Taking the Heat - Real Heat Book 1

Chapter 1

Transcript of Tara M's video diary: Day 1

So ... hi! (Nervous laugh) Um ... well, I'm Tara and I survived my first day on Erotic Island. The producers said I'm supposed to just talk about everything that's happened in here, for at least an hour a day. I'm not sure an hour is gonna be enough, what with today, and meeting Henry and Douche-face and the luau-orgy and all the rules and oh my god, I'm so mixed up right now. I need to tell this in order.

Okay, no one's told me how far back to go, so I guess I'll just talk about how I ended up here. It certainly wasn't something I planned. Seriously, I'm not the kind of girl who ever thought she'd end up on reality TV. I've never even watched Big Brother before. And this show isn't Big Brother.

It's because of Serena I'm even here. My bestie ran into my room one morning about a month ago, launched herself onto my bed and squealed directly in my ear. 'Tara! Get up! We have to go down to the convention centre right now!'

I'm not a morning person. I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head. 'Go 'way,' I slurred. ''Stoo early ... '

'Look!' yelled Serena, yanking my blankets off again. 'Auditions today, new reality show, gorgeous guys and gals wanted for an international adventure of a lifetime.' She thrust her iPad in my face, too close for my tired eyes to see anything but a colourful blur.

'It sounds like a scam,' I said, grumpily pushing the pad away. 'You'll end up on someone's lame YouTube video.'

Serena's black curls bobbed around her pretty face as she shook her head vigorously. 'Nope, not a scam, I already Googled, plus Facebooked, and called my friend who works for Channel 9 and he said it's legit. It's huge news! Check it out!'

Again, she flipped the pad around to show me feeds from News.com.au but I rolled my eyes. 'Why would a new reality show be big news? And what makes you think I'd be in any way interested in going on it?'

Serena arched an eyebrow high and dropped the bombshell. 'Because every contestant who follows the rules is guaranteed to go home with a million dollars.'

***

An hour later, without even time to shower, I found myself sitting in line with Serena and ten thousand other hopefuls. The cool Melbourne air whistled around us, whipping my straight hair in every direction, the ash blonde strands catching on my sticky lipgloss. 

Wait—I probably sound like a terrible person now, don't I? Someone waves a million-dollar flag in front of me, and all of a sudden I'm ready to sign up? I wish it was so simple. The truth is, I have some ... family stuff going on. But we'll get to that later, I suppose.

And Serena skimped on the deets a bit. All she told me was that it would be on an island, Survivor style. I'm pretty fit, thanks to a year of living in Serena's building with its free twenty-four-hour gym access for residents, so I figured I could keep up with whatever insane rules the show entailed. I could eat snails or make out with a tree or wrestle an ibis. Just tell me what to do.

Little did I know ...

Finally, we inched inside the foyer of the convention centre. Clusters of people chatted and preened nervously. I realised that everyone I could see was wildly attractive and no one looked over thirty-five. 

At the sign-up table, Serena and I scribbled 'yes' on release forms and received a numbered sticker for our shirts. I struggled to find a place to stick mine: the top Serena had insisted I wear was bright red and tiny. I'd bought it after a break-up and never worn it, because it left my belly totally exposed and dipped low between my breasts, but Serena said it would help me stand out. I gave up trying the shirt, and wrapped the sticker around the leg of my dark blue skinny jeans instead.