American Hero - George R. R. Martin Page 0,70

vote, and half the Discards running off to Egypt, and of course the earthquake. We don’t have earthquakes in Philadelphia, and I can’t say I like them much. I thought it was a freight train rolling through the living room. Half the dishes in the drainer jumped onto the floor and shattered, though I’ve put them back together good as new with some glue I made with toothpaste and pineapple juice, zapped in the microwave. My jetpack fell off the hook and bounced off my shoulder, too. I still have a bruise where it struck me, but I’m pleased to say it still works fine.

Some of the others got a few bruises as well, but no one was badly hurt. We could easily have been been killed, as Mother pointed out when she finally got through to me on the phone. She was almost in tears, she was so pleased to hear my voice. This has been the longest we have ever been apart.

But there’s only one more week, and we can all go home. I can’t say that I will be sad to see the last of Los Angeles. The show was certainly an experience and I met a number of interesting people. Not all of them were as pleasant as I might have wished, however, and very few of them were as smart as they thought they were . . . especially the ones who went running off to Egypt.

We all signed contracts with the production company when we were chosen for the show, and the language was quite plain. We were to stay until the end of filming. All those who left without authorization are in breach. They have certainly forfeited their per diem and the generous gifts that they were to receive at the wrap party, and if what I am hearing from the crew is true, the network is going to sue every one of them. Bad enough that they broke their contracts, but I’ve also heard that Rustbelt destroyed Mr. Berman’s car. I would not have thought that Wally would be so wantonly destructive. Perhaps what Stuntman said about him was true after all.

I understand why Rustbelt would want to go to Egypt, I suppose. He needed to do something to take the tarnish off his name. And Simoon has relations there, so it makes sense that she would go as well. I suppose Holy Roller felt it was God’s will. The others, though . . . most of them have good intentions, I’m sure, but as Mother always says, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Mind you, I did consider going with them. Don’t think I wasn’t tempted. Terrible things are happening in Egypt, if what Jonathan Hive is reporting on the internet can be believed. “What would Jetboy do?” I asked myself. Robert Tomlin never shied away from a fight. But he never broke his word either, and all of us signed those contracts. The network and the producers have put a lot of money into American Hero. Hundreds of people tried out for the show, and they picked us. I don’t think it is fair for us to repay them by running off before the show is over. I spoke with Mother about it as the others were throwing clothes into their bags, and she agreed. “Jetboy was no quitter,” she reminded me. “Win or lose, Howard, he kept fighting to the very end.”

That’s so. So I am still here, and I’ll be here to the end.

Now it looks as though the American Hero will be Stuntman or Rosa Loteria. The way I see it, it all comes down to luck. Stuntman is Stuntman; he’s tough, he bounces back, he keeps on coming, but he’s what he is, never more and never less. Rosa’s power is all chance. She shuffles that deck and draws a card, and it’s all so random. Some of her personae have formidable powers, but she’s just as likely to transform herself into chicken-woman or melon-girl, with no more power than your average joker.

And no one wants us to say this, but it should have been Curveball. She could have taken either of them, or both of them together.

But never mind. It’s been a long ride, but it’s almost over, and I can’t wait to get home to Philadelphia. I’m going to take Mother to Pat’s King of Steaks as soon as I arrive. No one out here knows how to make a proper cheesesteak.

Confessional: