Are You Going to Kiss Me Now? (7 page)

As my mother would say, I think we were all in a state of shock. We were nowhere near where we were supposed to be. There wasn’t even another island in sight. We had been due to land at Andapa Airport at around 9:30 that morning. I think we “landed,” albeit in the water, about an hour later than that. It took us a while to get everyone safely out of the plane and onto the runway. By the time any of us were able to even begin to process our situation, it must have been around midday. The sun was blindingly bright, but the air was surprisingly cool and dry.

I reached in my back pocket and was beyond relieved to feel that my phone, rolled in the barf bag, was still there. God bless the barf bag. The keyboard was still working! I tried to call my mom, but there was definitely no reception seeing as we were obviously like five hundred thousand miles out of range. Before I knew what I was doing, I was writing a text to Jordan. It didn’t matter that she’d never get the message. It was a habit.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” Cisco asked after he’d collected his wits. “Is Ashton Kutcher hiding behind a tree with a camera crew?”

“If only there were a tree,” Eve said breathlessly, draping her wet poncho around her unkempt black hair like a hat to protect her face from the blazing sun. She reminded me of a carefully wrapped gift that had been savagely opened by a small child.

“Over there,” Jonah said, pointing to the thick mass of trees about a hundred yards off. The topography was like a receding hairline, with us gathered on the bald part.

Milan was either too high or too dumb to realize anything was seriously amiss. She was soaking up the sun like she was at a hotel pool in South Beach. Chaz was staring at her round butt like it was something on display at the deli counter. If it weren’t so obvious he were gay, I’m sure she would have filed a sexual harassment suit.

Jonah had driven a long stick into the dirt and was staring at it for about twenty minutes. When a shadow slowly appeared, he put down another stick. I was hypnotized watching him.

“What are you doing?” I finally asked.

“Figuring out where we are,” he said, placing another stick at the end point of the shadow. “That’s east,” he said, pointing to the right, “and that’s west.”

“Really, how can you tell?”

“I’ll fill you in later,” he said in a beefy tone that made me want to laugh. He was obviously really impressed with himself. Not that it wasn’t impressive.

“East of what?” Chaz asked. “The Beverly Center? I mean, what possible difference does it make which way is east if we don’t even know where the hell we are?”

“I’m going to have a look around,” Jonah announced, ignoring Chaz. “Stay put.”

“Whatever you say, Marco Polo,” Chaz sighed, shamelessly inserting a fat finger in his nose.

“Let me know if you find anything good in there,” Jonah said as he turned to leave.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Chaz saluted.

Things felt a bit leaderless without Jonah. Joe had been poking around the old control tower. I watched him standing with his hands on his hips walking around it in circles. He looked suspiciously like my dad the time the car broke down last summer and he lifted up the hood and proceeded to stare at the engine blankly, waiting for the transmission to start dictating operating instructions. My guess was that Joe was trying to avoid our group, as there was little question he was responsible for the mess we seemed to be in now. My crush had turned to dust, needless to say. He finally limped back over to us looking less than optimistic.

“You can’t fix it, can you?” Chaz asked, looking up at Joe, using his chubby hand to block out the bright sun. I heard a tiny bit of well-timed desperation in his voice.

“Of course he can’t fix it,” Milan mumbled. “It’s older than he is.” She was lying on her stomach with her tank top hiked up to avoid tan lines. Her head was resting on her balled-up, drenched fur vest, which looked like a dead porcupine.

“It’s true,” Joe said. “I don’t even know what it is. That thing is from another century.”

“What the hell, man?” Cisco asked. “Is this for real? I thought you knew what you were doing!” He was holding his wet T-shirt against the deepening bruise he had on his left cheek.

“So did I,” Joe said, hanging his head.

“What happened?” Cisco asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“How ’bout a guess then?” Milan asked.

“There was some kind of electrical problem,” Joe started. “The radar froze up on me. I didn’t want to alarm you by making an announcement. Since I could easily make out the runway and the control tower, I just figured I’d bring her down by instinct.” He paused. “And
I did
, you know.
I did
land her safely.”

“In the ocean,” Milan said flatly.

“I had no way to know how short the runway was,” Joe said, staring at Milan with a glazed expression. “There was
no way
to know how short that runway was.”

“Or that it was the wrong runway, on the wrong freakin’ island,” Milan added, snapping her fingers an inch away from Joe’s dazed face. He startled before she continued, “You’ll excuse us if we don’t applaud your
instincts
with lots of hugs and kisses.”

Joe rubbed his temples.

“You should stick to acting, friend,” Cisco said to Joe. “Do one thing and do it well.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Milan said, opening and closing her hand like a puppet. “So now what?”

“I don’t know.” Joe said. “I guess we wait. I’ve got such a headache.”

“I’d offer you an Advil, but they were in my
suitcase!
” Milan said.

“I can take a look at the tower,” I said, desperate to change the subject. “I can sometimes fix stuff.”

Milan gave me a dismissive once over.

“It’s not fixable,” Joe said. “It’s dead.”

“That’s just great, man.” Cisco was examining the T-shirt for evidence of blood. There was none.

“Am I bleeding?” he asked the group, ignoring the drying blood caking on Joe’s knee.

“No,” we all answered.

“We need to channel Sayid,” Chaz added theatrically. I could tell that there was a small part of him that was thrilling at being part of this weird charade.

“Yeah,” Milan laughed. “He’s so hot.”

Chaz winked at Milan with a sinister smile.

“Who’s Sayid?” Eve asked. Milan turned her head around and looked at Eve like a troll.

“Are you kidding?”

“He was a character on
Lost
. He played a former Iraqi soldier who could fix anything,” I explained nicely, grateful to have something to contribute to this absurd conversation.

“I don’t own a television.” Eve said snottily.

“Boy, things are
that
bad for you, huh?” Milan asked. “Maybe your agent could buy you one? I’m sure he’s got free time. You know what? I’ll have my publicist send you one. You don’t have to pay me back.”

Eve smirked, not taking the bait.

“You should Netflix it,” I said. “It’s was a great show.”

“Who are
you?
” Milan asked, as if she were both seeing me for the first time and totally irritated by my constant presence. Her eyes settled on the blank rectangle where my name tag used to be.

“Francesca.”

“Not your name. I mean, who are you? What are you doing here? Are you somebody?” she asked in all seriousness. Chaz laughed. Was she kidding? I was really not in the mood for celebrity attitude at the moment. She was a bitch.

“Lay off, Milan,” Cisco said. “Who are
you?
Are
you
somebody?”

Eve laughed. “Is that an existential question, Mr. Roark?” Eve asked with a flirting wink. Cisco smiled at Eve with obvious approval.

“What the hell are you guys talking about? What’s a Roark?” Milan asked, looking totally annoyed as she rotated onto her back, revealing a perfectly tan, flat stomach.

“
The Fountainhead
,” Eve said triumphantly, taking in every inch of Milan’s perfect body. “It’s a
book
.”

Blank stare.

“By Ayn Rand…” Eve continued, waiting for a glimmer of recognition on Milan’s face but knowing happily that she’d get none. “I noticed Cisco was reading it on the plane.”

“Whatever,” Milan responded. Cisco smiled at Eve, and she giggled to herself. It was obvious she thought she’d really hit it out of the park with the literary knowledge. Like we didn’t all read Ayn Rand the summer after ninth grade.

“Well, isn’t somebody going to call someone or do something?” Milan asked, looking at Joe. “Radio control or something? I mean, enjoyable as this diversion from civilization has been, I can’t stay. I assume they’re still going to make us do this stupid charity benefit, and I have to be back in L.A. for my birthday on the fifteenth.”

“There is no radio, Milan,” Joe said. “That’s the problem.”

“No, Joe,” Milan said, sitting up coolly and pulling her shirt down over her big boobs. “The problem is that you landed our plane on the wrong island, before dumping it in the water, and then made us get off the plane without our stuff. Despite the fact that there was plenty of time to get everything out. If I had my BlackBerry they could find us faster. It has a built-in GPS. It was brand new, man,” she said angrily, kicking up some dust with her foot.

“There’s no wireless here. This isn’t Starbucks, Milan.” Cisco said. Eve, Joe, and I all laughed, but for some reason I got the death glare.

“You think I’m funny, Bozo? ” Milan shouted, turning her full attention on me and looking at my air-dried hair with disgust. I didn’t say anything, but the “Bozo” comment, combined with her asking if I thought she was funny, immediately brought to mind my favorite scene in
Goodfellas
. I burst out laughing.

“Uh-oh,” Chaz squealed.

“I’m here to amuse you?” she asked again, totally oblivious to the fact that she was now reciting the scene almost verbatim.

“Well, you are now,” I cried with laughter. The
Goodfellas
reference was just too funny. Even Joe started laughing, but he buried his face in his shirt to stifle the sound.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s a line from
Goodfellas
.”

She gave me a blank stare.

“The mafia movie? You know, ‘I amuse you? I’m here to make you laugh?’” I said again, throwing in a slight Italian American accent and hoping she’d see the humor. Nothing.

“Joe Pesci?” Joe said, looking at Milan beseechingly.

“What the hell is a Joe Petchi?” Milan snapped with an uncanny Valley girl twang.

“He’s an actor.” Joe said. “A great actor.”

“Look, if it makes you all feel better to make me feel stupid then go right ahead. But let’s face it, I mean, who’s the stupid one?” She paused for dramatic effect. “
You
, who can’t land a plane…
on land?
” she said, looking at Joe. “
You
, who move your lips when you read
The Fountainpen
?” she said, looking at Cisco. “Or
you
,” she said, pointing at Eve, “who set an apartment building on fire with a patchouli incense stick?”

“It was a candle,” Eve responded dryly. I prayed to God Milan was done, but no such luck.

“Or you two parasites,” she said, waving her long, tan hand at Chaz and me, “who have nothing better to do than follow famous people around so that your own lives don’t seem so dull and empty!” She was trembling now.

Did I deserve this? She was starting to get on my nerves.

“Or
you
,” I heard myself say, “who can afford a closet full of two-thousand-dollar Balenciaga bags but can’t remember to put on underwear when you leave the house.”

“Snap!” Cisco roared with laughter, and everyone else started clapping, except Milan, of course. I had just told Milan Amberson off. I suddenly felt great. I was dying to tell Jordan. Bozo my ass, bitch!

Just as she turned to unleash her wrath on me, Jonah came trotting back from the other side of the island.

“There’s nothing around,” he said breathlessly. “I don’t know where you were supposed to have landed,
Dad
, but this ain’t it.” He emphasized the word
dad
to the point where it sounded like he was being facetious.

“And,” Jonah continued, “there’s nobody waiting for us except some sand crabs on a small beach on the other side. You really screwed this up.” His hostile tone suggested he was almost enjoying humiliating his father.

“Did you cover the whole area already?” Joe asked, wiping sweat off his balding brow.

“Of course not. We can take a better look around tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Milan balked.

“Anyway, it’s good you sent the ELT,” Jonah finished up, looking at Joe with a perverse smile on his face.

“I didn’t send it. You know I didn’t. You told me to get out of the cockpit before I had a chance.”

“What?” we all said, none of us knowing what an ELT was, but it sounded like a really bad thing for Joe not to have done.

“
I
told
you?
” Jonah screeched. “I’m seventeen. And since when have you ever listened to me?”

“Oh, tell it to Jesus, Jonah,” Joe shouted. “I can’t listen to this shit from you right now.”

Jonah smiled smugly—as though he was satisfied he had gotten the reaction he was looking for. Personally, I thought what Joe said was super harsh. And it was so not something that either Squiggy Small or Detective Matt Spacey would say. All actors are frauds and fakers. None of them are nice…except Cisco Parker, maybe.

“Look,” Milan said, getting up and pacing frantically around her dead fur pillow, “can you two work out the father/son issues on somebody else’s time?”

Jonah looked at Milan and smiled. Joe took a deep breath and reassured us that it didn’t matter about the ELT.

“They will be here soon,” he said. “The radar track wasn’t out that long.”

“What radar track?” Jonah asked, having missed our earlier conversation. “How long isn’t that long?” he asked. “Five minutes? Ten?”

“It was a little longer than that.”

“How much longer? And why didn’t you tell me it was out?”

Joe rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he sighed.