Chapter Five
POST-PRODUCTION CONFESSIONAL
CLOSE QUARTERS
ELIJAH JOUBERT: DECKHAND
PRODUCER
Tell us about yourself, Eli, as if you were talking to the viewer for the first time.
ELI
Well, my name is Elijah, but my mates call me Eli. I’m from Cape Town, South Africa, and I’ve been in yachting for a couple of years now. I’m pretty green when it comes to a boat this size, but eager to work… and play, of course.
PRODUCER
What made you want to work on a yacht?
ELI
You mean besides the money? I mean, come on — traveling the world, working on luxury yachts, jolling on my days off?
That’s the dream, isn’t it? Course, no one tells you about the actual job part.
Or the part where you’re trapped on a floating tin can with a bunch of beautiful, emotionally unstable people for eight weeks straight.
PRODUCER
What was your first impression of the crew?
Eli snorts, shakes his head.
ELI
Mate. You ever seen a group of people so good-looking and that bad at making good decisions? I clocked it straight away — this was going to be a messy season.
PRODUCER
What made you think that?
Eli holds up fingers, counting them off.
ELI
One — half of us were clearly using this job to run from something. Two — we were all so ready to let off steam that we got gees’d every night out with the crew. Three — there were exes on board, and that’s never a good thing.
PRODUCER
I assume you’re referring to Ember and Finn?
ELI
Listen, I didn’t know the full backstory at first. But from day one?
Ohhh, you could feel the tension. The way they looked at each other?
The way they didn’t look at each other? You didn’t have to be a genius to know there was history there.
I scoped it out early because Ember is mooi and I wanted to go for her.
Nothing like a fun little boatmance to get you through a season, right?
But I had to check with the other okes, get a feel for where everyone’s head was at.
And when I brought it up around Finn? When he saw me flirting with her?
Eli whistles.
ELI
Should have seen his face. Oh wait — you did. I think the way he blew steam out of his ears and nearly chopped his finger was our first sign that we were all in trouble.
PRODUCER
Did you think they’d be able to stay professional? Once you found out they had history, that is.
Eli deadpans, sucks teeth.
ELI
Absolutely not.
Eli pauses, laughs, kicks back in chair and crosses ankle over knee.
ELI
Nah, I mean, they tried. I’ll give them that. But let’s be real — when you mix past heartbreak, close quarters, long nights, and alcohol? Eish, something was always gonna give.
PRODUCER
Are you still angry about what happened?
ELI
Angry? Nah, man — that’s not really my vibe. Was I disappointed? Sure. A bit gutted, even. But ja, it is what it is. Life moves, and I happen to dig life quite a bit.
PRODUCER
Do you blame Finn for ruining the season?
ELI
The only thing I blame Finn for is blocking my shot with Ember after telling me he didn’t have feelings for her.
Eli winks at camera.
ELI
Ag, shame. I’ll never forgive the dodgy bastard for that.
The next day, I stood in a line with the rest of the crew as we watched our first guests approaching after what was likely the worst night of sleep of my life.
I usually started the season off energetic.
The exhaustion didn’t come until a few charters in.
But I’d tossed and turned last night, especially when Gisella snuck into our cabin at well-past midnight.
I wondered if she’d been with Finn, if they’d been in his bunk.
And then I’d felt sick. And then I’d scolded myself for feeling anything at all.
Safe to say it wasn’t a very restful night for me, but fatigue aside, I was still buzzing with excitement next to my fellow crew members as we prepared to welcome our tech mogul friends.
We were dressed in our whites — crisp, short-sleeved polos with the yacht’s insignia embroidered over the chest, perfectly pressed skorts or tailored shorts, and deck shoes that somehow still looked fresh despite the abuse they took.
Our hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place, and not a single drop of sweat dared to stain our pristine uniforms despite the sweltering heat.
We were all smiling wide and talking shit to each other through our teeth.
“Here we go,” I said to Leah and Bernard.
“These assholes better not destroy our toilets,” Leah murmured back, her southern accent making the curse word cute somehow, and her smile brilliant, as she threw a wave at the guests now climbing aboard.
Finn chimed in from the other side of her. “Judging by the very little I’m allowed to cook them, I’d be surprised if they shit at all.”
I bit back a laugh, holding the tray of champagne — Veuve, of course — steady as the guests dropped their shoes in the basket we’d provided and came aboard.
Unsurprisingly, they looked rich.
Theodora, the primary’s girlfriend, led the way, dressed in an all-white crochet dress that clung to her body like a second skin, the bikini underneath barely visible through the intricate weave.
A designer tote dangled off her forearm, her manicured fingers adjusting her oversized sunglasses every few steps, as if to make sure the light hit her just right for the camera that was rolling behind her.
Our primary, Alistair, followed close behind, his salmon linen button-down unbuttoned halfway down his chest, revealing a golden tan and a chain that probably cost more than my yearly salary. He smirked like a man who had just bought an entire island and expected applause for it.
Benedict — the best friend — was already sweating through his designer polo, his Rolex catching the light as he clapped Alistair on the back.
One look told me he was already blitzed out of his mind.
And his wife Brielle moved like a woman who would rather be anywhere else, adjusting the strap of her cream-colored maxi dress with a pinched expression as she side-eyed her husband.
Max trailed behind the group, Alistair’s older brother who stood out like a sore thumb with his plain white tee and well-worn linen pants.
He looked like someone had dragged him here against his will, his hands shoved in his pockets and eyes surveying the luxury yacht like it was a floating prison, instead.
It was a chaotic symphony of voices then, each guest coming down the line of crew members to shake hands and introduce themselves.
I was their last stop, handing them each a cold, sparkling glass of champagne with a smile that came effortlessly after all these years.
It didn’t matter that I knew they’d most likely be a pain in my ass — they controlled our tip at the end of this shit show, and it was my job to make sure it was a fat one.
“Welcome aboard the Sinking Sun,” Captain Gary said, clapping his hands together.
The way Theodora and Brielle smirked at each other once he spoke told me they were already enamored with his Australian accent. I didn’t blame them. Cap was hot.
“We’re thrilled to have you with us for the next few days,” he continued.
“While the deck crew gets your bags settled and preps for departure, Ember will give you a quick tour of the yacht so you can get comfortable. Once we’re underway, we’ll be cruising along the Amalfi Coast, taking in the sights before dropping anchor near Capri this evening.
If there’s anything at all you need, don’t hesitate to let us know. ”
He flashed them a charming smile, and I swore Theodora actually swooned. Brielle was side-eyeing her husband again, as if she were daring him to look even half as interested in any of the female crew members as she was in Captain Gary.
I handed the empty champagne tray to Bernard to take care of before sweeping my hand toward the main salon. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you around.”
The guests followed, Alistair talking shit to his brother about loosening up while Brielle wrinkled her nose at the furniture like it wasn’t up to her standard. We started at the bar, Leah standing behind it with a beaming smile ready to fill drink orders.
Benedict ordered a round of tequila shots — even though they still had their champagne — while I detailed all the features in the main salon.
Leah got to work, and Theodora curled her lip at the spread of food Finn had prepared for light snacks.
It was everything he knew she could eat — organic hummus with crudités (with no leafy greens), avocado and cucumber sushi rolls with coconut aminos (sans any raw fish, of course), sprouted seed crackers with cashew cheese, a fruit platter carefully arranged by color gradient, and a bowl of activated almonds that Finn had begrudgingly soaked himself — but she plucked at each dish with a long fingernail like she didn’t trust it.
Then, as if she just remembered cameras exist, she gasped, smiled wide, and threw her arms around Alistair. “Bri, take a picture of us!”
Leah and I exchanged a look that said everything we couldn’t speak out loud.
The tour continued through the formal dining area, where an elegant table was already set with fresh flowers and polished silverware; the sundeck, where plush loungers and a bubbling Jacuzzi waited under the afternoon sun; and the aft deck, where an alfresco dining setup promised the perfect spot for sunset cocktails.
I pointed out the gym — though I doubted any of them would use it — walked them past the crew access areas with a well-rehearsed smile and a gentle reminder that those areas were restricted for guests, and finally led them to their cabins, where their luggage had already been placed.
In a performance worthy of an Oscar, I laughed with the rest of the guests when Benedict flopped onto the bed in his cabin without taking off his sweaty polo first, smearing a streak of sunscreen and God-knows-what across the pristine white duvet.
Brielle’s lips curled in disgust. “Seriously, Benedict?”