#Chapter 4 - Quiz Nation

I wave goodbye to Melissa, my client, as she wipes her eyes and walks to her car. She’s going to be all right – but wow, what an exhausting session.

As she drives away I click my phone open and check my email, pleased to see that the confirmation I was looking for is there. “Boys!” I call, “get your shoes!”

My children clatter around in the living room before spilling into the hallway, Ian hopping on one foot as he pulls on his sneaker. Alvin carries his shoes carefully and sits down to tie his laces. “What’s happening, mama?”

I feign surprise, teasing them. “What, didn’t you want to go to the quiz show?”

“Really, mama?!” Ian’s face lights up and he throws himself against me in a hug. “We can really go?!”

I laugh and hug him back as Alvin joins us. “Well, you earned it, and I could use a break from my work. I contacted the show and it’s all real – you earned your place. Since you qualified together, though, you have to play as one. Are you okay with that?”

“Yes!” they say together, two pairs of bright brown eyes smiling up at me.

“Okay, into the car!” I say, smacking their bums as they pass. Off we go.

“Alvin and Ian Ortega,” the receptionist says, her eyes wide. “This…this is them?”

I nod, a hand on the shoulder of each boy. “Yes,” I say. “Is there a problem?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head, surprise clear on her face. “They’re just so…young. You know,” she tears her eyes away from them and looks at me, “most of the contestants on this show are…adults. Doctors. Lawyers. Educated people.”

“It’s not a mistake!” Alvin chimes in. “We qualified!” He slips his printed-out paper onto the desk. Ian gives the receptionist a gap-toothed grin.

“Well,” the receptionist said, taking up the paper. “I guess…everything’s in order!” She laughs, “you’re the youngest contestants we’ve ever had! This will make for quite a show.”

The receptionist waves a hand at the backstage door and the boys scamper off towards it. As I begin to follow, she stops me with a light hand on my arm. “You know, you really are lucky,” she breathes, “to have two such children, so handsome, so smart…”

I smile warmly at her and gently pull my arm away. “Thanks,” I say. “I know. I count my blessings every day.” I catch up with my boys at the door and wrap each up in a hug, placing a kiss on the top of their heads.

“Be good,” I said. “Try hard, of course, but overall you must remember to have fun, and be polite.” I narrow my eyes at Ian in particular. “No funny business.”

“Okay, mama,” Alvin says, smiling his sweetest smile.

“I wish dad were here,” Ian says, looking at me a little wistfully. “I want him to be proud.”

My stomach turns with guilt, but I put on a smile anyway. “We’ve talked about this, boys. Your father is a great man, but he’s very busy – he’s out there doing big, big work, and helping people. He loves you,” I say, hoping, deep down, that it’s not a lie. “He just needs to be somewhere else. But he’s out there, thinking about you, and he’s proud.”

The boys nod at the familiar story and a stagehand calls “Ortega?” from the backstage area. I gently push the boys forward and watch them run away to be prepared in hair in makeup, or whatever they do. I shrug and move to the craft services table, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

The competition is very intense. I sit in the audience with my hands wrapped together in my lap, my legs bouncing with anticipation. I try to keep my face smooth so that if the boys look out into the audience they will find their mother placid and serene. Ha, what a lie.

“Is the answer….magnesium?” Alvin ventures, his voice tremulous. The boys stand on stage behind a podium. Their answer appears in text on the front of the podium.

A big pause, and then… “Yessssssssss!” The announcer shouts enthusiastically, and the crowd goes wild, me included. I am on my feet clapping for my boys, shouting their names.

“You’ve done it!” The announcer says, “On to the final round! Congratulations, Ian and Alvin Ortega – you have the chance to be champions of Quizzzzz Nation! We’ll be back, after this commercial break!”

A red light above the stage goes off and assistants rush around, blotting the host’s face with makeup, moving Alvin and Ian to a new set of podiums where they will face the previous champion, a scientist from LA. He generously shakes hands with the boys, who, I am pleased to see, greet him politely despite their excitement.

“Thirty seconds,” an announcer says. Stagehands scatter and I take my seat.

“Now before we get into the final level, let’s take a moment to get to know our newest contestants. Alvin and Ian,” the announcer says, leaning casually against their podium. “You are our youngest contestants ever and have, amazingly, made it to the final round on your first try. To what do you owe your amazing accomplishment?”

“Our mom is real smart,” says Ian, and the crowd laughs. I blush and smile.

The announcer smiles back at them, charmed. “And what will you do, if you win Quiz Nation? Spend your money on big prizes?”

“We’re gonna find our dad!” Ian says, and the crowd hushes awkwardly. I huff out a breath of air and paste a smile on my face. What is with the dad stuff lately?

“Yeah,” says Alvin. “Our dad is real busy, but we want him to know he can be proud.”

“I am sure…he is very proud of you already,” the announcer says, a little stiffly, and then moves on the show. “Let’s play Quizzzzzzz Nation!”

The competition continues, heating up as the twins fend off question after question.

Behind the stage, an intern walks up to the title sponsor, carrying the trophy in her hand. “Um, sir?” she says, not daring to tug on his sleeve to get his attention.

“What,” the man snarls, spinning to turn his angry attention to her instead of to the woman with whom he’s arguing.

“Um, it’s almost time to present the trophy?” The intern whispers.

The man grabs the trophy from her and she skitters away. He could care less about Quiz Nation, it’s just another media appearance to demonstrate to his people that he’s invested in arts and culture. Whatever.

“It’s just not in the cards right now,” Amelia says to him, her arms elegantly folded across her chest. She leans back slightly, unphased by his rage. “I’m not having a baby.”

“Deciding you’d rather defer having children for another time is different” he growls, “than getting pregnant and taking abortion pills to kill my child. Did you do it?!” His face grows red with rage.

“Look, leave those stupid rumors aside, Victor,” she says, cool under pressure. “The fact is, I’m not into having a family right now. My career is on the rise – I’m scheduled to walk at Paris fashion week in the spring. I’m not giving that up to pop out a kid.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You never respected my career, my dreams. I don’t just exist to fulfill your demands and bear your pups. I have a life too, Victor,” she says, turning away in disgust. “I’m not playing your game.”

Victor stands, clenching his teeth and rubbing his brow. His Beta comes forward to stand next to him, silent in black, but there if Victor needs him.

“Maybe you’re right,” Victor says, rubbing his brows. “Maybe we do need to go to counseling.”

“It can’t hurt, sir,” the Beta says, stoic. “In the meantime,” he gestures towards the trophy still gripped in Victor’s hand.

“Right,” Victor says, “this stupid thing. What’s this show called, again?”