Chapter 2
‘You!’ I hissed, stomping over to where he leaned against the wall. ‘Mr “I’m-so-superior-to-anyone-auditioning-for-that-show!” You are such a hypocrite!’
With his wide mouth, he smiled at me. ‘Congratulations on making it through.’
‘Oh, go to hell,’ I spat back. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’
‘I’m auditioning, same as you.’ He gazed around the auditorium casually and I felt my irritation growing.
‘Were you always going to try out? Was it your plan to make me feel bad so you’d have one less person to compete against?’ I was sure I was right. Why else would he be there?
He turned his aqua eyes on me and I read hurt inside their cool depths. It dissipated as he said, ‘I never gave you my name. I’m—’
‘Don’t bother,’ I said. ‘I’ve already christened you Douche-face.’
‘Creative.’
‘Thanks.’
We stared at each other for a minute and I wished things were different. It would have been so much less complicated if I hadn’t been auditioning for the show. We could have drunk our tea and coffee, chatted, arranged another date. In a few nights, I could have been fluttering around, trying on the perfect outfit, choosing to wear my nice underwear, just in case …
Instead, I stood there, conflicted by feelings of indignation and lust and something more confusing. Connection? I wanted to kiss him as much as I wanted to slap him.
Before I could do either, a production manager got up on the stage. ‘Hey gang! Can I get you all to come and sit, please?’
Rolling my eyes at Douche-face, I stalked off to the other end of the seating, as far away from him as I could get.
In his nasal American accent, the manager went on. ‘Okay, so I’m Matt, and you guys are the final twenty contenders for the entire city of Melbourne!’ I smiled at his pronunciation— MelBOORN.
A raucous cheer went up, and Matt waved down the noise. ‘Now, now, don’t get too excited. We’re only looking for two people from Australia and we’re auditioning in Sydney as well. Erotic Island will be made up of ten different nationalities, and held on a private island at an undisclosed location, and with a guaranteed million dollars for each contestant, we’re being pretty picky about who we cast.’
I looked around at the other people in the room. To be fair, we were all young and good-looking. The girls flicked heads of shiny hair around, while I’d have been happy to take any of the guys to second base without a second thought.
So I knew the final selection wasn’t going to be based on looks: it would come down to who would make for more interesting TV. Smoothing my straight hair down in a calming fashion, I steeled myself. I’ll give you interesting …
Matt consulted his iPad. ‘We’re asking each of you to jump up on stage and tell us why you think you’ll make a great addition to Erotic Island . You’ll be filmed, so bring your A-game.’
He twirled his fingers at the camera guy at the back of the seating. ‘Let’s start with Kylie Merton.’
A giggling girl with dark blonde hair scampered up onto the stage, and became the first person of eighteen people to say almost exactly the same thing.
‘So, I really want to go on Erotic Island because I’m fun and sexy and this is such an exciting show and I’m totally looking for love and I’m up for anything!’
The repetition was painful. No one mentioned the obvious—the gigantic cash prize. Do they really think anyone will believe they’re here for the experience? When Matt finally called my name, I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say, but I knew it would be different from the rest of them.
‘I’m Tara. I’m not here for love and I’m not up for anything—in fact, I didn’t even find out sex was involved until after my friend signed me up for this thing.’ I aimed that last comment in the direction of my least favourite barista. ‘I can’t say I’m looking forward to having sex with a stranger on TV for cash, but I’ll do it. I don’t have a choice.’
I took a ragged breath and tried to ignore the piercing stare from Douche-Bob Coffee-Face sitting in the back. ‘I’m here for my sister. She got into an accident last year. She went out with her friends and the designated driver had one too many drinks. It was wet and he misjudged the corner. Ella … she survived. But she’s a paraplegic now.’
To my horror, I felt my throat growing thick with the emotion, and tears I had no intention of letting fall flooded my eyes. ‘Ella is stuck in a government-funded rehab facility in rural Victoria. She’s only got three months left before they kick her out, and she’s got nowhere to go. Our parents can’t look after her—they’re retired, but they live in a caravan and they only make enough from the pension just to make it through the week. So I’ve been saving as hard as I can to buy a house where we can both live, but even if I manage it, I’d have to quit work to care for her.’
The tears spilled, despite my best efforts. I felt their hot tracks trail down my chin, which I lifted, and I said, ‘So, that’s why I’d make a great addition to your show. I don’t want to be here, but I’ll do it for her. Thank you.’
When I was finished, no one clapped, the way they had after the other contestants. Screw you guys. I walked back to my seat, indignant at the silent room. Jutting my chin, I sat and stared straight forward at Matt as he reclaimed the stage.
‘Jesus …’ I heard him mutter. He typed something on his tablet, then said, ‘Okay, lucky last, Christopher Carson.’
The alliteration rolled off his tongue, as I realised I’d just learned the name of my nemesis. Like a lithe panther, Douche-face leaped up onto the stage.
‘I’ll be quick,’ he said, eyes zeroed in on me. ‘I’m here for one reason. To win. And I’ll fight, kick, yell, punch, screw or do anything I have to, in order to walk away with the prize I’m here for.’
I rolled my eyes at his bravado. If only he wasn’t so infinitely do-able. He could have his million bucks. I just wanted mine.
Matt jumped back up again. ‘Thanks everyone! That’s it for today. After the Sydney auditions next week, we’ll give the successful candidates a call. The rest of you will get a form email. But thanks for coming in, and make sure you tune in to watch Erotic Island!’
I snatched up my bag and practically ran for the lobby. Serena was waiting for me. ‘Oh my God! I can’t believe you made it all the way to the final round! You go, girl! Amazing!’
‘Thanks. Let’s get out of here.’
Serena’s eyes narrowed. ‘Wait … is that the guy from the coffee shop?’
Chris passed behind us. I could feel him on my skin, the way you can feel heat from a bonfire. Ignoring my traitorous body’s reaction to his presence, I said, ‘Yup.’
‘He’s pretty freaking hot.’ Serena watched his denim-clad butt disappear through the door. ‘He was just about removing your clothing with his eyes right now. Wow—do you think he’ll be on the show? Oh my god, how hot would that be? You and coffee-dude!’
I shivered at the thought, a vivid flash of Chris’s mouth on mine, his hands in my hair. Shaking my head, I replied, ‘Never going to happen. Not even for a million dollars.’
***
A week later, I was pulling extra hours at the hotel where I work night shift. My feet sore, I leaned heavily on the high counter at the reception desk. Luckily it had been quiet, so when my phone rang in my bag I answered it immediately.
Normally, Ella and Serena are the only people who call me after 6pm, so when I saw the unknown number on my screen, I frowned.
‘Hello,’ I answered, speaking softly so my voice wouldn’t echo around the deserted lobby.
‘Is that Tara?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, cautiously. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Tara, this is Maxine. I’m the executive producer for Erotic Island . Is now a suitable time to talk?’
‘Sure!’ My voice was just a little high, hardly betraying my drumming pulse at all.
All week, I’d been convincing myself that they wouldn’t call. I’d checked my inbox every five minutes for the first three days, and once an hour after that, waiting for the rejection email that never arrived. They’re busy, they’ve found people they like better, they want more Kylies. Honestly, I didn’t for a second think that the phone would ring.
Maxine spoke in a clipped, British accent. ‘I shan’t beat around the bush. We loved your audition footage and we’d like to offer you a place on Erotic Island .’
Lucky no one was nearby, because my legs gave out and I sank to the cold foyer tiles. ‘Oh my god. Oh god! Really? Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ came the neutral reply. ‘I’m aware it’s quite late in Melbourne, but check your inbox as soon as you can. You’ll find an email from us, with flight details and non-disclosure agreements. Return them swiftly. You’re booked on a flight to LA to film pre-interviews next week.’
‘Next week?’ Now my voice was practically a screech.
‘Put your affairs in order, Miss Tara. You’re about to start a new adventure.’
***
Of course, I immediately called Serena, who screamed so loud I could hear our neighbours yelling at her. Sadly, there wasn’t anyone else to tell. My parents are, well, old-fashioned. They wouldn’t understand what I’m doing here, and they’re not exactly the target viewing audience since the caravan doesn’t even have a TV, so I don’t worry about them finding out.
As for my gorgeous sister, I called Ella the day before I left. ‘Hey, girl!’ she answered, as bright as ever. Her spirit is stronger than any disability. ‘When are you coming up to see me again?’
My eyes prickled. Without a car, it was impossible for me to get to Ella unless my parents were travelling up. ‘Ella, I’m so sorry. I just found out about this trip I’ve won, and I’m heading out tomorrow.’
‘What? You won a trip! That’s amazing!’
My deception cut through me, but I couldn’t let on. ‘Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I’m flying to this island and I’ll be off the grid for about a month. It’s pretty remote.’
‘Like a health spa? That sounds like heaven! Will you bring me back something?’
‘Yes,’ I promised. ‘Yes, I will.’
***
A few days later, I landed in LA for pre-production, which was all a bit of a blur. I didn’t have time for sightseeing—I spent most of my time sequestered in my hotel room so I couldn’t run into any of the other contestants. Production runners came and went, escorting me to interview rooms, bringing me food and relaying schedule changes.
The interviews were incredibly long and detailed:
‘Tell us about your first kiss.’
‘If you could sleep with any celebrity, who would it be?’
‘How is your sister doing?’
I did my best to answer everything, straightforward and unemotional. But whenever someone asked me about Ella, I could feel my reactions grow unstable and hot heavy tears always seemed to lurk close to the surface.
I wasn’t allowed any access to TV, magazines or internet, but I could take an occasional phone call, with an assistant in the room to chaperone. I checked in with my parents and Ella for the final time last night, just before I was stuffed on a chartered plane and flown here.
‘Here’ is an island off the coast of Fiji, and the only reason I know that much is because I recognised the airport code, NAN, on my luggage. We landed on the airstrip in the wee hours of the morning, where I was hustled from the plane to a helicopter. A forty-minute noisy transfer later, and I was here.
The chopper slowed and I looked out, bleary-eyed, into the dawn. Beyond the cockpit, I could see a red sun rising over a postcard-perfect dot of green. As we grew closer, the splodge morphed into a tiny isle, set against brilliant blue waters.
The pilot banked and circled around. Nestled in the lush rainforest, luxurious cabins and buildings with thatched roofs caught the early sun, and as we landed on the white beach, a flock of multicoloured birds took flight. It’s a pure paradise—the kind of place people dream of visiting.
As I stepped out onto the soft sand, the blades of the chopper drowning out every other sound, I held a hand to my throat, overwhelmed by the beauty. A warm gust caught the hem of my light green trapeze dress, lifting it Marilyn-style around my waist. I giggled, sleep-deprived and delirious, pushing it down and hoping no one saw.
It was about then I noticed the first camera crew, shooting me from shelter of the trees. A second crew approached, following a man I knew very well.
‘Hello Tara,’ said Miles Shield, world-famous celebrity interviewer and host of IonU, the biggest talk show on the planet. ‘Welcome to Erotic Island.’
Stunned, I shook his hand and followed him up the beach, into the open-air bungalow. Tall beams supported the thatched roof, and cane furniture with colourful cushions beckoned me to sit.
Miles sat across from me. Aside from the widescreen TV set up next to his chair, and the cameras shooting me from multiple angles, it was actually quite relaxing. The sounds of the birds and waves combined with the fresh morning sunshine and tropical breezes. I breathed deeply and smiled.
Miles smiled back at me. ‘You look happy, Tara.’
‘I am! It’s gorgeous here.’
‘Isn’t it! But, down to business.’ He leaned forward, expectant in his tropical shirt and expensive cargo shorts. ‘You’ve come here, not for sex or an experience, but for your sister. Isn’t that right?’
Dammit. Travel weary, I was at my lowest defence. Weepiness overtook me, almost immediately. ‘Ella is my world. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.’
‘I know,’ said Miles sympathetically. ‘Let’s watch.’
He indicated the TV, which burst to life. My face appeared, from the pre-production interviews. ‘Ella’s the bravest person I’ve ever known. I love my baby sister. I’ll do whatever it takes to come home with the million dollars.’
The screen changed, showing an old pic of Ella and me, smiling and holding hands, our blonde hair intertwined. My voice played over the top. ‘She’ll never have a normal life again. She’ll never know how it feels to rub her feet in the sand, or have a warm hand on her leg. She’ll never skip down a flight of stairs or go for a run in the park with her children. She may never be able to have children. I can’t give all that back to her,’ the screen flipped back to my tear-stained face, ‘but I can do this for her. I can win the money that will allow me to look after her, forever.’
The TV faded to black, and I wiped at my face, trying to rub away the evidence of my impending breakdown. Miles handed me a tissue. ‘You’re such a good sister.’
I waved away the compliment. ‘No, I’m not. I’m just doing what she would do for me.’
I felt the cameras focused tight on my face, while another nameless production manager scribbled notes furiously behind them. The falseness of the situation caught up to me, and I smile weakly.
Miles patted my hand. ‘Well, no more tears for now, darling. You’ve got a luau-orgy to get ready for!’