‘It’s literally the smallest, mini micro G-string monokini we’ve ever seen. But Porscha insisted,’ says a wardrobe runner, giving me an apologetic look. I glance at the adorable floral-print shift dress she is wearing. It’s the height of sophistication.
‘Well, do you have a nice wrap I could put over it? Or a coat? I don’t care about the sweltering heat.’ I’m trying to keep calm. Porscha has instructed wardrobe to give me a bizarre flesh-coloured cross-shaped bikini made of dental floss. It is barely visible to the naked eye. I’m struggling to see it myself and I’m wearing it. ‘Please don’t leave me like this. There must be a mesh cover I can put over this… this…’ I flap my hand around, pulling at the thin rope of material that runs in a straight line from my nether regions to a collar round my neck. There’s a slightly wider piece running across my chest that just about covers my nipples. ‘…this outfit.’
‘You have a great figure though, so at least you can carry it off.’
That doesn’t really help. Not when in an hour’s time I will be walking down a catwalk into theLove on the Islandvilla as the first bombshell of the series. All eyes will be on me. The introvert. The girl who has never had a successful relationship. The girl who turns invisible the moment she steps through the school gates. The girl who has been hiding her true self away for the last three years. The girl who now is hidingnothing, not even a camel toe. I yank at the monokini. This is ridiculous. Things could not get any worse.
Oh, wait. They can.
‘What are those?’ I point to a mountain of leather dog leads in the runner’s arms. ‘I’m not wearing a dog lead. No way.’
This is too extreme. I won’t stand for it.
‘They are actually made from dog leads,’ she says, beginning to chuckle.
‘Are you walking lots of dogs?’ I’m confused. I didn’t see a single pet in the production village while I was there.
She holds the bundle of straps up. ‘These are your sandals.’
‘Sandals? For my feet?’
‘Yes. They’re thigh-high skyscraper gladiator sandals.’
Fuck me.
‘As if it isn’t bad enough that my make-up has melted right off my face, and I’m wearing what is essentially a thin piece of rope tying my neck to my vulva, you’re going to make me wear stripper footwear for my big entrance?’
I don’t believe this. If only Porscha hadn’t walked in on us, then I’d still be with Cam hanging out in perfect isolation at the villa. And we would have kissed by now. That heart-meltingly life-changing kiss that I have been cruelly denied.
The runner instructs me to sit down. ‘The thing is, once these are on, it’s so difficult to get them back off. All the buckle straps are at the back, see? You’ll have to get one of the girls in the villa to help you.’
‘Otherwise, I’m stuck in them until I’m dumped from the island?’ I joke, close to tears. Images of me having to sleep standing up in them flash into my mind.
‘Yeah, pretty much.’
After a lot of complex criss-cross strapping, tutting, buckling, refastening and pulling straps tight across my thighs, I am finally helped to my feet.
‘Christ Almighty. It’s like wearing a pair of stilts. I’m over six feet in these. I can’t even stand in them never mind walk,’ I say, wobbling around. The runner stands up beside me. I am now towering over her. And while my legs look like they’d belong on a giraffe, I do rather look like I charge by the hour.
‘They’re too high. Take them off. I’d rather go barefoot,’ I bark. ‘I will break a leg if I take one step outside of this villa in these strappy chopsticks. I am not some dominatrix about to go allFifty Shadeson those poor men!’
We are both startled by a loud clipping and clacking sound.
‘And cut. That was great.’
My jaw hits the floor as two camera operators emerge from behind a hidden screen in the far corner of the room with cameras and microphone booms.
‘And now, if you’ll follow us outside. We’re on a very tight schedule. We’ll film you getting into the car and saying something like how excited you are to be going into theLove on the Islandvilla to cause mayhem as the first bombshell. If you could wink at camera, do a peace sign and stick your tongue out that would be awesome.’
In a daze, I whimper, ‘You mean like a slutty British villain?’
‘Yes, exactly. Perfect.’
A sinking feeling sweeps through my bones. They are going to edit out all the bits where I say I’m not going to be a man-eating troublemaker and edit in all the bits that suggest I will be.
* * *
There’s only one thing worse than a semi-naked dominatrix, and that’s a drowned-looking semi-naked dominatrix. Halfway to the villa the sky grew dark and around half of Mexico’s yearly rainfall is currently falling from above. We pull up outside the property and wait for the huge electric security gates to open. I look up at the giant walls hiding the villa from sight. The huge gates, locked to keep out prying paparazzi, loom high above us. The driver does about a thousand checks on a walkie-talkie to confirm that yes he has the ‘package’ and that yes the ‘package’ is ready to go. The metal gates eventually slide open to allow us in.