Horizons

by Catherine Hart

  “Pan. A flash in the pan,” Kelly amended. “And I doubt you have to worry much about that happening. You’ve already made your mark in the recording industry, and once we’re rescued the publicity alone will send your sales soaring. You’ll be a very hot commodity. In fact, I wouldn’t wonder that someone will want to make a movie about all this.”

  “About your whole life, maybe… with you as the star,” Blair added excitedly. “Oh, gosh! Just imagine it!”

  Alita’s black eyes flashed, first with enthusiasm and then with dread. “No! I would agree to a movie about the plane crash and our time here, but I would never want the whole world to know how I grew up. I should not even have told you. If I was not so worried and depressed, I would never have done so. If this gets out to the tabloids, I will be ruined!” She grabbed Kelly’s arm so tightly her nails dug into flesh. Her face was twisted with apprehension, her voice tight with alarm. “You must not tell anyone the things I have revealed to you. If you do, I will… I will…”

  Kelly peeled Alita’s stiff fingers off her arm. “You can stop with the mad threats of death and disfigurement, Alita. I promise you, your secret is safe with me.”

  Blair held up her hands to ward off similar treatment. “That goes for me, too. Just don’t ask me to sign it in blood.”

  Alita remained unconvinced. “Why would you do this for me? The papers would pay you money for the real story. A lot of money. You, Blair, could quit your job or hire a maid. Kelly, you could pay off your loan on your business. Why, when I have been so… so…”

  “Hateful? Snotty? Bitchy?” Kelly submitted with a sardonic grin.

  “Si. Why would you do this kindness for me?”

  “Because we’re in this together, sink or swim,” Kelly told her. “Besides, I’m used to keeping confidences. Didn’t you know that all hairdressers are substitute shrinks? We just don’t get paid as well as psychiatrists for listening to women spill their deepest darkest secrets. I swear, once you get your fingers into their hair, these gals let it all hang out. It’s got to be some sort of medical phenomenon.”

  “And friends don’t rat on friends,” Blair put in solemnly. “I wouldn’t want you telling Anton how we’ve talked about him.”

  Alita’s mouth worked, until finally the words emerged in a disbelieving whisper. “You would be my friends? My amigas? Truly? You would not just be sucking in to me?”

  “Sucking up,” Kelly corrected again.

  “And real friends don’t do that,” Blair assured her.

  “They don’t betray each other or deliberately hurt each other, either by word or deed,” Kelly counseled, by way of warning. “They offer advice, they listen, they’re there when you need them. They joke around and tease each other, but all in good fun. If, and I stress the word if, we were to become friends, could you hold up your end of that bargain?”

  Tears swam in Alita’s eyes as she held up her hand, palm out, as if taking an oath. “I swear it. But I am sure to make a mistake now and then, to be not so nice sometimes.”

  Blair nodded. “As long as you’re not intentionally vicious, we’ll forgive you. That’s part of being friends, too.”

  Kelly’s grin was decidedly mocking. “Besides, if you suddenly turned sweet as syrup, we wouldn’t know you. But I would suggest you learn to keep your claws to yourself. I’ve been known to scratch back, kiddo. Also, if you’re serious about wanting to be friends, pals don’t poach, so you can ditch any designs you might still have on Zach. He’s mine, and while I don’t mind sharing my make-up and hairbrush with you, I’ll be damned if I’ll share my lover.”

  Revising their wardrobes took a bit more effort and ingenuity. Fortunately, Kelly had her travel-sized sewing kit, and they supplemented its meager supply of thread by carefully salvaging strands from the clothes they had on hand.

  For Kelly, aside from turning her slacks into a pair of shorts, she also added a loose inner panel on the inside of her camisole—the material appropriated from the lining of her blazer, which she could now forego and still be decently clothed. Once Blair’s jeans had been converted to cut-offs, Kelly showed her how to inset wedges of the extra denim at the front pleats, to enlarge the waist and tummy.

  “Egad! I can actually breathe again!” Blair declared delightedly. “What a relief! It was pure vanity, and not wanting to resort to maternity clothes yet, that made me keep wearing these tight jeans, even when I had to undo the top button most of the time.”

  Alita had no problem with vanity. She was all for it. She did have one dilemma, however. How to revamp her minidress into more serviceable and comfortable attire.

  Kelly shook her head. “There is no way that scant amount of fabric is going to stretch into a top and a pair of shorts. You’ve already got it straining at the seams.”

  Alita’s lip poked out in her trademark pout. “There has to be something we can do, perhaps with another piece of cloth. Something lighter. I tell you, I am sweating like a pig in this dress.” She eyed Kelly’s discarded linen blazer with longing. “Can we make a pair of shorts out of that?”

  “Sheesh! Talk about taking the shirt right off of a person’s back!” Kelly grumped. “Still, if it will keep your abundant buns covered, I guess we can try it.”

  It took some doing, and added material from the cutoff pant legs which they utilized in extra-paneled sides and a waistband, but they finally fashioned Alita a pair of button-up, boxer-style shorts.

  “Not bad, if I do say so myself,” Kelly approved. “Maybe you’ll start a new trend, Alita. Madonna’s got nothin’ on you!”

  Alita surveyed the garment critically. “It needs more pizzazz, don’t you think? And I still need a blouse. I can’t just wear my dress over these.”

  Kelly tossed her the scissors. “Stop whining and make yourself a crop top or something. Be inventive.”

  Alita’s idea was more than creative. It was downright exotic. By cutting her dress from neck to hem, she came away with a long strip of material about ten inches wide. This she wound around her chest like a scarf, tying it into a knot between her breasts, leaving her shoulders and entire midriff bare.

  “It’s like the bandeau top of a bikini swimsuit,” Blair marveled.

  “Shades of Dorothy Lamour!” Kelly exclaimed, more than a little jealous of Alita’s generous endowments. “I just hope the darned thing stays put when you take a deep breath.”

  Alita experimented with a series of exaggerated jiggles. “It is fine. See?”

  “I still think you should sew some straps on it, just in case. And for heaven’s sake, don’t bend over! And don’t stand close to anyone if you do, because when you pop of out of that, you’re sure to jab someone in the eyeball! And it had better not be Zach!”

  Chapter 13

  “I’ll give it two more days, and if they haven’t found us by then, I’m gonna build a raft,” Gavin said.

  “Oh yeah? Outta what?” Earl asked.

  “Out of logs and vines, Goober.”

  “So, what ya gonna use for a saw, or an axe, smartass?”

  Gavin was temporarily stymied. “I guess I’ll have to look for fallen limbs and deadwood, and strap it together.”

  “You get hollow wood, or some that’s all punky, and that raft o’ yours will take on water like the Titanic,” Earl warned.

  “Well, we can’t just sit here forever, twiddling our thumbs and growing beards,” Gavin argued.

  “Ya can’t go off half-cocked, neither, unless ya want to be blowing salty bubbles.”

  “Have you got a better idea?”

  “No,” Earl admitted smugly. “Then ag’in, I’m not wantin’ off this island, like the rest o’ y’all are.”

  “A raft really might not be such a good idea, Gav,” Zach put in. “God only knows how far we are from another island. And you’d be just a speck in the ocean. You could die of thirst before anyone spotted you. Or run into a storm and have the thing break apart. At least here, we can survive until they find us.”

 
“They’re right, mate,” Frazer agreed. “I wouldn’t chance it out there on a raft. An ark, maybe, but nothin’ smaller. I’ve seen some of those Great Whites they’ve pulled out of the waters around Australia, big as boats and teeth like giant razors. I sure wouldn’t want to meet up with one—me on a dinky raft and him ’bout four times longer and hungry.”

  Gavin frowned. “I’m still going to try building one,” he insisted stubbornly. “If nothing else, it will give me something constructive to do.”

  “Suit yerself,” Earl drawled. “Me, I’m gonna try' making some home brew.”

  Zach lifted a skeptical brow. “Try not to poison yourself while you’re at it,”

  Earl grinned. “Gee, Zach. I didn’t know ya cared.”

  “I don’t actually. I just have better things to do with my time than to dig another grave.”

  “Like what? More fishing?” Gavin inquired.

  “That, and I thought I’d try to devise a way to divert some of the water at the pool, to make a spout of sorts, for drinking water and maybe a shower. Ingesting the same water we’re bathing in is only asking for trouble.”

  “I’m already working on a project of my own,” Frazer informed them. He held up a piece of wood, on which he’d spent most of the day whittling.

  “I give up,” Gavin said. “What’s it supposed to be?”

  “When it’s finished, it’ll be a boomerang, mate.”

  “A damned toy?” Earl exclaimed with disgust. “You’ve spent all day making what amounts to a fool Frisbee?”

  “You’re the fool, Roberts,” Frazer rebutted smoothly. “It shows every time you open your mouth and say something so completely stupid. For your information, a boomerang is anything but a toy. It’s a weapon. With one of these, an aborigine can lop a man’s head clean off his shoulders.”

  Gavin whistled. “No shit? I hope you’re not planning on throwing it my way.”

  Frazer’s smile aped one Boris Karloff might have dredged up. Then he laughed. “No, but I do hope to knock me a pigeon or two in the noggin. They make good tucker, and fish can get real tiresome after a while.”

  Despite himself, Earl was impressed, as were the other men. “Well, I’ll be hornswoggled. I just might try making a slingshot, and give you a tad o’ competition, you little runt.”

  Frazer gave an amiable shrug. “Whatever floats your boat, mate. It’ll just put more meat in the pot.”

  Three days went by—three days of constantly being on the lookout, ready to light the signal fire, to wave blankets, to flash Kelly’s small hand mirror into the sun—anything to attract attention toward them. The first day, they thought they heard the distant drone of an airplane, but it was too far off to see. The next day was bright and clear, perfect weather to conduct a rescue mission, yet no planes came. The third day was also clear, but the sole plane flew over just before dawn, rousing them from their sleep and sending them dashing to the beach. However, when Zach and Gavin attempted to light the signal fire, the wood was too damp to catch. Even the small amount of smoke generated was quickly whisked away on the wind, not nearly enough to notice.

  “Damn! I don’t understand this!” Zach ranted, spearing his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “This wood should have dried out by now. Not a drop of rain for the past two days, and it’s been hot enough to fry beef on the hoof!”

  It had been terribly hot. If not for the ocean breeze, they would have sweltered even more than they did. As it was, the humidity was stifling, combining with the intense heat to make them all highly irritable, which they were anyway, for assorted reasons.

  Earl had run out of cigarettes and the lack of nicotine was having its predictable effect, while Kelly swore she was having caffeine withdrawal. Poor Blair had morning sickness that often lasted all day. Hourly, Zach was more worried about his father. And Sydney… Sydney was cranky, feverish, and had a runny nose. Blair suspected the toddler was cutting teeth, at least they all hoped it was nothing more serious. With no children’s aspirin on hand, they resorted to sprinkling a small amount of powder from adult Tylenol capsules into Sydney’s food.

  “I wish we had something to rub on her gums, or something cold for her to chew on,” Blair bemoaned. The best they could come up with in lieu of a teething ring were lime rinds, which made it difficult to tell if Sydney’s continual pucker was a result of the sour fruit or a cantankerous sulk.

  As for Alita, she developed a monstrous case of PMS. Jittery didn’t begin to describe her, and her moods swung wildly from nearly exhilarated to thoroughly depressed.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she was on drugs,” Kelly confided to Blair.

  “How do we know she’s not? Or wasn’t, prior to the crash?” Blair said in return. “Lots of people in the entertainment field are, or are reported to be.”

  “Well, nuts! That would be all we’d need. A junkie trying to go cold turkey!”

  “Should we ask her?” Blair inquired dubiously.

  Kelly’s brows shot up. “Beard the lioness in her den? That might not be too wise.”

  Their question was answered when they found Alita rifling through pockets and purses.

  “What are you looking for?” Blair queried mildly.

  Her hands shaking, Alita replied on a frantic sob, “Caramba! You would think there would be something stronger than Midol in one of these bags! I would sell my soul for a single Valium! Or even a marijuana joint!”

  “What have you been on, Alita? Crack? Cocaine? Heroin?”

  “Mostly cocaine, though I only snort a little now and then, and a few pills. I’m… I’m not hooked, really.”

  “If you’re not, you’re the next thing to it,” Kelly told her. “Look at you. You’re about to jump out of your skin. You’re shivering and clammy in one hundred degree temperatures. Your pupils are jerky little pinpoints. Honey, you’re a wreck if ever I’ve seen one.”

  For a moment, Alita looked as if she might physically attack Kelly for daring to say such a thing. Then, she collapsed into a sobbing, quivering heap. “Dios mio! I am coming apart! I am either on fire or freezing, and sometimes my heart starts pounding so hard it is all I can do to catch my breath!” She scratched her nails across her arms, where a patchwork of welts already decorated her flesh. “My skin itches so awfully! What am I going to do?” Blair and Kelly shared a desolate look.

  “I doubt there’s anything you can do, but try to weather it through,” Blair said.

  “And trim your fingernails back so you don’t inflict anymore damage to yourself,” Kelly suggested. “Maybe we can make you a balm, from coconut oil or something. There’s got to be something that will ease the itching, at least.” She shook her head. “How did you get sucked into such stupidity, anyway? Did you do it simply because everyone else was? Did your show-business friends push you into it?” ;

  Alita grimaced. “I have no friends. Only acquaintances who are either jealous of me or wanting something from me. At first, I just wanted to fit in, to not feel so awkward at their fancy parties. Then it seemed like the drugs made things easier… the hectic schedules, the constant traveling. If I was dragging, they picked me up. If I couldn’t sleep, I could take a pill. And Eduardo could find it all, whatever I needed. But he cannot help me now, can he?” Her laugh was bitter. “Poor Eduardo, reduced to a pile of ashes, cannot help himself, let alone help me.”

  “I realize this can’t be easy for you, but if you can get clean now, you ought to stay clean. Imagine how much harder it will be later, if you go back to the drugs once we’re rescued and then try to quit,” Blair advised.

  “If I survive quitting this time, it will be a miracle!" Alita claimed, swiping at her tears.

  “Maybe this is your miracle,” Kelly offered quietly. “Your wonder cure. The one sure way to beat your addiction—by finding yourself in a place where nothing stronger than aspirin is available to you.”

  Blair squatted down beside Alita and put her arm around the singer’s shoulders. “You can do it
, Alita. You can kick the habit. You just have to hang in there and believe that you are stronger than it is. And be smarter next time. Say no.”

  Kelly joined them, kneeling in front of Alita where she could look the girl straight in the eye. “Never, ever, let yourself in for this brand of misery again. It's not worth it, Alita. It will sap your bank account, your career, and your health. Don’t risk your fantastic looks and talent for a sham sense of security. And if you’re truly tempted, give Blair or me a call. We’ll remind you just how lousy you felt today and all you have to lose if you don’t stay straight.”

  If anyone actually and desperately needed drugs at this point, as opposed to craving them as Alita did, it was Frazer. His mangled leg was not responding to anti-bacterial ointment, a few aspirin, and daily saltwater baths. Kelly was sickened by the sight of it, her first since their second day on the island. It appeared worse, much worse than it had at the start.

  Frazer’s calf was now swollen more than twice its normal size. The gashes were deep, and seeping a putrid mixture of blood and pus. One look, and even an untrained amateur could tell from the acute inflammation that infection had set in. But it was the red line tracing its way up Frazer’s leg that alarmed Kelly most.

  “Good heavens, Fraz! I had no idea it was this bad! You could have blood poisoning or…”

  "Or gangrene,” Zach inserted somberly, studying Frazer’s injury from over Kelly’s shoulder. “Damn man! If we don’t get you to a hospital soon, you’re liable to lose that leg.” Unvoiced was the threat that it might well be his life Frazer would lose as well.