Elimination Night - By Anonymous Page 0,57

phone call.

Five minutes passed… Len was still on the phone. Another five minutes. Snorts of impatience now from the crew. This was getting ridiculous. Finally, Len hung up. Instead of getting back to the shoot, however, he called Joey over. They had a short but violently animated conversation. Joey seemed pissed. Len seemed pissed, too. Then Joey called over Mitch, who seemed even more pissed. Mitch ended up doing that whispery-shouty thing, arms flying about all over the place. And then—at last—some kind of peace was reached.

Mitch huffed off somewhere. Joey returned to The Lion’s Den with his fellow judges.

Lights down.

Mic check.

Positions.

And-a-three. And-a-two. And-a—

Now: Bonnie climbing the stairs to the cage. Anxious music. Close-up as Bonnie reaches the top. She looks sensational: red shoes, gray pencil dress, hair in a layered ponytail. Extraordinary to think she’s just nineteen years old, that she has willingly dedicated the rest of her life to a man who will never walk or talk again. She gives a little wave to the judges—it’s too awkward for kisses or hugs in The Lion’s Den. Then she sits. Rebalances herself. Tips back. Tips forward. Looks down at the chair, laughs nervously, and then, with leg muscles pulled tight, she holds herself steady.

“It wasn’t your strongest performance, babe,” begins Joey. “But like I said the other day—you’re an angel. And whatever happens here, I don’t want you to stop singing. Okay?”

Bonnie nods, gulps. “It was that song,” she explains. “I shouldn’t have let them—”

“It’s all about song choice, man,” JD interrupts, pointlessly. “You gotta pick the right song.”

“But I didn—”

“Dude, you had the Boo, but not the Ka.”

“We love ya, Bonnie,” adds Joey. “Just remember that. Always remember that, please. Some things in life—as you know—are just out of our hands. And you gotta let ’em be.”

A bluff is coming: This much is obvious to anyone who’s ever watched Icon before. The strongest contestant gets negative signals. The judges look weary, depressed. They shake their heads a lot. They smile like it’s all for the best. And then—how could this be happening?—the awful sentence begins: “I’m so sorry, honey, but…” Cut to the break. Everything seems lost. But it’s not. It’s just a bluff. When the commercials are done, it’s back to the studio, and the verdict resumes: “I’m sorry, honey, but… YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO SEE US AGAIN IN HOLLYWOOD! YOU’RE THROUGH TO THE NEXT ROUND!”

So predictable.

In the monitors, Joey and JD look weary, depressed—just as expected. Now JD is shaking his head, as if preparing for the worst. Here it comes. Here it comes.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” says Bibi, attempting to smile like it’s all-for-the-best. “But…”

Bonnie whimpers.

The bluff is coming.

Wait.

Wait…

“But… you’re out,” says Bibi, her face revealing no emotion whatsoever. “I’m sorry.”

I’m choking. Everyone’s choking. The room is clean out of oxygen. This surely isn’t real.

Why would they be doing this?

“You’re going home,” Bibi confirms, almost like she doesn’t even believe it herself. “This is the end.”

A photograph of Staff Sergeant Mike Donovan now fills the monitors. He’s looking strong and handsome before his injury. Then another photograph, this time of Bonnie and her husband on their wedding day: Bonnie is kneeling beside the wheelchair, clutching her husband’s only remaining arm. Mikey isn’t here today, thank God—his condition means he can’t fly. So he’ll have to watch this scene in February, with the rest of America. If he can bear it, of course. Now music is playing in the studio: “Last Post” bugle call. “He’s injured, not dead, you morons,” I’m thinking. Then back to Bonnie in The Lion’s Den. She’s holding it together. She stands up, thanks the judges in turn—each gets a lipless nudge on the cheek—and then she leaves the cage, managing a smile as she goes.

Wayne Shoreline is waiting: “Tell me why you feel like you’ve failed your brutally injured husband.”

“I don’t—”

“It’s okay, Bonnie,” he says. “It’s all over. Let it out. This is a tragedy for you, right? How does this compare to the day you heard the news from Afghanistan?”

She begins to respond, but up in The Lion’s Den, something is happening.

What on earth is that… noise?

Bonnie stops talking.

Bibi, who had seemed so composed a few moments earlier, is making a terrible, pitiful sound, her blue dress crumpling around her like a punctured birthday balloon. Her hands are shaking. Her face is a flash flood of tears and mascara. A robotic-arm camera nosedives overhead for a better angle. If Bibi’s faking this, she’s doing a phenomenal job. Now her