by Kim Linwood
Liz fucking Bissette.
One thing’s for sure. The woman down there on the beach is not the girl who flew out of my life a decade ago. It’s not just the wild curls she’s traded for a straight red cut. It’s the knowing tilt to the corner of her smile, and the rounded hip her hand is resting on as she laughs with the other contestants.
The forbidden teenage crush I had on my stepsister fueled plenty of adolescent fantasies, fantasies I’ve—mostly—managed to leave behind. But fuck, there’s something about your first love that never quite goes away.
I’m not stupid. There’s no way she randomly ended up back here pretending to be someone else. I want to remember her as the fifteen year old who chased after me through the trees, and made at least a few years of my life a wonderful sort of hell, but I’m not that naive.
I laugh quietly to myself. Well, it is a reality show. Of course they’re going to do things to fuck with me. They’ll squeeze every little drop of drama out of this that they can. But Liz? That’s some serious dredging of the past, but fine. I’ll play along. Bet this is why they wanted to give me a chance to check out the girls without them noticing.
Outside, all the hopefuls are mingling awkwardly. They obviously know each other, but equally obviously, not well. A blonde with huge flotation devices for tits struggles to stand while her heels keep sinking. Her dedication is admirable, but she wouldn’t last two minutes out here.
Beauty like that takes work and craves an audience. Once the cameras are gone, girls like her would be miserable. Give them a month, and I’ll bet half the fame-whores down there will be begging for a house in LA.
Liz on the other hand, she was born for this place, with or without the fancy trimmings. Her skin is paler than I remember, but I know her. Even if she’s older, more confident, and filling out that sundress in a way she’d never done at fifteen.
“What, are you taking the world’s longest dump up there, or what? Get the fuck down here already,” my walkie-talkie spits out.
Jackass. Blaze is as smooth as a shark when it matters, and a pain in my ass the rest of the time.
It would serve him right if I just closed the door and flew back, leaving them all here. Maybe I’d take Liz. Oh, and an assistant so I could take my hands off the controls long enough to officially welcome her to the mile high club.
Except—best case scenario—I know how she feels about flying, and I’d probably end up with my nuts in my throat and spitting teeth. I grin. It would almost be worth it.
The walkie-talkie buzzes again, but I shut it off and head for the door. A camera guy is waiting down on the floating dock, but the crew can’t make too big a deal out of me because I’m not the star. Not yet. For now I’m supposed to be some Joe Schmo pilot that’s helping out, while I get the opportunity to see what they’re like when I’m not around to distract them.
Alright, let’s get this over with.
Giving my wig and beard a tug to check they are firmly in place, I exit the plane, making a point of acting slow and off-balance. The pilot I’m playing isn’t supposed to be fit and athletic. I huff and puff a little extra to make it convincing, but nobody—except the one camera—appreciates my acting genius.
I didn’t believe them, but the makeup team was right. Just look a little unattractive, and the girls don’t even notice you. I could be doing cartwheels back here, and they wouldn’t give a fuck. The most I get is an uninterested sideways glance when I thump down onto the sand.
I catch up as they’re trying to decide what to do, and finally get a little attention.
“Um, excuse me? I think you need to double check your map. There’s nothing here.” The big-boobed blonde... Elena, I think it was, minces over on her toes with a few girls trailing behind her. She looks straight at me like I’m an idiot, the others nodding behind her like birds.
Right, they notice me just fine when they think I’ve done something wrong. Go figure.
She steps just a hair closer, recovering quickly when one of her legs wobbles on the uneven ground. Finding a firmer spot for her heel, she brings her condescending gaze back at me. “There’s supposed to be an estate. Camera crews. Champagne.”
I try not to roll my eyes. She has to know everything that’s happening is planned out, but her little outburst will get her on camera, which is probably her plan.
Blaze fucking Molloy, entertainer, reality show host, and a complete dickwad, emerges from the woods with his own camera crew just as I think I might actually have to respond.
“Ladies! Welcome to the Caribbean! I trust you all had a good flight?” In khaki shorts and a bright Hawaiian shirt that’s unbuttoned to show off his toned, bronze chest, Blaze throws his hands out while his salon styled, shoulder length hair waves in the wind. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that he came out from the direction he did. A camera guy jogs in an arc in front of him with a large steady-cam, getting what I’m sure is a very dramatic shot.
Blaze’s face goes from jovial to devious in no time, even if his toothy smile never fades. His days as “the whitening toothpaste guy” might be over, but I bet he has a lifetime supply.
“I hope you’re ready for the contest of your lives, because in this game there can be only one winner, and nine of you won’t be it.” He looks them over dramatically. “It’s all up to you. I’m Blaze Molloy, and for your four weeks”—he pauses and shakes his head sadly—”or less, in the Caribbean, I’ll be your host while you fight to win the hand of our eligible bachelor. The ridiculously handsome”—he sweeps out one hand—”wealthy”—he sweeps out the other—”Hunter Campbell!”
Standing where I am, watching the girls’ reactions, it’s hard not to laugh. Some of them are hanging on his every word, applauding and cheering while drinking in his Kool-Aid. The whole thing is ridiculous, but for them, it’s serious. Even if I know they don’t even know me, let alone care about me.
Except Liz. Her arms are crossed, her eyebrow arched skeptically at Blaze. She speaks up, looking around. “So where is he?”
Blaze faces her, the cameras zooming in on both of them, catching every little detail. “That’s a good question, but I’m not going to serve him up on a platter for you, like a piece of delicious bloody meat to a swarm of eager piranhas. First, you’re going to have to work for it.” He laughs, and some of the girls chuckle nervously along, probably as thrilled to be compared to piranhas as I am to be called bloody meat.
“Mr. Campbell is a very athletic man, as I’m sure you’re all aware. He likes a woman who can keep up with him. Someone who has the endurance and drive to match him in play as well as in the home... and dare I say it, in the bedroom?” Blaze laughs again, and this time no one else does, even as Blaze obviously pauses to give them time.
The vaguely Asian-looking contestant... Bianca, I think, raises her hand, speaking before he gets a chance to call on her. “Could you get to the point? I mean, I’m guessing our challenge isn’t to be timed while we screw the camera crew, so could we move on?”
The camera guy filming Blaze has to hold in a laugh as Blaze’s expression stiffens in irritation. I grin. He obviously doesn’t like anyone stealing the show, even if it’s only for a moment, but when he answers, his smile’s back like nothing happened. “Snap, snap, snap, little piranha! Your wish is my command. The first elimination will be today, and it won’t be just one, but two contestants!” There’s an edge to his smile when he looks at Bianca that gives me the feeling there would be no tears if she was one of the two sent home.
Unfortunately for Blaze, I kinda like her.
His announcement gets the girls buzzing. Guess they figured they’d all at least make it to the estate first and get a chance to settle in before being tossed out.
I glance at Liz. She’s smiling and unafraid. I’m not surprised. She was always athletic, and while I bet she hasn’t climbed a tree in a while, she moves like she hasn’t lost it.
Blaze beckons for the girls to follow him as he walks up over a bluff and down on th
e other side of the tiny island we’re on. Dirt Rock, we used to call it. Me and Liz.
When she lived here, that was all it was. Dirt and rock. We’d paddle out here together sometimes. Every time, she’d bring seeds and small plants, trying to turn it into a proper island. I’d laughed then, but fuck if she wasn’t right. Mostly they died, but over the years, the few that survived have grown ferociously, and now there’s a small but flourishing cover of palms and other plants. I’ve come to think of it as hers, and I wonder what she thinks of it.
I follow along slowly, presumably to stay out of the way and observe the girls. All I know about them are names and pictures, and most didn’t stand out enough for me to even remember that yet. Shit, I don’t even know what name Liz is using. I didn’t recognize her headshot, and I know her real name wasn’t on the list.
They gasp as they see what’s on the other side. From here, the ground slopes down towards another beach, opposite of where we landed. From this side, Frederick Island is fully visible in the distance, the estate a big white blotch in the middle of the green.
“You did land on the wrong island!” says the blonde.
I laugh. If it weren’t for the way she’s very carefully manipulating her positioning and words to play to the cameras, I’d almost believe she’s as stupid as she’s acting.
“He landed exactly where he was supposed to,” replies Blaze. “Our brave pilot was only following directions.” He sweeps his hand in a slow arc towards the beach. There are five kayaks there, lined up and ready to go. “You want to get there? This is how you’ll do it. Two contestants to a kayak, and one camera operator to sit in the front. The last boat to make it in gets disqualified, and its riders will be forced to leave the island. Today.”
The air explodes with voices.
“What?”
“Kayaks?”
“But I’ve never—”
“It’s so far.”
Blaze holds his hands up. “Don’t worry. You’ll get all the training you need. We even have time for lunch, to give you a chance to get to know each other and find your partners for the race.” The girls look at him dubiously, but relax a little at the mention of food. “We’ll leave in an hour, after Sheila over here gives you gals a round of instructions on how to work your kayaks.” He points to a muscular camerawoman in a wetsuit, who grins like a shark. “I suspect this might be new to more than one of you.”
“Seriously?” One of the women standing with the crafty blonde perks up enough to show a little attitude. Her dismay is quickly echoed by the others.
What, they expected to be just dropped into the lap of luxury? Champagne, lobster and a sizzling hot billionaire bachelor? It’s what most of them seem to have dressed for.
I tsk quietly and grin behind my fake beard. In spite of myself, I’m looking forward to their challenge. Girls, you’re going to have to work for this.
Liz
The pilot is officially starting to freak me out.
I laugh at something Amanda says, and dart a glance over my shoulder. Yep, he’s watching us again. Knowing my luck, he’s decided we’re the most likely to get voted off first and he’s plotting how to dump our bodies at sea.
Or not, but I bet he has shifty eyes under those glasses.
Now that we’re on the other side of the trees, I can’t believe I didn’t recognize Dirt Rock. It’s amazing how green it is now. When I left, there was nothing here but a few stubborn plants that were refusing to die. The palms shot right up, and under their shelter, everything else has flourished. I want to do a little happy dance that my efforts weren’t in vain, but I’ll have to settle for doing a boogie in my head.
Across the water from us, Frederick Island taunts me. My palms itch to grab a paddle and get going. I’ve done the trip plenty of times, even if it’s been a while.
I’ve been away far too long.
The pilot sets up a couple of portable gas grills, while Blaze bosses the crew around, making them get everything ready for lunch. It looks like burgers, nice and thick. My stomach rumbles as the scent reaches me. It’s been weeks since I had the money to buy anything that fancy.
Cassie, one of Elena’s sidekicks, pipes up, “Are there veggie burgers?” Someone else asks to check the nutritional information on the rolls.
I sneak past a couple of girls standing around the condiments discussing how superior chutney is compared to ketchup, and hold out my plate.
“Medium rare?” The pilot asks, not quite looking at me.
“Perfect. Just so long as—”
He snorts. “You can’t hear it mooing?”
I pause, surprised. Was it that predictable a joke?
“Next!” the pilot snaps rudely, motioning to the next girl in line.
What a jerk. Definitely creepy.
The camera people are like gnats, swarming around us while we get our food. Meanwhile, the pilot’s relaxed and friendly with everyone except me. Maybe he just doesn’t like me for some reason. Whatever. It’s not like it matters.
We spread out. Already, cliques are firming up and the leaders jostling for position. Elena obviously for the Barbies, though Bianca and a lawyer named Meredith are strong contenders.For Megan and me? Definitely Amanda.
She’s so sweet it almost hurts my teeth, but that open smile and soft southern belle voice draws people in and gets them talking. The next thing they know, they’re fetching her napkins.
And by they, I mean me.
I grab a couple extra—I needed one too, it was only logical that I get up—and decide to snag a roll while I’m at it. The pilot-slash-cook is sitting to one side, not quite a part of the crew. He’s between me and my grains, so my plan is to just walk right by him, but he speaks up in spite of my lack of eye contact.
“You look familiar. What’s your name?” With the bushy facial hair and the reflective lenses of his aviators, he’s impossible to read.
“S—Sarah.” The name still doesn’t quite roll off my tongue. “And I doubt it. I don’t think I know any pilots.” I give him a half smile and snatch the roll.
“Must just be me. Maybe you have one of those faces, Sarah.”
“Yeah, you know with the eyes and the nose and the mouth. I get that all the time.”
He laughs, and my stomach does a little flip that I blame on the burger. I focus on the ketchup he has clinging to the side of his mustache. Creepy pilot is still creepy, even if he has a nice laugh.
“Where ya from?” he asks, just when I think I can get away without seeming rude.
Here. “Upstate New York.”
“So, like, Westchester?”
I narrow my eyes.
“What? Farther north? Poughkeepsie?”
He’s mocking me, and I don’t want to fall for it, but even though I wasn’t born there, the need to correct him burns too strong.
“Yeah, how about you drive through Westchester, then stop for lunch in Poughkeepsie, then just keep going until the radio starts playing French. Okay? Is that North enough for you?”
“Oh! Like really north, eh?”
I let out a frustrated growl. “Why are we even talking about this?”
“I don’t know, maybe—”
Blaze does that annoying whistle thing between his fingers, getting everyone’s attention. He’s standing on the top of the hill, positioned for the perfect angle. “Get ready, ladies! Finish your food and pick your partners! It’s almost time to find out who’ll be sailing into the sunset, and who’ll be swimming with the fishes!”
“What does that even mean? They shouldn’t let him write his own lines.” I mutter. The pilot laughs, and I glare at him. “Laugh it up, Skippy. With any luck the sharks will mistake that ketchup all over your face for blood.”
He just laughs harder while wiping around his mouth with the back of his hand. Jerk.
I don’t have time to deal with him. I need a partner, fast.
Megan’s already being hauled over towards a kayak and shrugs at me helplessly. Amanda’s sti
ll free, though. She’s a touch on the short side, but looks like she’s not afraid of a little work. At the very least she seems in this to win it, and the threat of a blister or two won’t scare her off.
By some chance of fate I manage to hook my arm in hers before anyone else snatches her up. “Ever paddle a kayak before?”
She squeaks and looks up at me in surprise, big blue eyes wide. “Uh, no, but I’ve rowed plenty of boats.”
“Close enough.” I hope, since I’ve never been in a rowboat. How different can it be? “You’ll learn. I don’t know if we’ll win, but if you come with me, I guarantee we won’t lose.”
She looks at me like I’m nuts, but nods and follows along anyway.
We put on our life vests, and I show Amanda how to hold the paddle and settle her feet in the footwell. She picks it up quickly, which is promising. Blaze and the female instructor go around checking everyone, helping them figure out what to do. We have it under control by the time they get to us, but we gratefully trade our regular shoes in for slip-on wet shoes.
They seem to be trying to make sure we’re safe, but sending ten inexperienced people out onto the ocean seems like a risky proposition at best. We’re close enough to see the other island, but it’s still quite a ways away.
I’m just attaching Amanda’s spray skirt when the pilot comes our way. “Hello again, S—Sarah.” He grins like he’s funny. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve done this before.”
“Okay, you don’t know better. And I have done this before,” I snap. Is he seriously following me around? “Are you here to push us onto the water?”
With a cocky smile, he hefts a camera in his hands. “Even better. One of the crew members isn’t feeling well, so I’ll be the camera guy for your journey across the ocean blue. You two seem like the best bet for making it across without getting too wet.” He points at Megan and a girl who looks almost as wispy as her. “Unlike those two, who I’d probably capsize with the extra weight.”
