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“Maire,” Fern said, with delight. “You are the lucky one. I’ll draw a card from your deck, read it, and you’ll decide whether or not you’d like to Speak or Shoot.”
Camille watched as Maire nervously dug her fingers into her thighs, her face tight with anticipation. Fern pulled a card from the top of her deck and read it silently. Fern glanced from the card to Maire and back to the card, building the suspense. “So tell us, Maire, where did you go to college?”
Camille breathed a sigh of relief. She hoped all the questions would be this easy. There was really no reason that Maire shouldn’t answer it, Camille thought, but if she didn’t, she would have one strike against her.
Maire was hesitating for too long. “What will it be, Maire? Speak or Shoot?” Fern prodded.
“Speak,” Maire said. “I went to Tanglefoot in Iowa. I was an art student there.”
“See,” Fern said, looking at each of them in turn. “Easy, right?” Maire released a breath. “Okay, Maire, your turn to give it a spin.”
Using her thumb and index finger, Maire gave the gun a spin. It was an awkward attempt and the gun only rotated around the table twice before stopping in front of Ned. Camille felt some of the tension leach from her body.
“Ned,” Fern said, pulling a card from the orange deck of cards. “Your question—have you ever committed a crime?” she asked tightly. “What will you do? Speak or Shoot?”
Camille noticed the way Fern seemed to stiffen in every interaction she had with Ned. Camille couldn’t blame her; she had the same reaction. Ned was boorish and arrogant.
Ned chuckled. “A crime? I mean, I’ve gotten my fair share of parking tickets, but beyond that, no. I can honestly say I’ve never committed a crime.”
Fern stared at Ned for a time, her head cocked to the side as if inviting him to say more.
“And that is my final answer, Fern,” Ned said, deadpan.
“My turn to spin?” Without waiting for Fern’s response, he twirled the gun with gusto. It seemed to take forever to slow and come to a stop and, when it did, it returned to its last resting spot in front of Ned. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I get to spin again, right?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Fern said. “Wherever the barrel points, that’s the person in the hot seat. You get another question.”
“Okay,” Ned said looking around with a nervous laugh. “Let me have it.”
Camille eyed her deck of cards. What kinds of questions were in store for her? Questions about her past? Her debt? Her patients? Wingo? If Fern read a card asking about one of her patients, she would have to choose the Shoot option. Maybe, Camille thought, she should just bow out now. Purposely tank in hopes of being the next one voted off the show. Then, at least, she would be free of this strange, torturous game.
Camille noticed the slight tremble in Fern’s fingers as she slid the top card from the orange deck. Why was she so nervous? Camille felt sick at the possibility of what might come next.
Fern paused before speaking, her dark eyes darting from Ned to the card and back again. “Have you ever had an employee sign an NDA before?” Fern asked.
Ned’s eyes narrowed. “An NDA?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Fern said with mock patience. “A nondisclosure agreement.”
“I know what it is,” Ned retorted lightly. “I’m just not sure why it’s relevant.”
“Is that a pass?” Fern asked with an arched eyebrow.
Ned stared long and hard at Fern, his eyes flashing with anger. Alarm bells began clanging in Camille’s head. We need to get out of here, she wanted to scream. She wanted to sweep her arm across the table, knocking the candles, the wine, and the decks of cards to the floor. She looked at the twinkling lights above her and there it was—a small red light. The cameras. The damn cameras were everywhere.
Finally, Ned spoke. “Of course my employees signed NDAs. It’s standard practice in the entertainment field. We couldn’t have employees giving away crucial information about Cold, Hard Truth and its episodes before they aired.” Ned shrugged. “I imagine my NDAs were very similar to the one all of us had to sign to be on One Lucky Winner.”
“Fair enough,” Fern said, breaking eye contact with Ned. He smirked and gave the gun a spin. Instead of watching the gun twirl, Camille observed the others. Samuel, Maire, and Fern were watching the gun rotate while Ned was studying Fern. Camille saw the moment his face transformed from irritation to sick realization. It was clear to Camille that Ned suddenly recognized Fern. Did he know her as Nan, like she did? Or as someone else?
Camille had a sinking feeling that she knew what Ned’s crime was. Degenerare. Degenerate. Today, NDAs seemed to be synonymous with sexual misconduct in the workplace. Had Ned done something to Fern?
Suddenly, all eyes shifted toward Camille. She glanced down to find the gun pointing at her. Cold sweat gathered at her temples and her empty stomach roiled. Which of her secrets would be teased out by the cards? Because, for as much as Camille tried to believe that she was here as a spectator, a witness of some sort, she did have her share of secrets that she’d rather keep undiscovered.
Fern flipped a yellow card and looked up at Camille, a sly smile on her face. “So, Dr. Tamerlane, have you ever lost a patient?”
Camille’s heart seized. Fern had done her homework, she had to give her that. No one knew about Wingo, or at least Camille thought no one knew. He wasn’t really her patient. Not on paper anyway. How could she answer the question? That was key. Play dumb? Pretend that Wingo never existed? Or was it better to answer in a vague, offhand way? No. Don’t acknowledge, don’t evade. Just don’t answer.
“I’m afraid that confidentiality prevents me from answering any questions pertaining to the work I do,” Camille said, feeling her lips tremble. Would Fern notice? Would the people who were watching notice?
