Page 84 of Taking the Heat

Cautiously, I sat on the couch opposite her, answering, ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Why not?’

‘Are you serious? For so many friggin’ reasons!’ I listed them on my fingers. ‘Because I never liked the idea, because I have seventy k already in my bank, and because I’d rather sew my vajayjay shut with a rusty needle than have sex with Dante.’

Maxine was unmoved. ‘First of all, of course you don’t like the idea. That’s why you’re here in the first place! Our audience is enjoying your inner turmoil.’

‘Goody for them.’

‘Secondly, you have seventy thousand dollars, true. You might swing a seven to eight per cent deposit, plus fees and stamp duty, on a reasonable house in the Melbourne suburbs, enough to home you and your sister. But you’ll still need to make repayments, which means you’ll have to work. Ella will be left at home alone all day without a carer. She’ll require rehab and treatment, which you won’t be able to afford for her, and as for any kind of specialised vehicle to transport her, or additions to make your home more comfortable …’ She waved her hands apologetically. ‘I would expect you’ll be hard pressed to even pay electricity bills, let alone anything more sophisticated.’

Bitch has done her homework …It was all true, of course; I’d just been ignoring the facts in my weakness.

‘And as for Dante … Tara, did it ever occur to you that every story needs a villain?’

‘Isn’t that a rule for fiction? This is a reality show, sweetheart.’

She laughed in my face. ‘Oh, little girl! Do you really think we don’t orchestrate most of what transpires here? Miles isn’t spilling secrets off the top of his head; we’ve plotted and scripted everything months in advance! Dante is a necessary part of the show. He gives people someone to hate. Every kind of reality show, from modelling to dating to cooking, will always have a bad guy. Dante’s antics tie the show together.’

‘Wait … you guys know what a violent, rapey, twisted SOB he is? You’ve know that all along?’ My temper began to rise, heat streaking across my eyes.

‘Of course! I must say, that footage from your GoPro helmet of Dante carrying you off into the jungle—my god! The ratings shot through the roof!’

‘You endangered my safety!’ I yelled. ‘You are putting every girl in this place at risk! Forget not going in the cabin; I’m leaving today. I quit!’

I stood, righteous and fervent. Maxine barely blinked. ‘Of course you’re not going to quit. Your contract clearly states you must complete the full twenty-four days on the island or you forfeit all winnings.’

Freezing in my tracks, I glared at her, hatefully.

‘So firey, Tara. That’s a prerequisite for all contestants.’ She made movements to leave. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about Dante. After all, you don’t yet know what we have in store for him. And perhaps you should think a little more about your sister, and the man you’re stupidly casting aside.’

I ignored her as she clicked past me to the door. ‘Oh, and Tara? If you haven’t realised it yet, you foolish girl, the only thing our viewers like better than drama is a happy ending.’

I thought about Maxine’s words long after she’d gone. She had me over a barrel on the Ella stuff; seventy thousand wasn’t enough. And the cryptic hint about Dante’s future was intensely intriguing.

Mostly, I pondered her comment about all contestants being hotheaded. I couldn’t deny it; from Clara to Callum, Chris to Chase and everyone in between, we were all massive drama queens. We leaped to conclusions, turned on each other, stormed out, threw food, names, insults. Yes, the producers fuelled the fire, but our reactions caused most of the trouble.

I can’t keep blaming everyone else. Time to own my own mistakes.

***

A few hours later, I stood on the jetty, kitted out in a pale blue wetsuit with my hair scooped up in a high pony. Surrounded by my fellow short-tempered contestants, I was ready for the last-ever challenge instructions.

‘My, my! How the time flies!’ said Miles, resplendent in a lurid pink shirt. ‘Our very last challenge! I’m feeling quite emotional!’ He wiped an imaginary tear away.

‘Get on with it, ya right boggin!’ Callum’s insult was cheered by the others, and Miles looked offended.

‘Fine, then. Welcome to the official Erotic Island Jet-ski Safari!’ Miles swept his arms behind him dramatically, and we followed his gesture to see the ten shiny jet skis bobbing by the end of the jetty. In every colour of the rainbow, plus a few more, the jet skis looked sleek and swift.

I felt my heart race. I’m okay with heights, but speed is another bag altogether.

‘In teams of two, you’ll be racing around the island. One of you will drive, the other will be collecting markers from the pre-set floating stations. You can see the first one to the north.’

Sure enough, a yellow blob jiggled on the water, too far away to see what it looked like. ‘Grab the four markers matching the colour of your jet ski, one from each station, and make it back to the beach by the bungalow.’

Miles’ eyes widened saucily. ‘As everyone now has a key, the question may arise: ‘What are we fighting for?’ Today, the first two competitors to hit the sand and cross the finish line will be rewarded with an envelope each, containing two names.’

‘Lame!’ someone shouted.

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