Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

The four contestants bent their heads together to confer. The microphone in the minivan would likely pick up anything they said, but even so, the semblance of privacy made Ricardo feel a bit better. “Okay,” he said, “who wants to do what?”

Muriel said, “The smell of seaweed makes me gag.”

“I’m fine with stripping down,” Ricardo said, “and I’m fine with seaweed. I can do the wrap.” At least he’d get his money’s worth out of the tanning salon by showing off all the time he put in by flashing some skin.

“I wouldn’t mind a massage,” Sue said.

Muriel turned to Bev. “Got any problems doing the foot thing?”

“No. That’s okay by me.”

“Then I’ll take the aromatherapy. Done deal.”

They all looked at one another expectantly—and Ricardo felt a surreal moment where he wondered if indeed this reality show was actually happening, or if he’d made it all up in an elaborate dream—and then Sue dropped her voice down to a hint of a whisper, and said, “Girls’ team kicks ass.”

Bev gave Ricardo a motherly sort of smile, then wagged her finger at Sue and said, “Gold Team.”

“Oh. Right.”

Luckily they pulled up to the spa before another spate of giggling ensued.

____

John supposed, were he predisposed to headaches, he would have been suffering one as he stepped out of the red minivan. Marlene had given them four spa treatments to divvy up between them, and Kevin Kazan had turned the simple decision into an ordeal. But he was their team leader, they’d each received their assignments, and that was that.

The gold van pulled up just behind the red van, and John immediately watched for Ricardo’s appearance. He was smiling as he stepped from the van in his midnight blue fitted T-shirt and slim black jeans, and the gold-ribboned medallion he wore around his neck—which he wore well, despite how silly it was. He turned to help the ladies out of the van, and they were all smiling too.

John felt a wistful smile touch his own expression, though it evaporated when Kevin took his place on one side of him and Jia on the other, both glaring out at the world, chins jutting forward, spines poker-straight.

Jia didn’t like being told what to do. Kevin didn’t like repeating himself. Nor being challenged…particularly by a woman.

John couldn’t speak for Fabian, but he personally felt like he was watching a pair of children squabble over who got to play first on the jungle gym.

Marlene Perez climbed out of a much more utilitarian van than the one the Red Team had arrived in. Her black hair was caught back in a hasty ponytail, but her black-on-charcoal sweater set was obviously new, and probably had a designer label sewn inside the collar. When she drew close, John caught a hint of her perfume. She smelled expensive.

“Okay, Red Team, listen up. You’ll be sharing a treatment room with a member of the Gold Team, and we want you to chat. Remember, you’re rivals now.” She led them to a spot off-camera, and said, “We’ll get some shots of you walking in, and then we’ll get you situated in your rooms. Have your talks, then we’ll get back to the mansion location and grab some more ‘domestic’ shots.”

As John strode toward the spa doors, Fabian, beside him, muttered, “And here I thought this would be relaxing.”

John gave a slight nod.

Once John was inside, Marlene caught him by the arm and led him deeper into the building, which was so thick with camera equipment and crew he had a hard time picturing it without all the extra gear cluttering it up. “Here’s the changing booth,” she said, as she steered him into a curtained stall. “Get dressed and meet me in the room across the hall.”

The curtain shut, and John was alone.

It felt good, this moment of quiet, like the gasp of air he’d taken when the lid of the fish tank popped open. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been among so many people for such an extended period of time. It was actually rather thrilling—when they weren’t all sniping at each other and trading attitude.

He hung his new shirt and slacks carefully, and stepped into the disposable thong-like garment. Quick costume changes were no longer a key part of his act, not like they had been in the 70’s and 80’s. Not like Rose, either, who could go through as many as a dozen costumes in a night, and tear them off in two seconds flat without smudging her lipstick or knocking a hair out of place. While John might never have imagined a costume would include this flimsy excuse for briefs, or the turquoise robe, or the bamboo spa sandals, it was exciting to once again be part of an act that required a wardrobe change.

He dressed in the spa gear and stepped out into the hall, where Marlene was jabbing at the screen of her smartphone, deep in concentration. She looked up and smiled. “That color looks great on you. Make sure you pause in the doorway and let the camera get a good shot of it.”

With all the video lighting, the treatment room was glaringly bright compared to the hall, and a pair of cameramen were mashed up against opposite walls with handhelds. Two treatment tables had been shoved side by side, each with a spa technician at its head. But John’s focus narrowed to a single, stunning thing: Ricardo, seated on a table with one knee bent, in nothing but a pair of skimpy disposable briefs.

Ricardo turned. His eyes widened and he hesitated briefly, then gave his showman’s smile, and said, “You opted for the seaweed wrap? It smells a lot better than they said it would.”

Both cameras swung over to John, who said, “I’ve always been fond of the ocean.” He put one foot in front of the other and stepped into the center of the room, moving on sheer instinct, because conscious thought seemed to have fled at the sight of