Chapter 7
Roberto has clearly had his makeup re-touched for the afternoon session, because he looks like he’s been in the tanning booth usually reserved for oompa loompas. I’d say he’s probably pissed Natalie off because she’s trowelled his eyeliner on so thick he looks as if he’s been punched.
‘Round Two!’ he shouts, bowing for no apparent reason. ‘Something New.’
Ryan and I are standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the TV screen, and he leans into me and whispers in my ear.
‘I’m going to lick your clit like a cat lapping whipped cream.’
Unfortunately for him, my microphone catches his every word and rattles them back around Command HQ. Brad starts to howl with laughter, Rena shouts ‘For God's sake, Connie! No sex until you’ve won the bloody game!’ and Roberto looks like someone just shoved a lemon up his backside.
‘Cut!’ he shouts. ‘Kindly refrain from such un-broadcastable vulgarity.’ He shudders, looking down his over-powdered nose, whilst I think hoorah, any sex stuff is going straight on the cutting room floor. ‘From the top again, please.’
’Sorry,’ Ryan mutters, standing close beside me as Roberto runs through the round two introduction again. Ryan has his hand on my ass. I mean literally on my bare ass. He’s shoved it down the back of my knickers and is cupping my cheek suggestively.
Roberto sighs and flicks his eyes upwards as if asking the good Lord to send him strength.
‘Cut! You should know that there are cameras behind you too,’ he says, almost bored. ‘Did you ever see Peeta maul Katniss? No! Get your hand out of Connie’s underwear and look respectable. NOW!’ He screams the last word like a headmaster in a rage, and Ryan and I jump slightly apart and look at the floor as Roberto runs through the round two info for the third time.
'Something new, in your case, challengers, is… fire!’ He’s all smiles again for the camera. ‘The first one to build a living fire from natural resources ONLY wins the point. Want to know what they’re playing for this time, fiancées?' He turns to Brad and Rena, who are on the edge of their seats. Jesus, they look warm and cosy, and there’s an empty champagne bottle upended in an ice bucket on the table between them.
‘Designer wedding outfits for your entire bridal party! Couture wedding dresses, handsome morning suits, bridesmaids, groomsmen, mothers of the bride! Every last one of your bridal party all decked out in designer style courtesy of Splash TV!’
Rena is a designer label whore. Of all the prizes, I think she probably covets this one most of all.
‘I don’t know how to make fire, Rena!’ I bleat, even as the screen goes blank. ‘Page me instructions!’
‘So for them to win something new, we have to build a fire,’ I reiterate. ‘First one to make flames gets the point.’
GO OUT OF THE BACK DOOR appears on the screen. God, I wish I had a coat. I’m in the equivalent of a swimsuit here, and despite the fact that the sun’s trying to come out, there was a frost last night and the air is cold.
I sigh and troop out through the kitchenette behind Ryan.
Two stone circles have been laid out a little way from the house with X spray-painted in the middle.
‘It looks like the scene of a human sacrifice,’ Ryan says. He’s so bloody confident that he’s bought his beer out with him. ‘Go and lie down in one of the circles and say your prayers, Connie.’
’No way,’ I say, my eyes already scanning the ground for sticks. I’ve never built a live fire in my life, but sticks are a must, surely.
‘May the best man win,’ he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Now, remember, he’s shirtless, and the movement bunches his shoulders up in a way that makes me all too aware of his manly maleness. I look away, because I think he’s using my physical distraction techniques from the previous round to try to thrown me off.
‘Or woman,’ I say automatically, rolling my shoulders although I’m far from confident. Was it only this morning that I rode The Tube in a wedding dress? It feels like a lifetime ago.
He throws me an in-your-dreams look over his shoulder, then jogs off in the direction of the tree line.
I check my pager. Nothing. Gah, Rena, come on! Pausing, I spend a couple of minutes typing out a help me SOS and send it, then scrub around on the edge of the woods gathering up likely twigs and leaves.
Ryan reappears ten minutes later and eyes my haphazard unlit bonfire pile.
‘Never gonna happen.’
‘Wait and see,’ I mutter. ‘I’m not done yet.’
He deposits his armful of wood and leaves in his circle and then drops his ass down on a nearby tree stump, watching me. He has his jeans-clad legs bent, and his bare elbows resting on his knees. I try, and fail, not to admire the strong curve of his lightly tanned back or the lean, defined lines of his biceps.
‘What are you doing?’ I pause from piling more leaves on top of my leaves to look up at him.
‘Giving you a head start.’
‘I don’t need one,’ I scoff. ‘I can beat you fair and square.’
He nods. ‘And how are you planning to light your leaf sculpture?’
I shake my head at his sarcasm. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know,’ I mutter.
He falls silent, but I can see he’s on the verge of laughter as my pager goes off.
Rub sticks together!
Great. Neither Rena nor I were girl-guide material. We don’t have a brother between us, and we never watched Blue Peter. She clearly has the same skill set as me here, i.e., she’s got nothing.
I stand back and stare at my heap. It’s up as high as my knees now and looks as if someone swept up the garden waste. ‘That should do it,’ I declare, with far more confidence than I have any right to.
‘You reckon?’ he grins, folding his arms across his bare chest and sprawling his long legs out in front of him.
‘If I were you I’d quit hanging around and get started,’ I say, mostly because he’s making me even more nervous than I already am.
‘When I’m ready,’ he says, nonchalant.
‘You’ll regret it when I win,’ I say.
He scrubs his hand over the stubble on his chin. ‘Will I? Way I see it, my buddy owes me big time if I win, and you blow me if I lose. It’s a pretty good place to be in.’
I glance up at the camera I’ve spied attached to the eves of the cabin and hope that the wind carried his words away.
Picking up two sticks, I try to casually rub them together, hoping for a sparky miracle.
‘I hope you never get genuinely stranded in the woods,’ he laughs, enjoying himself. ‘Because you’d have been eaten by a bear by now.’
‘Yeah, and you’d have wrestled him to the ground and barbecued him over your fire, no doubt.’ I’m losing my temper because it’s becoming apparent that this stick-rubbing thing is useless and I know how much Rena would love those designer wedding clothes.
He gets up and dusts his jeans off. ‘You said it, Goldilocks.’
I watch as he strolls across to his circle and drops on his haunches. In five minutes flat he’s cleared out a hollow with his hands, and used the various sticks, leaves and moss he’s gathered to create an organised little pile that looks horribly like the basis for a good, roaring fire.
I start rubbing my sticks faster like a mad woman, my feet planted wide on the floor.
‘You look fucking hilarious,’ he says, and then picks up his empty beer bottle and whacks it against a heavy rock.
‘What the…?’ I say, as I watch him stoop and pick the curved glass base out from amongst the shattered shards. Oh, balls. Yes, of course, you can use glass, I think. He briefly studies the sky and then stoops again with the glass angled towards the sun. Because I know Rena will be watching, I keep frantically rubbing my sticks, baring my teeth like a dog with the effort of it.
‘You’re going to give yourself a friction burn if you keep that up,’ he says, momentarily looking my way. ‘Whereas any second now I’ll have good old flames.’
’Shut up,’ I mutter, sensing impending doom.
I don’t have to wait long. In less than a minute he whoops, and I look over to see he’s bloody done it. Orange flames lick through the moss and twigs he’s built, and he gets up and dances, shaman like, around his tiny fire.
I chuck my sticks to the ground in disgust and flex my aching hands, ignoring the buzz of my pager because Rena is no doubt spitting mad about her designer dress package.