Tom looks at my face and reads my expression.
“Hey, Claire, can I ask a favor?” he says, flashing her a smile. “Could you delete that picture? Laurel’s not really into that social media stuff. Instead, let’s take one of us together.”
Claire beams at her idol. “Sure! Really? Okay!”
Tom crosses to her chair and takes the phone from her.
“I have longer arms!” he explains.
He holds his arm out, slightly above them, and takes a shot.
“You always want to shoot just slightly from above,” he tells her. “This is something I’ve learned. Makes you look tough.”
They’re both relaxed and smiling.
“Nobody’s tougher than us,” Claire jokes.
“That’s right. Tom and Claire, swaggin’ and braggin’!”
They take another shot, trying to look tough.
Claire is giggling so hard she nearly drops the phone when Tom hands it back.
“My friends are going to die!”
Tom turns back to me.
“So, I hope you feel better,” he says.
“Yes,” I say. “I will.”
“Cool,” he says. “It’s … it’s okay I brought you the tea, right?”
“Okay? Yes. Super-yes. It’s probably the nicest thing a guy has ever done for me.”
“Well, that was too easy. I’ll have to try to top myself next time.”
Eep. Um. Blush. Tingles. (I am a mess.)
“Okay. Good.”
Claire is just watching us like we’re a movie or something.
“See you two!” he calls as he walks away.
“Thanks for the selfies!” Claire says.
Claire and I watch him walk around the side of the ship until he’s gone.
“He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my whole life.” Claire sighs.
I sit down.
“Yeah,” I say.
I feel like I’m a little bit high. And it’s not from the ginger-scented steam rising from my teapot.
TOM
DAY THREE
THAT’S MY A GAME.
Not that I’m playing the girl. But I like her. So if I like her, then I’m going to show up and let her know.
I have a feeling Derek would approve.
* * *
The day’s interviews are weird.
Tamara has me changing clothes all day. I’ve literally worn four different shirts. I understand about getting coverage, but this is a little ridiculous.
Tamara’s also lined up gorgeous people, almost exclusively.
“Don’t we want to show some real body types?” I ask her. “I mean, these people all look like they don’t even need Solu. Don’t we want to see some transformation happening?”
“Almstead wants some segments with very pretty people saying that Solu works. I don’t think that’s unreasonable,” Tamara says.
She grooms my hair, spraying some sea salt stuff in it and tousling it.
“What we need now is a generic open for a segment wrapping up Day Six,” Tamara tells me.
“Day Six? Why?”
“During the fifth and sixth days, the ship will have limited satellite access. It will take a very long time to transmit the footage, so we’re shooting some extra coverage. The editors are going to put it together as a fail-safe.”
I catch Cubby’s eye. He shrugs.
“Day Six? That just seems wrong,” I say.
“Please, Tom. This is what our client wants.”
“So I’m going to lie?”
“You’re an actor,” she says, as if I need reminding. “So act. Roll tape.”
“I’m Tom Fiorelli, coming to you from the decks of the Extravagance. It’s Day Six of the Solu cruise, and wow, we have seen some powerful transformations on board! Take a look.”
My mouth feels oily.
I signal for them to cut.
“What will they go to?” I ask, thinking of the editors. “We don’t know what people are going to look like on Day Six.”
“They’re going to do shots of skinny girls swimming in the pool, if they have to. We’re just prerecording so they have backups. It’s not a conspiracy, Tom. Lighten up.”
“Okay, Tamara. It’s just not good television.”
“Sabbi Ribiero is fine with it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re interviewing her this afternoon and she’s agreed to say it’s Day Six.”
I roll my eyes.
Sabbi Ribiero is probably getting paid a million dollars to be on board. She’ll say whatever they want.
Me, I’m getting paid $250K for this whole gig.
And I guess I’ll say whatever they want, too.
“Speaking of Sabbi, her people are wondering what the hell is going on. Sabbi was very upset you didn’t join her for dinner last night.”
“I was with you at dinner! We ate with Almstead.”
“Her people are pissed. Are you doing this or not?”
I shrug.
“Well, I hope you make up your mind by five p.m. That’s when we shoot her.”
* * *
We do a set of poolside interviews and people are really wild, pushing one another in the pool behind me, and photo-bombing. I guess they’re all drunk.
The partiers are not just the teenagers on the ship; I see a bunch of older people, too. Thirty-, forty-, fifty-year-old guys ogling the younger girls. Cougars on the prowl.
Everyone is in a great mood.
I’m talking to three middle-aged Australian women in bikinis. They’re raving about Solu. We have to shout to be heard over the crowd.
“It’s amazing!” a bleached blonde says, grabbing my mike.
“You wouldna believe how much weight I’ve lost!” another yells, reaching across me to get the mike. As she reaches, her bikini top straps slide off her shoulders. Momentarily topless, she screams. They all scream in delight.
The woman hauls the top back up.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” she yells. “This fit me two days ago!”
“Wow!” I say. I laugh. “As you can see, Solu is working almost too well here on the pool deck of the Extravagance!”
The three women are hugging me and kissing me and screaming about Solu.
I hear “cut” and I mouth to Tamara, Get me out of here!
* * *
I get a break, which I need.
I go to the gym and work out hard.
Sometimes it’s the only way to clear my head. Just lift until the endorphins cut in.
Like Derek says, you’re going to be addicted to something. Might as well make it something that’s good for you.
I should call him, but I need to relax.
No, that’s not true.
I don’t call him because he’d ask me about Sabbi.
And I still don’t know what to do about her.
I keep thinking about Laurel, but hey, I just met the girl. And anyway, the Sabbi thing is just for the press.
After a shower, I dress for the interview.
Sabbi is one of the most beautiful girls in the world. I should be psyched.
I try to be.
* * *
They’ve set up a cabana on a balcony on a lower deck.
Sabbi’s there already. She looks picture-perfect. She should, with her team of hair and makeup people.
I see one of the guys—I’m guessing he’s gay—reach into her bathing suit to arrange her bust. Rich is talking to her and no one even bats an eye, while this wardrobe guy is getting her cleavage just so.
Gotta love this industry.
“Hey, Sabbi,” I say, sitting down next to her. “How’s it going?”
Sabbi’s hair and makeup people and Rich all back away.
“Fine,” Sabbi says. “Except I thought we were going to hang out.” She bites her lip.
“Totally,” I say. “Yes, I’m sorry. These guys keep me jumping all day. They’ve got me way too busy.”
&nb
sp; “Well, we’ve got plenty of time on the cruise, yes?”
She leans over and straightens my collar.
I see Rich snapping shots on his iPhone.
“I’ve always thought you were so cute, Tom,” she says. “I’m really excited to get to know you.”
Her giant brown eyes are looking up into mine and I find that I’m starting to relax. She seems genuine.
Tamara comes up.
“So, it’s Day Six and everything’s gone amazingly well,” Tamara reminds me, and Sabbi, I guess. “We just want to hear about how great Solu is. You have to use your imagination a bit, but just go with the idea that Solu has delivered past everyone’s wildest dreams.”
Whatever.
Sabbi nods. “I can do that!”
“And … we’re rolling,” Tamara says. “Tom, whenever you’re ready.”
“Hey, everybody, Tom Fiorelli here on Day Six of the Solu Cruise to Lose on the Extravagance. Man, the time has flown by! It feels like just yesterday I was saying it’s Day Two!”
That’s for Tamara.
“I’m here with Sabbi Ribiero, one of the stars of Teens of New York. Sabbi, can you believe the cruise is almost drawing to a close?”
Sabbi wets her lips and gushes, “Tom, this cruise has been life-changing for me and so many others. We girls, you know, we worry so much about what we can eat. We have to watch our figures for you men!”
“Actually,” I say. “I think you have that backward. We watch your figures for you!”
She swipes at me playfully.
“Well, what I’m trying to say is that all that worrying, all that obsessing about weight—we don’t have to do it anymore thanks to Solu.”
“We have seen some significant weight loss,” I lie.
“Everybody is looking fantastic! I mean, I’m seeing fifty-year-old men and just a few days ago, they were looking pretty porky, and now I’m like, who is that?!”
Wow. She’s amazingly good at this. She just sold all the men in America on Solu.
“Sabbi, what about the cruise itself? The service? The meals?”
“Oh, the food, the porters, everything. They’ve done an amazing job. I will never go on any cruise ship besides the Lux Line in my life ever.”
The cruise people are going to love that.
“So what’s your favorite thing about Solu?”
There’s a gleam in her eye as she answers.
“It’s funny, because I imagine you will think I’m going to say it’s the weight loss. But you know what, it’s not that. Solu makes you feel good. It makes you feel special and alive.”
Sabbi gestures me close to her and leans in to the camera, tilting her body slightly so the camera gets more cleavage.
“I think there’s something in the Solu itself, that makes you feel just a little, itsy, bitsy bit…”
She purses her lips, then releases them. She shivers.
“Excited.”
Tamara gives me two thumbs way, way up and I know Sabbi just earned her million dollars.
And my respect.
She is a pro.
“It’s really true, what they say,” Sabbi continues, “‘Solu: Life’s delicious.’”
And she worked their ad slogan in?! I’m blown away.
The thing is—I’m not into her.
I’m not.
I can’t fake it.
I’m sitting here thinking about Laurel and that if she knew that I was contemplating this thing with Sabbi …
Well, it would hurt her feelings, for one.
And she’d probably think I was sleazy.
Because … because it is sleazy. It’s fake to pretend you like someone so people will take your picture and help you stay famous.
Seems like something I should have figured out a good long while ago.
Sabbi looks at me as her wardrobe guy fishes the lav mic out of her bust.
“That was fun,” she says.
I’m going to have to figure out how to tell Sabbi.
I think a call to Derek is in high order.
I smile at Sabbi.
“That was great!” I tell her. “You’re amazing.”
“Mmm, I was beginning to wonder when you’d figure that out!” she says with a wink.
I kiss her hand and get the hell out of there.
LAUREL
DAY THREE
LAST NIGHT A LITTLE CARD was set on our (luxurious, fabulously plump) pillows along with the Solu chocolate. It was an appointment card informing us that our weigh-in time for today is 10:00 a.m.
Viv is super-excited about it.
I am not so excited. Of course, I haven’t lost any weight, so why would I be? But Viv reminds me that getting weighed every other day is actually mandatory—we signed an agreement when her dad bought the tickets that we’d participate.
“Are you sure you don’t want a little muffin?” she asked me at breakfast. They were giving each passenger two little Solu muffins each.
“I know it works fast, but I don’t think it’ll help me lose weight between now and ten a.m!” I said.
“You never know!” she said with a grin.
It’s nice to see her so happy.
I wave off the muffins. Really, I’m just not into it.
I do have about ten packets of Solu squirreled away in an unused airsickness baggie.
(Just in case I overcome my morals and have the chance to sell them in Cozumel.)
I put them in the safe in our room. I didn’t want Viv to see them. I think she’s still a little mad that I’m not taking them.
And it was fun to program the safe.
I made “BOOTS” the code.
They’ve made a treatment room in the (world-class) spa into a weigh-in center.
It reminds me of a fancy version of Weight Watchers. (Viv made me go with her for two months in seventh grade.)
The same scale from the gangplank is set up here.
“Good morning!” A sixty-something woman with maroon-colored hair greets us. (Hello, Clairol.) “How are y’all feeling today?”
“I feel fantastic!” Viv gushes. “I’m so happy!”
“That’s what we like to hear!”
Maroon-Hair Lady swipes Vivika’s ID card and then motions for Viv to step onto the scale.
“Oh my goodness. Can you step off and step on again, dear?”
Viv darts a questioning look at me, steps off the scale and back on.
“Hun, you have lost thirteen pounds!” the lady says.
Viv’s mouth drops open.
“Oh my God!!!” she squeals. She pulls me into a crushing hug.
“Thirteen pounds! I can’t believe it!”
Maroon-Hair Lady beams. “Hun, body-percentage wise—this is one of the biggest losses we’ve seen!”
Viv is hugging herself, jumping up and down.
“Before I came on board I thought, ‘If I lose five pounds, I’ll be happy!’ Thirteen pounds! I have to call my dad!”
“Now, I have to ask you—have you been eating more than the recommended three to five servings a day?”
Viv looks at me.
Of course she has.
She has two Solu pastries at breakfast, a Solu dessert at both lunch and dinner and they give us two packets at every meal and there’s that chocolate on our pillows at night.
“Maybe,” Viv says. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, you know, this is an exciting loss, but I think you’re going to want to restrain yourself now. Three to five servings is right for a young woman like yourself. I’d play it safe.”
Viv is nodding, nodding, agreeing.
I’m going to have to remind her of what the lady is saying. I can tell Viv is hardly listening.
“Okay, sweetie,” the lady says to me. “Why don’t you step up here and let’s see what Solu’s done for you!”
I step on.
(Cue a comic wah-wah-wah.)
“Well now, huh,” she says. “It must be the boots. Remove your shoes, honey.”
“But I was wearing them when I got weighed the first time,” I point out.
“Is that right?” The lady looks bereaved. “Well, I’m stumped. This is not at all what I expected.”
She looks at me, like she’s a doctor giving news of a fatal illness. “Sweet girl, you have lost seven ounces so far.”
“That’s what I expected,” I say, but she rushes on.
“Tell me about your experience with Solu. Have you been taking the recommended dosage?”
“My friend was really seasick,” Viv butts in. “And she hasn’t been able to take her doses yet. But she’s feeling better, right, Laurel?”
“I guess so—”
“Oh! That’s a relief!” Maroon-Hair Lady gushes. “I haven’t had anyone fail yet this morning. I don’t want you to be the first one.”
Fail? That seems a little harsh.
“She’s going to take it at lunch, right, Laurel?”
“I don’t know—”
“You could up the doses, just a bit,” the lady says.
She pats me on the butt.
“You’ve got some tub to lose.”
She wrinkles her nose.
“Solu will just nip away the extra, you’ll see.”
Viv bundles me out into the hall.
“Thirteen pounds!” she marvels.
“‘Nip away the extra,’” I say. “I hate that woman. She called me tubby.”
“Laur! Thirteen pounds.”
“I’m a failure because I didn’t drop a bunch of weight?”
“She just wants you to get to feel what everyone’s feeling!” Viv says.
“Maybe I’m happy the way I am! Maybe I don’t want to feel what everyone’s feeling,” I grump.
“Laurel!”
“Well, I don’t!”
“No, of course, why would you?” Viv says.
She crosses her arms.
“Laurel Willard is not like anyone else. She’s different.”
I do not like the tone her voice is taking.
“She has to practice her classical guitar. She always wears boots even when it’s not appropriate. The cutest guy ever invented wants to get to know her, but she won’t have him. No, she’s above it all. She’s soooo superior.”
“You’re being a jerk,” I tell my best friend.
“Ditto,” she says. “Maybe you hold yourself apart like you do because you’re a big, fat chicken. No, I correct myself, a perfect-the-way-she-is chicken, who doesn’t even want to lose weight.”