Taking the Heat (28 page)

Guys, do you want me to talk about the off-the-record stuff? Or just the rest of my day?

(Producer
: Um … yeah, talk through everything and we'll let the editing guys decide what to use.)

Okay. Today started with a knock on my door. I opened it cautiously. Considering all the people who've appeared unexpectedly at my door, I should just leave it open permanently.

Maxine, the executive producer stood there, bob gleaming and suit pants creased into sharp lines. ‘Tara. I'd like to speak with you.'

It wasn't really a request. ‘Sure. No cameras?' I looked around, puzzled.

‘This is a private visit,' she said, pushing past me and sitting stiffly in my armchair. ‘Just a little girl talk, if you will.'

I almost laughed, but her severe stare had me biting back the giggle. ‘What's up, Maxine?'

‘I saw the footage from yesterday's video diary. You said you don't wish to enter the fantasy cabin, is that still correct?'

Cautiously, I sat on the couch opposite her, answering, ‘Yeah, that's right.'

‘Why not?'

‘Are you serious? For so many friggin' reasons!' I listed them on my fingers. ‘Because I never liked the idea, because I have seventy k already in my bank, and because I'd rather sew my vajayjay shut with a rusty needle than have sex with Dante.'

Maxine was unmoved. ‘First of all, of course you don't like the idea. That's why you're here in the first place! Our audience is enjoying your inner turmoil.'

‘Goody for them.'

‘Secondly, you have seventy thousand dollars, true. You might swing a seven to eight per cent deposit, plus fees and stamp duty, on a reasonable house in the Melbourne suburbs, enough to home you and your sister. But you'll still need to make repayments, which means you'll have to work. Ella will be left at home alone all day without a carer. She'll require rehab and treatment, which you won't be able to afford for her, and as for any kind of specialised vehicle to transport her, or additions to make your home more comfortable …' She waved her hands apologetically. ‘I would expect you'll be hard pressed to even pay electricity bills, let alone anything more sophisticated.'

Bitch has done her homework …
It was all true, of course; I'd just been ignoring the facts in my weakness.

‘And as for Dante … Tara, did it ever occur to you that every story needs a villain?'

‘Isn't that a rule for fiction? This is a reality show, sweetheart.'

She laughed in my face. ‘Oh, little girl! Do you really think we don't orchestrate most of what transpires here? Miles isn't spilling secrets off the top of his head; we've plotted and scripted everything months in advance! Dante is a necessary part of the show. He gives people someone to hate. Every kind of reality show, from modelling to dating to cooking, will always have a bad guy. Dante's antics tie the show together.'

‘Wait … you guys know what a violent, rapey, twisted SOB he is? You've know that all along?' My temper began to rise, heat streaking across my eyes.

‘Of course! I must say, that footage from your GoPro helmet of Dante carrying you off into the jungle—my god! The ratings shot through the roof!'

‘You endangered my safety!' I yelled. ‘You are putting every girl in this place at risk! Forget not going in the cabin; I'm leaving today. I quit!'

I stood, righteous and fervent. Maxine barely blinked. ‘Of course you're not going to quit. Your contract clearly states you must complete the full twenty-four days on the island or you forfeit all winnings.'

Freezing in my tracks, I glared at her, hatefully.

‘So firey, Tara. That's a prerequisite for all contestants.' She made movements to leave. ‘If I were you, I wouldn't worry about Dante. After all, you don't yet know what we have in store for him. And perhaps you should think a little more about your sister, and the man you're stupidly casting aside.'

I ignored her as she clicked past me to the door. ‘Oh, and Tara? If you haven't realised it yet, you foolish girl, the only thing our viewers like better than drama is a happy ending.'

I thought about Maxine's words long after she'd gone. She had me over a barrel on the Ella stuff; seventy thousand wasn't enough. And the cryptic hint about Dante's future was intensely intriguing.

Mostly, I pondered her comment about all contestants being hotheaded. I couldn't deny it; from Clara to Callum, Chris to Chase and everyone in between, we were all massive drama queens. We leaped to conclusions, turned on each other, stormed out, threw food, names, insults. Yes, the producers fuelled the fire, but our reactions caused most of the trouble.

I can't keep blaming everyone else. Time to own my own mistakes.

***

A few hours later, I stood on the jetty, kitted out in a pale blue wetsuit with my hair scooped up in a high pony. Surrounded by my fellow short-tempered contestants, I was ready for the last-ever challenge instructions.

‘My, my! How the time flies!' said Miles, resplendent in a lurid pink shirt. ‘Our very last challenge! I'm feeling quite emotional!' He wiped an imaginary tear away.

‘Get on with it, ya right boggin!' Callum's insult was cheered by the others, and Miles looked offended.

‘Fine, then. Welcome to the official Erotic Island Jet-ski Safari!' Miles swept his arms behind him dramatically, and we followed his gesture to see the ten shiny jet skis bobbing by the end of the jetty. In every colour of the rainbow, plus a few more, the jet skis looked sleek and swift.

I felt my heart race. I'm okay with heights, but speed is another bag altogether.

‘In teams of two, you'll be racing around the island. One of you will drive, the other will be collecting markers from the pre-set floating stations. You can see the first one to the north.'

Sure enough, a yellow blob jiggled on the water, too far away to see what it looked like. ‘Grab the four markers matching the colour of your jet ski, one from each station, and make it back to the beach by the bungalow.'

Miles' eyes widened saucily. ‘As everyone now has a key, the question may arise: ‘
What are we fighting for?
' Today, the first two competitors to hit the sand and cross the finish line will be rewarded with an envelope each, containing two names.'

‘Lame!' someone shouted.

‘Oh, sorry, you misunderstand: these aren't names of the people who
aren't
your cabin mates. One of these two names
is
your cabin mate.' Miles began to shout excitedly. ‘The winners will have a 50/50 chance of getting their guess right!'

I want that envelope!
Everything inside me screamed for victory. If I could narrow my guesses down to just two people, I thought I might just be able to convince myself to enter that damn cabin again.

‘Now, you must be licenced to drive a jet ski, so for that reason we have paired each unlicensed competitor with a qualified one. You'll need to hang on, so, as usual, touch restrictions are lifted for the duration of the game. The jet skis have your names on them; head on down to see who you'll be working with.'

Clunking along the wooden jetty, I saw Dante stop at the shiny black jet ski, his name printed on the side in silver. I prayed that my moniker wasn't on the other side.

‘Tara! Tara, over here!' Henry waved happily from the last jet ski in the line, a happy yellow contraption. My name and his flanked the sides in bright blue script.

As glad as I was to be paired with Henry, my heart sank a little as my hopes of winning seemed to dribble away; he isn't exactly Mr Competitive, and I simply couldn't imagine him having more than a basic working knowledge of a jet ski. ‘Henry! How on earth do you know how to use one of these things? Do the royals get to use them for racing along the Thames?'

Grinning, he leaped on and stuck his hand through the kill-switch safety loop. ‘Actually, I learned when I spent some time in the south of France as a teen, then bought my own to use on the lake at my family estate.' He started the engine and revved it mercilessly. ‘I believe you'll find me surprisingly skilled.'

‘Oh … good?'

My nervous expression must have given me away, because Henry laughingly reassured me, ‘I promise, I'll look after you. I really think we have a good shot at winning this thing!'

‘I hope so.' Henry held out his hand so I could step onto the runners of the jet ski. The machine dipped under my feet, causing me to squeal as I plummeted onto the seat.

With the sun-warmed leather between my thighs and my arms wrapped tightly around Henry's waist, we puttered away from the jetty and over to meet the other contestants at the starting buoys.

It took a few minutes for everyone to get sorted; some of the people with licenses were clearly out of practice, spinning in circles or bunny-hopping their way to the starting line. Henry seemed very relaxed by comparison. In fact, he was more at home on the jet ski than I think I've ever seen him since arriving on the Island.

Miles arrived on the back of a small white boat, a starter's pistol in his hand. ‘Good luck, contestants!' he yelled. ‘On your marks! Get set!
GO!
'

At the bang, Henry floored it and we streaked away.

If you've never been on a jet ski, I'll try to explain why I find them so terrifying. They're basically a motorcycle—and we all know how safe those are—but on the water. There's the horrendously loud engine, drowning out your screams as you hurtle to your doom. They're fast, hard to manoeuvre, easy to get thrown from, and most horrifying of all—they don't have brakes! Can you fathom that? A vehicle capable of going a hundred kilometres an hour and no way of stopping save allowing water resistance to slow you down.
Insane …

The only reason I wasn't freaking out like Jen on a skydive was Henry. As we barrelled across the waves, the hull of the ski jolting us as we banged along, he was smooth and in control. I swear, I even heard him cry ‘
Whoopee!
' at one stage, but with my eyes squeezed tightly shut, it was hard to tell.

After a particularly brutal slam down over a wave, spray slapped me and I looked up instinctively. We were far from shore, travelling at a break-neck pace, the crystal blue waters blurring beneath us. Peering over Henry's shoulder, the wind blasted my face, but I could see the first floating station before us.

The inflatable station was a lurid yellow, and it looked just like a kids' bouncy play castle. It swayed back and forth on the water and as we drew closer, the structure became clearer. The castle had two levels, with a ramp leading up to the top where the ten coloured markers hung. Water dribbled down the ramp, and it shone in the sun, slippery and sheer.

We weren't the first to reach the castle; Clara and Lars were already there, with Dante and Rafaela right behind.

Lars and Rafaela jumped onto the castle, bouncing up and down as they charged for the ramp. Rafaela hit it first, and she made it up halfway before losing her footing and plummeting down again. Lars only managed a few feet and the same thing happened.

There must be another way …
I studied the castle, noticing the walls were ribbed in wide bands—wide enough to get a foothold in.

Henry pulled the jet ski up to the side of the thick rubber platform and I bounded off. Instead of heading for the ramp, where there were now five competitors trying to clamber their way up, I lit out running for the back corner where the walls met.

Launching myself at the corner, my bare feet found purchase on one band, while my hands fitted easily inside the upper ones. Leap-frogging up and feeling like the world's most uncoordinated parkour star, I gripped the rail of the top level. Pulling myself over ungracefully, I grabbed the yellow tag, then threw myself off the side again.

The bouncy surface cushioned my fall. I rolled twice, then sprinted on wobbly legs back to Henry before anyone could work out what I'd done.

‘Brilliant work!' cried Henry. He hit the gas again as we zoomed away, leaving the rest in our wake.

My glee at having outwitted the ramp helped me to relax on the second leg. I didn't feel so much like screeching in fear as we whizzed along; I was actually enjoying the feeling of the sun on my head and spray on my feet.

The second station was a giant clear ball, trapped inside a ring of bumpers to prevent it from rolling out to sea. It looked a bit like the humongous beach ball from that really old Coca-Cola ad. Inside, the coloured tags hung from all over the walls.

Henry sped us up to the jetty, where an assistant helped me climb inside the sphere. The idea was to roll the ball on the water, using your body weight, until your tag was within reach. If there had been anyone else inside, it would have been a nightmare, because everyone would have been moving in their own direction.

Because it was just me, I spun the ball, falling occasionally onto my hands and knees, and the yellow marker rotated to my eye level. Snatching it, I then had to roll the ball back to the jetty so I could get out again.

Just in time …
Three other jet skis swished up just as I straddled the seat and Henry left them in our wake.

By now, we had a pretty significant lead, so it didn't seem to matter when I lost some time on the third station, where a giant waterfall whooshed down a tilted trampoline. I bounced and slid and scrambled my way to where the tags hung under the water flow, and let gravity carry me back towards the waiting jet ski.

Dante and Clara were both gaining on us. Dante was already about halfway along the trampoline as I drew close to him.

It wasn't very mature, but when I slid past Dante, I kicked a leg out and connected with his, sending him crashing to the trampoline surface. Shrieking a litany of Italian curses, he lost significant ground, allowing Clara to scoot past him, while I giggled and sloshed back to the ski.

Henry set a speed record getting us to the final platform, a giant inflatable iceberg, but I knew I had to get the last marker as quick as I could.