I bet Bonita hasn’t had sex on camera with a devil, chained, face covered, and clothes ripped to shreds!
Only when the road stopped at a dead-end did I realize I’d lost my way. I had no idea where I was. Nothing to do but retrace my steps.
I came to a fork in the road and couldn’t remember from which way I’d come. I stood there a long moment cursing myself for my inattention when I spotted, in the middle of the road, a white petal from the woodland star I’d plucked and picked apart during my wandering.
Thank goodness for silly childhood games!
I followed the trail of discarded petals back to a road I recognized then headed off - this time paying attention to my route - back to the lodge.
I’d managed to shower and slip into bed only moments before Kurt and Hans returned from their night out. They entered speaking in loud drunken whispers, trying to be stealthy but failing miserably.
“It’s OK, guys,” I said. “I’m still up.”
At the sound of my voice, Kurt jumped back, bumped against the wall, and knocked a painting of horses in the prairie to the floor. Hans burst out laughing then loudly shushed himself.
“Did you guys have a good time?” I asked.
“Would you believe Perth has a gay bar?” said Hans between hiccups.
“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I said.
“Well, it had one tonight,” said Hans, and he and Kurt laughed.
“Found a bar with a karaoke machine,” said Kurt. “You should have been there?”
“Next time,” I said.
Hans collapsed onto the bed. “Sorry we woke you, Greta.”
“No. I was up.”
“What’s the matter?” Hans slurred. “Couldn’t get to sleep?”
“You know how it is when you’re tired but can’t fall asleep.”
I waited a beat for a response. One came a few seconds later in the sound of Hans snoring.
The following morning Hans was a wreck. He did little to help me haul the equipment, and he was clearly in a foul mood and not making much of an effort to hide it.
Fortunately, the others didn’t show any signs of a late night. Instead, they were bright and cheery for the camera. While I was staging and shooting the models, Hans made phone call after phone call, each one more heated than the last. I tried asking him what was wrong, but he just grumbled about how cheap the client was.
By early afternoon, I was completely spent. I sat down in the snow and rested my head against a tree, the camera resting on my lap.
Hans ended his call and let out a slew of expletives. He walked over to me. “Bad news. No extension.”
“What do you mean ‘no extension’?”
“I mean they’re not going to pay us for any extra days. They said our luggage getting lost wasn’t their fault.”
“It wasn’t ours either,” I said.
“More bad news,” said Hans.
“Why not?” I said with resignation. “Let me guess. Philip stubbed his toe and needs a week of convalescence.”
“I showed them the work we did yesterday.”
“And?”
“And they said the parka shots were ‘too gay’.”
“Too gay? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” he snapped back, “that we have to do them again.”
There wasn’t time to protest—not that that would have done any good. We only had a few hours of sunlight and we had over a dozen action shots to take, with parkas, and gay but not ‘too gay’.
The mood on the bus ride back to the lodge was the complete opposite of what it had been yesterday—no jokes, no laughter, no plans for a fun night out. Though I was exhausted and my legs and feet were sore, what I felt most of all was hunger. I realized that we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
“Anyone else starved?” I asked.
“Too tired to be hungry,” Michael said.
“I’ll eat whatever Betty’s prepared,” Hans said. “Which is good, because that’s really our only option.”
I sighed. “Honestly, I’m so hungry I’ll even eat Betty’s cooking. I just hope it’s not lamb stew.”
When we arrived back at the lodge, Hans and I went straight to the dining room. Michael went to his room to crash, and the others - Alex, Andy, Delvin, Philip, and Kurt - all went into town to look for a better restaurant - one of the perks of not being hopelessly broke.
Again the dining room was empty, but I didn’t find it creepy this time. Betty, on the other hand, was in full creep form. She slowly trod up to us, no smile on her face, eyes looking suspiciously from me to Hans.
“Good evening, Betty,” said Hans cheerily. “What’s on the menu for tonight?”
“Lamb stew,” said Betty tersely.
“Perfect,” said Hans. “Two bowls of lamb stew, please.”
Once Betty was out of earshot, Hans leaned across the table, smiled kindly, and said, “Lamb stew. I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “I’ll survive… probably.”
Betty served us without ceremony. The stew was just as thick and heavy as it had been the last time, but I ate nearly all of it anyway.