Everyone is watching, p.3
Everyone Is Watching, page 3
Fern was ready. This was the moment she was waiting for. It was a big job. Huge.
Fern tried to tamp down her nerves. She couldn’t get flustered now. She consulted her clipboard. The caterers were setting out the appetizers and desserts. And the wine. The wine would be flowing tonight.
They had put several bottles with the new labels that Cat had personally designed on ice. They were so different from the elegant grapevines that previously graced the bottles from Bella Luce. They were awful, really. The labels displayed the image of a frighteningly realistic painting that Fern recognized as that of three Greek goddesses. Three very angry goddesses, partially clad, with snakes for hair, converging on a terrified man and a woman with a dagger embedded in her chest. The only way Fern knew it was their wine was because Bella Luce was written in elegant script across the label. Fern hadn’t bothered asking why her boss made the change. She always had her reasons.
Including the reason why Cat insisted on being a silent producer on the show. I’ll be a distraction, Cat said. I want all the attention on this brilliant concept I created. It’s going to change reality television forever.
Fern dared to ask her why this reality show only had five contestants. Cat readily explained it away. Viewers will be more invested, will be glued to their screens to see what happens to their favorite character.
Except they weren’t characters. They were real people that Cat had carefully vetted. Fern flipped through the dossiers on her clipboard with the contestants’ photos.
Audrey Abreo of Boston, Massachusetts. Twenty-nine years old, restaurateur, married, one child. Funny and larger than life, Aubrey’s sharp tongue would keep everyone on their toes.
Samuel Rafferty of Atlanta, Georgia. Forty-two years old, Georgia district attorney, single, no children. Movie-star handsome and smart, Samuel was both buttoned up and gorgeous. If anything, the viewers would tune in just to see his six-pack abs.
Richard Crowley of Dripping Springs, Texas. Sixty-eight years old, former US senator, married, four children. Senator Crowley was of a certain age but appeared to be in decent shape. He was good-natured and gave off an “aw shucks, ma’am” vibe. Half the audience would love him for his politics, half would hate him.
Camille Tamerlane of San Francisco, California. Thirty-eight years old, psychiatrist, marriage counselor, and podcast host, divorced, no children. Camille was no more than a wisp of a thing but could command a room. At once analytical and empathetic, Camille would bring the mind games to One Lucky Winner.
Maire Hennessy of Calico, Iowa. Forty years old, artist, divorced, two children. Maire brought the Mom Factor to the show. She was relatable and, with an ill child, would definitely bring emotion to the show. She also looked like the human incarnation of a Disney princess with a mane of curly red hair, pale skin, and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
Yes, quite the mix. Each file contained the most compelling stories, even contained a few bones scattered about. Talk about must-see TV.
Her phone buzzed, alerting Fern to the fact that someone was at the gate. She took a deep breath. It was time to meet the contestants.
THREE
THE BEST FRIEND
When Maire landed in San Francisco, she spotted the driver who was going to take her to the hotel and spa. She had gotten a little thrill when she saw him standing at the baggage claim in his black suit and chauffeur’s cap, holding a small sign that said Hennessy in block lettering. She enjoyed the feeling of eyes on her as she warmly greeted the driver. She felt like someone important, someone special. But once the driver, a hulking man with hooded, close-set eyes, took her bag and gruffly told her to follow him, Maire’s excitement was replaced with unease.
Once in the SUV, she tried to shake away her worry and enjoy the scenery. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the sparkling water of the bay below, and Maire was struck at just how beautiful it was. But the moment was fleeting. Something didn’t feel right. She dug through her bag in search of her cell phone. Not seeing it, she used her flashlight key chain to shine a light into the depths of her purse, found it, and checked in with Dani and Keely. They said all was well but Maire was sure that she heard a wheeze in Dani’s voice and her worry doubled.
The landscape flew by—windswept flatlands, rolling hills, golden vineyards shedding their summer green—but Maire couldn’t enjoy it. She fought the urge to call the girls again. If only she could tell them about the show, that she could win millions of dollars. They would understand then, would be excited, but the rules of the game were explicit. Maire could not tell anyone the real reason she was going away or she would be disqualified. Once the game started, it would be different. They’d see her on-screen, see her competing, and would be so proud of her. Or mortified.
Soon the sun started easing its way down just as a thick fog rolled in, enveloping the car in a velvety cloud. The road in front of them disappeared but the driver didn’t slow down. He blindly wound around curves in the mist-covered road.
Maire clutched the seat in front of her. “This doesn’t seem right,” she said. “I think you were supposed to turn back there.” Alarm fluttered in her stomach. She was in the middle of nowhere with a strange man, in a place she wasn’t familiar with. She’d probably end up dead, or kidnapped, or drinking a White Claw at a Motel 6 next to the interstate. This trip was too good to be true.
“Just going where I’m told,” the driver said shortly, making a sharp left turn. “The estate is just a few miles down the road.”
“But you’re supposed to take me to the hotel,” Maire said. Her hand inched over to the door handle, and she checked her cell phone, relieved to see there was still service. Ahead, a gate flanked by a tall stone wall materialized. The fog curled itself around the wrought iron bars, making it impossible to see what came next. She tried to quash the little voice that urged her to tell the driver to turn around.
Instead, Maire stayed silent as the driver came to a stop next to the gate intercom system, rolled down his window, and pushed the call button.
“Good evening,” came a woman’s voice. “Welcome to Bella Luce.”
“Yes,” the driver said, tilting the paper in his hand trying to make the best use of the weak light from the lanterns perched atop the stone wall. “I’ve got a Maire Hennessy here,” he said gruffly.
“Welcome. Please drive forward,” the voice said, and the iron gates creaked open.
The driver glided slowly through the gates. The long, winding drive was flanked by dozens of towering cork oaks with stout trunks and twisted limbs that loomed gracefully above them.
Maire stared hard through the front windshield in hopes of seeing what was to come. She didn’t have to wait long. Lights, softened by the dense fog, revealed the outline of what looked like a small village. “What is this?” Maire asked. “It looks like something out of a movie.”
The driver ignored her, keeping his eyes on the stone driveway in front of him.
“Oh, wow,” Maire said, surprised to see that what she thought were several separate stone buildings was actually one residence with varying, red-tiled rooflines and, remarkably, a bell tower. One section of the estate appeared to be in ruins with exposed beams surrounded by piles of ragged stone.
Wide-mouthed, winged gargoyles peered suspiciously down at them as the driver came to a slow stop in front of the massive home. It was a gorgeous estate but also foreboding, aloof and cold like an ancient Tuscan fortress built to keep enemies and lowly serfs at a distance.
More than two dozen stone steps, flanked by a terraced lawn, led up to a set of grand wooden doors set into an arched entry. On either side of the doors were two black lanterns casting a ghostly light that spilled to the stone floor.
Maire looked out the window again and unease puddled in her chest. She looked down at her pilled cardigan and cargo pants. She wasn’t dressed for any kind of meet and greet and had actually been looking forward to one night of rest before the competition began. Room service in her hotel room and watching Love It or List It. She wanted to check on the kids one more time.
The driver stepped from the car and opened Maire’s door, the interior light popping on.
“You aren’t really just going to leave me here, are you?” Maire asked.
The driver gave her a Cheshire cat grin, his teeth flashing bright in the dark. “Why? You looking for some company?”
Before she could react, he grasped her hand. His skin was cold and clammy, his fingers caressing her palm. Maire tried to shake her hand free, and the driver laughed meanly before releasing his grip. Maire stood frozen.
“Listen, lady,” he said. “Just tell me, what do you want to do? Stay? Go? I don’t care but I need to get back to the airport.”
Maire didn’t want to walk up to this strange house, but more than that, she didn’t want to get back into the car with the driver. He tapped his watch. She could either enter this gorgeous estate and win ten million dollars or get back into the car with the creepy driver.
“I’ll stay,” Maire said, scrambling from the car. She looked up at the spectacle in front of her. Never in her life had she seen such a home. A curtain in one of the upper windows shifted, and Maire saw someone step back into the shadows.
She began the walk up the steep stairway to the house, her luggage bumping against each stone step. She hitched her purse over her shoulder and glanced nervously back at the driver, who was already turning to leave. Through the hazy glow that lit her ascent, Maire could see that the front yard was overgrown with a variety of gray and silver ground cover. She caught a whiff of something honey-like trying to break through the pungent scent of rosemary. Somewhere nearby, she heard the soft gurgle of a fountain.
At the top of the steps, Maire paused, released the grip on her luggage, and stared up at the large house. She imagined it was beautiful in the daylight, but right now it was downright imposing, rising out of the shadows like some medieval villa.
On either side of the arched doorway were several open-air windows—no glass, no screens. She peered through one of the openings. What Maire thought was the front door was really the entrance to a courtyard. Maire searched for a doorbell but couldn’t find one.
Feeling foolish, Maire pulled open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside the courtyard. She was beneath the bell tower now. Who lived in a home with a bell tower? She followed the row of lanterns where dusty-winged moths threw themselves at the filaments, and moved down the colonnade with its arched columns, her footsteps tapping sharply on the stone pavers.
At the end of the path was another set of heavy wooden double doors, again reminding Maire of a stronghold. She wondered, with a flash of anxiety, if the doors were meant to keep people out or in. She thought of Keely and Dani and fumbled in her purse for her phone. She would call them just one more time.
The phone rang and rang. Please answer, she begged. Finally, she heard Shar’s rough voice on the other side of the line. “Hello,” she rasped.
“Shar, it’s me. I know it’s late, but can I talk to Dani again?” Maire asked apologetically. “I’m just worried about her.”
“I understand,” Shar said. “But she’s doing just fine.”
In the background came the sharp bark of coughing. Maire tensed. She would know that cough anywhere. “Dani’s coughing? Why didn’t you call?”
“I’ve got it covered, Maire,” Shar said softly. “She’s fine.”
“You nebulized her? Took her temperature? Used the vest?” Maire asked. The vest was the high-frequency chest wall oscillation vest that Dani wore to vibrate loose the mucus in her lungs.
“Yes, yes, and yes,” Shar said. “What she really needs right now is rest. I’ll call you if anything changes. I promise.”
More coughing. An endless stream of wheezing, gasping. Was it a go to the hospital cough? Maire couldn’t tell. She needed to see Dani, feel her forehead, lay her hand against her chest.
In front of Maire the door began to open.
“I have to go,” Maire said in a rush. “But call me if she gets any worse, please.”
“I will,” Shar said gently. “But we’ll be fine. I promise.” Then she was gone. Maire had no choice but to trust her. Trust Shar with her daughters, with Dani’s life.
Maire blinked back tears as a young woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in a sheer blouse, high-waisted, wide-leg pants, and Converse sneakers, all in black. Her shoulder-length black hair was sleek and made edgy by severely cropped bangs. She wore no makeup, nor did she need to. She was naturally stunning with full lips and dark eyes behind chunky, black-framed glasses. A small V-shaped scar was etched into one sharp cheekbone.
“Hello,” the woman said in her low, husky voice. “Welcome to Bella Luce. Ms. Hennessy, correct?”
“Yes,” Maire said, trying to peer behind the woman and into an atrium. Inside was a fountain with a life-size statue of a beautiful woman holding a mask of a man with wild eyes and a twisted grimace. From the open cavern of the mask’s mouth, water gushed. Maire was overcome with a current of dread and she had to force herself to look away from the statue.
“I’m Fern Espa, we spoke on the phone. Welcome.” The woman offered a hand and Maire took it. Fern’s grip was strong but slick with sweat. She was nervous, Maire thought, glad she wasn’t the only one. “I’m the host of the show and that is Melpomene,” Fern said, nodding at the fountain just beyond the window. “One of the nine muses. We call her Mel. Please come in.”
“I’m sorry,” Maire said, shaking her head. “I’m just a little confused. I was expecting to be taken to the resort. I’m not sure where I am or why.”
“Our cocktail party is an extra treat for the contestants,” Fern said, fiddling with an earpiece tucked in her ear. “We thought it would be nice for you to meet your fellow players before the competition begins. Now, please come in.”
Hesitantly, Maire stepped through the front door onto terra-cotta set in a fishbone pattern. Her mind was still spinning. Wasn’t Fern the production assistant whom she had been corresponding with? And now she was introducing herself as the host of the show?
“Imported from Italy,” Fern said, mistaking Maire’s quizzical expression as interest in the flooring. “Please excuse some of the mess. The owner is doing some restoration. The estate was built in the late 1800s and much of the home’s bones come from the Lombardo region.”
Maire nodded. The entryway was dimly lit from above by a crystal-and-iron chandelier hanging from a domed ceiling. On the right hung a full-length mirror in a gilded frame, where Maire caught her reflection. With her unruly red hair, oversize cardigan, wrinkled cargo pants, and shearling-lined moccasins, Maire looked as rumpled as she felt. Her shoulders sagged. She wasn’t prepared for this.
Next to the mirror was a side table that held a crystal vase filled with a graceful mix of blush-pink roses, hydrangeas, and lisianthuses. On the opposite side was a round marble base with a sculpture of a woman holding a lyre.
“Calliope, another muse,” Fern explained. “Now, I’m afraid this is the awkward moment when I have to ask you for your cell phone,” Fern said, biting her lip.
Maire narrowed her eyes. “My phone? Why?”
“It’s for security reasons,” Fern said, pointing to a lockbox sitting atop a waist-high pillar.
“Security?” Maire repeated.
“For the show,” Fern explained. “You cannot begin to know how many people would like to get a sneak peek into what’s going on here. There could be spies anywhere. Part of the intrigue of the game is all the secrecy we have around it. Everyone on set has to relinquish their phones for the duration. It’s in the contract.”
Maire remembered seeing something about phones and confidentiality in the contract but figured that just meant that the players couldn’t share pictures or videos. “But what if I need to contact my children?” Maire asked, panic threatening to take over. She hadn’t gone a day without talking to her kids. “My daughter has a chronic health condition,” Maire said. “I need to be able to check in with her and be reached if there’s an emergency.”
“I’m sorry,” Fern said frowning, “but it’s in the rules. I’m sure you understand that if key details are revealed, it would be devastating for the show. We can’t risk that, but I promise if we get an emergency call, I’ll let you know.”
What if Dani’s cough got worse? What if she was suffocating in her own mucus right now? Regret surged through Maire. Why was she doing this? What was worth being away from her children for two weeks? Ten million dollars, she reminded herself.
Her phone was the only remaining thread that connected her to Keely and Dani, but she reluctantly handed it to Fern, who dropped it through the box’s narrow slot. Maire tried to push the girls from her thoughts. She needed to focus, put all her energy into winning the money.
Fern briskly led Maire through a great hall with more stone flooring and another curved ceiling. Against one wall was towering scaffolding. Maire craned her neck to get a better look at the burgundy leaves, baroque curls, and vines that adorned the dome.
“How big is this place?” Maire asked, her voice echoing against the walls as they passed through the church-like space, with its stiff, ornate furniture and the exotic scent of orchids.
Fern didn’t miss a stride as she ticked off the list on her fingers. “Seven bedrooms, a music room, eat-in kitchen, atrium, small chapel, dining room, formal living room (we call it the white room), a sunroom that serves as a more casual gathering area, theater room, indoor pool, outdoor infinity pool, and, of course, a wine cellar.”
