Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 3


 Chapter 2: Rehearsal – Part 3

Several cast members are standing near the vans when I approach. I grind out my cigarette, flick it into the brush, and summon what I imagine to be a good “Company” voice. It’s important to fit in, to be a team player right now, especially since I’m surprised I’m working for the Company again, let alone doing it in the Bahamas.

“Good morning!” I blurt out. Typical greetings come from the group in response. One of the chorus girls, barely audible, mutters, “Child, it is way too early for that.”

We climb aboard the vans, and as we pull out of the parking lot, the driver looks the wrong way before pulling into the road. Thankfully, no cars are coming, so we’re in the clear. As we drive out, we pass an old, faded sign that stands guard at the entrance of our complex. The white paint is peeling in sheets, and one of the letters is hanging loose. Welcome to Guanahani Village, it reads.

Everyone seems to be on their best behavior, and the small talk is almost painful. The van is packed to capacity, and there’s a sort of forced cheer in the air.

The van reaches the end of the road and we’re funneled into a roundabout. The van circles over and over, and we’re all pushed up against the walls. No one knows how to get out or where to go. Our driver finally makes a decision, pulls out of the roundabout, and speeds down the road. We end up heading back past our homes, and the Guanahani Village sign passes us again. The cast exchanges glances, but no one says a word.

Looking out the window, the area of the Bahamas we’re in is a curious blend of luxury and tourism. Beautiful homes sit side-by-side with shacks selling T-shirts and trinkets. Palm trees line the streets, and the sky is a brilliant, almost surreal shade of blue.

I feel a wave of contentment wash over me. Here’s to good times and new friends, I raise a toast in my mind.

Eventually, we reach our destination. The van pulls up to a hotel with a circular driveway. As we stop in front of the front doors, the cast piles out, laughing and telling stories, trying to one-up each other. The sound of laughter is deafening as we enter the lobby.

I look around, stifling a laugh myself. The hotel lobby has clearly been decorated by the same person who did our condo—except this time, the color palette is all white.

In one corner of the lobby sits a parrot in an ornate cage. His squawks pierce the air above the roar of our group. The bird is so excited, he’s hopping around and yelling, “Hello! Hello!” to anyone who will listen. A sign on his cage lets me know his name is Pete.

The lobby is bustling with tourists, of all shapes and sizes, running around like they’ve never seen a vacation before. We dodge them as we make our way down a long hallway and into a reception room, our footsteps echoing against the marble floors.

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