One of guilt.
8LilyTen years ago
‘This,’ Murray said, rummaging in his utility belt for a bottle opener, ‘is an opportunity.’
I snorted, taking the beer he offered me. ‘This is glorified babysitting. Have you ever seen any material from the Adjudication Station make an episode cut? Beyond like five seconds of interview shit?’
This was our fourth season ofDesert Island Castaway, and the showrunner had made out like it was a big deal when he’d sent us here to look after the eliminated castaways who would return in the finale to vote for the winner (‘Normally I wouldn’t trust two such junior crew members with this level of responsibility, but you two show real promise’).
And, like, it wasn’tnota big deal. Murray and I would get to conduct exit interviews, which we’d only ever been allowed to assist with before. For career development, it was a step in the right direction.
But only a small one. Realistically, the biggest reason to be excited about this gig was that it was filmed in a motel rather than out in the wilderness, so we got to stay in an actual building.
Murray sat down on the couch next to me, stretching his legs out and putting his feet on the coffee table. ‘There’s potential here, though, Lily,’ he insisted. ‘Think about it. Everyone’s so focused on the stories happening in the game. But there have to be stories here too. This could absolutely be its own segment. Or a webshow or something.’
I took a sip from my beer, thinking. My lipstick marked the rim of the bottle. ‘Okay,’ I said slowly.
The motel had no air-conditioning, and my hair was sticking to the back of my neck. I leaned over and put my beer on the coffee table so I could put it in a ponytail. ‘I hear you. The castaways were all scheming in the wilderness. Surely that didn’t just stop when they got eliminated. They might be out of the game, but the final vote means they still have influence over it. There might still be schemes going on.’
Murray didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on my neck.
… where I could feel a bead of sweat trickling down, down, before getting caught in the strap of my tank top.
Now wasn’tthatan interesting thing for Mr ‘Oh, We Still Haven’t Set A Date Yet Because Julia’s PhD Timeline Is So Intense, Definitely No Other Reason’ to be noticing.
‘Murray?’ I said lightly. ‘Are you listening to me?’
‘Yes, I’m listening.’
Despite his distraction, I knew this was true. In all the time we’d known each other, he’d listened to every single word I’d said.
Andgodit was hot. It was so unbearably sexy that sometimes I couldn’t stand it. It felt too big for my brain, too big for my body, a volcano of a feeling that made it feel like I was going to explode into a million little pieces.
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘There’s potential here. But we don’t have a way to shoot anything. Cameras and sound only come over to film the exit interviews. And you’ve heard everyone going on about the budget. There’s no way they’re going to allocate us extra resources.’
Murray shrugged. ‘We’ve got phones, don’t we? We’ll do it ourselves. At least for proof of concept.’
I thought about it.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’m game. Let’s do it.’
He took a swig from his beer then set it down, grabbing the cheap phone message pad and motel-branded pen from the coffee table. ‘We can’t just wander around, phones out 24/7, looking for drama. We need a strategy. Where do we think the stories are?’
He clicked the pen and scribbled on the pad to see if it was working. Some tendon in his forearm flexed. I wanted to bite it.
He glanced up at me. ‘What?’
‘There’s something about you with a pen in your hand,’ I said. ‘Or a whiteboard marker. Any kind of writing implement, really. This criminal mastermind vibe comes over you, like you’re the guy in a heist movie explaining how you’re going to steal the diamonds.’
‘Thank you? I think?’
In the humidity, his hair was curling more than usual. There were little ringlets forming just behind his ears.
If I didn’t hook my finger in one of those curls, pull it straight, and watch it spring back into place, I might die.
‘You should thank me,’ I said airily, leaning back and folding my fingers behind my head. ‘You know I don’t like to compliment white men when I can possibly avoid it. What about Jonno and Harriet?’
‘What about them?’
