Magic Mansion Jordan Price (best non fiction books of all time txt) 📖

that crosses your face, could possibly show up on someone’s high-def TV set, bigger than life—you can’t imagine the pressure. And maybe they’ll decide this ‘look’ of yours is raw enough to show over and over, every time they go into a commercial break. And then a DVD set will come out, and whatever look you had on your face will be there for people to laugh about, to mock…forever.

“And if it’s really humiliating, it’ll probably show up on YouTube, too. ’Cos the DVDs aren’t bad enough. People love that. Watching you die inside.

“Chip Challenge has been awesome through this whole thing. He’s like the kid brother I never had. He’s a good guy, you know? A sincerely good guy, deep down inside. You’d think this business would eat someone like him for breakfast. But there’s something resilient about him. And I hang out with him, the cameras don’t seem so bad, and I kind of feel like…well, I dunno. Maybe things can work out for me after all.”

____

As Ricardo finished changing into one of his “Magician Semi-Casual” outfits: tight black stretch jeans, a purple silk shirt (untucked), and a sixties-inspired pair of pointy suede wingtips, there was a tap on his bedroom door. He found Sue there in the hallway, just as moderately-dolled-up as he was in a glitzy clubwear blouse, crushed velvet slacks, and kitten heels. She slipped into his room and checked for cameras, and when she reassured herself of their relative privacy, said, “I still look like I’ve been crying, don’t I?”

She did. A bit. “Can’t say I noticed. I was wondering if I needed to get myself a pair of velvet pants. They’re hot on you, girl.”

She perched gingerly on one of the room’s two unused beds. “It was so embarrassing.”

“You don’t even know for sure the editors are going to show it.”

“Oh, they’ll show it all right.” She sniffled as if she might start crying again. “The minute the waterworks started, the cameras swarmed me. It was like a scene from a Hitchcock movie. But instead of birds pecking at me from all angles, I had cameramen.”

Who knew a deep-tissue massage would be so painful? Ricardo felt profoundly guilty, because he should have been the one to bear the brunt of it. His pain threshold had always been high. And he felt even more guilty that the worst thing he’d needed to contend with at the spa was the fact that he was swaddled so tightly he couldn’t reach out and run his fingers over John’s bare shoulder.

That was likely a blessing, given that a secret camera might have been hidden in a heating vent or a stack of towels.

When they’d picked their tasks, everyone had been so distracted by the aspect of who was willing to grin and bare it—and who was concerned with sparing their older teammates the discomfort of disrobing—that none of them had considered the specifics of the treatments themselves.

“They’ll probably show Fabian too,” Ricardo said. “He must have been wincing, at least.”

“Probably. He was making this weird groany sound. But he wasn’t crying—not like me. And the crying seemed to be what drew them. Like flies to…crap.”

Ricardo sat beside Sue and gave her a pat on the knee. She winced. He supposed it wasn’t the best time to mention that he smelled really good, and that his skin felt amazing, even his elbows. Or that John looked just as fine with his clothes off as he did in his tailored black suit.

And that John’s skin probably felt amazing now, too. And if they rubbed their amazing skin together, it would be so hot Ricardo might just burst into flames.

A double-knock sounded on the door, and an assistant called in, “Taping in the ballroom in ten.”

Ricardo gave Sue what he hoped was an uplifting smile, and said, “It’s showtime!”

Sue stood, unfolding painfully from the edge of the bed. “I want to die.”

“Come on.” Ricardo offered his arm. “We’ll walk nice and slow.”

They did walk slowly, and consequently, were the last two to enter the ballroom. With the Gold Team standing there framed by the gilt fireplace, Ricardo experienced a moment of disorientation at seeing Amazing Faye and Charity there with Muriel and Bev—because during his morning at the spa, he’d forgotten them. Intellectually, he knew they were part of his team. But in his heart, his teammates were the women he’d met while he was taping the Magic Mansion intro.

Faye’s semi-causal outfit consisted of a halter top and clingy tuxedo-inspired pants with sequins running up the sides. Charity had on a bubblegum pink tracksuit—and her puppet was now wearing a bow tie. Ricardo looked more closely. No, Oscar had on a whole new outfit. Right down to the shoes. His fuzz-like hair was even styled a bit differently, parted to the side.

Did Oscar wear pajamas, too? Ricardo had been a bit lonely in his own room, but the thought of Oscar watching him sleep made him experience a surge of gratitude for his solitary accommodations.

The Red Team stood beneath a massive Impressionist depiction of swans and water lilies, a towering canvas at least ten feet high. It seemed a bit festive behind them, the men all in black—even Chip Challenge, though his rhinestones, cuffs and fringe were colorful. Their sole female contestant, Jia Lee, was once again fabulous in red: a short, tight red sheath dress with a mandarin collar.

Around the perimeter of the room, camera operators got themselves settled in, while assistants took readings with light meters and fussed with the curtains. A makeup artist touched up Sue’s lipstick, but must not have seen anything to correct on Ricardo. And then Monty Shaw walked past with a quick, “G’day,” and took up his station on a piece of tape beneath an ornate arch that led to a smaller parlor, or something—Ricardo couldn’t quite say what it had once been, only that there was a tapestry screen blocking the view of its interior now, and the set assistants went