Chapter 70: (I’m On) TV Island!

Chapter 70: (I’m On) TV Island!

Labasa Airport Vanua Levu, Fiji. December 2011.

Ben hated sand. It was coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it got everywhere. 

There was no valid justification for why an airport should be capable of doubling as a beach, but here he was. At the ass crack of dawn, in the ass end of nowhere, getting his ass cheeks invaded by all the sand in Fiji. All because Bas had the bright idea of insisting on a family vacation.

Bas was having a lot of them these days—ideas, not vacations. When it came to Bas, the word working was perpetually in parentheses, preceding any synonym of the word holiday. There were pros and cons to that sort of ethic; good because money, bad because Ben hadn’t sniffed a day off in months.

Definitely not with the volatile graphing Ben had to plot for bas’ various accounts, as of late.

Ben’s most lunatic yet lucrative client had begun aggressively branching out. Discontent to remain as just an average Hollywood heartthrob, media mogul had become his preferred moniker. Ben should know. He’d recently finished setting up a business to accomplish precisely that ambition. Thus, BASNIZ LLC was born.

The walking lawsuit initially wanted to dub it Sudafed, of all things. Ben had dissuaded him by explaining that the nasal decongestant would have them paying through the nose when they got sued for copyright infringement. Mercifully, Bas listened and instead concocted BASNIZ. Some Frankenstein portmanteau of Bas’ own name, business, and the word ‘sneeze’ for some unfathomable reason.  

Media production, IP acquisition, merchandising, licencing, talent management, philanthropy, and god knows what else Bas devised in future. A bunch of operations and subsidiaries crowded under a single umbrella corporation. “I could totally use one of those right now.”

Under the shadow of his upraised hand, Ben shielded his eyes from the glaring sun as he squinted up. That distinct, piercing whine of a jet engine in descent signalled the arrival of the Stephenses. Three out of four of the private flights Bas had chartered had landed, hopefully ferrying the one person in the world who could nag some sense into him. 

Bas’ flight had yet to arrive, Anita and Shinpachi were still bumming it in bed, but Ben wasn’t alone in greeting their guests despite that. 

Among Bas’ new corporate curiosities was the hospitality industry. 

Joining Ben were two reps from the Mandarin Oriental Hotel Group. A tiny, officious Chinese woman from Hong Kong HQ. Fair-skinned with her dark hair slicked in typical tight-bunned fashion, taut enough that if she’d ever had botox or a facelift, Ben doubted he’d ever be able to tell. In stark contrast, was a more local Fijian liaison. Huge, potbellied, and practically bare-chested because of his halfway unbuttoned tropical tee. Clearly an industry veteran given his salt-bleached hair, as well as the wrinkles and prominent laugh lines visible on his sun-seared skin. 

“Ah, excellent! They are already disembarking.” She strolled forward as the jet doors disengaged. Constance—she’d genially introduced herself as Connie, but Ben would refer to as Constance. Try as she might, Ben wasn’t about to let her ingratiate herself so easily, though. Forget following her, Ben would be two steps ahead! “Nathan, go help them with their luggage.”

“Will do!” Their native agent hoofed it, belying his heft. 

Ben would’ve raced after him, but he was already regretting his power walk for pole position. The trapped sand wasn’t just chaffing his cheeks, it was carving a canyon through them. Schk, schk, schk! 

Constance frowned and searched for the origin of the suspicious noise. “Is someone shucking a coconut?”

A sunburn was inevitable, but Ben was sporting the first ever case of moonburn in history. “... It’s in your head.” 

“Bula, ladies! Welcome to Fiji!” Hands waving, voice booming, Nathan attracted Mrs. Stephen’s, Ellie’s, and thankfully, Constance’s attention as the arriving duo strode down the airplane stairs. 

As soon as her heel hit the tarmac, Mrs. Stephens’ hands shot up to knead both her ears. “Dear, dear, dear. All these years and I still can’t get used to the altitude.” 

“Mr. Rhys warned me this might happen.” As she reached into her pocket, Ben spied her removing a sleeve of Werther’s original hard candies. “He was most adamant we have these on hand, since you struggle to equalise.” 

Her pronounced wince immediately transformed into a relieved sigh once she peeled and popped the caramel treat and started sucking. “Oh, that silly boy! And thank you. Aren’t you all so very thoughtful!” Her sinuses might not be blocked anymore, but Ben feared any concerns he might have would potentially fall on deaf ears. 

“My pleasure.” Ben observed Constance smile oh so politely. A pristine mask of attentive zen—but he saw through the lies of the concierge. He’d be damned if he let her bribe the kid, too.

Heeding the additional advice Bas had dispensed, Ben whipped his hand out, palmed the young girl’s head, and destroyed any semblance of a hairdo. 

“—Hey!”

“Lookin’ forward to your first holiday with Bas as his honorary new sister?”

Ellie scrunched her nose and stuck her tongue out at him. “Nothing honorary about it anymore!” Her tone was acerbic, but her words and blush harshly undercut its effect. Score! Points to Ben. Suck on that, Constance!

–

Namale Resort and Spa, Vanua Levu. December 2011.

Nathan bundled everyone and everything into their van, drove them to the resort, and finally deposited them in their suite. Masquerading as a humble homage to traditional architecture, was arguably the most luxe villa on the property. Did it still count as ocean view, if the personal pool was hanging halfway over the water? 

“Woah… can I dive into the sea from here? Please?”

“Oh, my days! Isn’t this all a bit… extravagant?” Exorbitant, actually. For four grand a night, it better be!

“How quaint. Please enjoy to your heart’s content without hesitation. Bas has much more in store to show you.” Ben scoffed. Of course, Constance wouldn’t care how much this whole shindig cost Bas. The tourism sector was designed to massage you with one hand and pickpocket you with the other. 

Lush foliage, plush furniture, and an unrushed island experience. Ben couldn’t help but recognise just how much more moolah had been poured here, as opposed to even important infrastructure across the islands. It cemented his bias even further in his mind.

From his perspective, it was the resorts who were evil. 

“I’d avoid the minibar, though. Way overpriced. Anyway, we’ll let you two get settled. Anita or Shinpachi will probs drop by to pick you up for breakfast soon. Buffet ends at ten. Every morsel after the cutoff comes with a bill.”

“Aw, but I wanted to go to the beach first.”

“Do not worry, leng lui. We have already scheduled your island hopping adventure for today. Believe me, Mr. Rhys has spared no expense for your enjoyment.” And wasn’t that the truth? Ben agreed with Constance, in this instance. Bas really had nothing left to spare. 

That stomach churning reminder robbed Ben of his complementary appetite—the bathroom beckoned instead. 

Welp, he needed to wipe his butt clean, regardless.

–

Tivi Island, Fiji. December 2011.

Ben’s date with the bidet had been a futile endeavour. A waste of time and water both.

No matter where he turned, it was just more sand.

After a quick bite and a quicker dip in the pool, they drove across the width of Vanua Levu for forty-five minutes. Another ten on a speedboat had their full crew marooned on a barren island. 

While Anita, Shinpachi, Ellie, and Mrs. Stephens were goo-ga-ing over Nathan’s portable grill as he prepared fresh-caught saltwater lunch, he let Constance hover over them. Ben knew when to give up. She had the high ground now. 

Ben bent down and nabbed a handful of the beach. “Dust in the wind, that’s all it is to him.” He stood, extended his arm out, and gazed mournfully as the golden grains slipped through the gaps in his fingers. 

How poetically poignant. 

As his eyes followed the trailing spray, he spotted a yacht zooming towards the island. The root cause for the consternation he’d filtered down to Constance. It was unmistakably Bas dangling himself, topless in a pair of turtle-themed trunks, off the prow railing yelling for their attention. 

How absolutely annoying.

“I’ve landed, hoes!” The ship got as close as it could while skirting around any sandbanks before dropping anchor. 

The whole team was ankle-deep in the lapping waves as they excitedly flagged Bas down. Ellie, in particular, was double-fisting prawn skewers as semaphores. 

Impatient and impulsive as ever, Bas eschewed the ladder clipped to the stern deck. Determined instead to expedite the process, he scooped an unsuspecting Fedex into his arms and hopped straight into the water despite her protests. 

Fedex’s drenched sarong was likely the only opportunity Ben would ever have of seeing the usually opaque consigliera so transparent. “Bas! Must you do this!?”

“Hey, I’m turning your life into a movie. Don’t be a critic!”

Shinpachi, though, had his focus somewhere else besides the vaudeville act. “Is it not customary to name boats something nautical? I am afraid the logic behind your naming sense eludes me, boss.”

While Shinpachi was scratching his chin, Anita was bashing her forehead. “Achoo, Bas? Seriously?”

Despite the various floppy sun hats being obstacles, it was hugs all around the moment Bas set Fed down like flotsam. “Nothing to sneeze at, eh? Sunseeker Predator 60—looks like a million bucks!”

“Because that was the actual price tag...” Ben enlightened with a shady attitude.

“Meh.” Bas brushed him off. “Don’t sweat the small stuff.” Ben wasn’t. He truly, genuinely wasn’t. 

“Wha—!?”

Bas plucked one of Ellie’s prawns and chomped down. “Trust me, we’ve bigger fish to fry.” 

“Wait, wait! Hold on a second. Is he insinuating that you’ve spent such a ludicrous sum of money buying that thing? What kind of fiscally irresponsible, callous, stupid wastrel burns that kind of dosh on merely a holiday—on temporary pleasures!?” Yes, Mrs. Stephens! Yes! Sock him on his cock! Limp-wristed though your fists may be, speed-bag those pecs and beat some sense into Bas! Finally, someone in Ben’s corner!

Unfortunately, it was a first round defeat. “Mommy, chill.” What the hell is even that!? “Weren’t you, yourself, suggesting I take better care of myself? Surely, that includes splurging a bit, yeah?”

“... I suppose.” Ben found himself disappointed in Mrs. Stephens. Who gets knocked out by a clinch to the chest and some sweet nothings? Ben wants his money back—better yet, he wants Bas to get his money back!

“I want to drive it!” Ellie boxed herself in and lodged herself between them.

“We’ll fetch you a captain’s hat, then.”

“What even possessed you to get a yacht?” Bit late, Specter. Bell’s already rung on that. 

“Hm?” Bas tilted his head in consideration. Bullshit. His schpiel was on the tip of his tongue before that question was even asked. “I guess it all started when I went rowing with Emma during her orientation. Nearly had a stroke on a red dinghy called the ‘Herring’. Fun, though, and got Em off my back. That Victoria’s Secret yacht party ended well, too. According to that pattern, boats give me good luck with the ladies. Present circumstances, with my arms wrapped around two beautiful girls, only confirm it. Not a bad purchase, is it?”

No, don’t gently caress his face; slap him, Mrs. Stephens! “Yes, sweetheart. It’s a very nice… toy you’ve bought for yourself. I was, however, hoping you’d make a more worthwhile long-term investment.” 

“Like a house, you leech. You can’t keep slumming it on my couch for the rest of your life.”

Bas expressed honest confusion this time, and questioned Constance. “What’s the deal, Coco? You didn’t tell them?”

“Celebratory news is best left to you to memorialise, I felt.” Conniving Constance left the basking to Bas.

“OI! You’re the one who sells seashells by the seashore—that includes bombshells! Tsk! Whatever.” Ben hoped everyone had braced themselves. “I didn’t just buy a boat. I bought the island we’re currently standing on.” 

Pin. Drop. Silence. 

Wait, was there a baby wailing in the distance? Nevermind, it was Ben himself sobbing. 

“You bought a desert island…” As Anita spread her arms wide to draw emphasis at the unspoiled landmass, Fiji was suddenly seeming a lot like the Gobi to them. “Is there even anything here?”

“There are, in fact, five bays, a surrounding coral reef, mangroves, and other fruit tree groves. Remnants of an old coconut plantation persist, as well. There is even a rare freshwater spring on the island!” Nathan went into tour guide mode. 

“Uh, that’s nice. But I meant more in the way of, you know, infrastructure. Water, shelter, electricity—anything resembling civilisation.”

“There will be. I promise.” Bas confidently stabbed his thumb at the two interlopers. “That’s why they’re here. All one-hundred-and-fifty acres of paradise here is mine. But I’ve offered a chunk on lease to Mandarin Oriental to construct into a resort—for basically free.” 

Ben interjected, “—along with a teensy cash injection. Somewhere in the ballpark of twenty million dollars.” 

Bas kicked at the ground and sent sand cascading all over Ben’s body. Damnit! “Seventeen, to be precise. All of which is to build up the island. Three mill was for the freehold purchase.”

“Hate to break it to you, Bas. So far all we’re hearing is you dropping dollars like they’re dimes. What value are you getting out of this relationship, exactly?” Anita’s accusatory leer bounced between Bas and the two reps.

“I assure you, Ms Specter, our relationship with Mr. Rhys is mutually beneficial. The burden of the resort falls squarely on us alone, while his funding offers him our expertise in fully developing the island, construction of his private property to his specifications, as well as upkeep and maintenance for everything as long as Mandarin Oriental continues to operate on this island.”

“Each of you gets to design your own bedrooms in my mansion, FYI!”

“Additionally, all of you will have received a gold key card courtesy of Mr. Rhys. It allows any holders access to the highest level of accommodation at any of our forty-plus global properties - without reservations and without payment.” Connie, you bitch! Ben hurriedly rummaged around his pockets to dig out his card—he was so in! This was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Bas victoriously mimicked Anita’s earlier span-wing pose. “Welcome to Tivi Island, everybody. Welcome home!”