Little Men - The E Book (13 page)

“Well, what singing have you done then, Kyla?” Tracey enquired innocently.

“Erm, well… I was in America and I did a few charity events. Didn‘t get paid or anything, just me on stage, raised a fortune I did, and people loved it!”

Toby Jenkins looked on sceptically. “You’ve never done any singing in your life, have you?“ he muttered under his breath, but he was satisfied. The girls had only been in the house an hour and they already had some great footage for the opening show, and he knew the judges would love it. Plenty of material to be rude and disparaging about, with the girls unwittingly setting traps for themselves.

One of the show’s selling points was the bluntness and sometimes downright cruelty of the panel of judges. They would jump on any slightly embarrassing moment from the contestant’s past and belittle it to the great amusement of the viewing public.

This was
groundbreaking
TV they were making, Toby thought to himself. They will truly go further than any reality programme in the past. The ratings will be
huge,
as will, of course, the advertising revenues!

Kyla Andretti cursed her luck. She had been paired with Tracey, the person she hated most on
Sleeping With The Enemy.
The two had clashed very early on. Tracey was naturally very funny, warm and outgoing. Kyla was none of these things and quickly branded her rival as ‘common’. Tracey thought Kyla was ‘stuck-up’ and they barely disguised their feelings for each other. Kyla loved to look down on some of the other girls as she believed herself to be a cut above, but she was rapidly losing favour even with those she got on with, largely because Tracey was so popular. Tracey’s power was growing and the other women were quickly learning it was better to be according with her than not, as one barbed comment from her could make them look utterly ridiculous on live television.

Today the contestants had been picked up by coach from the house and driven to a concert hall. The task was designed to show how each woman projected her voice when accompanied only by a piano. It was dubbed the ‘duet’ task, as it involved the girls singing in pairs.

The staff at Slam! had been particularly sadistic as they were well aware that two people who hated each other had been paired and would be forced to work together ’expressing their love’ through the medium of song. The irony was not lost on the viewing public, who were expected to tune in in their droves.

Tracey and Kyla sat on opposite sides of the stage. Kyla had a sheet of A4 paper in her hand, pretending to learn the lyrics of the song she’d been given, but she was actually watching Tracey intently, dreading the moment when it would be time to start work.

All around them people were frantically working. The camera crew were setting up, soundmen were plugging in wires, and make-up ladies were flitting around, powdering noses.

Eventually it was time to start the day’s filming. The plan was that the two women would rehearse the song with the help of a professional voice coach, Loretta Dempsey. They would then change into eveningwear and perform the song to the three judges, with everything being filmed. All five pairs would have a go, with the judges giving valuable feedback every step of the way, from the singers’ attitudes in the rehearsals to the final performance.

Unbeknownst to the contestants, the judges were watching the rehearsals via video link in another room.

“Action!” shouted the unit director, her voice echoed. The camera operators fell silent on the almost-empty stage.

“Okay ladies,” Loretta began. “We’re going to start with scales to get you warmed up. Graham, off you go.”

The pianist played a few notes for the girls to sing, with the cameras capturing everything, the footage to be edited almost immediately in order to be ready for the evening’s broadcast. Once Loretta was satisfied the contestants’ vocal chords had loosened sufficiently, she gathered them close to her and sung the first lines of the song, Graham continuing to plonk away on the piano.

“Kyla, can you sing the first line…” she said.

Kyla, crumpled paper in hand, broke into song. “There's a time in each year that we always hold dear...”

“Tracey!”

“Good old summertime…”

“Kyla!”

“With birds and treeses and sweet scented breezes…”

“Tracey!”

“Good old summertime…”

“That was very good, for a first attempt. Kyla, you were a little flat. Remember to breath deeply before each line. It’s quite a simple song, so we should have no trouble.”

The session continued, with Loretta giving constant encouragement, offering advice when needed.

“Right, you need to do it without the lyrics in front of you. You must have it memorised before the performance. Kyla, have a final read-through, then start us off, when you’re ready.”

Kyla smiled nervously at Loretta and tried to avoid eye contact with Tracey. The pianist played the opening bars of the song. Loretta counted Kyla in before dramatically pointing at her, inducing her to start.

“There's a time in each year that we always hold dear…”

“Good old summertime…”

“With birds and treeses and sweet scented breezes…”

“Good old summertime…”

“When your day's work is over then you are in clover…”

“and life is one beatiful rhyme…”

“No trouble annoying, each one is enjoying…”

“The good old summertime…”

“In the good old summertime…”

“In the good old summertime…”

“Er… strolling through the trees…”

“What?”

“Er… With your baby…”

“Okay, okay… stop there!” Loretta intervened and the piano fell silent. “What happened?” she asked.

“She forget the line,” Tracey said, without thinking. Kyla glared at her.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Loretta. “Let’s pick it up from the start of the second verse. Kyla…”

“To swim in the pool, you'd play hooky from school…”

“Good old summertime…”

“You'd play ringarosie with Jim…”

“Kate and Josie”

“Good old summertime, those days full of pleasure…”

“We now fondly treasure, when we never thought it a crime…”

“To go stealing cherries, with face brown as berries…”

“Good old summertime…”

“In the good old summertime…”

“In the good old summertime…”

“Strolling through the shady lanes…”

“With you baby mine…”

“You hold her hand and she holds yours…”

“And that's a very good sign…”

“That she's your tutti fruiti…”

“No! It’s not that, is it? You’ve done it wrong again! It wouldn’t be ‘tutti fruiti.’ That's a completely different song!” Tracey’s eyes flashed with anger as she spoke. Her frustration was palpably genuine. She felt she had the song licked.

“Alright Tracey, calm down,” said Loretta.

“Kyla, we need to get this right…” Loretta looked at her watch anxiously.

“I’m sorry, I just forgot the line.” Kyla was contrite and embarrassed. “Can I start again?”

“Okay, from the top then.”

Tracey rolled her eyes. Once again, Graham played the opening melody.

“There's a time each year that we always hold dear…”

“Good old summertime…”

“Erm… er… with the birds and trees and… I’m sorry, I messed that u…”

“For goodness sake!”

“Alright Tracey! Kyla, are you okay?”

There was a deathly silence in the room. The three women looked at each other for a moment. Kyla unplugged her microphone and threw it to the floor, it banged loudly and a metallic whine filled the room. The soundmen desperately tried to disconnect it, while the camera guys made sure they captured every moment of the tantrum. Kyla stomped loudly across the stage, holding her face, crying.

She entered a corridor, then found the toilet. A cameraman followed her in, ignoring the ’female’ sign. This sort of spontaneous outburst was exactly what the production staff had been hoping for.

Peter and Kirsty watched the footage with glee as they began the edit. Kyla gave them plenty more as Loretta consoled her in the loos, trying to persuade her to return to the session.

“How the mighty have fallen,” Toby Jenkins later commented sarcastically as he watched the footage in the editing suite. The rest of the rehearsal was a fiasco, and the performance little better as tension between the girls destroyed any on-stage chemistry.

Kyla and Tracey had given
Sleeping With The Enemy
its best moments by far. They were both strong characters and were now forcing the public to take sides as to who they preferred in the show. It was keeping the nation gripped. Initially, Tracey was winning hands down with her working class northern humour and say-it-like-it-is attitude, while Kyla was painted as a stuck-up southern tart who slept with celebrities because she believed she was better than everyone else. The media was enjoying hyping up the conflict between the two ladies. It would now be interesting to see what the public made of this episode which was suitably glorified into ‘the battle of the bitches‘.

Up until this instalment, Kyla had never lost her cool, secretly plotting against Tracey and some of the other housemates, but in this episode she was exposed as difficult and lazy and was told so by the judges.

This was, however, an exaggeration. The argument and collapse of the task was nearly as much Tracey’s fault as Kyla’s. It was just that the production team had already decided how they would portray each of the contestants. They had invented a loose ‘story’ and, by editing the footage a certain way and using the judges’ comments, they could largely construct stereotypes for each of the women which they unwittingly fell into by their own actions. Par for the course in the world of reality television.

As the first week of the show drew to a close, Toby Jenkins called a meeting of the Slam! production staff and the judges.

“I would just like to start by saying how pleased I am with everyone,” he said. “It’s going better than we could all have hoped. Ratings are up, revenues are up and this Kyla vs. Tracey thing is all over the papers. Everyone’s talking about it.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, Toby,” said Carl Johnson. “I agree. It’s really working well at the moment.”

“There is, however, one little problem.” The people at the table watched Toby intently.

“This is the end of the first week, and Kyla and Aleisha are up for eviction. This means Kyla could well be booted off.” Those around the table knew this was highly likely. Kyla was very unpopular among the viewers of
Sleeping With The Enemy.

Toby addressed the judges.

“Why did you put one of our most… important contestants up for eviction? If she goes, where will we get all our drama from?”

“She was hopeless in the tasks,” said Kelly, one of the judges .

“She would make a terrible pop star. No-one can work with her. The audience can see that and no amount of editing can hide it. We would lose all credibility if we didn’t nominate her, and the show would become ridiculous.”

Carl backed up his colleague. “She’s right. Kyla’s awful. She’s good-looking, but no good at anything else. She can’t take direction, her voice is average, she won’t listen to
anyone
, and is completely unprofessional. We had no choice.”

Kyla was defiant when she learned of her nomination, although she was genuinely surprised. She just could not understand how she managed to rub everyone up the wrong way. It was a pattern that had repeated itself throughout her adult life.

She stormed into her bedroom as the
Sleeping With The Enemy
announcer read out the week’s nominations. The cameras followed her as she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She felt like crying, but was determined not to on television.

The other housemates had been sitting in the living area as the results were announced. Most were expecting Kyla to be nominated and they were wondering how she would react when she heard. They were not disappointed as she flounced out of the room with a face like thunder. There was virtually no reaction as Aleisha’s name was read out, also to face possible eviction. This was the effect the deeply unpopular Kyla had had on her living companions.

The days leading up to eviction night were terrible for Kyla. She had alienated almost everyone. She would walk into the kitchen and people would visibly move away from her. The daily shows would almost entirely focus on her. The ‘search for a singer’ almost became secondary as the station worked with the press to paint Kyla as ‘the biggest bitch on television’.

Slam! were keen to co-operate as they knew they only had a few more days with Kyla as she would almost certainly be evicted. Kyla realised her back was against the wall and came out fighting. She knew her relationships with the other girls were damaged beyond repair, and she didn’t bother trying to salvage them. She had a vague understanding of how television works, and an inclination about how she was being portrayed by the programme. She decided she might as well play up to it. At least this might generate some interest after she was inevitably booted off. The other housemates tried to have nothing to do with her, and if they did they knew they would face her wrath.

Stacey, one of the quieter contestants, found this out one evening as she used Kyla’s hairbrush.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Kyla stood above Stacey as she sat on the bed in front of a mirror. Kyla’s arms were folded, her beautiful eyes stern and angry as she glared down at her housemate.

“I… er… I…” Stacey, a fairly timid young lady, was no match for Kyla, especially when she was in a rage. A deadly silence ensued as Stacey realised Kyla wanted to do her serious damage. One of the cameras whirred above their heads.

“That’s my hairbrush. Did you ask to borrow it?”

“I… didn’t know it was yours… I’m sorry!” she stammered, genuinely petrified. The nation collectively held its breath, wondering what Kyla would do next. This was a woman vilified, trapped in a house with her mortal enemies, forced to share shower, kitchen and toilet space with them. The female viewers at least empathised with her, even if they didn’t like her. She was a fighter, a lone renegade trapped in a miserable, false microcosm of a miserable, false world she desperately wanted to be a part of. She was at war, and hairbrushes, make-up, false nails, clothes and pampering lotions were the weapons of choice to be used in battle.