Chapter 3: The "Reward" Challenge

"We have tree mail!" Jon was the first to wake up at the Kidd camp. They slept well in their makeshift huts of bamboo and banana leaves. The ropes and other tools that they won from the first tribal immunity challenge came in handy. Smirkwood and Pushpull did a lot of the design -- who knew that they were so Trading Spaces? -- and Kiss-a-Frog had made a catch of three lobsters while skin diving at the cay. It was the usual brisk morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon only to find more gray amid the tufts of the Atlantic swells. Michael was already rebuilding the fire, and Ashley had broken out a cast iron pan that they had looted from tribe LaFitte.

"What does it say, Jon?" asked Ashley.

"Oh boy, here's a doozie," said Jon. He looked as if he had swallowed some bad oysters.

You and your fellow castaways find yourselves smack dab in the middle of a Harlequin romance. Write part of the story (or a short chapter). Love, Ms-M.

"I need to think about this one guys," mused Jon. Michael smirked. That was guy code for "You're going to write it Mike."

"Jon, we got that tree mail yesterday," laughed Michael. Michael envied Jon and how he was able to parade around the island in little more than long, red swimming trunks. If Jon were a statue, Michael thought, he would make David look like the Pillsbury doughboy.

"Damn, I better make myself useful then. I'm off to get water," said Jon. "Smirkwood, Pushpull, Froggie, Ash, are you with me? How about we grab a banana or some crickets along the way?" Jon loved the girls. He loved anyone who wasn't male and who wasn't the least bit interested in him. Four relatively young, nubile women and two men on an island - albeit this was not the tropical paradise that the Diaryland Survivor depicted - but Jon figured his chances for love and merriment were better than becoming President.

"I'll stay here with Michael," said Ashley. "He looks like he's ready to explode." And not in a good way.

Froggie grinned knowingly at Ash and led Jon and the girls off into the jungle, more so to get him away from the brooding poet, but also so the three women could tease and frustrate him mercilessly. They so loved hearing him whimper and growl with pent up lust as they sauntered and sashayed around half naked in front of him. It quickly became a favorite past time of theirs, and Jon's too although he'd die before admitting it. Froggie figured that if anyone could calm Michael down, it would be Ashley ... that is if the two obstinate souls didn't vaporize each other first.

Michael picked up a stick of the driftwood he had been drying near the alcove and tossed it almost angrily into the flames. The campsite was well chosen. Michael knew. He picked it himself. He often did things by himself apart from the rest of the group. He was very quiet, almost contemplative, as if his mind were always working on something. He retreated often and worked out his frustrations by writing poems on his luxury item - a handmade waterproof journal and a NASA pen.

"I can't believe our group, Ashley," scowled Michael, his strong jaw line clenching. "They just left. Even a contribution of an idea would have been nice."

"Even an offer to write would have been nice, but give them time. Not everyone's mind works with the same lightning quickness as yours," chimed Ashley.

She was in full agreement with Michael on this one, but also reserving her role as peacemaker. These challenges were writing ones, and so far Michael had borne the brunt of the writing. She wanted to help, but all she could think of was to rub his dark, muscular shoulders to help drain away some of his tension. Well, they really were not that muscular, but more wiry than Jon's. She could tell Michael worked hard for a living, probably lifting crates or boxes at his office. She didn't remember where exactly he worked. She felt bad about not knowing. She would have to draw the answer secretly from him later.

With a glint of michief in his eye, Michael whispered, "So last night I snuck into the producer's tent, Googled, and read a few books last night by Jayne Ann Krentz: The Pirate, Gift of Fire, and Shield's Lady."

Snuck into the producer's tent? thought Ashley. She resolved herself to ask him about it later. "Same basic plot through all three huh?"

Michael then nodded, "Yeah. I guess she is also Amanda Quick and Amanda Glass. My gut feel is that we should go campy on this one. We went out of the box the last time, and my guess is the other tribe will go whole-hog on this romantic stuff."

Ashley bit her lip. She hated to argue, but she knew an argument was going to brew, like tumultuous clouds before a hurricane. Should she goad him? She always wanted to see his anger unleashed, to shake that cool reserve. Who knows, it might even lead to something. Something would be better than nothing on this cloudy, gloomy island. "No, because that wouldn't be a Harlequin romance. We already did the 'they didn't meet the requirements' dance. Let's not do it again."

Michael stared at her for awhile. She had strawberry-brown hair that tumbled down her back past her shoulders, and a sweet if not so angelic face, as if she was someone who had been through many a Brazilian jungle and came out the Jungle Queen. Her legs were just as he liked them - strong, smooth, toned like polished copper beneath the denim shorts she wore. He could feel himself heat up as he looked at her, but decided it was too early to say anything or do anything for that matter.

Focus on the IC, he told himself. "I just don't see then a differentiator between our entry and the other groups'. If it is the same plot, then we don't distinguish ourselves any. For example, look at Krentz's work: 'Gift of Fire'-- romance, but paranormal bent; 'Shield's Lady'-- romance, but sci-fi bent; 'The Pirate'-- romance, but pirate bent. Why not, 'romance, but zoo bent' or 'romance, but vegetable bent'?"

Ashley's emerald green eyes flared, her temper barely held in check.

"That's the bane of this IC. Not a lot of wiggle room in it. They said 'harlequin romance', honey. We've got to stay in those parameters." She could see the furrow of his brow begin tightening like a chain around his head. He stopped playing with the fire.

"I so totally disagree on that point." said Michael firmly.

His maple-syrup colored eyes that she found herself getting lost in didn't move as they stared deeply into her own. Ashley didn't know whether to back away or to hold her ground. His eyes were two deep pools, almost hypnotic. Yet for all this, Ashley thought, he is still so much like a child. Michael is like a little boy in school, Ashley thought. His eyes are so innocent. She shook herself. He didn't look innocent now. He looked a little irked, which suited her just fine, as her own grip on her fiery temper was slipping quickly. He also looked very dominating, which quickened her breath and also suited her just fine.

The ocean waves began splashing before them. The tide was rolling out. Still no sun among the cotton clouds.

Ashley paused, then began in a strong, steady voice, even though her heart was hammering in her chest. This would be difficult for Michael to hear, but damn it, he had to and she had to be the one to set him straight on this for the good of the tribe.

"I understand that this style of writing is everything you've been taught as a writing 'don't', but staying within the guidelines of the rules is going to force our hand on it pretty much. You can't always work a gimmick Michael. Sometimes it just comes down to the writing. I mean, hells bells, isn't that what this whole fricken contest is about?"

She had hoped he would see her statement as a peace offering and as ballast to his wobbling perception of the requirements rather than an attack. "We could write a Master/slave girl type chapter..." her voice trailed off and she turned away quickly, pretending a sound caught her attention, so that he wouldn't see what her eyes were surely betraying.

Michael sighed. He thought she was being obstinate. But she was willing to fight him. To struggle with him and challenge him. Such a smart woman. Such a beautiful woman. Such a turn on.

"My point is that these will be plain vanilla Harlequin style. I may not have been educated in this genre, but the frameworks seem to be the same. Lots of flowery descriptions, passion, titillation. If it boils down to the details, the judges will just flip a coin. If you believe you can win this outright, I will trust in your writing. But it's my belief that we rely on talent and a differentiator, something beyond what the norm is. The Harlequin are the characters, the plot, the..."

"I am aware of what the Harlequinesque style is," Ashley snapped. Her frustration growing by leaps and bounds as it seemed he stubbornly refused to listen to her.

"... my thing is just to change the dynamics of the characters. Even Krentz went alien in a few of her books." He was ready to give up and let her write it. Didn't she understand that he just wanted to win so that no one would get voted off? Didn't she understand that he did this for their tribe? For her? Because he couldn't bear to go through this all without her?

Thoughts stormed Ashley's head in a flurry of aggravation. How can someone so smart, so educated have such a damn blind spot? I know he's a wonderfully gifted writer and his perceptions of things have a unique flair, constantly drawing in attention, but damn he's hardheaded and proud. Then again, she thought with a smile those aren't necessarily bad qualities. At least I can't walk all over him. Ok ok, get a grip here, Ash before you give yourself a case of the vapors.

It was almost five minutes before Ashley spoke. "You know I thought about this as a differentiator - why not write it such as this - on the island we get tree mail with this particular challenge. You and I are the main characters; the conflict is how to complete this challenge. Everyone else "drifts" in and out of the story much like they are now, giving support and ideas, but the main thrust is the conflict between you and I to write the damn thing?"

Michael brightened, his mood picking up much to his surprise. "Oh niiiice," he drawled as hope flickered back into those warm chocolate eyes of his.

"It's a story within a story, peppered with reality."

"Do you have ten minutes?" asked Michael, his voice dropping to a husky tone, his eyes lidding slightly. God, it's incredible watching her mind work. Why didn't I see that earlier? Why did I work against her instead of with her? The sun began to shine on the two, but they were already glowing to one another.

Ashley was excited, waves of a blush crept across her cheeks as the excitement built. She stood up, began walking and talking all at once, practically circling a nearby pine tree, tucking a stray lock of her long hair behind a shell-like ear, her hands flitting like butterflies as she used them to talk as the ideas came flooding out of her soft pink lips. "Hell, we even lift some of our snippets of this conversation and incorporate it into the story. Our tiffs back and forth... yes I have ten minutes, why?"

"Because I think you are brilliant Ashley. You are bright, breath taking, and one hell of a player."

Michael made his way slowly to Ashley, pretending at first to hug her, but instead he thought better of it. He pinned her startled body against the pine.

"And right now," said Michael, staring at the look of wonderment in her eyes, "the way that the daylight is bathing your beautiful face, makes me just want to kiss you. Besides, after two weeks on this island, you look like you need a good kiss."

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