A short story for the annual NYC Midnight Short Story contest. I was assigned comedy/out-of-body experience/landscape architect. I think I ended up writing a satire which is a form of comedy, so I don’t know what the judges will think; however, I am happy with the result.
A Picture Perfect Life
Captain Billy eased back on the throttle, and the boat slowed. I craned my neck and peered through the salt-smeared window. “Is that it?”
“It doesn’t look like much, but the island stretches five miles to the east. A narrow spit of land in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.” Captain Billy cleared his throat and hawked a gob of phlegm on the deck of the boat. My stomach churned, but I didn’t say anything. Didn’t want to piss off the man I’d paid in advance to bring me back to civilization when I finished the job. “Best be going. It’s getting late.”
He guided his fishing boat to the dock. Two men the size of linebackers stood sentry in matching pink Bermuda shorts and mint green t-shirts. Black wraparound sunglasses completed their ensembles. Watermelons on steroids.
I barely had time to hoist myself and my bag onto the dock before Captain Billy tipped his hat and said he would see me soon. I must have misheard, but I thought he mumbled “hopefully” under his breath. Had I made a poor choice coming to this island in the middle of nowhere? Too late to rethink. Good thing I’d packed cash, a bottle of gin, and an extra bikini. I could bribe my way back to the city.
“I’m Regina McQueen,” I said, holding my hand out to Summer Fruit Number One. He lowered his head but didn’t acknowledge my attempt at civility. Instead, he picked up my bag and indicated with a nod of his neckless head to follow.
In unison, they spun on their mint green Crocs and goosestepped down the dock to the beach. A golf cart parked at the edge of the sand mimicked my escorts with its pink and green paint. The roof was a jarring shade of lemon yellow. Was the owner of this place color blind or a hungry toddler wanting ice cream? A lump of lard-filled dread rolled around in my stomach. I traveled hundreds of miles to the island of poor taste. I journeyed to not only another land, but a place of bright pinks and limes. A place where my landscape designs might stretch my imagination and my skill. I had entered the bizarre zone.
The cart bumped its way down a small path that cut through the jungle. I heard what I hoped were cute monkeys rather than screaming jungle cats ready to pounce and eat my liver. Go to a tropical island and relax. It’ll be great. These were the lies my social media friends told me. What did they know sitting in their airconditioned basements in their parents’ homes? I could have turned on a reality show and drank a pina colada in my jimjams. Instead, I took a job to design an extremely rich dude’s garden. The money would be nice if I survived the trip. I could buy myself those cute shoes with the red soles that were sure to turn a married man’s head.
The cart stopped in front of a villa painted a painful ivy green. It was a sad attempt to complement the jungle surroundings. The only redeeming thing about the monstrosity before me was the size. It screamed money. Tropical paradises aren’t cheap.
“Miss McQueen, how nice of you to come to my island.” A thin man dressed in a linen suit with a straw canotier stretched his arms wide. “Welcome to Todosobremi.”
I gave him what I hoped was my most professional smile. “I’m excited to be here. You
must be Mr. MacGuffin.”
“Call me Mismo, and I shall call you Regina, my queen.” He grinned at me.
“Regina is just fine.” My smile stretched wider to hide my discomfort. “Captain Billy said the island was called Mount Basura.”
Mismo waved his hand. “That was then, this is now. I’m creating a new country and needed a more fitting name.”
“Can you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Create a new country in the middle of the ocean?” I asked.
“I can do what I want. I have money, and I control the world’s social media. My world. My rules.” Mismo laughed. “Don’t you know who I am?”
I shook my head. I should have researched my new employer, but his cash bought my time and my soul. A forty-something woman in a beige suit had interviewed me a few weeks ago and asked to see my portfolio. With the pandemic, jobs designing green space for new offices and homes had slowed to a trickle. I was hungry for work, so when the contract arrived in my email, I’d signed without reading the fine print other than the pay.
“I own Vltra, the parent company of—”
I slapped my forehead. “OMG! I use you every single day. This is so exciting. You’re like the godfather of F—”
“I know.” He clapped his hands, and a gorgeous brunette who resembled someone famous for being famous appeared. “I want to take you on a tour of the grounds you’ll need to transform. Kym, show Regina to her room and then bring her back to me.”
Kym bobbed her head. As we walked up the grand curving stairway, I didn’t know where to look first. Every surface was an explosion of color. Paintings with swirls of magenta fought with ivory diamonds for wall space. It made me dizzy. Kym stopped at the first door and let me into a bedroom fit more for a harem girl than an up-and-coming landscape architect. Without a word, she plopped my bag on the bed.
“Have you worked for Mismo long?”
Kym shook her head and gave me a condescending smile. “A person doesn’t simply work for Mismo. You participate in his vision.”
I arched my brow. “What do you mean? I won’t get paid? In that case, I’m out of here.” I picked up my bag, but she put out her hand to stop me.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get paid, but you’ll also get likes and follows. This will lead to advertising, and the next thing you know, you won’t have to design another garden in your life.”
“Waiting for likes doesn’t pay my rent. Cold, hard cash makes my landlord happy.”
“You’ll see. Mismo knows what he’s doing.” She walked to a large screen mounted on the wall. With a tap of her finger, it came to life. “Look. This is your arrival at the island. It’s already been viewed and liked a thousand times.”
I stepped over to the monitor. “Wait a minute. This is the page for my business. I didn’t post this.” I squinted at the screen. “I look amazing. My cheekbones are to die for, and my butt looks like I did squats every day for a month.”
Kim smiled. “It’s the newest filter. It makes you look like you should if you had money, time, and a trainer. Like you’re somebody important.”
I pulled my phone out and opened my social media. She wasn’t joking. The comments under the picture weren’t just from friends and family that I’d bribed to like my page. These were actual fans. “I’d better get downstairs and start designing. I don’t want to disappoint my followers.”
I found Mismo reclining on a chaise lounge next to a swimming pool. Compared to the villa, the color scheme was sedate. A simple Mediterranean blue with snow white furniture placed around the perimeter created a soothing oasis in a sea of color. “Ah, Regina. You look happy.”
“I am. Kim showed me the new filter. I can’t wait to download it.”
“It takes ten years and twenty pounds off, doesn’t it?” Mismo chuckled. “At least, that’s what I hope. You’re the beta for the project. The first release into the virtual wild, so to speak.”
Self-conscious, I sucked in my stomach. Too many glasses of wine washing down pizza while binging on sitcoms had added on pounds, but no need to comment. “Is this the space you want me to transform?”
“No.” He stood up and smoothed his pants. He stepped one foot six inches in front of the other and stopped. “Look up. I want to capture this moment.”
I looked around and saw that Summer Fruit Number Two was on a raised platform and pointing a cell phone in our direction. I sucked in my cheeks and tried to think thin thoughts. When Mismo moved forward, I released the breath I’d been holding. He pushed his way through a gate, and we stepped into a proper English formal garden. Unfortunately, the hedges had grown uncontrolled, and the flowers drooped from neglect. A good gardener could transform this place in a month. Why hire a landscape architect when the space is already amazing?
“This is beautiful,” I said.
Mismo turned to me, disappointment etched on his face. “Is it? This space says I’m forty to fifty years old and getting ready to send my kids to college. My target demographic is the twenty-five to thirty-year-old who lives in an overpriced apartment in the city but longs to escape to the countryside. They miss the raves and parties of their recent youth and long to escape the tedium of having to work an actual job.”
“I’m your target audience.”
“I know. It’s why you got the job. All the other applicants were old.”
“Aren’t you thirty-eight?” I remembered an online article I’d read that announced one of his latest wranglings with a government agency.
“Yes, but that’s not relevant. I have a launch party planned for my closest friends. I want their virtual OOB to be transformative, and this garden will be part of it.”
“OOB?” I pronounced it like boob.
“Out of body experience. My parents used to trip on mushrooms so they could leave their reality behind. OOBs were the first step to transcend the mundane. You observe your surroundings out of your physical body. Leaving the reality of this blah blah world for a new one. I’ve taken the concept and made it better using new virtual reality glasses. Everyone will be beautiful. No one will have bad hair days. Experience without the truth. It will be my crowning achievement. And you can help make it happen.”
“This sounds New Age unbelievable.” I didn’t consider myself a woo woo crystal girl. I loved the material world, not the spiritual.
“It’s an augmented life to create the world as it should be rather than how it is,” Mismo corrected me. “New Age leaves things to chance. Todosobremi will be a bespoke island nation. Every experience curated.”
It sounded controlling, but the zeroes behind the five on my contract silenced me. I took a step back and surveyed the space. “What do you envision?”
“I want it to look natural, but I don’t want it to be natural. No bugs. No butterflies. Nothing alive.”
I shook my head not sure I’d heard him correctly. “But you hired me to design your landscape. I use plants.”
“Plastic and silk plants will be perfect. You can paint the concrete green. Consider it contouring for nature.”
I looked at the garden. A paperwhite butterfly chose that moment to flutter down and land on a lavender tea rose. Mismo’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He waved his hand, and it flew away.
“What about the trees?” A plethora of palms surrounded a large fountain in the center.
“Make them go away. I want my outer home to reflect my inner home. I want bright, happy colors. No beiges or browns anywhere. Nothing can get old, wrinkled, or turn brown.”
I pulled a small notebook and pencil out of my pocket and jotted notes. Fake plants, fake animals, fake life. Check. “When is your launch?”
“Three months. I assume you can complete the job. I have a team at your disposal. You ask and it will happen.”
“In that case, I’ll get some preliminary sketches together for your approval by tomorrow.” I put my plans of sitting by the pool with a margarita on the back burner. Three months might sound like a long time, but it would take at least two weeks to rip out nature to make way for the concrete and Astroturf I planned to install. Such a pity to kill the real to make way for the fake, but it is what it is.
“Let me show you the rest of the island.” He turned on his expensive Italian loafers and beckoned.
***
Three months later.
“This is incredible,” Kym said. She held a handblown wine glass filled with water tinted to resemble chardonnay. When I asked her why she didn’t just have a glass of wine, she laughed and said it had too many carbs, but not drinking with the guests would shatter the illusion.
I peered through my VR glasses at the guests in a sea of designer gowns and tuxedos in carefully chosen colors. Each dress complemented the surrounding landscape. No sandaled heel higher than prescribed by Mismo’s curator of social media posts. “I finished it with only days to spare. The Vltra team worked around the clock to complete it.”
“You look amazing, too,” Kym said. She gave me an appraising look. Her hand reached up and she pulled off the diamond-crusted glasses. “Which filter did you choose?”
“The forties pinup girl,” I said and twirled around. “I’m a bombshell with blonde hair.” I pulled my phone from my silver evening bag. “I have over fifty thousand followers since the pictures of the garden went viral. Everyone wants to hire me.”
“The colors are so vibrant,” a passing guest said. “I can almost smell the flowers.”
“Thank goodness you can’t. Pollen makes my eyes puffy.” Her friend fluffed her hair and struck a pose. “Come closer. Make sure you lean forward and show your best assets.”
***
Two days later
“Linda, did you read the headline on today’s paper?” Mitch scratched his large belly and settled down in his old brown recliner.
“What’s it say?” Linda popped her head out of the bathroom. Her gray hair was damp from the shower. She patted moisturizer into her crow’s feet.
“A bunch of them influencers at the party Regina yammered on about got hurt.” Mitch read the article aloud. “‘The group of fifteen guests was posing next to a statue of a jaguar in a garden designed by Regina McQueen when one of the women suggested they move back for a better angle. Unfortunately, a cliff was directly behind them and four of the guests tumbled into the ocean. Captain Billy Wells, a local fisherman, rescued the uninjured guests.’ At least they mentioned the garden designed by Regina. It’ll get her some exposure.”
“Not really. No one gets their news from a paper anymore, Mitch. It’s too real,” Linda said. “Hold on while I post the apple pie I made.”
“Tag your sister. Her pies always look like crap. That new filter will make yours look picture perfect.”
