Sweet Reality

by Laura Heffernan

  Picking up my phone, I sent Justin a message, keeping it casual.

  Hey. I’m back on the ship. Crazy long story.

  His first response made me smile.

  Glad you’re OK. We were all worried about you.

  Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for what I saw. Maybe everything would be okay.

  However, the second text crushed my budding optimism.

  On the bus to the rum factory tour with Ariana. We need to talk later.

  “We need to talk.” The worst four words in the English language. This couldn’t be happening. Not to me and Justin. We were solid. This wasn’t like Dominic—Justin and I had a foundation, a history, a life together. But for some reason, he’d decided to throw it all away for a woman who’d done nothing but ruin my life.

  He didn’t come looking for me in the morning to see if I’d gotten back to the ship. Why didn’t he come to the smaller boat with Ed and Connor? Had he noticed I was gone, or were he and Ari having too much fun onboard to notice I stayed in Jamaica? Surely Ed would have told him I’d been found and they were leaving to pick me up. So what happened?

  With a growl, I hurled my phone at the window. It connected with a satisfying clack before thudding onto the carpet.

  Things didn’t look much brighter when I woke up the second time. As if the universe understood my mood, black clouds blotted out the light through the window. Great. No need to go sightseeing.

  Except Rachel would probably appear and drag me down the gangway if I didn’t make an appearance for lunch. Grumbling to myself, I rolled over and grabbed my phone. Still dead. In my shock at finding another woman in my boyfriend’s bedroom—again—I hadn’t thought to plug it in before crawling into bed to hide.

  Why did this keep happening to me? Was there something fundamentally wrong with me as a girlfriend? Did I lack the ability to please men? Or were they genetically programmed to lose interest after a certain amount of time?

  The clock on the television told me it was ten after noon, ship time. That meant people roaming outdoors on Cayman Islands time would want to eat in less than an hour. As much as I didn’t want to get up, hiding in the room wouldn’t make me feel any better. And I still needed to find Danielle and ask her what happened. Part of me wanted to believe she was the snake I originally thought and that she colluded with Dominic to give him a day alone with me, but the theory didn’t gel with the woman who’d become my friend. I didn’t want to believe I’d been so wrong about her. Or about Justin.

  Maybe I should’ve stayed in Jamaica. Or maybe I could stay here, avoid having to watch Ariana gloat all over Justin for the next two days. If only I’d paid to upgrade us to a suite on the first day, I could hide out alone. Except Justin and Ariana would probably be in there together. Sigh.

  With a jolt, I realized I did know someone who had a suite—and she didn’t like Ariana or Dominic any more than I did. Maybe Danielle would let me crash on her couch until we got to Miami. No idea what I’d do after that, but at least I could avoid all former Fishbowl cast members and ex-boyfriends until we docked.

  Although drinking myself into oblivion until I’d forever blotted the image of Ariana in a bathrobe out of my memory appealed to me, the last thing I wanted to do was tour a rum factory. Unfortunately, Tammy Rae planned to be there. We still needed to establish camaraderie. Getting her stupid secret ingredient might be the only way to save this trip from being an utter disaster. Even if I couldn’t use it once Sarah exercised the buyout option in our contract, maybe I could wave it in front of me like some kind of peace offering.

  Having a ghost of a plan made me feel a scintilla better. Now I needed to get up and face the day. Before dragging myself into the shower, I found my phone charger so I could message Danielle once I got out.

  Dominic’s words ran through my head on repeat. Had Danielle been playing me this whole time? Pretended to be my friend just to screw me over? Even though my obligation to Sarah meant I should beeline for Tammy Rae the second I left the cabin, I couldn’t think straight before finding Danielle and having a chat.

  The cruise line’s messaging system only worked while people were connected to the ship’s wi-fi, so I prayed while sending her a quick message to ask where she was.

  After a day of horseback riding, swimming, and boating in the sun, followed by virtually no sleep and wind-swept hair, hot water turned out to be the best thing since Betty White (way better than sliced bread). As droplets sluiced down my body, a flood of tears followed. My shoulders shook, and my knees buckled, sending me sliding down to the wet floor. When the water turned cold, I finally pulled myself up, blew my nose, and gave myself another mental pep talk to go out and face the world.

  My phone, sitting on the tiny bathroom sink, contained three messages I hadn’t heard arrive. Thankfully, all from Danielle.

  Finishing a late breakfast on the Lido Deck before I head into town. Where are you?

  Are you okay?

  Rachel told me you didn’t make it back to the ship last night. What happened?

  She still could be lying. But my gut told me to talk to her before trusting the word of a proven liar, especially one in cahoots with another proven liar. There had to be some reasonable explanation for why Dominic took her place on the excursion.

  I sent a quick reply.

  Coming to the Lido Deck. Will explain everything in 10.

  Not bothering to dry my hair, I ran a comb through it, grabbed a random item out of the closet, and slipped my feet into the first two shoes I found. The blue and green patterned sundress might have been Rachel’s, but it didn’t matter.

  My stomach howled on the walk up the stairs, reminding me I’d missed breakfast and eaten very little the night before after a long day of physical exertion. Not wanting to go off on Danielle because I was hungry, I swung by the buffet for a cup of coffee and a cupcake before confronting her.

  The tiny vanilla cake felt like a brick in my hand. Even without biting into it, I knew it wouldn’t be as good as Sarah’s. Just the reminder of our shop—and Justin—made me queasy. When I found Danielle, I let it plop onto the table and fell into the chair.

  “You look like shit,” she greeted me. Naturally, she looked as gorgeous as ever, in an emerald green halter top and white capris. How did people wear white pants? If I even thought about wearing white on my lower half, I’d immediately start my period while falling into a mud puddle and spilling coffee in my lap. But Danielle looked amazing, her red hair held off her face by giant sunglasses perched atop her head, and her wide eyes full of concern.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. “Rough night.”

  “So I heard. That can’t be your breakfast. Here.” She picked up a plate off her tray, covered with scrambled eggs and bacon and scones. “I got this for you.”

  My stomach emitted a sound like a dying whale, but no way was I accepting food from the person who’d conspire to stick me with Dominic for the entire day. I pushed the plate away and gulped my coffee instead.

  “What happened to you?” I asked. “Why weren’t you on the boat to the mainland?”

  “Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose and grabbed a slice of bacon off the plate she’d handed me. “I feel awful about that. Monday night, I went to the club after dinner. I was drinking and dancing and . . . next thing I knew, I woke up on Tuesday with a mariachi band playing inside my skull. The excursion completely slipped my mind.”

  “That’s it? You got drunk and forgot about me?” For some reason, that hurt almost as much as if she’d intentionally betrayed me.

  “I didn’t think I drank very much,” she said. “The drinks on this ship are weak, you know? Mostly water. So after I woke up again, feeling like I’d been hit by a dumpster, I went to the club and asked some questions.”

  She gestured to the man who’d been busing the tables around us since before I sat down. He approached with a big smile and a name tag identifying him as Julio from Mixco, Guatemala. They spoke in Spanish for a moment while I wished I
’d spent more time listening to the Rosetta Stone CDs Justin bought me for Christmas.

  Finally, Julio turned to me and introduced himself. “I work at the nightclub on Monday evening. I served Ms. Danielle here.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes, ma’am. She only ordered two drinks.” He held his finger up in a vee. “But this other man, he paid me hundred-dollar tip to keep her glass full. I brought her many drinks throughout the night. Ms. Danielle was dancing, she didn’t notice.”

  My spidey senses tingled. “How many?”

  He shrugged. “Nine? Ten?”

  My mouth dropped. Nine or ten drinks consumed by someone Danielle’s size?

  She turned to Julio. “Can you describe this man for us?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I never saw him. But I have this note?” Julio pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and offered it to me. My hand shook as I opened it.

  The words didn’t matter. The writing mattered: the same scrawl I’d seen on half a dozen birthday cards, anniversary cards, and “I miss you notes” mailed while my ex-boyfriend couldn’t see me because of his “travels.”

  “Dominic,” I said.

  Danielle nodded and thanked Julio, who left.

  “Well, shit,” I said.

  She nodded a second time. My appetite returned full force, and I pulled the plate of eggs toward me.

  “I’m really sorry, Jen,” she said. “I had no idea what he planned. I’m already drafting an angry email to my lawyer.”

  “That doesn’t help me,” I said.

  Quickly, I filled her in on our day shore side, followed by what I found in Justin’s room in the morning. By the time I finished, her eyes resembled saucers.

  “There’s no way,” she said. “No way Justin slept with her. She was probably there looking for Dominic. Aren’t they sharing a cabin?”

  “Then why didn’t he come after me?”

  “You’ll need to ask him that,” she said. “But what are you going to do about Dominic and Ariana?”

  I chewed thoughtfully before responding. “I promised Leanna a showdown in exchange for getting me back on the boat. After Tammy Rae gives me her recipe, Ariana’s going to get it.”

  Chapter 16

  More from the Guppy Gabber, Thursday:

  Ariana: I don’t think Jen ever loved Justin. She wanted him because I liked him, and now that I’m with Dominic, she’s tossed Justin aside like garbage so she can once again take my man from me.

  Jen, Noon: I don’t want to talk about Justin and Ariana right now. Today’s the day. I’m going to get Tammy Rae’s recipe for Sweet Reality or die trying. Preferably the first one. Wish me luck.

  Ah, “reality” television. Where you flat-out lie about how incredible you’re feeling until someone starts to believe you. Preferably yourself, but if I could get ten thousand people out in TV Land to think I felt good about my chances of success with Tammy Rae, maybe I’d feel better myself.

  After the utter failure of every single thing I tried to do all week, the thought of trying to wheedle a secret out of a near stranger who probably thought I stood her up the night before didn’t exactly fill me with excitement.

  Even if things with Justin weren’t weird, after missing my chance to bond with Tammy Rae on Tuesday night, she might not appreciate me tracking her down on the rum factory tour. I prayed I’d catch up with her before her, um, exuberance over the rum made conversation difficult. Alternatively, I hoped she’d be so drunk she’d spill the entire recipe and not remember.

  On the docks, the tour bus had long since left, so I caught a taxi to take me to the factory. Ed and Rachel stood at the end of a line that snaked its way around the parking lot and into the building. I ran to catch up to them.

  “There you are!” Rachel said. “Ed filled me in on your day yesterday. What the hell happened this morning? Why did you come to the room instead of grabbing breakfast with Justin?”

  “Ariana happened,” I said glumly.

  “Oh yeah?” She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times, then turned the screen to face me. My image filled the small device, but I wasn’t alone. Dominic’s lips firmly pressed against mine. Freaking Ty. After getting me high, the least he could’ve done was not sell the picture.

  Unless that was why he got me high. I swallowed a scream of frustration and kicked the ground. Stubbing my toe didn’t make me feel any better. “It’s not what you think.”

  “It’s not? Enlighten me.”

  Briefly, I explained about the brownies, the unexpected lip attack, and the slap, none of which had naturally been captured on film. “Do you think Justin saw that?”

  Ed nodded. “It’s all over the pier, and someone passed it around our bus on the way here. I’m surprised you didn’t see it yourself.”

  “Wait. He’s here? I need to find him.” Then I remembered Ariana answering the door in his room. Maybe it was too late already. Before he saw the picture, Justin apparently decided he didn’t care whether I stayed in Jamaica.

  Rachel shook her head. “He and Ariana took off a few minutes we arrived. I don’t know where they went, but she didn’t look right. Stumbling around like she was already drunk.”

  Of course. Pain slashed through me. I stared at the ground, willing myself not to cry, but the ground in front of me blurred. What a mess. Somehow, I’d ruined everything, and I didn’t understand how.

  Rachel wrapped her arms around me, and I buried my face in her shoulder, not caring at all about the cameras or the other people in line. Behind her, Ed cracked jokes at the crowd. “She heard a rumor they’re out of rum. It’s all good.”

  Their concern touched my heart, gave me what I needed to pull myself together. Sniffling, I wiped my face on the tissues I’d wisely stuffed into my bag before leaving my cabin.

  “Are you okay?” Ed asked.

  Rachel said, “You can go back to the ship if you want. We won’t mind.”

  “I love you guys for offering, but I have to find Tammy Rae and explain why I didn’t meet her last night. We were supposed to talk about her recipe for Sweet Reality, and I need to find her before she changes her mind.”

  A few minutes later, we reached the front of the line and entered the building. I spotted Tammy Rae’s long blond hair disappearing into one of the tasting rooms a few feet away. With quick hugs and thanks to Ed and Rachel, I took off after her.

  At first, I smiled and stood near Tammy Rae, not talking so she could listen to the tour. When she spotted me, she pursed her lips and looked away. My heart sank.

  Still, I needed to keep trying. When we got to the tasting room at the end, I pulled up a seat.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you last night,” I began.

  She waved one hand. “I’m over it. At first, I thought, maybe you didn’t want the recipe after all.”

  “No, I absolutely want it! I missed the final catamaran in Jamaica.”

  “Really.” She tilted her head at me. “Wow. That’s dumb. Really dumb. So dumb, it’s not quite believable. Weren’t you the brains of your season?”

  “Smart people do dumb things all the time,” I said. “But this wasn’t my fault.”

  Briefly, I explained what happened. By the time I finished my story, she looked a fraction less hostile. I sipped my rum, hoping she’d do the same and feel more gracious toward me.

  Ugh. The liquid burned down my throat. Even “good” rum made me want to puke. But I’d have this conversation while snorting rum if that’s what Tammy Rae wanted. I needed her help, especially after yesterday. By sheer willpower, I avoided hacking up a lung while Tammy closed her eyes and sipped from her mug, apparently near ecstasy.

  She emptied half the glass before acknowledging me again. “You’re lucky to catch up to us.”

  Not wanting to explain my deal with Leanna, I nodded and sipped from my glass again.

  “If you’re going to use my secret ingredient, I want everyone to know it,” she said. “You have to attach my face.” />
  “You want us to draw your face in icing on each cupcake?” Sarah was a talented baker, and all our baked goods looked pretty, but I didn’t know about her portrait skills.

  “It doesn’t have to be on the cupcake.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Create a display with my name and a promo shot from the show. Preferably the episode where I won. Then, I want a royalty on all the profits from those cupcakes. Fifty percent.”

  Half? She wanted half what we made on the cupcakes for telling us one measly ingredient? She wasn’t giving up the whole recipe! Besides, what if it turned out to be a “secret” ingredient like the brownies I got in Jamaica were a “special” recipe? Sarah would kill me if I gave up so much of our profits without knowing what we’d be getting in return.

  I swallowed, searching for a diplomatic response. “I’ll have to speak with my partner before I can agree to that.”

  “Go. Call her.”

  “She’s in Miami. It would cost me ten dollars a minute to call her from Grand Cayman. When we get to wi-fi, I’ll send her a message. But maybe we can reach an agreement on our own. What if I give you a thousand dollars right now for the secret ingredient? You tell me what it is, and we’ll work out the percentages on our own.”

  Paying off former child stars wasn’t in the bakery’s budget, but I had some money left from The Fishbowl, and I’d be getting a per diem from the show for this week. Thirty bucks a day covered almost a quarter of what I offered her. I could afford to match what Sarah and I originally agreed to pay her. If the cupcakes turned out half as well as we hoped, we’d make a profit soon enough.

  She tapped her chin with one long, electric blue fingernail. “You’ll have to sign something promising never to tell anyone what it is.”

  “As will you,” I said, pulling a piece of paper out of my back pocket. “We can’t pay you for a secret ingredient if you’re going to turn around and sell the recipe to Betty Crocker.”

  This move was pure bluff on my part. According to Justin, the Network actually owned all recipes created on their cooking shows. That’s why we weren’t asking for the entire thing: Tammy Rae needed the producers’ consent to sell her award-winning cupcake recipe. Our goal was to get the secret ingredient, come up with something similar enough to the cupcake currently secured in my cabin’s refrigerator, and market it at as “inspired by Tammy Rae’s Totally ’80s Bake-off winning cupcakes.” We had zero legal right to interfere with the Network’s selling it to third parties, so this contract basically meant nothing. Not that Tammy Rae needed to know that.