Macy
“How long has the radio been broken?”
Aaron’s standing with his hands on his fucking hips, looking out onto the island and not even fucking facing me when he asks.
“Since we left. I told you more than once already. I was trying to radio the guide boat for this very—this is an eventuality, isn’t it?”
I slam my thumb, then the palm of my hand, on every fucking button on the goddamn thing, willing it to make some freaking noise.
There’s always a pattern to situations like this, when you don’t want to accept that something is, indeed, fucking happening.
I drop the radio intentionally on the sand between my feet. The sound inspires Robinson fucking Crusoe over there to finally turn around and face the issue instead of basking in whatever he thinks he’s found on this tiny heap of sand, rocks and old, bowing palms.
“Now it’s dead, Macy—if it wasn’t before.”
That pattern I was talking about?
It’s more like a road, with different signposts along the way.
When the boat engine started going crazy, we passed that first signpost:
No, this isn’t happening, no way.
“I dropped it on soft fucking sand, Aaron. And it was dead to begin with. Long dead!”
When the boat ran ashore on some random fucking island, we passed the next signpost:
Now this is really not happening. No, it’s all some big misunderstanding, and I’ll just blink and everything will be back to normal.
“Did you check your phone, Macy?”
“Did you check yours?” is the best I can manage as I dig my phone out from the waterproof pouch in my handbag.
When the radio stayed dead when we needed it most, and Aaron started skulking around like this was some newfound land to conquer, we passed the next signpost:
Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is really fucking happening, isn’t it?
“No signal on mine, Mace. How about yours?”
Looking at my phone, I resist the urge to stab it with my thumb like I did with the radio.
“No. Nothing.”
And there goes the next and final signpost.
No, no, no, no, fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!
“Let me take a look at the radio.” Aaron points to the useless hunk of black plastic on the ground.
At least he didn’t just reach down and take it.
“Be my guest.”
I take a few steps backwards, and he scoops the radio in a weirdly swift and fluid movement, then began working on it immediately.
I look at my phone again. There’s no signal, but there must be some way to get through to the rest of the world.
Aaron now has the battery or something already pulled out of the radio.
I go back to my phone.
“Ah. No. This thing’s completely defunct. Why did they give us this piece of shit?” he exclaims.
“I said that like twenty times already—and there’s no Wi-Fi here either.”
Aaron goddamn laughs loud enough to shake the goddamn trees, but I don’t entirely mind it.
Panicking’s not going to do us any good.
“Do they have another manifest back at the pier? Or will they mention us to the guides when they get back? And notice we’re missing?” I ask.
I don’t know why I think Aaron would know all this shit—but he fucking might, and there’s little else I can think of right now.
“Those are possibilities,” he says, “but most likely, they’ll notice their missing boat before anything else.”
“So, they should be out here in like an hour at most?”
“That’s possible, but highly unlikely.”
“Then, when will they find us?”
“Depending on how many other islands are out there, how far we are from the group, and the resources they can put on this, it could be days.”
I feel like we’re about to go down that road again, with those signposts—but this time I’ll just skip a few steps.
“No, no, no, fuck!”
“Or it could be shorter, if this sort of thing happens often. Although you’d think they’d have better fail-safes.”
“Alright, fine, no time to panic.”
I’m the only one panicking, but Aaron nods understandingly.
“Nah, I don’t think so. But it still happens, too. It’s also not the time to beat yourself up, either.”
My hand travels into my handbag as if both were suddenly magnetized, and emerges a second later with several tiny gin bottles from the suite’s fridge.
“It is time to drink, though.”
“Whoa, lady, you carry those around in your purse? I think we might need to have a little talk.”
“Oh, you always want to have a little talk, don’t you? Well, it’s not always a good time to do that.”
Aaron pulls four tiny gin bottles from some seemingly bottomless pouch at the back of his swimwear.
“You got me, Macy. When I say I want a little talk...well.”
I’m going to have to start thinking of some new analogies, because there are no signposts for what starts to unfold next.
There are no easy ways to describe it at all.
“Seriously,” Aaron begins as we look out onto the sea, sipping from our little bottles, “do you have the habit of carrying liquor around in your purse?”
“In my purse? No. In my handbag?” I shrug, waiting a perfectly uncomfortable couple of seconds. “Also, no.”
This time, Aaron’s laugh seems to echo down the yawning chasm of water before us. There’s no actual echo, but it just feels so...powerful.
“Do you usually carry around liquor next to your butt?”
“Only if I’m on set, and if one of the stars has something about that in his rider.”
“That the producer has to carry around liquor somewhere...special?”
“That might as well be my job description, to be honest. But it’s never for me. Even today—it was for the both of us.”
“Well, I’d ask how the fuck you knew we’d be in a situation like this, but I grabbed some too, so...did you happen to grab any snacks, too?”
“Hell yeah! Did you?”
A little more straight rum, a few crackers with hummus, a few more Belgian chocolates... I don’t need any fancier dining than this.
It seems to be working out tonight, at any rate.
Yes, it’s somehow gotten dark over the course of a few snacks.
And we’re still sitting on the sand, staring out at the ocean—although the view is mostly stars, now.
I polish off my latest bottle, trying to think of the right thing to say.
“At this moment, I am seeing more stars than I’ve ever seen up until now combined.”
I turn lazily to the side to gauge Aaron’s reaction to that bit of poetry I just fucking dropped.
He just keeps looking up to the fucking sky as he says, “Heh. Upper West Side, right?”
I bring my view, even more lazily, back up to the sky.
“You can’t see any more stars on the East Side. Or in fuckin’ Midtown. S’all the same. Where did you grow up, Mr. Big Shot? Fuckin’ Big Sur or something?”
We both laugh upwards into the vastness of the night sky.
“No, but close. Brentwood.”
My head drops for another look at Aaron, considering this information, and then back up at the universe.
“You’re really born and bred, aren’t you?”
“I’m a product of the system, baby.” Aaron twists the cap off another rum bottle. “The studio system.”
“I didn’t know the studio system produced human beings.”
“You should ask my parents about that.”
“Ask them about what?”
“Being part of the studio magic, that old-school Hollywood glamour, when I was trying to grow up and be an actual person.”
“Did they try to make you a child star or something?”
“No. And that’s one thing to be grateful for. They just let me raise myself while I got inadvertent little glimpses into the sleaze through the artifice.”
“So, they were producers?”
“Fuck, yeah, couldn’t you tell?”
I’m not even sure what’s funny, but more of our laughter flies into the constellations.
“Wait a second...” I turn over to face Aaron, and he faces me at the same time, and the view is somehow even better than all the stars. “Your parents were into old-school Hollywood glamour when you were growing up? How old are you? Is this old-school glamour from the nineties?”
“Yeah, early nineties, and later. You know, Jack and Rose.”
“So is that one of the movies you like?”
Aaron rolls his eyes, and that’s enough to take me on a little journey—and leave me feeling flushed out of fucking nowhere.
“What do you think, Macy?”
“How about TV, music?”
That sentence was a hard one to get out.
“Oh, yeah. Music videos...the Bangles...”
“Weren’t they before your time? Also, what?”
“They’re timeless. Susanna Hoffs is not of this Earth.”
“What about Belinda Carlisle?”
“She’s more about being down to Earth, no matter what.”
“I think I get that. What else, Madonna?”
“Are you calling me Madonna?”
“No, she’s just from the same whole thing. Or maybe not.”
“No, I’d say definitely not. Like a Prayer was great, though.”
“How about beyond that? Blonde Ambition? Truth or Dare?”
Yes, I’m the one who says it. Guess who runs with it?
I’ll give you a hint: he’s suddenly got a lot more energy, and he’s now sitting upright.
“If you’re suggesting we play Truth or Dare, I think that’s a great idea.”
“I’ll tell you what...” I sit upright, now. It seems like the thing to do. “I’ll do it—but I’m choosing truth every single time.”
“Macy, that sounds perfect.”
I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it.
“How does it start? Fuck it I’m going: truth, ask away.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you could possibly admit right now? And remember, this is truth, so make it accurate.”
The answer springs to mind immediately, and blood rushes to my face, which I bury in my hands for a moment.
“Oh, no, not this. Not you. You’re the last person I should be telling this to.”
“Sounds like you’ve found the exact right answer to this question. So, let’s have some truth.”
Uncovering my face, I spit it out as fast as possible. “IactuallylikePaulyShore.”
“What? I have to understand what you’re saying.”
“I. Actually. Like. Pauly. Shore. Okay?”
“Uh, I said embarrassing. That’s normal. Pauly Shore’s great.”
“So those are the movies you like?”
“All I said was Pauly Shore’s great, but you’re obviously embarrassed so you’re off the hook. My turn.”
“Allow me to guess...”
“No, my turn: dare.”
That flushing from earlier return with a fucking vengeance, and I feel weak. I lie down, unthinkingly, my eyes still on Aaron, waiting for his dare.
This is it. I’m in control.
The way Aaron looks at me is clear—he’s mine to do with as I please.
I now know that this is the situation I’ve been waiting for.
“Okay Aaron, your dare is to stand up and take off all your clothes.”
Aaron moves to leap off the ground.
“Woah there, Superman. This time, take it nice and slow. I want to enjoy this show.”