Season 20, Episode 10 The Book of Luke, Vol. 2
I’m watching that miniseries you recommended about the affair at the… insurance agency,” Jenny said, anxiety radiating.
Page turn. BARNES HAS BEEN PLAYING YOU THE WHOLE TIME.
“I never saw the twist coming!”
Page turn. HE’S OUT OF THE ROOM?
I nodded, spine stiffening, as Melange mouthed, “Stay cool.”
“I just saw the episode where the wife’s cousin visits for the insurance convention…”
A MAKEUP ARTIST ON MASON DIXON WORKED THE LAST TWO SEASONS OF BEVERLY BLONDE. SHE SHOWED ME A PHOTO YESTERDAY FROM LAST YEAR’S WRAP PARTY.
The party where Barnes met Shawn. Melange held up a blown-up printed photo. A redheaded lady posed with three buxom blondes under pink lights. Behind them Melange had drawn arrows pointing into the background, where I saw…
Greta, in profile.
Barnes, with his arm around…
“And the cousin reveals the wife’s boss had slept with her husband!”
Troy.
Troy’s hand on Barnes’ neck, his head inches from Barnes’ ear.
And Barnes’ hand, barely visible, resting on Troy’s white-denim ass.
“The boss hired the wife to ‘single white female’ her!” Jenny was almost manic now.
“Yeah,” I finally uttered. “I didn’t see that coming either…”
Melange frantically scribbled on the notepad, her words a messy loop of tornados.
GET OUT!! IT’S BEEN A TRAP THE WHOLE TIME!!!!
My mind raced, the puppet who’d just noticed translucent strings tethered to his limbs.
Who lured me onto a TV program with people gunning to humiliate me?
Who dispatched a shirtless porn star to console me that first night?
Who did Shawn overhear saying the hotel cameras were gone in Shanghai?
Who brought Barnes immediately after?
And Barnes.
Barnes would never do his own dirty work.
Not when he could connive someone into doing it for him.
I was living proof of that. He actually had wanted me here as long as possible—to milk the most unflattering behavior from me on camera—all the while looking like he was fighting to win me back.
Barnes had shepherded me here specifically so Troy could annihilate me and then broadcast it in time for both a custody verdict and November sweeps.
“Luke, wasn’t that the best part? When the wife finally leaves the damn house?”
THEY WILL NEVER LET YOU WIN THAT MONEY!!!!!
Maybe not. Maybe they would rip my reputation and my heart to shreds before this was all finished. But I’d come too far to go down alone. “Actually, Jen, my favorite part was when she blew up the house with him still in it.”
I nodded gratefully to Melange. I later learned that without a phone number for Jenny, she had rushed to DC on a red-eye the second she found out, relying on the address I’d given her for those stuffed armadillos. “Jen, tell the kids I love them… and I’ll be home soon.”
Jenny’s eyes widened as I ended the call, the screen freezing on her gasp.
“That was quicker than normal,” Troy said coldly.
I inflated a smile I prayed would suffice. “Once the kids get outside, it’s a lost cause.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
You most definitely never will, you sick fuck, I thought. Did Troy actually have feelings for my husband, or had it all just been a mutually beneficial power move? How deep in was he?
“Shall we discuss your eleven o’clock number last night?” he asked.
“I was just… in the moment,” I replied, desperate to evacuate.
“Right,” he purred. “Well, why argue semantics when it’ll never air?”
“What?”
“It’s poorly filmed, and the sound is… yikes. Zara’s great at logistics, but that woman’s never taken an actual filmmaking class in her life. It’s like a home movie from the world’s gloomiest camping trip. That doesn’t even take the Bhaduris into consideration.”
My face flushed. “Erika will want this out there. It’s the truth.”
He scoffed, trademark charm officially jettisoned.
“Can you imagine the firestorm of public opinion? You already ripped Arjun out of the closet once. The network won’t be complicit in you doing it again from beyond the grave.
” He rocked smugly in his swivel chair. “But, hey, at least you got it off your chest. That’s what really counts, right? ”
I fought to keep my breath even. That footage would air, but I had more immediate problems than censorship. Namely, resisting the urge to strangle Troy. He dismissed me, confident I’d been cowed into submission—exactly what I needed.
I darted into Greta’s old room, and Erika shot up from the sofa next to Imogen. “Did you bring me here so he could ambush me again?” she demanded angrily of Imogen, but I frantically barricaded myself against the door to relay Melange’s news.
“I thought Barnes fucked Shawn at that party,” Erika replied, clearly skeptical.
“Multitasking was never his issue,” Imogen muttered.
“But why be all over Troy publicly?” Erika asked. “Wouldn’t a married senator care if someone saw him groping a guy?”
“My husband filmed himself ejaculating onto the American flag. I think it’s safe to say he’s been overconfident in people’s discretion.”
“Because it was a wrap party!” Imogen exclaimed. “Troy would outrank virtually every person there, and no one’s snitching on the network’s golden boy. He was untouchable.”
“Still, this photo doesn’t prove they did anything but maybe flirt,” Erika said.
“But they’ve known each other,” I insisted. “Since last year, at least. There’s no way that doesn’t impact how Troy would treat me.”
“Which sucks for you, but the producers have favorites every year,” Erika countered.
“You don’t think Troy rigs this so Barnes beats all of us?”
Her eyes narrowed as she made to leave. “You think I’m not used to a rigged system? I’ll figure it out, but your drama is not my problem.”
“Troy said he’d bury the footage from last night.”
She halted, shaking her head in disgust. “Damn.”
“Can’t Melange send Zara the photo as proof they met before?” Imogen asked.
“Even I met Troy before Endeavor cast me,” Erika dismissed. “You need to prove Troy sabotaged Luke to benefit Barnes, or that he fucked Barnes after Barnes became a contestant. Otherwise they’ll argue nothing affected the game and weasel out of it.”
I collapsed on Greta’s bed in frustration, feeling a lump underneath. I winced, remembering Greta had stashed Shawn’s sunglasses there.
“We could steal Troy’s phone?” Imogen proposed, to which Erika just rolled her eyes.
I lifted the mattress to discover not sunglasses but a rolled-up notebook, bound in rubber bands. The pages unfurled, scarred in Greta’s middle school girl cursive—with PB’s missing tape recorder sandwiched in the middle. A few lines revealed what I’d found.
“We don’t need to steal a phone,” I marveled. “We need to steal a car.”
“So you leaked the video of Shawn and Luke to TMZ?”
“No, Greta, I said there wouldn’t be consequences for the person who leaked it. The network won’t complain about free press from a video they could never air.”
“I’d never rob you of your plausible deniability, Troy.”
“You know how easily influenced Shawn is. He heard me say the cameras were down—”
The tape devolved to static, and Greta moaned in the back seat. “After fifteen years wearing a mic, I should know how to get better sound. PB’s recorder wasn’t even worth stealing.”
“Everything helps,” I assured, gunning Zara’s car back home.
Surprisingly, it hadn’t taken much convincing for Zara to loan it once we caught her up, allowing Imogen and me to intercept Greta before she left the hotel.
Zara agreed Greta had to corroborate the journal.
Her written account wasn’t concrete proof alone, and the tape only implied Troy leaked the footage.
Imogen shook her head, still leafing through the journal. “So once Barnes approached the network about returning, Troy had you take the tape recorder to justify booting Camdon?”
“He apparently overheard PB setting up the boys at the airport. Troy said if I didn’t get the recording, then he’d ensure both Beverly Blonde and Endeavor dropped my contracts. He only wanted the tape though, so I kept the recorder for myself.”
“He threatened to ban you from the network if you didn’t do what he said?!”
“The story of a ‘beck-and-call’ girl,” she huffed. “He’s been blackmailing me since Cortona. He cornered me the first night, then shoved me at Luke.”
“When did you know he and Barnes were together?” I asked. “Did you introduce them?”
“No, Barnes introduced Troy to me a while back, but he was always cagey with details when it came to that leech. I figured Troy was manipulating you as a favor for Barnes, but I never imagined Shawn was involved or that he’d bring Barnes here.”
“So you knew years ago they’d had an affair?”
“Was I supposed to tell you at our monthly slumber parties?”
“Stop,” Imogen interjected as we pulled in the drive. “You both have the same enemy.”
Zara emerged with Erika from behind the G&E truck when we parked. “Did you get the photo from Melange?” I asked her.
“Yes, but we still need hard evidence that Troy sabotaged you during the game.”
Greta flipped to an entry in her journal. “Would video footage of this little gem work?”
Zara grimaced as she read it. “It’s a start. The dailies are in the production office. With Troy. Luke, do you still want Barnes there when it goes down?”
I nodded. “Don’t give them time to get their stories straight.”
Zara called over Fortune, who was doing tai chi by the overlook. “Fortune, bring Barnes to the PO. Once you’re there, block that door. No one leaves until I say.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Fortune agreed, eternally unbothered.
We reached the production office, and—ever dramatic—Greta kicked the cracked door wide open, prompting Troy to leap from his desk.
She strode to the bulletin board bearing our headshots, red X’s over the eliminated cast, and peered at her own crossed photo.
“Didn’t even wait until the body was cold, did you? ”
“You’re supposed to be in a departures lounge,” Troy said, eyes darting between us.