by Ellie Rowe
“Drop it lady!” What an anticlimactic game of hide and seek. I put my hands up like they do in the movies, and crawl out of my cubbyhole, holding the flare gun high in the air.
Pirate number one has a green scarf tied around his neck and the look of someone hopped up on some major adrenaline. Or speed. I’d attended enough college parties to sample my fair share of hard drugs but it really wasn’t my scene. Bet that stupid party boat was loaded with the stuff.
The other pirates haven’t found my hiding spot just yet. Could I shoot the flare gun now and draw attention to my boat? Maybe alert the celebrity yacht of my whereabouts? If I could get the flare to shoot up “hot models and drugs here!” they’d probably show. Or maybe, Green Scarf doesn’t know what I’m holding.
“Drop the flare!” Well shit. Instinct wants me to throw it to the ground but I keep my cool and gently place it behind me, looking out the window. There’s five aboard that I can see. They rammed the speedboat so hard into the side of my ship, I have no idea if the damage is beyond repair.
Damn, those are some big guns. Or am I supposed to say weapons? How does that saying go? “This is my rifle this is my gun this is for shooting this is for fun”? Christ it’s bizarre what rushes through your head when you’re about to die.
He yells something to another pirate in a language I don’t recognize and I once again kick myself for not heeding my mother’s warning about those extra language courses abroad. I’d always had a guide, so sue me!
“Come out now.” Pirate number one tilts the barrel toward the door and I slowly scootch around the table, keeping my eyes trained on the gun. Damnit, the weapon. Oh, fuck who cares? They’re my last moments alive. I'll call it what I want.
“What do you have?” The question startles me. He can’t possibly want to know if I have my master’s degree. Another man shouts and Green Scarf grows impatient.
“What do you have, now!” I open my mouth to speak when a new wave of fear crashes over me. I can’t let them know who I am. If they find out I’m worth anything, anything at all, this could go from an inconvenience to a hostage situation pretty fucking quickly.
“I... I’m just a traveler! Just sailing for fun. I don’t have anything.” Green scarf narrows his eyes in obvious suspicion. Can’t say I blame him. ‘Oh look at the American on a private vessel, just taking a fun cruise lalala, I’m sure she wouldn’t lie to me’.
Another pirate with a wicked scar over his eye comes up from below with my stash of food. And the wine. Goddamnit not the wine!
“This is it?” Green scarf asks with disgust. Rude. One of those bottles is a Grand Cru. An early celebratory present from Sheila for when I finish my article. Ah, the irony.
I nod my head, wanting to say as little as possible. He has yet to drop the gun and I am keenly aware that any false move could cost me my life. Green scarf spits in response, lovely, and yells to another outside tilting his head to my cabin.
I hear a word that sounds distinctly like ‘radio’ and watch Scar and another go to work, ripping out wires and cords. All my provisions, the water, the food, (the wine!) all are carted off my vessel and into their speedboat.
Fuck. They’ve got my computer. All my notes from this hellish trip, all my past articles, all my future planning is all on that laptop. They shove it roughly into a dirty canvas bag and I wince.
Keeping my mouth shut is generally a chore, but they make it pretty easy with the surplus of ammo strapped to their backs. Why do they need so much? I’m sure I’d go down with just a bullet or two. Maybe three. I’ve been extremely diligent about following my nutritionist’s advice.
Let it be known that being attacked by pirates is a lot less swashbuckling than one would hope. I wanted tight pants and an array of delightful accents. I wanted them to be ‘pirates with a heart of gold’ but no. The fact that I had very little to plunder only made them angry. That worried me.
Stuck at sea with little to no provisions or a radio was bad, I’ll admit. But it had to be better than being carted off with these frightening individuals. They don’t know who you are I repeat to myself, you’re just a nobody sailing pointlessly about.
“What else you got?” Scar asks as he sidles up close to me. Oh shit. I knew that look. That smarmy, in-control, take-what-I-want-and-what-I-want-is-you look. There are times when that look is fucking sexy. This is not one of those times.
Why couldn’t I have just swallowed my goddamn pride and climbed aboard the SS Dickbag? I could be sitting next to a vapid, but perfectly harmless model with a mojito in my hand and signing a book deal with some shiny muscle man. With enough mojitos I may have even enjoyed talking with the scummy 1%.
Or enjoyed chatting with Hank fucking Wilder. I wonder what he’d do in this situation? Not that I care. But it’d be a laugh to watch him try and schmooze his way out of this one. Celebrity star Hank Wilder watches on with useless bluster, uncomprehending to the fact that his million-dollar charm proves useless against savages of the sea.
“Maybe we take you with us.” Oh, fuck this guy can’t be serious. Are men really all the same? Pirates and bankers alike? Then again, the comparison makes a lot of sense. Either way the little people get fucked. Poor choice of words. I’ve got to get out of this, and fast.
“Come on man.” I shrug. I know it’s stupid, but I’ve had several instances where I’ve diffused ‘romantic’ feelings by playing the bro card. “You’ve got all my stuff, man. I’m just gonna steer this thing right for shore and I won’t say anything to anybody.”
Green scarf shouts something to Scar and I watch him look between the two of us. Green scarf shrugs and I am none too pleased to see the look of delight on scar’s fucked up little face. He grabs me roughly by the arm.
“You come with us, lady.” He has a gold tooth. At least that’s pirate-y.
“Please man I just wanna get to shore—”
“You don’t have anything good to take, lady.” He growls close to my face. “But if you don’t have anything good, we take you. Hostage is good for business.” There’s his gold tooth again.
“No thank you—” Another pirate, smaller than the rest flanks my other side. He appears to be a little younger too. There’s a youthful determination on his face, like he’s wearing the mask of a ruthless pirate, but doesn’t yet have the stomach for it.
Here’s hoping I can use that to my advantage. Maybe he’s not too turned by the dark world of pirating. Could he be my ‘pirate with a heart of gold’, releasing me back into the world to finish my article?
“Move.” Young guy juts his AK-47 into my backside. That little shit. See if you wind up in the article at all! I’m cattle prodded until we reach the edge of the boat and I peer overboard to the busted looking speedboat below. With all this plundering, couldn’t they afford something that looked a little more reliable?
All my shit is stacked up in the back of it with three of them already squatting there, man spreading to house all their loot, guns and ammo.
“I won’t fit.” I say, in a last dich effort. “Just leave me here, enjoy the wine, I promise I won’t say anything. I’ve already forgotten what you look like, honest.” Scar motions for the young guy to hit the ladder and he scampers over the side.
“I told you. Hostage is good for business, lady.” He shoves me to the ladder and I take one last look at my vessel before taking hold of the metal. As I slowly make my way to the speedboat a little sprig of hope blooms inside me. If my SOS reached that stupid yacht, maybe I hadn’t seen the last of Hank Wilder.
Eight
Hank
Oh, shit.
Through a pair of binoculars I can tell that Veronica’s boat is empty.
We’re still a bit of a distance away, but I ease up on the throttle. Don’t want to come in hot and smash her flimsy craft. My heart picks up plenty of speed, though. I turn to Rik, who looks a little clueless about what’s going on. I take a chance and entrust the wheel back to him, anyway. “Bring us alongside,” I command.<
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I’m about to leave the bridge when I nearly bowl over Jeremy Wood, West’s phone buddy. “Whoa, Hank, Hank!” He holds up his hands and plants himself in my way. “What the hell’s going on, man? You’re killing the party.”
Straining to see past him and get a closer look at Veronica’s boat, I notice my guests have all taken seats or retreated below decks. A few have clearly been puking over the railing. My hauling ass over the waves clearly didn’t mix with their copious booze and drug consumption. I’d like to say I felt bad about that, but I hate to lie.
“Jeremy, get out of my fucking way,” I warn.
“Bro, this is not a great image.”
“How about this image?” I grab one of his ears and give it a good twist. I did slapstick comedy early in my career and the fight choreographer showed me how to do this move without hurting my costar. I make sure to not follow that advice.
Jeremy gives a yelp that gets everyone’s attention. Shocked and angry looks get thrown my way. I don’t care. Which feels incredibly liberating.
With Jeremy out of my way, I hurry across the wet deck to get a glimpse of Veronica’s sailboat. Rik’s actually managed to get it pretty close along our starboard side. “Veronica?” I call out. “Veronica?” Nothing. No trace of her.
Oh, shit. Maybe she went overboard?
I peel out of my linen jacket and kick off my loafers, ready to dive into the drink.
That’s when I hear Doc, on the other side of the ship, call out, “Hank! Out there!”
I spin around and rush over to him. He points out to another small ship on the horizon. God bless the old man’s cinematographer eyes. I’m telling you, he’s the best in the business. “Good job, Doc!” I plant a smooch atop his grey-haired head.
A second later, I commandeer the wheel back from Rik and yank it hard to port. Before I can gun the throttle, though, a strong hand lands on top of mine. Rene.
“Now’s a bad time, Rene,” I warn.
He keeps his hand on mine. “What exactly are you doing?”
“She might be on that ship,” I say, pointing desperately.
“Who?”
“Veronica.”
“Who’s Veronica?”
I mean, it’s a good question. I don’t know anything about her. Except that she’s lit a fire in me that I need to keep from going out. Not that I’m going to say that out loud. Not to Rene of all people. “She’s someone who might be in trouble,” is what I do tell him.
He looks out at the boat. “Or she might have been rescued by whoever they are, meaning you’re killing your party and your rep for nothing.”
“Fine. I just need to know she’s all right.”
Rik comes up behind us and points unsteadily out to the horizon, saying, “Looks like they’re coming to us.”
What? Holy crap, he’s right. The small craft is doubling back. It’s a speedboat and they’re closing pretty quick. I can see she’s packed full of people. Pretty sure it’s not a rival party boat, though.
Rene squints and lets my hand go. “What are they carrying…?”
I yank the binoculars up and focus in on what appears to be a literal boatload of men. I can’t see Veronica. But they do all have something in their hands. What they’re carrying appears to be…
Have I said “Oh, shit” recently? Because, oh, shit: they’re carrying AK-47s.
“Pirates,” I say, slowly lowering the binoculars.
“Ha, yeah right,” Rene says. Then he catches the serious look on my face and yanks the binoculars from my hand. “Pirates!” he shouts, his voice cracking. He stumbles off the bridge, shouting the word over and over. Cries of panic erupt from my posh guests.
What the hell are pirates doing out here?
By the time the speedboat comes up alongside us, I’m back in my linen coat and shoes. Gotta look dignified in these types of situations. Not that I’ve been in these types of situations, but it’s how I’d direct the scene, so…
Everyone else backs away to the far side of the boat, as quiet and sober as any of them have been since we left port.
The pirates storm my yacht and train their guns on us. They shout at each other in French, with what I’m pretty sure is a Senegalese accent. (I filmed part of an action movie on location there.) Some of them start raiding the ship. The others train their guns on the models and moguls. OK, I actually am sorry to have gotten them into this fucked up situation. But just think of the money they’ll make selling this story to the tabloids.
I look, but I don’t see Veronica anywhere.
A gun in my face gets my attention. At the opposite end of the AK is a guy in a green scarf. He smiles at me, revealing a gold tooth. Great casting, I can’t help but think.
“I know you,” he says.
“I don’t think we travel in the same circles, buddy.”
“You don’t want to mess with him!” Jeremy calls out to the pirate from somewhere behind me. “That’s Hank Wilder!”
Seriously, dude? Greeny smiles wide. Some of his men let out an admiring “ohhh!”
I shrug and nod. Come on, you gotta be flattered when pirates know your work.
“What a prize!” Greeny says. He takes his gun off of me and swaggers around, checking out the crowd. “Any other celebrities we have here?”
“No,” I interject. “The rest of them are a bunch of nobodies.”
I actually see Jeremy start to protest, the moron. I give him a sharp look and he cowers.
Greeny eyes me carefully. Seems to decide I’m a big enough prize on my own. He shouts at another pirate, some guy with a nasty scar across one eye. In orderly fashion, the pirates march all my guests off the Let’s Do This and onto Veronica’s neighboring sailboat. It’s way too small for that many people and she dips perilously low in the water.
“This is my boat now,” Greeny tells me. I can’t really argue with that.
He shouts another command to his men and they start unloading their speedboat’s supplies onto my ship.
I can’t take it anymore. “Where’s Veronica Swift?” I demand.
That peaks Greeny’s interest. “Veronica Swift?” he repeats. He whispers to Scarface who in turn gestures to a pirate with a baby face. He goes to the speedboat. A moment later he’s back, and he’s got Veronica.
Thank God. I mean, sure, we’ve been taken hostage by pirates. But Veronica’s alive and she looks unharmed. It’s all about perspective, sometimes.
Her eyes meet mine. There’s surprise in them. I think there’s also some joy at seeing me. I think? Some?
“Got your SOS,” I call to her. “Again.”
“Oh,” she says flatly. “Good.”
“Looks like you found your own party.”
“Yeah, they’re a real barrel of laughs.”
“SILENCE!” Greeny shouts. He’s legit terrifying, I’ll give him that.
He strides toward Veronica. I want to intercept, but Scarface holds me back.
“You are Veronica Swift?” Greeny asks her.
She raises her chin in defiance. Damn, she’s impressive. “I am,” she says with barely a tremor in her voice.
“Amazing!” Greeny shouts. “‘To the Mountaintop’! ‘Me and the Serengeti’!” I have no idea what he’s saying. They sound like titles? Scarface looks at me. “You know who this is?” he asks me. “This is Veronica Swift, famous adventurer and travel writer!”
“Yeah,” I say, “sure.” Veronica’s eyes call me on my bullshit. I shrug apologetically. What does she expect? Pretty much all I read are scripts and the industry trades.
Scarface beams at her. “I read all your articles in National Geographic and Vanity Fair and World Traveller!”
“That’s, uh, that’s great,” Veronica stammers. “Thanks.”
Greeny notices the other pirates’ confused stares. “What? I like travel articles,” he tells them. They share some incredulous glances among themselves. “It is important to broaden your horizons,” Greeny tells them.
“So, budd
y,” I say, thinking maybe this my “in” for saving Veronica. “You’re such a fan of hers, why not let her go?”
Greeny laughs at me. “Ha, ha, ha… No.” He pulls a one-eighty and angrily shouts at his men. Scarface roughly ties up my hands and Baby Face shoves Veronica beside me.
I give her my best charming smile. “Hi,” I say. “Good to see you again.”
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” she tells me. I choose to take it as a compliment.
Hell. I’m just glad I found her.
Nine
Veronica
What’s that Casablanca line? Of all the yachts in all the world why did I have to get stuck with this fucking idiot? Something like that I’m sure. After my Emmy award winning performance, that I was just a little nobody sailing about, this jackass reveals my identity!
Granted, that should've been a problem, but Sheila and her PR team have somehow reached the likes of a goddamned pirate ship. Lucky me.
I stare at Hank hoping my eyes might burn a hole through that tacky white linen suit. I can’t believe he’s actually wearing that ‘out to sea’. What a cliché. Surprised he doesn’t have a captain’s hat and an anchor tattoo. Though it does look quite sharp on him. In a douchey Popeye-the-sailor-man kind of way.
“You can’t do this!” One of the party guests shrieks from beyond, pulling my attention to the shivering, half naked, bronzed party guests huddled on my little ship. Some of the bikinied spray tans are weeping. Now that I have a look, some of the speedo-ed spray tans are weeping too.
Can’t say I blame them, this is some scary shit. Like late night Serengeti lion attack scary shit. What I wouldn’t give to be a weeping spray tan, (speedo or bikini I don’t care) aboard that fucking ship. Or being attacked by lions. Anything to get me out of here and away from these assholes.
If I jump off now the only one who would care is my number one pirate fan right? Let Hank deal with this motley crew. Go ahead silver fox, try and party your way out of this one! A particularly sexy little number is shooting daggers at Hank. Or, wait. Do my eyes deceive me? Am I the subject of this venom?