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

get a move on?” Iain said. Interns. Honestly. Sometimes it seemed like they were more trouble than they were worth. Even the free ones. But Iain needed to make do with what he had, and he’d be damned if he ended up on the receiving end of yet another one of Marlene’s snotty looks. And he’d be damned if these little twerps kept him from going home at a decent hour, too. “Paint faster, people. It’s not the Sistine Chapel.”

In an ideal world, the studio’s prop room could have provided the necessary accouterments for the show. “I need lots of wands,” Marlene had told him. So he’d put a call in, and they’d sent down a good two dozen of them.

To which she’d responded with a “look.”

If she meant a thousand, she should have been more fucking specific.

When he finally found a manufacturer who was willing to overnight the damn things to him, they cheerfully informed him that they would do just that…after an eight to ten day manufacturing period. Because apparently the need for magic wands was not so great that anyone in the whole damn country would stock a thousand of them.

Which, of course, Marlene needed for tomorrow.

Luckily, once Iain ducked back into his trailer to pace and swear, he spotted the piece of “chalk” he’d given the Math Wizard during the filming of the intro, a piece of dowel covered in white correction fluid, and he had his great idea. Not terribly great—magic wands made from dowels didn’t look nearly as good as the wands from the prop department, which were tapered on one side and carefully finished, with a glossy ebony body and a faux ivory tip—but at least he’d have them in time for the damn stunt.

If only the pathetic interns would stop screwing around and get to work.

___

As much as Ricardo enjoyed the company of his teammates, the time they spent waiting for things to happen was nerve-wracking. There was a pool on the property, but it was out of repair, drained and off-limits. There was a workout room, but Kevin Kazan was usually in there pumping iron—and the grunting noises he made with each and every curl, extension or raise were, frankly, disturbing (plus there was the thought of his perspiration coating everything…just, ew.) There was a full bar…but with handhelds drifting through their living space hoping to spy a bit of interpersonal conflict, even between challenges, it seemed unwise to give in to temptation and go the unfortunate Ken Barron route. And there was a hastily-manicured section of backyard that seemed ideal for sunbathing, but once Ricardo and Sue spread out their towels, they soon discovered that clouds of gnats from the unkept areas were quick to descend on them. Besides, it turned out the grass had only been painted green. It poked right through the towels and prickled their backs, and it crunched every time they rolled over.

So it was with a certain dread-tinged relief that Ricardo greeted Iain when the producer strode into the front hall, where the Gold Team members were perched on the edge of the fountain, wagering guesses as to what the odd chemical smell in the water might be. Dread, because the sight of Iain meant the announcement of some weird, contrived activity that would ultimately end in someone getting voted off. But relief, since the anticipation was killing them.

“Heads up, kids. It’s time for your next stunt. Swing by wardrobe, then meet me in the basement at five-fifteen ready to roll in your brand-spanking new swimwear.”

The basement? That part of the mansion had been strictly off-limits to the contestants.

Iain turned and left. Ricardo looked at Sue, who shrugged. No one tried to stop Iain. It wasn’t as if they were under the illusion that he might tell them what they were up against.

As the teammates stood to head over to wardrobe, Muriel said, “Do you think there’ll be pudding involved?”

Faye grumbled, “There’d better not be.”

“I dunno,” Muriel said as they trooped into wardrobe and began making their way past racks of sequins and satin. “I could really go for some pudding.”

While Ricardo scrutinized the three-way mirror to determine which sparkly gold briefs made his butt look shapelier, it occurred to him that he’d presumed he would only don such a costume while lounging beside a serene, blue in-ground pool. The word “Mansion” in the show’s title was no doubt to blame for his misconception that anything in his reality TV experience would actually be glamorous. Then again, some things you just can’t anticipate. Like painted grass. Or giant vats of pudding.

The wardrobe assistant stuck her head into his makeshift changing stall, looked directly at his butt, and said, “Definitely that pair.”

Ricardo took a deep breath and nodded. He supposed there wasn’t anything left to do, other than show up and try to make the best of things.

The basement, it turned out, was vast. Its ceilings were high and there were no exposed beams or concrete walls, as would be found in any normal middle-class home. But there was still a dank, utilitarian feel about it, all the same.

The tile floors were set with drains, and the camera rigs and lighting hugged the wall with the electrical box and hot water heater. A four-foot-tall pool with inflatable sides took up most of the set. Hard to say what it contained. A silver solar cover shielded the contents from view.

Bev, Sue and Muriel were right behind Ricardo. Sue looked like Miss Nebraska in her new low-lighted hairdo, spike heels and gold lamé one-piece with high cut legs. Muriel wore a suit with a plainer cut and a gold snakeskin pattern that left the eye wondering where to look. Bev seemed awkward in glasses, earrings, and geriatric-looking gold paisley swim dress that managed to highlight every unflattering bulge.

Faye brought up the rear in gold kitten heels and a thigh-length gold sparkle wrap cinched tight over her swimsuit. She strode to a piece of gaffing tape on the floor