Michael Clark, a 41 year old owner of a struggling firm

Ruby, Some time earlier, somewhere else.

Ruby paced the patch outside the Arbitrator’s office, her heels gradually deepening the carpet groove she’d started on her many previous trips. She fidgeted with the lapel of her blazer and adjusted the mid-thigh pencil skirt that was shortening her steps. Ruby had seen nothing to indicate that the skirt had any effect on the Arbitrator. But considering how many times she’d had to appear here and how long each visit took, she was ready to try anything just to get some movement. She’d let her red hair down this time, allowing it to fall to her chest and frame the one-too-many open buttons on her blouse. He’d given her not so much as an extended glance.

Of course the one who had to make hard decisions would be immune to female charms. It would be impossible to stay impartial around here otherwise.

“You keep loggin’ those miles, baby.” Al said from the waiting room couch behind her. The fat bastard could stand to walk a few miles himself. She didn’t have to turn around to picture him: The bulge of a man sitting there in his ill-fitting suit, legs crossed, cigar burning in his hand. The smoke permeated the whole of every room he entered, and yet the damn thing never burned down - the only scent that could compete was the gel from his slicked black hair. She only thing she couldn’t picture were his eyes, hidden behind the sunglasses he wore every time she saw him, day or night, indoors or outdoors. Always resting above the smarmy smile he also wore every time she saw him, day or night, indoors or outdoors.

She balled her fists and dug her nails into her palms. Holding back the urge to snipe back at him. Never argue with an idiot. They’ll drag you to their level and beat you with experience. Ruby wished she could leave the waiting room to avoid his gaze and his commentary, but she was worried that she might never find her way back. The corridors of the Producers’ building totally confounded her. Endless twists and turns that never seemed to map to three-dimensional space. Each previous time Ruby had come here, the Arbitrator’s chipper little assistant had met her in the lobby and she never seemed to take the same route twice.

Speak of the devil. His assistant emerged from the inner office.

“I’m really sorry, you two, but he hasn’t made a decision and he’s calling off for the day. You’ll have to schedule another hearing.” Unlike the Arbitrator, She had the decency to look apologetic when delivering bad news. Chickenshit couldn’t even come out here and tell us himself. “I’ll be in here when you two are ready to leave, then I’ll walk you out.” Al started laughing as soon as she closed the door behind her.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m picturing you walking that patch of carpet until you wear a hole right through and crash to the next floor down. That’s all, baby.”

Ruby had to join him in laughing at that image. “You might be right. It’s been more than sixteen years since we each made our claim for this show. What more could he possibly have to consider?”

Al shrugged. “Nothing moves the Arbitrator. He’s made us wait this long, what’s a few decades more? He’s taking his time to figure out how to let you down easy.”

“The hell he is. The show is going to be mine, Al, and you know it.”

“I paid my dues, baby. I’m just getting what’s owed to me.” Al rose from his seat and waddled his way over to her.

“You were the Production Assistant on the lost season, Al. A whole season that never aired. A waste of everyone’s time and energy. Not to mention what happened to your old boss.” Ruby didn’t elaborate, and Al clearly didn’t want her to. Hosting a season of Harem Hotel was as high on the ladder as anyone like she or Al could go. But falling from that height…

Al didn’t respond verbally. Instead he exhaled his cigar smoke into Ruby’s face. She waved her fingers and an unnatural breeze pushed through the room, blowing it to the side.

“I don’t have to take your shit. I have my own power.”

“Oooh, that’s right. You’re a big girl now. Maybe it’s time to make big girl moves.” Al removed a folded piece of paper from his suitcoat. Ruby tried to snatch it, but he pulled it from her reach. She crossed her arms, lamely pretending that was her intent the whole time. ”I was waiting to see if the Arbitrator would see reason this time, but since he’s still got his thumb up his ass… I’ve got a proposition for you, baby. I spoke to the Producers and they signed off, all that’s left is for you to agree.”

“You went around the Arbitrator straight to the Producers? Maybe if I told him about this, he’d finally make up his mind.”

“Or he’d add another decade to ponder this new info. Take a look at this.” Al offered the paper. Now that he was offering it, Ruby didn’t want to touch it. Al shrugged and continued. “Well, hear me out and read it afterwards then. The Producers are startin’ to get antsy at how long the show’s been off the air and the set ain’t getting used. The other sets? They’re great. Producers love ‘em, fans love ‘em. Those shows are killing it. But the Casino? It’s got just the right, uh, je ne sais quoi.”

“Don’t pretend you know what that phrase means. Get to the point, Al.”

“They want the show back on the air, but their hands are tied because of our little dispute. The only way this stops is if one of us drops our claim.”

“Which I won’t.”

“Me neither. I knew you’d say that. So I looked over our contracts and came up with an idea: We co-host the season, then pick teams like kickball. Whichever girl the Master picks for his Harem Queen, the host that brought her wins the whole thing.”

“Are you insane? Co-hosts?”

“Just for the one season. Because like I said, the winner gets the whole enchilada, baby. The hotel, the show, and the power. The loser gets to roll back to PA, go back to fetching coffee and wiping memories to wait for the next opening.”

This opening is the first for hundreds of years. Who knows when there will be another? If ever.

“...And they agreed to this?”

“They’re sick waiting for the Arbitrator’s decision just like us two assholes. But we drop it, then it settles the claim for good. See for yourself.” Intrigued, this time Ruby was willing to take the paper.

I’ll be damned, he’s telling the truth. Ruby read it and re-read it, looking for some kind of flaw or loophole that would burn her, but she couldn’t find any. It was, as far as she could tell, a fair bet. Which only means he buried the trap deeper.

Al read the skepticism printed on her face. “No tricks in there. I’m willing to risk it all, because I’ve got the balls to. You don’t. That’s why you ain’t ready to host this show.”

Ruby balled her fists again. Shouldn’t take his bait. But the threat of continuing to wait for this Arbitrator to make decision was wearing on her. Just the thought of the two of them meeting in this room again and again and again, having to see his goddamn sunglasses and hear his annoying comments until the end of time. And suddenly the risk didn’t seem so daunting when compared. Al extended his hand.

When Ruby shook it, she felt as if the air was sucked out of the room. The bond was formed. The bet was made.

“And I’ve got just the guy in mind, baby…”