Chapter 12 Season 20, Episode 1 “The Viper Room”
“The Viper Room”
Live animals had never been part of the job when I’d first done the show.
So when the giant chain mail curtain covering the fifty-foot-long plexiglass rectangle in the center of the Arena revealed a nest of probably a hundred churning snakes, I was floored.
So was most of the cast, some of whom fled in a panic, forcing a second take.
In the spare minutes it took the art department to reset the chain mail drape, I sized up the teams. Joining me on Team Devil were most of the folks I’d met on the flight.
My new cohort included power couple Hartt and Chrissy; both Russians; all the models except Jiamin (Team Angel there); and of course Vanessa, currently harassing Troy about how long she was expected to film before a vodka soda.
The last male Devil was a lean guy with dirty-blond hair who’d already been inside the Arena.
His thick eyebrows were scrawled across his face like burns, creating an undeniably malevolent visage.
He faced the collection of TV monitors known as “video village,” two letters etched on his jersey: PB.
So this was who Vanessa had taunted Jiamin over…
“PB’s straight as a skyscraper,” a Southern voice husked beside me. I discovered our remaining female Devil, the woman with platinum hair. Her eyes were caked in glittery charcoal, smeared to her temples like war paint. “But those brows do provide a certain appeal.”
“No, I was just… assessing our team.”
“Then howdy, teammate. Melange Mason. Well, Melanie Angelica, but everyone calls me Melange except her.” She indicated Chrissy. “She addresses me only with expletives, though admittedly I’ve referred to her as ‘Big Bitch’ since our grandma’s eightieth.”
“Oh, you’re related! You must be on—”
“Good old Mason Dixon. Chrissy’s my cousin. Troy puts us on the same team since I’m usually the only girl who gets a rise out of her. Otherwise she’s basically a slutty coma patient.”
It felt risky to bond with the mortal enemy of Hartt’s girlfriend, but I needed intel fast. I gestured to the Angels. “So, anybody over there who might be a threat to our side?”
“Our side, how precious.” Still she indulged me, eyeing the Angels and nodding toward Imogen and Greta. “I believe you know Bachelorettes #1 and #2 pretty well already.”
“That’s an understatement, and I can’t imagine who’d classify Greta as an Angel.”
“It’s all relative, mister. You flew in with Jiamin and Winston. Winston’s one helluva runner if given the chance, and Jiamin’s the ultimate puzzle queen. I think she was studying physics in Beijing before Model Citizens recruited her and she moved to New York?”
I sized up a strapping all-American bro with a buzz cut. “Who’s the Ken doll?”
“Camdon. He did Medals of Honor like your old pal. Olympic volleyball player, goody two-shoes, at least on camera. He’s best pals with Royce.
” She pointed to the tall Black man who’d joined Camdon and Imogen in conversation.
“Royce is a Tennessee guy, Army vet before Medals. They always align with Imogen. She bosses them around easily enough.”
“Really?” I tried to suppress any bitterness over my replacements.
“Not that they hold a candle to her original trio.” She paused, testing me.
I bit my tongue, not ready to get too familiar, then noticed the young guy with the pouty lips had been cornered by Bal, whose spiteful eyes cut my way. “Who’s Balthazar chatting up?”
“Shawn. He crossed over from Beverly Blonde last season. Total sweetie, but I wouldn’t call him a mastermind. Cute though.” That was obvious. He had a swimmer’s build and ivory skin, mahogany locks bouncing as he yet again averted his gaze.
“Pretty sure Balthazar’s poisoning the well for me.”
“Yeah, Bal picks fights for camera time. I’d give him a wide berth,” Melange warned as the sporty trans woman joined their huddle.
“That’s Erika, of course. Good egg, private, but I get why…
obviously.” Melange stared at me pointedly, judgment creeping into her voice.
I understood: Erika would naturally have to protect herself from people like…
me. I breathed deep. My reputational course correction had to begin somewhere; might as well be with the tiny Texan.
“I can’t even imagine being a trans woman in this environment. It’s brave of her.” I felt slimy forcing it into the conversation, but I meant every word. “My politics aren’t my husband’s,” I added for good measure before realizing. “Ex-husband.”
“Praise God for lesser mercies,” she replied flatly.
I didn’t want to belabor the point, so I indicated the only Angel still unidentified: a boulder of a man who’d yet to bother putting on his jersey.
Eyes closed, he swayed like a horse asleep on its feet, the beads of sweat on his bald head glittering under the lights.
As Mitch would have said, he was a “hoss,” at least 6’5” and 300 pounds, easy. “Who’s the giant?”
“Everybody, back to one. Trying this again!” Zara declared before Melange could answer, all of us resuming our marks. “Monitors look good,” Zara confirmed. “Action, Drew!”
“Welcome to Endeavor: Angels vs. Devils!” Drew boomed. “Get ready for Tribulations and Trials like never before, starting right now! We’re going right back to the beginning, to Eden itself, with a little game I like to call… ‘Snake and Bake’!”
With that god-awful pun, the chain mail whipped off to reveal the irate reptiles.
Two narrow plexiglass tunnels curved through the open-air terrarium like the serpents surrounding them, mirroring each other’s winding paths.
Each tunnel had six porthole-like openings staggered on top.
Golden apples were scattered amongst the writhing snakes along each tunnel’s route, barely within reach if you popped out from the holes and leaned to grab them.
“Both teams will select six people, at least two of each gender, to crawl through these tunnels. Each person will retrieve an apple with a number on it, which together form a code to unlock those.” Ecklund gestured to two identical boxes on nearby tables before tossing one last smirk to the cameras.
“And if you win any Tribulation, win the first.”
“Teams! Decide who will be in the tunnels,” Zara instructed. “Five minutes.”
I finally intercepted Hartt as we huddled up. “You said Imogen wasn’t coming…”
“Sorry, bro. I guess the network ponied up, but don’t let her get in your head.” His voice lowered, the swagger briefly softening. “You’re on my team now. I got you, dawg.”
I nodded, surprised how much he seemed to mean it. Besides, what choice did I have?
Two cameras broke away from the bank, like alien explorers departing the mother ship. Zara took one cameraman and boom operator to the Angels, while Troy brought his to us. He playfully waved a hand over his face, ridiculously mouthing, “I’m not here.”
“Greetings, fellow misfits,” Hartt began.
“Why is our team all white people?” Chrissy asked. “It’s like reverse racism.”
“Babe, didn’t you know all white people are the devil now?” Hartt joked. “Besides, I’d take our gang of badass muthas before the Rainbow Coalition over there any day. Plus, we’ve got diversity. Luke’s a gay. Like, a famous one.”
I tried not to visibly wince, praying their exchange wouldn’t make the broadcast edit.
“So obviously I’m down for the reptile house,” Hartt continued. “Luke, ready to show folks what they’ve been missing?”
I nodded, knowing I’d have to earn my keep. “Count me in.”
“I bet the girls aren’t aching to wrestle the creepy crawlies, so my dudes? Volunteers?”
Aspen agreed, but lanky model Chase blanched: “You know that’s my phobia!”
PB silently raised a hand. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in,” Hartt replied, but if PB was offended, those eyebrows barely twitched. “Ladies?”
“I’ll go,” Melange offered. “Big Bitch will make y’all pick me anyway.”
“Stop calling me ‘Big Bitch’!” Chrissy squawked.
“And the last girl?” Hartt asked to crickets. “I vote Vanessa.”
Vanessa recoiled. “Seriously? I have more seniority than any of these silicon sacks.”
“And the team appreciates your experience, V. Good talk.”
On Hartt’s cue, the huddle dissipated, but not before Vanessa fired a parting shot. “If you amoebas think I won’t make you regret this, you’re even stupider than you look.”
“You know,” Melange mused under her breath, “I think rehab’s really chilled her out.”
“Your orders are officially locked,” Zara announced. “No switching.”
The six tributes from each team assembled, and the Angels had selected very differently. Greta was the lone woman sitting out, and the only males participating were Camdon the Ken Doll and floppy-haired Shawn. “Four women?” I whispered to Hartt.
“Don’t you mean three?” Hartt smirked, indicating Erika.
I bit my lip, praying I wouldn’t become the resident bin for any bigoted asides he’d queued up.
I couldn’t afford to piss him off yet, but thankfully the remark hadn’t been caught on camera.
I left him at the head of our line, only to realize Imogen and I were both in last position.
She stared militantly ahead, and I resisted the phantom impulse to call her name.
“Rolling!” Zara alerted. “Action, horn!”
Hartt and Camdon shot into their respective tunnels, torsos straining against the thick plexiglass walls as they army-crawled through.
Hartt hustled toward the sixth and farthest apple, which he’d insisted on getting first, but Camdon abruptly popped out of the Angels’ closest porthole like a buzzed gopher.
He swiftly plucked their first apple from the snakes and returned, allowing Shawn to tap in before Hartt was even halfway to his distant target.
“Anybody else think we missed the point?” PB asked, and I realized what the Angels had foreseen. The snakes were a flashy distraction; the tunnels were the true obstacle, which the women could navigate better than any brawny guy. Shit.
“We can’t change our order,” Melange reminded.