Rosalind
The music is blaring, and there's four supermodels dancing on the beach in bikinis. There's a guy with a video camera in the powerboat next to the beach, and two pudgy, pasty twenty-something guys are dancing with the models while they smoke large cigars.
"Is it a music video?" Orlando asks.
"Hollywood?" Bruce asks.
"That's Ciara Moon," Orlando says, pointing at one of the skinny models.
"Of course you know the models by their names," I say to him.
"And that's Farrah Knox, and the brown-haired one is Hope. Just one name for her," Orlando explains.
"Who are the guys who escaped from a prep school?" I ask him.
"No idea. Sons of hedge fund owners?"
"Hollywood," Bruce breathes, clearly impressed by his luck. He's managed to pick an island where a movie is being made, and he'
