14
Eighties Popstars, Soothing Tree Sap, and the Night Sky
Will
“Even the royal ones?” she asks. “I find that hard to believe.”
She smiles at me and even though her face is only lit by the light of the campfire, it's like the whole jungle has suddenly become brighter. Oh, that thought has no business in my mind. Not with her. Not here. And certainly not now. I clear my throat, then say the least romantic thing I can think of. “We should check your feet for infection.”
Her head snaps back and her nose wrinkles up in disgust. “Is that a possibility? I've been wearing my boots all day, and believe me, my personal hygiene is generally quite excellent.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” I say. “What I meant was, we need to let our feet dry and check them over.”
I dig around in the backpack and grab the headlamps, then slide one on, and hand the other one to Arabella. I unlace my boots and take them off, then remove my damp socks. Switching the lamp on, I then set up one of the cameras to point at my feet. “When you're in an extremely humid climate like this one, you need to make sure you allow ample time for the insides of your boots to dry, but also your feet as well. You should carefully check for blisters or sores, and, as gross as this sounds, ensure your skin isn't starting to peel off, because if it is, you’re in a lot more trouble than you might think.”
“With moves like these, it's a wonder you're single,” Arabella says.
I chuckle a little, then watch her remove her boots. Uh-oh. She winced. Once her socks are off, my eyes land on open sores on either side of her ankles. “Shit. Did that just happen today?”
“It's nothing.” She gives a quick shake of her head. “You know, breaking in new footwear.”
I dig around in my bag and grab out the sap I collected earlier. Pointing the GoPro at my face, I say, “Princess Arabella has got open sores on her ankles from wearing new boots—and in her case, it’s not her fault. Her wardrobe was provided by the network, but normally before embarking on a trek like the one we’re on, you'll want to break in whatever footwear you have, to avoid these types of blisters. I'm going to pop down to the river, wash this pot out, then boil some water and this bag of sap so I can make the perfect soothing balm to heal those sores in no time.”
“Could we not talk about my sores?” she whispers.
“It's an excellent opportunity for learning survival skills.”
“That may be, but I prefer not to make a public spectacle of my feet, certainly not when they're in this condition.”
I tilt my head. “You have really lovely feet. Those are world-class cute toes.”
Feeling silly, I toss two more pieces of dead bamboo on the fire to keep it going. “You relax and let the heat dry your skin. I'll be right back.”
Once the sap has melted, I take the pot off the fire. “You can see the consistency of the salve is a nice thick liquid so it’ll glide on smoothly. We’ll let it cool for a while before I apply it, but in the interest of allowing my co-host some privacy, I shall now bid you good night and turn off the cameras until morning so the batteries can charge up while we charge our own batteries.” I shut off the camera, then mutter, “That was cheesy.”
“Just a bit.” Arabella removes the holster her GoPro is attached to and hands it, along with the camera to me. “There. Much better.”
“Yes, we’re alone now.”
She nods. “Children behave, that's what they'll say when we're together.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion.
“We should probably watch how we play,” she adds. “But they don’t understand.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on, Will,” she says with a grin. “You know the words.”
“Oh, this is a song?” I shake my head even though I know exactly what song it is. “I have absolutely no idea what song that is.”
“You are such a liar. Everybody knows Tiffany.”
“Not me.” I scratch my chin thoughtfully. “But I do have one question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Are we running just as fast as we can? Holding onto one another's hands?”
Arabella bursts out laughing, then sings, “Trying to get away into the night ...”
I join in, unable to resist. We belt out the song together, and I interrupt, only to say things like, “I should put the camera back on. Dylan would call this solid gold television.”
Arabella shakes her head while she sings, “… the beating of our hearts is the only sound.”
I pick up the camera and she grabs for it, her delicate skin waking me up. “Don't you dare. I'll stop singing.”
“Then I won’t.”
We glance at each other for a moment, then at the exact same time, we both sing out, “I think we’re alone now.”
Soon, we’re both laughing too hard to finish the song. And when the moment ends, I stare at her longer than I should, but find myself unable to tear my eyes away. A happy version of this pain-in-the-arse princess is sort of irresistible. “You're fun.”
“And you’re surprised by that,” she says. “Of course I can be fun. Well, under the right circumstances, and in the appropriate setting.”
“Ah, yes.” I put on a posh accent. “The hallmark of uninhibited fun—under the right circumstances and in the appropriate setting.”
“Quite,” she says, lifting an imaginary tea cup with her pinky out.
I laugh again, then give her an inquisitive look. “By any chance, did you lick one of the yellow frogs earlier when you went to the loo?”
Arabella laughs, a full lovely sound that causes me to join her.
Okay, Will, enough of the gazing at the beautiful princess. You can't have her, so forget about it.
Needing to distract myself, I check the temperature of the salve, finding it just right. Scooping some onto my finger, I hold out my other hand. “Your foot, milady.”
“Oh, no, it's fine. I'll do it. I haven't washed my feet, so they’re rather yucky at the moment.”
“I have news for you. Every part of us is going to be ‘rather yucky’ until we get out of here,” I say. “That's just life in the bush. Now, I offer an all-inclusive service out here in the jungle—delicious warm meals, unlimited fresh larvae, and medical attention.”
“All-inclusive? Hmm …” she says with a flirty smile.
Oh wow, do I ever want to find out what she means by that. Instead, I force myself to get back to the matter at hand. “Give me your dainty little foot so I can fix you up.”
She reluctantly lifts her foot and sets it down on my waiting palm, the weight of it giving me a hint as to how slight she really is. I switch the headlamp back on and get to work, fixing up her ankles and covering them with bandages.
The fire starts to die down, and I see her yawn, then realize I’m a little disappointed that this evening is coming to an end. Huh. That’s weird. “We should get some sleep. It's been a long day.”