The Invitation: Part 2
The Invitation
The driver, dressed in a tuxedo, stepped out, grabbed my suitcase, and opened the back door for me to enter. To my surprise, two others were already inside. After brief introductions, I sat across from Kathy, with a ‘K,’ and Curt.
“Nice to meet everyone. I’m Melody, with an ‘M,'” I joked, but it fell flat. No response. Great start. I initiated some light conversation, but their attention remained fixated on their phones.
“Isn’t this wild?” I commented aloud.
Curt looked up and smiled. “Hope so. I’m looking forward to this trip. My partner broke up with me, so getting away into nature came at the perfect time. I didn’t hesitate about saying yes. I couldn’t afford this on my own. Are you familiar with these islands? Because I’m not.”
Ah, a conversationalist. “No, but I did some research. It’s a very secluded part of French Polynesia. I doubt there’ll be Wi-Fi or internet,” I replied.
“Tell me about it,” said Kathy. “My fans are freaking out. I suppose I’ll take pictures and post them after we return. Only for a week, right?”
I shrugged. “Samantha didn’t specify, and I forgot to ask. We can assume it’s six nights and seven days.”
“Ugh! Let’s hope not any longer.” Kathy continued. “My followers will have the FBI out searching for me.” She rolled her eyes and sighed.
At the next stop, we picked up two more people, Aiden and Riley, and before reaching the airport, Beverly joined us.
I wondered if we were the only six or if others would join our group from across the globe. I figured I’d find out soon enough. A Learjet waited at the runway’s far end as we drove through a gate. Talk about traveling in style!
A man in blue coveralls retrieved our luggage from the trunk while a flight attendant gestured us to the stairs leading up to the plane. Finger sandwiches and champagne awaited us once we boarded. Curt opted for iced tea, “I’m in recovery. Two years next month.” We all congratulated him, with Aiden patting him on the back. “Good on you, mate.”
Not long after takeoff, sleep overcame me. The engine’s hum, paired with the alcohol, carbs, and lack of sleep over the weekend, caught up to me. When the plane started its descent into Bora Bora, I woke up and noticed everyone continued to sleep. Had they put something in our drinks?
Riley awoke next. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at me. “You passed out before any of us.” Smiling, she reached into her purse for a mirror and lipstick. “God, I’m a mess. Think they’ll have any cute cabana boys there?” Not knowing who she was talking to, myself or her, I diverted my gaze to the window. Guys were the least of my concerns. If I can hone my yoga and Pilates skills, this trip will be worth every moment.
The sky appeared a rich blue. As the plane soared over the island, I watched palm trees sway in the breeze. My heart leaped with excitement. Oh, how I needed this.
When we exited the aircraft, a sleek, black limousine with tinted windows whisked us to the docks, where a white yacht waited patiently for our arrival. The grand size and features were visible from afar. We walked up the gangway. The bright fish near the boat were easily visible through the sunlit, clear water.
I looked around at everyone’s faces and saw the anticipation in their eyes. Tropical scented leis draped around our necks. The crew carried around trays filled with glasses of champagne and colorful drinks. The jovial crew welcomed our party with smiles and a sense of adventure. Their white uniforms were crisp and spotless, adding to the atmosphere on board the yacht. It all looked perfect, too much so.
“Welcome aboard, my friends.” The steward, face set in a permanent smooth smile, lifted a flute of sparkling wine. He gave a small bow. “From this moment, you are voyagers, not mere passengers. Get ready for the adventure of a lifetime. Please, relax and enjoy the trip to these beautiful islands. Your needs and curiosities will be fulfilled—just ask.”
His eyes flickered over each person; the way a butcher inspects the size of a cow before slaughtering. He tipped back his drink and drained every drop in a single practiced gesture. With another abrupt bow, he placed the empty flute on a passing silver tray and glided toward the helm, shoes making no noise on the polished teak.
For a long, electric moment, none of us moved. Aiden snorted, breaking the spell, and raised his glass in a mock salute. “Cheers, mates. Here’s to adventures and not getting murdered, eh?” Riley cackled, the sound sharp above the low hum of the engines. Beverly, sunglasses perched on her head like a crown, tried to snap a selfie with the steward before he vanished below deck. Curt whispered something to Kathy, who giggled behind her hand, eyes scanning the perimeter for the best lounge chair. Even I, cynical to the bone, experienced a subtle hint of a sensation akin to hope. We were strangers, each carrying invisible bags heavier than the ones we’d packed, but for the moment, we would play along. A week’s suspension would be enough.
We drifted, glasses in hand, through the main salon. The room was opulent, with mahogany paneling, creamy leather, and art books stacked on glass tables. Everything gleamed. There were baskets of fresh fruit and folded napkins everywhere you looked, orchids nodding from crystal vases. Through the sliding doors, the sun blasted the sundeck in gold. The infinity of the blue sea beyond looked like a Photoshop filter dialed to the maximum.
Curt found a nook near the bow and sat cross-legged, eyes closed, breathing deep. “Inhaling the serenity,” he announced, grinning. We all laughed and joined him. Beverly spun in a circle, arms outstretched. She shed her cardigan to reveal a bikini top beneath.
A bare-chested Aiden challenged Riley to a contest: who would spot the most dolphins. Kathy, phone in hand, hovered amongst us, recording everything.
I carried my drink out to the upper deck, letting the wind whip my hair around my eyes. I heard the others below, their voices rising in fragments: “unreal,” “never going back,” “my ex would die of jealousy.” For once, the sound of other people seemed comforting. I took a long sip, savoring the tart fizz, and tried to commit the snow globe scene to memory.
Riley came up behind me. “Care to go on a little tour?” she asked, her eyebrow arched as if daring me to say no. We left the laughter and the flotilla of spritzers and slipped past the bar, upholstered in white leather and dotted with driftwood tables. The superyacht, according to the brochures, felt expansive and looked surgically clean. Its whiteness stretched over steel and glass. The air inside, a cool seventy-one degrees, and redolent with the faintest breath of freesia.
We started our tour in the main lounge. A wall-sized TV displayed silent drone footage of the islands we were heading toward, all lush green hollows and volcanic ridges. The ocean cut them off from everything. Riley flopped onto a pillowy sectional and patted the seat beside her. But I grinned and poked around, fingers trailing along shelves of art books and a chess set carved from obsidian and bone. I saw her sizing me up, comparing, filing away.
“Is this a first for you?” Riley rested her feet on a less than visible, modern glass table.
“You could say that,” I admitted. “It all seems so surreal.”
She laughed, a low, snorting sound, unselfconscious. “Same. I thought when I got here, I’d feel like an imposter. Honestly—” She gestured at the room, taking in the blue-veined marble bar, and the wall of windows overlooking the ocean. “I always believed this was destined for me.”
“I admire your confidence,” I said. Riley projected an effortless, feminine energy. Her sweet yet sharp voice and polished appearance, the nails, hair, and athletic shoulders, all contributed to the effect. My height, sarcasm, and asymmetrical smile always set me apart. Next to Riley, I resembled a geometry problem.
“God. I may hide in here for seven days and never go outside,” Riley said, flopping onto the bed. She bounced, testing the mattress. “Better than my apartment.”
“So,” Riley said, stretching out and crossing her ankles, “how long have you been in this game?”
“Fitness?” I clarified.
She nodded.
“I finished my certification a few months ago. I used to work at a chain gym. My ex and I were planning to go independent. Open a small studio. Then, well…” I trailed off, the familiar ache needling my chest, “he and I split up, and the business plan died too.”
“Oof,” Riley said, her voice softened by genuine empathy. “You okay with talking about it? The break up, that is.”
I shook my head, nodded, then shrugged in a way that amused us both. “It’s more of a relief, but also scary. Until I got my ‘golden’ letter.” The memory of opening the envelope had carved itself into my brain. “Yeah. It seems—” I searched for a word that wouldn’t sound like a cliché from some cheesy movie. “—unreal.”
Riley nodded. From the look on her face, she, too, relived her own reaction. “Yes. That card seemed to instill lots of hope back into people’s lives, from what I understand.” The way she said this—so calm, so certain—I realized she may have heard more stories than her own. It’s possible she played detective. “How do you suppose?” I asked because I couldn’t resist, because the appearance of a secret lay hidden beneath everything on this yacht, one Riley may aid me in teasing out.
“We are a mixed bunch here, wouldn’t you say? You, the fitness instructor, or even a nutritionist. Though you don’t seem that obsessed with food.” She said, eyeing me with a sly, judging glint. “Then there’s Curt. I’m thinking he’s in finance or real estate. Something where you wear a suit and tie, thanks to his haircut. Kathy, the influencer. Her phone is attached to her face.”
“You forgot yourself,” I said.
“Oh, I’m not a mystery. Professionally, a nurse. Or I was. I quit after the last COVID peak.” Her eyes lost their glimmer for a moment. “The letter hit my mailbox at the right time.”
“It’s wild to me,” I said, “how they even found us. How does someone pick six people from the entire world?”
Riley shrugged. “It may be possible they want to see what happens. You know, a social experiment. Or Samantha is running a cult, and we’re the first wave?” she said, only half joking.
Though I wanted to express doubt, a fraction of me, believed her. Molded by an upbringing in a home with triple-locked doors and fueled by childhood crime show consumption, I pondered the possibility of her being mistaken.
It was then I noticed a miniature tattoo near her wrist: a stethoscope curled into the shape of a heart.
“Well, our stay is only a week. We’ll survive the cult.” She laughed and got up off the bed. “Let’s go see what the others are up to.”
Editor: Michelle Naragon
Hmmm. An intriguing story, indeed. Secrets, secrets, and mystifying circumstances.
Thanks, Jill! Hang onto your hat! Twist & turns and lots of mystery ahead!