Page 23 of Alice Chen's Reality Check
I can’t really scope out the rest of my competitors without making it obvious what I’m doing, so I turn my focus to the obstacle course before us, which is laid out on the sand next to the waterline. There are limbo poles speared into the sand about thirty feet apart, three in total before a finish line. The poles get progressively closer to the ground, each one more difficult to limbo under than the last.
I’m still studying the course when one of the production assistants signals us to quiet down. Dawn Taylor saunters over to face the cameras.
“Babes, it’s time tolimboyour way out of Limbo!” Dawn Taylor says, doing a little shimmy. “The first couple to make it through the obstacle course will win a luxury date in our Paradise Cabana. The losers get to spend some quality time on the beach. And whoever comes in dead last? Well, you’ll be dead to us—and eliminated from the competition.”
One of the cameramen runs parallel to the line of contestants, getting one last shot of us lined up. I concentrate on looking determined while Chase strikes a pose, flexing his muscles like an old-timey strongman.
Dawn Taylor raises her hands. “Love is hell. Can you take the heat? We’re about to find out! Your journey beginsnow!” We start to launchourselves forward.
“Everyone, hold your places!” Peter Dixon calls from the sidelines. “Dawn, DT, love it, no notes. But let’s get a few more takes with some other catchphrases. Freya, take this.” Peter Dixon waves over the PA who was handing out drinks earlier, a timid-looking woman with black hair in two braids, and has her run a piece of paper over to Dawn Taylor.
A flash of annoyance crosses Dawn Taylor’s gorgeous features, but once she’s facing the camera, she flashes a brilliant smile and fires off a dozen phrases.
“Get ready to catch hell!”
“There’s gonna be hell to pay!”
“Let’s raise hell!”
Is this really funny or am I just drunk? Maybe it’s a little of both. I put my hand over my mouth and try to quiet my laughter, but I catch Lex the sound tech looking over at me. Clearly, they can tell I’m laughing, thanks to the mic pack I was outfitted with earlier.
Meanwhile, Dawn Taylor is still going. How long is this list?
“We’re about to have one hell of a time!”
“Ready, set, hell!”
At that last one, she turns to Peter Dixon. “I think we got it. Let’s move this along.”
“But you’re just getting to the good stuff,” Peter Dixon says.
“Pete, honey, I love you, but if I don’t get a glass of mango iced tea right this second, I’m not going to be able to say another word today,” Dawn Taylor says, pouting.
Peter Dixon chuckles. “Fine, you win. Can someone get DT here a drink?” One of the crew breaks from the pack, scurrying away toward the tents.
“Thanks a mil,” Dawn Taylor says. She flounces her way off to the side, toward a colorful beach chair with a matching umbrella. I don’t know how she’s managing to walk in heels on the sand. Sorcery, maybe. Or Pilates.
“So, should we start?” I ask.
“Oh, yeah. Um, please go,” the quiet PA—Freya, my mind supplies after a beat—says.
Ripples of confusion move through the line of contestants.
“Did she say go?”
“Are we starting?”
“Go, go, go!”
And we’re off. The part of me that’s attached to Chase is already running. Chase is two feet from the starting line before he seems to remember that we’re Velcroed together.
“Chase! Too fast!” I shout.
“Sorry, babe, got too excited,” Chase says, flashing me his trademark golden retriever grin.
Chase all but scoops me up. This time, I keep my arm wrapped around his waist. It works for a couple steps, but Chase is too tall and I’m too short, and our strides are hilariously mismatched.
New strategy: I’m going to cling to Chase with everything I’ve got and let his momentum carry us through this.
