“That’s just so crazy,” I say, nudging Rob and pointing to the wall of glass in the room as I stride closer to get a better look. “Look out there on this side of the building, it’s still so bright and sunny. It’s like a whole other world from back there.” I point back towards the open door, where the sky is an ominous shade of dark gray and the rain continues to come in sheets.
“Welcome to the tropics,” the porter says. “Where the sun and the storms can kiss and make up and make baby rainbows.”
“I love that! And I am thrilled to be here,” I answer. I turn in a circle, taking in all the thoughtful touches everywhere. The suite is lavishly furnished with a deep sofa and separate dining area. The door leading into the master bedroom is open, and I can see that it contains an enormous four-poster bed, romantically tented with semi-sheer curtains. The master bedroom shares the same ocean view and has its own separate entrance to the patio.
“Wow! Could this suite be any sexier?” I exclaim. “I’m going to love staying here and writing on that patio.” So long writer’s block! I can feel my creativity firing up just from staring at the view. It’s almost too much though. I’m embarrassed to be this spoiled. I turn to Rob. “I can’t believe all of this is just for me.”
“We want you to be comfortable here. It’s the least we could do,” Rob insists. “This show wouldn’t be possible without you, Isla.”
“We’ve stocked your bar with alcohol and soft drinks.” The porter opens a cabinet to show me the selection. “And please enjoy the fruit platter and the champagne with our compliments.” He gestures to a colorful spread of artistically-carved fruit set up on the dining table.
“That’s not all,” Rob says, leading me to the bedroom. He parts the curtains to the bed, revealing a mountain of totes and gift bags. “I made sure that you were included in all the swag bag drops. I mean, if anyone on this show is a household name and bonafide celeb, it’s gotta be you!”
“That’s all forme?” I ask, incredulous. The entire king-sized bed is covered with bags from clothing designers and makeup brands. I spy red-soled shoes and three couture purses. There’s even a camera. It’s almost obscene.
“It’s hardly enough, but consider it a small perk? We know that the gig doesn’t pay much, and the brands actually pay us for the privilege of giving their stuff to you guys so it’s a win-win, right?”
He checks an incoming message on his phone. “Oh no, Isla, I’m so sorry. I have to run and check on something. Seems like the storm might have delayed some late arrivals.” He turns urgently to the porter, “Do you think I can get a lift back to reception?”
“Of course,” the porter nods.
Rob squeezes my hands reassuringly before he goes. “I’ll see you later at the BBQ, Isla. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone. You’re the catalyst. We’re going to make some magic here. I just know it.”
I can’t help myself. His enthusiasm is contagious. I find myself actually believing him.
jackson
“Who would I swipe right on? I just said I don’t swipe. I guess the main thing is someone who is kind. Patient. Good natured. Humble. But honestly, guys, you know this is not about me. I’m here to help other people meet their soulmates!”
~Isla Fairfax, Playing With Matches Confessionals
“Ladies and Gentlemen,this is your captain speaking.” The message coming through the loudspeaker is so garbled that at least three people look around anxiously and ask their neighbors, “What did he say? Is the plane okay?”
I am crammed into a middle seat in the back of the plane. There’s a white-knuckler to the left of me chanting Hail Marys and a puker on the right.
The plane lurches and plummets, slipping sideways like a hockey puck that’s been dropped on the ice.
“I have good news and bad news,” the captain continues with his garbled announcement. “Looks like we are not going to be rerouted today. But it’s going to be a bumpy ride, and I need you all buckled in nice and tight for the remainder of the flight. Flight crew, please take your seats.”
Three more drops and a shudder. Outside the windows, it’s disturbingly dark, with the occasional lightning flash. When we finally break through the clouds and I see the shock of blue water, it seems much closer than it should. We’re almost about to touch down. The wings wobble from side to side like an unbalanced gymnast that might fall off the beam as the ground speeds towards us. Someone cries out. I close my eyes.
This is not how I die. I am not dying on a plane.In coach.
After the violent turbulence we’ve just experienced, we almost don’t feel as the plane touches down gently. When the wheels finally kiss the runway, everyone, myself included, bursts into applause. People who don’t know each other start high-fiving, and at least a few couples who I don’t think were coupled before this flight embrace.
“Sorry about that,” the captain says, “And I’m sorry as well that you’re all going to get a bit wet on your walk to the terminal. We don’t control the weather. Hopefully, you packed an umbrella. On the plus side, you’ve all made it here today. You’re a lucky bunch. The airport just closed for the remainder of the day. The forecast calls for clear skies later this evening. Have a great vacation!”
Naturally, since I’m one of the last ones to get out of the plane and stuck behind slow walkers on the single file staircase, I’m completely soaked by the time I get inside the terminal.
Who packs an umbrella for a tropical resort?
Dripping and disgruntled, I pass through passport control, then join the crowd gathered around the single luggage carousel inside the tiny terminal. My plan is to change in the airport bathroom as soon as I get my stuff. I hadn’t wanted to check a bag, but the gate agent in Miami had forced me to due to the overhead compartments already being full by the time they loaded the back of the plane. She hadn’t even given me time to transfer anything to my backpack.
Coach problems.
One by one, the bags tumble onto the carousel. Everyone seems in a hurry to grab their bag and get out of there before the storm gets even worse. Pretty soon the rate of new bags dropping down the chute starts to slow down. The luggage carousel grinds to a halt. The only item left on it is a plastic crate sealed with duct tape.
It appears that my bag never made it onto the flight.
