Steve continued to look out over the ocean, as if he didn’t even hear James’ reply.
“What would you sacrifice?”
James took a deep breath, looking away from Steve and out over the island and the expanse of dark water beyond it. He thought he’d need to sacrifice Steve and was thankful that he found a way around that. Now that Steve was here, anything felt possible.
“I don’t know. I’ve sacrificed a lot already. I guess …” James paused, thinking his answer over.
“Would you die for success?”
James turned back to Steve. Steve hadn’t moved.
“Would I die for it?”
“If it meant that you could have everything you wanted, but you knew that you’d have to give up your whole life, would you do it?”
“Are you talking about a deal with the devil or something?” James asked. His hand started to sweat in Steve’s, and he tried to pull away, but Steve wouldn’t let go. “Steve, my hand—”
“Tell me the truth, James. How far would you go for success?”
“Are you mad at me or something?” James asked, trying desperately now to free his hand from Steve’s. Steve finally turned toward him. His face was so dark. It seemed too dark for how much light there was up on the waterfall.
“If you had to choose me or you, who would you choose?”
James’ heart pounded in his chest. Something wasn’t right. “Steve, seriously, stop it. Why are you asking me this?”
“I just want to know how much of you is left.”
Steve’s hand barely even moved as James struggled against his stony grasp. Nothing James said or did had impact on him. James clawed at Steve’s hand.
“Steve, stop! You’re being crazy. Let me go. If this is how you’re going to act, then I choose the island.”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that,” Steve said.
He let go of James’ hand and wrapped both arms around him. Steve leaned his whole body into James, and James’ feet slipped on the slick surface, but only for a moment. The two of them fell forward into the darkness as one.
ThebeingknownasJames Oliver stood on the landing strip, waiting for the first wave of guests to board the plane departing the Island. One of his most important duties was as the face of the festival. Once, he’d been a creature who sought out a human face to speak to for problems on the Island, but didn’t recall that now. Now, he might be what the late Eden Lee once thought of as a “not-person.” He was once James Oliver, and now he was Not-James. All he knew was he’d been a music journalist at the beginning of his career, then a PR rep, and this year he got the chance to represent the biggest, most exclusive festival the Bahamas had ever seen.
Now, he was the first person people saw when they landed and the last person they saw before they flew back home to brag about their experience. People needed to have a face to associate with the Island, someone to give the festival a human element behind the scenes that they trusted when the emails went out next year. Not that attendance was going to be an issue. During the morning stand up, upper management informed Island employees that a number of representatives for A-list celebrities and top influencers indicated interest in paying large sums of money to ensure an invite showed up in specific email inboxes next year.
But that’s not how it worked. The Island chose who got the email, and with ever-changing trends that dictated who held sway online, the invitee would only know they’d been chosen moments after the Island made the decision. Exclusivity was the most valuable asset that it had. That had been the reason so many people accepted the invite this year. Attendance would have been better if there were a spokesperson people could turn to like Not-James, and then there were those speculative articles about the Island’s history and financial backers. Publicity garnered by hate-watching attendee videos and memes were one thing, but those articles stood in the way of the Island’s goal, if only for a short while. Lesson learned for next time.
Passengers for the first flight trailed past James in singles and pairs, empty handed except for maybe a handbag and their cell phone.
“Thank you all so much for coming. Safe travels,” he told them, his perfect teeth glowing against his newly tanned skin.
The guests waved and returned hollow smiles. Even the most pretentious among them were happy to see James. Back home, they would see his face in ads for the festival and feel a warm yearning that compelled them to tell everyone how the Island was everything they thought and so much more. In all other regards, they would remain exactly as they were before coming to the Island—as far as their followers could tell. Not-Missy Lauder would remain stony, for instance, because that’s what was expected from her, and it behooved the Island for her to be so. But when asked about her time at the festival, she would recall it with the same tenderness as recalling a childhood dream. Like she was talking about going home again.
Just before the scheduled takeoff time, two women beings approached walking arm and arm as they talked. Not-Edie waved at Not-James, drawing the attention of her tattooed best friend, a woman who had been Not-Cassidy since she tried to escape the clutch of the island on an ill-fated airplane. In some other life, these women would never speak to each other again once they flew home, but now they were best friends and had been for years. Ever since meeting at New York Fashion Week, they’d been inseparable and were so thrilled to be invited to the Island together.
“Good morning!” Not-Edie cheered.
“Ms. Lee, Ms. Burns. How was your stay?”
“Couldn’t have been better if we planned it,” Not-Cassidy replied.
The three of them laughed. It was the kind of sound made by women in yogurt commercials sharing a secret with no weight to it.
Not-Edie boarded first, giving Not-Cassidy the opportunity to take one last vacation selfie on the steps leading up to the plane.
