CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 7
IHAVE A SURPRISE.”
Ian kept hold of her hand as he pulled her through the hallway, stepping carefully over fallen pieces of drywall. They were heading toward an exterior door that led to the side of the house that Coco, Daisy, Ian, and Bradley had searched the night before.
Ness tried to dig in her heels, at least metaphorically. “Yeah, no. I don’t want or need any more surprises.”
Ian wrestled with the swollen door until it screeched open. Ness had thought it was humid inside the house, but the air that enveloped them as they exited practically condensed on her skin with post-storm dampness. They stepped onto a narrow path running alongside the house.
“You’ll like this one,” Ian assured her. He gave her a charming over-the-shoulder smile, his brown hair glinting red in the daylight.
Ness shook her head. Arguing was pointless. If anyone loved a ridiculous reveal, it was Ian. She was probably about to meet a wild island boar he’d somehow found and adopted over the course of the morning.
“Hey, Ian?”
“Yeah?”
“Should we be freaking out? I mean, Libby might have a point. We’re on an island with no way of reaching the outside world, and our greatest hope for survival is Bradley telling us what to do. Is this the beginning of our personal apocalypse?”
Ian stopped walking and looked back at her over his shoulder.
“If it makes you feel better to vent some emotion, then sure. But honestly? Like you said, I think we’ll be out of here by this afternoon. They’ve probably been searching since the weather cleared, and it’s not like the Bahamas is a fully deserted chain of islands.”
“You’re saying I can continue ignoring the growing feeling of impending doom? Because I know I said those things, but I don’t know if I actually believe them.”
“Why not? It’s a surprise vacation day! Sure, we’re missing the mimosas and spa services, but at least no one’s waxing my butt.”
“Yeah . . . right. Okay.” Ness tried to force her mind back to their current mission and not dwell on the fact that Ian had a history of lulling her into a false sense of security right before everything fell apart. He didn’t do it on purpose. He seemed to genuinely believe everything would work out, and he was even more shocked than those around him when nothing went to plan.
They turned a corner and made their way along the back wall of the house. Above them, trees swayed in the now gentle breeze. Bugs hummed. Every so often a ray of sunshine managed to poke through the cloud cover.
“So, this surprise you have in store, is it a seaplane? Water taxi? Well-trained dolphin with saddle?”
“Close.”
“Kayak?” she continued. “Jet pack? A bunch of people with cameras ready to yell ‘Gotcha!’ and reveal that this was all a terrible prank?”
They trotted down a small set of steps that led to an even narrower, cracked paved pathway that quickly gave way to gravel, then sand. The surrounding trees and vines were so overgrown they brushed the side of the house, catching at Ness’s clothes and hair as she passed.
Ian brushed aside a wall of trailing vines and turned to face her, an arm sweeping out to reveal . . . a very large doghouse.
Ness looked from the wooden box to Ian. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
He dropped to his knees and started opening the latches that held the door of the structure shut.
“I nearly missed it too! But check this out.”
The door creaked and groaned as he heaved it open. Ness stared at the black and red machine hulking inside. The metal components were rusted. Some of the plastic was cracking. She stepped closer for a better look, hoping a snake or island squirrel equivalent wasn’t about to launch itself at her face. Her heart fluttered with excitement as she realized what she was looking at.
“Is that a—”
“It’s a generator!”
Visions of running water and a shower and lights ran through her head. Suddenly, the gloom seemed brighter, the humidity more tolerable. Her chapped lips turned up into what felt like her first genuine smile in days. She looked back at Ian, who was staring at her expectantly.
“So, start ’er up!” he said.
Her brow furrowed in a way that certainly wasn’t helping her un-Botoxed wrinkle situation. She looked from the generator to Ian in confusion.
Ian spread his arms wide. “Listen, we get this thing going, we’re heroes, right? Picture it in the headlines, because we both know the press coverage on this thing is going to be mega.” He arced a hand through the air, presumably highlighting said headlines. “Ian James and Ness Larkin Save Co-stars from Certain Death.”
“You just said we’ll be out of here by lunchtime, and now we’re facing certain death?” She rolled her head from side to side and took some deep breaths.
Despite Ian’s charm, which was plentiful, this side of him was nothing new either. Fame and recognition above all else. She dropped her hands to her sides, remembering how hard that had been to deal with when all she’d wanted was to hide her head in the sand. He’d dragged her out into the world, yes, as a friend, but the additional media coverage hadn’t gone unnoticed.Whatever he had, it was never enough.
Not that they had much at the moment, but still.
“Just do it, Drag-ness. Pull the rip cord or whatever and we’ll reveal ourselves as a united front. A power to be respected.”
“What makes you think I know anything about vintage generators?” Ness was, much to her chagrin, actually quite familiar with them. But goddamn, it annoyed her that he would assume it.
Ian huffed and dropped his pleasant expression. “You must! How else do you stay warm in winter?”
The crevices between Ness’s eyebrows grew deeper. She felt her head inch forward, neck stretching like a curious turtle. Ian plowed on.
“You need to heat your trailer somehow, right? Canadian winter isn’t exactly tropical.”
“I don’t even . . . what are you talking about?”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed. I get that sometimes we need to forgo certain luxuries in the name of survival, and Ness, I respect that. But I would be even more respectful if you could stop pretending you’re one of us and start the motherfucking generator.”
Ness took an involuntary step back at the sudden venom in Ian’s voice.
“One of you,” she said flatly. “Right, of course.What am I, then, Ian? The help?”
She watched him try to arrange his face into some semblance of kindness or empathy, and fail. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“Can you do this or not?”
“Maybe, but I’m trying to decide why I should even try. Right now, watching you all slowly devolve into something akin to normal, desperate humans is kind of appealing. Washing your hair in the ocean? No moisturizer for those wind-chapped cheeks?” She sucked in a hissing breath and shook her head. “Might be time for you to give up some luxuries in the name of survival. I’d respect that, Ian. Truly.” She put a hand over her heart. “And I bet the headlines would be real attention-grabbers.” It was her turn to highlight the imaginary text. “Ian James Relapsed? Aging Star Looking More Haggard Than Ever! You’ll probably get some great roles, though. Angry grandfathers. Surly dive bar owners who die before the third act.”
Even as she said it, Ness knew she was going too far.
“Right on fucking brand, Ness. Nice.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelled like salt water and rotting vegetation. A mosquito whined in her ear.
“Sorry. Shit. I’m sorry, Ian. I didn’t mean it.” Her stomach roiled with disgust directed entirely toward herself. Her anger at his words faded to barely a grumble in comparison.
Ian had taken a few steps back in the direction of the house but stopped and was staring into the trees.When he spoke, she could barely hear him.
“I know I’m a fuckup, alright? I know I’ve hurt people, including you. When your dad . . . When everything happened back then, you needed a friend, and I didn’t know how to do that. Not properly, anyway. I like to imagine I was doing what I thought was right at the time, that I was helping you, but I was probably too fucking high to really think about it. I just wanted someone to be on the ride with me. It was how I was coping, and, well, you seemed into it.”
Ness felt her face getting hot. Ian’s role in her downslide had taken her years to get over—at least, she’d thought she’d moved past it. But hearing him confirm her hazy memories of him gifting her pill after pill was different.
She nodded, even though he was still facing away from her. She’d wanted a chance to confront her past, to see if there was room for a do-over. This was part of that, she reminded herself. It couldn’t be a fresh start when everyone was carrying the baggage of their sordid youth.
“You know,” she said carefully, toe nudging the sandy soil, “I read your book. It’s really good. You should be proud.” She puffed out a breath. “Neither of us was in a good place back then, huh?”
Ian snorted. “Putting it mildly.”
“I don’t blame you for anything. It just . . . hurts. Thinking about it still hurts, and being with all of you now . . .”
“Feels fresh again, huh?”
“Certainly not as well buried as I had thought.”
Their eyes met. Ian sighed and gave her a half smile. Ness felt the pressure in her chest lighten.
“Is there gas?” she asked, before turning back to the generator shed.
“You’ll do it? You can do it?!”
She turned her head to shoot him a wry smile. “I can try. And for the record, I don’t live in a trailer, but if I did, I’m pretty sure electrical hookups are standard.” She paused. “Aren’t you from Michigan? You know Toronto is like at least a four-hour drive from there, right? Our winters are basically the same as yours.”
“But the moose on the highways! The beavers making dams in Toronto harbor! Geese invading the CN Tower!” She could hear the smile in his voice as she checked the cable connecting the generator to the house. Blessedly, it looked like nothing had decided to snack on it.
“Gas?” she repeated. “This is going to be a pretty short-lived experiment without it.”
“There’s another shed over there.” Ian pointed at the barely visible path going farther into the trees.
“Why does everything here have to be like some weird, subdued horror movie?” Ness grumbled as loose sticks and spiky weeds bit at her. “We can’t just have a nice sunny day and an open space? Oh no, let’s go traipsing through the rat-and-maybe-donkey-filled wilderness on an empty stomach.” Out of the corner of her eye, something brown swayed toward her from an overhead branch. Her breath caught for a moment, heart thumping, scream stuck in her throat, before she realized the hanging vine was not a murder snake.
Ian forged on, oblivious to what could have been a near-death experience. “At least you’re not having dehydration-induced hallucinations yet.”
“Something to look forward to.”
She spotted the shed ahead on her left, nestled into what must once have been a small clearing; now it looked more as if the plants were trying to consume the rusted, tin-sided structure. When Ness turned and looked back, the house and the generator shed were barely visible.
“How did you even find this stuff last night?”
“Mostly by accident. We heard a weird sound over this way, so I checked it out.”
“You ran toward sketchy noises in the dark woods during a hurricane?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Ness shook her head and looked at the structure in front of them.
“Open the door.”
Ian pointed a finger at his chest. “Me?” he mouthed silently.
“Yeah, you. Lord knows what’s taken up residence in there.”
“Probably just the island scrub donkeys.” Ian scratched the stubble on his cheek. “What if we open it together?”
“If I’m supposed to be the generator brains here, you’re the brawn. What good are those biceps if you’re not going to use them?”
He looked down at his arm, flexed, and waggled his eyebrows at her. “You noticed, huh?”
“Hard not to. Did you really rip the sleeves off your shirt?” Loose black threads dangled around his shoulders.
“It felt right. A little Castaway, a little Tarzan.”
“As long as a loincloth isn’t next.” She jerked her head at the door. “Well?”
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. But it’s on you to train the donkeys to carry my corpse back after they murder me.”
“Stop stalling.”
Ian’s chest rose and fell as he inhaled a preparatory breath. He took a quick step forward, thumbed the latch, and flung the door open, then spun and tackled Ness, catching her head in his hands and cradling it an inch above the ground. His body hovered above hers in a perfect plank, keeping what could maybe be considered a respectful distance between them.
She stared dumbly at him as he pushed himself up to standing and pulled her along with him.
“Sweet, huh? Used that one in Almost Gone, and let me tell you, it gets the girls.” He started to pat the sand from her lower back, but she swatted his hand away.
“Anyway . . .” He looked back at the shed, scanning for hazards. “Seems like we’re safe.” He rolled a hand in front of him. “After you, m’lady.”
“You’re a goddamn menace.” Ness couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice. This was the Ian she remembered.
* * *
In that hot, musty shed they experienced their first true miracle of the day in the form of five full, tightly sealed gas cans that didn’t explode while Ness and Ian jumped up and down with glee. The second miracle came when the generator actually started, grumbling to life with a roar that had Ness falling backward onto her ass in the sand as she clapped, applauding her own success.
She lay sprawled on her back, intermittent fat raindrops splatting against her smiling face, until Ian heaved her up and over his shoulder, sprinting back to the house whooping obnoxiously, his arm clamped over the backs of her legs.
He slowed only slightly as his wet feet skidded on the tile in the entryway.
“Put me down, you goon!” Ness laughed, walloping his back ineffectively. He stopped and lowered her feet to the ground with a bit less grace than she might have appreciated. She straightened her shirt and tugged her stretched-out jeans higher onto her waist.
“Why aren’t the lights on?” Ian demanded. “Why aren’t people shrieking with excitement and running to greet us as their saviors?” He sounded like a petulant, entitled teen. Which, Ness supposed, he was, at least in spirit. Ian James, only child of television producer extraordinaire Wilson James, could probably count the number of times he’d heard “no” in his life on one hand.
She took a deep breath and counted to five, a patented Dealing with Tenants technique, before answering.
“Um, we might need to find the breakers? Or, you know, over however long this place has been abandoned, the electrical might have developed a few effing flaws, Ian.”
She reached over, flicked a light switch, and watched the gaudy black sconces on the wall cast a flickering, gothic light over the room.
“Or we just need to turn them on.”
While Ness marveled at the transformation of Ian’s face from anger to beaming, angelic happiness, Coco sauntered in.
“Hey, lights! Nice one.” She beckoned them to follow her. “You gotta see this,” she said, barely containing her mirth. “It’s . . . perfect.”
* * *
“Who is that?”
Ness stared in awe at the white marble fireplace that took up a third of the dining room’s far wall. Why anyone needed a fireplace in a country where the temperature never dropped below seventy she couldn’t fathom.
Hanging over the mantel was a painting of a man in a deep-purple and black brocade smoking jacket, legs crossed ankle over knee as he posed in a high-backed armchair. His eyes, behind dark, rectangular frames, resided over a rather aquiline nose. Thin lips quirked into a self-satisfied smirk. A crystal tumbler was cradled in one hand, filled a third of the way with ice and amber liquid. A large brown snake was draped across the back of the chair, its tail brushing the floor on one side as its diamond-shaped head hovered over the man’s left arm. It seemed to stare out of the picture at her. In the background, slightly blurred women sprawled in various states of undress.
Ness couldn’t suppress a shudder as she leaned in so close her nose nearly brushed the flaking paint.
“It’s horrific, but I can’t look away.”
She read the small, tarnished plaque attached to the bottom of the frame.
“Gustavo F. Maltravers, 1992.”
On either side of the fireplace, white shelves ran halfway up the wall and met with black and red velvet-flocked wallpaper. The shelves were filled with VHS tapes, cardboard cases peeling at the edges.
Ness’s eyes widened as she scanned the titles. “Three Minutes to Heaven. Seven More Reasons to Love Mitzy. Nineteen and Naughty. Fifty Ways to Fuck a Princess.” Her voice rose in a combination of distress and disgust. “Are these all porn?” There had to be hundreds of them. Her eyes landed next on the bulky TV anchored to the wall above a glass and steel sideboard. Ness tried to imagine eating a formal dinner with Two Mechanics and Me playing in the background.
The twelve-person dining table made of poured concrete was an immovable part of the decor. A few clear acrylic chairs were strewn around the room, most of them broken. Who lives like this? Ness wondered.
“Wait. Did you say Seven More Reasons to Love Mitzy?” Ian asked excitedly.
“I did, unfortunately.”
“I know where we are!”
She scoffed. “You can’t possibly.”
“No, really! We’re on Ginger Cay, island getaway and play place of the Modern Prince of Porn himself, Freddy Maltravers!”
Coco looked very doubtful. Ness suspected a similar expression was on her own face.
“You’re making that up.”
“Yeah, Ian, not funny.”
“How could I make that up?!” He paced back and forth in front of the shelves, nudging clumps of dust out from the baseboards. “I swear. I read a book about the guy. Okay, an article, but it was, like, a whole feature! He inherited a molded plastics business from his dad, sold it, and started the UK’s most successful adult film company of the nineties and early aughts. There were like five chapters—fine, paragraphs—about this place!” He paused, eyes widening. “We have to find the wine cellar. You guys. The wine cellar! It had millions of dollars of rare bottles in it.”
“You don’t think he took that with him?”
“I don’t know, Coco, but he didn’t take this stupid chandelier or the videos.” He gestured at the hideous tangled web of black and silver dangling above them. “It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that we could find a nice crisp white to have with lunch. Assuming there’s lunch.” His face fell. “Aw, man, are we going to have to go fishing?”
Fleetingly, Ness wondered how lunch wine fit into Ian’s recovery.
“Hey, does anyone know how to fish?” Hayes walked into the room, a fishing pole and tackle box in his arms. He set them on the table and started unloading his plunder just as Daisy entered, hauling a heavy-looking cardboard box that clinked as she walked.
“Who magicked the lights on?” Daisy chirped. “I love it. So modern!”
Ian preened until Ness had cleared her throat with enough force and frequency to get an acknowledgment of her contribution. Hayes flashed her a smile to end all smiles, and her knees nearly buckled. From hunger. For food. Ahem.
Coco filled them in on the recent location revelation as Daisy thunked her box onto the table and levered herself up to sit beside it, legs dangling.
“Huh,” she said, flipping back the flaps on the box. “I had some theories, but porn castle wasn’t one of them.”
Hayes shrugged. “At least we know where we are. That’s a big win.” He shot Ian a double thumbs-up that would have looked lame had anyone else done it. “You may have saved us.”
Ian looked disconcerted. He put the copy of Six Slutty Sisters he’d been perusing back on the shelf and joined them at the table.
“We found a secondary kitchen upstairs,” Hayes said, and Ness’s hopes soared ever so briefly. “But there was nothing there except that.” He nodded to the box Daisy had set on the table. “And this.” He thwacked a folded map of the Bahamas onto the table.
“The stairs were a bit dicey,” Daisy said, “so we probably want to avoid them as much as we can.”
Hayes opened the map, careful not to tear the worn paper as he spread it out. A game of Spot the Island ensued, with Coco emerging as the winner after locating Ginger Cay on the outskirts of the island chain. Compared to the other land masses, which seemed cozily situated near their neighbors, Ginger was on its own, floating in a circle of uninhabited blue.
“Neat,” Ness said. “So private. So out of the way.”
Hayes flipped the tackle box open. “Okay, we’ve got . . . um . . . well, that’s not what I was expecting.”
“Oh. Oh wow.” Coco peered around him. She extended a finger and poked at the contents. “How many different flavors of lube do you think that is?”
Ness moved around the table until she could see. The little cubbies where one might expect to find things like fish hooks or lures were stuffed with sample-size packets of lubricant.
“If only it had any nutritional value.” She sighed, scanning the package for any sign of caloric information. “Why can’t they add vitamins if you’re supposed to ingest it?”
Daisy nudged the cardboard box. “We’ve got gin, a couple of bottles of rye . . . even some champagne, warm, but drinkable. Ah! And I also found this.” She pulled a crumpled, faded tube of SPF15 sunblock from her back pocket and held it up. “Expired in 2017, but hey, it’s something.”
“What’s more likely to give us cancer, ancient stewed chemicals or the sun?” Coco grumbled, examining some mimosa-flavored slip ’n’ slide lotion.
“Hey, where’s Tyler?” Daisy asked suddenly. “I didn’t see him when we came through the kitchen.”
Coco waved her hand vaguely. “Eh, I think he went to go find a place to empty his bowels.”
“Gross. But how long ago?” Ness didn’t like the idea of finding Tyler passed out with his pants down somewhere.
“A while. Actually, now that you mention it, he should have been—”
“Libby, put it down!” Bradley’s raised voice drifted through the house.
“I TOLD YOU I WANTED TO BE ALONE. You never listen to me!”
Ness and Hayes locked eyes across the table.
Hayes’s shoulders drooped. “They were doing so well, all things considered.”
Daisy looked from Ness to Hayes to Coco. “What’s going—”
“Get away from me!” Bradley’s voice wavered. Footsteps pounded down the hall. Ness shifted away from the door just in time to avoid getting steamrolled as a wide-eyed Bradley flung himself into the room.
“She’s trying to kill me,” he panted. “Again.”
* * *
“I was making a point.” Libby glared at Bradley, her lower lip protruding in a pretty pout. She held a pale blue perfume bottle loosely in one hand.
“You know I’m allergic, Libby! My trachea could swell like your ankles after a pancake binge, and then what, hmm? THEN WHAT?”
Daisy nudged Ness and whispered, “What did he mean she was trying to kill him again?”
Ness waved a hand vaguely. “I’m out of the loop on the specifics, but theirs is very much a love-hate relationship, heavy on the hate.” She paused, considering. “I think her attempts on his life are usually more passive, like annoying him into an early grave. Taking advantage of a little-known allergy is pretty diabolical. I’m impressed.”
They’d moved to what they were calling the living room, where Bradley had flung the water-stained satin curtains open and fought with the window until it agreed to slide up, allowing fresh air to flow across their faces. He was perched on the ledge, upper body leaning precariously outward. Ness had to stop herself from gasping every time he shifted his weight, sure he was about to plummet to the dry, sad grass below.
“Let’s all calm down,” Hayes tried.
“You calm down,” Libby shot back, lifting the bottle. “This is premium, refined essential oils. It’s not my fault you walked in mid-spritz.” Casually, she depressed the nozzle, sending a tiny, vaporized puff of fragrance into the air. “Oops.”
Bradley’s eyes rolled in his head like a panicked horse.
“It’s bergamot, Bradley, not liquefied arsenic.”
“It may as well be!” He jumped to the floor, braced his hands on the window ledge, and stuck his entire torso into the open air, where he sucked in deep, dramatic breaths.
Ian had opened a snack-size bag of pretzels from the boat and was working his way through them by the handful, which was actually only one handful. It was a very small bag.
“What’s the deal with the fragrance?” he asked, licking salt from his fingers. Ness felt the pressure of a hunger-induced headache settling in.
“It’s the signature Kim Beauty scent.” Libby tossed her hair as if this was practice for her next late-night TV appearance. “I wanted to test it in real-world humid conditions and, god forbid, freshen up a bit.”
Ian paused mid-chew, considering. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.” He sniffed the air. “I like it. Undertones of tobacco?”
“Can we focus on the fact that she knows I’m extremely allergic to bergamot and yet she chose not to notify me of the risk? Not only that, but she wafted the scent toward my face! It was an aggressive and uncalled-for action, Libby.” Bradley crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.
“Am I on trial?” Libby studied her hand and started prying off the remaining fake nails, grimacing, which, Ness noted with admiration, had barely any effect on her forehead.
Coco leaned in. “Ohhh. Can this be like Judge Judy, minus the judge, and we air Libby-related grievances?”
“No one’s on trial,” Hayes assured Libby, giving Coco a look that he then expanded to encompass all of them. “We need to work together. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. In all likelihood, we’ll be out of here tonight, but if that doesn’t happen, we can’t fall apart. Or incite potentially deadly allergic reactions. Please. Thank you.”
“Speaking of togetherness,” Ness ventured, “has anyone seen Tyler?”