“You can’t leave, Vi. We’re on a ship,” Leah says with a chuckle, like I’m a taffy headed moron.
“I know that. I didn’t say I was leaving the ship. I’m leaving this room,” I scoff, yanking the door open violently.
“Leaving the room? In that get-up? If you’re really going outside the room, come back here and change into something decent.”
I glance down at what I’m wearing—ratty sweatpants with the kids’ school mascot gracing the left hip—there’s a hole in the knee. I have a tank top on, but no bra. My boobs are definitely not perky enough for me to be leaving the room braless. And the fact that the tank top is an off white color and sort of see through doesn’t help matters, either. But I will not let Leah be right. I will not come back in the room and change into more decent attire. It doesn’t matter to me what I look like. I’m not the one on the divorce cruise trying to hook up with a sad, lonely divorced guy.
I grab a sweatshirt that is lying on the floor—most likely dropped there by Leah. I pull it over my head.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
Ignoring her, I leave the room, letting the door slam loudly in my wake. It causes me to jump and glance around nervously. Nobody else is in the hallway to see me get startled by my own act of rebellion. Not that Leah is in charge of me or anything.
I practically stomp down the hall in anger, the flip-flops making a loud flopping noise against my feet. Leah may not technically be in charge of me...she’s not my mother or my husband (if I’m thinking archaically), but she’s always been the one in our relationship to call the shots. I guess I’ve always liked not having to make any decisions—it’s so much easier to just follow her lead.
Well, that ends today. I’m sick of it! I can be my own person without Leah telling me what to do! Just watch me!
I just have to find my way around this ship by myself first.
VIOLET
I come to a four way intersection in the hallway and I search for a familiar landmark. I’m not sure which way I’m supposed to go—I don’t think that I’ve gone anywhere without Leah in the two days we’ve been on this boat.
Feeling tears pricking at my eyes, I fight them off, refusing to get upset over something as silly as this. It’s a boat after all. It’s not like I can really get lost and not find my way back to the room, right?
Determined, I decide to turn left. I assume left leads me to the middle of the ship, and everything is centrally located on this ship. At least that’s where the main lobby is. And that’s where I need to go.
As I’m weaving through the winding hallways, I start checking for signs that might lead me to my destination. All I’m finding, however, are polished brass placards with room numbers on them. You would think on a huge ship like this they would try to steer you in the direction of the important places like the pool and the restaurants and the main lobby.
Just as I feel like I am about to burst into tears, I stumble upon the staircase that runs through the middle of the ship. Sighing with relief, I step into the vestibule and lean over the railing to look below. From there, I can see the main lobby of the ship, three floors down. If I remember correctly, there was an events board located in the main lobby—I saw it when we met at our emergency locations for the drill on the first day. Only two days ago.
It feels like it was a week ago. How am I ever going to stand another five days on this boat without losing my mind?
And then the answer to that question comes to me—the cloud cover the boat was sailing under breaks free and sunshine pours in from the glass ceiling, illuminating the bar below like a beacon from heaven.
It’s not too early for the bar, is it? I glance at my wrist and realize I have left my watch in my room. I pat my pockets looking for my phone and discover I have left that in the room, too.
No bother. I don’t need them. I don’t think anyone on land can reach me via cell phone, and I don’t know anyone on this ship other than Leah. And I have no interest in talking to her right now. And it doesn’t really matter what time it is—isn’t it always okay to have a cocktail on vacation? I mean, people drink bloody Marys and mimosas on vacation! It’s definitely not too early for a drink.
This is exactly how I’m going to get through the next few days. Live at the bar, self-medicating.
Now, before you judge me, I’ll have you know that I’m not a big drinker. Yes, I like a glass of wine to unwind with in the evening now and again, but I don’t drink much more than that. And I’m not even planning on drinking a lot now—just enough to keep my mind off the fact that I’m on this miserable vacation with my best friend, who is abandoning me for a guy she just met. And she’s probably going to bring him back to our room and have sex on the bed I have to sleep on for the next five nights.
Groaning at that thought, I descend the staircase and weave my way through the lobby, past the throngs of sunbathers coming in from the deck adjacent. Women are pulling towels around their bodies, shivering and complaining how it’s too cold. They’re in bikinis and it’s December—we haven’t even reached the coast of Florida yet. What did they expect?
Shaking my head at them, I pull up a seat at the completely empty bar. Empty except for a woman in black pants and a white button-down shirt, wiping the bar with a rag. She gazes at me curiously and stops mid wipe. Ducking her head under the bar, she comes up with a glass tumbler and holds it out at me with a smile.
“You want drink, honey?” she asks in broken English.
“Yes, please,” I reply. “Can I get a Cosmo?”
She wrinkles her brow. “A Cosmo? Please, what is Cosmo?”
Of course I get the bartender who doesn’t even know how to make a drink.
“Never mind, I’ll just take a vodka and cranberry.”
“Vodka and...cranberry?” she asks slowly, as if she is trying out the words for the first time. She peers along the back of the bar, searching for something. Then she turns back to me with a smile. “You like beer? I pour beer?” She points excitedly at the taps.
Beer? No, I definitely don’t want beer. But she looks so excited, I hate to say no to her.
“Um, sure. Beer is great,” I reply, in disbelief that those words have left my mouth...in that order.
“I got this, Luisa,” I hear a man call out. From the door behind the bar emerges a male bartender. He carefully removes the glass from Luisa’s hand and sets it on the bar. She smiles apologetically and scampers away, waving her rag at him. I squint and realize he’s the same bartender from last night at the cocktail hour.
Great. He’s gonna think I’m a totally lush because it’s...I glance at the clock over the reception area and do a double take. It’s ten forty-five in the morning. I’m at a bar looking for a drink before noon. And I didn’t even eat breakfast. I’m looking for a drink before breakfast. Oh my gosh, I’m pathetic.
“Sorry about that. Luisa’s part of the cleaning staff. She doesn’t usually pour drinks,” he tells me with a grin.
Oh dear God...I’m super pathetic. He must think I’m so desperate for a drink that I asked the cleaning staff to pour me one.
“She, she was behind the bar so I thought—”
“Yeah. We don’t open the bar till eleven, so she was cleaning before the lunch crowd,” he says. “Normally I would make you wait till eleven, but I can mix you something since we’re both here.” He gives me a smile, but it clearly has pity behind it. Ugh with the pity from everyone today!
“No, I’m good. I can just—” I try to stand up…and end up falling flat on my face, because my legs are tangled in the bar stool. My cheek is actually touching the carpet. I want to crawl into said carpet and float away out to sea. Of course. I’ve now managed to make myself look even more like a raging alcoholic.
Please just disappear, please just disappear….
“Are you okay?” I look up and the bartender is hovering over me with his hand outstretched.
“Um, yeah, yeah,” I stammer, trying to hop to my feet without his help,
attempting to look suave, like the fall is no big deal. I only succeed in bumping into the bar stool and knocking it over. I have to grab onto the side of the bar to steady myself, but there’s no way in hell I’m grabbing his hand to help me. I definitely don’t need his help. In fact, to drive that point home, I kind of shove at his hand, further knocking myself off balance. I end up swaying and really looking like a drunk.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks skeptically.
“Yes. Yes! I’m fine,” I practically growl. The bartender shrugs and steps back behind the bar.
I glance around quickly to see if anyone else has witnessed the exchange. Fortunately everyone around me seems to be in a great big hurry to get somewhere. Which is odd—everyone being on vacation and all—but it works to my advantage. The only person I need to get away from is this bartender. I’ll have to find another bar to get a drink at—after eleven o’clock that is.
“Cosmo?”
Startled, I look at him and see that he is pushing an already made drink across the bar at me.
“I told you I was fine.” Great, now I’m going to have to stay here and drink this, looking like a lush and all.
“Well, you were obviously at the bar for a reason,” he says.
With a heavy sigh, I plop myself back down on the barstool and wrap my fingers around the stem of the glass. “Thanks,” I mumble, taking a timid sip of the pink concoction. It’s even more delicious than the ones he made me last night. The alcohol floods my veins immediately and I find myself instantly relaxed—like I’m actually on vacation. A few sips later, not only does my body relax, my mouth does as well.
“Sorry that I showed up before your shift even started. I’m just trying...well, I’m just trying to actually be on vacation.”
“That’s okay,” he says with a shrug. “That’s what I’m here for. To make your vacation as enjoyable as possible.”
“Well, I’m not an alcoholic or anything,” I make sure to point out.
His face clouds. “I didn’t say that you were. I’m sorry if you thought I had that impression.”
“I just want to make sure that you understand that,” I say as I lean forward and peer at the nametag on his shirt. It reads Mr. D. Romano. “Why does it just have D on your name badge?” I ask. What does it stand for? David? Derek? Dan? Doug? Damien?
“The cruise company doesn’t want us to give out our first names. They want the guests to call us Mr. and Miss. It makes us less personal to them or something,” he tells me with a shrug.
“Less personal to whom?”
He shrugs again. “Not sure. I think they want the guests to see us as servants and not as actual people.”
“Well, that’s terrible!” I exclaim. “You’re an actual person. You told me so last night! You’ve even been divorced.”
He shrugs and begins to take the ice machine apart. “So what’s on your agenda today?”
“I have no idea. I left it in the room. And I’m definitely not going back there anytime soon.”
Since my best friend and roommate is a selfish clod.
I hold out the empty glass and he quickly replaces it with a full one. He is a Godsend. I greedily sip it, Cosmo dribbling down my chin.
Slow down before you end up in the same position you were last night!
I place the drink back down on the bar as he tells me, “If you don’t want to go back to the room to get your agenda, you can download the app to your phone and plug in your passenger number.”
“Wow. That would be great. Except I don’t have my phone either.” I pat my pockets as if to demonstrate. I didn’t bring anything. Including my room key. I’m going to have to grovel to get Leah to open the door for me when I’m ready to go back. The thought makes me nervous and infuriated at the same time. I take another sip of my drink.
“Well, I guess you’re lucky at least you have clothes on then,” he says with a smile.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I squeak, wrapping my arms around my hoodie clad body.
“Um, nothing,” he stammers, turning back to the ice machine.
Is he picturing me naked or something? He’s not flirting with me, is he? No, of course he’s not flirting. Why would he be flirting? Ugh...I wouldn’t even know if he was flirting with me. The last time I engaged in such a ritual, Bill Clinton was President. I probably wouldn’t know what flirting looked like if it hit me with a bus. He could very well be flirting with me. And why not? The guy thinks I’m divorced. The guy thinks I need an ego boost or something. I mean, why else would I be sitting at the bar before noon, sucking down Cosmos like they’re water? Obviously he thinks I’m needy. Well, I’ll need to set the record straight then.
“My roommate and I are having a little spat...that’s all.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “That’s gotta be rough. Especially when you’re trying to enjoy yourself.”
“Well, I’m just trying to enjoy myself. She’s just trying to enjoy every man on the boat,” I spit out bitterly.
He cringes. “Oh really?” I chew the end of my hair, immediately annoyed with myself. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. That makes Leah look like a slut.
Then I realize, who cares? What does it matter if the bartender thinks my best friend is a slut? As long as he doesn’t think I’m a slut, nothing else matters, right?
“Yeah. She’s got quite the rep, that girl. Heck, back in high school she would go under the bleachers with any guy that asked her. And in college she was sleeping with professors left and right.”
Okay...so maybe that is a teensy bit of exaggeration. Sure she went under the bleachers with any guy that asked—but it was only two guys—on two separate occasions. And they didn’t do anything more than make out. And the professor thing...well, they weren’t actually professors—they were TAs. And neither of them were actually TAs of her classes.
“Really?” He cocks his eyebrow at me. “Well, I’m sure she’s older and wiser now. People are like that when they’re young. They make mistakes.”
“Ha!” I scoff. “She makes mistakes like it’s an art form. She dates one guy after another, and then always makes an excuse to dump them. And then she cries and moans about how her love life sucks and she’s never going to find a guy, but she’s the one who does it to herself. She just wants to love ‘em and leave ‘em. She’s worse than any guy I know.”
His eyes widen. I half expect him to lick his lips, wanting Leah’s number. She’s a guy’s dream. But this guy doesn’t seem like the thought excites him. “That’s terribly sad,” he says.
“She was engaged once, a long time ago, but I think she only wanted to get married because I was. They broke up in a spectacularly epic fashion. She dumped him at their engagement party—but, he was making out with one of the waitresses at the party...in a closet.”
I shrug as if indifferent to Leah’s plight. In reality, it keeps me up at night sometimes.
We’ve been friends for over twenty years and I don’t think there is anyone on the planet I care for more (other than my kids). It breaks my heart that she can’t find a guy that loves her the way she deserves to be loved. Sure she’s stubborn and she can be a little self-centered, but underneath it all, she’s got a good heart. For all her faults, Leah’s still a great person.
She took me on this cruise because she wants me to relax. And she only talks trash about my husband because she’s worried about me. Richard is a jerk—one I never should have married, if I’m going to be honest with myself. The only thing good about marrying Richard has been the kids. Soon they wouldn’t need me, though, and I’ll be stuck alone with a man who has absolutely no respect for me.
A lone tear trickles down my face, startling the bartender. “Oh geez. I’m sorry.” He offers me a tissue.
I wave it away. “I’ll just take another Cosmo...please.”
He nods and gets to work. When he’s done, he hands me the next drink and I accept it from his outstretched hand. There may be no easy way o
ut of this mess that I’m in, but for now, I’m going to dull the pain with some pretty little drinks.
LEAH
The door closes behind me with a quiet click. Glancing at my watch, I see it’s close to lunchtime, but I’m not even remotely hungry. In fact, I’m the opposite of hungry. I feel nauseated by the thought of eating. Hell, if I’m going to be honest, I feel nauseated by the thought of anything right now.
I can’t believe Vi really thinks I’m a slut, I muse as I wander aimlessly down the labyrinth of hallways. I have no idea where I’m headed, but I know I can’t be in the room when Violet gets back.
Vi and I have had fights over the years, but they’re usually about something stupid like whose turn it is to pay for lunch, or which teacher at our high school had been the one having affairs with all the senior girls. (It totally was Mr. McKay, the hot shop teacher who drove a Harley—I saw him making out with Kelly Parker with my very own eyes. Violet insists that it was Dr. Vickers, the physics teacher with Clark Kent glasses. She’s totally wrong—like who would have an affair with a physics teacher?)
We’ve never fought about anything that’s ever upset me this much before. The fact that my best friend thinks so little of me is enough to make me want to jump off the side of the ship.
Just like that chick in Titanic. Well, she didn’t actually jump. Jack saved her before she could jump. Maybe I’ll get lucky and some cute guy will save me—yikes! Do you hear yourself, Leah? No wonder Vi thinks you’re a slut. Every single, solitary thought you have ends up being about men or sex!
I realize I have walked straight out to the viewing deck and am standing at the rails at the back of the ship. It is freezing out here (so much for a tropical Caribbean cruise) and I am still wearing my gym clothes, which aren’t exactly December apparel. I rub my arms to warm myself, goosebumps erupting on my exposed skin.
The ocean is beautiful from where I am standing, despite the fact I’m chilled to the bone. I gaze down at the path the boat is leaving behind—the wake—mesmerized by the rise and fall of the waves. It’s so peaceful. I imagine the world underneath those waves—hundreds of thousands of creatures going about their lives, completely unbothered by the craziness that is existing in the world above the sea. The fish aren’t worried about relationships, the dolphins don’t care what their best friends think of them, the sea turtles don’t give two shits about their biological clocks ticking down like a bomb waiting to be detonated. No, those creatures just go about their lives peacefully, gliding from one end of the sea to the other is blissful harmony.
Best Friends & Other Liars Page 14