“Here’s the deal, Abigail,” Jeannie said in a blunt voice. “You go out there and join their little game show and don’t tell anyone about the deal. You’ll meet up with production assistants—that will allow you to record a video diary every day, exclusive for MediaWeek’s usage. You stay until you’re voted out, and when you come back, you do the press tour like a good girl, write your articles that give us an exclusive inside look, and then you write your book. It gives MediaWeek a nice bit of leverage and free advertising, and Matlock’s show gets a boost as well. That’s how the parent company wants it. Do you understand?”
I understood. It kind of sounded like the entire thing had been decided long before I even went into the room. I glanced over at Matlock and found him studying my figure again, and I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around my torso and hide myself. “I’m uh… not a hundred percent familiar with the show. How long would I be out there?”
“Six weeks if you stay the entire time. Someone will be voted off every four days. The show starts with twenty-four people with fifteen elimination rounds total. After seven group eliminations, we’ll go down to singles for the last ten and two will go to the final vote for the two million dollars.”
Holy shit. Two million dollars on the line—I felt dizzy. “Can I win the millions?”
“Possibly. You’ll have to be really good.” He gave me a faint, smug smile.
Interesting. They were going to give me a shot at two million? Suddenly I was a lot more interested. “What if I’m the first one voted out?”
“You won’t be,” he said. Again, the patronizing smile. “Other than that, it will be played out as the game goes. If you’re eliminated early, you can give everyone a behind-the-scenes look at the Loser Lodge.”
A six-week island getaway and a book deal any way I looked at it. I glanced over at Jeannie and she was giving me a death glare. Islands or Boss from Hell. Coconut Hell or Editorial Hell. Sand in my swimsuit crack every day for two months, or Jeannie up my ass for the rest of my life.
I looked over at Matlock and gave him a game shrug. “Let’s give it a shot, then.”
“That’s a girl,” he crowed, and Jeannie smiled smugly.
Yeah, joy. Yay. Me on TV.
***
The next two days were a whirlwind, but the magazine was there to help out. There were things to be covered for and trained on (my weekly articles), a cat to be boarded (dropped off at Tim’s), utilities and rent to be paid ahead of time (so I wasn’t homeless or without lights when I returned), and an endless round of physicals and vaccinations for the actual show. Just when I needed a nap—or to run away screaming from all of it—I was shuffled onto a charter plane and flown out to Auckland, New Zealand. One of the assistants continually shoved objects into my hands as we rode on the plane. She asked me a million questions and continually handed me release forms and waivers. No piece of information was sacred—from the last time I’d had my period to my blood type to my swimsuit size to did I need a bikini wax before the show filmed?
I admit I freaked out a little over the bikini-wax thing. Exactly how much were they going to be showing on this game show? But I sucked it up and got waxed because the alternative was worse.
It went downhill as we progressed. Every time I made a concession, I had to give three more. While we were on the plane, the assistant sidelined me with something else. “And here’s your bag of clothing for the next six weeks.”
It looked really, really small. Unnerved, I picked it up and began to dig through it. The fabrics that touched my hand felt soft, lycra-ish. Swimsuits, I guessed, and a shirt or two. Nothing warm, nothing concealing. Too kind of them. “Great, thanks.” My enthusiasm was evident in my voice.
“You need to change before we get on the plane,” she chirped at me, beaming, and led me toward the nearest bathroom. “Strip off all of your old clothing and put on what’s provided for you. We have corporate sponsors and you have to wear their logos.”
Made sense, even if I wasn’t crazy about it. But, yay bathroom. Of course, I discovered a few minutes later that the show was going to be a bit of a lesson in humility and identity.
The shirt I pulled out? Bright, vivid pink with my name—ABBY—emblazoned across both the front and back in bold white letters. I suppose that was to help the audience figure out who we were easily. Lovely. With a grimace I tossed the shirt aside and dug into the bag again. A string bikini—same pink. Same garish name across the backside of the panties. Yeah, well that wouldn’t be getting much use, despite my new (and painful) hair-free bikini line. I tossed it aside as well.
At the bottom of the bag, there was one more bikini in a different style, and a swimsuit—a tankini. All in the same nasty pink with my name screaming across the chest. I also had a pair of water shoes and a pair of sneakers. That was it.
Six weeks’ worth of beach clothing. They were kidding, right?
Chapter Two
Abby who?—Dean Woodall, Day 1
The blindfolds did an excellent job—I hadn’t seen the face of one single, solitary person. I could hear them and smell them around me, though. The faint scent of cologne, deodorant, and some girl’s powdery floral perfume lingered in my nostrils as the plane descended, and we were shuffled out, blindfolds intact, onto a boat. The motor purred as we were taken out onto the water, waves crashing against the hull. I sat with my small bag of clothes in my lap, my legs pressed against two other pairs of legs on either side of me.
Someone shuffled equipment near the front of the boat, and I heard the motor cut. The breeze ruffled my hair gently, a signal that we’d slowed down or stopped on the water. I heard the microphone flick on and the crew talking to themselves in low voices.
“Are we ready?” called a familiar, overly-cadenced voice. I tried to place it, but couldn’t without a face.
“Ready,” intoned someone else. “In three… two… one…”
“Welcome,” boomed the host so loudly that I jumped slightly in my seat, my nerves on edge. “Welcome to Endurance Island! We are here in the famous Cook Islands, home to piracy and private, sandy beaches. This will be your home for the next six weeks, provided you can withstand all the challenges that Endurance Island has in store for you! Who’s ready to Endure?”
Silence met his question. Someone coughed.