid that you want to strangle them," Emma murmurs. "But kill them on air? Talk about an extreme cancellation clause!"
"Has the intel revealed which show has been targeted?" Abu asks.
Ryan's pause leaves us in suspense. Finally, he takes a deep breath: "It's called Hot Housewives of Hilldale."
Cold dread runs through me. "Come again?"
"It's to be the latest reality series in an already successful franchise. And it's being produced by our old friend, Addison Montague. Variety announced it about a year ago."
Jack murmurs, "I guess I should add a few entertainment trade magazines to my must-read list."
"Addison is producing it? Talk about a small world," I exclaim. "I thought his company made only feature films."
"Like most successful producers, Addison's media empire straddles both film and television," Ryan replies. "His Hot Housewives shows are big moneymakers, and top the ratings in their time slots. Knowing this, President Chiffray himself asked Addison to set the next show in Hilldale. With it shooting so close to POTUS, it's certain to be catnip to ISIS. We anticipate a cell or two will try to infiltrate the show as contestants."
"To participate, they'd have had to buy or rent in Hilldale within the last year," Abu points out.
"Which certainly narrows our pool of suspects," Arnie agrees. “And to be on the show, be it a man or woman, the terrorist will also need a spouse.”
"I'm sure he's already secured one," Ryan replies. "It may be a woman who is sympathetic to his cause. Given the timeframe of the show's announcement, the terrorist would have been stateside long enough to have at least one child. Another possible telltale sign is a childless marriage."
"In other words, any marriage that took place within the last year will be suspect," Emma counters. "But that doesn't necessarily mean his wife will be of Middle Eastern descent."
"Hundreds of people show up at these cattle calls. How will the terrorists fool the casting directors into putting them on?" Jack asks.
"There may be a bribe involved. Or maybe the chosen ones' backstories will be just too good for the showrunners to pass up," I muse.
Emma sighs. "In any event, we'll have to throw a large net if we're to catch the suspects."
"Alright, people, pay attention for your assignments," Ryan growls. "Mr. Montague has been kind enough to make room on his production staff for some of you." Ryan's eyes move to Abu. "You'll be manning one of the cameras. Arnie, besides monitoring all the audio and video feeds from Acme, you'll be acting as the mission cut-out, as well as shadowing any and all prime suspects."
Arnie and Abu nod to him.
"Emma, you'll take the role of Addison's production assistant. In that capacity, you'll act as the handler to some of the families. This also allows you to observe them up close and personal. You'll also supervise the COMINT background checks on the six families chosen to participate."
Emma salutes Ryan. I can tell by her Mona Lisa smile that she already loves this assignment.
"And Dominic has been hired as the host of the show," Ryan adds.
"As such, a new tuxedo was in order," Dominic declares loudly. He believes this, even if the rest of us don't.
"Addison will make sure that the other families chosen are at the top of our suspect list." Ryan turns in my direction. "Which brings me to your assignments, Mr. and Mrs. Craig. You're applying to be one of the lucky families chosen to compete in Hot Housewives of Hilldale."
"What?" Jack's exclamation is louder than mine.
"Not to worry, Jack, my man. With your handsome mug, you and the little missus are a shoo-in." Addison Montague's gruff growl comes from the direction of the conference room door.
Yep, there's the man himself. Tall and toupee'ed, his shirt is open nearly to his navel, revealing the three gold chains of various lengths resting against his massive manscaped pecs.
Addison crushes Jack in a bear hug. Then it's my turn. He's too smart to try the same with me. Instead, he bows over my hand, gracing it with a gallant kiss. But when he rises, he can't help but lick his lips at the one woman lucky enough to escape his casting couch.
If only every wannabe actress knew my little trick of breaking necks with a single twist.
"In any regard, the Craigs will be ideal competitors." Addison winks at me.
"Wait…we're competing for something?” I frown. “I thought you said it's a reality show!”
"It is…sort of." Addison leans in as if he's in network pitch mode. "You see, this part of Orange County isn't home to a whole hell of a lot of celebrities—"
"By that, do you mean has-been actors?" Jack retorts scornfully.
"Yeah, exactly!" Addison holds up his hands toward Jack as if he's his prize pupil. “To give viewers what they want—you know, a few people to cheer for, and maybe a couple to hate—these mediocre families need some sort of competition.”
I feel my lips pursing in exasperation. “Like Survivor? You mean, you're letting the competitors vote on who stays and who leaves? But that won’t work! What if the Last Family Standing is that of the terrorist? Or worse, what if he uses his early exit as an excuse to accelerate his mission before we’re on to him?”
“Not to worry, Craigs,” Addison assures us. “No way would we let the families vote on each other! Otherwise, you guys would be the first out the door."
Jack scowls. “What makes you say that?"
Addison holds up his hands. "Hey, pal, don't shoot the messenger. I can't help it if the little lady here isn't exactly Miss Congeniality." He nods in my direction.
He's right. Still, I'd never trade my exceptional baking skills and honesty for my neighbors' mediocre culinary talents and sugar coated backstabbing.
My stabs are real. And deadly.
Another reason why I shouldn't be on camera. "Let me get this straight: we're supposed to be living with cameras in our faces for twelve weeks? If that's the case, there's no way we'll be able to take down the terrorists without blowing our covers!”
"Problem solved." Addison smiles supremely. "I've already convinced the network that the only way to compete with all the binge-watching of viewers on the premium cable networks is to run this show over seven consecutive nights. If the ratings go through the roof—and my showrunners will make sure of that—the network will win this upcoming fall sweeps period. And it may set a new pace for unscripted reality shows."
"With all the editing to be done, is it logistically possible?" Emma asks.
Addison shrugs. "Sure. We have four to six cameras on during group gatherings, and each home will have cameras in every room. The first hour of the show will be pre-recorded. Our editors will work around the clock to pluck the juiciest footage of the previous twenty-four hours. However, the show’s second hour will be live."
"So, that's the draw for ISIS," Jack murmurs.
Ryan nods. He isn't smiling. It'll be a tense seven days for all of us.
"My only regret is that Jeff has to be in front of the cameras too." Addison sighs. "Best assistant I ever had! The way he poked holes in scripts? Why, that kid is like an Aaron Sorkin mini-me!" He shrugs. "That's okay. We must put country before commerce, right?"
Jack grins. "Spoken like a true patriot."
"Hey, I mean it," Addison insists. "I've been accused of a lot of things, but supporting terrorism ain't one of them."
“Not to mention, it could kill your ratings—no pun intended—and y
our stock price," I mutter.
"Yeah, I thought of that, too!” Addison laughs. “To keep things interesting, after each day's assigned task, viewers will vote by texting to a number designated for each family. The family that earns the most votes by the seventh show wins! And I’m not just talking about fifteen piddly minutes of fame, either.” Addison leans in for his big close. “There's a very lucrative reason to be the last clan standing. The winners gets a cash prize that is the equivalent of one year of a thirty-year mortgage, based on an up-to-date sales assessment after taxes."
Now you're talking. Okay, yeah, I'm in.
Jack’s mouth abruptly closes. I guess he's on board too.
"Let's get back to the business at hand," Ryan growls. "Only Addison will know your real identities. However, he may not always be on the set. An executive producer also acts as the showrunner who's in charge of the crew, and has total control of the final on-air product."
The screen changes to a picture of a woman: a svelte and toned brunette in her mid-thirties. Her Marc Jacobs couture dress fits her slim body as if it is welded onto it. Her sleek hair is sliced at a severe angle that accentuates her high cheekbones.
Her lips don't smile. They smirk.
"This is Brin Patterson," Ryan explains. "What can you tell us about her, Addison?"
"For one thing, she's a ballbuster." By the way Addison winces, I presume he means that both metaphorically and physically. "I'd like to say that her bark is worse than her bite, but I'm not here to lie to you."
My guess is that he knows this, first hand. In fact, if I examine his neck for puncture marks I would not be surprised to find wounds that match her perfect little teeth.
"Just do as she asks and you'll, er…survive,” he warns.
Ah, I get it. Despite what Addison won't tell Brin, she owns him.
On the screen, Brin's face is replaced by another woman who is also in her mid-thirties. "This is Lucy Trumbull. She's Brin's second in command," Addison explains. "Brin calls the shots, but Lucy's opinion carries a lot of weight because she's the queen of talent manipulation."
I take a moment to scrutinize Lucy. From the looks of her—short and slight, with coiling auburn hair; scruffy jeans, no make-up, and eyes that avoid the camera—she is the antithesis of her immediate superior.
She looks sad. I wonder why?
I turn to Addison. "Is there any possibility that our suspect is part of the crew?"
He shakes his head. "My crew is made up of seasoned pros who belong to trade unions. Granted, the show is new, but most of them have worked together on other Montague reality shows. For the most part, they can vouch for each other"—He nods toward Abu and Emma—"just like I'm vouching for your two operatives there.”
"In other words, if ISIS infiltrates the set, most likely, it'll be as a contestant,” Jack deduces.
Addison nods.
"Family interviews start tomorrow,” Ryan reminds us. “Once we get a handle on who's left standing—besides Donna and Jack, that is—we can pull together dossiers on them." He rubs his eyes in anticipation of whatever fresh hell that may wreak. "Here's hoping we discover the terrorist's identity before the show gets on the air."
No arguments there.
However, the moment the bad guy is taken into custody, I'll beg Ryan to allow the Craigs to hang in the show as long as we can. It would be nice to have someone else write out our mortgage payments for the next twelve months.
"What? The producers of Hot Housewives of Hilldale are coming here…to interview us?" Mary is wary—even more so because we've waited until everyone is home and gathered around the dinner table to break the news to them. She eyes me suspiciously. "Why the flip-flop? You were the one who said it was stupid to audition."
"I…don't know. I mean...maybe it'll be, you know—interesting." Is my smile too wide? My guess is yes. From the frightened look on Trisha's face, I reason I must seem like a deranged clown.
The way Mary frowns, I can tell she's not buying what I'm saying.
Evan shrugs. "If we get chosen, it may not look so great on my college applications. And, besides, I need to focus on my grades so that they don't slip." He gives an apology with a shake of his head. "Of course, if it's something you and Jack want to do, I completely understand, Donna. I'm sure I can hole up with one of the guys on the lacrosse team until the filming is over."
Mary's distress shows itself in the way her eyes grow wide with concern at his possible defection. "Well, then it's settled. We're not doing it," she exclaims adamantly.
Jack lays his hand on Evan's shoulder. "Look, Evan, no one says we'll even be selected. And even if we are, we'll lay down some ground rules. For example, we'd tell the producers that our children can be in front of the cameras only after their homework is completed."
As Evan wavers, his shoulders relax. "Well…I guess it would be kind of fun. From what I overheard at the pool this afternoon, every girl in town is crazy over the idea of being on television."
"Which means, they'll go crazy over you too, if we get chosen," Jeff points out.
Mary's scowl deepens.
Trisha brightens. "Will I get to wear make-up?"
"No," I declare adamantly.
"Oh." Her pout mirrors her older sister's. "Well, how about some new dresses?"
"In fact, they do put you in new clothes," Jack informs her.
Mary seems to relax at that tidbit of good news. "Well…I guess it can't hurt to talk to the producers."
I can barely keep from pumping my fist in the air. The last thing we need is to have the kids pull a mutiny and kill our chance at the mission before it even starts.
"Glad you kids came to your senses," Aunt Phyllis declares. "No time to waste. We have to decide which characters we're playing!"
Jack looks at her as if she's crazy. "What do you mean by that? They're looking for normal, everyday families."
She snorts. "Like heck they are! Haven't you watched any of those shows? They want drama—and lots of it!" She scrutinizes me. "For example, they'll want one of the wives to be devious…Nah, you can't do devious."
It's my turn to scowl. "Oh, yeah? Says who?"
Before I can tell her how I've made my life a masterpiece of devious, Jack claps his hands over my mouth. "That's okay. Donna will settle for the Perfect Mom trope."
Trisha's frown shows her confusion. "What's a trope?"
"It's a character or plot cliché," Jeff explains.
"Oh." His little sister thinks for a moment. Then: "Is Cheever's family going to apply?"
Jeff rolls his eyes. "You better believe it! He says his mom is pulling out all the stops, whatever that means."
"It means she's going to make a fool of herself," I mutter.
Trisha nods. "So, she wants to be the crazy neighbor lady trope."
"Or the neighborhood bitch trope," Aunt Phyllis mutters.
I give her a warning look.
Jack sighs. "If so, she's got that particular trope hands down."
He's close enough for me to nudge him into silence.
"Or the cougar trope," Evan murmurs. "You should have seen what she was wearing at the pool today!"
"Yeah, no kidding." Jeff laughed. "When Morton called it a Band-Aid, Cheever almost drowned him."
"How many times did she ask you to rub sunscreen on her back, Evan? I seemed to have lost count," Mary teased.
"Wow, if she can be all those tropes at once, why would they want anyone else in the show?" Trisha wonders out loud.
Point well taken. And it would certainly make our lives easier.
But, alas, this isn't really about her. It's about some guy on a suicide mission.
I rise to remove the dinner plates and get the dessert. Mary helps and follows me into the kitchen. She waits until she hears the others laughing over some other possible clichés that Penelope might embody before placing her hand on me. Looking me in the eye, she says, "Remember our pact: only the truth."
"Of course," I reply warily.
/> "Mr. Clancy wants you to apply to the show, doesn't he?"
She watches me quietly as I think how to answer her. "You know that your father and I aren't allowed to talk about our work," I remind her.
"Gotcha. Okay, don't tell me." She smiles. "Wow! We're going to be on TV!" Her eyes sparkle excitedly. "I wonder what trope I should be?"
"The teenager who is the goody-two-shoes," I warn her. "Otherwise, you'll be the teenager who gets grounded and stays in her room for all seven episodes it's on the air."
"Okay, Mom, I can take a hint. I'm the one who'll be so boring that I won't get picked up for Season Two."
If there is a Season Two, it's because we've accomplished our mission.
"You're awfully quiet," Jack says. He looks up from the mission file he's reading on his iPad. It contains dossiers on Addison and the rest of the production staff. The goal is to look for any discrepancies that might mark them as accomplices to the terrorists' plan of destruction.
I should be doing the same, but I'm sure it's obvious to him that I'm not, since my iPad has gone into sleep mode. I lay it on my nightstand. "Listen, since we're already a shoo-in for the show, when the producers come to interview us tomorrow let's not denigrate ourselves in front of our children."
"I'll shake on that." He holds out his hand. But as our hands meet, he pulls me close to him on the bed. "Long after this assignment is over, we don't want any crazy antics to haunt us."
We then seal our commitment with a kiss.
Not that we'll stop there.
Here's hoping we all get cut. It's much better than getting blown up.
Chapter 4
Married…with Children
“Honey, could you come out in the backyard with me? I have the urge to bury something!”
—Al Bundy
Marriage is a very special commitment between two people. Raising children together is also a unique and challenging commitment between two parents.
Parents, here are three tips for keeping both while avoiding commitment to a psychiatric ward:
Tip #1: Never fight in front of the kids. Yes, you heard me. All guns, knives, bombs, drones, and other WMDs—Weapons of Marital Destruction—cannot come out until after the kiddies are in bed.