Elimination Night - By Anonymous Page 0,24
a compliment, of sorts—an acknowledgment that his ability to host a live one-hour broadcast with such ruthless calm is beyond the realm of mere flesh and blood. But there’s another reason for Wayne’s heart-of-silicon reputation: The fact he’s never had any kind of public relationship—male or female—during his entire twenty-year show business career. Indeed, when he’s photographed at dinner, it’s usually with his mother. “The press thinks he’s gay,” as Mitch once told me. “But I doubt it. I don’t think he’s anything. If you pulled down the guy’s pants, the only thing swinging between his legs would be a USB stick.”
Everyone was now waiting for me to continue. So I cleared my throat and started again.
“Okay, so Wayne’s up first,” I said, consulting the script on my clipboard. “He’s going to do the intro, recap Project Icon’s backstory, et cetera, et cetera… then we’ll introduce JD. Lights will go down, there’ll be a two-minute video package—a kind of ‘best of’ thing, lots of booya-ka-kas—and then Wayne will invite JD on stage, there’ll be cheering, flashbulbs, a bit of music, Wayne and JD will do a very short Q&A, thirty seconds maximum, lights will go back down, JD will leave the stage, and we’ll move on to Joey. Everyone good with that?”
“You mean Joey’s not last?” replied Mitch, as if this were some kind of huge, deal-breaking surprise.
Clearly, Bibi would be last. Mitch surely knew this already.
“We’re not thinking of it in terms of ‘first’ and ‘last,’ Mitch,” I said, surprised at my ability to bullshit without hesitation or shame when the occasion called for it.
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Bill. You’re no good at it.”
“Look, the running order is JD, Joey, then Bibi,” I said. “It’s in the script. Sorry, Mitch.”
“Why can’t Joey and Bibi come out on stage at the same time?”
Mitch wasn’t letting this one go.
“Mitch, we’re running a video package and a separate Q&A for each panel member. We can’t do them all at the same time. It’s a ‘reveal.’ It’s supposed to be dramatic.”
“Okay, so why not do Bibi second? Ladies before gentlemen.”
“THAT’S AN OUTRAGE!” yelled Joey, so loud it almost made me lose my balance. Then, with a shriek of hilarity: “Don’t ever accuse me of being a gentleman!”
Everyone laughed—anything to relieve the horrible tension in the room—but not Mitch. He crossed his arms and stared at me, eyes gleaming. Behind him, Teddy grinned.
I flipped through the pages of the script, noticing that Len had replaced the final section—this much was obvious from the spelling errors and formatting. He’d typed it himself, it seemed, and at speed. I wondered why he hadn’t mentioned that.
“So anyway,” I went on, shakily. “Next up: Joey. Same deal as JD, basically. First the video package, then Wayne will invite Joey on stage, there’ll be a Q&A, cheering, flashbulbs, bit of music—et cetera, et cetera—lights down again, then on to Bibi.”
“Ooh, me?” Bibi squealed.
Teddy’s smile grew wider.
I turned the page.
“Okay: so the lights will go down once more,” I read. “The darkness will last for ninety seconds. We’ll hear distant thunder. Then the thunder will get louder. Smoke will gather…”
“OH, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Mitch screamed.
“… and then, in a blinding flash, lightning will strike the stage…”
I had to take a breath. Len hadn’t warned me about any of this. This was exactly what Mitch had feared. They’d fucked him. There was simply no other way of putting it. Joey had been reduced to a sideshow, a supporting act—no more important than JD. Len and Teddy must have cut a deal, without telling anyone. And now I was the one having to deliver the news. No wonder Len hadn’t told me about the script changes. No wonder he’d been so insistent that I do the run-through, even though he was supposed to be in charge.
“… at this point we’ll hear the first few bars of Bibi’s new single, ‘Gotta Disco,’ and as the music gets louder, images of Bibi Beautiful cosmetics products will be projected on to the auditorium walls…”—I found myself speaking faster, trying to get it over with—“… then fade out as we cut to Bibi’s fifteen-minute video package. When the package is over, Wayne will move to the wings. All lights out. More thunder. More lightning. Then a trapdoor in the stage floor will open, and Bibi will rise on a mechanical arm over the audience, as Wayne says, ‘Ladies and gentlemen: The legend, the movie star, the multiplatinumselling, Grammy-winning artist, also known to the residents of Planet