Chapter 24
Despite his late-night visit from Edie and Cassidy, James slept well and awoke refreshed.
He fell asleep thinking about power and reveling in the realization that no one else on the island had it figured out, only him.
But upon checking his socials, the feelings of superiority deflated by a single glance at the pitiful follower counts on each page.
Magic and illusions were out. His platform flagged in subscriptions and views for years now, but any time he attempted to branch out with his content it always tanked.
People who followed for the sleight of hand videos weren’t necessarily interested in fitness content or thirst traps.
Followers enjoyed his humor, but he wasn’t a comedian.
Video essays that utilized his B.A. in English didn’t exactly bring in big money, and success with creative writing required more luck than even the island could give him.
James ordered a bloody mary at the only bar with a view of the stage and sat, watching the stage crew get everything ready and panicking over the decision he needed to make. As he sat lost in thought and stirring the Tajin deeper into his drink, a man slid onto the neighboring barstool.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked.
James broke out of his stupor and turned his head. Next to him stood a man with a slim build and dark skin. He wore a skirt and high-top sneakers, but no shirt. “Are you here alone?”
James took a sip and regarded the man more closely. “Yep.”
The man smiled. “My name is Allen.”
“James.”
The bartender approached and asked Allen for his order. Allen pointed to James.
“I’ll have what he’s having.”
“You’ve got good taste,” James said as the bartender walked away.
“I have a feeling you do, too,” Allen joked. “So, are you excited for the show today? You’re here early.”
James shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. It should be good. I also woke up too late to surf and I didn’t want to do yoga with goats, so here I am.”
Allen laughed. “That’s some definite white girl shit.”
They made small talk about the show that day until Allen’s drink appeared, then they toasted one another and each took a long drink.
“So, let me guess, you’re a model, right?” Allen asked.
James almost said no, but paused. He could be a model now, if he wanted. He could be anything he wanted, why limit himself?
“Yeah, I am.”
“I knew it,” Allen said. “Everyone here is a model.”
“Are you a model?”
“Me?” Allen put a hand to his chest. “No. I am a graphic designer. It’s hard work, you know? I mean, I’m sure your work is hard, but you know, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth or nothing.”
James felt a rush of warm, indignant anger rise in his chest, followed by embarrassment. That was one of the exact reasons that he never became a model. He had good genetics, sure, but he strove to be more than just attractive.
“Will you excuse me for a second?” James asked.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Allen said.
“It’s fine,” James said, taking his drink with him and walking out of the bar.
He ensured no one noticed him leave and then got out of the eyeline of the bar before turning right back around.
Allen played with his phone on the bar top when James returned.
When the man saw his new neighbor, he smiled.
“You’ve got good taste,” he said, nodding to James’ drink.
James picked up his glass. “Cheers.”
They both took a drink, and James asked, “are you here alone?”
“Uh, right now I am, but my friends should be meeting me here soon. I always get up when the sun does, I can’t help it. They’ll probably sleep through the first three acts, though.”
James nodded, commiserating. “Are your friends all models like you?” he asked. Old James would never have dared using someone’s own neg against them, even if they couldn’t remember giving it, but James felt himself transforming into someone he didn’t recognize, and he liked it.
Allen laughed. “No, we’re not models. I’m a graphic designer and they all do,” he waved his hand, “whatever.”
“Oh, graphic design, that’s very cool.”
“I like it. It’s what I went to school for, so at least I’m using my degree for something.”
James nodded. “Yeah, that’s more than some people can say.”
“What do you do?” Allen asked.
“I’m a music journalist,” James said with confidence. He’d been investigating the island, hadn’t he? He’d figured out all of its secrets. Why couldn’t he be a journalist?
“Really?” Allen asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah. I think that’s probably why I got invited here. I do music reviews, artist interviews, things like that. Mostly freelance stuff, but I’ve also written for Pitchfork and the Rolling Stone.”
James made it up as he went, and Allen hung onto his every word.
“Damn, that’s impressive. I don’t think many other people here can say anything like that. I mean, there are a lot of musicians here, and that takes talent, but I think most of them are on Soundcloud if they’re not Top 40, you know?”
James laughed. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“So, have you interviewed anyone here?”
The question caught James off guard, though he realized it shouldn’t have. He took another swig to buy time and remember the most recent artist lineup.
“Oh yeah, yeah. I’ve done a couple every day.”
“Are you interviewing anyone today?”
“Uh, yeah, I think I’m doing an interview with Lil Neb today.”
Allen’s jaw dropped. He caught himself and sat up straighter to regain composure. “Well, I am jealous. I wish I had your job. Tell him that he’s amazing for me, okay?”
“I’ll try to find a way to sneak it in,” James said.
A group of women walked into the bar then, drawing Allen’s attention away.
“Look who it is!” he said in a sing-song. “I didn’t expect any of you to be awake before noon. Aren’t you all super hungover?”
“You can’t be hungover if you’re still drunk,” a redhead with a bad sunburn and oversized sunglasses said.
Allen pointed at James, who sat on the other side of the bar from the women. “I just learned that my new friend, James here, is getting to meet Lil Neb today.”
“Oh shit, that’s cool,” the woman at the bar said. “Did you win a meet and greet?” she asked.
James shook his head, trying to make eye contact with her around Allen. “No, I’m a journalist, and I’m doing an interview with him.”
“Who do you write for?” the woman asked.
“I’ve done articles for a lot of different magazines,” James said. “But this one is for Buzzfeed.”
“Oh my god, is it one of those interviews where you have them read mean tweets people have written about them? I like, love those but I also hate them. Like, I can’t stand when people say mean things about me, but everyone I’ve seen always has such good clap backs.”
James shrugged and gave a small laugh in agreement. “I guess you’ll just have to read it when it’s published.”
The friends started to talk about something else while the bartender took their drinks, and James decided to take his leave and let the group forget him while he went back to his tent and put his new identity out onto the internet for the island to make of it what it would.
“Hey! Leaving so soon?” Allen asked when James stood.
“Uh, well …” James started to say.
“Is your interview soon?” the woman asked.
“No, but I should probably go get ready—”
“Aw, come on, stay for a while. You’re here alone and it sounds like you’ve been working a lot. Stay with us and have a little fun. You’re as close as I’m ever going to get to meeting Lil Neb,” Allen said.
The group moved to a table so that they sat more comfortably, and when they all got their drinks, they took group photos and selfies from every angle.
Allen took a photo with just him and James.
Immediately, Allen started reviewing the photos he took and demanding that no one post any without his permission.
“What’s your handle?” he asked James. James froze. If they looked at his handle now, they would see he wasn’t a journalist.
“It’s just my name,” James said, forcing the sound through his dry mouth.
A heavy anxiety crawled up his spine as he watched Allen hit “post.”
James checked the notification that showed up on his phone. The caption read:
Made a new friend with good taste. @JamesOliver don’t forget to tell @LilNeb that he’s amazing and I love him.
#IslandXperience #IslandX #bloodymarybloodymary
He posted it, and it’s still there, James thought. Before he could fully wrap his mind around the implications, the notifications began rolling in.
Corinneborinne: @JamesOliver lucky!
F477down: @JamesOliver what’s happening?
Ohyikessarah: @JamesOliver I’m so jealous!
“Oh! My! God!” Allen yelled emphatically and kicked his feet.
“What?” one of the girls asked. James thought her name was Amber. Allen turned his phone screen to her.
“Oh my god!” she screamed.
“Holy shit!” someone else yelled, eyes wide.
Allen turned to James and showed him the phone, almost conspiratorially even though everyone else already knew what it said. Allen pointed to a comment below the picture.
LilNeb: You’re amazing and I love you. @JamesOliver looking forward to you showing me how to have good taste
All the anxiety that James felt melted away. He hadn’t even needed to post anything this time. He hadn’t told a rumor or a lie on the internet. He told people in real life and they did all the work to make it happen.
“There,” James said, patting Allen on the back. “You got to tell him yourself.”
“My whole life is made!” Allen shouted. The group kept repeating how lucky he was and how jealous they were. James stood, feeling like he was walking on a cloud, and told the group he really needed to get ready.
The walk back to James’ dorm forced him to pass by the villas and luxury tents. Although they numbered considerably fewer now, a creeping jealousy tightened the muscles in his neck and jaw as people lounged on porches and in hammocks.
I should have at least a tent, not a dorm room. I’ve worked harder than everyone here, and I’m still being forced to work even now.
Even as he thought it, a competing idea struck him so aggressively it was as though someone else said it in his head.
What’s stopping me from having a tent, myself?
He pulled out his phone and started a livestream.
“Just thought I’d give you all an update before I get to work today. I’m headed back to my tent to prepare for today’s interviews and I’m feeling pretty blessed and wanted to let you all know I have a really good feeling about tonight.”
Hearts and smiley faces ran thick as a river along the side of the video.
James answered some of the questions people asked and then waved to sign off and saved the video for later viewing.
He stood in the middle of the island’s high-end tent city and looked around himself as though lost. With Allen and his friends, the changes happened almost as soon as he spoke of them, would it be the same now?
He opened his email to find the original welcome letter assigning him a dorm room and, sure enough, the wording now referred to a tent instead of a room.
However, he also found new emails from unfamiliar accounts.
He stooped into the shade of the closest tent to block the sun from the dark screen of his phone and realized all of the emails came from online publications.
James laughed out loud. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”
He found the right tent and tapped his wristband against the lock on the door flap.
All his belongings were right where he’d left them in the dorm that morning, transposed to similar places in the tent.
James fell backward onto one of the beds and laced his fingers behind his head.
All his dreams were coming true—a thought that forced him to sit up and pinch the skin of his inner wrist.
And the emails! Reopening his inbox, he saw at least twelve messages, all confirming upcoming interviews for the day.
Most interesting were the emails telling him that various banking deposits were successful.
A quick web search revealed these were payments from different websites and periodicals, like Buzzfeed and Pitchfork, the exact companies he told Allen and his friends that he’d written for in the past.
James verified the deposit amounts in his bank account and found all of them to be real.
It felt like a key turning slowly in a lock until all of the pins fell into place and gave way to a protected treasure with ease.
James knew without a doubt that these strange events weren’t limited to his time on the island.
This was his life now. The opportunity presented itself and he’d taken it without question, and the rewards were innumerable.
Everything was perfect, except for one nagging detail.
On Instagram, he posted a smoldering selfie and gave it the caption:
Island life is always better with that special someone.
Vague posting broke the last of the willpower keeping him from checking Steve’s profile. But when he searched Steve’s handle, nothing showed up.
You’d think the Wi-Fi here would be better, he thought, but knew it was a minor inconvenience, just like Steve’s absence, and was easily amended. If James could change his amenities and his career, he could change anything.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing he needed to prepare for interviews. Maybe he'd been able to land a new job, but it was still a job, and he could still get fired for doing it poorly.
Not that he needed to worry. The fake credentials and practiced charisma turned out to be all he needed for success.
The interview with Lil Neb allayed James’ anxieties because Neb didn’t take himself seriously, so James didn’t either.
It felt more like catching up with a friend than a professional interview.
After that, the rest of the day flew by in a blur of yes-anding and acting like he knew who was emailing him from office off the island to ask for updates.
No matter what he said, he was never wrong, and the world molded to his will.
He assured his new contacts that the rest of the festival would be an experience that no one on the island would soon forget.