“Even if I don’t make the jury, I still want fifty.”
I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head. “Normally I’d have to refuse,” Judy began slowly.
“But you’re crunched for time and you need to fill a hole in the cast list,” I added helpfully.
“I…need to make a few phone calls.”
“I’ll wait.”
The phone clicked over and she put me on hold. As tinny hold music played, I gazed at my tiny apartment, thinking hard. I couldn’t believe I was even considering this. Kip was going to be on that island. I hated Kip. He was a jerk and a user, and I was the island bimbo.
Fifty grand, though.
I could turn Judy down. Go in and cover Deenie’s shift at the restaurant tomorrow and make a hundred bucks in tips, if I was lucky. Endure more customers recognizing me from the show. Ignore the second notices on my student loans that were now coming due since I’d dropped out of college.
Or I could spend six weeks in Fiji and make fifty grand.
Was fifty grand really worth it, though? I made a fool of myself last time. Wounded my pride, my ego, and my heart. My confidence, not strong after last season’s debacle, wavered. Saying no was safe. Saying no would let my life go back to normal. I could forget about stupid TV shows and jerks that used me for my vote, and the humiliation of being branded as a slut on national TV.
The phone line clicked over. “The producers say I can offer you fifty grand no matter your placement as long as you sign an agreement that you won’t mention your compensation to the other contestants.”
How could I say no to that? “When do I fly out?”
~~ *** ~~
Twenty-four hours later, I was caught up in the Endurance Island whirlwind of contestant preparations prior to filming. There were waivers to sign, contracts to look over, basic prep work, medical tests, and grooming. By the time I emerged from the offices, my hand hurt from signing and initialing documents, my arm had been stuck with half a dozen shots, my hair was blonde again (“So the audience can remember who you are!”) and I was waxed within an inch of my life. I was TV ready.
Except for one thing — my clothing.
“Don’t I get a bag of supplies at this point?” I asked the production assistant shepherding me toward a plane.
She slapped a mask into my hands. “This is for when you arrive in Fiji. Your flight is going to take you from LA to Fiji direct as an overnight. Once you get there, a production assistant will be waiting for you on the island. Your flight has been staggered with the other contestants so no one arrives at the same time. In the event that your flight is delayed, production requires that you put on your mask as you disembark the plane so you don’t catch sight of any of the other contestants.”
I stared down at the black-shaded goggles in my hand. It looked like a dive mask with the lenses filled in. They expected me to wear this through the airport? I mentally pictured myself wandering blind through the crowded airport. Yeah, fat chance. “Clothing?” I reminded her again. “No one’s even measured me for sizes. I remember that from last time.”
“Oh, that.” She waved a hand. “If you read in your contract, it said that clothing would be handled in-game.”
“What paragraph was that in?” I asked, tucking the mask into my shoulder bag. The contract had been two hundred pages long and I’d signed so many varied wavers that I felt like I was being mortgaged. I’d tried to read every page shoved in front of me, but I’d eventually been worn down and gave up, just signing as they stuck documents in front of me.
“Pretty sure it was in Section B, paragraph twenty-three,” she told me and handed me another clipboard to sign. “Good luck in the game!”
~~ *** ~~
Luckily for me, the plane arrived on time and I didn’t have to stumble through Nadi Airport blindfolded. The waiting assistant was polite, and when I got in the car, it was time to put on my blindfold. I dozed off in the back seat and woke up when the car stopped and I was ushered into a small, echoing room.
“You can take your mask off now,” the production assistant told me.
I did, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights. I was in a hotel bathroom, the decorative motif a tiki-style, complete with bamboo-edged mirror and leafy plants in the corner next to the toilet paper. I peered into the mirror, wincing at the red lines on my cheeks that the mask had left.
“You can fix your hair and make-up in here,” the assistant told me. “When you’re ready for your pre-game interviews, go through that door there.” She pointed at a door on the opposite end of the bathroom, labeled “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” with a paper sign. “They’ll notify me when your interviews are done and I’ll come and get you.”
“Okay, thanks,” I told her, and picked through the beauty supplies left on the counter. After rubbing my cheeks for a few minutes to reduce the red line left by the mask, I finger-combed my hair, not entirely used to being a blonde again. I swept my bangs over to the side of my face and pulled the rest of my hair into a knot high on my head, similar to how I’d worn it the last time I was on Endurance Island. I’d learned from my last stint that less makeup in pre-and-post interviews meant less commentary on how ‘whorey’ I looked in real life. With a little bit of eyeliner and lip gloss, I was ready.
I knocked on the door before opening it, and stepped out onto a tiny patio. More potted plants had been set up around a folding director’s chair, and in the distance, the blue waters of the ocean tumbled onto the sand in a rhythmic pattern. The two men adjusting their camera tripods gestured for me to sit in the seat of honor. I sat, clasped my hands on my knee, and waited.
“All right,” said the first man. “You know how this goes. Give us some good sound bites and we’ll get you out of here faster.”
“Got it.”
He tilted his camera and pointed at the lens. “Remember to talk to this, not me. And speak clearly,” he said as the other man came up to me and began to tie a microphone onto the neck of my t-shirt. “Give us a brief intro about you. Job, age, et-cetera.”
I smiled at the camera. “I’m Annabelle Tucker, I’m twenty-two, and I’m going to college at Texas A&M. Well, I was. Right now, I’m just waiting tables and taking a bit of a break.” My smile turned awkward. My break was so I could get over my issues from the last season of Endurance Island, and here I was again. Was I stupid? I must be. “I was previously on Endurance Island, season four.”
“What’s your strategy this time around?” He sounded completely bored, as if my strategy were the last thing he wanted to hear about at the moment.
“Well.” I tilted my head, wondering how much I wanted to lay out on the table. Then, I decided that I might as well put it all out there. Anyone that watched the show regularly would remember me (unfortunately) so there was no point in hiding facts. “Last season, I was extremely gullible and fell for a guy. I thought we had a real thing, but I didn’t realize until after I watched the show that he was using me. So I figure this time, I’m going in with a new, five point strategy.”
“And what are those five points?”
I held up my hand and ticked off the first finger. “Be less gullible. This time around, I’m not trusting anything that anyone says. If they tell me something, I’m going to assume there’s an angle.” I ticked off the next finger. “Play hard. Last time, I played hard, too, but this time, I’m going to give it a hundred and twenty percent.” I ticked off another finger. “Play for me. Last time, I played so me and my guy —” I grimaced at the thought and continued, “- could get ahead. This time, it’s just me.” Another finger. “Fight dirty. No one else plays fair, so why should I? Nothing’s off the table. Except for number five.” I wiggled my spread hand at the camera. “Number five - absolutely, positively no romance this time.”
Chapter Two
“How will I play this game differently than the last one? Well, for starters, I don’t want to be the shoulder that the hot girl cries on. I’m tired of second place — in everything.” — Jen
dan Abercrombie, Pre-Game Interviews, Endurance Island: Power Players
"Okay, everyone, take off your masks," called a production assistant. "As a reminder, no one is to talk until you get to your assigned base camps. Please wait for cues and follow all instructions. Thank you."
I pulled the mask off my face and rubbed my cheeks again, blinking at the bright sunlight. I'd been wearing the damn thing for two hours and was glad it was finally off. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light and I peered at the faces around me.
I sat on a bench in a tiny wooden boat crammed with fifteen other people - eight men and seven other women - and the pale shores of the island were coming into view. There was no cover for the boat, and it was hot under the blistering sun. Underneath my feet, a bit of water puddled around my water-shoes and the life-jacket around my neck itched. I'd dressed sensibly for the outing - a t-shirt and shorts - but I'd expected a casting change of clothing before being shuffled onto a ship with the rest of the contestants. No such luck. I was just grateful I hadn't worn high heels or something dressier in an attempt to look pretty for the other contestants. That was one bonus of being a returning contestant with zero romance on your mind, I supposed. You just didn't give a shit what you looked like.
Even though I knew I should be studying the other contestants to size them up, I couldn't help but sneak a peek at the island in the distance. The closest one was dotted with green trees, the sandy beach encircling the shore, and I could hear waves gently lapping. It looked like paradise. The sight of it bolstered me. I'd been having second thoughts about signing on for the game ever since I'd flown out here, but seeing that beach made me think things wouldn't be so bad. If I got voted out first, I'd have a two-month island vacation, right? There were worse things than that.
And fifty grand, I reminded myself, thinking of the contract I'd signed with glee. Even if I was voted out first, I'd still get that fifty grand. That helped things a lot.
As I rubbed my eyes and adjusted to the sunlight, a shoe nudged mine from across the seats. I blinked and looked over in the boat…and stifled a groan. I recognized that killer tan, the messy black curls, and rakish smile. Kip.
He winked at me and mouthed a greeting. "Hey, sweet thing."
I rolled my eyes. Thank God I wasn't going to be on his team. I'd had enough of that shithead last time. If he thought we were going to team up this time, he was sorely mistaken. I ignored his attempts to reconnect and gazed at the others in the gently rocking boat.
Most of them looked familiar in that "I've seen you somewhere" sort of vibe, but I couldn't picture where. That was what I got for not keeping up with current reality TV, I supposed. Last season had soured me on future shows. There was a tall, dark haired guy seated next to me and I glanced over at him reflexively.
He smiled.
I smiled back, and then flinched. Oh shit. Was that going to be read by the cameras as flirting the moment we were heading toward the island? I panicked, my gaze skittering back to the cameraman filming at the prow of the boat. Sure enough, he'd panned in my direction. Hell. Was I going to have to avoid every single guy on the island in order to ensure that I wasn't painted as the Island Whore again?
I supposed I could go for an all-girl alliance, maybe. I'd need allies. That was rule one of Endurance Island: team up and take out the competition. At least until you got to the end. Then it was every man - or woman - for themselves.
Still, I was skittish after my heinous editing from last time. I'd have to play it careful. I raised a hand to my eyes to shield them from the sun and skimmed the rest of the group, carefully keeping my gaze off of Hunky McHunkerton.
There were three people from my season that I could tell. Other than Kip and myself, I recognized Leslie and Emilio further down on the boat. They were seated next to each other, and to me, that was a bad sign. Leslie and Emilio had started out on the same team last time and had more or less bullied the others and ran the show. They'd been picked off at the merge, but to see them together again meant that they were probably going to try and pull the same sort of tactic. It was bad news for anyone against them.
But it was good news for me. I could always team up with them, I supposed. Emilio was gay and Leslie already had a husband, so it wasn't like they'd be seen as potential romances for me. I filed that in the back of my mind. Near them, a guy and a girl sat, holding hands, their fingers interlocked. The girl had a short, Miley Cyrus-esque buzz cut for her brown hair, and the blond guy she was holding hands with seemed super confident. They looked familiar, too, but the way they were gazing avidly at the island, I guessed they were from a different reality TV show. Next to the guy at my side, there was a gorgeous redhead that I did recognize, but from gossip magazines. Sunnie someone or other, a woman who was famous simply for being famous. There was one of those on every TV channel lately, but I remembered Sunnie had been on a season of House Guests recently. That meant that the others seated near her were probably from the same show, if they'd pulled four from my season. I wondered at the others. Were they from similar shows or something else? There were two athletic girls dressed in matching jogging suits that I probably should have recognized.
Not for the first time, I wondered where our clothing was. In every other season of Endurance Island, each person was assigned a color - I’d been yellow - and your name was plastered across your chest and back so the audience would have an easy time remembering who you were. Now we were heading to the island, and there was still no bag of gear. Maybe it’d be part of the first challenge, and I grimaced at the thought of having to fight for my own clothing.
Then again, they did say that this season would be a tough one. I was starting to wonder what I’d gotten myself into.
Then I looked over at Kip’s smug face and decided that the opportunity to knock him down a peg would be worth it. After all, my reputation couldn’t get any worse if I added ‘villain’ to my resume, could it?
The boat bobbed its way to the shore, eerily silent. It felt like we were waiting for something, but what? I gazed at the other contestants. They wore the same tense, anticipatory look that indicated we were all waiting for some big reveal.
Then, a motorboat started.
I jumped; someone across from me did, too. We’d been so on edge that the sound had caught us off guard. It wasn’t our boat, either; the sound of the motor came from the distance. And even though we weren’t supposed to speak, someone near me snorted with derision.
Ah yes, I knew who this drama llama was.
A fancy red speedboat came into view, a solitary man in khaki at the helm. Even though it was a windy day, his perfectly hairspray-shellacked brown hair didn’t move an inch. From a distance, I could see his pearly white smile gleaming against his tan.
Chip Brubaker, the host of Endurance Island.
He pulled the speedboat up alongside our wooden boat in a dramatic fashion, and the cameras turned to him. Every season, Chip had a big entrance. Endurance Island had made him an even bigger star than any contestant, and he milked it for all it was worth.
Chip pulled his boat alongside ours, and I saw people lean forward, waiting for the go.
“MAKEUP,” Chip yelled, waving an arm frantically. “Where’s makeup? We need to reshoot my entrance. My hair’s a fucking disaster.”
Cameramen sprang into action. I blinked as cameras went down and someone pulled out a radio. “We need makeup for Chip,” a man murmured into his walkie-talkie and then clicked it off.
Sure enough, another speedboat started in the distance and pulled up alongside Chip’s as a woman climbed on board. She began to dab Chip’s face with powder and then combed his stiff locks.
Next to me, the sexy guy crossed his arms, his entire pose screaming you’ve got to be kidding me. I felt the same way. Here we were, baking in the sun and thirsty, and Chip wanted his helmet of hair fixed. But we were stuck. I knew from my experience last season that everything waited on Chip, and Chip knew it.
Eventually, Chip’s hair was refre
shed, and he sped away, only to drive up again a minute later so the camera-crew could film it anew. This time, he gave the camera a beaming smile, ignoring us.
“On this season’s Endurance Island, our players are returning for a second chance to show their stuff in the most wild, most difficult season we’ve put together. In a game full of twists and turns, this year will be even more outrageous and more challenging than ever before. Competing for the million dollar prize and a chance to call themselves the winner are sixteen former contestants from a variety of shows. From winners to losers, sex kittens —”
I cringed at that.
“—to good ol’ boys, everyone coming to the island has one mission - beat everyone else. They’ll be here for six weeks, through rain and sun, living on the beaches and foraging for food and shelter between competitions. They’ll have to keep on their toes if they want to keep one step ahead of the other contestants, because this year’s Endurance Island is full of twists…and we’re starting with two big ones.” Chip raised two big fingers into the air, gesturing for the camera.
Across from me, the girl with the Miley Cyrus hair fidgeted so hard she was about to shake the boat. The guy at her side squeezed her hand again and she calmed a little. I knew how she felt. If my hair wasn’t tucked into a bun atop my head, I’d be chewing on the ends nervously. As it was, my fingers twitched with the need to grab my hair as an outlet. What were the two big twists? Now I was leaning forward, because I didn’t want to miss a word.
No one breathed. No one talked. Everyone was on edge, waiting.
The dramatic pause continued. Chip gazed at us, and then nodded to the cameras. “Let’s go to the beach for this next shot, I think. It’ll be better for the show.”
“Sounds good,” one of the cameramen said, and somewhere on our boat, a motor started. We headed to shore, puttering along over the choppy waves. I swallowed the annoyed groan in my throat. This was all part of the show. Chip knew how to keep an audience hanging, damn the man. Even if the audience was us.
Body Games (A Games Novel) Page 2
