Tatjana Soli - The Last Good Paradise

* * *

The next morning they gathered — bums sore, eyes heavy from lack of sleep, insides still rumbling and threatening to erupt — and mutually elected to skip breakfast.

Ann sat next to her suitcase, wearing her old brown bathing suit. She would have thrown it away — it no longer fit who she thought she was — but now ironically it reminded her of Loren. Wende came and sat next to her, putting an arm across her shoulders. Less touched by grief, she could play the role of comforter. Detachment was a luxury the young had.

“I’ll miss this place,” Ann said.

“It’ll be cool opening a restaurant together.”

“Dex said you’d have your reception there.”

Wende bit her lip. “He doesn’t believe in my transformation. He thinks it was a fluke. That I’ll go back to being his muse. That’s not going to happen.”

Dex was coming out of his fare , and Ann didn’t want to stick around for that conversation.

“I’m going for a walk.”

The cool sand of early morning cupped her feet in slurpy kisses. The truth was she’d stayed up all night not only from a poisoned colon but also in grief at leaving the island. Although Loren was gone, the magic of the place was still palpable. She associated it with him, but it was anyone’s for the taking. Out of sight of the fares , she was again in Crusoe country — empty coral beaches, the relentless expanse of ocean beating up against the brittle slips of land, the desiccated shade under the palm trees. With a shift of light, it all became an indescribable paradise. The island was the ocean’s soul; without land, one could not appreciate the watery vastness. No other footprints were visible; she was the first human being to set foot on the morning’s newly washed sand. What a wonderful feeling of renewal each day. The thought of her old life chafed like clothes one had grown out of. Life here was pure unclothed pleasure.

Although she had not intended to revisit it, she found herself near the cove with the camera. Its power over her was gone. Loren had been right — its privacy, its secrecy, its noneventfulness had been its magic. The original people drawn to that had been its true fans. Maybe Loren being an artist made him appreciate that not every work of art is intended for the multitudes; some works are meant only for the afición . Even if he wasn’t telling the truth about the slaughtered-cow installation (and the more she thought about it, the more she suspected he had been pulling her leg), he definitely understood this.

Other than Wende monitoring the picture periodically and the feed being shared with telemarketers who were still selling Prospero singles at a brisk pace, no one was interested in the Crusoe cam any longer. When the millions of new viewers realized the show was over, they quit watching. Hits went lower than before because the original fans had been offended by the whole kidnapping farce, coupled with the commercialized benefit concert. She did not have the heart to do the right thing, which would be to pull the plug.

Ann sat behind the camera and looked out at the same view that the camera looked out at. The green water moved back and forth teasingly, as if it were doing so only to make her departure more painful. Time was running out. The window on extraordinary in her life was closing. Would the possibility of happiness soon follow?

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t register the sound of voices approaching, but as soon as she did, she was irritated. Solitude, the real kind she had here, would soon be gone — couldn’t she have a few minutes more? Even inside her own house, she would not be safe from electronic invasions — rings and pings and vibrations — and even her own betraying self would always be itching to hit the refresh button just in case a life-changing email happened to float into her in-box.

Dex and Wende. Drawn to the camera like moths to flame.

“One last quickie,” Dex said. “It’s our last chance before the plane.”

Again, as in an endless rewind, Dex and Wende were prancing amorously half-naked down the beach. Except now, not only were they annoying, they were family.

“Hey, guys,” Ann said.

“Why are you here?” Wende said, as if she hadn’t followed her.

“Saying good-bye.”

A sudden guiltiness appeared to come over the two of them. She couldn’t blame them really for moving on so quickly. It was who they were. The moment of silence went on a beat too long.

“I’d better go find Richard,” Ann said.

“No, this is good,” Dex said. “Since you’re here, you can witness.”

Now a look of panic was on Wende’s face. Apparently she had taken him at his word that this was just a last roll in the sand before leaving.

Dex held her hand and dragged her in front of the camera.

Ann rolled her eyes. Another spike in viewership for the Crusoe cam. Now people would hang on for months on the off chance of it happening again. She should have pulled the plug.

“I want the whole world to know that I love this woman, Wende…”

“Noooo.” Wende was pulling away with all her might. The skin on her wrist turned bright pink.

“Wende…”

“Snitzer,” she said quietly.

Dex snorted a laugh, and when he let go of her hand, she bolted. He dragged her back on camera.

“Yes, I love her in spite of that stinky last name. Which will soon change. In front of the whole world, will you be my Wende Cooper?”

Wende stood there as if drugged in her anti-Cinderella moment, paralyzed with inarticulateness.

Was she undergoing some kind of trauma where she would fall unconscious any minute and they’d have to stick wood in her mouth to keep her from swallowing her tongue? She looked that bad.

“Yes,” Wende said in defeat.

“All right!” Dex let go of her hand and did a victory dance like after a touchdown in football.

Wende stood forgotten at the side. She was about to get everything she’d thought she wanted six months ago — to be the sixth Mrs. Dex Cooper — but things had changed. She felt as if she was a character in a movie, and she wanted to choose a different path for this girl named Wende. Not all girls dreamed of the white dress anymore, but the pressure against them was enormous. Some girls just wanted to sleep with Prince Charming. They wanted to go off and slay dragons themselves, not be cooped up in the castle all day, tending little princes and princesses.

Dex grabbed her in a bear hug and spun her around, planting a big kiss on her lips for the on-camera finale, but when Wende came up for air, it was the new, improved Wende, 2.0, who had lagged a moment before kicking in.

“But…” Wende said, ducking his arm that intended to wrap itself around her waist and whisk her off camera for good. She stood square in front of the lens now in soap opera fashion and addressed her audience directly, even though the man she should have been talking to stood right next to her.

“But what?” Dex said.

“But not until I’ve made my first top-box-office-grossing film because I can’t put my personal happiness first over the causes I believe in. Just like you. This isn’t the ’90s anymore.”

“You don’t believe in causes.”

“Not true. Women are still shortchanged in the movies. You’re either hot or not … working. My movies will be about empowered, strong women, and they will be made by empowered, strong women.”

“I don’t get it,” Dex said. Clearly he would have given anything for this not to be broadcasting live.

Wende smiled beatifically into the camera. “We’re going to have a prolonged engagement.”

The girl was brilliant, Ann thought. Scary brilliant.

* * *

The nine a.m. scheduled departure for the main resort was delayed. After all the wedding excitement and then the tragedy of Loren’s death, Cooked and Titi had forgotten to make arrangements to buy their own boat.