Dead Famous

DAY TWENTY-FIVE. 8.00 p.m.

The sweatbox, which the housemates had been instructed to build in the boys’ bedroom, was half finished. The false floor had been laid, underneath which the heating elements were to be installed; the support poles for the roof were in position and work had begun on stitching the thick plastic for the walls. The construction so far looked rather small and uninviting, with very little prospect of its looking any better when it was finished.

“I am so not sitting naked in that thing with a lot of nude boys,” Dervla said.

“For four hours, they say,” said Jazz.

“No way,” Dervla repeated.

“Why not? None of the rest of us fookin’ object,” said Moon.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Dervla asked.

“Well, what’s so special about you is what I’m saying? Anyway, don’t you want to look sexy on the telly?”

Of course Dervla wanted to look sexy on the telly, or else she would never have applied to be on the telly in the first place, but she also understood that real allure depended on retaining a bit of mystery. She had a good body, but she knew that like all bodies it was even better when left to the imagination. Besides which, she had her misty green eyes and sparkling smile to rely on; she did not need to go flashing her knockers about the place.

Dervla went to the confession box and asked to be allowed to perform the task in her bathing suit. “It’s high cut on the thigh and a lovely pattern,” she said.

The answer when it came was broadcast to the whole house.

“This is Peeping Tom,” said a much sterner voice than usual, a voice that normally did ads for BMWs and aftershave. “The traditional Native American sweatbox experience was undertaken naked, and this is the manner in which Peeping Tom requires the task to be performed. As with any of the group tasks, all housemates must comply with the rules and if any single housemate fails to do so then the whole group will be deemed to have failed and will therefore lose a percentage of their food and drink for the following week.”

It was jaw-dropping cynical and Geraldine knew it, which was why she had no intention of allowing this outrageous instruction to be aired publicly. Clearly she was blackmailing Dervla into stripping, but the public were to be given the illusion that the housemates one and all simply could not wait to get their clothes off.

“I cannot believe they’re trying to get away with this,” Dervla fumed.

Then Sally spoke up. “Actually, Dervla, I really think that we should do this, because I am worried that we might come across as racist if it looks like we think we’re too good for a legitimate ethnic custom, particularly one with such obviously homoerotic overtones.”

Sally was pleased that Peeping Tom had provided her with an opportunity to hold forth on the one area about which she felt truly passionate.

“As a lesbian woman of mixed race I know what it’s like to have my customs and rituals held in fear and contempt by the majority community. Peeping Tom is offering us the opportunity to experience the bonding rituals of an oppressed indigenous group. I think we should try to learn from it.”