Bedroom Games
Page 3

Unfortunately, all that quiet time made me think of my mother again.
My mother, who spent a fortune she didn’t have at the casinos. My mother, who’d charged up all her credit cards by putting groceries and bills on them so she could use her cash for the casino. Who called in sick to work so she could go gamble. Who was convinced that her ‘big break’ just lay around the corner and that all she had to do was wait for it to happen.
My mother, who’d cried like a baby when she’d had to come and borrow another hundred dollars from me so she could buy food. I’d given her the money, suckered by her tears…
And she’d gone straight to the casino.
I didn’t know what to do. I’d staged an intervention with other family members—cousins and aunts and uncles—but they had embarrassed her and she’d run out the door. I’d tried gently suggesting rehab. I’d suggested medication. I’d read books on how to handle an addict. All the while, my mother kept draining my funds because I wasn’t heartless enough to leave her homeless. It had gotten to the point that I had to take her grocery shopping simply because I didn’t trust her to take the money I gave her and actually buy food. If it was up to her, she’d buy a cupboard full of ramen and pocket the rest, all so she could stick it in the nearest slot machine.
It was stressful for me, too. My finances were getting tighter all the time, and I’d broken up with my last boyfriend because he had been furious that I was spending more time trying to handle my mother than going out with him. Also? It was really hard to be in the mood when you were sick with worry, and he hadn’t liked that either.
When I’d seen the advertisement for the House Guests casting call, it had seemed like the winning lottery ticket that my mother was always searching for. I’d sat down with my laptop and made an audition video, vowing to lie, scheme, and cheat my way to the top.
I’d never expected to get a call, not really. And yet, weeks later, here I was, fidgeting and waiting for the okay to step out of isolation and meet the other eleven guests that I’d be living with this summer.
As if the show could read my mind, a voice cut in over the soothing violin sounds in my headphones. “House Guests, please take your blindfolds and headphones off. When your booth chimes, you will be allowed to enter the house. Once inside, there will be stools onstage marked with your name. Please proceed to your labeled stool and sit.”
I pulled the headphones off, resisting the urge to rock on my heels with anticipation. I was wearing high heels—which I never did, because they messed up your feet and I made a living off of my feet—and rocking backward would have been dangerous. I pulled the headphones the rest of the way off, removed the blindfold, and waited.
A moment later, there was a ding in my booth, and I opened the door.
The isolation booths had been set up on the porch of the creepy house, so I didn’t have far to walk to get inside. Show staff was there to point me to the door, ushering me inside, so I knew they weren’t filming this part. My guess was that they’d film my grand entrance.
I headed to the big double-doors and an assistant put a hand in front of the door, gesturing for me to wait. After a moment, he cocked his head, listening to his headphones. Then, he nodded and moved aside so I could enter.
I took a deep breath. This was my chance to save my mom—and my sanity—in one fell swoop. All I had to do was slither my way to the top and get the jury to vote for me.
I put a hand on the door and stepped forward.
My heel caught on one of the cords stretched across the doorway, and I stumbled into the house, nearly face-planting. I managed to catch myself, staggering and nearly plowing into one of the people waiting on the other side of the door.
Memorable entrance, yes. Graceful, not so much.
“You okay?” A man moved to my side as I wobbled and tried not to fall. He put a steadying arm around my waist.
“House Guests! No talking until you are given the go-ahead. Please move to your seats.”
I looked over at the man, flashing him a grateful smile. He was a few inches taller than me, about my age, and he had a lean face with dark, soulful eyes. Not bad, not bad at all. “You probably better do what they say.”
“I will…as soon as I know you can stand without my help.” He didn’t move.
“It’s these shoes,” I muttered, lifting one foot and leaning on my new friend. Sure enough, one of the spiky heels had snapped, and now it hung on by a mere thread. I contemplated pulling off the entire shoe, but it was stylishly covered with buckles and straps and would take a minute to undo. Since they were screaming for us to sit down, I did the next best thing. I tugged the heel off, tossed it aside, and then lifted my other foot to snap the other heel off, making myself a pair of oddly angled flats. “At least now I can walk.”
He chuckled and his arm left my side. “All right, then.”
I hobbled over to the stools and found the one marked ‘Kandis’ on the front row and thumped into my seat. There were a few other contestants already seated, perched silently on their stools. The one I’d met—the cute guy—winked at me from his place in the back row. There were three rows and I counted seats—twelve in all. Four in my row, four behind me, and four in the back. No one else was sitting in the front row but me.
As other contestants moved through the doors and headed to their chairs, I rubbed at my now-throbbing ankles. Stupid shoes. That was what I got for trying to be sexy on national TV. Now I just looked like a fool. I began to unbuckle the shoes, propping up one foot and keeping busy to cover my embarrassment while the others entered the house. Some people blushed when they got nervous. I got fidgety.
I undid the jillions of buckles on both shoes and pulled them off and then held them in my hands politely, waiting for the okay to go find a garbage can. I crossed my legs and swung one of my feet anxiously, glancing behind me. Both of the rows in the back were full, but I was the only one on the front row. The three seats next to me were still empty. Curious, I glanced at the names on the seats.
There were only initials: LB on the far end, KS in the middle, and BS next to me.
So there were three more contestants. Where were they?
The lights in the house flickered to get our attention, and for the first time, I paid attention to my surroundings. The house was…interesting. It was very bright inside despite the menacing exterior—no doubt because we were filming in here. Light fixtures had been set in the ceilings. The floor underneath our stools was hardwood, and the walls were a dark, patterned purple. Picture frames lined the walls in several dark colors, but each frame was filled with a two-way mirror or dark glass that I knew shielded a camera on the other side. Each window had been shuttered with old-fashioned coverings since we were supposed to be isolated. There was a large fireplace with a big mantel across the room, a grandfather clock, and lots of old Victorian couches with little wooden legs. At the far end of the big living room, if I craned my neck, I could see a long, wooden dining table surrounded by old fashioned chairs. Very gothic.
Our stools were facing a very large TV that covered one wall. As of right now, the TV was blank. That would be where the host addressed us, then. I glanced over at the empty stools once more, curious, and shared a shrug with my friend in the back. He didn’t know what was up, either. Well, at least it wasn’t just me.