Day 2 #3
“As long as you get to pick the crew, of course.” Wendy cuts her eyes toward Dre, who is doing something with a rope, his sleeves pushed up, muscles glistening in the sun.
“I think somebody has a crush,” I chide.
“Me? No. I’m totally in love with my boyfriend!” Wendy demurs, not totally convincingly. “But I do appreciate a nice view.”
Summer eyes Dre. “Don’t we all.”
I stare out over the ocean, my hunger finally satiated, champagne buzz and lack of sleep combining to make me feel slightly removed, like I’m floating.
Which, of course, I am. On a yacht. In the Mediterranean. It’s all very surreal, euphoric almost—except for the niggling sensation in the back of my mind like a grain of sand stuck in the gears, reminding me I don’t belong here. I shouldn’t be here. And yet here I am, thanks to Summer. My old friend. Could I have ever imagined, when I met her at sixteen, all the events that would conspire to land me on this yacht, in this immensely unlikely scenario?
“Belle? Belle.” Wendy interrupts my reverie. “Earth to Belle.”
They’re all standing, trying to move out of the banquette, and I’m blocking the way. “Sorry,” I murmur, sliding out of the seat.
We each take a cold bottle of water from a basket offered by Hugo and follow Julie’s flaxen ponytail from the outdoor dining area into a large living space with built-in navy-and-white-striped couches that face the sea. “This is the main deck,” she says.
She leads us deeper into the boat to a more traditional sitting area. The decor is understated luxury, with muted colors, clean lines, and soft fabrics. “As you see, we have two sitting areas and the main dining room.” She leads us into a dining area with a long table and an ornate chandelier hanging over it. I look up at the chandelier and notice a camera in the corner of the room. There’s one in every corner of the room, actually. I wonder who’s watching them.
“Here to right is the kitchen, where Jacques does the magic,” Julie continues. “No need go there. Anything you need is here in the bar and kitchenette.” She opens the door to the refrigerator, revealing rows of sparkling and flat water, pressed juices, and wine, as well as fresh-cut strawberries, yogurt, cheese, and other snacks. “You ask and we give anything you require.” Julie gestures toward a door down a short hallway past the spiral staircase between the kitchen and kitchenette. “Through this door is Monsieur and Madame Lyons’s room.”
Apparently the crew has not been informed that the missus is not the wife. Summer gives me a quick wink. “Show it to them,” she says.
“Of course.” Julie threads her way through the group and opens the door to the master suite.
The king-size bed, with its polished wood headboard and built-in bedside tables, is centered on the back wall, an assortment of pillows displayed atop a woven gold comforter. His-and-hers closets are to the right and left of the bed, window seats centered under the large windows that look out over the sea on either side of the room,a large flat-screen television mounted on the wall across from the bed.
Julie opens a door to the left of the television. “The bathroom.”
The entire front wall of the white marble bathroom is glass with a view of the water, a large Jacuzzi tub positioned underneath to take in the vista.
Brittani hops into the Jacuzzi. “Holy shit. I’m so taking a bath in your hot tub!”
On the wall next to the steam shower is a framed picture of Summer. She’s lying on her side, naked. Her arm is draped so it just covers her nipples, her top leg positioned to cover her crotch, bedroom eyes directed at the camera. No surprise there. It’s the bed she’s lying on that draws my attention. The light and focus fall off behind her, leaving the room in soft shadow, but I’d know it anywhere. It’s my bed.
I also know who was behind the lens. Which is why I’m surprised to see it displayed here.
I’m careful to hide my reaction, but everyone’s focus has shifted to Summer, whose voice takes on a shrill edge behind us. “Julie, where’s the comforter set I picked out?” she asks. “This quilt thing looks like it belongs in a Holiday Inn.”
“I will find it for you.” Julie’ssmile never wavers. “Always, if there is anything we do to make your stay more comfortable, please to let us know.”
We trail behind Julie as she exits the room. She gestures to a closed door just outside the master. “Monsieur Lyons’s office. Please do not go there.” She heads up the wide spiral staircase in the hallway. “Your rooms are all just down the stairs. We see after the tour.”
We follow her into an informal room with comfortable couches and another huge flat-screen TV, as well as a large desk with two sleek computers. “This is the upper deck,” she says.
I stare up at the life-size oil painting of John that presides over the room. As I move, his deep-set eyes seem to follow me. It’s unnerving.
He does personify power. I’ll give him that. And I guess to certain women, money and power are more attractive than a taut jawline and shared cultural references. But John is older than Summer’s dad, or Three––or any of her stepdads, for that matter. How do you get around that? I mean, five, ten, fifteen years’ difference, no big deal. Even twenty, especially as people get older. But thirty-six years? Maybe it’s true love, but let’s face it: it’s an arrangement you only ever see between very rich men and very beautiful women.
Shut up, Belle. She’s clearly made her choice. Everybody has different needs, and God only knows what kind of complexes having Rhonda as a mother and a string of crappy stepdads has given Summer.
Anyway, regardless of our divergent taste in men, my issues with Summer go way beyond her relationship with John. If only it were that simple.
Julie picks up a remote control and hits a button. Blackout shades silently lower over the three walls of windows, obstructing the gorgeous views of the water, darkening the room until it’s almost pitch black. “If you want to watch a movie during day,” she says.
“Or you have a hangover,” Brittani pipes up.
Julie raises the shades. “Luc teach you the remote later.” She descends two steps into the circular sunken dining room with curved walls of glass that slide open at the touch of another button, bringing the indoors outdoors. “All the doors on the back of the boat open, so you have comfort of the inside with the beauty of the outside.”
A large deck with built-in lounge areas extends beyond the dining table into the sun. Julie hits another button and a sunshade stretches out over the deck. “If you have too much sun.”
She heads up a stairway that curves around the outside of the boat, and we all follow. Amythest grips my arm, looking down at the sea below us as we ascend. “You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “I just—all this water kinda freaks me out,” she admits.
“You’re safe.” I pat her hand. “See all these rails? They’re here to keep you on board.”
She laughs nervously but doesn’t release my arm.
A blast of bright sun and a gust of warm, salty air greets us as we file onto the top of the boat, squinting at the miles of blue around us. “This is the sundeck,” Julie says. “Hot tub.” She gestures to a big round hot tub at one end of the deck and then to a deck-wide built-in circular padded lounge area. “And for tanning. Also refrigerator with drinks and snacks.” She opens a small refrigerator built into the wall of the bar.
“This’ll do,” Wendy deadpans.
“Now I show you to your rooms,” says Julie.
We thread our way down the outdoor staircase, through the upper deck, and down the spiral staircase, past the main deck, where Summer departs for her room, to the lower deck. It’s considerably darker and smaller down here, but still very well appointed, with a thick cream shag rug that makes it feel like a cradle. There are two doors on each side of the short hallway and a door at the end marked CREW .
Julie consults a clipboard as she opens the first door to the right. “Wendy and Claire.”
The room is just big enough to accommodate two twin beds with a table between them, a small closet, and a door to a minuscule bathroom. A small round window looks out over the sea. Wendy and Claire spill into the room. “Dibs on first shower,” Wendy says.
“Drinks on the upper deck at seven,” Julie says, closing their door behind them, then opening the door to an identical room across the hallway. “Brittani and Rhonda.”
Brittani bounds into the room, followed by her mother. “See you at seven,” Julie reminds them.
Julie opens the door on the same side of the hallway as Brittani and Rhonda’s room. “Isabelle and Amy…thest,” she says, butchering the pronunciation of Amythest’s name.
“It’s Amythest, like the stone,” Amythest corrects her. “Who’s in that room?” She indicates the room across the hall from ours.
Julie references her notebook. “Bernard and Vinny.”
Foxes in the henhouse.
“See you at seven.” Julie shuts us in our room.
Amythest opens the door. “Wait.” Julie turns, her eyebrow arched. “What’s the Wi-Fi?”
“No guest Wi-Fi. If you wish use computer, you find two on upper deck.”
Oh wow. No Wi-Fi. My brain takes a second to adjust to the news. “No Wi-Fi?” Amythest gasps, looking like she’s just been slapped. She waves her purple bejeweled phone. “But we don’t have any service out here. How are we supposed to, like, do anything?”
“You have service in port. Or use the computer.”
Damn. Okay. Though as controlling as John is, I can’t say I’m all that shocked. I nod our thanks and close the door firmly as Julie heads up the stairs.
“Weird,” Amythest says. “How am I supposed to brag on social media about the awesome time I’m having if I can’t post anything?”
She’s looking to me to be as upset as she is, but I shrug. “Think of it as a nice break from constant connection. Plus, you can use your phone in port.”
She plops down on the bed under the small round window. “Can I have this one?”
“Sure.”
I open the closet to find our dresses hanging, her black ones on the right, my colorful ones on the left, our shoes displayed on the shelf between. Hmmm…Nice not to have to unpack, but I can’t help feeling a little violated. Are the superrich so accustomed to everything being done for them that someone going through their belongings is routine, or was this John’s way of checking our bags? Good thing I didn’t bring my vibrator.
I step into the bathroom and rummage in my toiletries bag for my Dramamine. I’m already starting to feel woozy. I should’ve taken it before I set foot on the boat, but we never got to lay hands on our luggage.
I down the pill with an entire bottle of water.
“You okay?” Amythest asks.
I nod. “I get motion sick. As you know. But I should be fine in an hour.”
“Awesome. You’re seasick and I’m scared of water. So a week on a boat should be fun.”
I laugh, casting a glance around at our tiny room. “I’m claustrophobic, too.”
“Wow. What are you doing here?”
I shrug. “Too good to pass up, right? So how do you and Brittani know each other?”
“She was fucking a guy in my acting class.”
“You’re in acting class?” I shouldn’t be surprised. Every other girl in Los Angeles is an actress.
“Yeah. Check this out.”
She rolls onto her side and lifts her shirt, displaying a comedy-tragedy mask tattoo on the side of her rib cage.
“Cool,” I say. “What have you been working on?”
I usually avoid asking this question due to my own demons, but I can’t help myself. I’m genuinely interested.
“Horror stuff, mostly. I usually play the slutty girl that gets killed. It’s hella fun. I’ve done a bunch of movies.” She counts off on her fingers. “ Slasher Hotel 5 , Revenge of the Teenage Sluts , Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater , Vampire Girls of Cell Block Six …”
I get the picture. “You’ve been busy. How long have you been in LA?”
“Oh, I moved down from Oakland as soon asI turned eighteen, like, two years ago? And I’ve just been working as much as I can ever since.” Two years ago––that would make her only twenty. Wow. She pops up to standing, stripping off her clothes. She’s not wearing anything underneath. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”
She traipses into the bathroom and plops down on the toilet without closing the door behind her—a level of intimacy I’m not sure we’ve quite reached.
I lie down on my bed. It’s much softer than it looks. My limbs feel like they weigh a million poundsand my brain is cotton candy, the cocktail of jet lag and champagne too strong to resist. I close my eyes.
At 7:00 p.m. sharp, I follow Amythest up the stairs to the upper deck. She’s wearing a backless black dress that showcases the intricately shaded angel wings unfurled across the top of her back. I’m still clearing cobwebs from my head, having slept until she woke me ten minutes ago, but I took the fastest shower in the history of showers and somehow managed to pull it together. My wet hair is brushed back in a low ponytail, my face clean of makeup save lipstick in a bright-pink hue to match my pink maxi dress. I won’t be nearly as chic as Summer and Wendy, I’m sure, but what else is new? Anyway, I have to stop comparing myself with them. We have different strengths, I remind myself. And weaknesses.
Dre greets us at the landing with a gilded tray of pink champagne. The crew has changed into black for the evening, the women in cocktail dresses and the men in tuxedos, and he looks even better in a tuxedo. He meets my eye with a sexy smile as I take a glass. I would much rather get to know him than one of John’s friends.
Stop it, Belle. Bad idea.
But really, how would anyone know?
I focus on the camera staring at me from behind Dre’s head. Right. No hanky-panky with the crew.
Amythest and I join the other girls in the lounge, where golden rays of the setting sun mingle with the chandelier to splinter into a thousand shards of light around us. Everyone looks refreshed. Claire and Wendy have on maxi dresses similar to mine, Brittani wears a surprisingly stylish sundress that I’m guessing was selected by her sister, and Rhonda is in some kind of (also surprisingly stylish) sparkly silver top and white pants. The goons are in suits, their backs to us, looking out over the water in deep conversation, and Summer has not yet appeared.
“I feel like we’re inside a disco ball,” I say to Wendy as we air-kiss.