"He's only 18! That's too young. Niles wants older... straight-acting muscle guys. He'll stand-out too much," one producer said as he eyed me from behind his clipboard.
"It's perfect. We need variety! The audience will expect it. You got too many older gym bitches. They're going to connect to their favorite. If they don't find it, they'll lose interest. He'll be the outlier and attract the guys who want to see themselves amongst the contestants." The main producer nodded his head with a knowing smile.
"See themselves in him? He's too small... not muscular enough. His features are too.. pretty, effeminate. And that long hair... I don't know, Jim," the third producer said. I noted he had a big beer gut and a stain on his t-shirt. I pulled my shoulder-length hair back into a little bun so it was out of my face. His look of disdain softened when he saw it up.
"He's perfect! They'll remember their high school dreams. Those big, green doe eyes and innocent face, clear skin... good hair, reddish-blond. I know what sells! Kasper will sell. I'm naming him 'episode seven,' maybe eight. He'll hang in there while the bigger guys fight it out. A little haircut and better wardrobe... He's perfect, Michael!" Jim, the main producer, said to my friend.
"Wait till you see his yoga routine. He's crazy flexible. I already wrote a scene where he goes on a yoga date with Niles. They'll eat it up!" Michael beamed from the corner of the room. He had begged me to try out for his first solo production.
It was a struggling, cable network that needed a bachelor knock-off show for gays. Michael had been my oldest brother's friend growing up. When I came out, he kind of adopted me and helped me navigate my family's unease.
This show was supposed to be different, the schtick was that the audience got to vote each week online. They not only voted for which four contestants to protect that week, but they would also vote to inflict punishments (suggested by the producers so it wasn't too sadistic) on the contestants they most hated. In order to stay, those contestants would have to endure the punishments. It was a weird concept, and I didn't think it would last, but I needed the money.
I wasn't going to try out, but I'd recently become homeless. Oh I had a home and a family. I could go back there at any time so long as I agreed to work for my father's business and start taking classes towards a degree. I could cut my hair and stay in every night. The thought of fixing sewer lines and sitting in classes just wasn't for me.
It's not that my father was harsh, he'd just run out of patience with my bad choices. I've always been kind of a handful. My latest bad choice landed me in the local jail where he happily let me sleep for the night before coming to help. It was a misunderstanding and I got caught up in a drug sweep for being at the wrong party at the wrong time. I didn't even know there were drugs going around.
I didn't have anything on me or in me so the charges were dropped once I got to talk with the district attorney and showed a clean blood sample. When I made it home though, my parents had an ultimatum. Things got heated and Michael's couch was open to me. Michael begged me to audition for casting on his new project. He had a shoestring budget and a big dream.
"Well the whole thing is a fake set. There are four reality shows filming, different countries, languages, cultures. Most of our show is ok to be shot at night, so we got the cheap rate on the fancy house," Michael explained as our plane took off from Los Angeles.
"But why Africa? That's so... far." I rubbed my sore ears. They were popping from the pressure.
"South Africa offered crazy incentives to film there. We're the only show filming in English there so they offered us a great package. They have dorms for the contestants to sleep in, but you'll have to pretend for the show that you're sleeping in the big house. We get the house for five hours each day so we have to really rush the scenes." Michael explained.
"And what other shows are filming there?" I asked.
"Well there's a business-entrepreneur show with Arabs, another one with Persians, and an Indian show that is part Bollywood musical and part dating show with straight people. It's pretty much a rip-off of my show, but with added talent shows with their music. Indian shows have to have a dance and song montage." Michael laughed.
"They paid me for the development of the dating portion though and each week I get to re-sell our scripts so they can use them but with straight storylines instead of gay. This is really going to put me on the map!" Michael was so excited. He had worked so hard on this and producing shows was all he ever wanted to do.
"So I stay in a dorm with Americans? Do I get my own bed or are they bunks?" I realized I should have asked these questions before committing.
"You know you can stay with me a little in the producer's suite, but yeah it's bunks. I tried to block off enough for our guys... but until more get voted off, it's going to be tight." Michael had that look in his eyes like bad news was coming.
"Where am I sleeping?" I asked knowing I had little choice as the plane barrelled over the California desert.
"Well you were kind of a last minute addition since we got approved for an extra episode," Michael started. "But um... I think you'll be ok. You'll have a bed alone. I promise!"
I rolled my eyes. Michael fired up his laptop and got to work on a script. I popped in my earbuds and played a game on my phone.
I fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic. It was pitch-black outside and they had the cabin lights turned off. Michael was still working on a script while he finished his beer. Luckily, the plane seat had a phone charger so my music kept me entertained.
I woke up as we were starting to descend into Johannesburg. I looked out the window to see the blazing sun over rugged hills covered in brown grass. I expected to see giraffes and lions, but the scenery soon gave way to wide boulevards and shopping centers, sprawling suburbs and green golf courses. I scarfed down the sandwich Michael had gotten me from the stewardess. We followed along a black-topped highway crawling with commuters, but then quickly diverted east to touchdown on a runway.
+++
"Kasper Adam Lane, you come home right now! This is insane! Why do you do this shit?" My dad's voice said when I called him. I connected to the airport wifi while Michael was waiting for our bus. We had to take a bus to Durban and then a car would take us to the filming compound.
"I told you, dad. I'm in Africa for a tv show. It pays a thousand bucks for every episode I'm on and it goes up by five hundred each week I stick around! It will be good money for when I come back. I'm trying to contribute like you wanted." I tried to make it sound less dumb.
"Of all the stupid things you've done, Kasper... Africa? Are you fucking kidding me? You'll get yourself killed. You're too dumb to survive on your own. You come home!" Dad was pissed.
To be fair though, I'd done a lot of stupid things. My brothers were the smart ones, the athletic alphas; the ones who brought home trophies and good grades. I was the last born though, the unwanted surprise. It's why my dad had named me after some character in a video game series he was obsessed with as a teenager. They didn't expect much from me.
I'd always been the troubled one, the kid for whom they dreaded getting notices for parent conferences. It was never good news. I wasn't good at much. I was a series of disappointments highlighted by growing my hair out and the fact that I didn't like girls.
"I gotta go, dad. I'll call you when I get the chance. I'm with Michael. I'll be ok... love you," I said and hung up before he could protest. I walked out of range for the wifi so my phone went silent. I shoved it into my pocket and followed Michael onto the bus, onto the next adventure.
+++
We pulled up to the compound around dinnertime. I'd lost track of what time it was back home. I just wanted another sandwich, a shower, a sleeping place. I stumbled behind Michael with my bag as he led me through the compound's security and inquired about his producers suite.
His "suite" turned out to be a small, dank bedroom in the dorms. It was private, but just big enough for a small twin bed and desk. He had a closet would just barely hold his bag. The bathroom and communal shower was down the hall. He looked at me with a frustrated sigh. This wasn't what the brochure had promised.
I shouldn't have laughed though. This was the producer's suite and I was just a contestant. Michael helped me find the Dorm-Master, that was his title, so I could find my bunk. The other shows had already started filming, so the rows of small rooms were pretty packed. I followed the dorm-master, a friendly older guy with a giant set of keys on his belt, down a long hallway with doors.
A few of the doors were open to small rooms with old carpet and two sets of bunk beds stacked against opposing walls. Random men from all parts of the world were lounging, leaning, playing games, talking, and napping in their small beds. I raised a few eyebrows as I hugged my pillow and followed him down the hall. He'd pause occasionally to look in on a room and yell at someone in a foreign language.
I felt like it was my first day in either high school or prison.
Near the end of one hallway, he finally found what he was looking for. There was one empty top bunk in a room that already looked full with clothes hanging over the doorway and a small window looking out to the dark night. None of the other prisoners... campers... contestants were in the room right then, but I was obviously intruding on a group's space. He nodded to the top bunk and then showed me the two empty drawers that would be for my clothes. He picked a stack of shirts out of one of the drawers and placed it on the nearest bed.
