by Liv Spector
“Where are you off to so early?” Lila whispered, wishing she could hop off the yacht to tail the woman. But she knew it would cost her her job, and thus cost her everything. So, she did what she had to do, which was set the table for breakfast.
According to a rigid protocol, meals on The Rising Tide were served in the dining room at precisely 9:00 A.M., 1:00 P.M., and 8:00 P.M., and each meal required silver table service. Jack Warren made it clear that all guests on board were expected to eat with him if he was going to be in attendance.
Lila smoothed a French linen tablecloth over the large table. She set ten plates down, saying everybody’s name silently to herself, “The birthday boy, Jack Warren. The spoiled brat, Josie. Mr. Charm himself, Seth Liss. The best-looking-couple-of-the-year award to Thiago and Esperanza Campos. Moneybags Paul Mason. The Right Dishonorable Clarence and Charity Baines. The not-so-enfant (but very) terrible Daniel Poe. And, last but not least, the murderess, Elise Warren.” Had there, she wondered as she set each plate down, ever been such a despicable bunch of scoundrels all joined together at sea?
Next went the crystal water glasses, then the fragile and fussy porcelain coffee cups, with their tiny little handles that had to be pointed in the same direction, which then had to be set upon fine, gold-rimmed saucers. She removed the Gucci flatware from its black-lacquered chest and laid the forks, knives, and spoons out on the table, careful that everything was in the proper spot.
Just as she was struggling to fold the white linen napkins into shapes that seemed one hundred times more complicated than an origami swan, Ben walked by the dining room wearing his sailor whites and, upon seeing Lila, headed in to say hello.
“Wow, look at you in your officer’s uniform,” Lila said with a smile.
“I’m not soaked to the bone like last time you saw me.”
“Big improvement,” Lila said, stepping back to take him all in.
He playfully struck a pose. “My mom always told me I clean up nicely. Listen,” he said, his face turning serious, “I hope you didn’t catch too much shit from Edna last night.”
“There was too much shit coming my way to catch.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“You can say that again. Now I’m bracing myself for round two.”
“Round two?”
“She said she was going to talk to the captain about what a mess I’ve been. I’m preparing myself for the worst.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said distractedly. He kept glancing at the table.
“Is something wrong?” Lila asked, scanning the table herself to try to see what he was seeing.
“It’s nothing really,” Ben said as he went over to the flatware chest. “But it’ll cost you your job, trust me on that one.”
“Oh, God. What did I do now?”
“It’s just that, to be quite honest, I’ve never seen a table this poorly set in my life.” He let out a sweet, astonished laugh. “It’s like you were intentionally trying to do it all wrong.”
“Do you know how to fix it?” Lila asked frantically.
“Of course.”
In a flash, Ben set to work. Putting one spoon above the plate and the other down next to the knives. He grabbed a ruler from the top drawer of the dining room’s sideboard and used it to make sure the flatware was precisely aligned and spaced. Lila cringed each and every time Ben corrected her many mistakes, but despite her humiliation, she was impressed by his grace, know-how, and swiftness.
After ten minutes, he had transformed the table into a piece of perfection. “There,” he said as he closed up the flatware chest and returned the ruler to its rightful place, “that’s better.”
“How on earth did you learn that?” Lila asked. “I thought the rule of the ship was the women did the inside jobs and the men did the outside jobs.”
“Yeah, usually that’s the way it goes, as absurdly out-of-date as it sounds. But not in my case. You’re looking at the very well trained son of a former chief stewardess.”
“Really?”
Ben nodded proudly. “My dad was the chief engineer and my mom was the chief stew on a bunch of different charter yachts. When I was a kid I’d help my mom set tables, clean up, do laundry, and help my dad with all the maintenance of the engine, the plumbing, the a/c. You name it and I’ve done it.”
“So, you must know these boats inside and out.”
“I wish! But every year there’s always some new mind-blowing innovation. I feel like I’m constantly scrambling to keep up.” Ben sighed, “And, to be honest, that’s kind of why yachts aren’t my favorite thing. It’s too much about the latest trend or whose is bigger or better. I mean, just look around. This boat is crazy.”
“Totally,” Lila said, happy that she’d found someone on the ship who wasn’t totally mesmerized by Jack’s ostentatiousness.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love that I make my living on a boat. It’s just sailing’s my thing. It’s so much better. It’s about being out in the ocean, working with the elements, enjoying the silence. On a yacht, I feel like I’m on a floating luxury hotel.”
“Absolutely,” Lila said, immediately becoming aware that she was agreeing just a little too emphatically and staring just a little too hard at the handsome first officer. She switched her gaze to the floor.
“But it pays the bills. And it’s mostly great. Although I’m pretty sure that half the people who own yachts don’t even like being out on the water.”
He was handsome, humble, and funny. Lila had to be careful with this one. “What about the Warrens?” she asked, trying not to look at his perfect lips.
“They’re the opposite. Well, at least Jack is. I think Elise would rather be anywhere else, but Jack lives for the water. It’s the only reason I work for him, actually. But he and I’ve got bigger plans than just this.” His eyes suddenly brightened.
“Plans?”
“The America’s Cup. We’re going to win it in 2010, I’m totally convinced. Jack is, too. Actually, we’re working on some incredible new designs for a boat that I think just might give us the edge we need against the Australian team.” Suddenly Ben stopped speaking and shook his head. “Christ, I’m sorry, Nicky. Once I get started about it, I ramble on until I’ve bored absolutely everybody to tears. Forgive me.” He leaned in close to Lila, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What I really want to know is how you managed to get a job on one of the most exclusive yachts in the world with, as far as I can tell, almost no experience. What’s your secret? Sleeping with the boss?”
Lila’s brief moment of relaxation instantly evaporated.
Ben must have seen her tense up. “Relax,” he said as he put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Sleeping your way to the top is an age-old secret to success. I wouldn’t be anywhere without it.”
When Lila shot him a bewildered look, he broke out into uproarious laughter. “Oh, please forgive me, Nicky. I have a bad habit of teasing pretty girls. I just can’t help it.”
“The truth is . . . I do have experience. It’s just my last boat did things differently.”
“Of course,” Ben said sweetly, trying to reassure her that he meant no harm. “I was only kidding.”
He was a good guy, Lila knew that. But it was worrisome that he’d spotted her lack of experience instantly. She felt like he had something on her, which made her vulnerable. And being vulnerable to anyone, even a nice guy like Ben, wasn’t an option. Just then, Mrs. Slaughter walked by, shaking her head at both Lila and Ben, for what infringement Lila was not sure.
Mrs. Slaughter entered the dining room, looked at the table, and gave Lila a curt nod of approval. “Ben, please leave Miss Collins to her duties. Breakfast will commence at nine A.M. and there is much to do before then. I’m sure you have your own business to attend to?”
“Always a pleasure
, Edna. Nicky,” Ben said, before retreating to the yacht’s bridge.
Mrs. Slaughter straightened her already stick-straight back and haughtily stuck her chin out, the way she always did when she found someone or something annoying. Then she turned back to Lila. “And where is Miss Bennett?”
“She’s in the laundry room, pressing some of Mr. Liss’s shirts,” Lila lied. For all she knew, Sam might still be in bed.
“But I was just in the laundry room and Miss Bennett was not there.”
“Then maybe she’s . . .” As Lila was trying to come up with some excuse, Sam herself, as bright as the morning sun, came running down the hall, carrying an antique milk-glass vase dripping with gorgeous pale pastel flowers.
“Morning, Mrs. Slaughter,” she said cheerily. “Just grabbing flowers for the breakfast table.”
“Fine,” Mrs. Slaughter said quietly. She seemed almost disappointed to have nothing to complain about. Then she came alive again. She had spotted a mistake. “There are ten settings on the table. It should be only nine, as Mrs. Warren will not be joining us for breakfast. Now, I trust I can leave you ladies to serve breakfast.”
Both Lila and Sam nodded. And with a stern look, Mrs. Slaughter went belowdeck.
“Did old Slaughterhouse notice I was late?” Sam asked.
“Not really. You arrived a minute or so after she did.”
“Thank goodness,” Sam sighed in relief. “The last thing I need is her up my ass. But I couldn’t drag myself out of bed this morning for the life of me. It’s all Asher’s fault. Next time, remind me to stay away from him. That boy is nothing but trouble. A really hot slice of trouble.”
BY 9:15, THE guests of The Rising Tide were quietly sitting down to breakfast. Most were shaking off the excesses of the previous night, barely able to touch the food that sat before them. Esperanza Campos, looking perfect in white linen pants and a slim-cut white tank top, quietly sipped hot lemon water. Her dapper husband read the New York Times business section while picking at an egg-white omelet. Josie, wearing a string bikini top and an Indian skirt, sucked down a carrot-and-beet juice while looking like she was so bored that she just might die in that very spot. Daniel Poe was standing on the deck off the dining room, chain-smoking hand-rolled cigarettes while drinking black coffee. Paul Mason was letting his eggs Florentine go cold as he checked his stocks on his iPhone. At the head of the table was Jack Warren, who was eating his typical Japanese-style breakfast of gyokuro tea, miso soup, rice, and steamed fish. At the opposite end of the table was Seth Liss, bent over his meal of scrambled eggs, extra-crispy bacon, and white bread lightly toasted and covered in a thin layer of margarine.
When Lila was forced to go down to the galley to ask Chef Vatel for the ketchup Liss wanted for his eggs, she momentarily thought the apoplectic cook was going to gouge her eyes out. But she didn’t know what was worse, not giving Liss what he wanted or pissing off Chef Vatel. She opted for the latter. Next time, she’d find the ketchup herself.
As she circled the table, refreshing everyone’s juice and coffee, she carefully listened to the small talk.
After slurping down his miso soup, Jack leaned back in his chair and surveyed his guests. “Who’s up for a sail today?” he asked. “The folks at Perini Navi have given me a day with one of their newest boats. They want me to take it for a test drive. Give them some notes.”
Liss, who had been crouched over his breakfast plate, sat straight up with a bewildered look on his face. “Jack,” he said sternly, as if warning him to be careful, “what’s this about a sail?”
“I just told you,” Jack said in a belittling tone. “I’m testing out a new boat. Depending on how the winds are, we’re going to aim for the Keys. You’re welcome to come with us, Seth. There’s always room for you no matter how many Tater Tots you shove in your face.”
Liss shot him a withering look, paused, and then banged his fists on the table, causing his coffee cup to clatter in its saucer.
“We’ve got a call with the shareholders at noon, Jack,” he said. His voice was loud, but its tone was measured. He was trying to keep his rage under control.
“Oh, you don’t need me for that,” Jack said, stretching back as if he hadn’t a care in the world, which just made his CFO more angry.
“You’re right, Jack.” Liss stood up and threw his napkin down on the table. Everyone else was silent, neither moving nor, it seemed, even breathing in this awkward moment. But Lila was riveted. “I don’t need you for shit. The stockholders on the other hand, your stockholders, are under the false impression that you still have some interest in the company that affords you all these fucking luxuries that you seem so fond of.”
As Liss spoke Jack’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tensed.
“I’m CEO and chairman of the goddamned board,” Jack yelled. “You can’t speak to me like this in front of my guests, on my boat! Or are you forgetting that you work for me?”
“I won’t be for much longer,” Liss spat as he stormed out of the room.
After a couple minutes of strained silence, Paul Mason was the first to speak. “Jack, I’d love to go sailing with you, buddy. We all would. But I think Liss may be right. The shareholders need to hear from you. We can postpone the sail for another time.”
Paul’s gentle coaxing didn’t work. Jack wasn’t going to budge. “And let Liss think he can throw a tantrum and get his way? No fucking chance. And don’t you go siding with him. Show some fucking loyalty,” Jack said, pointing his finger in Paul’s face. “I’ve saved your ass more times than I can count. Plus, I can’t think of anything worse than spending this beautiful day talking to a bunch of hysterical shareholders. It’s like I’m supposed to treat every dip in the stock price like the goddamn sky is falling. I just can’t do it anymore. No more groveling. No more hand-holding. It isn’t worth it.”
“Yeah,” Josie snorted. “Like you’ve got anything to complain about. You know there are, like, actual people out there that work just as hard as you do, but don’t even have any food to eat. Like a couple billion of them, Dad. Do you ever think about that?” She stared at her father with a defiance that was palpably lacking in confidence. Her father returned her look with a patronizing smile.
“Please forgive my daughter, everyone. She’s going through a Marxist phase at the moment.”
“Shut up, Dad.”
“The funny thing is, I’m paying sixty grand a year to a college that’s turning her into a fucking socialist. That’s a high price for such disloyalty, don’t you think? Her mother and I are hoping it’ll pass as quickly as that unfortunate Hare Krishna period she went through . . . When was that again, honey?” he asked his daughter, looking like he could barely suppress the laughter on his lips. “Though you did look adorable in those little peach robes.”
Josie’s lips curled into a snarl. “You can’t just . . . Don’t think I care . . .” she sputtered, desperate to put her father in his place. But language failed her. Instead, she stood up and screamed, “Pig!” before rushing out of the room. Jack broke out into a rueful laugh. But his jaw was still clenched.
“Just another lovely breakfast,” he said. There was a defeated tone in his voice. He looked around at the few people still left at the table, but no one met his gaze. Everyone kept their eyes down, trying, and failing, to come up with something to say.
CHAPTER 10
WITH HER FATHER somewhere in the middle of Biscayne Bay trying out a new multimillion-dollar toy and her mother mysteriously roaming around Miami, Josie, the only child and heiress to the great Warren fortune, decided to spend her afternoon sunbathing topless by the yacht’s pool while reading Jean-Paul Sartre’s Being and Nothingness, probably hoping to scandalize and/or titillate anyone who was lucky enough to get a good look at her.
She was a real piece of work. But as Lila watched Josie out on the deck, her lip-gloss-laden
lips moving slowly as she read, her smooth brow slightly furrowing above her red, heart-shaped sunglasses as her mind attempted to penetrate the almost impenetrable text, she felt a great amount of something close to sympathy for the girl. She was spoiled rotten, self-righteous, and ridiculous—but given her parents, how could it be any other way? Could anyone in the entire world become a good, upstanding citizen with Elise and Jack Warren as their mother and father?
Lila knew that despite Josie’s obvious contempt for her parents, she would crumble without them. Actually, she’d already seen it happen. After Jack’s murder, it wasn’t long before Josie completely disappeared from the society in which she was raised. No one knew where she’d gone. Some said she was living in Marrakech, others said she’d permanently relocated to a remote castle in Scotland where she was raising sheep, while another story circulated that she’d joined a paramilitary wing of the Church of Scientology. There were more rumors concerning her whereabouts than about the questionable sexuality of certain Hollywood superstars.
It seemed like without something to push against, Josie didn’t have any way to define herself. Where her mother bloomed in the very public role of the bereaved, vengeful widow, Josie rejected any media attention. In the one interview she gave during the ten years following her father’s murder, besides demanding that the reporter not disclose her location, she claimed that she’d cut all ties with her mother. Lila strongly believed that Josie’s self-imposed exile was because she knew that her mother had murdered her father.
Which was precisely why Lila was very interested in the sunbathing heiress, that sunny afternoon off the coast of Miami.
With everyone else off the boat—except Seth Liss, who was busy with back-to-back conference calls—Lila focused on getting what she could out of Josie. The heiress had to know something about her father’s infidelities or her mother’s state of mind. But befriending the twenty-year-old socialite-turned-socialist posed a challenge. It had been made abundantly clear to Lila that she was not an equal of the guests on the boat. She was their inferior, their servant, nothing more than an invisible hand that cleaned and served. She was not to have opinions, needs, or, given how few hours she was allowed to rest, a proper night’s sleep. And if asked a question, she was expected to smile demurely, answer, and quickly shuffle back into her hidden corner.
