The following Email was waiting in my Inbox this morning.

‘Dear Estee,

We hate you.

Do you know whose fault Forever Eden’s failure is? Yours. If it wasn’t for you and your stupid summary, we would have kept the six viewers you managed to scare off. With only six more viewers, we could have convinced our higher-ups to keep it up against CSI and The Apprentice forever, and we know Trump was starting to fade. We would have won in the long run. We would have looked like the programming geniuses we truly are. But thanks to you and the half-dozen nitwits you talked into changing the channel, we’ve had to move it – what is it, eight times now? We lost track – and it’s sinking slowly into the bay. Nice work, (censored).

So, as a token of our ‘appreciation’, please accept this special gift: the fourth episode of Playing It Straight, which can be found at the following URL. (Deleted because it doesn’t apply any more.) The site will only operate for one viewing before being disabled and removed from the Internet. You may pause as much as you like, but you’re limited to six reviews, none of which can be more than five minutes in length. No capturing. No screenshots. Nothing that will provide proof you actually watched it. And then you’ll have to summarize it like the DAW you are, and no one will believe you ever saw it…

By the way, the file can only be viewed through RealPlayer.

We mean, we really hate you.

Sincerely,
(names of several FOX executives deleted for security reasons)’

Shows what they know. As if anyone’s going to read the summary that I’m a big enough DAW to write anyway? Hah!

So. Let’s see… Paste URL – load up RealPlayer – upgrade RealPlayer – open file – re-upgrade RealPlayer – try to roll opening credits – uninstall and reinstall RealPlayer, then upgrade – huh. There it is. Hope I can view the whole thing within the two hours I’ve got before the next upgrade is announced…

And we’re back at Sizzling Saddles, the little ranch with the big heart and the little secret. Once the opening theme stops punishing our ears, we find ourselves out at the swing, where Jackie is sitting alone, gently rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her eyes are closed, and her expression is slightly tense.

‘Three and three,’ she mutters. ‘Three gays gone, three straights gone. My brilliant plan to expose the ones who are only in it for the money has only been half successful.’

Sharif wanders into the frame of a long shot, strumming a guitar. ‘Hey, Jackie,’ he calls out, ‘want a little ‘music to ferret out GLA members by?’’

‘Maybe later, Sharif!’, Jackie merrily replies, her eyes still closed.

Sharif smiles and strolls away, humming a litany of names that seems to start with the Best New Artist Grammy winners for the last ten years and, for no apparent reason, ends with ‘Van Lingle Mungo.’

Once Jackie is alone again, she returns to her plotting. ‘Somehow, I’ve got to refine my strategy,’ she muses. ‘I’ve been putting myself out there as bait, but they all seem capable of rising to that challenge. Even the ones who must be completely nauseated by my body and personality have forced themselves to flirt back.’ (In a shot that must have been inserted as a first-draft edit joke, we briefly flash to the Fear Factor bucket, sitting next to a camera stand in the barn. It’s full.) ‘Instead of presenting them with things a gay man would normally avoid, I have to put out something a gay man would normally be attracted to…’

On this note, the camera leaves Jackie and moves inside the ranch to find Banks, busy shaving his legs with a Lady Bic while Bradley watches the process, his face twisted with a mixture of fascination and disgust.

‘But that’s a girl’s razor, dude,’ Bradley insists. ‘How can you use something that’s made for a guuurl? You could get – cooties or something!’ His cowboy hat flops into his eyes with amazement.

‘Because they don’t make leg razors for men,’ Banks calmly explains. ‘And the facial disposables wear out too fast. This is a much tougher blade. Cuts deeper when it slips, too.’ He pauses thoughtfully. ‘You know, women are really a lot stronger than we give them credit for.’

‘Yeah, but… it’s for a girl!’ Bradley expertly argues. ‘What else are you gonna do, use Secret?’ He puffs out his chest to no effect. ‘I’m gonna be a real man and use nothing!’

Banks glances up at Bradley, who’s currently trying to overcompensate by wiping his feet on the wall behind him. ‘Actually, I do use Secret,’ he says. ‘It’s strong enough for a man.’

We then get a quick closet-confessional shot, in which Banks elaborates by saying ‘And women have so many more reasons to sweat – well, I knew it could handle anything I could throw at it. A man’s roll-on doesn’t have to keep him smelling fresh during labor, you know. Our stuff just isn’t that good. And when it comes to undergarments, I should point out that ours can’t have blood washed out once a month and keep looking good, so the sensible thing to do is –‘

The camera cuts him off by going back to Jackie, who’s heading up the stairs to her room. ‘Everything’s going according to plan,’ she smiles. ‘Daphne loved my idea. The next game will get them out of the house, and when they come back…’ Jackie snaps her fingers, which ends with two broken nails. She doesn’t seem to notice. ‘We’ll find out just who’s here to win my hand –‘ (another first-draft edit sound F/X which sounds suspiciously like someone being sick all over a camera) ‘— and who’s here for the money.’

Unnoticed by Jackie, Sharif slides down the banister on her left, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and tuning a ukulele that he found somewhere. He can’t find a true note before reaching the bottom and unceremoniously crashes into the knob at the end. A few soprano notes drift upstairs.

Jackie, smiling from the sure and certain knowledge that she’s gotten control of the game at last, walks into her bedroom -- and finds Luciano waiting for her! It has to be Luciano, because there’s no way that could be anyone else’s voice. For some odd reason, the camera’s not showing him, but that stammer is distinctive enough. ‘Umm… J-J-Jackie!’ he says, sounding oddly panicked. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon!’

Jackie’s smile gets even wider. ‘Oh, hi, Luciano!’ she trills, her face flushing with purest innocence or something along those lines. ‘How nice to see you here!’ She tears her gaze – judging from the initial angle, she must have been looking right into his eyes – away from his face and lets it travel up and down his body.

Her smile fades, just a little. ‘Why are you wearing that?’ she asks, her voice filled with slightly doubtful innocence.

The camera finally swivels to reveal Luciano, who’s wearing one of Jackie’s dresses. He seems to have a good eye for color, as the shade he’s chosen flatters his hair and eyes in subtle ways without completely removing the viewer’s attention from his figure. Thanks to the miracle of modern fabrics, he’s even managed to get it on without tearing any section of it, although it’s questionable as to whether Jackie will ever be able to use it again without some serious weight gain. ‘I, well, I,’ he stammers as Jackie makes a purely unconscious check for panty lines, ‘I was ironing!’

‘Ironing?’ Jackie asks, her voice filled with slightly elevated wonder.

Luciano, having found a story, is sticking to it. ‘Yes!’ he declares, reaching for the conveniently located iron mount on the wall, which all the better ranches have installed directly into the bedroom. ‘You see, I came up here to try and get a few minutes alone with you –‘ Jackie blushes ‘— and when you weren’t here, I thought I’d pass the time by ironing some of your clothes. It’s important for a beautiful woman like you to always look as good as I do.’ He holds up the iron.

Jackie’s blush deepens. ‘But – why do you have to wear my dress before you iron it?’ she asks, her voice filled with a mixture of confusion and slight interest.

Luciano has already worked this part out. ‘Because your ironing board is broken!’, he says, and presses his full weight, hard, against the conveniently located ironing board mount on the wall, which all the better ranches have installed directly into the bedroom – while at the same time thrusting out his chest and hips towards Jackie. The distraction this creates in her mind makes her completely miss the crunching sound from the wall. ‘And what better hard, sturdy, selectively level surface to iron your clothes on than my own body!’

‘Ooooh!’ Jackie exclaims, understanding completely now. ‘Luciano, that’s just so nice of you!’ She crosses the distance between them and takes the iron from his unresisting fingers. ‘But it’s not even warm yet,’ she notes.

‘Well, I was just getting started,’ Luciano explains.

‘That’s okay,’ Jackie smiles. ‘Here, let me just set this on Low.’ She turns the iron on as Luciano’s face freezes in horror. ‘We’ve still got an hour before the next contest. I bet we can get at least three outfits done.’

A huge puff of steam obscures the camera lens, and we head into the first commercial break. (Naturally, there were no commercials in the RealPlayer file: just a quick frame reading ‘Insert Ads Here’. This means the episode basically played straight through without breaks, and any extended pause on my part increased the chances of another upgrade coming through. That increases the pain factor a bit…)

We return to find ourselves in Nevada scrubland, with a long table and two benches sitting out in the middle of virtually nothing. The eight surviving men approach it with well-learned caution, looking apprehensive. Jackie is notably absent.

‘Welcome, players,’ Daphne calls out from somewhere. Six of the men jump a total of eighteen feet in the air. Only Bill and Luciano manage to stay on the ground, with Bill looking as if he was expecting it all along and Luciano oddly only capable of slow, ginger moves that cover about two inches at a time.

Daphne steps out from behind the table, where she really should have been visible the whole time, smiling as always, looking incredibly thankful for her few seconds of camera presence. (Sharif, his Outclassed Sense tingling, plays a few bars on a harmonica.) ‘As you may have deduced,’ she begins, making Chris look momentarily confused as he tries to work out the unfamiliar word, ‘most of our contests have a cowboy theme.’ Bill makes a show of taking off his hat and stares at it as if he’s never seen one before. Daphne ignores it. ‘Now, can someone tell me something cowboys were known for doing, other than the activities we’ve had so far?’

‘Shooting each other for no apparent reason?’ suggests Banks, who seems to have been perked by the mere thought.

‘Having lots and lots and lots of casual sex with the people in town?’ asks Bill, with an instinctive glance over the horizon towards Reno.

‘Don’t you mean ‘the women in town?’ hisses Bradley.

Bill shrugs. ‘Jackie’s not here, so whatever.’

Lee falls asleep. No one notices.

Daphne looks disappointed, and stretches it out for an extra ten seconds of camera time. ‘No, no, no,’ she gently chides them. ‘Eating beans! You’ve all seen Blazing Saddles, haven’t you? All cowboys ate beans, every night! They just loved them! Sitting around a campfire and eating beans, that was the cowboy way of life.’ She looks even more disappointed. ‘Sadly, we wanted to do this challenge during the day, since you have an elimination tonight –‘

‘Wait!’ Banks yells out. ‘We have an elimination? Already??’

Daphne looks confused, but isn’t able to milk that for more than three seconds of close-up. ‘Well, yes,’ she says, even more gently. ‘We have to keep getting rid of you, or this show will never end, and I’m told my cousin has a good shot at that gig. It’s not like we’ve been spending a lot of time between eliminations so far, have we?’

Banks starts to protest again – then stops, looking thoughtful. ‘You know,’ he muses, ‘I really haven’t been able to tell.’

‘There you go, then,’ says Daphne, clearly thrilled that this conversation has doubled the amount of screen time she’s had for the entire series. ‘Now – beans. We’re going to have a bean-eating contest! Whoever finishes off the most plates – and you’ve got to lick them clean, boys…’ Several contestants look as if they’re reaching back into themselves to find a temporarily shelved skill. ‘Well, that person gets to spend an hour alone with Jackie in a little love shack we’ve constructed near the ranch!’

Chris raises his hand.

Daphne looks at him, looks at the hand, and finally sighs. ‘Yes, Chris?’

‘So,’ Chris starts slowly, ‘we eat a lot of beans, and then we have to spend an hour in a confined space with the woman we’re supposed to be romancing?’

Daphne sighs again. ‘Yes, Chris. That is how the contest works.’

All the men take long looks at each other -- excepting Lee, who slumps over to the ground and continues to sleep. No one notices.

‘Okay,’ Chris says, and lowers his hand.

‘All right!’ Daphne says brightly. ‘Everyone to the table – and you can’t use your hands!’

Only six of the men actually sit down at the bench. Luciano excuses himself by saying he’s not capable of the muscle actions involved in swallowing right now, and no one can remember where Lee is. Several plates of beans are placed in front of each player, and the ringing of a cowbell signals the start of the game.

Sharif falls behind early, as he doesn’t seem as interested in eating the beans as he does in using their inevitable by-product to create a few short tunes of his choice, some of which draw applause from the camera crew. Banks and Chris are lounging towards the back of the pack, with Banks spending too much time trying to keep the drippings off his shirt and Chris carefully counting a hundred chews before each swallow. John gags a lot. Bill seems to be packing away the plates while displaying some expert tongue work in cleaning the rims, and Bradley is eating as if his life depended on it.

John is the first to actually drop out, staggering off camera just in time to save us from getting a visual to accompany the retching sounds. Sharif drops into last place as he pauses to play a lovely rendition of ‘Taps’. Banks quits next before his shirt can be ruined beyond repair, and takes a seat on a nearby boulder, muttering about how ‘these things can’t take makeup stains and now they’re supposed to wash out bean sauce without penalty?’ Chris has to pause several times before remembering where he was in the count. It’s obviously a two-person race, with Bill and Bradley having already completed seven plates each. Chris and Sharif realize they’ll never be able to catch up, and settle back to watch.

The contest continues for another twenty minutes (according to the time bar at the bottom of the screen), and the bean supply is starting to run out. Daphne, looking impressed and disgusted at the same time, brings out a wide, deep bowl, more than large enough to dunk two heads into, slams it on the table between Bill and Bradley, and cries out ‘Head to head! Whoever eats more of this last one wins the hour with Jackie!’

Without hesitation, both of the remaining players plunge their heads into the bowl. The sounds of rapid swallowing echo through the scrubland.

‘Wait!’ Banks calls out. ‘How are you going to tell which one ate more?’

‘Shut up, Banks,’ Daphne suggests. ‘Go, boys, go!’

The boys are indeed going, as the natural F/Xs of overly fast bean consumption resound throughout the land. Somehow, the head movements within the bowl are completely failing to wash the beans over the side, perhaps because the food level within is dropping too fast to get any other momentum going. It’s like watching filthy water spiral down a pair of drains, with distinct swirls around where we presume the players’ mouths to be.

Finally, the movements stop, with Bill and Bradley revealed in the depths of the empty bowl, their hair dripping with bean sauce and their lips pressed tightly against each other’s mouths.

Everyone stares for a long, long moment.

Bill’s lips peel back slightly to reveal a tiny section of bean between his slightly parted teeth and Bradley’s. It’s clear neither one is ready to relinquish the last legume just yet. Bradley yanks his head back, trying to get some leverage or split the bean with more plant matter on his side, but Bill’s ready for him and coordinates his own movements, leaving them liplocked. Bill’s following head fake only results in Bradley following him right out of the bowl, and they lay sprawled across the table, refusing to give an inch.

According to the time bar at the bottom of the screen, thirty-eight minutes pass.

Suddenly, a distinctly non-musical sound splits the silence of the desert. Bill’s eyes go wide for a split-second before squeezing shut, with his nose wrinkling hard – and his jaw convulsively clenching. The bean breaks, leaving a little bit of material in front of Bradley’s teeth. Bradley swallows, quickly.

‘Bradley wins!’ Daphne calls out between dry heaves.

‘But –‘ Banks begins.

‘Shut up, Banks,’ Daphne suggests. ‘Bradley, go meet your lady. The rest of you can go get washed up in the group outdoor shower we’ve provided just for this purpose.’

The six conscious non-winners take more long looks at each other. Luciano starts to take his clothes off – then hesitates. ‘There’s no massage setting on those showerheads, is there?’ he asks. ‘I don’t think I could take that right now.’

‘Luciano, you didn’t even play!’ Chris points out.

‘Well – trail dust…’ Luciano says.

‘Oh,’ Chris replies. ‘Whatever.’

The men stagger off to the shower, shedding clothes on the way, with Banks accidentally stepping on Lee. No one notices, and we head into the second commercial break.

We return to find Bradley walking towards the love shack, which is a little dust-covered toolshed about two hundred feet from the ranch. He’s moving very slowly, and keeps stopping for no apparent reason. The echoes of Sharif’s latest tune continues to sound through the night. ‘Maybe I can use this to my advantage,’ Bradley thinks aloud as bean sauce dribbles from his right ear. ‘Yeah – yeah, I can definitely put this into play. There’s no way she’s going to think I’m gay after this hour is up.’ He eases up to the door and opens it, slowly.

The shed has no floor. It also has no chairs, no tables, no bed, no sink, and in fact no furnishings at all except for the old swing, sitting in the middle of the dirt, with Jackie already rocking it back and forth. She looks slightly embarrassed by the cheapness of her surroundings and mutters something indistinct that sounds a little like ‘FOX…’ before patting the empty side of the swing, inviting Bradley to sit down.

Bradley takes off his hat in the presence of a lady. Several beans fall off the brim.

‘So,’ he says, leaning in for a closer look at Jackie’s low-cut neckline. ‘How are they hanging, babe?’

Jackie’s eyes widen. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Bradley says, with a pause for a loud, long burp that eats up ten seconds of camera time. ‘Slip of the tongue. Not that I’d be afraid to let my tongue slip on you, of course. Around you. Something like that. I meant to say ‘How’s it hanging, babe’.’ He goes back to inspecting Jackie’s blouse and the immediate environs. ‘Not that I’m not curious about the other things.’ He burps again.

Jackie slides down to the far side of the swing.

Bradley shakes his head in a friendly fashion. Several beans fly off and hit Jackie in awkward spots. ‘Aw, come on, babe, we’ve got a whole hour to ourselves here. We can talk about something else – or do something else…’

Jackie stands up and walks out of the shed, slamming the door behind her. A soft click can just barely be made out.

Bradley stretches out his legs and grins. ‘Well, that’s it,’ he says to the camera. ‘There’s no way she’s going to think I’m gay after that. Only a straight guy could be that much of a pig.’ He stands up, yawns deeply, and burps again. ‘Me for a shower,’ he announces, and heads for the door.

It’s locked.

‘Hey…’ Bradley says, sounding slightly shocked. The distinct F/X of post-bean consequences is clearly distinguishable on the soundtrack. ‘Hey, come on…’ F/X again. Bradley wildly glances around, but there’s no windows, no ceiling hatch, and no ventilation grills. ‘Hey!’ He starts pounding on the door. ‘Let me out! Let me…!’ F/X.

Bradley stops moving, then stops breathing, and then loses the interest of the camera as we go into an oddly-timed commercial break.

We return to find six freshly-scrubbed, happy-looking men approaching the ranch as the sun begins to set. They all look distinctly refreshed in body and spirit. ‘I feel like I could take on anything now,’ Bill tells Chris, who grins and nods enthusiastically.

‘We’re supposed to have a little social with Jackie tonight before the elimination,’ Banks tells the camera during a private confessional. ‘Just a little Western-style gathering. Talk, drink, compare toiletry brands. You know, guy stuff.’

Still chatting happily, the men head into the ranch and go directly to the living room.

Well – actually, it was the living room. We know it fairly well: the men got the big announcement there. Plenty of space for a large gathering, and with six gone, it’ll be easier to drift around the room. Or at least, it would have been if the place hadn’t been so extensively redecorated. There’s a grand piano in the middle of the room, trimmed in white frilly lace, with pink cushions on the bench and an elaborate candelabra sitting on top. A big-screen TV has been set in one corner, with the screen showing the opening credits of Boy meets boy. A stereo system has been installed, but the only music available is that of Liza Minelli and Judy Garland -- although those are on completely remastered collector’s CDs. While a small open bar has been assembled, it only serves Pink Ladies and Seven & Seven, plus a limited supply of Zima for no apparent reason. Lavender screens have been hung around the light fixtures, and there’s a row of lit incense burners in front of the fireplace.

The men freeze, staring around the room in open shock.

The camera moves to Jackie, sitting in her bedroom next to a pile of freshly-ironed laundry. ‘Let’s see them get through this without breaking,’ she says with an evil confessional smile. ‘Game on, boys. Game on.’

And back to the Room Of Gay Aplomb, where Jackie is just now entering from a different door, wearing a man’s lumberjack shirt and faded blue jeans, along with hobnail boats. Her hair has been looped back on itself and piled high to give her that certain Donald Trump look, and all of her makeup has been carefully removed. There’s dirt under her fingernails, all ten of which are now broken and jagged at the ends. She also appears to have been doing some painful work with Ace bandages and assorted bits of padding, because her waist now proceeds directly into her hips without pause, and certain secondary sexual characteristics are absent from her figure. The act of breathing is visibly painful for her.

‘…Jackie?’ Banks asks carefully, apparently just to confirm.

‘Sure is!’ she smiles – then winces as she takes another breath. ‘Miss me?’

‘Well, of course,’ Banks continues, ‘but…’

‘Spread out!’ Jackie interrupts. ‘Get comfortable! We’ve got three whole hours before you have to get ready for the barn, so let’s make use of them!’

The men slowly filter into the room, looking very much as if they’ve been invited into a minefield. As well they might, because we move into another one of Jackie’s confessionals, taped earlier in the day. ‘The entire room is a trap,’ she admits with another evil smile. ‘I’m a trap. If they do anything other than stand around looking uncomfortable and making excuses to leave early, then I’ve got them.’

Sharif heads straight for the piano. ‘Hey, look at this!’ he exclaims happily. ‘It’s already in tune!’ He sits down and begins to play a soft medley, immediately recognizable as being taken from Paula Abdul’s albums. Sharif hums along to the music while snapping the fingers of his occasionally-free hand in a street rhythm. ‘Watch me now!’ he says in a distinct British accent, and smiles for the camera.

Bill’s attention is caught by the TV. ‘Hey, I never saw the first episode of this!’ he tells Luciano. ‘I tried to get on this, you know.’

‘You too?’ Luciano says, openly shocked. ‘What a coincidence! I was in the first wave of callbacks, but they said I just didn’t look the part.’

‘Well, you know how it goes,’ Bill replies, waving a hand dismissively. ‘They cast for certain types… they can’t open their eyes to the wider range available…’

‘Yeah,’ Luciano agrees, clearly disgusted. ‘I couldn’t stand to watch the thing, knowing those losers got on and I didn’t.’

Bill gives him a sly glance. ‘Want to see them get humiliated now?’

Luciano flashes a big grin, and they sit down in front of the set, looking happy. ‘Only twenty-five thousand or a vacation,’ Bill says, sounding as if he’s completely gotten past his earlier issues. ‘Losers indeed.’ Luciano nods enthusiastically and reaches for the bowl of mixed nuts.

Chris looks at the two new friends devouring the first minutes of the show, announces ‘I need a drink’ to the world in general, and heads for the mini-bar. He quickly lines up six Pink Ladies and starts to down them like shots.

John watches Sharif’s efforts on the piano with visibly increasing disgust. ‘Poser,’ he says, clearly not caring who hears him. ‘I want to listen to some real music.’ He goes over to the stereo, picks out a Garland CD, and puts it on at high volume, trying to drown out Sharif’s efforts. His musical rival plays with increasing enthusiasm, but he can’t increase his decibel level as readily as John can, and his efforts quickly begin to spiral out of control, the clash creating a noise reminiscent of the last Matchbox 20 concert. Banks sensibly decides that the only way to survive the night is with the assistance of massive amounts of alcohol, and heads for the bar.

The time bar shows the three hours progressing as we get a series of staggered camera shots and vignettes. The TV has been set up to show Boy meets boy as a commercial-free marathon, so Luciano and Bill haven’t budged from the couch. Sharif gives up on the piano and tries his harmonica, a Jew’s harp pulled from his hat brim, and the triangle he was using for a belt buckle, all to no effect. John continues to wage musical war by switching to Liza, with the new clash resulting in something strangely reminiscent of the Backstreet Boys. Banks and Chris drink. A lot. And Jackie stands alone in the middle of the room, completely ignored by all of the men, looking lost, forlorn, and in considerable agony every time she needs to inhale.

Finally, mercifully, the party is over. Daphne says ‘All right, everyone, go up to your rooms and get ready for tonight.’ Luciano seems to levitate four feet off the couch, Sharif misses four notes, and Banks spills his drink all over Chris. Daphne steps out from her position next to the TV, where she really should have been visible all along. ‘You two can watch the rest of it later in your rooms,’ she promises Bill and Luciano. ‘We’ll have it wired in or something. Come on, we’ll be behind schedule. We don’t even have time for swing dates, especially since we only had the one swing, and we’re not sure what happened to the last person who was using it.’ She frowns. ‘Someone should probably look for him… Well, get going!’

All the men leave the room. Daphne is not seen to leave, but doesn’t seem to be there any more. Jackie stands still for a long moment before her face screws up into what seems to be the precursor to a long scream, tries to take the necessary deep, angry breath – then whimpers softly and sinks into a chair.

Commercials, and we return to find ourselves in the barn, with the six men from the party heading for their usual places on the haystacks – with the exception of Bill and Luciano, who sit next to each other so they can continue their discussion of the Bravo series until the last possible moment. Banks and Chris sway slightly as they enter, but seem to be okay.

Two stagehands enter the barn, carrying Bradley between them. He’s conscious, but not entirely present. There’s a ten-mile stare in his unblinking eyes, and both hands and his face are covered in desert dust. The other men stare at their fellow player, then look up at the stagehands, expressions questioning. The taller stagehand sighs. ‘Saddest thing I ever saw,’ he tells them. ‘We think he was trying to dig his way out for a while, but it’s solid rock underneath that shed. And judging by the position we found him in, he must have been trying to breathe the dirt… Why he didn’t just lift the shed and walk out, we’ll probably never know.’ They lay Bradley out on a haystack, a little distance from the others. A few flecks of dried bean sauce break away from his face and drift down to the straw.

Jackie walks into the barn with her hair back down in its usual coiffure and the Ace bandages clearly off her torso. While she’s wearing makeup again, her attire is unchanged from the party, and the fake press-on nails haven’t quite set: one of them drops into the dirt as she approaches her position.

Daphne says ‘All right, Jackie, you know what you have to do now.’ Three more fake nails come off as Jackie jumps two feet backwards. Bradley twitches several times, then stops moving. ‘Tonight, we’re going to cut your private field down to five. That means you have to remove –‘ Daphne stops, frowning, then looks around the barn, counting on her fingers. ‘That’s odd. Well. I guess we must have lost another one somewhere along the way.’ Coyotes howl in the distance, the sound coming from the general direction of the Mesh estate. ‘So you’ll only have to eliminate two suitors from play tonight. Remember, choose wisely. The awarding of a million dollars is at stake.’

Jackie tensely replies ‘Don’t you mean half a million dollars?’

‘Whatever,’ Daphne says, and fails to be picked up by the camera from that moment on.

Jackie sighs, then looks at the men and hesitates not at all before says ‘Luciano.’ Luciano gives Bill the universal we’ll-finish-this-back-at-my-place sign, then stands up and walks over to Jackie.

‘I’m absolutely gorgeous,’ he opens, and does a slow turn, still moving gingerly. Jackie whimpers for the second time in the episode. ‘You know it, I know it, everyone here knows it. Do you really want this to be the last time you get to look at me?’

‘No way!’ Jackie happily shouts. ‘You’re staying!’ They hug until the cameramen come over and ask them to break it up before they have to change film. ‘Besides, you have to tell me how you get your skin looking so good. I spend an hour in the trailer and I don’t think mine shows up as well as yours on camera.’ Luciano smiles and promises to share the contents of his beauty kit, then heads over to Retention Haystack.

Banks is the next to be called over, and to no one’s surprise, learns that he’s staying. He hiccups happily and sways down a crooked path to join Luciano.

Bill is up next, and Jackie has questions for him. ‘So you applied to be on Boy meets boy?’ she asks, apparently having overheard that part of the conversation. Bill nods. ‘Why did you go on?’

‘Well, it was a real challenge to my amateur drama skills,’ Bill says smoothly. ‘I was going to try out from a production at the park playhouse, and I really needed all the experience I could get.’ Jackie seems to be considering this carefully. ‘There was no way I could have won, of course. I can’t fake being gay for an extended period! I just wanted to get through three hours, same as the length of that play with the author in the funny hat. You know the one.’ Jackie clearly doesn’t, but she’s equally clearly fascinated by the depth of Bill’s cultural knowledge. ‘You know, in the end, we just need all the time in the spotlight we can get, no matter what the source.’

‘You’re absolutely right,’ Jackie agrees. ‘Stay.’

Bill takes his seat next to Luciano, and Jackie lets her gaze room across the four remaining men for several seconds before saying ‘Chris.’

Chris comes over and takes Jackie’s hand, receiving two small wounds from her broken nails. ‘It’s nice to see your hair back to normal,’ he says. ‘You really look better with it down.’

‘Well,’ Jackie interrupts him, ‘that’s just the thing.’ Chris looks startled. ‘You didn’t flirt with me at the party.’

‘Jackie, nobody flirted with you at the party,’ Chris points out. ‘You looked like a guy. A really unattractive guy with a weird hairstyle. You can’t blame us for that.’

Apparently Jackie can, because her eyes flash. ‘And,’ she says, speaking faster, ‘you haven’t flirted much with me at all –‘

This time, Chris cuts her off. ‘You’re getting rid of me tonight no matter what, aren’t you?’ he says, his voice getting louder. ‘This is just the excuse!’

‘Yes, it is!’, Jackie roars back. ‘And before you go, I have to know – are you straight or are you gay?’

‘I’m straight, you dimwit!’ Chris screams. ‘I just don’t find you the least bit attractive!’ He throws his hat away, nearly hitting Bradley, and storms out of the barn, yelling indistinguishable curses all the way out of camera range. The audio pickup continues to register him for a while longer.

Jackie stands stock-still for a while, breathing slowly, and finally gets out a tiny squeak of ‘Sharif?’ Sharif tap-dances his way to Jackie, matching the rhythm on his castanets. ‘You’re staying.’ He immediately soft-shoes his way to the other haystack and does a balletic leap into his new seat.

John’s retention in the group is fast-forwarded past by the editing room – we see him stand, we see him hug Jackie, we see him sit down with the others – and finally, we’re down to Bradley, who hasn’t moved since Daphne vanished. ‘Bradley,’ Jackie says. He still doesn’t move. ‘Bradley?’ This time, he twitches slightly. Two stagehands walk onto the set, pick him up, and carry him to Jackie. He’s set down on his feet, with the stagehands propping him up on either side.

Jackie looks him over. A few more flecks of dried bean juice fall off his face. She shakes her head. ‘Bradley, I don’t care if you’re straight or gay. You’re disgusting.’ He twitches again. ‘But because I have to ask you, just to keep from being in violation of contract, before you go, I have to know – are you straight or are you gay?’

Silence.

A third stagehand comes out, carrying a bucket of water. He pours it on Bradley’s head.

Bradley twitches again, and his jaw drops open. His eyes swivel slightly and seem to focus on Jackie for a moment. He says ‘Garp.’

Jackie frowns. ‘What was that?’

‘Garp!’ Bradley firmly says, nodding hard. ‘Garp!’

‘Okay, that’s enough,’ says the taller stagehand. ‘Let’s get him out of here.’ They lift him up again and start carrying him out of the barn.

‘Wait!’ Jackie cries. ‘What was that? ‘Garp?’ What was that supposed to mean?’

‘It means he’s out!’ the taller stagehand calls back. ‘Don’t worry about it!’

Jackie slowly sighs, shrugs, and turns back to the others. ‘Well, I guess…’ She looks around for Daphne, who fails to materialize. Another shrug. ‘I guess you can head back to your rooms now.’

The remaining men get up and walk out of the barn, with John supporting Banks. And the last sound heard before the closing credits roll is Luciano saying to Bill ‘You know, I’m really starting to hope he makes the right choice. Now, if I’d been on that show…
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(The preceding was a work of complete and utter lies, also known as ‘fiction’. Any resemblance to the actual people and events of Episode #4 is pretty unlikely, not to mention purely coincidental. ‘twas a spoof, and nothing more. Still not a flying toy.)