How I Learned to Love the Walrus

by Beth Orsoff

  I ignored them and focused on Jill. "Do you think I could plug my hairdryer into the generator?"

  I could sense their snickering without even having to turn around.

  "We usually try to save the power for the things we really need," Jill said.

  Ouch. I combed my fingers through my wet hair. "I suppose I could let it air dry."

  "That’s what I usually do," Jill replied, which explained her unruly tresses. "There’s a clothesline out back where you can hang your towel to dry."

  "I’ve been meaning to ask you, how do you do laundry here?"

  "You’re out of clothes already?" she asked incredulously.

  I shook my head. "Just planning ahead." I’d packed two weeks worth of socks and underwear, but I was wearing two pairs of socks every day, so I was going through them twice as fast.

  "We’ve got five-gallon tubs in the shed. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll pull them out for you."

  "You mean you wash all your clothes by hand?" That would take forever.

  Jill nodded. "Then you have to hope it doesn’t rain before they dry."

  "How do you live this way?"

  I heard the snickering again and tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t ignore the twisted grin Jill tried but failed to wipe from her face. "Somehow we manage," she said.

  I’d have to remember to add ‘charter a boat to a town with a laundromat’ to my to do list. "So I don’t suppose you’ve gotten any e-mails from Hillary today, have you?"

  "Nope," Jill said, stealing a handful of trail mix from the open bag in Sean’s hands. "Should I be expecting one?"

  Damn that Hillary. When I was back in L.A. she’d e-mailed me ten times a day. After I’d agreed to "volunteer" to save the project, she assured me that she’d work out all the logistical details, including explaining the situation to Jill. Now I couldn’t even get her to make one damn phone call.

  "I guess not," I said. "If you don’t need me, I should try to get some work done." Maybe if she actually saw me doing my real job, she’d acknowledge that I didn’t have time to be a volunteer.

  I was headed to the office when Jake called out to me. "Sydney, don’t you want to see the bird babies?"

  "What bird babies?"

  "The horned puffin chicks started hatching this morning," Jill said. "We’re going out to observe them if you want to come."

  I’d never actually seen an animal being born before. It sounded kind of exciting. At least compared to what normally passed for excitement around here. "I suppose I could come for a little while."

  "I thought you had work to do," Brie shouted through a mouthful of nuts.

  I glanced down at my watch—it was only 8:45. "I do. No one in L.A. gets to the office this early."

  Jill led the group of us to the cliffs along the east side of the island where the puffins had built their nests on the ledges jutting out from the rock. Individually, they might’ve been quiet. But with hundreds of them congregated in this small space, they sounded like lumberjacks wielding chainsaws. Yet Jill still suggested we all hike to an adjacent slope so we could observe without disturbing them.

  Everyone, even Jake, pulled out binoculars. Everyone except me since mine were still in the box, warm and dry in my tent. Jill noticed and passed me her video camera. "You can shoot some birds for your documentary."

  I didn’t bother explaining that all the footage would be shot by a professional cameraman. I just thanked her and zoomed in on the chicks exploring their new world. "They’re cute," I said, zooming out to capture their numbers. "They look like the Fruit Loops bird."

  "You mean the toucan?" Tony asked.

  "Yeah." I had no idea what species the Fruit Loops bird was, although I assumed Tony did.

  "Hardly," Brie said. "The toucans’ bills are much larger, and they don’t have stripes. Plus they’re indigenous to rain forests, not Alaska."

  I knew she was mad at me, even though I’d done absolutely nothing to encourage Duncan and had no interest in him myself. But I wasn’t about to tell her that in front of the group, so I lowered the camera and calmly said, "I didn’t say they lived here. I just said they looked like them."

  Brie muttered something I couldn’t hear and returned to her binoculars.

  "There’s a slight surface resemblance," Duncan acknowledged, still staring out at the cliff.

  I noticed Brie’s jaw clench, yet she didn’t contradict him.

  "I can see that," Sean agreed. "In the colors on the bill."

  "Mom, will you buy me Fruit Loops?"

  "No," Jill said, without looking up from the pad where she was furiously scribbling.

  "Why?" Jake whined.

  "Because it’s all sugar and chemicals."

  "Sydney, is that true?"

  Jill stopped writing and looked up at me.

  "Absolutely. My mother wouldn’t let me eat them either." I didn’t think Jill would object to that lie. I ate Fruit Loops for breakfast every day for years, right up until the time I discovered Pop-Tarts.

  After the horned puffins, we moved on to the tufted puffins (like the horned puffins, but with yellow feathers flowing down the sides of their heads), then the pelagic cormorants (black birds with skinny necks and long tails), black-legged kittiwakes (like beach sea gulls, but with yellow beaks), and common murres (their sleek black bodies and white chests reminded me of penguins, but after the Fruit Loops discussion, I refrained from sharing my observation with the group).

  At each site, Jill gave me the camera to shoot video, while she, Brie, Sean, Tony, and Duncan counted chicks and took turns making notes. I always imagined bird watching would be boring, yet with all the nest building and food gathering and flying about, their colonies were buzzing with activity.

  "Do you do this every day?" I asked Jill, as we all headed back to the cabin.

  "Every other day," she said. "Only the walruses get counted every day."

  "Do you think I could come for that too?" Since I was producing a documentary about them, I figured I should learn something about them, like how many walruses actually lived on the island.

  "I was hoping you could monitor the radio this afternoon."

  "Oh sure," I said, "another time." I could always get the number from Duncan, at least if Brie wasn’t in the room. Monitoring the radio was boring, but it had benefits too—namely being out of the cold and allowing me to work at my real job at the same time.

  "But I’ll make sure you get to go tomorrow," Jill continued. "After all, that is why you’re here, isn’t it?"

  There was no edge to her voice, but something about her expression made me doubt her sincerity.

  Chapter 19

  After my screw-up monitoring the radio the day before, Jill realized I needed more explicit instructions. "Write down the time, location, and a brief description of all weather events, animal sightings, and distress signals," she said, handing me the log book and a pen.

  "Weather events?" After sixteen years living in Southern California, anything other than sunny and mild was a weather event to me.

  "Electrical storms, gale force winds, hail the size of golf balls, that sort of thing. Distress signals are rare, but if you hear one, make sure you call it into the Coast Guard. The number’s programmed into the phone," she said, before I could ask.

  "And the sightings?" I hoped she didn’t expect me to know one type of whale from another.

  "Just write down whatever they say on the radio, including the coordinates. Anything else?"

  "Nope. I’ve got it covered."

  "Good. If you get bored, you can turn on my computer and type up my notes," she said, pulling her pad from her back pack. "The file’s saved under bird data. Or you could always play Pirate Treasure."

  I decided to let that one slide.

  I typed up Jill’s notes first, then moved on to my own work. I turned on my computer and sat phone, then positioned the antenna in various spots along the window until I locked onto a satellite signal. I tried to download my e-
mails (I was now up to three hundred six unread messages), but when the computer seemed like it was about to seize, I disconnected and dialed the office instead.

  "Finally!" Megan said as soon as I said hello. "I thought I was going to have to fly up there and deliver the message by hand."

  "These sat phones don’t work as well as advertised."

  "You won’t have to worry about that if you don’t calm Rick down. Hang on, I’ll transfer you," she said before I even had a chance to ask what was wrong.

  "Hey, Walrus Girl," Rick’s assistant Cheryl said. "We’ve been looking for you."

  "Why? What’s wrong?"

  "Besides that you haven’t returned any of his calls or e-mails?"

  "I didn’t—"

  "I know," she said. "I told him you were probably having trouble getting a signal. You’re in Alaska, for God’s sake!"

  "Well, they do have phones up here, and internet too. It’s not like the entire state’s in the Dark Ages."

  "Oh. Then—"

  "Just not where I’m at because it’s so remote." I would’ve told her about the outhouse and the tent and the lack of electricity, although I’m not sure she would’ve believed me, but I could already hear her tapping away at her keyboard.

  "Hang on a sec, hon," she said, and after another click, "Where the fuck are you, and why haven’t you returned any of my fucking calls? Do you have any idea what I’m fucking dealing with here?"

  "Rick, I’m so sorry. I’ve—"

  "Goddamn right you’re sorry. I told you something like this would happen."

  "Rick, just tell me—"

  "No, Sydney. Either fix this fucking mess or don’t bother coming back."

  Click.

  At first I thought I’d lost the signal again, but the green light on the phone was flashing, which meant I had a signal and Rick had hung up on me. I immediately called back, but the line was busy, so I disconnected and tried again. This time it rang, but I lost the signal on my end before Rick or Cheryl picked up. I moved the phone up and down against all the windows searching for a signal, but without success.

  I looked at the silent radio sitting on Jill’s desk. It would be just my luck if something major happened when I wasn’t in the room. But I had no choice. I grabbed my phone, pulled on my boots and coat, and dashed outside.

  "Did you fix it?" Cheryl asked.

  "Fix it? I still don’t even know what’s wrong."

  She lowered her voice, and I imagined her peering around the office door to make sure no one was listening in. "All I heard was that Charlotte Keener is very upset about the story in Celebrity Weekly and is demanding we do something."

  I rushed back into the cabin so I could look up the story on-line, momentarily forgetting I was talking on a satellite phone. I remembered again as soon as Cheryl’s voice disappeared and the phone’s status indicator switched from green to red. I ran back outside and redialed.

  "Sorry about that," I said when Cheryl picked up again. "Can you give me the highlights?"

  "Hold on," she said, and I heard her rustling through her desk drawer. "The caption says: ‘Beach House’ star Charlotte Keener seen exiting the private entrance of noted Beverly Hills plastic surgeon Dr. Nelson Emmet. Then underneath it says: Keener, 26, has repeatedly told CW that she’s philosophically opposed to plastic surgery. Apparently that philosophy doesn’t apply to new breasts."

  "Yeah, and?"

  "That’s it," Cheryl said.

  "That’s what she’s throwing a hissy fit about?" Honestly, did she think she could go from flat as a board to a ‘C’ cup overnight and no one was going to notice? She spends ninety-eight percent of her screen time in a bathing suit.

  "The picture’s not very flattering either. You really should tell her to get her roots done before she goes out with her hair in a pony tail. You’d think these girls would know better."

  "You’d think. Can you do me a favor and connect me with her agent?"

  "Sure, hon, but you should talk to Lindsay first."

  Then the phone beeped twice, and the solid green light turned to solid red. It took me a few minutes walking in circles with the antennae pointed at the sky before I realized it wasn’t the signal I’d lost but the battery. Yes, the phone came with a charger. And yes, I could use the phone while the battery was charging. But since Jill’s solar converter wasn’t within four feet of the window that pointed to the sky where the satellite happened to be at that moment, I couldn’t get a signal with the phone plugged in. Which is the long way of saying that by the time I called Lindsay’s office, she’d already left for the day and was unreachable (at least to me). Her assistant swore she’d have her return my call just as soon as she was available. I wasn’t holding my breath.

  I braced myself for a tirade and called Charlotte’s agent. Her assistant put me right through.

  "Sydney, how’s Alaska?"

  "Great Kim, you should come up here sometime. I think you’d love it." Of course I was lying. Kim would sooner have her hair ripped out by the roots than sleep on the ground.

  "Definitely," she said, lying right back to me. "So I presume by now you’ve heard?"

  "Just found out. I’m so sorry I’ve been unreachable the last couple of days. My phone’s working now though so I will absolutely fix this." God knows what I’d have to promise the editor at CW to get a retraction, but I had no choice.

  "Have you talked to Lindsay?"

  "We’re trading messages. But I can handle it. After the exclusive I gave them with Blake last year, they owe me one. It’s as good as done."

  "You really should talk to Lindsay. As of an hour ago they were just working out the details of the photo shoot."

  "What photo shoot?"

  "Listen, Syd, I gotta run. Just talk to Lindsay and tell Blake I say hi."

  I tried Lindsay’s office again and received the same runaround from her assistant except this time I managed to pry out of her that Lindsay had spoken to the editor at Celebrity Weekly and they were working out the details of a spread for the September 23rd issue, just in time for Beach House’s fall premiere.

  I knew it. I just knew the minute I was out of touch Lindsay would try to steal all of my clients. I wasn’t going to let her get away with it. Not even if I was stuck on this godforsaken island for another twenty-eight days.

  After much trial and error, I finally figured out that even though I couldn’t download my e-mail messages into Outlook without my computer freezing, I could still read them on the agency’s network server. It was a slow process—I had to keep dialing in over and over again every time the satellite moved out of range, and opening the messages took forever, but at least I could get to them.

  By the time Jill returned hours later, I’d read seventy-eight messages, replied to twenty-two, and deleted countless spam advertisements for penis enhancements and discount Viagra.

  "What’s for dinner?" Jill asked, reading over my shoulder.

  "I give up," I said, as I clicked on the seventy-ninth message and waited for it to open. "By the way, I typed up your notes and saved them in the birds’ folder under today’s date, and I wrote down a whale sighting in the log book." I didn’t want her to think I’d shirked my responsibilities even if I was only a faux-volunteer.

  "Sydney, you haven’t forgotten that it’s your turn to cook, have you?"

  Shit! I didn’t have to ask to know that there weren’t any pizza places that delivered.

  "I think Brie’s already in the kitchen," she added.

  Ugh, from bad to worse. She’d been nasty to me all day. "Jill, I’m fine cooking alone. I don’t—"

  She shook her head. "I’ll tell you what I told Brie. It’s a small island, and there’s nowhere to hide. Whatever your differences, you need to work them out."

  "But—"

  "Not interested," she said, sitting down at her desk. "Talk to Brie, not me. And I expect food on the table by eight."

  Chapter 20

  "What’s for dinner?" I asked Brie as she s
tudied the inside of the refrigerator.

  "How should I know?" she said, not bothering to turn around.

  "Well, what are our choices?" I tried to join her, but she slammed the door shut and moved to the pantry.

  "Listen," I said, following her, "I assume you got the same speech I got. Jill wants us to work this out."

  She closed the pantry door so fast she almost caught my hand in the frame, which I suspected was her intent. "Just stay away from Duncan, and we’ll be fine," she spat at me before stomping back to the refrigerator.

  "Brie, I know you’re upset about what Jill said last night. But—"

  She slammed the fridge door shut and spun around. "So you’re admitting it."

  "Admitting what?"

  "You’re after Duncan, aren’t you?"

  "I swear, Brie, I’m not." Even if I wasn’t dating Blake, I wouldn’t be interested in Duncan. To be honest, I didn’t really understand her infatuation with him. He seemed like a nice guy, and he definitely knew how to set up a tent, but the only thing remotely interesting about him was his accent, and I was sure over time even that novelty would wear thin.

  "Oh, now that you’re a big Hollywood hotshot no one’s good enough for you?"

  This island was starting to feel like the twilight zone. Since when was not wanting to steal another woman’s man a crime?

  "Brie, I have a boyfriend."

  "Who?" she demanded.

  "No one you know." Which wasn’t entirely true, since she knew of Blake.

  "What’s his name?"

  "I’m not going to tell you that." Blake and I both agreed we wanted to keep our relationship confidential. Dating was hard enough without having to read lies about yourself in the tabloids too. The only person I’d told was Nicole, and she was sworn to secrecy.

  She shook her head. "I knew it. It’s just another one of your lies."

  "I haven’t lied about anything!" At least not to her.

  "You come here like little Ms. Hollywood with your designer clothes and your satellite phone, all Oh Duncan can you set up my tent and I’ll just die if I can’t blow dry my hair."