The only thing I feel bad about is that I didn’t get to talk to Derek yesterday and now there’s no signal. The message I left him was pretty crabby.
He’ll probably figure out that we are out of range when he calls me back and it goes straight to voice mail.
I want to tell him that everything’s okay now.
Better than okay.
Laurel’s amazing. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She’s so surprising. I have no idea what she’ll do next, and when she does it, it’s thrilling and odd and so frickin’ charming.
I can’t wait to see her again.
Before I start taping, I’m going to see if I can buy some flowers to send her somehow. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.
I have the idea to get some for Viv, too. A get-well kind of thing.
Or I guess I could order them some room service. That would be pretty cool.
There’s a knock at the door.
My heart actually jumps—like it might be Laurel.
But it’s just Tamara, who barges in without even a greeting. Par for the course. But she looks horrible. Stressed and strung out.
“Just spoke to the captain. Internet, phone, everything’s down. Aren’t you glad we prerecorded all those segments?!”
“Hey,” I say. “Good morning.”
Her face is gaunt and her suit is hanging off her. Even her shoes look too big. She starts to pace and I honestly think she’s going to lose a loafer.
She’s toying with the clippy thing on the top of her clipboard and she won’t meet my eyes.
“I’m going to give you the morning off. We’ll do some more recording in the afternoon and just stockpile it until we get back into a service area. But I think it would be really good for you to go find Sabbi and make nice to her.”
“Tamara—”
“You don’t need to kiss her like a madman, like you did the other night, just be polite to her. Her people are very, very upset.”
“Tamara!”
“What?!” she snaps.
She stops and I see her hands are shaking.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes! I’m fine, for God’s sake. That Solu makes you a little jittery, I think. At least, it makes me jittery.”
“You need to stop taking it.”
“Oh, I could stop if I wanted to. But you know, it’s free on board and back when it’s released stateside, it’s going for seventy-five dollars a box! For twenty packets. I mean, it’s a huge story. Rich is ecstatic. The demand is so high they’re actually raising prices before the launch. Not that we’ll be talking about that in our segments, of course.”
She’s talking so fast I have trouble making out all of her words.
“So, listen, call time is pushed to one p.m. I’m going to go ashore and contact the production office. We may do the afternoon segments on the mainland, where we’ll have service. In the meantime, talk to Sabbi, be sweet. Let Rich take some photos. We have to follow up the big kiss with some other stuff so it looks like you’re boyfriend/girlfriend, not just a one-night thing. She doesn’t want that. If you’re going to go onshore this morning, just leave a message on my room phone. Those phones are still working at least!”
She’s headed toward the door.
“Tamara, wait! Hold on!”
And as psyched as I am to have the morning off, I am really worried.
“Can we talk for a moment?”
“Sure, yes, what?”
“I want to talk about Sabbi but, also, I think we need to rethink how we’re covering this cruise.”
“Oh? Really? In what way?”
She’s literally tapping her foot with impatience.
I take a big breath.
“Solu is addictive,” I say. “People are acting really weird. To me, it looks like people are losing too much weight, too fast.”
“Great! I’m so glad to hear your expert opinion,” she snips.
“I think we should be exploring some of the downsides to the drug in our coverage,” I say.
“It’s not a drug, it’s a supplement,” she snaps.
“Whatever. It’s addictive.”
Her arms are crossed.
“You think we should ‘blow the cover’ on this?” she asks.
“These are some major side effects,” I say.
“You think you should do, like, an undercover reporter thing?”
The sarcasm is so overstated it brings up bile in the back of my throat.
“Solu is seriously addictive. You don’t see it because you’re taking the stuff yourself!” I say. “Look at yourself, you’re acting like a classic junkie!”
“Oooh, investigative reporter Baby Tom-Tom!” she snaps. “He’s so desperate to be taken seriously that he will tank the best gig he’s had in years, just to shoot himself in the foot!”
“That’s not fair!”
She grabs me by the front of my shirt.
Her eyes are bloodshot and wild.
I am, just for a second, actually scared by my forty-five-year-old, female, hundred-twenty-pound producer.
“Do your job, you effin’ clown,” she spits.
LAUREL
DAY FIVE
LORNA KRIEGER’S VOICE wakes me up: “Good morning, passengers, please excuse the interruption. Code Ingrid, suite 910, Code Ingrid, suite 910.”
I wake up, and oh my God, it wasn’t a dream. The stuff with Tom.
My mind is flooded with pure happiness—it wasn’t a dream.
Viv is not in bed with me.
“Viv?” I say. “I have to tell you—”
Vivika’s wearing the size-6 dress she was so excited about, over her smallest bikini. She’s sitting against the wall, near the window, and she’s sobbing as she eats her bag of Oreos.
“Sweetie, what are you doing?”
She’s got tears running down her face and she’s jamming one cookie after another into her mouth.
“I snuck these in, in my luggage, did you know that? I brought two bags of Oreos because I wasn’t sure I could get them on board and I knew I’d never make it without them.”
I walk over and slide down the wall to sit next to her.
“And then, for days, I didn’t even think about them.”
She offers the bag to me and I take one.
“When I eat Oreos, I feel better. I eat a whole bag, this whole bag, and then, by the end I feel full. I feel numb. I feel disgusted with myself. I feel comforted.”
She throws the bag at the wall and the black crumbs go everywhere, skittering over the plush carpet.
Housekeeping will not be pleased.
“They’re not working. They don’t make me feel anything now. I can’t even get a rush.”
I put my arms around her and she cries into my hair.
“All I want is Solu.”
I hold her and she’s so thin in my arms. It feels like I’m hugging some other person. Not even my Viv.
“I think that I’ve been getting high on sugar my whole life, trying to make myself feel better. And now, now that sugar doesn’t work anymore, I can see how stupid it is.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself, Vivvy,” I say, smoothing down her hair. Her skin is kind of waxy. Her face shiny with tears.
“No, I’m just telling the truth. I’m a binge eater and I’ve never told anyone and somehow I thought I could hide it my whole life, but I want you to know.”
“Okay, now I know,” I say. “And I love you just the same.”
She buries her head in her hands.
“Solu is bad, Laurel,” she says. “You were right. It’s really bad. And I still want it.”
“Let’s get you in the shower. We’ll go ashore in Belize. Maybe we should call your dad.” It kills me to even suggest this, but Viv’s well-being has to trump my romance. “Maybe he should send us some tickets home.”
She nods her head. Tears drop from her bowed head.
Voices come then, from out in the hall. They’re excited and ther
e’re the sounds of yelling and fists hitting against the hallway walls.
Viv and I look out of our doorway at the passengers.
“Let’s see what’s going on,” I suggest.
She nods and we follow the flood of people up onto the pool deck.
The captain, Mr. Almstead, and Dr. Zhang are standing up on a little raised deck near the pool, and passengers are crowded around, yelling at them. But the passengers aren’t getting too close, because there are three guards standing at the foot of the platform.
I see the one hugely muscle-y guy with the crew cut. His two buddies are nearly as gigantic. (It’s like he cloned lesser copies of himself.) The three of them are standing, arms crossed, in front of the platform, wearing steel-gray security uniforms.
They have guns! I see shoulder holster-y type things under their arms!
It’s eighty-five degrees and as balmy as bathwater, but I break out in a cold sweat.
Viv starts to push forward, into the crowd. I follow her, as best I can, but people are much more aggressive than your usual crowd. (It’s not like they’re gathering around a street performer.)
This is … it’s an angry mob, I realize. I am standing in an angry mob.
“Look, folks, what can I say? We made a mistake. We should have realized we needed to start you all on a small dosage and go from there,” Mr. Almstead says as loudly as he can.
I feel bad for him. He’s just this little old man.
Suddenly I’m glad he has armed guards. He might actually need their protection.
And I am really glad to be wearing my motorcycle boots right now. They make me feel safe.
“We are surprised by the symptoms you are experiencing and we’re very sorry,” Dr. Zhang adds. Her younger, stronger voice carries farther into the crowd. “And by decreasing your doses gradually, over the remainder of the cruise, we will gently ease you away from the stress you are experiencing now—”
“It’s not bloody stress,” a British man shouts. “It’s excruciating!”
People holler their agreement.
“It’s clear to us we’re going to need to make adjustments in the formulation,” Dr. Zhang says.
“Hey, it’s a great product, but it needs to be tweaked. That’s life,” Almstead, maybe not so helpfully, adds.
“When do we get our doses?” a woman demands.
“Yeah!” a man echoes. “We paid for Solu and we want Solu!”
“We’ve decided to distribute one packet of Solu for each passenger at each meal,” Dr. Zhang says.
The crowd boos and hisses.
Looking around, I see all these wealthy people—all the minor celebrities, and their faces are drawn and lined and angry.
Clothes are draping off them.
They look like extras in some bizarre modern-day luxury-cruise production of Les Miserables.
I feel someone’s eyes on me from behind. I turn and see Sabbi and her clique. They’re standing up on the observation deck above, where the hot tub is, looking down at the whole scene.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I see Sabbi say something and the rest of them laugh. They’re looking down on the angry crowd.
Good. I mean, good for them. Really. At least someone has the sense to stay out of this insane scene.
Sabbi sees me looking at her and gestures to me, waving me up to join them.
I elbow Viv and nod toward Sabbi.
Viv looks up.
Sabbi signals again, mouthing the words, Come here.
“Oh my God,” Viv says. “We’ve been summoned. Let’s go.”
I’m not sure what to do, so I follow Viv as she fights through the crowd.
* * *
Up on the observation deck, Sabbi’s got two bottles of champagne chilling on ice and a tray overflowing with cheese, grapes, and nuts.
The people in her clique look just as unnaturally skinny as everyone else on board. One of the girls is wearing a bikini that looks like it’s made of yarn and postage stamps.
They have music playing off someone’s iPhone and everyone is bopping, moving to the beat. Some of them don’t even look like they realize they’re moving, but they’re twitching, bouncing their feet. Edgy.
One of the bronzed, minor-deity-looking guys is rubbing Sabbi’s back. I realize I know him. He’s an actor. He’s known for his shaggy blond hair.
Luke someone. The one Lorna Krieger keeps going on about in her morning messages.
Sabbi is thinner, but still mind-numbingly gorgeous. She looks like the famished twin of her more voluptuous self.
I bet there are fan protest sites going up about how much weight she’s lost off her butt. (Though I guess the most recent shots won’t be getting out there since the Internet is down.)
“Bom dia,” she says. “You’re the girl Tom likes, right? Laura?”
“Laurel,” I correct her.
“Have some champagne. You ever had Cristal? It really is better than the rest. It’s not just marketing.”
“I’ve never tried it,” Viv says.
“You’ll love it,” Sabbi purrs. “What’s your name?”
“Vivika.”
“I love that dress. Stella McCartney?”
Viv nods. I’m glad to see her pepping up a bit.
“I have it in green,” Sabbi says. “Trevor, we need Cristal.”
A short guy in a pair of really baggy green trunks comes over.
“Hey, I know you,” he says to Viv.
“We met at Key West,” Viv says. “On the beach.”
“Yeah, totally.” Trevor checks her out. “Looking good, baby.”
Viv rolls her eyes, but laughs.
He pours her a glass of champagne and she tastes it.
“Wow, it is really good,” she says.
“You know what makes it better? Drink it in the hot tub.”
Viv laughs.
“You think I’m kidding, but I’m serious!” He’s smiling, bouncing on the soles of his feet.
Viv gives me a look and I shrug. She can go in the hot tub if she wants.
Trevor puts his hand on Viv’s shoulder and leads her over to it. More of Sabbi’s people are in there, lounging and splashing and, yes, drinking Cristal.
“Luka, my sweet, would you mind if I talked to Laurel alone?”
“Sure thing, Sabbi. I’ll go soak.”
He walks over to the tub. His suit is riding perilously low on his hips. (Lorna would freak out.)
“We’re gonna be a thing. Me and Luka,” Sabbi tells me, watching Luka. “In the papers. Tom’s not going to come out looking so good.”
“Oh,” I say. “Did you want me to tell him or something?”
Sabbi looks at me, those famous brown eyes taking my stock.
“Who are you, anyway?” she asks.
“Just Laurel Willard, from Fort Lauderdale.”
“What do you do?”
“Well … I play the guitar.”
“Are you in a band?” she asks.
“No. I’m just a high school senior. I play the guitar. I go to school.”
“I see. So it’s a plain-Jane kind of a thing,” she says with a kind of sad, pitying smirk on her (gorgeous, famous) face.
“Yep,” I say. I lean in. “Maybe he even likes me because I’m plain. Maybe he’s freaky like that.”
I turn to leave.
“Wait, stay, hang out with me. I want to know you.”
“We’re going ashore,” I tell her. Not that it’s any of her business.
“No, you’re not.”
“What do you mean?” I say, turning back to face her.
“You’re not going anywhere today.”
“Aren’t we docking in Belize?”
She shakes her head.
“They canceled it. We’re staying at sea. Didn’t you watch the morning announcement lady?” I shake my head.
“They canceled going ashore?” I ask, my voice rising. This is not good. “But … we need to go.”
“People we
re selling Solu on shore,” a lanky girl with bleached out hair over by the cheese tray says. “That’s why we’re not going to dock.”
“Shut up, Maggie,” Sabbi says. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, as usual. They canceled docking in Belize because of this,” Sabbi gestures out to the crowd of now-dispersing but still-angry passengers. “Bad publicity. It’s the same reason they shut off our Internet service.”
“You think they did that on purpose?” I ask.
“Tsk. You, my friend, are very innocent.”
A waiter comes up with a covered tray.
“Miss Ribiero, Mr. Almstead gave us permission to honor your request. He asks that you use discretion, so as to not upset the other passengers.”
Sabbi smiles and winks at the waiter.
“Of course, absolutely!” she says.
She reaches down to a little silver pouch in her straw handbag and takes out a hundred dollar bill. She presses it into the waiter’s hand.
“Obrigada,” she says.
He’s wearing a big smile as he removes the silver cover from the platter and places it down on an empty side table.
Splayed out in a fan are maybe thirty packets of Solu.
“Everyone! Snack is here,” Sabbi calls.
All of Sabbi’s crew immediately come out of the hot tub and draw around, dripping wet.
“Yes!”
“Awesome!”
Sabbi takes three-packets for herself and the others dig in.
She looks at me and smiles.
“Go ahead,” she says.
“No, thanks.”
“Are you sure?” she says. She runs her eyes up my figure.
“Yes. Quite,” I reply.
Viv is standing just outside the group. I see her staring at the remaining packets.
“Come on, Viv,” I say. “Let’s go … Let’s go…”
She’s transfixed by those packets.
Viv looks at me and looks away.
She starts to shake.
“Let’s go and have a swim!” I say. “Or Jet Ski! Let’s go find the captain and demand he puts us ashore. Come on, Viv.”
I cross to her. I’m going to drag her away, but as I’m moving she flashes her hand out, too, and grabs two packets.
“Don’t!” I say. “Don’t have any more.”