No advertising revenue meant no profits, the networks’ worst nightmare.
Eventually all the shows were canceled, no new ones were developed and the reality-TV craze was officially pronounced dead.
And then, one of the networks decided to resurrect the concept to schedule in the moribund Saturday-evening time slot. Ty knew that television executives assumed that nobody under ninety was actually at home watching network TV on Saturday night, but airing a test pattern was not acceptable, and even the worst sitcoms or dramas were expensive to produce.
So the new show Victorious was born. With a few variations, it was still pretty much a shameless clone of the original reality game show that had started it all. And with no star salaries and writers to pay, even the million-dollar prize money was deemed cheap.
Just right for Saturday-night television.
When Ty landed the job, he’d learned that Victorious was to be filmed and edited on location, a deserted island in the Pacific, for sixty-three days. Within the same week of shooting, the footage would be edited into a one-hour episode and then broadcast.
“It’s ‘truly live television,’” proclaimed executive producer Clark Garrett. “Or fairly close to it.” Clark hyped the fact that nobody, not even he, would know who won the million-dollar prize until just before the last show aired.
The sixteen participants, divided into two tribes of eight each and flown to the gorgeous tropical island, were all telegenic in their own way, some more than others. Currently, the cast was trimmed to six, after combining the survivors of the original two tribes into a single one.
Ty and the crew assembled their equipment while waiting for the remaining six contestants to straggle out of the mosquito netting and bamboo posts that served as their sleeping quarters. The contestants called it a tent, though Ty thought it looked more like a shredded parachute that had fallen out of the sky and landed on some random sticks of bamboo. He wisely declined to share this observation with the ever-testy Clark Garrett.
As usual, the crew filmed each contestant emerging from the tent, from earliest risers to sleep-in slackers. The order never varied from day to day. The Cullen twins, Shannen and Lauren, were always the first up and out; Jed was always last. Rico, Cortnee and Konrad, in varying order, appeared sometime after the twins and well before Jed.
The six had all been members of the same tribe initially and formed an unlikely but ultimately unbeatable alliance, always voting as a block and never against each other. They’d survived while everybody else was voted off the island.
With the crew’s camp Internet access, satellite dish and daily newspaper drops, Ty knew that the Final Six had become subjects for water-cooler discussions in offices on Monday morning all over the country. Watching Victorious before going out on Saturday night had become the newest fad in the coveted eighteen-to-thirty-four demographic age group, and the network execs were giddy with joy.
He was also aware that the contestants had no clue that ratings for the show had skyrocketed, and the media buzz about each participant was in high gear. The six were isolated from any contact with the outside world and unaware of their new fame.
Ty wondered how much the exposure would affect them, how they would change when back in the real world. He’d wager that it would and they would. He’d learned that lesson only too well from the glare of the Howes’ media coverage.
He pointed his camera at the twin sisters splashing water on their faces in their morning wake-up ritual at the small freshwater spring, an idyllic spot where the beach blended into the jungle opening. He was well aware that the twins had found the spring themselves while exploring the island in the first few hours after their arrival, making them heroines to their tribe. Fans speculated that the game-winning alliance had begun then and there.
“Who’s your favorite contestant?” asked Heidi, the young production assistant, who stood beside Ty as he was filming.
She asked that question every day or two, more to alleviate boredom than from any real desire to know, Ty suspected. Still, he wasn’t about to give out that information, not to anyone.
He said what he always said, remaining scrupulously neutral. “They all have their good and bad days.”
“Well, my favorites are the twins,” said Heidi.
“You and a lot of others.” Ty remained noncommittal, as usual.
“Identical twins are a novelty on any show,” Heidi pointed out, not for the first time. “And according to TV Guide Online, these two are incredibly identical. Wow, like, how true! We’ve been filming them for weeks, and nobody here can tell them apart yet. Naturally, the viewers can’t, either.”
“Naturally,” Ty echoed dryly. It was true, though. Twenty-six-year-old Shannen and Lauren Cullen were virtual mirror images.
“What would it be like to look like that? And be in duplicate?” Heidi wondered aloud. “They’re so pretty,” she added matter-of-factly.
What could he do but nod in agreement?
The Cullen twins were pretty. Very pretty. Striking brunettes with thick, shoulder-length dark hair and big blue eyes fringed with black lashes. With their youth, their fair skin and delicate bone structure, they had no need for makeup. An application of sunscreen, a quick swipe of the brush through their hair, and the twins were ready to face the day—and the camera crew and the challenges to stay on the island till the end and win the million-dollar prize.
That only one person could win, and that perhaps one twin might have to vote against the other, was an observation made frequently by the program’s host, Bobby Dixon, often referred to as Slick Bobby by the Victorious contestants. To his face. But while on camera, Bobby’s deep-dimpled smile never faltered.
Ty filmed the next contestant who crawled out from the tent. It was Cortnee, a self-described “aspiring superstar,” who was using her stint on Victorious as a showcase for her singing and dancing talents. At twenty-two, blond, curvaceous Cortnee was the youngest contestant on the island.
Next came Rico, charismatic, energetic and twenty-five, who also aspired to stardom. His singing and dancing talents equaled Cortnee’s. Often the pair entertained their fellow contestants with impromptu duets and dances.
And for those viewers not enthralled by the performances, there was always Shannen’s stare of irritable impatience to look forward to. Ty always turned his camera on her during a spontaneous Rico and Cortnee number and lingered on her scowl.
Her exasperated mutter, “On no, not again!” was on its way to becoming as much of a highlight as the act itself.
The “evil twin,” “the cranky one,” Shannen was dubbed on the Web sites devoted to dissecting each episode and each person on the island. Lauren was the “good twin,” the nice, sweet one. Not that anybody could tell the sisters apart physically. But “Spitfire Shannen” distinguished herself from “Lady Lauren” every time she raised one dark brow, enhancing the power of her steely signature glare.
Then there was muscular, handsome Jed, twenty-eight, who boasted a résumé including adventure guide, which he proved by excelling in every physical challenge. He spent most of the time in a minimum of clothing, keeping his sculpted body well oiled with the bottle of emollient he’d chosen to bring as his luxury item.
And finally there was Konrad, the oldest of the group at thirty, a former convicted felon who’d arrived on the island sporting a shaved head with a tattoo of a snarling wolf spanning his back. He had other tattoos, on his chest and both arms, all of vicious animals or birds of prey. Konrad spoke in a growl and had never smiled once during the episodes filmed.
His first remark in the first episode—“I paid my debt to society and I want to go straight. If I win, I will. But if I lose, well, I learned plenty in