by Tara Brown
“Jibe ho!” he blasted at us.
I started trimming the main.
“Release!”
“Boom!”
The sea sprayed in my face as the starboard side of the boat took a sip of ocean waves.
We struggled to get to the other side, tightening the sails and bringing round the boat.
It was fast and violent and not the smartest way to hit the mark, but Grandpa liked the adventure of a well-timed jibe and the risk of someone possibly dying or drowning.
The race was ours; we knew it in the final stretch.
We shouted and celebrated far before we got past the buoy.
Stephen grabbed the champagne and popped it, spraying us all before drinking from the bottle and passing it around.
Grandpa nodded at us, looking down the boat at his crew.
I once heard someone say his crew was a bunch of lunatics. My grandpa’s response was that he handpicked each and every one of us and made us the men we were.
That was the truth.
The wind was cold, even for the second to last week of May, as the rain began to pelt us.
We were soaked already, which meant we didn’t care if we got wetter.
And Grandpa had on his postrace face, which Stephen always assumed was also his postsex face. I took my chance, remembering I was the man Grandpa had made me, and sauntered back to him as casually as I could with the swells and winds knocking us about. This was my moment, when he was in the throes of ecstasy.
“Great race, kid!” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Great race.”
“It sure was.” I watched everyone drink the champagne, like it wasn’t eleven in the morning, and counted backward from ten, trying to pace myself. “Can I ask you a serious question?”
“And ruin my mood? Why would you want to do that, Jordie?” He chuckled, but there was a hint of seriousness to his tone.
“Because I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m pretty sure that Amy is the wrong choice for me as far as girlfriends go, pretend or not.”
“Oh?” He gave me some serious side-eye.
“Well, she’s not a great fit for the company. I understand Dad’s trying to tie up her family’s money in investments, but she’s the wrong path to that money.” I tried to politely imply that she had an IQ lower than a rock. “She’s, uhhh, well—” I felt like a dick saying it, but it was my lifeline. “She can barely read, Grandpa. She’s got no drive. She’s a spoiled brat with no ambition to be anything. She’s barely getting by in school, and I think her mom’s paying her teachers to pass her. She doesn’t even know what courses she’s taking. She’s not someone you could ever bring to work functions or have help you entertain clients. And God forbid she actually develops feelings for me after the deal is done and I break things off. That would be cruel.” Wrong comment. Grandpa never cared about cruelty.
“I see.” He bit his lip.
“Surely there’s another avenue Dad could use to bait her father. Maybe I could even help.” I realized I should have come up with an answer before I approached him. He was going to ask that.
“In all seriousness,” he said, “I normally wouldn’t give a rat’s red ass who you dated in college, but this has to be handled carefully. Your dad has made some financial mistakes in the past couple of years that cost our company a lot of money. He’s choosing to fix this by aligning Amy’s family with our company. Her father is a tricky man to convince, and for whatever reason, he’s comfortable with you dating his daughter. Refusing the relationship could ruin the business deal. That’s not how we do business here.” He gave me a side-glance, and I died a little inside. “We take one for the team, kid.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if you do.” He sighed, clearly annoyed we were having this conversation. “A man’s daughter is his pride. He will not break bread with anyone who hurts his little girl.” He lowered his voice. “So, what I think you should actually be after is advice on how to get dumped without being viewed as the blame in her father’s eyes. How to get out of this without being the one who did it. You need her to be disinterested in you.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” I grinned, not even realizing that was what I wanted until it made absolute sense.
“In my experience, Jordan, there are three things that will get you dumped: only ever calling her after ten p.m., after you’ve had a couple of drinks and are feeling the whiskey making you frisky; only agreeing to see her when she asks you to do something, but never asking her out; and offering her tips on how she could look better instead of complimenting her when asked how she looks.” He points at me. “With women, that’s a trick question; she doesn’t want your opinion and only wants you to say beautiful. Screw that up, and she’s on her way out. Everything else, a girl with the right kind of social graces will either look past or correct for you, especially if her family is in bed with yours.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, let’s say you cheated. In this world, that means she can expect expensive gifts and that she’s gained the upper hand. She has the control to use against you. Or say you flirt with other women. She, in turn, throws it in your face and flirts with other men. And there’s always you working too much, but as punishment, she’ll have an affair and you’ll end up with crabs even though you haven’t strayed at all.” His last remark was a little more than I needed to know.
“Wow, you have it down to a science.”
“I do. Those three things are your only ticket.” He turned the boat slightly, heading for the marina. “And don’t mess that up, or it’s too late. When your mom married your dad, I was crushed. I had set up family playdates as a ploy to get his family money invested in some deals and to get my hands on this sweet piece of prime property they owned. I figured if our families were friendly, we could make it happen.” The tone of the story changed as he went along. “But then she got pregnant. She was twenty years old and knocked up by that—man.” He didn’t sugarcoat his feelings, even in front of me, even about my own dad. “And she has spent twenty-six years married to a turd. You kids are the only reason she stays. I’ve offered hit men, money, houses in France, but nothing works. She won’t do it. I think she stays to punish me for being a terrible father.” He shook his head, wiping some of the sea spray off his forehead with his weathered hand. “You know the moral of the story?”
“No.” I honestly was terrified of the turn the story had taken and that the moral was that he wanted me to grow the fuck up, and fast. I obviously knew the old tale, pretty much from childhood, but to have it linked to my own misery in the middle of my begging to be let off the hook suggested there wasn’t much hope for me.
“I got the land deal and the investments before she was even pregnant. She didn’t cut her losses fast enough. I thought she was smarter than that. Don’t be stupid like her. But don’t burn bridges either. All is fair in love and war, but why make enemies?” He grinned wide. “And if you want to break things off in a way your dad doesn’t hate you for, then you play it up. The moment she dumps your sorry ass, you head for drinks and avoid other women for a few weeks. Your dad will take pity on you. He’ll see you as less of a man, one who can’t keep his woman happy, but that’s the cost of a mission such as this. And Mr. Weitzman won’t care about you, since his daughter doesn’t. You’ll no longer be relative to the business deal.” He slapped me on the back. “Now go tie us off and get some hot waitresses down here with some refreshment. I intend to drink until the whiskey makes me frisky!”
“Aye, Captain.” I nodded and headed for the dock, a little grossed out and lot disheartened.
“Did I mishear, or were you easing into the death of the romance between our dad and Mr. Weitzman?” Stephen grinned like a Cheshire cat from behind some rigging.
“No, figuring out a way to bite my leg off so I can escape the trap. Your turn, Steph.” I winked and tossed the line to an older lady in a raincoat. “But good luck. There’s a story about crabs in there y
ou don’t want to hear. Avoid that detour.”
He grimaced, and I helped dock the boat and hurried to the bar to get girls and drinks and red carpets for the man and the legend that I could never live up to.
Chapter Ten
STARFISH
Lacey
“I have something terrible to tell you, but you have to promise to react rationally,” I said through the pain of my massage.
“What?” Marcia sounded scared. “Is it Grandma?”
“No.” I scoffed. “That old woman is going to live to be a hundred.” I swallowed tears and forced the words from my lips. “It’s Martin.”
“What about Martin?” Worry filled our massage sanctuary as my pain became Marcia’s as I told her the whole story, minus a couple of small details, like my finances.
“I can’t believe this.” Marcia moaned into the hole where her face was resting while the masseur dug into her, making her gasp her words. “He’s seventeen. This is impossible. Did your mom have him checked by real doctors, or the ones at the hospital where she works?” The translation to that was that my family attended the peasant hospital.
“No, they’re certain. Mom took him to a good doctor. They’ve been seeing symptoms for a bit but thought he may have had strep or mono. I told him he had the immune system of a ninety-year-old last week. Awesome.” I groaned as the masseur dug into my shoulders.
“I just can’t even with this. Not Martin.”
“I know. It was a shitty day yesterday. And I was so hungover when the news landed. Poor Grandma. She made me one of my favorite meals, and I lost it everywhere in the backyard.” I shuddered, unable to say broccoli for the life of me.
“Wait. You puked two days in a row? God, I wish I had that problem. I’m up like two pounds from this weekend. All that salty buffet food. You probably lost weight.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I groaned as the masseur ground into my lower back, rolling the skin and making me breathe deeper to relax. Losing weight wasn’t really on my mind.
“How’s your stomach now?”
“Better than my brother’s cancer.” I sighed, not feeling sorry for myself—refusing to, in fact.
“True story.” She sounded like the massage was getting a bit rough. “I still cannot believe poor Martin. Like, what are the odds?”
“Quite low. Grandpa was the only member of the family to have cancer that we know of. And he was way over fifty when he got it. I don’t even know what to say. Bad luck isn’t strong enough wording. I think there were like a billion-to-one odds he would get cancer, even if it is hereditary.”
“And now the cricket project. Want me to hire someone to do the work for you so can just bask in the glory?”
A smile crested my lips. She didn’t understand ethics or pride at all. “No, I just needed to wrap my head around it. No biggie. Just some cricket flour. Totally cool.” I forced that last part, but it was going to become my mantra. Totally cool. That was me.
A soft chime rang in the room, signaling it was time to steam between treatments. The masseurs left the room as we got up, wrapping ourselves in fresh towels and heading to the steam room. “Where’s everyone else?” We’d arrived late to the spa, so the other girls were already in treatments. We hadn’t seen them yet.
“I think they’re all in the steam room.” Marcia opened the door, letting the steam waft out at us. “Girls?” she called as we walked in blindly.
“Hey!” they answered in unison.
“Who’s all here?” Marcia disappeared into the clouds.
“All of us,” Kami called out. “It’s me, Carmen, and Jo. Who’s with you?”
“It’s just me and Lacey.”
“Hey!” I smiled and waved at the steam as we got farther to the back.
It cleared more as I reached the benches and sat, burning the backs of my legs as the air tried to choke me.
“What’s going on?” Marcia sat next to Carmen.
“Not much. Talking about the bomb-ass end-of-year boating.” Carmen smiled. “I had a blast Friday. What about you guys?”
“Yeah, and DJ Spark slayed,” Marcia said as she inhaled deeply.
“He did.” Kami glanced at the floor, her lips toying with a grin. “The boy can DJ.”
“He really can,” I added, trying to be positive about him. I’d heard from so many people that he was a lying, cheating scumbag. As friends, we were supportive, but not entirely honest.
“Did I see you talking to Jordan Somersby?” Carmen smirked at me.
“Oh, uhhhhh. Maybe. I drank a lot.” It was too hot to lie well enough to fool Marcia.
“Jordan?” Marcia’s nose wrinkled when she said his name. “Somersby?”
“He had a hat on, and it was dark on the side of the boat, and I’ve only met him that one time. I didn’t know it was him,” I explained, making them all laugh.
“How could you not know who Jordan Somersby was?” Kami laughed. “God, if I could accidently get stuck between brothers, it would be a Somersby sandwich. Extra mayo.”
“Ewwwww.” Marcia gagged. “I hate Stephen. He’s so nasty. He has banged, like, three hundred chicks. He’s a whore.”
“Marcia!” I gasped.
“Oh, shit, did I say that out loud?” She laughed harder. “I think the heat’s getting to my head. But you know what I mean. He’s seedy. And that Cynthia deserves so much more.”
“The Somersby guys are major players,” Jo said softly. She seemed off. Not her lively self. “Their parents were forced to get together by Captain Jack, and I heard the same about Stephen and Cynthia. She didn’t want to marry him.”
“No. Girl, I know them. They’re Monty’s closest family friends. I have been forced to hang with them more times than I care to say. Cynthia and Stephen love each other, even though he’s gross. She’s like a saint or angel or some shit. She’s not even from a good family. At all. She’s like Lacey.” She pointed at me, and they all nodded, like I was the golden standard for average. And no one thought it was weird.
I barely thought it was weird. It didn’t make me uncomfortable anymore that I wasn’t from a pedigreed family. Marcia didn’t mean it that way.
“Anyway. How old is Jordan?” Kami grinned.
“A year older than us. I heard he just started dating that weird Amy girl,” Carmen blurted. “Friday night she was on the boat telling everyone. But the only girl I saw him talking to was you.” She glanced at me, making my face burn even more than it was.
“Oh, right.” Marcia waved it off. “My dad told me Amy’s dad was looking to invest. So, of course, everyone is trying to get up her family’s skirt. And hers as a throughway. This has Captain Jack written all over it.”
“He has a girlfriend?” I had thoughts on the matter. Big ones. But I kept them to myself. Rich people and their cheating. And if Jordan Somersby was dating someone when he kissed me, then he was exactly the douchebag Marcia said he was. I just hated that I liked him before I knew who he was and that I had fallen for the act. He seemed so cool. Like my own version of Monty. But Montys weren’t that easy to come by, as my two-year dry spell proved.
“Speaking of cheaters, Jo thinks Theo’s cheating on her,” Carmen said softly, glancing at Jo. “Tell them.”
“No way.” I leaned toward Jo in the mist. “Why?” I knew why, but we all acted our parts and said the right thing.
“We were hanging out at his house, and his phone rang. When he answered it, he hurried up to his bedroom and closed the door. He was only up there, like, two minutes, and then he came back down. When I asked him who called, he said his bookie. He was placing bets. But I’ve been in the room when he places bets; he’s on the phone for, like, ever. Then, I tried to check his phone when he went to the bathroom, to verify, and he changed the password.”
“Maybe he lost a lot of money and he didn’t want you to hear.” I tried to think about it like a rational human being. “Or his mom tried to break into his phone, so he changed the password on the cloud and all his passwords
changed as a result. That happened to me once.”
“I don’t know. I wish there were a way to be certain aside from the crazy, paranoid girlfriend move of having him followed.” She sighed, leaning back. “Getting caught hiring a PI to follow him would put a dent in our relationship, as you might expect.”
“When Lacey was dating France, I legit wanted to hire a PI. I knew he was cheating. Douche.” Marcia rubbed a little salt in an old wound. Not intentionally—she was just one of those people. She didn’t know salt could still sting, even if the wound was healed.
“France is such a loser. I still can’t believe you dated him,” Carmen scoffed. “He did not deserve you.”
“Thanks.” I tried not to sound like I was still mad at him, two years later. I was over it as far as the rest of the world knew. So over it. Never dating again. Especially not a trust-fund kid. Especially not someone like Jordan Somersby.
“It’s too bad someone hasn’t figured out a way to test dudes,” Jo said. “An app that runs a scan and sees if they’re lying sacks of shit. Theo, for instance, is an amazing liar. I’ve watched him with his dad. I can’t tell when he’s getting away with something. And I think I love him, so if this really is something stupid like bookie problems, I don’t want to break things off. But if he’s cheating”—Jo’s tone changed—“I will rip his balls off and stuff them up his ass.”
“Oh, wow,” Marcia sniggered.
“A man-tester app.” Carmen laughed. “We should invent it and patent that shit.” We all snickered in agreement.
Mostly they laughed while I imagined us designing the app. Clearly they had different sugarplums dancing in their heads. Their version involved paying someone else to make it for them.
“I would pay top dollar to someone who tested my man. Top friggin’ dollar,” Kami commented in a way that made me wonder if things were okay with her and her DJ boyfriend.
Her statement dinged on a light bulb in my head. What if I could figure out a way to make this app work? I could see if Martin wanted to help—what with his nerdy, techy expertise—and we could sell it or charge a monthly fee to make more than the money I needed for school. Certain genius-level apps could sell for more than forty thousand dollars. And this was definitely genius.
