“It does.”
“It’s quite alcoholic. Are you trying to get me drunk, Mr. James?”
“Do you want me to get you drunk?”
Uh-oh. I’m in trouble here.
I don’t answer and keep sipping my drink.
He smiles. Apart from joking about the weirdness aspect in the lobby, he seems very relaxed. It’s unfair that he has the advantage of being well rested.
“So how did you travel from Tofino to here? Concorde?” I say playfully.
He laughs. “Um, you do know that no one flies by Concorde anymore?”
“Yes, but you’re so rich, I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew someone who still owned one.”
“My life isn’t as glamorous as you may think.”
“Oh, I know it’s glamorous. I’ve experienced it, remember?”
“I know I am extremely privileged, but I also work very hard. My father was a great man and he left big shoes to fill.”
“You seem to be doing okay.”
“I’m managing. But I need to make sure I don’t show any weakness. And all my shows have to keep performing. I guess that’s why I was thinking of cancelling MultiDate.”
“But you’re not anymore, are you? I know I’m biased, but this could be one of the best seasons ever.”
“I know,” he says softly.
“And I’d like to think it has a little bit to do with me,” I say lightly.
He looks at me seriously. “It has a lot to do with you.”
Our cake arrives, saving the conversation from becoming too intense.
“Wow, this looks amazing.”
“It does.”
I grab a fork and dig into the mountain of meringue, peaches and whipped cream. I know I will probably regret eating the cream later, but I can’t help myself. I slide the first piece into my mouth. “Oh my God.”
Patrick watches me with the kind of look I normally give to a pizza after a night out dancing and drinking. My stomach gets all swoopy.
“That goddamn mouth of yours,” he says in exasperation.
“What about it?” I say licking the cream off my fork.
He groans. “You’re killing me, Lauren.”
I smile, pleased. After being sensible for so long, it’s fun to shut off the logical part of my brain for a while.
I scoop up another piece of cake and hold it to his mouth. He eats it while keeping his eyes on me the whole time. So this is what it’s like to have the upper hand with an extremely hot and powerful man. I definitely don’t hate it. Especially when I get the impression he would do anything I asked right now.
I alternate bites of cake with one for me and one for him. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much fun.
Patrick stands up and grabs my hand again, pulling me inside, where a live band is playing. The dancefloor is packed with couples glued to each other and doing what looks like a relaxed version of the tango. Patrick pulls me close to him and we start gliding around the floor.
I’ve decided that maybe I’ve dreamt this whole evening. Instead of having a drink with Ariel and then texting Patrick, I actually fell asleep as soon as we reached the hotel.
Because there is no way I am dancing in Punta del Este with Patrick James.
***
After an hour of rubbing up against Patrick’s body, I feel like we’ve generated enough energy to power the whole country for a year.
We wander down to the beach and lie on the sand, listening to the waves and talking about life. But even after everything that’s happened tonight, he hasn’t once tried to kiss me.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally crack.
“You are infuriating,” I huff.
He laughs. “In what way?”
“You know exactly in what way.”
“You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”
“I hate you.”
He laughs even harder. “I’m trying to uphold your request from Tofino.”
“Oh, quit it. If you really meant that, you would not have gotten me drunk, fed me dessert and danced with me all night.”
“Um, I think you’ll find that you fed me dessert.”
“You know what I mean.”
He rolls over onto his side and looks at me. It’s dark, but I can see his eyes shining. “Are you changing your mind?”
“Maybe.”
“I need more than a maybe.”
“Damn you. Fine. Yes, I have completely changed my mind.”
Apparently that’s all he’s been waiting for. He pulls me on top of him and devours me with a kiss.
And it’s even better than the last one. Maybe it’s because I’m no longer thinking about Finn, or maybe it’s just that I’m drunk and the man is hot, and I’m sick of denying myself.
We make out like teenagers for a few minutes, and then I start unbuttoning Patrick’s shirt.
“I want to do this properly,” he whispers, and stands up, pulling me to my feet. We sneak back to his hotel room, where he throws me on the bed and starts unbuttoning my shirt.
To hell with professional consequences.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The rest of the week passes way too quickly. Patrick stays in Punta del Este the whole time, and every night, I sneak over to his hotel after the other producers are asleep. I’m always sure to return before they wake, but as a result, I don’t get nearly enough sleep myself.
If Ariel has noticed I’m less interactive than usual, she doesn’t say anything. I’m glad I brought my Jackie O sunglasses with me, so no one can see my bloodshot eyes.
On Thursday morning, I head down to the beach. We have a parasailing date scheduled between Jill and Dean, and we need to finish it before the beach gets too crowded.
The cameramen have set up at multiple angles on the sand, and a couple of the producers are prepping Jill and Dean. One is rubbing Jill’s shoulders with sunscreen and adjusting her bikini straps, while the other is interviewing Dean for his pre-date thoughts.
“It’s been a pretty hectic few weeks,” he says, pretending the camera isn’t there. “But I’m really looking forward to getting some alone time with Jill. And what better way than taking her on a parasailing date?”
“Good,” the producer says. “But we need to work in some analogy comparing the date with love, like the sky being the limit or something. Do you think you can do it again?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “That’s so cheesy.”
“The viewers love it,” the producer says. “They want cheese.”
“Fine.”
I leave them to it and head over to Ariel. She thrusts a pack of mints at me. “Give these to Jill and Dean. I want at least one kiss in the air and one on the sand afterwards.”
My brain flashes to the fallout from the book. I’m not sure if Ariel has actually forced people to say they love each other, but this is almost as bad.
“You mean you’re hoping they kiss twice?” I correct.
She sighs. “You say tomato…”
“We can’t make them kiss each other,” I point out.
“No, but we can encourage them. Now go on. Do your job, please.”
I reluctantly head back to where Jill and Dean are being strapped into harnesses. I can’t bring myself to give the mints directly to them, so I chicken out and hand them to Jill’s handler. She takes them without a word.
Oh, the classy life of a reality TV producer.
***
On the final night before we move on to Austria, I stay a little longer in Patrick’s room. He’s told me he won’t be continuing on with us.
“People are starting to wonder why they can’t get a hold of me,” he explains.
“I understand.”
He caresses my shoulder and sighs. “I wish things were different.”
“It’s okay. I’m only going to be away for another four weeks, and we’ll both be busy during that time. I’ll be back in Sydney before you know it.”
“Any time without you nearby will go s
low. I guarantee it.”
I blush. “You sweet talker, you.”
“It’s true. You drive me crazy, Lauren Hunter. When I’m around you, it feels like the world exists just for us.”
I kiss his mouth hard. “Remember that feeling while I’m gone.”
***
After another twenty hours in the air, the show descends on Salzburg. The cast and crew have finally adapted to the constant changes in location and the lengthy transfers from airports to remote cities. I know I’m getting better at sleeping anywhere there’s a floor. I also invested in a fancy neck pillow and managed to sleep for more than half an hour on the last flight.
After yet another hour on the bus, we arrive at the ski village of Obertauern. I step outside to stretch my legs and breathe in the fresh icy air of the Austrian alps.
It’s colder than Tofino, and there is snow on the mountains. That should make for some cute dates.
Everyone else looks happy to have arrived, as they know they’ll have the rest of the day to sleep and relax before filming starts again tomorrow. I watch as the cast head up towards the main road. Ariel is leading the charge. We haven’t talked much since that first night in Uruguay, but I think we have a sort of mutual understanding going on now. I only feel a tiny bit guilty about the Patrick thing, but I’m determined to keep my love life as separate from work as possible.
Ariel stops dead up ahead.
“What the actual fuck?” she says.
I hurry up to where she is and stop too. “What?”
She points to a sign stuck prominently to a fence outside our lodge.
Dear guests,
In the past week, we have seen an increase in stomach flu cases in Obertauern. We would like to ask that you take responsibility for your health and wash your hands after entering restaurants and other public areas. We have also provided hand sanitiser in all rooms for your personal use.
My heart sinks. A gastro outbreak? “What do we do?” I ask.
“We go ahead with filming and pray none of us get sick,” Ariel says. “We’re on a schedule, and we don’t have the time or budget to do anything else.”
“Do you think it’s bad? I mean, if we stayed away from everyone else and enforced strict hygiene practices…”
“I don’t know. We’re just going to have to deal with any issues if and when they arise.”
A few of the cast stop to read the notice and shoot us worried looks. “That won’t affect us, right?” Ken asks.
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I assure him with way more confidence than I feel.
Please universe, if you’re listening, don’t bestow a gastro outbreak on our group.
***
Oh. My. God.
This must be what hell is like. And I’m not talking about the one in that show starring Kristen Bell and Ted Danson. I’m woken at 3am feeling like I’m about to die. I race to the bathroom, just in time to throw up in the toilet. I lie with my head against the cool tiled wall, my stomach churning. I’m worried this is not going to stop at just puking.
How on earth could this bug have infected me so fast? All I did was walk from the bus to the lobby at the lodge and then to my room. I didn’t touch anything until I got inside my studio apartment. (For the record, I’m very grateful for a quirk in our accommodation planning that meant I didn’t have to share with anyone else here in Austria.)
I wonder if anyone else has been hit.
A few seconds later, I hear someone heaving through the wall to my right. Question answered.
This is a disaster. There is no way I’ll be able to work tomorrow. And if everyone else is feeling the same way, we’re going to fall behind schedule and blow the budget.
The universe definitely doesn’t want to help me out. I hope Ariel hasn’t been taken out too.
Another wave of nausea hits me and I puke again.
It’s going to be a long night.
***
My worst fears are confirmed when dawn arrives. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has been affected by this crazy bug. I stopped puking for a while around 6am, probably because there was no food left in my system, and then I managed a couple of hours’ fitful sleep. But now my stomach is all crampy and I worry I might have to rush off to the bathroom at any minute to deal with an attack of diarrhoea.
It takes me almost an hour to shower and get dressed. I feel so weak, I can barely move.
My phone rings. The caller ID shows it’s Patrick. Damn.
“Hello?” I say in the most confident voice I can muster.
“Ariel phoned me,” he says. “Are you okay?”
“Uh, not exactly. But I’m ready to work, regardless.”
He laughs. “Lauren, I don’t expect you all to work with the stomach flu. Just spend the day resting and hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow. Fingers crossed it’s just one of those twenty-four things.”
“You’re lucky you’re not here.”
“I wish you weren’t there.”
“Yes, but this is my job, so I’m going to make the most of it. Where are you?”
“Sitting in an airport in Santiago, waiting for a connecting flight.”
“Do you miss me?” I tease.
“Of course I do. Especially when I think about what we could be up to if you were here with me now.”
“What? In the transit lounge?”
“Don’t be cheeky. Anyway, I’m glad your sense of humour hasn’t disappeared. Go and get better. I’ll talk to you again soon.”
“Okay, I’ll keep you posted on the situation. I’ll do everything I can to help make sure we don’t blow the schedule or budget.”
“I know you will.”
He hangs up and I flop down on the floor. I’m glad he called, but that took way more energy than I expected. I’m going to need a rest just to recover.
I spend the next twenty minutes trying to psyche myself up to head out the door and go check on everyone. I thought this kind of thing only happened on cruise ships. Who knew it also happened in remote mountain villages?
Finally, I stumble outside and tentatively knock on the door one down from me.
No one answers for a couple of minutes. I knock again and hear a tired “Coming!”.
It’s Maria. She’s sharing with Tracey and she looks awful. Her skin is all pasty and she has big circles around her eyes.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
“This is worse than any hangover I’ve ever had,” she moans. “And that’s saying something.”
“Is Tracey sick too?”
“Yep. It’s lucky this place has two bathrooms, otherwise we’d be in trouble.”
“I’m so sorry. I talked to Patrick and he said just to take it easy today. We’ll reassess tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Lauren.”
“And if you feel like either of you require medical assistance, call me right away.”
“Will do.”
Maria closes the door and I knock on the next one along. It’s a bigger room and has all four of the guys in it. Blake answers, and he looks just as bad as Maria.
“You all right?” I ask.
“No,” he says bluntly. “Have you ever shared a small apartment with three other guys while all of you are intermittently hurling or unable to hold onto your bowels?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m so sorry. I can maybe check if there are any other free rooms and we’ll try to spread you out a little…give you some more privacy?”
His eyes are dull. “Sweetheart, we are way beyond having any privacy.”
“At least we don’t have to film today.”
“That’s not what Ariel said.”
“Huh? When did you talk to Ariel?”
“About half an hour ago. She said to get our butts down to the lobby by ten, ready for interviews.”
“Well, I just spoke to Patrick and he said to rest up.”
“Whatever. You sort it out with the she-devil and let me know. All I can say is that you won’t get much out of m
e today except bodily fluids.”
“Ew. Okay. I’ll talk to Ariel and get back to you.”
He closes the door without saying goodbye. I know Ariel is in the room right at the end, so I brace myself and rap on her door.
“Fuck off,” she screeches.
“It’s me, Lauren,” I call out.
“I don’t give a fuck. Get lost.”
Wow. She is definitely not someone you want to be around when she’s sick.
“I’m sorry if you’re not feeling well, Ariel. But I just wanted to confirm that we’re not filming today. I spoke to Patrick and he’s happy…”
The door flies open and an extremely sweaty and haggard looking Ariel is standing in the doorway.
“We’re filming,” she says through gritted teeth.
“But Patrick…”
“I don’t give a fuck what Patrick said. I’m in charge of this show and I’m telling you we’re filming today.”
“If you let me speak for a second, I was going to suggest we wait until tonight. I told them all they could rest up today, but if we check on them later, we might be able to get some good footage with everyone in a more vulnerable state.”
She narrows her eyes. “That’s exactly what I was going to do. Well, not wait until later, but definitely the thing about catching people when they’re vulnerable. Are you modelling yourself on me now, Lauren?”
I laugh nervously. “Maybe I am. Although, your version of vulnerable and mine are probably a bit different. All I wanted to do is catch the softer side of the guys and maybe the more natural side of the girls.”
“Hmph. Sounds boring. But whatever. I can feel another wave of nausea coming on, so I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She slams the door in my face. Those three visits completely wore me out. I need another break before I check on the rest of the crew.
I wish I was in a transit lounge in Santiago right now.
(Minus the gastro, of course.)
TWENTY-NINE
Okay. So while everyone else stops puking by the end of the day, I do not. I wonder if I’m being punished, because I barely slept in Uruguay and I compromised my immune system.
I spend the next two days almost comatose in my room. I am so sick, I even stop caring what happens to the show. Ariel isn’t impressed at having to carry more of the workload, but she can see I’m not up to doing anything apart from sipping water (which I immediately regurgitate, because the puking started again) and lying with my head on the toilet seat. On Wednesday evening, she finally calls me a doctor, acknowledging that I might need medical assistance.
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