Elimination Night - By Anonymous Page 0,40

eye contact.”

Len’s order wasn’t as straightforward as it sounded. To see where Bibi was looking meant standing directly behind her, but this was impossible because: a) there was barely any room between the back of her chair and the window, and b) I couldn’t appear on camera. So I crouched down and waddled along on my haunches to the far edge of the judges’ table, then backed up as much as I could—making sure I was well out of the shot—to see if I could approximate her viewing angle.

My leg muscles felt as though they were about to snap.

“Dude, for me, that was just okay for you,” JD was saying. “It’s wasn’t the full booya-ka-ka.”

“Please,” the contestant begged. “I know I can do this.”

“I thought it was all right, man,” countered Joey. “Good job. Over to you, Bibi. Your call.”

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Lovecraft,” the contestant wept. “Ms. Vasquez—please! Oh, please!”

“NOW!!!” screamed Len into my headset, making me almost fall backward into a light reflector. “WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE LOOKING AT, BILL?”

I tried to follow Bibi’s gaze, but a light was blocking the way.

“Hold on,” I hissed.

“Now, Bill, now.”

“There’s something in the—”

“Jesus Christ. Can’t you do anything?”

“Arrgh!” I’d knelt awkwardly on something hard and spiked, and pain was now coursing through my knee and into my leg, which was already sore from walking on my haunches. And then, in my agony, I glimpsed it: a clear path from Bibi’s eyes in the direction they were currently pointing. If I could just move… my other leg… yes, yes… watch out for the… good, good… a little more…

“I’ve got a lock,” I whispered. “Repeat, I’ve got a…”

“TELL ME WHAT SHE’S LOOKING AT.”

Bibi cleared her throat to deliver her verdict. Then—as always—she paused.

That blank stare again.

Now I was seeing exactly what she was seeing: the contestant trembling on the podium; the vast, glossy billboard of the sponsors’ wall behind him; the dense, tangled thicket of cameras, lights, mic stands, and monitors that loomed to either side; the black-T-shirted crew members, crouched down like me or flattened against the walls. What the hell was she focused on? I adjusted my angle by a tenth of a degree. Another tenth. C’mon, Bill, look. Look harder. There! Was that…? Yes, in the blackness beyond the cameras. Just to the left of the sponsors’ wall. A glint from a pair of eyeglasses. A figure on tiptoe. A man. Standing there, motionless. No… not motionless. Holding something up. He was holding up a—

“Oh my God,” I said, but I was drowned out by Bibi.

“It’s a no from me, honey,” she blurted, at last. “I’m sorry. You’re just not ready.”

“You’ll never believe this,” I hissed into the headset. “Teddy is holding up cue cards.”

We broke for lunch in an adjoining room, where the hotel staff had set up a temporary canteen. I’d learned the previous day that these lunches were like the first day of high school all over again, with a rigid hierarchy of seating. The popular kids were the judges, who were allocated a table all of their own. Of secondary coolness was the table for Len and his “Lovelies,” which included two blonde Rabbit publicists, and some of the better-looking assistants. Then there were the groupings of assistant producers and the like—i.e., me and my fellow underlings—followed by hair and makeup, lighting and sound, and then the rest of the crew.

Today, however, was different: Joey, Mitch, and Len were sitting together, and when I walked in the room, they called me over and invited me to join them.

This can’t be good news, I thought.

“Before you ask, yes, I’m hungry,” said Joey, by way of explaining the spread in front of him. It included a dozen oysters, half a cheeseburger, some fries, a bento box of sushi, and a whole grilled salmon. At Joey’s table, I soon discovered, there was no menu. You just asked for whatever came to mind when you sat down.

“Where on earth do you put it all, Joey?” asked Len. “You’ve got a ten-inch waist.”

“Overactive thyroid,” Joey mumbled, through a mouthful of bun. “Plus ADD. I can eat anything.”

“Incredible,” Len marveled.

“You should have seen him on cocaine,” offered Mitch, glumly.

Joey stood up. “Don’t let them clear this,” he instructed, gesturing to his plate with one hand while using the other to push half a roll of sushi into his still bun-filled mouth. “I’m sooo fuckin’ hungry, man. But I gotta siphon the python. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he rose from