Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Anthony’s face wrinkles up, likely imagining puppies instead of ladies. “The fuck …?” he mutters under his breath—again.
“And besides, it’s important we sell tickets, because I expect our lovely venue here to be sold out with a waiting list.” Malcolm makes another dramatic tap on his tablet. The world may never know what he’s tapping on or what purpose that tablet serves, but he holds it like some precious artifact imbued with otherworldly powers. “And as you can see, we have a lot of room.”
Dean, Anthony, and I all gaze beyond Malcolm at the pavilion and its enormous empty space where countless tables and chairs will be set out, beyond which rests its huge stage, where so many eyes will be affixed and hungry for entertainment.
Malcolm faces us. “Hey, don’t be scared. When you’re up on that stage, the audience will look like dark, abyssal nothingness. And that dark, abyssal nothingness will be cheering you on. You’ll feel right at home, and every single second spent up there will be the biggest stroke your ego has ever felt.” He hugs the tablet to his chest and smiles at us. “Any questions? Or shall we move on?”
The ringing silence from the three of us is his answer.
And so we move on.
The truth is, the backstage of the pavilion is quite interesting and well-kept, and I find myself more inspired than scared by the idea. While Malcolm might exude a constant air of command over the three of us, I know that it’s his way of instilling confidence in us that this event will be well-managed and efficiently run, and that we have nothing to worry about. “Even if you mess up,” he says at one point with a laugh, “really, an audience like this will be the most forgiving crowd you have ever faced. They want to love you. Never forget that.”
After exploring the pavilion, the rest of our time is spent in a sunroom at the back of the house while Malcolm helps us through a discussion of how the event will run and what will be expected of us. He even gets us a jumpstart on brainstorming some ideas for our talents, which seems to give Dean and I the biggest trouble, as neither of us know many performable things we’re good at doing.
Anthony, on the other hand: “I’ve got a sick double backflip I can show off if you get me a trampoline. Or, or—wait—I could do, like, a flying thing where you can have me up on wires and … and fly me in from the side or something, like …” He changes his mind suddenly and lifts his hands. “Y’know what? What if I do a magic trick? I can make the other bachelors … disappear. It’ll be a funny gag thing, like I’m tryin’ to win, and I want to be the only one. It’ll be so funny! Then the host or whoever can egg me on, and I can make the bachelors reappear, too. It’ll be a whole thing!”
Dean lets out the tiniest of sighs. “Or we can stick to more … practical endeavors. Juggling. Playing the piccolo.”
“Whatever, you don’t even have a talent,” grumbles Anthony.
“You seem mighty talented at making a fool of yourself. Tell me, would it be out of the realm of possibility for you to dress up as a clown while riding a unicycle?”
“You callin’ me a clown?”
“I see nothing wrong with that,” says Dean innocently. “I like clowns. Do you like clowns, Cole? Do you like clowns, Malcolm?”
“I’m not a damned clown,” grunts Anthony, scowling.
“They’re skilled at making children laugh,” insists Dean. “Not a talent to be taken lightly, you know …”
Malcolm and I stare blankly at each other as the two of them go back and forth. Malcolm attempts to intercept their less-than-constructive exchange, only for it to steer right back into the two bachelors insulting one another.
By the fifth time the two of them start going at it, even I’ve had enough. “Guys, seriously,” I cut in, interrupting something Anthony is saying. “We can’t keep playing around like this. We’ve got an important event that’s less than four weeks away. Sounds like a lot of time, but it really isn’t. The town will be counting on us. I know you guys don’t get along, that much is obvious, but can’t we just set aside our differences and—”
“You always take the old man’s side,” growls Anthony.
Dean quirks an eyebrow. “We’re back to the ‘old man’ thing?”
I sigh at Anthony. “Hey, if I’m on any side, it’s the side of this pageant we’re doing. And if we want it to go well, we have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything. And you’re totally on his side.” Anthony scoffs and crosses his arms. “I’m the one with all the cool ideas. Dean is just too much of a snob to appreciate them.”