“Yes, obviously,” she said, and he ripped it open and slid it over himself.
It had been so long since she was opened up, and as they writhed together in the amber dark, she felt as though she had taken this moment, this one breathless instant, all for her own.
A single red camera light blinked on and off in the blind distance.
Chapter Four
Linda
In the morning, Linda woke an hour before everyone else. It was her little custom; she needed those thirty minutes to herself, even if the cameras remained on her as she fixed a cup of coffee and a cream cheese bagel and ate breakfast wrapped in a blanket on the patio. Tatum, the camera operator assigned to the morning shift, was kind enough not to ask her any questions, and once or twice he’d set up his recording rig then left with a wink.
The morning of the group date, she was not so lucky, but the cameraman half-dozed behind his set-up as Linda let the steam from her coffee tickle her chin.
The mansion sat at the top of a hill overlooking a valley, and Linda gazed on the rooftops below and wondered about the morning routines of the families who lived inside the affluent houses. Even though her father had been an alcoholic, she had loved waking on weekend mornings to the sound of bass pounding her ceiling. Upstairs, her father cooked biscuits and gravy, spun Pink Floyd on his record player, and downed Bloody Marys. She remembered sliding into consciousness, wrapped in a blanket on her family’s couch, while her older sister moped in her room like Charity did every day.
Linda smiled to herself. Charity loved throwing fits, but Linda minded them less than Marion’s. They were more fun to play off, for one thing. Charity was cuter than Marion, for another.
Tatum’s walkie-talkie beeped. “Charity’s on her way down,” the voice in the walkie-talkie said.
“Speak of the devil,” Linda muttered.
The cameraman snapped back to life. “Were you saying something?”
Linda shook her head. “Just thinking.”
“You know you’re not allowed,” he said.
Linda laughed. “I’ll go in now.” She stood and waited for him to pack his tripod, then moved into the kitchen, followed by his camera. She took a seat at the marbled bar. Charity breezed down the stairs in a long white robe. Linda nodded a greeting, but Charity didn’t look her way. Instead, she filled a cup of coffee, grabbed a protein bar, and disappeared back up the stairs.
“She’s mad at you,” Tatum said, provoking.
It was too early to play along. “Nah,” Linda said. “Charity’s not a morning person.” But she ached in her belly. Despite her negativity, Linda wanted the woman to like her—and only her.
• • •
Linda and the other women shared two bathrooms, so Linda and Sabrina took turns with the mirror. They had bonded over their love of makeup and playing with new techniques, but for the show, they kept it simple, classic: foundation, eyeshadow, winged liner, mascara, a hint of blush, powder. Cream under the eyes. A touch of color on the lips—long-lasting, in case of kissing. Setting spray, because the days were long, and the body aches and subsequent sweating were real.
Because Charity did little to get ready, she was always the first waiting in the living room, so it was no surprise when Linda and Sabrina went downstairs and found her there. The producers had advised that each woman pack a bag with multiple changes of clothes, and Linda shifted her heavy duffel into her other hand and leaned against the wall. After this morning, she didn’t want to sit next to Charity. It was best not to engage, or they might be goaded into a fight by the people behind the cameras.
Marion was the last to arrive. The women had been told to dress casually, which translated in reality show speak to jeans and a flattering blouse. Linda wore a black sweater with three-quarter sleeves and pockets, and three dangly bracelets on her wrists. Marion wore a tube top covered in sparkling studs. When the morning sun hit her, she was blinding.
Brandon and Deja surveyed their choices. Brandon was part producer, but he wasn’t around as much as Deja. Rumor had it that he’d received a promotion over her and been given another show to run. When he reached Marion, he gave her a thumbs-up. “Love the look,” he said. When he reached Linda, he shook his head. “You didn’t have a nun costume?”
“It’s called a habit,” Charity said.
Brandon moved to stand in front of her. “You shouldn’t be talking,” he said. “You should be changing clothes, too.”
Charity tugged on her shirt, revealing a small slip of cleavage. “That better?”
Brandon grinned as he held his hands out to the sides. “That’s all I ask, ladies. Is it too much? I don’t think so.”
Deja moved in front of him, blocking the view of his terrible suit. “We need confessionals on all of you,” she said. “Linda, you’re with me.” The other producers, Becca and Tatum, gestured to their girls as Brandon looped arms with Marion. Linda followed Deja to one of the confessional rooms, where she sipped from a champagne glass full of orange juice.
“Mimosa?” She shoved the drink into Linda’s hand.
“I’d rather not this early,” Linda said.
“Nonsense. You aren’t driving anywhere! Besides, you’re going to need it where we’re going.”
Linda set the glass on the ground. Her stomach lurched. “And where are we going?”
Deja downed the rest of her juice, then sat in the chair across from Linda, assuming a relaxed stance: legs spread open, arms splayed out across the back of the chair.
“A haunted house,” she said, as though it were the most normal thing.
“A what?” Linda laughed, suspecting some fuckery. Deja loved to make the contestants cry; it was producer gold. And she was always trying to break Linda down by bringing up family troubles or her divorce.
“You believe in ghosts?” Deja asked.
“No.” Linda picked up the mimosa and took a sip. It was mostly champagne, and she nearly gagged.
“You want to know what happened there? At the place where we’ll be staying?”
Linda relaxed into her chair. “No, but you’ll tell me anyway.”
Deja leaned forward. “This house used to be inhabited by generation after generation of spoiled rich assholes. They were in the lumber business, not that that’s important, but it was long hours and lots of hard work running all those crews, bribing all the forestry services, and the family’s patriarch, well he took to downing whole bottles of vodka when each day was done.”
Linda’s chest tightened. She stopped drinking, but she didn’t dare move for fear that the camera would catch her shaking hands.
