Synopsis:
The Best Friend. The Confidant. The Senator. The Boyfriend. The Executive.
Five contestants have been chosen to compete for ten million dollars on the game show One Lucky Winner. The catch? None of them knows what (or who) to expect, and it will be livestreamed all over the world.
Completely secluded in an estate in Northern California’s picturesque Napa Valley, with strict instructions not to leave the property and have no contact with the outside world, the competitors start to feel a little too isolated.
Long-kept secrets begin to rise to the surface. And the contestants realize they are no longer just participating in a reality show.
Someone is out for blood. And the game can’t end until the world knows who the contestants really are . . .
Review:
Although New York Times and USA Today bestselling, and Edgar-nominated author Heather Gudenkauf was born in Wagner, South Dakota, her family moved to Iowa when she was just three years old. She grew up there, considers Iowa her home state, and it usually serves as the setting for her books. In that respect, Everyone Is Watching, set on Bella Luce, a sprawling, isolated estate in California’s beautiful Napa Valley, is a bit of a departure, but Gudenkauf did not abandon Iowa entirely. One of the main characters hails from Calico, Iowa.
Gudenkauf aptly describes Everyone Is Watching as “fast-paced, diabolical, twisty.” Gudenkauf says the story was inspired by her desire to explore reality television. She thought it would be fun to consider “what would happen if the show was actually trying to kill you? Who’s behind it and why? And how long will the contestants hold on because of how desperate they are for the money?” At the center of the action is Catalina “Cat” James, the owner of the estate. She is a wealthy influencer who broadcasts live makeup tutorials two nights per week on Instagram while opining about and reporting on various aspects of pop culture and lifestyle. Her image is, of course, carefully curated and she is concealing her status as the creator and driving force behind a new reality competition program, One Lucky Winner, until the finale. The fourteen-day contest will feature unspecified but “over-the-top” challenges that will test the participants “physically, mentally, and emotionally.” Not only will the prize be the staggering sum of ten million dollars, but the show will also be livestreamed at a variety of times, with viewers receiving notifications to tune in. There will be only five contestants, each of whom signed both a nondisclosure agreement and broad liability waiver, and be eliminated from the contest on the basis of audience votes.
Cat is aided by her steadfast assistant, Fern – The Assistant. They met ten years ago when they worked together and were both fired because Cat stood up for Fern when the owner of the company abused her. Now it is Cat who abuses her – verbally and sometimes even physically. Cat is not just exacting and perfectionistic. She is demanding, demeaning, has unrealistic expectations, and insists that Fern work long hours for little pay. Fern remains in her employ because she is grateful to Cat for coming to her rescue years ago and has yet to find the strength to assert herself when Cat bullies her. Is that about to change? “Lately, Fern had been rethinking things.”
Each of the contestants received an email informing them they had been nominated to compete. Those who accepted the invitation are Iowan Maire Hennessy – The Best Friend — a forty-year-old divorced artist and mother to two young daughters, one of whom requires significant medical care. After Maire’s husband lost his job at the grain elevator and ran off with a nineteen-year-old waitress, Maire has received no financial assistance from him, and his health insurance was canceled. Maire is burdened by bills she cannot possibly pay and the knowledge that she is most likely going to lose their family home to foreclosure. She desperately needs the prize money in order to care for her children.
Samuel Rafferty – The Boyfriend — is a handsome, forty-two-year-old district attorney from Atlanta, Georgia. He’s single and recently gained fame when he successfully prosecuted a high-profile case. He and Maire have a connection that they believe no one knows about, and have not seen each other since a fateful night twenty years ago that irrevocably changed both of them. Richard Crowley – The Senator — is a former U.S. senator from Texas with a possible run for the White House in his future. The long-married father of four grown children is sixty-eight years old but in good shape and his political stances are definitely divisive. There are aspects of Crowley’s private life that, if revealed, would permanently derail his political aspirations and rip his family apart.
Camille Tamerlane – The Confidante – is “San Francisco’s premier psychiatrist” and hosts a popular podcast. She has a Victorian home in the coveted, historic Marina District and an office with a view of the Bay, and is in high demand as a caregiver. She is also heavily in debt. Her credit cards are maxed out and she is treating patients “off the books” for cash rather than billing their insurance carriers and keeping mandated records. Only those patients and her trusted receptionist, Geraldine, are aware of her shoddy clinical standards. She is sure that no one really knows what happened to the podcast listener who became obsessed with and stalked her.
The arrival of the last participant shocks Fern. She was responsible for issuing the final email to the contestants, and she did not invite The Executive — Ned Bennett, a well-known creator and producer of a true crime television series, and the employer who subjected her to workplace harassment. Cat denies contacting him, as well, so how he ended up at Bella Luce, ready to compete is a mystery to Fern. But Cat decrees that he will be staying and, so far, Fern has no indication that he recognizes her.
With everyone assembled (and Maire and Samuel shocked to encounter each other), cameras installed throughout the estate, the camera crew in place, and Cat ensconced in her private office where she can watch the drama unfold on multiple monitors, the games begin. At the last minute, Fern steps in as the program’s host – an opportunity too good for her to pass up. With Cat lambasting her through an earpiece, the competitors meet and learn that not only have they surrendered their cell phones but they will all be sleeping in the same room. In each challenge, they will vie to collect a Super Clue, “a tidbit of information that once put together with all the other Super Clues, will help you solve the overreaching mystery of Bella Luce.” They should also be on the lookout for Game Changers “in many forms.” They may be “tools” and the participants must decide whether to use them to possibly “steer the game in your favor.”
The chapters of Gudenkauf’s narrative focus on the individual characters, relating their experience from their perspective. She also takes readers back in time, incrementally revealing the parts of their pasts that the players have kept hidden until now. Exposure would spell personal and professional disaster for each of them. Gudenkauf cleverly includes commentary from the show’s online audience members, some of whom recognize the competitors. Some scenes reveal the reactions of loved ones as they watch the livestream. Some of the people who matter most to the contestants inadvertently learn of their participation by watching the livestream or from the media, and a couple of those revelatory scenes are nothing short of heartbreaking.
As the game proceeds, Fern and the players are tested – physically, emotionally, morally, and ethically? Why are they so determined to remain in the competition? Essentially, “anything goes.” There are few rules, the physical challenges are both strenuous and dangerous, and the types of Game Changers provided heighten the risks. It quickly becomes apparent that the Super Clues are pieces of a puzzle detailing aspects of the participants’ secrets and, thus, cause for alarm as they ponder who knows about events in their past. They soon realize that the invitation they received was ruthlessly issued by someone intent on exposing parts of their life they have actively concealed for years. How far will they go to outlast the other competitors in order to claim the ten million dollars and keep their secrets? Will they cheat? Will they commit a criminal act? Are they willing to harm someone else? Or even kill? Each player must assess how far is too far, what boundaries they will not breach. Which is what, of course, causes the show’s audience to keep growing, the ratings climbing higher and higher.
As the contestants’ angst grows, Gudenkauf skillfully accelerates the story’s pace and unveils salient facts that keep readers guessing about Cat’s motivations. Is she seeking revenge? If so, aside from Ned (The Executive), how is she connected to the other contestants? She, like each of Gudenkauf’s other lead characters, is severely flawed and, in many ways, insufferable. They have all made mistakes in their lives, to varying degrees and for an assortment of reasons. In each instance, they had a chance at a particular juncture to choose right or wrong . . . and they succumbed to fear and temptation, opting to do the wrong thing. Now, they have spent years masquerading as upstanding people, afraid of being discovered to be the frauds they know they are. Gudenkauf deftly illustrates their panicked reactions to the threat of exposure. Most of them are highly motivated by the prize money, particularly Maire, who is easily the most sympathetic character. And the event that took place twenty years ago is the most morally ambiguous of the characters’ past wrongs, but her love for and devotion to her daughters, especially the one who desperately needs ongoing medical attention, is never in question. Some of the other characters are unabashedly narcissistic, some perceive themselves as victims, and some have simply behaved despicably in the past. Gudenkauf challenges readers to consider whether people can truly become enlightened and alter their behavior accordingly, as well as whether forgiveness and redemption are tenable. In Fern’s case, can she harness her own power and use it to live a productive, fearless life?
Everyone Is Watching is binge-worthy entertainment and an inventive consideration of the inherent dangers of reality television through which Gudenkauf slyly examines the power and influence of greed, fear, power and a debilitating perception of powerlessness on people who have placed themselves in desperate situations.
Excerpt from Everyone Is Watching
Prologue
MatthewSwimBikeRun was sitting on the sofa staring at what was unfolding on his laptop. One Lucky Winner, a reality show his coworkers were droning on and on about, was streaming. He had listened to them endlessly babble about the show for the past four days. From what he gathered, the contestants were competing for ten million dollars. Curious, he decided to tune in.
On-screen, a group of four people, dressed in the same white outfits like some kind of cult, were sitting on a fancy outdoor patio drinking wine. Another woman, dressed in a white high-necked halter top, appeared and seemed to be holding court. Riveting stuff. He glanced at the comment section on the right-hand side of his screen.
They are going too far.
You think this is real? Nothing on TV is real.
Have you even been watching? It is real! And someone is going to die if they aren’t careful.
This got Matthew’s attention. Someone could die? How? Why? What was this? Squid Game?
He set the laptop on the coffee table in front of him, leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and examined the contestants more closely. Based on the bruised, angry faces he saw on the screen, there was some kind of drama happening. One of the women had her face buried in her hands and one of the men, fist balled, banged on the table, causing the glasses of wine to jump. At the sudden sound, Matthew jumped too.
*****
“Speak or shoot?” the woman in the white halter top asked calmly. “The choice is yours.” The man didn’t respond at first. Simply stared at the woman, the muscle in his jaw pulsing.
Wait a second, Matthew thought. He knew halter-top lady. Knew the host of the show, though he couldn’t remember her name. They’d lived in the same building in New York for about a year. If he recalled, she was an intern on some big-time network show. Wow, he thought. She ended up making it big. Impressive.
That’s when Matthew saw it. Sitting right in the center of the table, atop the white linen cloth, long-barreled and glinting in the candlelight.
Is that a gun? Matthew typed.
Just tuning in, huh? someone responded.
It was a gun. A Ruger with hardwood grips, and a seven-and-a-half-inch satin stainless steel barrel. This was a gag, right? Why was there a gun sitting in the middle of the table for anyone to grab?
Someone should call 911. This is getting out of control.
No! came the swift responses.
It’s fine. It’s just part of the game.
I don’t think so…
She’s handling that asshole perfectly.
Yeah, don’t screw up the show by calling the police.
Matthew had to agree. He was hooked. Let’s wait and see what happens, he added to the mix.
Is that a bruise on her neck? someone typed.
I think it’s just a shadow, said another.
“Speak or shoot? The choice is yours,” the woman in the halter top said.
The man reached for the gun. Lifted it from the table and, despite himself, Matthew gasped.
“I choose shoot,” the man said, calmly getting to his feet and pressing the gun to his temple.
OMG! Don’t do it!
Someone call the police.
Someone DO something!
Just stop! You don’t think this is real, do you?
Of course it’s real!
Matthew rolled his eyes. The thread devolved into profanity and name-calling. Hilarious, Matthew thought. All these bored armchair warriors threatening to kick each other’s asses.
He had to agree with the naysayers. Everyone knew there was nothing real about reality television. He took a closer look at the man holding the gun against his head and his eyes widened. Then he recognized him. What were the chances that he knew two people on the show?
Isn’t that . . . Matthew began typing but stopped when the man on-screen lowered the gun from his head and extended his arm. Matthew saw himself staring down the barrel of the gun through his laptop screen. The man was aiming the gun directly at him.
Three explosions in quick succession filled the air and the livestream went black and silent. It was loaded. The gun was really loaded. Matthew covered his mouth with his hand, his heart knocking against his chest.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Finally, comments began to appear.
What happened?
Did someone get shot?
The livestream flickered and lit up. It showed the veranda, but this time, from a different angle. All that could be seen was an upended chair lying on the stone floor. There was still no sound, no lady in the halter top, none of the other contestants could be seen.
What is that? someone typed.
Oh, Jesus.
Matthew stared, mouth agape, as a slow stream of red liquid crept across the white stone collecting in a crimson puddle.
I think it’s blood.
Matthew agreed. It did look like blood. Once again, the livestream went dead.
The man had shot someone. But whom? And why? Matthew felt sick. He wanted to close his laptop but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen, half hoping the livestream would return, half hoping it wouldn’t. What the hell kind of game was One Lucky Winner and why was it worth killing for?
ONE
THE BEST FRIEND
Maire Hennessy squinted against the bright October sun as she drove down the quiet Iowa county road. The fields were filled with the stubbled remains of the fall harvest and stripped bare by heavy-billed grackles and beady-eyed blackbirds eating their fill before the cold weather set in. It made her a little sad. Winter would be coming soon, unrelenting and unforgiving.
That morning, she had packed up her girls and Kryngle, their four-year-old Shetland sheepdog, to drop them off at her former mother-in-law’s home. Maire, who hadn’t traveled more than a hundred miles away from Calico since she’d abruptly dropped out of college over twenty years earlier, was embarking on an adventure that could change the course of their lives forever. Ten-year-old Dani kicked the back of Maire’s seat in time to the throbbing beat coming from her older sister Keely’s earbuds. Keely, a twelve-year-old carbon copy of Maire, had the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up over her head, her red curls springing out around her sullen face, as she silently pretended to read her book.
Maire tapped her fingers nervously against the steering wheel. “You’re going to be just fine,” she said, turning onto the highway that would take her children to her ex-mother-in-law’s home. Shar was a decent enough person. Except for the fact that she smoked like a chimney and gave birth to a shit of a son, Maire knew she would take good care of the girls while she was away.
“I don’t want to go,” Dani murmured. “I like my own bed. Grandma’s house feels weird.”
Both Dani and Keely dreaded the two weeks that they were going to stay with their grandmother, a bland, unexcitable woman with steel-gray hair and stooped shoulders. There would be no movie nights, no special outings, no grand adventures, but they would be well-cared for, safe. And that’s all that Maire wanted.
“I thought you liked Grandma Hennessy,” Maire said. “You’ll make cookies and she’s going to teach you both how to crochet. You’ll have a great time.”
“Why are you going to be gone for so long?” Dani asked, staring at Maire through the rearview mirror, her eyes filled with hurt. A wet cough rumbled through her chest and she buried her mouth in her elbow.
That familiar cloud of worry that materialized every time Dani had a coughing fit settled over Maire.
“It’s only for two weeks and it’s not that I don’t want to see you,” she said. “You know that. I would be with you every single day if I could. It’s kind of a work thing and I can’t pass up the opportunity.”
“You work from home,” Keely said, briefly pulling out an earbud.
Maire didn’t mind lying to Shar but lying to her children was different. She had the chance of a lifetime and in a way, it was work related. Money was involved. Lots of it.
“It’s like a contest,” Maire explained. “And if I win, well, that would be nice. And even if I don’t, a lot of people will learn about my Calico Rose jewelry and might want to sell it.”
“Like Claire’s in the mall?” Dani asked.
“Yes, Claire’s, Target, who knows?” The lies slid so easily off her tongue now. Dani’s kicks to the back of Maire’s seat slowed as she mulled this over.
“I’m sorry,” Maire said. “I know it’s hard.” Her voice broke on the last word. Hard wasn’t anywhere close to how things had been for the last year. Terrifying, humiliating, devastating, soul-crushing were more like it.
Bobby had never been much of a husband or father, but his health insurance had been a lifeline for Dani. When he lost his job at a local grain elevator and then took off with the nineteen-year-old waitress from the Sunshine Café, gone was the health insurance and any hope of child support. When the first $3,000 notice for Dani’s nebulizer treatments came in, Maire ran to the bathroom and vomited. It was impossible. Too much.
Between the implosion of her marriage, the impact it had on the kids, her bank account that was dangerously low, the unpaid medical bills, the jewelry she made for her Etsy shop, and the search for a job that provided decent health insurance, Maire was exhausted.
Things couldn’t go on this way. “It will get better,” she promised.
Maire glanced over at Keely and caught her accusatory glare. Out of all of them, the divorce hit Keely the hardest. Despite his drawbacks, Keely was a daddy’s girl, and she was suffering in his absence.
The worry never ended. At the top of the list was Dani’s health. Her cystic fibrosis was stable for the moment, but she was fragile. Her last infection required a two-week hospital stay, a PICC line with multiple antibiotic infusions, therapies, and nebulizer treatments. It was so much that Maire had to put together a binder for Shar filled with in-depth directions for Dani’s care, and she hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake by leaving. A lung infection that may be mild for most children could be deadly for Dani. And poor Keely. Quiet, shy Keely was getting lost in the shuffle, becoming more removed, isolated from them. Another thing to worry about.
A month ago, when she got the email about the show, she almost deleted it. Maire had been online, scanning articles about the newest cystic fibrosis research, when she heard the ping. Grateful for an excuse to tear her eyes away from words like Fibrinogen-like 2 proteins and cryogenic electron microscopy, she tapped the email icon on her phone.
CONGRATULATIONS—YOU’VE BEEN NOMINATED, the subject line called out to her. She scanned the rest of the email. Trip of a lifetime, groundbreaking new reality show, ten million dollars. Scam, Maire thought and went back to reading about clinical trials and RNA therapy. But an hour later, she was still thinking about the ten million dollars. She opened the email again to read it more closely.
Congratulations, you’ve been nominated to take part in the groundbreaking new reality competition show One Lucky Winner! Set in the heart of wine country, you, along with the other contestants, will battle for ten million dollars through a series of challenges that will test you physically, mentally, and emotionally. Competitors will spend fourteen days at the exclusive Diletta Resort and Spa in beautiful Napa Valley. When not competing, spend your time in your lavishly appointed private cottage, swimming laps in the 130-foot pool, or head to the spa for our one-of-a-kind vinotherapy-based treatments — massages, wraps, and scrubs made from grapes grown in the Bella Luce vineyard. As a special treat, each contestant will receive a case of Bella Luce’s world-famous cabernet sauvignon with an exclusively designed label just for you!
Maire snorted. It had to be a joke. A rip-off. She closed the email, even sent it to her trash folder, but an hour later, she pulled it up again. Ten million dollars. Maire was one month away from not being able to pay the mortgage on the house, from not being able to make the car payment, from not being able to put money in the kids’ school lunch accounts, from not being able to pay for one dose of Dani’s medication.
She should probably just sell the house, take the loss, start over, but this was her home, the kids’ home. There was no way she was giving it up without a fight. She didn’t need anywhere near ten million dollars to save the house, but that was what it was worth to her, and that kind of money would change her life, all their lives.
Who would have nominated her? And how did that actually work? Hey, I know of someone who could use ten million dollars. The entire thing had to be fake. The email was signed by someone named Fern Espa, whose title read Production Assistant, One Lucky Winner.
Anyone could send an email. Maire trashed the message again.
Then, over the next three days, the car started leaking oil, Kryngle ate a sock and had to have emergency surgery, and Dani’s hospital bill came in. Her credit cards were maxed out and she’d given up on any help from her ex. Maire needed money, fast. Burying her humiliation, she called her parents and asked for a loan. It wasn’t nearly enough.
Maire hung up and went to the garage, sitting in her leaky car so that the kids wouldn’t hear her crying.
Maybe this was the email she was waiting for. The sign she needed to finally take control of her life. Maire wasn’t a fool though. She did her due diligence. While sitting in the waiting room at the vet’s office, she looked up One Lucky Winner and found a website and an IMDb entry — both short on details — but it clearly was a real show. She searched for the name Fern Espa and found a LinkedIn entry that looked legit. And the Diletta Resort looked amazing.
And now, under the guise of a work trip, here she was, dropping her kids off at her former mother-in-law’s house for two weeks, hopping on a plane to Napa to take part in some Survivor-type reality show for the off chance she might win ten million dollars. It was ridiculous, over the top, maybe even irresponsible, but it ignited a spark of hope that she hadn’t felt in a long time.
“You’ll be okay,” Maire said to the kids as she turned onto the cracked concrete of Shar’s street. Shar was waiting for them, standing on her rickety front porch, a cigarette dangling from her knobby fingers. With hail-pocked, dirty white aluminum siding and a crabgrass-choked yard in need of mowing, the home her ex-husband grew up in was grim and depressing. But Shar was a sweet woman who loved her grandchildren. Maire scanned the street. Every house was in the same state of disarray and neglect. A jolt of fear shot through her. If she didn’t turn things around, they would end up living in a place like this, or worse.
Jesus, Maire thought. I’m making a huge mistake. She fought the urge to drive right on by. Instead, she gave the girls her bravest smile. “It’s okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
Ten million dollars would make everything okay.
TWO
THE ASSISTANT
Fern Espa leaned against the wrought iron railing and looked down at the great hall below. The gleaming white marble floors winked up at her, the scent of furniture polish and flowers filled the air. Every marble statue was in its place, every piece of furniture dusted, every window washed.
Everything was perfect. Her boss expected nothing less. Well, almost everything was perfect. She tried not to look at the section of the great hall where towering scaffolding climbed to the cathedral-like ceiling. The hope was to have the repairs to the dome finished along with the restoration of the fresco, but despite her boss’s ranting and raving, the planned restoration was nowhere near complete. Fern could have told her that there was no way a multimillion-dollar restoration could be completed in less than a year, but Catalina James could not be deterred. She screamed at contractors, threw more money at the problem, threatened litigation, all to no avail.
But still, the estate was gorgeous. The contestants would barely notice the cracked ceilings or the faded frescoes. The incomplete, unrenovated rooms were behind locked doors. It wouldn’t do to have any of their guests get hurt because of rotting floorboards or crumbling stone walls. And, of course, all the unsightly spots would be kept out of the camera’s field of vision.
The production crew moved efficiently through the space, checking cameras, microphones, and lighting. The director, Alfonso Solomon, was reading through his notes from Cat. He was a pro in the reality show business, having won an Emmy and a Golden Globe.
“Fern,” Alfonso called out, peering out at her from behind his reading glasses. “Have you seen Cat? I have a few questions for her.”
“Have you tried texting her?” Fern asked. Cat was close by but wanted to remain behind the scenes during production. It was one of Fern’s many jobs to run interference.
“Yes, texting and calling,” Alfonso said impatiently. “Can you tell her I need to speak with her?”
“Sure,” Fern said breezily without slowing down. If given the chance, he would rattle off his list of demands and make sure Fern wrote down each and every one. She didn’t have the time. Best if Cat talked to Alfonso herself. She moved to the kitchen. Good. The caterers were unpacking the food for the cocktail party. Everything was coming together.
From a distance, she heard her name being called. Cat had expressly told Fern that she needed her close. This was a big day. The biggest.
“Fern!” Cat shouted. She sounded slightly unhinged.
Fern sighed. She still needed to make sure that the drivers were at the airport, ready to pick up the guests when their flights arrived, and find out why the host of the show hadn’t yet shown up. Her cell phone buzzed. A text from Cat.
Where is the Ruby Nights Red red lipstick? I need it!
Fern pushed back from the railing and felt a slight wobble of the iron. Fern would have to remind the guests not to lean against the railing and get it fixed as soon as possible. It wouldn’t do to have someone fall thirty feet to the marble floor below.
Her phone buzzed again. Fern didn’t quite understand why Cat was leaving her livestream to the last minute. She could have prerecorded it, but her followers were expecting her. For the last four years, each Monday and Thursday night, Cat went live on Instagram and waxed poetic on everything from the hottest fashions from Milan to the latest book or movie she consumed, all while she expertly applied her makeup. She hadn’t missed one night, not even when her husband left her for good. Cat had soldiered on that evening, and Fern had been right along with her. Afterward, Cat had lost it, moving through the house throwing things and smashing bottles of wine against the marble floors.
Fern ended up taking a shard of glass to her upper cheek — she still had a faint scar. Cat felt terrible. Fern had nearly quit that time. Her therapist told her that under no circumstances should she tolerate such behavior. In theory, Fern agreed, but in the end, she forgave Cat. Fern could understand the anger. Cat had lost her husband. Fifteen years of marriage thrown away—for what? Cat never said, but Fern wondered if it might have been another woman. Whatever it had been, Cat was devastated.
But, as always, Fern was right there by her side, picking up the broken glass, pouring Cat a glass of bourbon, telling her that everything was going to be okay.
Fern moved to the large room that Cat used as a video recording studio and stood in the doorway. She watched as her boss, dressed in ivory linen pants and a matching sleeveless T-shirt, was getting ready to do a promo for One Lucky Winner. A white distressed end table was placed next to a king-size bed covered in layers of down comforters, cashmere blankets, and piles of pillows all in a crisp snowy hue that hurt Fern’s eyes if she looked at them too long. Today, in preparation for the livestream, she had set a vase of white hydrangeas, their heavy heads as delicate as cotton candy, on the bedside table.
With effort, Fern wheeled the long marble-topped table across the white carpet to the spot marked with a duct-taped X. This is where Cat kept her laptop, microphone, and ring light. If she placed the front left wheels of the table on the X, the camera would catch the perfect angle of the bed, the table, and the flowers.
There was no way Catalina was going to let millions of viewers into her actual bedroom. That was just too intrusive, but her “Lovelies,” as Catalina called them, liked thinking they had a peek into her private, luxurious, beautiful world. The bed in this room had never been slept in, probably didn’t even have sheets covering the mattresses, the spines of the books on the bedside table had never been cracked.
The room also held a walk-in closet filled with her most expensive clothes, shoes, and accessories. Despite her sleek white-blond bob and her perfectly pressed wardrobe, Catalina James was not tidy. Her everyday closet was cluttered, the silk blouses hung askew, sweaters were wadded up on shelves, and her shoes heaped in mismatched jumbles on the floor. A weekly cleaning crew made sure that every other room in her home was camera ready.
Atop the marble table, Fern had neatly laid out all the items Cat would need to get ready for going live: brushes, concealer, bronzer, blush, eyeliner, and a dizzying number of other beauty products. Confident that everything was good to go, Fern made her way down the steps. There was so much to do before the guests arrived. Catalina liked everything to be perfect.
“Fern!” Catalina shrieked. “Where the fuck is my lipstick?”
It was five minutes until showtime. “Here, let me look,” Fern said, easing open one of the craft table drawers. Fern learned over the years that remaining calm rubbed off on Cat. She pulled out a handful of tube-shaped lipsticks from one of the drawers. Hot Red Mama, Red Door, Naughty Red, but no Ruby Nights Red.
Fern scanned the floor. “Here,” Fern said, bending down to retrieve the wayward tube.
Cat snatched the lipstick from Fern’s hand. “Is Philippa here yet?” Philippa was the supermodel host of One Lucky Winner. With her six-foot lithe frame, long raven hair, and authentic Italian accent, Philippa was the beautiful face of the show.
Fern shook her head. “Not yet. I’ve tried to call and text but haven’t heard back. She’s probably stuck in traffic.”
“Dammit,” Cat said, sliding her phone into its stand, and adjusting the lighting and reflectors. “We need her here, now. How the fuck are we going to do the show without our host?”
“She’ll get here,” Fern assured her boss.
“She wouldn’t pass up this opportunity. Unless…” Cat paused, letting the word hang.
“Oh, God,” Fern said. “Is she partying again? I thought she gave that up for good. She promised.”
In frustration, Cat slammed the drawer shut. “Let me think.” Cat rubbed her forehead.
“She’ll probably come running in at the last minute…” Fern said.
“No.” Cat shook her head. “Philippa had her chance. If she shows up at the gate, do not let her in.”
“Then who?” Fern asked. It would be nearly impossible to find someone to take Philippa’s place on such short notice.
“What about Nevaeh?” Cat asked.
“She’s in Paris doing that thing with Yamamoto,” Fern explained.
“Chance Leopold, then,” Cat said. “We’ll go with a male host.”
“Unfortunately, he’s in rehab,” Fern said, scrolling through her phone and searching for another idea.
Cat dropped onto a chaise longue, thought a moment, then shook her head. “There’s no one. I won’t have time to bring anyone up to speed. We’re screwed.”
Fern chewed on her lip, waiting. Finally, Cat returned her gaze to Fern. “It has to be you,” she said reluctantly. “You know the show, the contestants. It’s not ideal, but it is what it is. Don’t screw it up,” she said before standing up and positioning herself in front of the camera.
Fern couldn’t speak, couldn’t believe she had heard Cat correctly. She wanted her, Fern, to be the host?
“Jesus, Fern,” Cat said. “If you embarrass me, I swear to God…”
“I won’t, I promise,” Fern said, praying that it was true.
“I’ll text Alfonso with the change,” Cat said. “You’ll still be able to handle all your usual duties, right?”
Fern nodded, though she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to take care of all the behind-the-scenes logistics and fill the shoes of a supermodel in front of the camera. But she had to. This was her chance.
“And make sure you clear the set of all nonessential crew before the contestants arrive,” Cat said, sliding a headband over her forehead to pull her platinum hair away from her face. “And for fuck’s sake keep everyone away from me.” She set a hard gaze on Fern. “If anyone asks, I’m not here.”
“Got it,” Fern said. Few people knew that Cat James was the driving force behind One Lucky Winner and Cat wanted to keep it that way. Nondisclosure agreements were signed, threats were made if anyone revealed Cat’s involvement. Yes, she would do promos to build buzz around the show, but Cat didn’t want anyone to know of her involvement until the final, jaw-dropping episode. Because of the secrecy of the project, Cat insisted on a closed set. There was too big of a chance of footage being leaked, so while there would be a crew, it would be scaled down, an elite few. This made sense to Fern. One Lucky Winner was entirely unique and the first game show of its kind to offer such a huge purse. Ten million dollars! It was staggering. And with the over-the-top challenges, people would be talking about them for years. They would be talking about her. Finally.
Cat sighed, examining her face on the screen. This was the part of the tutorial that Fern knew Cat hated the most: when people saw her stripped of makeup. Her pale skin, skimpy lashes, the purple shadows beneath her eyes, the tiny lines that marched along her lip line, the deeper ones that clotheslined her forehead, all on display for the world to see.
But this is what her audience wanted, to see the magnificent transformation from plain to pretty, from boring to bombshell. It cost Cat for others to see her at her most vulnerable, but it’s what attracted her huge audience. Fern thought her boss was beautiful with or without makeup.
Cat waved her hand impatiently, nudging Fern aside, and Fern stutter-stepped backward, out of the frame of the camera.
Cat pressed the button to go live. “Good evening, Lovelies. It’s Cat James and I’m so happy that you are here with me.” Cat held up the crystal-encrusted tube. “Did you know that women have worn red lipstick for thousands of years? Cleopatra, Queen Victoria I, suffragettes, Marilyn, Audrey, Rihanna, Salma, Jennifer, Gaga. They all have mastered the art of the red lip. Well, tonight, we are going to do the same. Are you ready to become your most beautiful, most powerful you?” Cat lifted her chin and gave the camera a sly smile. “And we must discuss the most-talked-about new cultural phenomenon. Have you seen the promos? Are you feeling lucky?”
Fern left Cat to her livestream and made her way down the grand staircase, nodding numbly to the set director and her assistant, her heart thumping. This was her chance. Fern was now the face of One Lucky Winner. She could finally prove to Cat that she was much more than a trusty assistant.
Fern found herself in the doorway of the villa’s library. It was a beautiful space — not her favorite room on the estate (that was the kitchen), but with its dark wood, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and hushed, old-world aura, it was in the top five. The room smelled like a mixture of lemon cleaner, a heady scent of wine, and red roses.
Fern tucked her thick black hair behind her ears and checked the slim silver watch on her wrist. It was nearing nine o’clock. The contestants would be arriving soon. All their months of hard work, her hard work behind the scenes, was paying off. One Lucky Winner was finally becoming a reality. But now this could be the project that could shoot Fern to the stratosphere, professionally speaking.
For the last six months, Fern had worked meticulously on all the details. She had been the one who liaised with the contestants, answering their questions, making their travel arrangements, making them feel like the stars of the show that they would soon be. She worked with the tech company who installed hundreds of cameras throughout the property, directed the landscapers, the maid service, the carpenters, and contractors, miraculously managing to bring the vision for One Lucky Winner to life.
Most of the time Cat was there hovering, watching, demanding, critiquing and, try as she might, Fern couldn’t help but resent her boss. She owed Cat so much but when would that debt be paid? From the looks of it, never.
Ten years ago, Fern and Cat had worked at the same company. Cat was a director in the company and Fern was a lowly intern for the powerful CEO. The CEO was particularly handsy, devastating Fern, who, at twenty-two, had walked into her first job with stars in her eyes.
The CEO was handsome, charming, and had a way of making Fern feel like she was the only one in the room. Special. She shrugged off the way he treated most of her other coworkers with indifference, even scorn. They obviously weren’t working hard enough, weren’t dedicated enough. But Fern was. She poured her heart and soul into her obscenely low-paying job. At first, the hand on her lower back, the feathery touches across her breasts, seemed incidental. Just two colleagues standing close to one another, bent over the day’s schedule.
Then, Fern started to find herself alone with the CEO in his office. Door shut. The accidental, innocent touches lingered, turned into something else. Fern wanted none of it. She knew better than to get involved with her boss. She thought he was impressive, brilliant at his job, but Fern would never sleep with him. It never crossed her mind. She avoided being in a room alone with him, but that proved to be impossible. When the boss called you into his office, you went.
Fern did her best to sidestep his advances, but she could see he was getting impatient. But whom could she tell? The woman who sat in the cubicle next to her? Could she tell Cat James, the glamorous director of social media for the company? No, Cat barely even knew Fern was alive and didn’t acknowledge her unless it was with impatience or disdain. Fern had no one.
One afternoon, the CEO ordered Fern to his office. Fear filled Fern’s body. Had she done something wrong? She wracked her brain, trying to think. She tried to be so careful, so thorough in her work. No, she had made no big mistakes. Nothing to warrant such a chilly summoning. He shut the door and Fern was sure she was going to be fired. For what, though? It was the sound of the turning lock that turned her stomach liquid.
She fought back, at least tried to, but the CEO was stronger than she was, had the element of surprise. Fern managed to get away from his grasp, running to the door and flipping the lock before being dragged backward and pushed up against a wall. Fern wanted to scream but couldn’t. Strange, Fern thought, how life was going on as usual outside the office door. Meetings were being held, phone calls made, while in here, Fern was living a nightmare. Still, she struggled until the CEO grabbed something from his desk. A letter opener, sharp as a dagger, and held it to her neck.
“Enough fighting,” he breathed in her ear. “Let’s play.” He slid the letter opener down her chest, over her stomach, and beneath her skirt. Fern felt the blade bite into the skin of her thigh, felt her underwear flutter to the ground.
Suddenly, Cat James was there.
She gave the CEO a tongue-lashing and threatened a lawsuit. The CEO laughed, telling her that no one would believe either one of them. Cat led a disheveled Fern from the office. Security was waiting for them as soon as they reached Fern’s desk. They were both fired and led from the building. Cat told her not to worry—she had been fired when she was just starting out as a young journalist. Fired for trying to do the right thing. It was the way of the world and their plight to carry.
Cat told her that the CEO was right. No one would believe them. She said that bosses like the CEO were roaches. Nearly impossible to smash. But if Fern wanted to go to the authorities, she would back her up. Or, she could try to forget what happened and move on. Fern could come work for Cat because she was going to build something big. Something special. And she did.
Cat got back on her feet quickly and, using her social media expertise, became one of the most popular lifestyle influencers on YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok. She also bought this gorgeous estate and vineyard. As soon as she was able to, she brought Fern on as her personal assistant. The hours as her boss’s assistant were long and extremely demanding, but most days Fern didn’t care. If Cat hadn’t stood up for her and then stood by her, she didn’t know where she would be now.
Lately, Fern had been rethinking things. Cat’s unrealistic expectations, the rotten pay, the denigrating comments, the brutal hours all bordering on abuse. Fern paced the library floor. How much more could one person humanly take? It was abusive and Fern knew she couldn’t do this forever, but now the years of patience were paying off. Cat was finally letting Fern take the lead on something, even if it was by default.
Fern was ready. This was the moment she was waiting for. It was a big job. Huge.
Fern tried to tamp down her nerves. She couldn’t get flustered now. She consulted her clipboard. The caterers were setting out the appetizers and desserts. And the wine. The wine would be flowing tonight.
They had put several bottles with the new labels that Cat had personally designed on ice. They were so different from the elegant grapevines that previously graced the bottles from Bella Luce. They were awful, really. The labels displayed the image of a frighteningly realistic painting that Fern recognized as that of three Greek goddesses. Three very angry goddesses, partially clad, with snakes for hair, converging on a terrified man and a woman with a dagger embedded in her chest. The only way Fern knew it was their wine was because Bella Luce was written in elegant script across the label. Fern hadn’t bothered asking why her boss made the change. She always had her reasons.
Including the reason why Cat insisted on being a silent producer on the show. I’ll be a distraction, Cat said. I want all the attention on this brilliant concept I created. It’s going to change reality television forever.
Fern dared to ask her why this reality show only had five contestants. Cat readily explained it away. Viewers will be more invested, will be glued to their screens to see what happens to their favorite character.
Except they weren’t characters. They were real people that Cat had carefully vetted. Fern flipped through the dossiers on her clipboard with the contestants’ photos.
Audrey Abreo of Boston, Massachusetts. Twenty-nine years old, restaurateur, married, one child. Funny and larger than life, Aubrey’s sharp tongue would keep everyone on their toes.
Samuel Rafferty of Atlanta, Georgia. Forty-two years old, Georgia district attorney, single, no children. Movie-star handsome and smart, Samuel was both buttoned up and gorgeous. If anything, the viewers would tune in just to see his six-pack abs.
Richard Crowley of Dripping Springs, Texas. Sixty-eight years old, former US senator, married, four children. Senator Crowley was of a certain age but appeared to be in decent shape. He was good-natured and gave off an “aw shucks, ma’am” vibe. Half the audience would love him for his politics, half would hate him.
Camille Tamerlane of San Francisco, California. Thirty-eight years old, psychiatrist, marriage counselor, and podcast host, divorced, no children. Camille was no more than a wisp of a thing but could command a room. At once analytical and empathetic, Camille would bring the mind games to One Lucky Winner.
Maire Hennessy of Calico, Iowa. Forty years old, artist, divorced, two children. Maire brought the Mom Factor to the show. She was relatable and, with an ill child, would definitely bring emotion to the show. She also looked like the human incarnation of a Disney princess with a mane of curly red hair, pale skin, and a smattering of freckles across her nose.
Yes, quite the mix. Each file contained the most compelling stories, even contained a few bones scattered about. Talk about must-see TV.
Her phone buzzed, alerting Fern to the fact that someone was at the gate. She took a deep breath. It was time to meet the contestants.
THREE
THE BEST FRIEND
When Maire landed in San Francisco, she spotted the driver who was going to take her to the hotel and spa. She had gotten a little thrill when she saw him standing at the baggage claim in his black suit and chauffeur’s cap, holding a small sign that said Hennessy in block lettering. She enjoyed the feeling of eyes on her as she warmly greeted the driver. She felt like someone important, someone special. But once the driver, a hulking man with hooded, close-set eyes, took her bag and gruffly told her to follow him, Maire’s excitement was replaced with unease.
Once in the SUV, she tried to shake away her worry and enjoy the scenery. They crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, the sparkling water of the bay below, and Maire was struck at just how beautiful it was. But the moment was fleeting. Something didn’t feel right. She dug through her bag in search of her cell phone. Not seeing it, she used her flashlight key chain to shine a light into the depths of her purse, found it, and checked in with Dani and Keely. They said all was well but Maire was sure that she heard a wheeze in Dani’s voice and her worry doubled.
The landscape flew by — windswept flatlands, rolling hills, golden vineyards shedding their summer green — but Maire couldn’t enjoy it. She fought the urge to call the girls again. If only she could tell them about the show, that she could win millions of dollars. They would understand then, would be excited, but the rules of the game were explicit. Maire could not tell anyone the real reason she was going away or she would be disqualified. Once the game started, it would be different. They’d see her on-screen, see her competing, and would be so proud of her. Or mortified.
Soon the sun started easing its way down just as a thick fog rolled in, enveloping the car in a velvety cloud. The road in front of them disappeared but the driver didn’t slow down. He blindly wound around curves in the mist-covered road.
Maire clutched the seat in front of her. “This doesn’t seem right,” she said. “I think you were supposed to turn back there.” Alarm fluttered in her stomach. She was in the middle of nowhere with a strange man, in a place she wasn’t familiar with. She’d probably end up dead, or kidnapped, or drinking a White Claw at a Motel 6 next to the interstate. This trip was too good to be true.
“Just going where I’m told,” the driver said shortly, making a sharp left turn. “The estate is just a few miles down the road.”
“But you’re supposed to take me to the hotel,” Maire said. Her hand inched over to the door handle, and she checked her cell phone, relieved to see there was still service. Ahead, a gate flanked by a tall stone wall materialized. The fog curled itself around the wrought iron bars, making it impossible to see what came next. She tried to quash the little voice that urged her to tell the driver to turn around.
Instead, Maire stayed silent as the driver came to a stop next to the gate intercom system, rolled down his window, and pushed the call button.
“Good evening,” came a woman’s voice. “Welcome to Bella Luce.”
“Yes,” the driver said, tilting the paper in his hand trying to make the best use of the weak light from the lanterns perched atop the stone wall. “I’ve got a Maire Hennessy here,” he said gruffly.
“Welcome. Please drive forward,” the voice said, and the iron gates creaked open.
The driver glided slowly through the gates. The long, winding drive was flanked by dozens of towering cork oaks with stout trunks and twisted limbs that loomed gracefully above them.
Maire stared hard through the front windshield in hopes of seeing what was to come. She didn’t have to wait long. Lights, softened by the dense fog, revealed the outline of what looked like a small village. “What is this?” Maire asked. “It looks like something out of a movie.”
The driver ignored her, keeping his eyes on the stone driveway in front of him.
“Oh, wow,” Maire said, surprised to see that what she thought were several separate stone buildings was actually one residence with varying, red-tiled rooflines and, remarkably, a bell tower. One section of the estate appeared to be in ruins with exposed beams surrounded by piles of ragged stone.
Wide-mouthed, winged gargoyles peered suspiciously down at them as the driver came to a slow stop in front of the massive home. It was a gorgeous estate but also foreboding, aloof and cold like an ancient Tuscan fortress built to keep enemies and lowly serfs at a distance.
More than two dozen stone steps, flanked by a terraced lawn, led up to a set of grand wooden doors set into an arched entry. On either side of the doors were two black lanterns casting a ghostly light that spilled to the stone floor.
Maire looked out the window again and unease puddled in her chest. She looked down at her pilled cardigan and cargo pants. She wasn’t dressed for any kind of meet and greet and had actually been looking forward to one night of rest before the competition began. Room service in her hotel room and watching Love It or List It. She wanted to check on the kids one more time.
The driver stepped from the car and opened Maire’s door, the interior light popping on.
“You aren’t really just going to leave me here, are you?” Maire asked.
The driver gave her a Cheshire cat grin, his teeth flashing bright in the dark. “Why? You looking for some company?”
Before she could react, he grasped her hand. His skin was cold and clammy, his fingers caressing her palm. Maire tried to shake her hand free, and the driver laughed meanly before releasing his grip. Maire stood frozen.
“Listen, lady,” he said. “Just tell me, what do you want to do? Stay? Go? I don’t care but I need to get back to the airport.”
Maire didn’t want to walk up to this strange house, but more than that, she didn’t want to get back into the car with the driver. He tapped his watch. She could either enter this gorgeous estate and win ten million dollars or get back into the car with the creepy driver.
“I’ll stay,” Maire said, scrambling from the car. She looked up at the spectacle in front of her. Never in her life had she seen such a home. A curtain in one of the upper windows shifted, and Maire saw someone step back into the shadows.
She began the walk up the steep stairway to the house, her luggage bumping against each stone step. She hitched her purse over her shoulder and glanced nervously back at the driver, who was already turning to leave. Through the hazy glow that lit her ascent, Maire could see that the front yard was overgrown with a variety of gray and silver ground cover. She caught a whiff of something honey-like trying to break through the pungent scent of rosemary. Somewhere nearby, she heard the soft gurgle of a fountain.
At the top of the steps, Maire paused, released the grip on her luggage, and stared up at the large house. She imagined it was beautiful in the daylight, but right now it was downright imposing, rising out of the shadows like some medieval villa.
On either side of the arched doorway were several open-air windows — no glass, no screens. She peered through one of the openings. What Maire thought was the front door was really the entrance to a courtyard. Maire searched for a doorbell but couldn’t find one.
Feeling foolish, Maire pulled open the heavy wooden doors and stepped inside the courtyard. She was beneath the bell tower now. Who lived in a home with a bell tower? She followed the row of lanterns where dusty-winged moths threw themselves at the filaments, and moved down the colonnade with its arched columns, her footsteps tapping sharply on the stone pavers.
At the end of the path was another set of heavy wooden double doors, again reminding Maire of a stronghold. She wondered, with a flash of anxiety, if the doors were meant to keep people out or in. She thought of Keely and Dani and fumbled in her purse for her phone. She would call them just one more time.
The phone rang and rang. Please answer, she begged. Finally, she heard Shar’s rough voice on the other side of the line. “Hello,” she rasped.
“Shar, it’s me. I know it’s late, but can I talk to Dani again?” Maire asked apologetically. “I’m just worried about her.”
“I understand,” Shar said. “But she’s doing just fine.”
In the background came the sharp bark of coughing. Maire tensed. She would know that cough anywhere. “Dani’s coughing? Why didn’t you call?”
“I’ve got it covered, Maire,” Shar said softly. “She’s fine. . . .”
