The door swings shut again.
“Francois, when’s the last time you ate?” the officer asks the male chef.
“I’m tasting food all day long.”
“He’s tasting the desserts all day long,” the female chef says snarkily. “The ones with Solu. He tells the rest of us not to eat them, because Solu’s too expensive. But then he eats them when we’re not looking.”
“This one,” growls the man, “she wants to be the head pastry chef. That’s what she’s after!”
I take a bowl and pick out some strawberries, blueberries, and melon. I’m loitering. (I hope not too obviously.)
“The two of you, get yourselves together!” The officer raises his voice. The bickering chefs fall silent, abashed.
A couple of silver-haired passengers grab plates from next to me and start to take food.
I prod at some pineapple with the pincers, stalling.
“Solu is not for the staff!” the chef states.
“But lots of staff are having it!” Francois whines.
“Then you get them to stop!” the officer orders. “Francois, take the day off. Stay in your room. Rest. Don’t have any Solu, for God’s sake. Eat three square meals. I’m sure you’ll be better tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir, but can I—” Francois begs.
“Can you what?”
“Can I just get some coffee please? Just one packet of Solu? Please?!”
“Good morning, miss!” comes a cheerful voice.
I turn.
It’s Jaideep.
“May I bring you something from the kitchen?” he asks.
I shake my head, but I can feel a blush creeping up my neck. That blush always gives me away.
One of the kitchen doors swings open and the officer looks out. He catches my eye. I can see him wonder how long I’ve been standing there.
Jaideep sees the officer and sort of straightens up.
“No, no,” I say. “I actually—do you have any toast?”
“Of course, madam,” Jaideep says, using a more formal tone. “Would you prefer white, whole wheat, sourdough, or rye?”
“Oh. Sourdough,” I say.
“If you would like to have a seat, it will be my pleasure to bring it to you.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He gives me a wink.
I proceed down the buffet line and see at the end a special table with a lavender tablecloth—lavender’s the official color of Solu, I guess. It’s the color on the packets.
On the table is a tray with mini-muffins. A little sign says, SWEETENED WITH SOLU!
I take two for Viv.
They look really yummy. I pick one up and smell it. Cinnamon and nutmeg.
My mouth starts watering.
I guess I am ready to eat again.
But before I pop it into my mouth, I stop.
I don’t know …
What do we know about this stuff, anyway?
I think I’ll wait for my toast.
TOM
DAY TWO
THE EXTRAVAGANCE HAS ITS OWN BEACH.
That’s where we head to tape, after a brief waste of time on Key West’s famous Duval Street.
The street was crowded with tourists from other ships who kept photo-bombing the hell out of me.
“Baby Tom-Tom!”
One after another.
I nearly strangled some fraternity wipe wearing a backward baseball cap who kept sneaking into the shot and pretending to jerk off.
* * *
This is more like it.
The ship has set up lounge chairs and striped umbrellas all along the beach.
Uniformed attendants are fetching drinks and snacks for the Extravagance passengers.
“Day Two on the Solu cruise and spirits are high!” I say.
As if on cue, the crowd behind me erupts into laughter.
“Last night, me and four hundred and ninety-nine of my closest friends had our first taste of Solu, the new sweetener that not only tastes delicious, just like sugar, but helps you lose weight.
“We’re here on Key West at Lux Beach, the sunny, white-sand beaches owned by Lux Cruise Lines.”
A middle-aged couple with deep tans crosses nearby. I wave them over.
“Scale of one to ten, what would you give the cruise so far?”
The woman flashes me a smile. With her mouth. The rest of her face? Not moving so much. Botox. No question.
“I have already lost two pounds,” she says. “We’ve been on the cruise for one night. I’m floored!”
Then I see her! I see the girl from last night. My strawberry blonde. She’s headed down the beach.
“Awesome,” I tell the tan woman. “Enjoy the day!”
I hold my pose, waiting for Tamara to call cut.
The couple kind of look at each other, startled I’ve pulled the plug on the interview. After a moment, they wander away.
“Cut. What’s wrong with you? They were good. They looked good,” Tamara says.
“Give me five,” I say.
“We just started!”
I head over to the girl. She and her friend are looking for chairs.
“Hey,” I call. I up my walk to a jog, my flip-flops kind of slowing me down in the thick white sand.
I kick them off and scoop them into one hand.
“Hey!” I repeat, louder.
The girl puts her hand up to shade her eyes from the sun.
She’s carrying something slung over her shoulder and I see now it’s a pair of cowboy boots.
“Oh God,” she says, when she sees it’s me.
She fumbles her boots and drops them, then she sits on a lounge chair and then stands back up, all in the space of five seconds.
“Hi,” I say.
“Yeah, hi,” she answers.
We just stand there.
I’m about to ask her for her name when she interrupts me:
“Do you want to go first or do I have to go first?”
“Doing what?” I say. “Talking?”
“No. Apologizing.” She exhales. “Okay. I’ll go first. I’m sorry I threw up on your shoes.”
“Hey, no problem. They were from wardrobe.”
She cocks her head.
“They weren’t mine,” I clarify. “I don’t own anything I wear when I’m on screen.”
She lifts an eyebrow. Very delicate eyebrow, blond, almost not there at all.
I continue, “As for me, I’m really sorry I knocked you down.”
She nods for me to continue.
“I can’t believe I fell like that. I’ve been practicing that set for, well, for a really long time in private and for some reason I thought last night would be a good time to debut it. I felt like such a jerk. I’m really sorry.”
Then she stands there, waiting for more.
Her friend has doubled back to us by now. She stands about five feet away, gawking at me.
I give her a little wave.
My strawberry blonde is wearing a blue bathing suit that’s pretty conservative, but her body looks great. She has that kind of skin that’s freckled on the top of her arms, but is creamy white on the undersides. She’s very curvy.
She starts to blush. Maybe I’m being too obvious, checking her out.
I give her my lopsided grin. I’m surprised to find my heart’s beating fast.
“Usually, before I crush a girl on the dance floor, I like to ask her name—” I say.
It feels good to flirt. Like actually flirt and mean it.
But she turns her back on me and starts to walk away.
“Hey!” I call. “Wait! What’d I do wrong?”
“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.”
I stumble after her. Hit my shin on a stupid lounge chair.
“Ow! Wait. Please wait!” I call.
She stops and turns back to me. I hop toward her and she steps up close.
Her face is bright red. She’s either blushing like crazy or has developed a sudden third-degr
ee sunburn.
“You should apologize for kissing me,” she whispers. She looks into my eyes. Hers are blue—light blue, almost gray. “It was embarrassing to me, to be kissed in a crowd like that. For a publicity stunt.”
Honestly, my mouth falls open. I feel like a total moron.
“I’m sorry,” I say. And I really am.
It never occurred to me that anyone wouldn’t want to be kissed in public. It never occurred to me that any girl—any girl who was rich enough or famous enough or powerful enough to be on the Extravagance—would be shy.
I think this girl is shy.
I feel like I have never met a shy person in my entire life.
I fumble for an excuse—an explanation. “I did it … I did it on the spur of the moment and because Rich told me to, but you’re right, it was a lousy thing to do.”
She shrugs.
I have the idiotic urge to hug her.
“Okay,” she says. “I accept your apology.”
“TOM!” I hear Tamara shouting to me. “That five’s turning into a twenty!”
“I have to go,” I say.
I turn around. I think, the sooner I get away from this girl the better. She’s making me act weird. I don’t like it.
“I’m Laurel,” she says, as I go.
I turn. Awkwardly stick out my hand. “Yeah, Tom. Tom Fiorelli.”
She puts her hand in mine and my hand is a mitt compared to hers. Her hand is soft and fine with long fingers. The tips of her fingers are calloused.
I want to touch them, to figure out why they’re like that.
“TOM!” Tamara hollers.
“Okay,” I say. “Good.”
Laurel and her friend are probably laughing their asses off as I walk back through the sand to where Tamara is waiting for me.
What the hell just happened?
* * *
Tamara takes a bottle of water from a bag, walks over, and hands it to me.
“Stay focused, Tom,” Tamara says.
“Yeah, yeah,” I say.
“I mean it,” she insists. She slides her sunglasses down her nose and peers at me. “Remember how much we have riding on this. This is the gig that catapults you to a national spotlight. They’re looking at you for American Idol, you know that.”
“No one’s gonna bump Seacrest out,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow at me.
I look away. I haven’t really told Tamara that I still want to do film.
After the disaster with Double Fang, my mom and I decided not to pursue any legit jobs for a while. But this hosting stuff—I don’t like it. It feels fake. It is fake.
And I think Tamara has a hunch I feel this way.
“Let me put it another way, this is the gig that’ll give you the freedom to start picking and choosing projects,” she says.
She takes the bottle of water away from me.
“So can I get your A game now?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sorry.”
LAUREL
DAY TWO
TOM HEADS AWAY AND VIV GRABS MY ARM. Her fingers dig into my flesh hard.
“I cannot believe that just happened!” she says. “You just, like, leveled Baby Tom-Tom.”
“Vivika, please.”
“He was putting the moves on you and you just, like, did some kind of girl-judo on him. Laurel Willard emotional judo.”
I sink down onto the nearest lounge chair.
“We need drinks! That’s what we need!”
She starts waving at a server.
Viv was right, I do need a drink.
Viv orders two piña coladas and the server does not raise an eyebrow. I’m getting the feeling that while they won’t stock our mini-fridge with liquor, no one on the staff is going to deny us anything we want from the bar.
I sip the piña colada carefully. It ain’t a virgin.
“He’s totally into you!” Viv keeps saying. She keeps talking about how awesome I was and how awkward he looked until I reach over and put my hand on her shoulder.
“Viv, can you please shut up?”
“Probably not,” she says.
Then, happily, she’s distracted because Sabbi and her posse of beautifuls are strolling toward us on the beach. Sabbi is wearing a tiny bikini and a giant hat (must have been in one of her hatboxes).
Tom is still taping, a little ways ahead of us.
I see Sabbi see him, but his back is to her.
Sabbi steps into the water and kicks water onto one of her friends.
The friend squeals and splashes her back.
Suddenly it’s a big splash fight and Sabbi’s white bathing suit cover-up gets all plastered to her body.
I see Tom’s cameraman start to shoot her and her group frolicking in the waves.
“Think I’ll go for a swim,” Viv says.
“Go get ’em,” I tell her.
She wants to hang out with Sabbi.
I don’t really approve, but she knows that. Anyway, she doesn’t need my approval.
Viv makes her way down the beach. She’s not the only one. Some other young people from the boat are drawn to Sabbi’s group, too.
Why wouldn’t they want to be on TV, splashing around, having fun?
Why am I so different from them?
Another question—Why couldn’t I have lied to Tom Fiorelli about the stupid kiss? Why couldn’t I just have played it cool, like the kiss meant nothing? Like I wasn’t upset?
Why, why, why do I always tell the truth in these situations?
You would think that someone who’s sensitive would learn to hide her emotions. That would be smart. But my brain doesn’t even fire in those situations—I’m all heart.
Ugh.
Sometimes I exhaust myself.
I see Viv, out dodging waves near Sabbi’s crew.
One of the guys—muscular but really short—is talking to her. She splashes him; he does it back.
Good, let her have some fun.
I see Tom and the camera crew are packing up.
I guess they got what they needed.
I reach up and grab the umbrella, snugging it down in the sand so the shade covers me.
So sensitive to everything. Even the stupid sun.
* * *
Talking wakes me from my nap.
“It’s thirty dollars each,” I hear behind me.
Near the palm trees, I see one of the Indian crewman from the Extravagance talking to a couple of tourists.
They’re not from our cruise. How do I know this? Tacky clothes. (She’s wearing a tube top and spandex pedal pushers and he’s wearing a giant T-shirt that says, “I rode a Princess,” with a cartoon of a man humping a cruise ship.)
“Thirty each one? We will be able to buy them for three dollars a packet on Saturday at midnight!” the woman protests loudly.
“Shhhh! Hey, I’m not supposed to let anyone who’s not on the cruise have these,” the crewman says.
“We should just wait until midnight Saturday,” the woman says. “Walgreens will be open.”
“Does it really work?” the man asks.
“It does. The passengers are losing weight remarkably quickly.”
“Why would we pay three hundred dollars for what we can buy at the store for thirty on Saturday?” the woman asks.
“To be a part of history,” the crewman says. “Sir, you are the one who answered my post on Craigslist. Do you want them or not?”
For a second, I remember the two packets I have in the bottom of my purse.
I could use the money. I could stand up right now and say I’ll sell them my two packets for twenty dollars.
It’s wrong, but it doesn’t seem wrong quite as much as it seems like taking advantage of stupid people. Are these people really that desperate?
Mmmmmmmmm. I’m kind of tempted.
But Viv comes back, just then, a big smile on her face.
“That guy’s funny,” she tells me. “Trevor. He kept saying there were crabs biting him and going u
nder and pinching my legs.”
I look over the back of my seat, trying to see if the couple bought the Solu.
“Wanna go back to the ship for lunch?” Viv asks.
I look again. The couple is walking away and the crewman has disappeared.
“What are you looking at?”
“A crew member just sold some packets of Solu to people not on the ship, I think.”
“Really? Are you kidding me? They can’t wait a week?”
Viv towels off.
“Though really, Laurel, I think I’m already losing weight,” she says.
“Totally,” I say, without really looking.
“No, Laur, really,” she says.
And I look at her.
And … she has. I can see her belly’s a little less bellyish. Her thighs look leaner.
“Wow,” I say. “I guess that stuff really works.”
“When you’re feeling better, you’re taking it, right? I mean, you have to!”
I think about the chef I saw.
“Viv, it’s safe, right? Solu. I mean, it’s been, like, tested, right?”
“No, Laurel, they didn’t test it at all. They just, like, mixed some chemicals in a vat and poured it into little purple packets and said, ‘Try this!’” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, they tested it. I’m sure it’s been through every trial known to man. The FDA would never approve it if it weren’t safe. Come on!”
“Okay, okay,” I say. “I just…”
“You just what?” She has her hands on her hips.
If I say anything bad about Solu, it’ll hurt her feelings. Her dad paid for us both to come. She’s counting on this cruise being a huge, life-transforming experience.
“Nothing,” I say. “Hey, what are we doing tonight, anyway?”
“Besides stalking Baby Tom-Tom?” she teases.
“I am not going anywhere near him, Vivika. There’s nothing there.”
She starts to rib me some more, but I think she can see that I mean it.
“There’s this thing called Movies Under the Stars,” she tells me. “We watch a film up on that top deck that overlooks the pool.”
I give her a grin.
“Sounds perfect!”
* * *
And it is.
It’s the new romantic comedy with Emma Stone and Chris Helmsworth. It’s silly and fun and exactly what I needed.
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