Tropical sun, and here she is in the storeroom behind the hut not just Up late so I can choke it down lukewarm, cool as it gets in this I have only ever liked my coffee iced, but I play my part, wake Or any number of other things any sane person would keep in the fridge.īut no sorbet, no chilled white wine, no ice cubes for our fuckingĬoffee. Like that stops them from serving us cold cuts or eggs or salad We were out here for real we’d have fire for cooking but no cold Our food is cooked for us but we can’t have anything with ice because if Not supposed to have those, and I’ve been dying out here without them. She makes it to Day 11 before I catch Her with the ice cubes.

I mean, I’ve been married to the man for twenty years I Means, the way she goes on and on when she and Henry slip off into theīushes at night. Our contract, though clearly Sonja doesn’t know what “verisimilitude” “The appearance ofĪuthenticity is crucial,” Sam says. Lice, pit toilets and infrequent showers. MarriageĬounseling, Island-Style, the promos shout. That are fully catered and our well that’s filled with bottled waterĮach day for us to bucket out again, we’ve gone All-Native. Aside from our hut that’s fully wired, our meals One Man, Two Women, Three Months to Make it Work, the Now I can’t move anywhere – the network has airlifted us to some If not for the children, I’d have moved out monthsĪgo. Sam says my bitterness plays well to the audience, the more bitter Nearest camera, and it’s all I can do to keep from flinging my mug at “Mmm, mmm,” she says with a wiggle, giving gobs of good TV into the Mouth opens in a sleepy yawn, the tip of her tongue curled like a cat’s. “Is that coffee I smell?” she says, her arms stretched wide as her I’d recognize that frayed, droopy ass anywhere. Only a black lacy bra and a pair of cotton boxers. On cue, theĬameras cut to Sonja as she comes straggling out of the hut, wearing “Here you go,” I say, shoving the sugar bowl at Henry. Tubs of margarine, but Sam, the Director, said our Country Crock wouldīe a crock full of melted shit under the camera lights. Home, we never had sticks of butter on the table, just those econo-sized My chair, the sleeve of my bathrobe dragging across the butter. But no one moves until Henry says it again and I half-stand from

I mean, the Grip is the closest and he’s got a free Momentarily dazed, by his endearment as much as by the lights from theĬameras and so even with all of Sam’s promptings to act natural, I just To go to the column page, please click here.Īt the start of Day Five, Henry says, “Pass the sugar, honey.” I’m This is the latest in Meg Tuite’s Exquisite Quartet.

Hagridden by Samuel Snoek-Brown