Page 7 of House of Deceit

“I’m almost thirty. The last thing I want right now is a roommate.”

“Well, honey, there’s nothing wrong with having a roommate.”

“I lost my job.”

My mother gasps and Dad’s eyes go wide.

“Did that asshole boss of yours not want to give you the promotion? He can’t just fire you!” Dad’s indignation on my behalf makes me drop my face into my hands.

“To be honest, I quit. I quit my job without another one waiting and then Scott left me and now I have no income, no boyfriend, and my parents are disappointed I’m straight. I should just jump off a cliff.”

“Now, I don’t think there’s any reason for dramatics,” my mother says. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. And we can help you for a bit. Or you could move in here!”

“The cliff is sounding more and more appealing,” I mumble under my breath. “I appreciate that offer, but I have some savings, so we’ll see how it goes. I’m going to start sending out my resume tomorrow once I get it all cleaned up.”

“Do you need another cinnamon roll, precious?” my dad asks, giving me sad puppy eyes.

“Yes, please,” I mumble, hoping the sugar will somehow fix all my problems.

I grab my laptop from under the camel leather couch where it fell, praying that it starts up. The airplane landing sound is promising. At least it’s not completely silent. I check my email on my phone, search for used tablets that I could buy when my laptop explodes, and make myself some toast while I wait for the dinosaur to boot up.

Normally at this time on a Monday, I would be at the office wishing I would win the lottery so I could finally quit and write the book I’ve always wanted to write. After I recovered from my night of wallowing with Courtney, I decided to give myself the weekend to enjoy not worrying about anything. Not thinking about what I was going to do for money. Ignoring the fact that I live in an apartment that is bigger than I need, but I can’t afford first and last month’s rent to get into a smaller place. Blocking out that every time I look at my couch or the bed or the kitchen, I remember moments with Scott. Moments of happiness. Moments of passion.

Well, not quite passion. Scott was never a passionate guy. Never one to have sex outside of the bedroom or to try anything daring, passionate is definitely not a term I would attribute to him. Not that the sex was ever bad. It was really good. But a little variety is the spice of life! Or so I’m told.

The few days off to ignore any and all responsibilities were needed more than I realized. The time off gave me a chance to decompress and breathe through some of the anxiety that has been a constant companion since I walked out of my job. To accept where I am in life and that, while my plans are diverging from the expected path, there’s no reason I won’t be able to steer myself back on track.

I spend an hour updating my resume and reading every article I can find on how to optimize keywords and the available space. When I graduated college with my bachelor’s in journalism, I found a company that I loved. I was able to move up and try many roles and expand my knowledge. It was a dream job. Except for Mark. We started on the same day. He was charming, if not a little awkward. We started dating quickly after we met.

He did all the right things. Gave me attention, bought me flowers, told me I was beautiful. All things I had never had before. Throughout my school years, I was a bit of a late bloomer. My first kiss didn’t come until college from a guy I can barely remember. It was wet and, somehow, cold and not enjoyable at all. The lack of attention from the opposite sex made me believe that something was lacking within me and that drove me into Mark’s arms.

But what I didn't realize was that he was undermining everything I did. Little barbs here and there. “Are you sure that’s how you want to present that? Are you sure that’s the angle to take this story?”

Until every molecule of my self-confidence eroded away.

But I was blind and thought myself in love. Enough to ask him to marry me and him laughing as he left.

His constant attack on my capabilities made me eventually doubt I was even capable at all. I avoided taking on more, harder work. I shied from the spotlight. And he stepped in where I stepped back. He kissed the right asses. Made the right contacts. And then he became my senior editor, where it all came crumbling down. I saw how his incompetence was hidden by the work of his team. How our pride in our jobs made him look good. How he stole our words and our work. We would edit each other’s articles, sending them to him in perfect condition, and still he would claim they were unpublishable.

Mark took my dream job and morphed it into a nightmare.

Scott encouraged me to quit that job for over half of our relationship, but with the promise of a promotion and with a low demand for reporters in the area, I stayed.

The setting sun’s rays march across my living room floor like soldiers in formation as I close my laptop. My fingers hurt from entering the same information over and over again. Over a hundred companies now have my resume. I lie down, letting the hard floor soothe my sore back and hope on every star that someone will call me.

I wake up with my face pressed against the floor. Three episodes of House of Deceit played while I was unconscious. The theme music loops while the screen asks me if I want to play another. I turn the TV off as Courtney texts asking me to babysit so she and J.D. can go on a date. I smile, knowing that’s code for them to have sex in the car somewhere like randy teenagers. I send her a thumbs up and head out the door.

House of Deceit show creator, Bradley M. Johnson, stands at the front of the room. His charcoal gray suit is crisp with a blinding white button-down. He’s gone crazy and included a raspberry pocket square instead of his normal blue one. Every outfit of his is some combination of gray, blue, and white.

His skin is artificially tan, making it seem like he just walked in off the beaches of Fiji instead of out of the spray tanning booth rumored to be set up in his basement. The new contestant specialists, or wranglers, as we are more typically called, jot down every word that comes out of his mouth. But I have this speech memorized.

This is my tenth year on the show. Ten years of wrangling contestants who all think they are smarter and sneakier than the last. For the past six years, my charge has made it to the final three. I have yet to find a winner, but I vow to make this my year.

“Season ten is going to be one of the best. We have a lot of surprises in store for our contestants,” Bradley says, one hand in his pocket while he gestures with the other. “Now, because it’s a major show milestone, the bigwigs have given us a prize budget of $500,000. Double the prize means a fiercer competition, so choose your contestant wisely because this also means that your bonus, if your contestant wins, will be greater.”

This news moves through the crowd like a wave and I know people will be even more desperate when they go through the stack of applicants this year to find the one.

Wranglers on House of Deceit are in a unique position compared to other shows. Normally they manage multiple contestants, but that changed after season three when a guy snapped in week eight and almost killed the contestant he thought sabotaged him, leading to his elimination.

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