10. Marc
Marc
“I t’s called bubur ketan hitam,” Havana said as he set a bowl in front of each of them. “A traditional Indonesian porridge made from black glutinous rice, coconut milk, and palm sugar. I do apologise for the buckets—if it’s any consolation, the regular bathrooms here are somewhat primitive.”
Marc might have been an A-list actor, but his shit still stank like everyone else’s. “It really isn’t a consolation.”
“Can we at least wash our hands?” Serena asked.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Maybe a packet of wet wipes?”
Havana gasped. “Wet wipes? Those things are a scourge on society. Even the type that claims to be flushable sheds microfibres that don’t biodegrade.”
“Uh, right. Okay. I didn’t know that.”
“Misleading ads have a lot to answer for. We’ll find you some soap and water.”
“Thank you.”
They were someplace remote. As light began twinkling through the cracks in the wooden walls at sunrise, birdsong had drifted in too, and Marc thought he could hear waves in the distance. Every so often, a low hum sounded, probably a generator, but that was the only hint of civilisation.
“Any news on Malati?” he asked. “Has the government agreed not to build there?”
“We need you to make another video.”
“So they haven’t capitulated yet?”
Havana shifted from foot to foot, a little awkwardly it seemed. “We’re not sure.”
Huh? “How can you not be sure? Either they have or they haven’t.”
“We asked them to send a message when they were ready to negotiate, but we miscalculated the power of the internet.”
“Nobody saw the hostage video?”
“Everyone saw it. And please, ‘hostage’ is such a negative word.”
“Then what would you call this?” Marc motioned to himself and Serena.
“Forced hospitality?”
“If it was hospitality, we’d have access to a shower.”
“There’s only one shower, and it’s open-air. A logistical challenge.”
“Perhaps we could get some body spray?” Serena suggested, and Havana gave her a withering look. “Aerosols are also a scourge?” she asked.
“Exactly. But I’ll see what we have in the way of deodorant.”
“I need a hairbrush too, especially if you want me to be on camera again.”
Lavalier mics and good lighting would have been useful as well. “What’s the plan for the next video?”
“We asked the authorities to message us to open a dialogue, but the entire world got in touch. Reporters, fans, fellow environmentalists… We’ve received hundreds of thousands of messages, and they’re still coming.
There might be a communication from the government in there, but if there is, we haven’t found it yet. ”
Marc’s lips twitched, and he fought to maintain a neutral expression. Serena wasn’t quite so successful. She began giggling, and the more annoyed Havana got, the harder she laughed.
“This isn’t funny,” he snapped.
“Oh, but it is. You wanted to harness the power of millions of angry women, and you never considered they might turn on you?”
“Well, you’ll have to work out how to redirect them.”
“The way to do that is by letting us go,” Marc pointed out.
“Come up with a better option.”
“You kidnapped us, and now you want us to become brand ambassadors?”
The blonde skipped in. “We’ll give you free T-shirts and send you home faster.”
He gave her a look he’d practised in the mirror many times. Condescension.
“I could throw in a pineapple?” she offered.
Marc closed his eyes. Was this a nightmare? If he took a few deep breaths and forced his subconscious to quiet, would he wake up and find himself back in California?
No.
Fuck.
“Look, you somehow got lucky and managed to abduct us—congratulations. But if you want to save your tarpons, you need to get your act together with the rest of the process.” Was this what his life had come to? Giving pep talks to criminals? “Make a proper plan instead of improvising. Think ahead.”
“It’s a tarsier . One of the world’s smallest primates. A tarpon is a kind of fish.”
“Whatever.”
The blonde got out her phone, tapped the screen, and held it up. “See?”
It was a strange little thing with bulging ET eyes, long fingers, a velvety body, and ears like Yoda. Serena crowded in to see.
“Aw, it’s so cute.”
“And in danger of being wiped out. Their habitats are being destroyed, light and noise pollution have ruined their sleep patterns, and they’re being snatched from the wild so tourists can pose with them for money.”
“Maybe you could make a video with those critters?” Serena suggested. “We could do a voiceover. Animal videos always do well on social media.”
“By drawing attention to the tarsiers, we run the risk of more tourists wanting to take a selfie with one,” Havana pointed out.
“Then we have to explain why that’s a lousy idea. I don’t think most people would deliberately want to hurt endangered animals; they just don’t realise that their actions cause harm.”
“We have a goal in common,” Marc added. “We all want this to be over. Let us help so we can go home.”
His publicist was sitting on a book deal—two publishers were slugging it out over the rights to his autobiography.
Neither of them would win, because he wasn’t going to write it, but until now, he’d always thought his life was too dull for folks to care about.
His carefully curated social media, full of promo shots and lies, gave the illusion that he was vaguely interesting, but in truth, he was more likely to fall asleep reading a novel than fall out of a nightclub.
He’d never kiss and tell on his womanising phase, and his years in Nebraska were out of bounds. What else was there?
Well, now there was the world’s most ridiculous abduction.
But he still wouldn’t be selling the story.