The Fabulist Page 3

  “I heard you had a few choice words with someone who spoke out of turn.”

  “I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I apologize for my behavior.”

  “No need to apologize, Sam. We just want to hear what happened.”

  “That passion thing you mentioned earlier? Well, sometimes it gets away from me. I wouldn’t have said a word if I thought that my outburst would be the reason I was moved forward. I’d rather be known for being smart than for creating drama.”

  “Do you create drama?”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “But sometimes it just happens?”

  “I speak my mind. Carmen is one of the nicest, kindest people in the world, and when people are mean to her, well, I guess I get a bit incensed.”

  “Does this only happen around Carmen?”

  I furrow my brows. “No, not only around her. But if I make it on the show, I would be on my best behavior. At least in front of the camera.”

  “I see. Is there anything else you think we should know about you?”

  I can sense I haven’t done a great job impressing him. He seems to be losing interest. I decide to go out on a limb. “All those years working in retail gave me a particular set of skills. I don’t mean like Liam Neeson skills or anything. What I mean is I’ve heard a lot of lies in my time.” I turn and face the camera. “If this fabulist wants someone to pick up on his lies, then I say bring it. I’ll read him like a book and I’m up for any challenges he may have for me.”

  I turn back to Mr. Matthews. “I promise to always keep it real. I’ll never be anything but who I am.”

  He stands, I rise, and we shake hands. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sam. Please have a seat outside. We’ll let you know shortly if you move forward.”

  He rotates toward the man behind the camera before exiting through the same door as the blonde and says, “Go ahead and take your lunch. We’ll start back soon.”

  I exhale loudly. I’m pretty sure I blew it. I’m usually the one doing the interviews. It’s been forever since I’ve been on the other side. I bend to pick up my purse from the floor. The light from the camera turns off, and even though I just heard Mr. Matthews speak to him, it’s only then I remember he’s the guy I flirted with earlier. I wonder if that will work against me.

  I blink a few times to get the glare of the light out of my eyes.

  “Sorry about that.” His deep voice catches me off guard a bit. It’s low and gravelly—rough, tough, but somehow appealing.

  “That light can be blinding.” He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “I’m Hogan. Hogan Harper.”

  His hands are huge. Soft but strong. He’s fairly tan, and I wonder if his work involves a lot of travel. He didn’t get that tan in this city. It’s still winter.

  “Sam Wittaker, but you already knew that. About earlier—”

  “Earlier?”

  I’m not one to mince words. “In the lobby. I know you saw me.”

  “You mean when you were staring at my ass?” His confidence is obvious. Maybe he is from New York. He’s definitely cocky, but is he smart? I’m interested. I enjoy a little pomp with my circumstance.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a really nice ass.”

  He grins. Damn, his teeth are perfect. “I didn’t know you’d be involved in this. If I did, I never would have checked you out.”

  “So you only check out men you’ll never meet?” he questions.

  “If I wanted to meet you, I would have made it happen.”

  “I made it happen. Why do you think I introduced myself?”

  I furrow my brows. I wonder if he’s testing me. “That’s a conflict of interest, don’t you think? Do you toy with everyone or just the blondes?”

  “I’m a pretty friendly guy.”

  “So you’re a flirt.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Isn’t that the stuff they want from the people auditioning? Shouldn’t you save the flirting for the people in front of the camera?”

  His hand rests on the camera as he motions toward it with his head. “I’d be happy to turn it back on and talk to you on video, if that’s what it takes.”

  “I guess you’re the sick perverted type who likes to record everything. Is that a turn-on for all cameramen, or just you?”

  “I’d say all men, in general, but if you’re too shy for that sort of thing, it’s okay with me.”

  Is he for real? Something about him has me on edge, and that never happens with guys like him. I have to change the topic. I’m supposed to be professional and I was trying to backpedal, not flirt more. What’s his angle? I pause to try to read him.

  He leans forward and laughs. “You know I’m just messing with you, right?”

  My lie-dar goes off full force. He’s not just messing with me. He’s full of crap, but if I still have a chance to be on the show, I’m not going to blow it by flirting with him or any of the employees, no matter how hot they are. “Do I? I’d call you a liar, but I’ll save my talents for the producers. Have you been doing this long?”

  “Lying?” he asks, slightly offended.

  “Filming,” I clarify sarcastically.

  He licks his lips and nods to me. “Today or in general?”

  “In general.”

  “I’ve always loved movies and television. I started working behind the scenes in my twenties.”

  “So a couple of years then?”

  He cocks his head. “Twelve to be exact. I’m thirty-three.”

  “I see. It’s great you get to do what you love. Is it boring to film these interviews all day?”

  “Not at all. I enjoy it. People are fascinating. Never the same answer twice. Nice touch, by the way, speaking into the camera. I zoomed in on you. I’m sure they liked your confidence. Not many people can pull that off.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “This was broadcast to the rest of the staff. They’re always watching.”

  “Shit. I need to keep that in mind. Are they watching now?”

  He leans up against the back wall and stares at me as if he’s trying to figure me out. He places a toothpick in his mouth and folds his arms. “Not that I know of, but anything is possible.”

  I try my best to keep eye contact, but his arm muscles ripple, and I feel a flutter in my chest, or in my panties, maybe both. I need to escape. I don’t want to be attracted to him. Not here. Not now. I wander toward the door. “It was nice meeting you, Hulk.”

  “Hulk?” He laughs.

  Fuck. I just said my nickname for him out loud. I shake it off. “It’s a habit. I’m not great with names and I usually create nicknames for people so I remember them.”

  He smirks. “And here I thought I was unforgettable.”

  “All men think that. Most of them are easy to forget.”

  “I think you forgot to add the ‘except for you’ part.”

  “Sorry to burst your bubble.” I shrug nonchalantly and exit the room. He’s still leaning against the wall, chewing his toothpick, but the smirk is back. Maybe I underestimated him. I liked the banter, but I need to focus. I don’t have time for quick fucks right now and I’m sure that’s what he’s after, like most men. This job is my only prospect and I’ll be damned if I let a guy ruin my chances at getting what I want.

  “I DON’T BELIEVE you. You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m sure you were amazeballs. And surprisingly, I thought mine went well,” Carmen says when I tell her I think I bombed the interview. “If they liked me, then for sure they loved you.”

  I shrug my shoulders, slouching in my chair before I genuinely smile at her. She’s so upbeat. Nothing gets to her. “I’m really happy for you. I know they’re going to pick you. They’d be stupid not to.”

  Carmen crosses her fingers and then her arms before crossing her legs as well. She makes me laugh. At this point I’d rather see her get in than me. It means so much more to her.

  The staff provides sandwiches for the remaining applicants. There are a
round forty of us left. High-Rise eats by himself in the corner. He gives me a nod when we make eye contact. I nod back without smiling. If he’s my competition, then I won’t be making friends anytime soon. A loud cackle from the corner reminds me I may have to deal with BM longer than I thought. I can’t believe she made it this far. They must love the fact that she’s annoying as hell.

  There are a handful of what I refer to as suits sitting near the food tables, sizing each other up. They’re dressed to impress, and I wonder if they’re contestants or plants. I decide to get closer to hear what’s being said.

  “Do you want a soda?” I ask Carmen.

  “No, I’m good. Sugar is bad for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t care. I’ll be right back.”

  I take my time getting to the table with the drinks and listen carefully to their conversation.

  “Don’t you get it?” Stuck-Up Suit #1 asks. “It’s all part of the game. They’re probably watching us right now, as a matter of fact. I heard the next part is a lie test. It’s hard to believe some of these losers made it through. I saw one guy who couldn’t even un-wrap his sandwich without help.”

  Stuck-Up Suit #2 says, “Right? Look at them. I guess someone has to lose. It is television, after all. They need to have stupid people mixed in with the obvious choices.”

  As I take a soda from the table, I can’t help but roll my eyes and laugh at their pretentiousness.

  “Do you have something to add to this conversation, eavesdropper?”

  I turn to #1, who raises his eyebrows at me seductively. I pop the tab on my soda. “Well, that depends on whether or not you think I’m one of the losers, asshole.”

  He grins at me. “I wouldn’t call you a loser. You’re more of the eye candy.”

  “I wish I could say the same. Apparently you fell off the ugly tree at birth and hit every branch on the way down. I guess they do need balance after all. And by the way, putting on a suit doesn’t make you intelligent, just like having a dick doesn’t make you a man.”

  “Oh, I’m a man, sweetheart. Why don’t you hop on my lap and see for yourself. I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two.”

  I take a step toward him. “I’ll hop on your lap right after I open the blade in my back pocket. Too bad there isn’t much there to cut.”

  “If you’re offering lap dances, I think I’ve confirmed why you’re here.”

  “Did you ever think maybe the reason you’ve made it this far is to sell quality suits? You’re a walking advertisement for why you shouldn’t wear cheap clothing.”

  He stands as if that will somehow intimidate me. Just as he’s about to respond, the door opens, and the cameraman enters, followed by someone who looks vaguely familiar.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. My name is Bryce Donahue, and I’ll be the host of The Fabulist. On behalf of our entire production team, I’d like to thank you for your patience and ask you to please refrain from discussing the process among yourselves. Speculation only leads to disappointment. We’ll be dividing you up into groups shortly. It’s important we get the auditions for New York finished today. Thank you.”

  His comment reminds me that New York is only one of the locations conducting interviews. I wonder how many of us, if any, will actually make it to the end.

  Stuck-Up Suit #1 slides down into his seat as the person to his left whispers to him. I wander back to a very nervous Carmen.

  “Do you think we’ll be separated?” she asks.

  I glance back over my shoulder. “I hope not, but who knows.”

  “I see the hottie has returned,” Carmen states with her eyes raised toward me. “Did you notice he was in the room during our interviews?”

  “He introduced himself to me.”

  “He what?” Carmen’s eyes grow wide and she pulls me back to where we were sitting. “Why am I just hearing this now? What did he say? Did he know you thought he was hot? Oh my God, Sammy, tell me everything.”

  I watch him set up his camera near the door. Two other guys with cameras come in and he seems to be directing them. He’s focused on his work and hasn’t even glanced in my direction.

  “It’s not a big deal. He was flirtatious in a funny way. His name is, umm, well I’m going to call him Hulk, maybe Hoagie. I’m still trying to decide, and yes, he saw me staring. It didn’t seem to bother him. He has a big ego.”

  “He flirted with you? What did he say?”

  “We’re not supposed to discuss the process, remember?” She gives me the stink eye, and I laugh. “It was nothing, really. I think he was trying to see if he could rattle me. It didn’t work, of course.”

  Carmen shakes her head playfully. “Of course.”

  The door opens again and several people enter. Hulk speaks to them briefly and nods. Within a few seconds, the cameras are turned on.

  The host announces he wants the people he calls to move to the left. He reads off several names, including Carmen, BM, and Stuck-Up Suit #2. High-Rise and I, along with the other half, are directed to the right. Carmen’s group is moved into a different room. She flashes crossed fingers at me. I want her to get this. She deserves good things more than anyone I know.

  My group is divided even further. I’m placed in one group, and High-Rise and Stuck-Up Suit #1 are in the other. I’m guessing I’m out and apparently so does Stuck-Up by the way he smiles at me. I check to make sure no one is watching before flipping him the bird. He rolls his eyes at me and I turn in time to see Hulk regarding me amusingly. I don’t see the camera pointed in my direction, so I’m relieved. I place a finger over my lips, motioning for him to stay silent. He crosses his heart and nods. It makes me grin.

  My group is asked to follow Bryce Donahue. Hulk follows with the camera. There are eight of us.

  After we file into a side room, Bryce speaks. “Congratulations. You’ve made it to the next round. You need to know getting this far doesn’t guarantee you a spot on the show. There is still one more round, and I can’t stress enough that this could be the most important one of all. Please have a seat and wait for your name to be called.”

  Hulk follows the host into another room. I can see them talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying. From the way they’re standing, and judging by the expressions on their faces, I get the feeling they might be friends. I’m sure they have to spend a lot of time together. He says something and Hulk laughs deeply. He has this roar of a laugh that comes from his belly. He’s probably one of the more manly men I’ve ever met and that says a lot from someone who lives in New York. The host has a clipboard and he flips a page or two before he sets it on the floor and takes a swig of water from a bottle at his feet.

  “Sam?” The host motions for me to come in. Hulk lifts the camera onto a tripod and flips a few switches.

  “Hi, Sam. I’m Bryce. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “It’s nice to meet you too.” Bryce, Bryce, Bryce… no nickname for the host. Not appropriate.

  “While Hogan gets set up, I’ll explain the next round. Don’t be nervous. Just be yourself.”

  “Got it.”

  Hulk moves his finger from his temple and points at Bryce, who immediately smiles. “We’re here with Sam Wittaker as she completes the final part of the auditions for The Fabulist. How are you, Sam?” he asks, moving his microphone toward me.

  “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Fantastic, thanks for asking. I’d say I’m probably less nervous than you are at this point.”

  “I don’t get nervous. I just go with the flow.”

  “Well, that’s good. Any idea what lies behind the door?”

  “A pit of fire-breathing dragons?”

  “Actually, Sam, that’s not a bad analogy. Behind this door are three dragons. I mean people. One of them is who they say they are, and the other two are lying. Your job is to pick the person you think is telling the truth. You’re allowed to ask each one of them one question. Just one. What do you think about that?”

 
; “Sounds fun. Let’s go.”

  “You’re ready? Any questions?”

  “Nope,” I say, popping the P.

  “All right, Sam,” he says, touching my back. “Good luck! Remember, the liar’s pants aren’t necessarily the ones on fire.”

  “Got it. Liar, liar pants on fire. That’s pretty clever.”

  “I try,” he says sarcastically with a shrug. I like him. He seems like a decent guy. It could be just a part he’s playing, but I feel he’s being himself. I trust my own judgement completely. I always go with my gut. It hasn’t led me astray yet.

  Entering the room, I observe three people sitting in chairs across from where I’m standing. Hulk follows me with the camera and sets it up behind me. There are already other cameras in the room. The first person is a female, second male, third female. They all wear identical blue suits.

  The first female begins. “My name is Chris Linus. I’m a stripper in Las Vegas, Nevada. Last week, I found the wallet of a member of Congress, lying on the floor of the bar. I returned it and was given a hefty reward to keep my mouth shut.”

  The same story is repeated by the next two people. All three seem to be ordinary people, not actors. When they’re finished, Mr. Matthews appears and instructs me to ask my questions.

  I ask the first female, “How did you go about returning the wallet?”

  “I googled his name online, then called his office.”

  I ask the male, “What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you at work?”

  “I was once puked on while giving a drunk client a lap dance. He must have had tacos for dinner. To this day the smell of salsa makes me gag.”

  I ask the other female, “What was your first stripper experience like?”

  “It was a real turn-on. I made more money than I ever had before and I never looked back.”

  “All right, Sam. Which person is telling the truth?”

  I stare at each of them for a moment and review what they said and how they said it. There was something that stood out to me about one of them and I decide to go with my gut. “The person telling the truth is number two. I’m sorry you were puked on. That sucks.”