by Jeff Oliver
Sara and Al-Asari stood out on the balcony trying to make sense of the fact that Genevieve Jennings, the Network’s VP of Current Production, was hog-tied on the floor of the laundry room, a ticking time bomb for the whole crew.
“Interesting day,” Al-Asari said.
“Day ain’t over yet,” Sara said.
“This is not insurmountable,” said Al-Asari. “It mustn’t be.”
“Kidnapping a Network Exec? No, you’re right. That’s nothing.”
“At least no one got hurt,” Al-Asari said. “A miracle really.”
“You think so? Because to me, it’s a huge problem,” said Sara.
“I don’t follow,” said Al-Asari.
Sara lit a cigarette. “Jennings sprayed a full clip in there.”
“Yes.”
“Well, no one got so much as a scratch,” said Sara.
“Like I said, a miracle.”
“Or the gun had blanks,” Sara said. “Which makes me wonder if you guys have any bullets at all. I’m pretty certain that’s what the crew’s thinking.”
“Oh, we have bullets alright,” said Al-Asari.
“The crew probably thinks this is all bullshit. Probably all scheming to revolt right now.”
“We shot Lopez,” said Al-Asari.
“Yes, you did shoot Lopez,” Sara said.
“If you suspect us of being unarmed, a better question might be why you haven’t turned on us already?” said Al-Asari. “You’ve had several opportunities. Why not?” Sara didn’t answer. Al-Asari smiled. “I’m sure you have your reasons,” he said. “Want to know what I think motivates you?”
“Thrill me,” said Sara.
“You know that we’re not terrorists. That we had nothing to do with the bombing in Haifa.”
“Oh, that’s real plausible. You’re all over the news escaping in vans…”
“Do you know what Mal-Malaika means in Arabic?” asked Al-Asari. “It means ‘with the angels.’ Each one of us in our group has had a friend or family member killed in this war with Israel. I visited America once—Albuquerque—and a good friend was in a support group for people who’d lost loved ones—a survivor’s group. It helped him.
“So when I came back to the West Bank, I started such a support group. Only a few of us came at first. We talked. Some talked of revenge—some had gotten themselves involved in bad things. But it was a place to talk. To heal. The authorities had us on some list. I went in to speak to them about it. I tried to explain that we were non-violent.
“They detained me. Three weeks on a dirt floor, no lawyer, no phone calls. A piss-stained bag on my head for hours a day. They had me chained to a radiator and made me sit in awkward positions until my back burned. Once, I blacked out from the pain.”
“If you think I have some kind of sympathy for you…”
“After I got out of jail, I found that the group had split off,” said Al-Asari. “And they were making all kinds of plans for revenge. I tried to talk them out of it—to say that violence would lead to nothing. But then we were raided. The Israelis had discovered the plans. And there was a shoot-out. Did people die? I don’t know, but I wish to God, no.
“My instinct was to pay penance, but after what I had experienced in jail, after the cruelty I had experienced despite being innocent, I fled. We packed up and came here. If ever we needed to flee, Ruti’s father once told us, we could be safe on these grounds in Eilat. He said it was hidden in plain sight,” he said. “Oh, but how this place has changed. And we certainly didn’t expect you to be here.”
Al-Asari looked at Sara. “We are broken men, Ms. Sinek—alone with our pain, our dreaded memories, the emptiness left by the friends and families who have died in this mess. That is our motivation—to start over. Tell me, what motivates you, Ms. Sinek. Is it your esteemed career? Your family?”
“Money,” Sara said. She stubbed out her cigarette. “I need money.”
“For your brother?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sara said. Looking around to see if anyone was in earshot, she lowered her voice. “I have a plan, okay? If it works, I can get you and your men out of here, with some cash for a fresh start. And I’ll get what I want,” she said. “But you’ll have to follow my lead.”
“I’m listening.”
“Question first,” said Sara.
“You get only one,” said Al-Asari.
“How are you at scuba?”
Outside Jennings’ makeshift cell, Ruti briefed Sara and Al-Asari on the disaster within. “She chewed through the duct tape,” Ruti said. “She’s like a wild animal or something.”
Sara arched an eyebrow to Al-Asari. “You ready?”
“Now or never,” said Al-Asari.
Sara and Al-Asari entered the laundry room to find Genevieve Jennings upside down, vigorously rubbing the duct tape around her wrists against the edge of the washing machine.
“Jesus Christ, Sara! Get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here-or-I’m-closing-production-on-this-whole-fucking-show!” Sara peeled the tape off of her mouth, but the rant did not cease. “You’re-fired. Everyone’s-fired. I’ll-have-this-whole-fucking-city-in-jail-if-I’m-not-released-in-five-seconds. Four. Three. Two…”
Sara untied Jennings’s ankles and picked up her chair. Jennings sat, collecting herself with deep breaths. “Better,” she said. She looked back and forth between Sara and Al-Asari, and landed on Sara. “These aren’t fake terrorists, are they?” she asked.
“No, they are not,” Sara replied.
Jennings glanced at Al-Asari, then back to Sara again. “This guy—he’s a terrorist too?”
“He is,” said Sara.
“Did I go on a romantic date with a terrorist?”
“Afraid so.”
“Perfect,” Jennings said. She turned to Al-Asari. “Son of a bitch! I thought we had something going there!” She shook her head as if it was all a bad dream. “Wow, I am so done with men. My manicurist Luciana was right. You don’t meet a man on set.”
Sara pulled up video on her iPhone and pressed play. Jennings watched footage of herself in the interview room grabbing the terrorist’s machine gun and spraying the room.
“Did I kill him?” she asked.
“It was blanks,” Sara said.
“Oh, thank God.”
“You were brave,” said Sara. “If there had been real bullets, you would have taken out a real terrorist.”
“I would have been a hero,” said Jennings.
“That’s why we showed you the footage,” said Al-Asari, stepping in. “You’ll need it to repair your career after the scandal.”
“Scandal?” Jennings sneered. “What scandal? Sara, why does everyone speak in code around here?”
“We looked through the texts on your cellphone, Ms. Jennings,” said Al-Asari. “Couldn’t help but come across some awfully naughty correspondence between you and your boss, Glen Gelson.”
Blood drained from Jennings’s face. Al-Asari scrolled down her Blackberry with a wry smile. “Let’s see,” he said, reading off the screen. “‘I want you so deep inside me, I’d mistake you for my social conscience.’ That one I loved. How about, ‘You made me so hot last night, I forgot to check the Nielsen ratings.’ Pretty wild stuff for a Network GM to be saying to his employee. Tell me, Genevieve, if this gets out, do you think Mr. Gelson will try to save you or himself? Wait, don’t answer that.”
“Son of a bitch,” Jennings seethed.
“Wait, it gets better,” Al-Asari said, scrolling down. “‘Got my bum bleached for you. How do you like that for taking someone’s ass to the cleaners?’ This man has three children, does he not?”
“What do you want?” Jennings said through gritted teeth.
“Only your continued cooperation,” said Al-Asari. “Business as usual until we are out of here tomorrow afternoon.”
“I won’t make a peep,” said Jennings.
“Good,” said Al-Asari. “It is important that you do everything you normally would, right on sched
ule. For instance, your calendar says you are scheduled to go to the Central Eilat Bank in the morning. Why?”
“Signing some papers.” Jennings said. “For release of production funds.”
“You will go,” said Al-Asari.
“And do what?” said Jennings. “Re-route the money to the Bank of Terrorist Assholes? You think they’re going to fall for that?”
“I think they will fall for whatever you ask them to fall for,” Al-Asari said. “You will go to the bank and withdraw the money as cash. Bring it to me and these texts will be erased.”
“And if I don’t?” said Jennings.
Al-Asari tilted her Blackberry towards her. Jpegs of her texts were already attached to an email address: [email protected]. “Shall I press send?” said Al-Asari.
“Son of a bitch,” Jennings said, deflated. “I’ll do it.”
“Excellent,” said Al-Asari.
“May I please speak to my Co-Executive producer alone for a minute?” Jennings said.
“Of course.” Al-Asari walked to the other side of the room.
Sara brought a chair close to Jennings. “Are we insured for this?” Jennings asked.
“The Network is covered,” said Sara. “Once the money arrives in Israel, it’s the production company’s problem.”
“Are you a part of this, Sara?” Jennings asked, peering into Sara’s eyes. “You’ve gained a lot from this little catastrophe. I mean suddenly you’re in charge. It’s suspicious.”
“I was captured along with the others,” said Sara. “They threatened to start killing us if we didn’t do what they said. After they shot Lopez, they went to the call sheet and I was next to answer their demands. Do you think I want to be in this position?”
Jennings held Sara’s gaze for a long beat. “Okay, I believe you,” she said finally. “Tell me the scenarios. And don’t bullshit me.”
“Worst case is we all get killed, the terrorists get away with the money, the show’s cancelled, and we’re all out of a job because we’re dead,” said Sara. “Best scenario, we have a piece of television history on our hands. You get promoted to SVP for fearlessly leading us to the biggest hit the network has ever seen, the police quietly arrest the terrorists and put them away forever, and Lopez regains any lost funds next season through his massive insurance policy.”
Jennings thought about it. “Let’s do the second thing.”
“Copy that,” said Sara.
Al-Asari stepped over. “We all good?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Al-Asari. “And don’t worry about the bank getting suspicious. You’re not going to take out all the money. Only half. Tell them you want to leave the rest there long term. They’ll roll out the red carpet for that kind of American money, and it will make you look like a hero to the Network for thinking fast and saving half the production budget.”
“What if I can’t do it?” said Jennings.
“I don’t know you well enough to say this, but I have a feeling there is no ‘can’t’ for you,” said Al-Asari.
Jennings thought about it. “Except for Immanuel Kant,” she said.
“Pardon?”
“German philosopher,” Jennings said. She rolled her eyes. “Jesus, I am horrible with men. Fine, I’ll do it. Now stop messing with my goddamn Blackberry. And would someone please get me that fucking caramel latté?”
Back at the resort, Sara sat at the computer in the main office and dialed up her brother Nathan on Facetime.
“I drew up the plans!” Nathan said excitedly as soon as his face came up. He was in his blue bathrobe, his hair a sleepy mess. “We should have seating like in Minecraft. Bright green and blocky. Look!” Nathan held up elaborate drawings at all angles to the screen. Sara swelled with pride and her eyes got wet.
“I like it,” Sara choked.
“Hey, are you crying?” Nathan said.
“Some dust in my eyes.”
“You’re not getting soft on me, are you, Sara?”
“Never.”
“Good, because that would really freak me out,” said Nathan. Sara laughed and wiped her cheeks.
Ruti peeked into the room. “Oh, sorry,” she said.
“Who’s that?” Nathan asked, looking around the Facetime screen. “Is that a girl? Let me see her. Let me see her, Sara!”
Sara waved Ruti in. “This ought to be interesting,” she said. “Nathan, this is Ruti. She’s a friend.”
“Hi, Nathan. It’s nice to meet you,” Ruti said, angling her face into the screen.
“You’re pretty,” said Nathan. “She’s pretty, Sara. Hey, Ruti, what happened to your neck?”
“An accident. Long time ago. I’m all better now,” said Ruti.
“Looks like a panther,” Nathan said. Then he looked to Sara. “I like her. Are you going to date her?”
“Little early to tell,” said Sara.
“My sister is a good provider,” said Nathan. “A little rough around the edges, and stubborn as hell. Plus her feet smell like cheese. Hopefully, you can help there.”
“I’m trying,” Ruti laughed.
“Ruti?”
“Yes, Nathan.”
“What’s your opinion of Adele?” he asked.
“I think she is one of the most underappreciated musical geniuses in history. Her top five songs rival the Beatles,” she said.
Nathan giggled and spun in his chair. “She’s a good one, Sara. Don’t mess it up like with the others.”
“There were others?” Ruti chided.
“All right, all right, let’s get this over with,” said Sara.
Nathan turned around and cued the music—this time it was Adele’s Someone Like You.
“Aw, romantic,” said Ruti.
“Cheeseball,” said Sara.
And then they sang—the three of them—possibly the corniest pop song ever, right to the end.
When they hung up, Ruti turned to Sara. “Your brother is amazing,” she said.
“He’s not always like that,” said Sara.
“I know. But he’s amazing. I love him.”
Sara winced. “Look…”
“I don’t want to fucking marry you,” Ruti said, rolling her eyes. “I just said your brother was cool. So calm down, metumtam!”
“I was going to say, ‘Nathan seems to like you too.’ And that’s a big deal.”
Ruti searched Sara’s eyes. “I believe in you, metumtam. All you’ve got to do is not screw up.”
She kissed her and Sara laughed when Ruti again broke into a heavily accented rendition of Adele’s Someone Like You.
CHAPTER 9
Tanya was sunbathing on the lower balcony of the cast mansion in a pink bikini as thin as tooth-floss, and with sunglasses big enough to be called goggles. She sipped from a cold glass of mint lemonade daiquiri and chomped on an ice cube.
On the upper balcony, Ramin, the teenaged poet, gazed down on her longingly. He scribbled lines of inspiration into his journal, describing Tanya’s soft golden skin, the bleached strands of blond hair on her neck, the sensual arch of her lower back.
Ruti walked out on the balcony with a foamy coffee and gazed out onto the hills.
“Enjoying the view?” she said. Ramin blushed and closed his journal.
“It’s okay,” Ruti said. “I’ve had crushes too.”
“Does it always hurt like this?” Ramin said. There was desperation in his eyes.
“Depends on your game plan,” she said.
“One needs a game plan?” said Ramin.
Ruti sat down across from him, balancing the coffee on her lap. “Well, you can’t just write about her all day,” she said. “A woman needs to be told. To her face.”
“What if she doesn’t want to hear it?” Ramin asked.
“Then at least you’ve tried. But if you don’t, you’ll never know,” said Ruti. Ramin looked unconvinced. Ruti took another sip of her coffee and leaned back onto a pillow. “When I was about your age, I received a letter from my e
stranged father. He was a famous race car driver and playboy,” said Ruti. “He had left my mother and me and my two brothers penniless while he was living in luxury.
“My mother kept him in her heart, even as she slaved away sewing clothes in a factory for shekels a week… even as she got sick. Then I received a letter. My father told me that he was giving me everything—his fortune of untold millions—with one catch: In two months, I was to marry the son of a man to whom he owed many favors—favors that could not be paid off with money.”
“What did you do?” Ramin asked.
“I had a sick mother and debt. So I found the boy in a nearby village and I seduced him. I was not in love with him, but I made him fall in love with me, and soon we were married. And then I waited for the money, but it never came. Instead, one day my mother received a letter announcing my father’s death. Included was a bill for his casket.”
“That can’t be,” said Ramin.
“I decided to reveal everything to my new husband. I came completely clean about who my father was, the money, the lie that had led me to his village. I pledged that I would make it up to him, that I understood if he no longer wanted me, if he wanted a gett [Hebrew for divorce]. But if he chose to keep me, I would be an obedient wife. So he told me: ‘I knew all along.’ He knew and he didn’t care! Every deception he had been aware of since the beginning, but he wanted me anyway.”
“That is so beautiful,” said Ramin.
“Beautiful? I was horrified,” said Ruti. “It stung worse than if he’d hit me. That he could be so dishonest with me that whole time! I could never trust him again. So even though I pledged to stay, I soon left him to become a medic. He’s remarried now. Three kids. They live in Tel Aviv. Seems very happy on Facebook.”
Ramin was baffled. “But… what does it mean?”
“You don’t see?” Ruti said, astonished. “Love is random. God gives us only the power to desire. After that, it is up to you.”