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chairs from the dark-haired men, next to the middle-aged couple who ’d remained firmly planted there as the others had mingled.
    “Looks like we’re mostly here,” Cliff said, looking around. “Go see if you can round up the last two, would you?” he asked a young man hovering nearby who seemed to be some sort of production assistant. “Never mind. Here they come now.”
    Everyone turned to look behind them. The two young women certainly made an entrance. Blonde, tanned, and thin, they immediately made Mira feel frumpy. No question why these two had been chosen. They looked around, seeming not in the least discomfited at being the last to arrive, and immediately made a beeline toward the two dark-haired men, giving an almost identical flick to their hair as they took their seats.
    “So, now that we’re all here,” Cliff went on smoothly, “Welcome to America Alive: 1885.” A smattering of applause greeted his pronouncement. “We’re here to take you back into the nineteenth century. With a couple small differences. Because of course, they didn’t have these guys around then.” He gestured to the two cameramen, one of whom was filming him, the other with his lens pointed towards the group on the chairs. “Let me introduce Mike and Danny, our lead cameramen. They’re going to be your shadows, together with some other guys you’ll meet as we go along. I know it feels strange now, but trust me, within a few days you’ll have forgotten all about them. That’s their job, to be invisible. But anything you don’t want them to see . . . Well, you’d better not do it.”
    A nervous laugh or two, a murmured burst of conversation at that one. Cliff began to speak again, broke off at a hand raised in the audience by the man sitting next to Scott. “Yes?”
    “I’m sure I speak for all of us,” the man said, “when I ask why we were selected in groups of two. That’s never happened on America Alive before, as you know. I believe we’re all curious. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind enlightening us now.”
    “Ah,” Cliff answered good-humoredly. “That’d be telling, wouldn’t it? We’ve got to keep you guessing a little, and the audience too, now that we’re into our fifth season.”
    “When will we find out?” Scott asked abruptly, almost interrupting Cliff. “How we’re going to be divided, or whatever it is that you’re not telling us? How the game is going to be set up?”
    “We’ll get into all that later,” Cliff promised. “Right now, let’s have you get to know each other a bit. Maybe you two would like to start,” he said to the man who’d spoken first. “Just tell us your names, a few words about where you’re from and what you do, why you came on the show. Besides the million dollars, of course,” he added to another laugh.
    “Martin Deveraux ,” the man, thin and fortyish, said.
    “And Arlene Filippi ,” the heavier dark-haired woman next to him cut in. “We’re from Boston,” she went on. “We’re keenly interested in the negative impact that modern technology has on personal relationships and family dynamics. In fact, we’ve set up our own home as a technology-free zone, and we try to keep our children’s life simple too. No TV, no video games, no iPods,” she said proudly. “When we heard about this show, we felt it was the perfect chance to truly experience life as our great-grandparents lived it, and to model that simpler lifestyle for the rest of the country.”
    Mira heard a snort, and turned to her right to catch the devilishly dancing eye of the man sitting beside her. He raised his eyebrows comically, and she had to fight the urge to giggle. But it was their turn now, and Scott was speaking.
    “I’m Scott Mitchell,” he said. “And this is my girlfriend, Grace Walker.”
    “Mira, actually,” she broke in. “I prefer Mira.”
    “I’m an attorney in Seattle,” Scott went on, “and . . . Mira ,” he added after a pregnant pause, “works for a