by S. E. Law
There’s a vibrating noise and at first, I try to ignore it. But it’s impossible and annoyed, I jerk my head up. What the hell?
Still sleeping, Tom doesn’t feel me get out of bed. I survey the room and my eyes alight upon the pile of clothes on a chair. Sure enough, the sound is coming from Tom’s shorts pocket. Heart hammering, I feel myself go pale. I already sense what I’m going to find. Has he been lying to me all along?
Sure enough, I stick my hand into the pocket and pull out a cell phone. What the hell? He said there were no phones on the island! But as I stare, it vibrates again in my hand once more, and a message appears.
“Tom, this is a mistake. I can’t just let you ruin your career. You know that girl is going to make a media circus out of you.”
“Tom, seriously, get off the island and CALL ME.”
“Tom, as your agent and friend, listen to me. COME BACK TO LA.”
Staring down at the little green messages, I look over at the man sleeping in bed. For the first time since arriving, I feel afraid. I can’t go back to bed because he’s a stranger. Not only that, but he’s been feeding me full of lies! If he really lives in Los Angeles, then what else is true?
I walk out into the living room and look around. There are no pictures of him with friends or family, and in fact, no personal items at all.
“I’m so stupid,” I say out loud to myself.
Quietly, I open the front door of the guest house, tiptoeing out into the moonlight. It takes everything I have not to cry and run hysterically off towards the water. After all, where am I going to go? I’m on an island somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean. How would I even make an escape?
I look up at the large main house, sitting in the shadows above me. It looks huge and forbidding at this time of night, but I grit my teeth. Maybe it holds answers.
Slowly, I walk up the path to the mansion. Fortunately, it’s illuminated by solar lanterns, so I don’t trip and fall. I get to a sliding glass door and pull it experimentally, expecting it to be locked. Instead, it opens soundlessly and walking inside, I flip a wall switch, throwing the space into light.
Looking around, I gasp. This is where all his pictures and personal items are. Photos of Tom and his friends and family are everywhere. There are images of him deep sea fishing, playing golf and flying a plane. There’s a military graduation photo and a picture of him with a beautiful dark-haired woman, their arms around one another. By a large glass case are awards and movie posters. I move in for a closer look.
Tom Masters is: Agent One.
Academy Award Winning Actor Tom Masters in War Eagle Down.
This Is It! Tom Masters in the role of a lifetime.
I stare, dumbstruck. The man I just slept with is evidently a movie star, and as I stare at the posters, dread fills my heart. Why didn’t he tell me? Suddenly, there’s a sound from behind.
“Brynn,” says a low voice.
I don’t turn around. I can’t.
“So you’re just a guy who takes care of the island, huh?” I say, my voice shaking.
He’s quiet for a second.
“I do take care of the island. I never lied about that. I just happen to own the island as well.”
Anger shoots through me.
“Are you serious?” I snap, my voice rising. “Do you really think that’s an adequate explanation?”
I turn then, and he’s standing in his boxers, looking disheveled and beautiful and dejected.
“I know, you’re right.”
My hands go on my hips as I shoot him an accusatory look.
“Who are you, Tom? Seriously?”
He sighs.
“My name is Tom Masters. I’m an actor.”
My brain is whirling and I stumble to a chair and sit. I don’t know what to say, I don’t even know where to start.
“But why lie? What’s the point of that?” I ask finally. “I was going to find out sooner or later.”
He handsome man shrugs and looks uncomfortable.
“Because this way, you know me for who I really am. I’m not Tom Masters to you, I’m just Tom.”
That gets me really angry.
“I have no idea who are you are! You lied to me from the very beginning. All the things we talked about…said to each other…was it all fake?”
Tom takes a step forward, as tears begin to course down my face. I hate myself for crying, but I can’t stop. I flinch away from him and he halts, his expression torn. My heart breaks a little more because this is a huge mess.
"No, everything I told you was the truth. I just left out who I was,” he tries again.
“Which is the most important part! Don’t you get that?” I’m yelling now. “I’m stuck here with someone I thought I could trust. Now though, I realize that I know nothing about you. I’m such an idiot!”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes I am. God, I can’t believe I was falling for you. I’m so stupid!”
He looks up at me, startled.
“You were?”
I nod, crying so hard now that my shoulders are shaking. Tom says nothing. He just stares at me, his blue eyes anguished. A little part of me ridiculously wanted him to tell me he’s falling for me too, but instead he just stands there looking at a loss.
“I want to leave. Now,” I say, not making eye contact.
He nods and pulls out his cell phone. God, that stupid phone.
“John,” he says into it, after speed dialing a number. “Where are you guys?”
Tom is silent while the man on the side of the phone talks.
“Can you be here tonight? Alright, well whenever you can.”
He hangs up and looks at his feet.
“They can be here tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going to stay here until then,” I tell him, looking at the wall. “At the main house.”
“Brynn…”
“No,” I interrupt. “Please just go away.”
“Brynn,” he tries again. “I want you to understand.”
But I continue staring at the wall, and refuse to acknowledge him. Sighing, he turns and walks out of the door.
“Fuck!” I scream once he’s out of earshot. Then, unable to help myself, I break down into hysterical sobs. It’s ugly but it helps me feel better. I cry for a long time and manage to fall asleep for just a couple hours before the sun shows itself through the windows.
A ship arrives as the beach becomes pink with morning. A beautiful and luxurious yacht glides next to the small getty, and after a long night of little sleep, I stumble down to the dock.
“Quite a supply ship you have here,” I say venomously to myself.
The man looks confused.
“We don’t do supplies. This is Mr. Masters’ personal yacht. Now Miss, are you Brynn? We have instructions to bring you wherever you’d like.”
Tom isn’t here, but at least he thought to instruct his crew. I sit down, still a bit pissed, and tell the captain to please take me back to the main island. He and the crew seem undisturbed by my presence and carry on as always.
The trip to the main island is quick, and watching the waves, I feel more depressed than I ever have in my life. I watch as St. Brigid grows smaller and smaller in the horizon and swallow a lump in my throat. Don’t feel this way, the voice in my head says. You’re better off not knowing him. Still, I miss Tom, even as I try to clamp down on the emotion.
There’s a small crowd of people waiting for us at the dock. Simona is in the front, tears streaming down her face, and I feel so guilty because she looks pale and tired.
“I thought you died,” she wails, throwing her arms around me. “Everyone on the cruise ship was looking for you for twenty-four hours! Imagine how we felt when we heard you were safe!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding her tightly. “I’m alright, I’m fine.”
She hiccups and pulls me close, her thin arms like steel bands around me. The rest of the day is a blur. I’m escorted to the embassy to make sure
everyone knows I’m alright. I have a soul crushing phone call with my parents who alternately cry and blubber with relief. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted and tired. I collapse on a makeshift bed they’ve given me, and close my eyes but even now, the only thing I can think about is Tom. His blue eyes laughing down into mine, his touch driving me crazy, and the comforting feeling that I was home when I was with him. He broke my heart, but then again, it was me who was too trusting. So why do I feel so horrible leaving the way I did?
6
Brynn
* * *
One month later.
There’s a knock on my door, which startles me. I wearily drag myself off the couch and trudge to answer it. I never realized how tired depression can make a person because my legs feel like they’re made of concrete, even as a five-hundred-pound gorilla sits on my shoulders. Opening the door, I lean against it as Simona holds up a pizza, a worried expression on her face.
“Hey girlfriend. You look bad. Have you been eating?”
“Yes,” I say shortly, standing back to let her in.
“Sure you are,” she responds, waltzing in. Her brown eyes scan my apartment.
“You bought a TV,” she asks incredulously.
I shrug. “So what?”
“You hate TV, Brynn. You’re so anti-technology that you wouldn’t even watch the TV at my place. But what do you have on?”
She walks over to my couch, pushing my pillow and blanket out of the way, and grabs my remote before pushing the green “Info” button.
“Friends and Lovers. Interesting. I had no idea you were into stuff like this.”
I sigh and sit down heavily next to her, staring at the screen blindly. Tom’s face is frozen where I paused it, mid-romantic declaration. He’s as gorgeous as always, his blue eyes intense as he stares into the adoring face of the female lead.
“This movie is pretty good,” Simona says, putting the pizza box down on the coffee table. “I don’t like the guy in it though. He’s not really believable. I mean, how many people ever meet someone who looks like that?”
Her statement is spot on yet so wrong in so many ways that she doesn’t even know. I start to cry.
“Aw honey,” Simona says. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?” She pulls me into a hug. “Are you going to ever tell me what happened? You’ve just been so different ever since you were rescued at sea. Is it nightmares?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I lie, my cries muffled. “I was stuck on an island for two days, and then the ship picked me up and brought me back.”
Simona doesn’t buy it. Her dark brows shoot up in disbelief.
“Brynn, come on. How long have we been friends? I know something went down, and you’re bottling it up. What happened?”
I shake my head, sniffling.
“Nothing. I told you. I would have told the authorities if something crazy happened.”
She looks at me for a minute before sighing.
“Alright, fine. Come on, let’s eat some pizza.”
We sit, talk and cry a bit more, and I feel a little better. Simona is a good friend, and she regales me with funny stories about her most recent dates. Still, I miss Tom desperately. It seems he’s always in the back of my mind, no matter what I do. Thank god I don’t have to work at the moment because I’d be totally unproductive. As a freelance photographer, I can set my own schedule, and so I’ve been at home this entire time, just wallowing.
When Simona leaves several hours later, we come up with a plan to meet up the next day for drinks. It’s time I get back to my life back on track. At the very least, I need to look over my archive of photos. I have some stuff that I was going to pull together for a book, but that’s been far from my mind these last few weeks. It’s time to make it happen.
But after I shut the front door, I take one step back into the living room when my stomach lurches and there’s the acid taste of throw up in my throat.
“Oh god,” I gasp and stumble into the bathroom.
Right in time because I promptly lose the pizza and ice cream I just ate into the toilet. What could make me feel so horrible? It shouldn’t be the pizza because I’ve been eating pizza since I’m a kid. Nor am I lactose intolerant, so it shouldn’t be the ice cream either. Yet my stomach feels like there’s a rock sitting in it. Wiping my nose with toilet paper, I glance in the mirror. My eyes are glazed and my face is pale.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask out loud.
Could I have the flu? I take my temperature but it’s normal. But when I’m placing the thermometer back in the drawer, I see several unused tampons. My stomach, already queasy, drops into the soles of my feet. Oh shit. I run out into the living room and grab my cell, opening up my calendar before scanning the empty days. I missed my period this month.
“Oh fuck!”
When I was with Tom, we made love several times and now that I think back, we didn’t use protection once or twice. It just happened, and I think he tried to tell me, but I cut him off because I wanted it so much.
“Fuck,” I whisper again, collapsing onto the couch.
I think about Tom, with his beautiful eyes and smile. I think about the way he held me, his strong arms clasping me close. How he had a six pack, and how intense his gaze was in the darkness of the room. I should be terrified but for some unexplainable reason, happiness blooms in my heart because I want this baby. As crazy as it sounds, the child is a memory of the island St. Brigid, one that still fills my heart with hope, even now.
I know in this very moment that I have to find Tom and tell him. I don’t care if he’s a famous actor from LA. I don’t care that I was a castaway, or that we weren’t upfront with each other. All I know is that I have to tell him that we’re having a baby together, and that I want this child.
7
Tom
One month later.
“Tom, focus, my man, focus!”
I look up from my steaming coffee into Randy’s irritated face. Oh shit, was I distracted again? Nonetheless, I glare at my agent, not caring that he’s been talking at me for the last half hour. My mind is totally on Brynn, the way it has been since she sailed away a month ago.
“You’re thinking about that chick again, aren’t you?” Randy sighs.
“That chick has a name and it’s your fault I lost her in the first place,” I growl.
“My fault? I don’t think so, pal. I’m not the one who was masquerading as a janitor.”
I roll my eyes.
“For your information, I was the caretaker. And I wasn’t masquerading, I just didn’t tell her everything.”
He shakes his head with disbelief.
“Yeah, and this is my fault. Okay.”
“Alright, alright I know,” I sigh, clunking my head down on the table in the diner. “You don’t understand Randy. She’s special.”
My agent snorts.
“No my friend, she’s not. She’s just another woman who’s taking advantage of you to get ahead. I thought you learned your lesson.”
I stare at him with disbelief.
“No, that’s not true. Brynn’s not like that at all. She chose to be with me without knowing who I was. She’s doesn’t even own a TV. She didn’t know and didn’t care I was Tom Masters, movie star extraordinaire.”
Randy rolls his eyes at my apparent naïveté, taking a sip from his own coffee and grimacing.
“You’ll see. Maybe this Brynn girl hasn’t tried to use you yet, but she will. Count on it. You’re like a meaty bone to hungry dogs. Why are we here again, by the way?”
The small diner is a staple in the East end of the valley. It’s a long drive from my house in LA, but I forced Randy to come with me this morning in order to gather my thoughts. I am paying him, after all.
“Because I used to live here. I eat breakfast here every Sunday and have for the past twenty years, ever since I moved to California,” I say. It’s the third time Randy is asking since we pulled into the parking lot. He’s not even looking a
t me but rather scrolling through his phone.
“What’s this bitch’s name again?” he says.
I shoot up from the table putting my finger in his face, my temper rising.
“You do not call her that.”
His eyes widen and he holds up his hands, “Jeez fine, sorry. Calm down, my man. Don’t have a shit fit.”
I sit back down.
“Her name is Brynn. Seriously, I’m going to find this girl. I’ve been thinking about her non-stop. She’s the one.”
My agent merely rolls his eyes again, his hair greasy from too much gel.
“Fuck me. Don’t start, Tom. You don’t even know her last name! How crazy is that? Anyways, you can’t marry her because of the damage to your career. Can you imagine what the media is going to say? Tom Masters marries his kidnapping victim. Or more accurately, Tom Masters marries huge fake and loses everything in the ensuing divorce. I bet you anything that her story is all made up anyways. She didn’t follow a pod of dolphins and miraculously end up at your island, unharmed. What kind of bullshit is that? I bet she had her friend drop her off a hundred feet from shore, and then she swam to St. Brigid and fake-drowned until you got there.”
I bite my tongue, struggling to hold my temper. Fortunately, the waitress wanders over at that moment, asking if we need anything else. I look up at her, trying to breathe evenly. She’s young and pretty, petite with big blue eyes and blonde hair. Probably an actress/singer trying to make her way into the business. She’s attractive, but I don’t care because but she’s not Brynn. I tell her we’re fine and she winks at me, sashaying back behind the counter.
“By the way, is this her?” Randy asks, totally oblivious to the waitress.
He holds up his phone and suddenly, I’m staring at Brynn’s beautiful smile. The curvy girl is dressed in a khaki shirt and shorts and holding a koala, who’s nibbling on her ear. She’s laughing, her brown eyes sparkling and there’s a camera hanging around her neck.
