New Year Island (9 page)

On the far side of the salon, Jordan had stepped away from Juan to face him, fists on her hips, body rigid with anger. Juan’s hands were raised in apology, but he looked angry, too. His raised voice carried.

“That’s not what I meant at all. It’s not what I was saying. You didn’t let me finish.” He reached to take Jordan’s arm. “Stop overreacting.”

She shook his hand off violently. “Get your fucking hands off me, asshole! You’re on your own.” She looked ready to slap him.

Camilla’s stomach sank. Her team was falling apart before it even started.

Jordan turned away from Juan and walked across the salon with angry, energetic strides. Slapping her purse down on the table, she sat down hard in the chair next to Camilla. She stared down at the tablecloth for a moment, composing herself, then turned to face the others.

“Hi. Sorry about that,” she said. “That was embarrassing.”

“Wow, what did he say?” Camilla asked.

“Forget it. I made a mistake, is all. I don’t want to talk about it.” She took both Camilla’s hands and gave them a friendly squeeze. “You’re Camilla. I’m so excited to meet you.” The dazzling smile was back, but it looked a little forced now.

Camilla glanced over at Juan. He was still standing next to the bar but he was looking at her now, hands in his pockets. He gave a little shrug that told her nothing.

She looked back at Jordan. “How do you know my name?”

Mason asked, “And where
were
you all this time?”

“Good meeting you, too, Mason.” Jordan appeared to be pretty much over her anger now. Just like that, Juan was forgotten. “Listen, guys, I’m a journalist.”

“So you were interviewing who exactly?” Mason asked.

Jordan grinned at Camilla, crooking a finger at Mason. “He’s smart. I like him.”

She also shook hands with Brent and Veronica, whose names she also knew. Natalie was gone again. Camilla hadn’t noticed her leave.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Juan saunter over to the far end of the table, where he joined Lauren and JT again. This was a problem. She would have to rethink her team now. It looked like she had lost her motorcycle rider. What had Juan said that upset Jordan so badly? But if Camilla had to choose between them, she was sticking with Jordan. Veronica would have to be their fifth team member.

Jordan’s smile pulled them all in. “Okay, so this whole thing’s really strange, right? I got a weird feeling about it. My instincts are pretty good, and something seemed way off. So before I came in here, I did a little exploring—talked to the crew I ran into.” She leaned forward. “You know what, guys? Other than the ship’s crew, we’re the only ones on board.”

“How did you find out our names?” Brent asked.

“I can be very persuasive when I want to. The crew showed me a list with all our names. And little pictures of us, our faces. That’s how they knew who to let on board.”

I was right,
Camilla thought.
Jordan’s definitely our team leader
.

“Just the ten of us?” she asked.

Mason chuckled. “Ten Little Indians.”

Camilla slapped his arm.

“There was a Cory Mitnick, too,” Jordan said. “Some confusion about him. One crew guy thought he was on board, but it doesn’t look like he made it.”

“So what’s supposed to happen here, then?” Brent asked.

Jordan pointed with her chin at the video monitor on the wall. “Their comms guy is waiting for a video transmission from somewhere. He’s going to send it right to that screen.”

“What else do you know?” Veronica’s question sounded like an accusation. Her silver eyes were locked on Jordan now
.

“There’s a safe.” Jordan giggled. “This whole thing is so hush-hush top secret. They’re going to get a text message with the combination, open it, and hand out some paperwork inside for us to sign. Then they drop us off.”

“Drop us where?” Camilla asked.

“That’s the craziest part.” Jordan grinned at her. “They don’t know. Right now, no one on the crew has a clue where we’re going. They’re just supposed to take us south along the coast, until they get another text message, containing GPS coordinates…”

Mason nodded.

“Our final destination,” he said.

T
he monitor flickered to life. Camilla saw a montage of short video clips flash by—smash cuts through scenes from reality shows past and present. Conversations along the table died out, and heads turned.

“
Survivor,
” Camilla said.

“
The Apprentice.
” Mason laughed.

“
American Idol,
” Jordan said.

“And there’s
Fear Factor,
” Lauren called.

“
Big Brother.
” Even Natalie was calling out the names.

The scenes zipped by faster and faster, from one reality show to another. Then the sound faded out, replaced by a professional voice-over. The speaker’s voice resonated through the room, friendly and earnest.

“We call this reality television,” he said. “Instead of professional actors and a script created by a screenwriter, these shows bring ordinary people together in imaginative situations and exotic places. The contestants divide into teams and compete against each other for money and fame. We’ve all watched them, and I’m sure we’ve all asked ourselves the question: ‘How real is any of this,
really?
’”

Camilla watched as the video montage changed. Now she was seeing behind-the-scenes footage—outtakes and production stills, all from the very same reality shows. And her excitement leaked away like the air out of a balloon.

Camera crews swarmed around the contestants now. Makeup artists touched up their faces. A row of green portable toilets stood on the beach, a few yards away from the driftwood shelters the contestants had built. Camera trucks blocked the cobbled square in front of a historic church; stacks of pizza boxes were piled next to a cooking pit.

Nobody was calling out show names anymore. Camilla looked at the faces of her fellow contestants, seeing disappointment and disgust.

JT laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back. “I knew these reality shows were all bullshit.”

On-screen, a bearded man in rags sat against a palm tree. Camilla recognized him as one of the earliest reality stars, a first-season winner. The man held a cell phone between his shoulder and ear, talking into it. He was holding a white Starbucks coffee cup. Without looking, he held up his other palm, waving away the camera—waving
them
away, it seemed.

Veronica laughed. The sound of that laugh, so low and sultry, came as a surprise to Camilla.

Jordan pushed her coffee cup away. She seemed annoyed. “Well, that’s just great, guys. Why are we here, then?”

The video montage faded out. The speaker appeared, life-size, on the large screen of the monitor.

“I’m Julian, your host,” he said. “Welcome. Let’s discuss why you’re here.”

From his voice, Camilla had expected him to be older. Shoulder-length black hair fell in waves to each side of an open, friendly face. His dark suit was elegant, perfectly tailored. He stood alongside another big monitor screen. On it, a three-dimensional logo spun slowly: the stylized initials “V B E”—Vita Brevis Entertainment.

“Folks, you just saw why reality television’s appeal is fading.” His fingers made air quotes around “reality.”

“You don’t have to actually
see
the fakeness onscreen,” he said. “Viewers can
sense
it. They pick it up subliminally just from watching the contestants react. This is why the ratings of reality shows are dropping further with every season. You can’t fool the audience.”

The camera pulled back farther to reveal the end of a table in front of Julian. Camilla could now see where the video had been shot. The table was the one where the contestants now sat, and Julian stood next to the very screen they were watching. He smiled at them all.

“But you can still create truly authentic reality entertainment,” he said. “We’ve found the answer, and it’s an easy one.”

Up on the monitor, he opened his arms invitingly. “Modern technology, my friends—it lets us solve the problem of making a reality show ‘real.’ Tiny hidden cameras and directional microphones enable the producers, engineers, and camera operators to disappear into the background. They become invisible to contestants and audience alike.

“Vita Brevis Entertainment is well funded,” he said. “Our flagship venture will be a new reality show we create using this technology—a show based on a very simple premise: one hundred percent authenticity.

“What this means…” Julian clapped his hands together and leaned against the table. “Contestants experience the show exactly as the audience sees it. No downtime. No leaving the set. No meeting the crew. Cameras roll nonstop everywhere, twenty-four seven, until we have our winner.

“Which brings us to why each of you is here.” He smiled. “You’ve been invited to participate as contestants in the pilot show. Together, we are going to reinvent reality entertainment.”

On-screen, Julian paused for effect and looked away from them, as if scanning the walls, floor, and ceiling of the room. “In fact, the show has already begun,” he said. “You don’t see us, but our cameras have already captured some fantastic moments. If you give us your legal approval, that footage will become the first fifteen minutes of the most exciting and popular reality series ever made.” He looked out at them, smiling again. “Starring
you
.”

Julian disappeared from the screen, and another rapid montage of video clips began to play.

Camilla was surprised to see herself, standing at the rail and talking to Mason.

Cut to JT pointing out a window, showing Brent something.

Cut to Lauren, standing with a hand on each side of the doorway, unsmiling, sweeping the room with her eyes like a gunfighter entering a Wild West saloon.

Cut to Natalie, hands tucked under her knees, looking into the fireplace, Veronica leaning toward her, talking.

Cut to Travis tasting an appetizer, spitting it out, and putting it back on the tray.

Cut to Juan and Jordan at the bar, flirting as he mixed their drinks.

Jordan grabbed Camilla’s hand and said, “Oh, no! I hope they don’t use that last one.” But she was laughing.

“We haven’t signed anything,” Brent said. He wasn’t laughing. “Legally, they can’t use any of this. We have to be careful here.”

Julian reappeared on-screen. “Before you decide anything, let me share how you were selected.” His face became serious. “Each of you has been carefully screened by our team. We knew exactly what kind of contestant mix we wanted. We went looking for you. And we found you. Each of you fits a particular profile perfectly. We looked at thousands of potential candidates. But in the end, we chose the ten of you.”

He raised a hand as if to deflect any questions. “There’s no obligation to participate, obviously. You have a choice to make. There is a small packet of legal paperwork to sign, including a straightforward contract. If any of you choose not to give us audio and video rights to your performance, we can edit you out of tonight’s footage—the rest of us will just go on without you.

“But my friends, for those of you who do decide to sign on, I can promise the adventure of a lifetime.” His eyes flashed with excitement. “The location we’ve chosen will surprise and amaze you. We’ll be arriving shortly. Shooting the show will last between ten days and two weeks, from start to finish. You’ll be competing, in teams and as individuals, toward a grand prize which one of you will win.

“And for the grand prize itself…” Julian walked forward. The camera panned back to follow him, revealing more of the table. It was piled with bundles of green bills, stacked in untidy mounds that spilled across the tablecloth, in place of the coffee cups and dessert plates scattered in front of the contestants now.

Camilla bolted upright. So much money! It stretched the length of the table. People shifted around her, voices raised in excitement, but she couldn’t move. She could only stand there, staring. With that kind of money, she could take every single orphan in California to Disneyland. She could hire permanent staff. She could help
all
her kids, instead of always being forced to choose just a few. She thought of Avery’s voice, how he had sounded on the call this afternoon, and her eyes stung. She sat down again.

At the other end of the table, JT was bumping fists with Juan, Lauren, and Travis. “That’s what I’m talking about. Oh
hell
yeah.”

Jordan let out an excited little scream, grabbed Camilla’s hand, and squeezed. With her other hand, she held Veronica’s. Veronica’s pale eyes were locked on the screen, and her mouth hung open.

“Now,
that
…” Mason’s eyes were moving, as if he was counting. “… is a lot of money.”

No kidding, banker man!
Camilla laughed.

Brent reached over and squeezed Mason’s shoulder. He was smiling, looking at the screen. “Yes, it is,” he said. “We should have expected it, after seeing this yacht. But yes… yes, it is.”

Camilla’s excitement was suddenly tempered with dread. She
had
to win this. She looked at her chosen teammates. She could now understand Mason’s earlier comment: at some point, they, too, would stand between her kids and that money. The thought made her very uncomfortable, but she wasn’t going to let her kids down.

No matter what.

“At the end of the competition, in less than two weeks, one of you will walk away with five million dollars in cash.” Up on the screen, Julian rested a palm casually on the table, next to the stacked bundles of bills. “
This
cash. Oh, and one more thing.” He smiled. “It’s tax free. We’ll cover the taxes, too, so you get every penny.”

The table erupted into cheers around Camilla. Everyone was talking at once. On the monitor, Julian leaned casually back against the table, his unbuttoned suit jacket draping open, the money piled high behind him. His eyes held a glimmer of amusement. Amid the excited buzz in the room, Camilla watched him up there on the screen.