Chapter 15
After spending a sleepless night at another villa, I wake to find that it has been turned into a hair and make-up studio with racks of clothes on wheels. People come in and out all day, and now, after much waiting around, I stand staring at my reflection in the mirror.
‘And you’re sure this is the whole outfit? There isn’t… you know… a bit more? It feels rather… small.’
‘It’s literally the smallest, mini micro G-string monokini we’ve ever seen. But Porscha insisted,’ says a wardrobe runner, giving me an apologetic look. I glance at the adorable floral-print shift dress she is wearing. It’s the height of sophistication.
‘Well, do you have a nice wrap I could put over it? Or a coat? I don’t care about the sweltering heat.
’ I’m trying to keep calm. Porscha has instructed wardrobe to give me a bizarre flesh-coloured cross-shaped bikini made of dental floss.
It is barely visible to the naked eye. I’m struggling to see it myself and I’m wearing it.
‘Please don’t leave me like this. There must be a mesh cover I can put over this…
this…’ I flap my hand around, pulling at the thin rope of material that runs in a straight line from my nether regions to a collar round my neck.
There’s a slightly wider piece running across my chest that just about covers my nipples. ‘…this outfit.’
‘You have a great figure though, so at least you can carry it off.’
That doesn’t really help. Not when in an hour’s time I will be walking down a catwalk into the Love on the Island villa as the first bombshell of the series.
All eyes will be on me. The introvert. The girl who has never had a successful relationship.
The girl who turns invisible the moment she steps through the school gates.
The girl who has been hiding her true self away for the last three years.
The girl who now is hiding nothing, not even a camel toe.
I yank at the monokini. This is ridiculous. Things could not get any worse.
Oh, wait. They can.
‘What are those?’ I point to a mountain of leather dog leads in the runner’s arms. ‘I’m not wearing a dog lead. No way.’
This is too extreme. I won’t stand for it.
‘They are actually made from dog leads,’ she says, beginning to chuckle.
‘Are you walking lots of dogs?’ I’m confused. I didn’t see a single pet in the production village while I was there.
She holds the bundle of straps up. ‘These are your sandals.’
‘Sandals? For my feet?’
‘Yes. They’re thigh-high skyscraper gladiator sandals.’
Fuck me.
‘As if it isn’t bad enough that my make-up has melted right off my face, and I’m wearing what is essentially a thin piece of rope tying my neck to my vulva, you’re going to make me wear stripper footwear for my big entrance?’
I don’t believe this. If only Porscha hadn’t walked in on us, then I’d still be with Cam hanging out in perfect isolation at the villa. And we would have kissed by now. That heart-meltingly life-changing kiss that I have been cruelly denied.
The runner instructs me to sit down. ‘The thing is, once these are on, it’s so difficult to get them back off. All the buckle straps are at the back, see? You’ll have to get one of the girls in the villa to help you.’
‘Otherwise, I’m stuck in them until I’m dumped from the island?’ I joke, close to tears. Images of me having to sleep standing up in them flash into my mind.
‘Yeah, pretty much.’
After a lot of complex criss-cross strapping, tutting, buckling, refastening and pulling straps tight across my thighs, I am finally helped to my feet.
‘Christ Almighty. It’s like wearing a pair of stilts.
I’m over six feet in these. I can’t even stand in them never mind walk,’ I say, wobbling around.
The runner stands up beside me. I am now towering over her.
And while my legs look like they’d belong on a giraffe, I do rather look like I charge by the hour.
‘They’re too high. Take them off. I’d rather go barefoot,’ I bark. ‘I will break a leg if I take one step outside of this villa in these strappy chopsticks. I am not some dominatrix about to go all Fifty Shades on those poor men!’
We are both startled by a loud clipping and clacking sound.
‘And cut. That was great.’
My jaw hits the floor as two camera operators emerge from behind a hidden screen in the far corner of the room with cameras and microphone booms.
‘And now, if you’ll follow us outside. We’re on a very tight schedule.
We’ll film you getting into the car and saying something like how excited you are to be going into the Love on the Island villa to cause mayhem as the first bombshell.
If you could wink at camera, do a peace sign and stick your tongue out that would be awesome. ’
In a daze, I whimper, ‘You mean like a slutty British villain?’
‘Yes, exactly. Perfect.’
A sinking feeling sweeps through my bones. They are going to edit out all the bits where I say I’m not going to be a man-eating troublemaker and edit in all the bits that suggest I will be.
* * *
There’s only one thing worse than a semi-naked dominatrix, and that’s a drowned-looking semi-naked dominatrix.
Halfway to the villa the sky grew dark and around half of Mexico’s yearly rainfall is currently falling from above.
We pull up outside the property and wait for the huge electric security gates to open.
I look up at the giant walls hiding the villa from sight.
The huge gates, locked to keep out prying paparazzi, loom high above us.
The driver does about a thousand checks on a walkie-talkie to confirm that yes he has the ‘package’ and that yes the ‘package’ is ready to go.
The metal gates eventually slide open to allow us in.
‘I can’t go out in this. I will literally kill myself getting from the car to the catwalk,’ I say, pointing to the rivers of mud between me and the flimsy planks of wood that have a big silver heart at the end for me to walk through. ‘I won’t do it. I won’t.’
My runner isn’t listening. My runner is talking into her headset. She is making the following noises on repeat: ‘uh-huh’, ‘yup’, ‘got it’, ‘uh-huh’, ‘yup’ and so on. Suddenly, the rain stops, and she leans over me and opens the car door.
‘Go now!’ she bellows. ‘GO! Now, now, now! Before the rain starts again!’
After she shoves me off the seat, I am standing outside the vehicle wondering how to hop over the pools of muddy water that pave the way to the catwalk.
The heat is sweltering, sending rivers of sweat down my cleavage.
I wipe my forehead with the back of my arm.
I blow out my cheeks. This is like an obstacle course.
A movement startles me. I glance over to see some branches shaking in a nearby bush.
I’m reminded that my every movement is being closely monitored and recorded.
I slap on a bright smile and take the first of what turn out to be many slips and slides.
At one point I am almost doing the splits.
I can hear loud gasps coming from the bush as I pick my way to the catwalk.
My six-inch razor-sharp heels gather clumps of grassy mud with each step.
When I finally reach the catwalk there’s an audible groan of relief.
I straighten up. This is so bloody weird.
I glance down once again to my outfit. My outlandish doll-sized stripper monokini. I have mud splats up my legs. My toes are filthy. And I have half the fake lawn attached to my heels.
‘Wait just a second,’ I say to the invisible people hiding in the bush. I hear a tutting sound and choose to ignore it. ‘I’ll just try to wipe some of this mud off.’
‘No time! Walk in five, four, three…’ The voice trails off and I obediently begin my walk of shame down the catwalk towards the big silver heart. I put one sky-scraping heel down carefully at a time. I’m almost at the heart when the sky grows dark again. I scamper as best I can to the end.
I see five gorgeous couples sitting in a semicircle by the firepit.
They all have grins stuck to their faces.
The show’s presenter, Destiny – half woman, half fringe – is looking absolutely fabulous and dry.
She announces me as the Love on the Island bombshell from beneath the safety of a gazebo, which is successfully covering the firepit and all the contestants.
The words have barely left her lips when the heavens open yet again, and what feels like a bucket of water lands on my head, knocking me clean off the catwalk.
In an instant, the downpour magically stops. With the help of my runner, who also got caught in the deluge, I slip and slide my way to a standing position, which is not easy in these death traps strapped to my legs.
‘Cut!’ Porscha bellows, striding over to me. ‘What are you doing?’ She doesn’t even wait for me to answer. She swivels around with what looks like a smirk on her face.
‘From the top!’
Another runner comes over to help me back onto the catwalk and, between them, they wipe what mud they can from my legs and arms. One of them flicks my wet hair from my face. I see her glance briefly at my breasts. She is trying not to look alarmed, but her eyes are telling a different story.
I look down. The monokini is all but see-through. My nipples are like two champagne corks trying to burst through.
Shitting hell.
But it isn’t until she is reattaching the microphone pack on to the back of my waist that she lets out an audible gasp.
‘What is it?’ I demand.
She becomes mute and shakes her head at me.
‘What is it?’ I hiss.
She leans in. ‘Don’t turn around. Whatever you do.’
‘Why?’
‘It looks like… I mean, I know it’s mud, but it looks like you’ve had… Just don’t turn around.’
Oh my God. I’m going to have a heart attack. Cam will think I’ve been at the gluten again.
‘Action!’
All the Islanders are now looking at me with distraught expressions as I hobble my way over to them.
My hair is soaked and hanging limply down past my shoulders.
Not a beach wave in sight. Water is running down my face and pooling on my chin, to drip off like a tap.
I can see their eyes are out on stalks because it looks as though I am naked. I may as well be.
The rain was cold, but it still feels bizarrely hot. I stop in front of the firepit and begin to shiver. ‘Hi, I’m Libby. I’m a teacher and I like reading and Sudoku.’
Destiny looks horrified and visibly unwilling to approach me. ‘What an entrance,’ is all she can say. ‘Libby, how does it feel to be our first Love on the Island bombshell?’
‘Great,’ I manage, my teeth chattering. I place one arm across my chest to cover my protruding nipples and the other hand over my monokini bottoms. I don’t care what it looks like. I’d rather not be flashing my bits to the world. ‘So great, yeah. Loving it.’
I have never regretted a decision so much in my entire life.
‘So, who have you got your eye on? Anyone in particular?’ She sweeps her arm across the Islanders sitting around the firepit, all coupled up and immaculate-looking.
Is she kidding me?
I look from one man-mountain to the next. All five of them are refusing to make eye contact with me. Two of them are inspecting their nails. How embarrassing.
‘Not yet,’ I say shyly. ‘Maybe when I get to know them a bit better.’
‘Exactly. Yeah, for sure. Yeah, uh-huh. So, which one would you choose?’ Destiny is smiling sweetly at me.
‘I still feel as though I’d like to connect with them first. Find out their names and a bit about them, that kind of thing.’ My legs are turning to jelly. I wish she’d just get on with the show and talk to someone else.
‘One hundred per cent, for sure. Yaaaas.’ She’s purring and batting her lashes rapidly. She puts a finger discreetly to her earpiece then stares at me as though to say, Choose or die! ‘But if you had to choose one.’ She is starting to lose patience with me.
Is this hypothetical? ‘Erm, that one?’ I point to a man sat on the end.
‘Why have you chosen Marcel?’ she says, suddenly delighted.
‘Erm, he’s got two eyes, two arms, two legs.’ I shrug, looking over at him. He is rather easy on the eye, I suppose. ‘And doesn’t look as though he kills puppies for a living?’
This is so fudging pointless, but at least when Destiny starts laughing after a split second, where it could have gone either way, everyone joins in, sniggering tentatively along.
The atmosphere is unbelievably tense for what should be a joyful welcome to the show.
Marcel is not sure about everyone laughing, and says to the beautiful girl next to him, loudly enough for us all to hear, ‘Don’t worry, Ella.
She’s definitely not my type. Not in the slightest. I only have eyes for you. ’
He grins to himself and lounges back on the curved seat, throwing his arm around her. She snuggles closer to him.
Everyone looks my way to see if I’ll react.
As if this wasn’t mortifying enough.
DING.
Ella peers down at her phone. She reads the text out loud. ‘Ella. Libby has chosen your man to couple up with. You are now dumped from the island. Please collect your belongings and leave.’
Cue shocked looks, loud gasps and hands flying to mouths.
‘You cow!’ Ella bellows at me.
‘And cut!’ I see Cam racing towards me with a blanket.
‘Take five while she dries off!’ he barks, ignoring Porscha.
‘Can we get a runner, please?’ He sweeps the blanket over me, muttering, ‘Jesus Christ! You okay, Libby?’ He leans right in.
‘Do you need some… pineapple?’ he says out of the side of his mouth.
I nod quickly. ‘Yes, yes please.’