Free BLACK to Reality by Russell Blake

daddy?”
    “I’m not his–”
    “Look at how happy he is! It’s like he understands.” Mugsy was pawing delightedly at the air with his front paws, probably because he thought he could eat or shred Sarah’s blouse. “I absolutely insist. The human interest of you not wanting to abandon your beloved cat will go a long way to making you sympathetic to viewers. And they’re the ones who have the final vote after the qualification rounds,” Sarah said, her tone ominous. “Anything that makes you more appealing to the audience shouldn’t be underrated.”
    Black sat in the back seat of the gold Suburban, Mugsy and Sarah in the passenger seat next to Lou, as they wended their way down Malibu Canyon. The blue of the Pacific Ocean shimmered in the distance. His misgivings about agreeing to do the show had just trebled with Mugsy, the destroyer of worlds, in the mix, but his protests and warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Sarah was obviously smitten. Black silently cursed the fat bastard and prayed he’d run away once at a strange house, but he suspected that wasn’t going to be the way his luck ran.
    No, Mugsy was now part of the show, and any mayhem he caused would probably boost the ratings. Black thought about how he was going to explain the cat’s involvement to Roxie and decided that he would put that off until later. As the big SUV rolled into the beach town, Black eyed the multimillion dollar mansions on the hills and silently estimated the amount of damage Mugsy could inflict in mere minutes. He dry-swallowed hard.
    Even though it was only one thirty, Black realized that he would have traded all the limited money in his pocket for a strong drink. He fought down the impulse, which was immediately followed by a craving for a cigarette, and wondered how he was going to make it if this was any indication of how his three-month sentence was likely to go.
     

Chapter 9
    When the Suburban labored up the long circular drive, Black got his first look at the band house. Calling it opulent was like calling Angelina Jolie cute. Drawing its architectural influence from the villas of Spain’s Costa Brava, it was easily ten thousand square feet, spread across three rambling stories that climbed up the hill behind it.
    “Wow. This is the place?” Black asked, impressed.
    “This is it. Home sweet home, until you either win the contest or get booted out,” Sarah said. She held Mugsy up so he could see and waved one of his paws at the house. “Say hi to your new home, Mr. Mugsy Man.” She turned and looked at Black over her shoulder. “He’s a stocky one, isn’t he?”
    “Stocky would be Mugsy after six months of anorexia.”
    She returned to Mugsy, who was doing his angel best to appear harmless. “Nonsense. You’re just a big, handsome boy, aren’t you? You like your cat chow, though, huh?”
    “More like his side of beef and dozen doughnuts.”
    Lou chuckled and then stifled it when he caught Sarah’s expression.
    They pulled to a stop in front of the mansion’s double wood-and-glass entry doors, where a camera crew was filming their approach.
    “I thought you said they don’t start filming until Monday,” Black said.
    “Correct. This is just for background. The bands arriving. That sort of thing,” Sarah explained. “They’ve already done a few one-on-one interviews with Christina, your lead singer, who will be doing most of the talking, if last season was any indication. You just need to do a few minutes of canned spiel about who you are, what your background is, that kind of stuff, so the audience can follow along. And then as the season develops, we’ll do more interviews to get your reactions to whatever’s happening.”
    “When do I meet my band?”
    “After you get settled in. Here. Take Mugsy. It’ll be pure gold if you’re carrying him as you arrive.” She twisted in the seat and handed Mugsy to Black. Mugsy looked like he was going to let go of his bladder, so he held the cat away from