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“Wait,” Maire said, worry knotting her brow. “Is he locked in? Can he get out?”
“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” Fern assured her. “He can get out at any time.”
“Has anyone else noticed that there is like no one here?” Ned asked. “I mean, when do we meet the rest of the crew?”
Maire had been wondering the same thing. “Most of you already met our director, Alfonso. He’s waiting for you upstairs with the camera crew ready to film an introduction to the show. Since it’s not one of the challenges, it won’t be aired live but will be used in the opening credits as a way to present each of you to the audience,” Fern explained.
Maire looked down at her pilled leggings. This was not how she wanted the world to see her for the first time.
“And remember, you can expect to be filmed all day, every day, but there are two places where you are assured privacy. Your sleeping quarters and the bathrooms. There will be no cameras in those spots, but everywhere else, at all times, expect a camera, expect someone to be watching. Viewers can tune in twenty-four/seven whenever they’d like at OneLuckyWinner.com.”
Maire shifted uncomfortably and scanned the ceiling in search of more telltale red lights. “So people can see us right now?” She thought of her kids and what they would think if they stumbled on the website. Maire had thought the show would be taped, that she would have time to explain to Keely and Dani about the competition.
“Not just yet,” Fern said, “but once the first challenge begins, we’ll air the opening sequence and then the entire world will be watching live from there on out.”
“Except in the bedrooms and bathrooms, right?” Camille asked. Maire wanted to be assured of this too.
“Yes, but try not to think about the cameras,” Fern advised. “Before you know it, you’ll forget all about them. It will be like they aren’t even there. Now, please drink your wine, relax, and then I’ll take you up to your room.”
Fern got the senator settled into The Vault while Maire took a seat at one of the high-top tables and busied herself with looking at the contents of her gift bag in hopes that no one would sit next to her. It seemed to work because everyone gave her a wide berth. She was worried about Dani. Would Shar read the thick binder of instructions that she left with her and know what to do? And now Samuel dropped from out of nowhere like a bomb.
She pulled her wine bottle with the curious label from the bag and stared down at the pale-skinned Furies with a reckoning in their eyes. Uccisore. Maire rolled the word over her tongue. What did it mean? If she won the ten million dollars—no, she thought, when she won the ten million dollars—she would take the girls to Italy. They could go to Umbria, C.S. Lewis’s inspiration for Narnia, or to a mask-making workshop in Venice.
Dani would get better, Keely would weather the storm that was middle school, and they would go to Italy. She would tell her story to the viewers of One Lucky Winner. Make them understand why they should save her, keep her on the show. How she needed to win for her girls, needed that money so that Dani could live to see her next birthday and beyond. She would be an open book. Bare her soul. Tell them everything. Well, almost everything. There was one thing that no one in the world knew. No one, except for Samuel Rafferty. That was a secret she would take to her grave. She would make sure that he did too.
SEVEN
THE ASSISTANT
After each contestant had their chance to record their vault segments and Alfonso recorded them for the show’s intro, Fern had finally gotten them off to bed. They weren’t happy about having to share one large room, but they were so tired that most of them didn’t put up too much of a fuss. Except for Ned. He insisted on his own room, that he couldn’t possibly sleep in the same space as the others. Fern tried to explain that it was part of the game, but Ned didn’t care. Finally, she just had to walk away.
Being in the same room as Ned made her stomach roil and the entire time she was dealing with his constant questions and demands, Cat was barking in her earpiece, berating her.
“I’ve got it covered,” Fern kept saying as she rushed down the cellar steps, finally ripping the earpiece from her head in frustration. She hated being down here alone. Despite the renovations that Cat and her ex-husband had done to the space, to Fern it was still cold, dark, and claustrophobic.
At the bottom of the stairs, she regarded the carnage of broken glass and splattered red wine. In her defense, Fern had been shocked by Ned Bennett’s sudden appearance and when he brushed up against her, she was thrust back ten years to that traumatic encounter in a New York high-rise and corner office with a view of Central Park.
Fern could tell that the contestants sensed her unease around Ned. How could they not? Camille, in psychiatrist mode, had even pulled her aside to ask if she was okay. Fern assured her that she was.
She grabbed a towel and a garbage can from behind the bar. What a mess, Fern thought, eyeing the puddle of red wine and trail of broken glass that fanned out across the floor. With tears of exhaustion, she bent down and began picking up the shards of glass.
She still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she and Ned Bennett were under the same roof, but who had invited him here? Was it someone who had a grudge against her? And why? Every move Fern made was dictated by Cat and everyone in their orbit knew that.
Fern had spent the last ten years dedicated to Cat and as irritated and frustrated as her boss could be with her, Fern knew that Cat wouldn’t jeopardize the show by bringing in Ned.
But if the vendetta wasn’t against Fern, then it had to be against Cat. God knew she had made her share of enemies over the years. She was a smart, shrewd businesswoman who crushed rivals left and right without a second thought. But why bring Ned Bennett to One Lucky Winner? He was sleazy, scary, unpredictable.
Fern lowered herself to her knees, the stone floor biting into her skin. She mopped at the red liquid, knowing that each droplet was wasted money. Fern glanced up at the security camera poised above the bar. Cat was probably watching her right now, pissed that she had taken out her earpiece.
Cat would take this out of her paycheck for sure. Above, she heard the echo of footsteps and closed her eyes. Cat was coming. This was the last thing she needed. It was bad enough being screamed at through an earpiece, but getting screamed at in person was an entirely different shade of humiliation. She stood and tossed the sodden rag aside into the small sink behind the bar.
The footsteps grew louder. She would just have to do what she always did when Cat was upset with her: look contrite, apologize, and work even harder. Hosting One Lucky Winner was Fern’s big chance, maybe her last one, to make a name for herself.
“Jesus Christ,” Cat said, as she clattered down the final few steps into the bar area. She was still dressed in her white silk outfit but had added a white cardigan. “That was a five-hundred-dollar bottle of wine,” she said, hands on her hips.
“I’m sorry,” Fern began, but Cat wasn’t done.
“You can’t even hold on to a fucking wine bottle and you expect me to believe you’re capable of hosting the show?”
