Carl pressed the going "Up" button, and entered the elevator. So far, he wasn't enjoying this at all, but that
wasn't any surprise to him. This was Wendy's dream, his penance. Whatever made her happy and him miserable was
the only fair way to make up for the neglectful behavior of the past few years. Now he would be stuck in a
house with her for three months, unable to get away from her at all. Talk about cabin fever. He set his mind
to the last minute fishing trip he had with Steve the other day. It was nice and idyllic, out in the boonies,
away from all this nonsense. Wendy restoring his youth had done a world of good for him, as he had more
energetic then than he had been in at least five years. When the elevator opened up on the fifth floor, he
exited to find a well lit and well furnished hallway. Downwards, he saw the maid vacuuming. Waving, the maid
made a little wave back at Carl, and then went back to her business.
Carl unlocked the first door on the right, and it opened sesame. The room itself was easy enough on the eyes.
Carl had spent enough times in hotels to know the ins and outs of them. This one was very, very decent. Not as
nice as the luxury suite that he and Wendy had in Las Vegas, but it was still pretty damn good. The walls and
ceiling were painted the brightest permutation of cool white. The huge windows had white vertical blinds on
them which opened up to a blazing sun overlooking an Olympic sized swimming pool where a few retirees were now
making their rounds. Since it made the already bright room practically luminescent, Carl shut the blinds and
the light curtains so he could examine the furnishings. There were two double sized beds, a flatscreen TV, a
Blu-ray player, a well stocked mini-fridge and mini-bar, a good bathroom, and neatly designed purple
carpeting. The kitchen was small and merely functional, but he figured that was to encourage people to eat in
the dining room downstairs.
Opening the dresser drawers, Carl immediately found the clothing that Wendy had picked out for him for the
trip. They both had had their luggage's delivered to this hotel three days ago, each to be laid out in their
rooms for them at little extra cost. The clothing was mostly made up of lightweight dresses, tube tops,
skirts, and short shorts, all sized whatever, but absurdly small and skimpy on his person. Wendy had insisted
that they dress as provocatively and flirtly as possible during the interviews and show. When Carl asked
whether thus was setting a good example for Brooke, Wendy went into a spiel about how feminism didn't
necessarily preclude women from dressing traditionally like women. “And”, she said, “now that you pretending
to be my sister, you will dress like me. No twin of mine is going to be a tomboy!”
Sighing, Carl took his white off sundress off and put a lime green tube top on, as well as a pair of cut off
bluejeans. He hoped that he didn't look too ridiculous, because his fashion sense was never the best.
He sat down on one of the beds, turned on the TV, and found that a DVD of sample episodes from past seasons of
Big Brother was currently playing in the Blu-ray player. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured “Why Not?”, and
decided to Play All.
Carl made a day of it, getting into the mood of the game, and the strategy required to do well and go deep.
The more he watched and studied the show, the more he realized that he would suck at this if he were going at
it alone, but if he just listened to what Wendy told him to do and laid low through the first few rounds, he
would nine times out of ten do well and go far. He wouldn't win though, apparently, as people who flew under
the radar were not usually respected compared to the more outrageous and flamboyant players. Carl didn't care.
He wasn't much interested in playing to win anyway. He just wanted to make up his sins to his wife, and get
out of the house with as much dignity as he could.
The hours flew by until it was 5:00 P.M. Wendy had been gone for at least eight hours now. What were the
network representative asking her? How was she responding to their personal questions? Was that guy, Jon
Adams-Reilly, really on the up and up?
This was going to be a long two weeks.
Carl turned off the TV once he was done with the DVD set and pulled out the Gideon Bible from his nightstand.
He started to read it, immersing himself in the drama and poetry of it all, but he was still bored out of his
mind at the drudgery of the application process. People actually wanted to go through this? He just couldn't
wrap his mind around it. This was the most tired he had felt in years. Although now that he was in his early
twenties and full of piss and vinegar, he never felt so old before.
6:00 P.M
Isn't this illegal under the Geneva Conventions?
7:00 P.M
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Carl banged his head lightly against the wall. He wanted to open the front door to his room, just to see what
would happen.
He was getting real, real sick of this. A man(or woman) could go mad from being stuck in a room all day. Then
it hit him. Were there cameras in here? Was this some sort of secret test to see how he would react to being
locked away in a house? There were tons of hidden camera shows out there.
Was he going mad?
Taking a deep breath, Carl decided to just take a short nap, wake up at 8:00 P.M, and get the hell out of this
room for a while. So he laid down above the covers, and rested his eyes...