Finally, Giorgio makes a decision. “Come down halfway and we’ll see if we can do it from there in one shot. And can you do it faster this time?”
“Faster.” Jesus, I’d like to see him do itat all, let alone do it faster. Giorgio works up a sweat walking from his car to his director’s chair. Giving him a thumbs-up, I say, “You bet.”
Lara walks over to him and he puts his megaphone down while the two of them have a brief conversation. Oh, for shit’s sake. Why don’t we just get everyone in a two-mile radius to make suggestions?
He lifts the megaphone to his mouth and says, “Forget it. Come all the way down.”
“For the day or for a few minutes?” I say. “If I have to come back up, I’d rather finish it up now.”
Lara, who, along with everyone else on the set is wearing headphones, takes the bullhorn from Giorgio. “You’ll want to come down, Will. There seems to be some sort of emergency and …. uh…someoneis desperately trying to reach you.”
I start loosening the slack and rappel down. My heart pounds extra hard because I’m sure it’s Arabella, based on the fact that Lara didn’t want to give away who it was. Bugger. I bet this has something to do with Dylan. When I reach the sand and unclip myself, Lara hands me my phone. “Sorry, I didn’t read her messages, but your phone kept buzzing and dinging, so I figured you’d want to know.”
“Thanks, yeah,” I say, wiping the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm (which is also sweaty, so I’m basically smearing more sweat everywhere).
Crap. Eight missed calls and fourteen text messages, all from Arabella.
Call me immediately. It’s about the show.
Where are you?
Seriously—this is bad.
Will, for real. I need to talk to you.
I look at Giorgio. “I’m going to need a couple of minutes and some water before we do the last shot.”
Without waiting for permission, I turn and walk down the beach, away from the crew, while a feeling of dread takes over. I dial and wait for Arabella to answer.
“Finally, “she says, in place of hello. “I’ve been trying to reach you fortwo hours.”
“Sorry, Belle,” I say, turning my back on everyone and facing the ocean. “We’re shooting that commercial this morning, remember?”
“Yes, I’m fully aware of that,” she snaps. “But while you’re off living the dream, my life is pretty much falling apart.”
Giorgio walks over and leans his head down so he can get in my face. He gives me the twirly finger ‘hurry up and finish the call’ gesture.
I wave him off and turn away. “What happened?”
“The show happened, which means the entire world has heard me complain about my shit life and now I look like the most ungrateful, tone-deaf, overprivileged, hateful brat on the planet,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “The on-line backlash has already started, and it isugly, Will. Ugly.”
“Wait a minute, hang on,” I say, my stomach churning. “What are you talking about?”
“I just need to know one thing, Will,” Arabella says, her voice suddenly angry instead of emotional. “Did you do it on purpose?”
“Do what?” I walk farther away from the crew and find a boulder in the shade to sit down on.
“On our first night in the jungle, did youmeanto leave the camera on?” she asks. “If you did, I could almost understand because we got off on the wrong foot, but on the other hand, youreallyshould’ve told me, if not when we started seeing each other,definitelybefore this aired.”
“Slow down, Belle,” I say. “I’m having trouble understanding what you’re talking about.”
“Our first night in Zamunda. At the campfire. We sang Tiffany and I admitted to you that I hate my life. You told me you shut the cameras off, but you recorded it,” she says. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be for me to come back from this? I mean, I’m aprincess, for God’s sake, complaining about my horrible existence when there are literally millions of people around the world who are starving and homeless!”
I rake my hand through my soaked hair, trying to figure out what the hell happened. “Hold on. There’s footage of you after I shut off the GoPros? “
“Yes, there’s footage! All of it. Remember when you put that salve on my ankles and I asked you to turn off the cameras because I was embarrassed about my sores and you said you shut them off? And then we were singing—horribly offkey, by the way. I had no idea what an awful singer I was.” Her words spill out fast and filled with bitterness. “And I told you how I live my entire life in a luxurious little box and it’s such hell for me. You recorded the entire thing!”
My heartbeat picks up again in my chest and my mind races to catch up with what’s happening, only I’m slightly dizzy from the heat and exertion, and none of this is making any sense to me. “They have video of it?”
