Elimination Night by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous [Anonymous]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2013-01-08T00:00:00+00:00

After San Diego, the remaining cities on our list were Newark, Chicago, and Los Angeles. It took us three weeks to get to them all, and with each new location, my mood improved. Some of this was no doubt relief at finally getting in touch with Brock. He hadn’t dumped me, it turned out. He’d just left his phone on the beach while surfing (as I’d first suspected) and forgotten about the tide. It was now either halfway to Papua New Guinea, or in the belly of a passing whale. And without the phone, of course, Brock didn’t have my numbers, and because he was smoking so much weed (this seriously had to stop when I got to Honolulu), it took him forty-eight hours to figure out that he could simply borrow Pete’s computer and get all the details from my Facebook page. That’s why it took him so long to call. Or at least that was his explanation, and I was happy to go along with it. It had once taken me a week to get back to him, after all.

Anyway: By the time we finally reconnected, my late-night plan to quit Project Icon and get on the next flight to Hawaii had long since been abandoned. Bonnie’s audition had changed all that. Besides, I’d come this far. Might as well get to the end of the season.

Another reason to stay at Icon: Finally, season thirteen seemed to be gaining momentum. Aside from the rising confidence of the judges (JD had actually started to use real words, in addition to variations on “booya-ka-ka,” including “Takin’ it to the Ka!”, “Yaka-yaka-yaka!”, and “Ka-booya-boom-ka!”), the contestants had gotten stronger with every city. This was no accident, of course: When we’d done our preaudition tour in August, we’d become better at our jobs with every city. More to the point, we’d started to cheat by using talent scouts, who found us promising young singers on the local club circuits and offered them VIP treatment if they came in for auditions. And by VIP treatment, I mean bribes. Phones, concert tickets, T-shirts. That kind of thing. Oh, yeah, and cash.

Thanks to all this, Bonnie wasn’t the only early standout who seemed guaranteed a place in the Final Fifteen. Another was Jimmy Nugget, an eighteen-year-old country yodeler, with the wide-legged stance and apple-cheeked complexion of a 1950s farm boy. “It’s like Roy Rogers made love to a Bee Gee!” as Len enthused. The only problem, as far as I could tell, was Jimmy’s promiscuity, which in terms of sheer turnover made Joey seem practically abstemious. Not that Jimmy was in any way competing with Joey. Oh, no. His emphatic preference wasn’t for Icon’s female contestants, but for members of his own sex: hotel waiters, judges’ assistants, his fellow contestants, even a couple of passing construction workers. You could tell when he’d just emerged from a particularly invigorating encounter by his lopsided belt buckle and the V-shaped flush of crimson under his open woodcutter shirt.

Jimmy

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