Season 20, Episode 6 PB&J Sandwich
“PB&J Sandwich”
We were fucked the minute they put us in a penthouse suite!” Melange bellowed from her harness. She was still coping better than Greta, who was currently curled in a ball. We’d soon be dangling from a seventy-story building, so the response wasn’t unreasonable.
In the “Stairway to Heaven” Tribulation, one partner would scale the Marco Polo from the sidewalk to the roof.
They would ascend like window washers, perpendicular to the hotel, pulling themselves up a rope while sitting in a little satchel.
Meanwhile, a special perversion was assigned their partners, who’d be suspended off the roof in identical satchels, hanging like carcasses at a butcher.
Whenever the climber passed a checkpoint, their partner would in turn drop a floor.
By the time the former scaled the tower, the latter would have plummeted fifty feet.
I was the only man who’d elected to hang from on high, but the strategy felt obvious. “I’m the heaviest guy here except for Fortune. It’s a long way to pull my weight,” I said to Imogen in the fleeting seconds we’d had to decide.
“Which means I will happily smoke Camdon myself,” she agreed.
Once I was on the roof and in my gear, there wasn’t much to do but stare at the countless construction cranes populating the horizon, as if another city lived atop the one beneath.
Objectively, it was all insane, but how many people had the opportunity to do this?
Maybe I was just in a good mood after that morning’s call with the kids.
“You recognize me?” Imogen asked when she’d joined me at the laptop.
“Superwoman!” Wallace screamed as he leapt behind Andie, fists launched in the air.
“You’re on Daddy’s show,” Andie said, totally starstruck. “You always win.”
I’d asked Jenny to show them select excerpts from the first season only, but I’d underestimated the magic of Endeavor.
My kids had fallen in love with Imogen, and I could tell she was falling equally hard as they peppered us with questions.
While some moments were as vivid as if they’d transpired the day before, others had totally faded.
When Andie started chattering about the “Toucan Trivia” Tribulation, Imogen and I both turned to each other, faces identical: We did something with toucans?
“I knew lots of the trivia, almost as much as Arjun,” Andie boasted. A swift kick landed in my chest, hearing Andie of all people say his name. “Is he in China too?”
I imagined the blood was draining from my cheeks, but before I could respond, a light knock came at the cracked door. “Catering brought breakfast,” Shawn whispered tentatively.
“Who’s that?” Andie asked, eyes trained on me as God knows what expression passed across my face. Shawn froze, petrified, and even Zara’s eyes rose from her phone.
“Honey, that’s… Mr. Shawn,” I said, striving for upbeat.
“I can’t see you, Mr. Shawn!” Wallace yelled.
“You must be Wallace, huh?” Shawn inched closer to the screen, and I felt myself panicking.
What was he doing? “Which makes you Andie.” He grinned nervously, crouching beside me as Imogen rested a steadying hand on my bouncing knee.
Andie looked to Jenny for a cue, though my sister’s flustered expression betrayed that she recognized him from TV.
Since arriving in Shanghai, Shawn and I had spent almost every night talking into the wee hours, anecdotes braiding together with the shower gushing as our cover.
I’d heard in detail how playing Rolf in his high school’s production of The Sound of Music got him interested in acting and how he’d then answered a Facebook message at eighteen inquiring if he wanted to “model.” He’d dutifully listened about my cold war with the soccer moms and my botched attempts at French cooking.
If you tallied the hours (and the make-out sessions), we’d probably shared what amounted to ten dates.
While we’d both deliberately avoided the topic of what happened once the show ended, the future was nonetheless on my mind.
I’d even thought about him meeting the kids one day—but certainly not today.
“Your dad talks about you two all the time,” Shawn continued, and even across the Pacific I sensed Jenny internally combusting.
I forced a smile. “Well, we don’t want to steal Mr. Shawn from breakfast—”
“What’s for breakfast?!” Wallace asked eagerly.
“Um, pancakes,” he answered. “You like pancakes, Wally?”
“No, waffles! Waffles for Wally!” he sang out, his customary Sunday morning reprise.
Shawn leaned forward, his laughter unrestrained. “Are you a waffle fan too, Andie?”
Andie just stared back. “How old are you?”
No, no, no, I prayed, don’t give her the ability to do math. However, before I could interject, Shawn replied, “Hmmm, I don’t remember. Somewhere between twenty… and seventy-five?”
“You don’t know how old you are?” My daughter wasn’t the easy mark her brother was.
“He might not be good with numbers, but he’s great at the Tribulations,” I volunteered quickly. For better or worse, this was how Shawn would meet my children, and I’d set him up for success as best I could. “In fact, Shawn’s the fastest guy here.”
I knew Andie would value superlatives above all else, and soon enough Shawn was blushing as she hounded him about the game.
Watching him entertain them, how hard he was trying, how much he was actually succeeding, I experienced something I’d never forget: the power of someone choosing to adore my children at first sight.
“Okay, enough spoilers for the under-ten demo,” Zara said eventually, and I realized the Iron Lady had allowed our call to go a full twenty minutes over.
Imogen and Shawn left so I could finish up, Jenny’s empty smile fixed until the kids went to brush their teeth. “All right, the children here are gone. Is the child there?”
I warily looked to Zara, but she just excused herself, shockingly offering us five minutes alone. “Jen, he’s a friend—”
“No, he’s very sweet on Beverly Blonde, though I haven’t seen his other filmography.”
“Don’t be mean. Whatever you saw on TV, he didn’t do the stuff Greta says.”
“I don’t care if he threw a grenade at Greta. I care about my brother screwing a porn star while his divorce is still in every tabloid—”
“Calm down. We haven’t slept together. He’s just… a nice guy.”
She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “God knows you’ve earned the right to date, but…”
“What? Someone older? Someone with a terminal degree?”
“Someone who’s never been on reality television,” she said flatly. “Because unless I’ve missed a major chapter of your life, every relationship you’ve had—and by every, I mean both—started on that damn show. You really want to go for the trilogy?”
I was angrier than I should have been while fumbling my goodbye.
Maybe because it took her less than a minute to articulate the fear I was already straining to ignore.
I couldn’t hear it then. Not after I’d just seen Shawn beam through that computer screen at my children, the care in his eyes.
I bounded to our bedroom and found him on the verge of tears.
“I’m so sorry, Troy sent me to tell you about breakfast, and I didn’t want to be rude—”
I dragged him to the bathroom and kissed him hungrily, Jenny’s warning banished.
Our shirts flew off as we frantically undid our mic packs, clumsily swiping on the shower to cover any ambient noise our discarded mics might catch.
When his briefs came off, I finally saw all of him, the body so many had scoured on laptops before me.
But it wasn’t the same. No one else would be captivated by the birth mark on his right hip or the little patch of hair adorning the small of his back.
Under the shower, his fingers traced the scars of my rib cage, but I didn’t move his hand.
I pulled him closer as the water wove through our bodies, our eyes fixed on each other, attempting to record it all.
We still didn’t have sex, but it was the closest we’d been.
And even though everything most important to me was thousands of miles away, I never wanted any of this to end.
I was still daydreaming about my morning with Shawn when Zara passed by, checking harnesses with the safety team. “Thanks again,” I said. “For earlier today.”
She hesitated as the stunt guys marched down the line.
“Yeah, about that… Luke, anything that transpires on a family call is privileged information, per your contract. As far as I’m concerned, nothing that happened this morning is fair game for the show.
However, I won’t be the producer supervising your calls every time, so I’d recommend you be very mindful moving forward.
Nobody can control what children might say, and one can only take so many showers before the metaphorical water runs out. Catch my drift?”
I nodded, finally sobering up. “Get ahead of it then,” she advised.
So Shawn and I hadn’t been that stealthy after all.
If Zara knew, Troy was a foregone conclusion—no matter what excuses we invented.
Was it time for Shawn and me to bring whatever this was becoming on camera?
At least it would be on our terms instead of the show’s.
Still, that was a debate for later, not right before I was suspended off a building.
I noticed then how preoccupied Erika was next to me, hardly her usual fearless self. “You’ll be fine,” I assured. “I’m the heaviest, so my ropes would definitely snap first.”
“Don’t say that.” A grin escaped her. “Your kids would be rich.”
“Lawsuit city. A carabiner failing might be my finest act of parenting.”
“Christ, would you two shut up?” Greta pleaded, eyes tightly shut.
Erika and I traded sly expressions but stayed quiet until the rig slowly pulled us away from the roof, the sudden rush of emptiness gushing beneath my feet like an incoming tide. We were soon midair, ten feet away from the building.