The Jerk Who Saved Me: A Romantic Comedy

by Ellie Rowe

  Listen, you lab-created franken-goddess of a woman, this is NOT my fault! Or, maybe it is. The thought hits me like a punch in the gut. God, I can’t leave them all like this. No food or water. Or wine.

  “Hey!” I yell to Green scarf, my number one fan. “You’ve got a pretty decent haul here fellas.” Green scarf grins and nods, slapping green scarf on the arm in celebration. “You grabbed everything off my ship too…” I gesture out to the party goers. Number one frowns and nods again. “Well…” I shrug, “What are all those poor people gonna do without food or water?”

  The young guy walks up, his face contorted in worry. God he really is just a kid. Yes. I can use that.

  “If you leave them out there with nothing, they’re never gonna make it.” Young guy’s eyes get big as he looks back to the partygoers.

  “What are you doing?” Hank whispers to me, his look intense. I could punch him. Right in the throat. Or right in that perfectly manicured five o’clock stubble. How does he do that? I roll my eyes and ignore Hank, drawing my attention back to the kid.

  “How about we put some of those supplies back on my boat for our castaways, eh?” The pirates shift uncomfortably. Time for the big guns. “I mean… you don’t want to be murderers, do you?” That lands.

  Young guy shakes his head ‘no’ with vigor and looks up to Greeny for permission. Green scarf is like stone. He takes a menacing step toward me and I watch Hank tense. Why? Like you give a shit.

  “No radio.” Green scarf narrows his eyes and points at me. I put my hands up.

  “Okay, no radio. Just some supplies so they don’t starve to death, okay?” Captain green scarf nods and yells something to a relieved looking young guy and scar. Gotta hand it to them, they mobilize pretty quickly.

  That must be what years ‘pirating’ on the high seas will do for you. Could use some of that hustle from the interns back home in LA. Maybe I can convince Young Guy to give up his life of pirating and take a cushy office job training out-of-college wannabes?

  I catch Hank’s eye as the flurry of movement surrounds us, and he’s got an eyebrow high on his forehead in what I can only assume is an expression of being impressed. Gee, thanks. I brush past him and his stupid face to yell over the side of the yacht to the castaways.

  “They’re bringing some supplies over! Here!” I fish out my personal compass and hand it to Young Guy who’s about to scramble down with a box of potato chips. “Will you give this to them?” He nods eagerly and smiles, putting the compass in his mouth to free up his hand to descend the ladder. It’s a little repulsive but practical. He won’t lose it anyway.

  “They’re bringing my compass too! With the supplies they’re bringing you should be able to make it to LA! Steer East and you can’t miss it!” I lean back and find Hank staring at me with big eyes. What? It’s the least I can do. He takes a step toward me.

  “Thank you.” He mutters. I guess that’s his attempt at sincerity? He must be a crap actor.

  “Yeah well,” I shrug then lower my voice, “maybe they can send help back—”

  “You!” Captain green scarf points at us and I stifle a jump. Shouldn’t jump this close to the edge of a ship. If I’m gonna die let it be something epic or interesting that Sheila can ghostwrite. Hah. Ghost-write. That’s funny. Because I’d be writing from my watery grave.

  “You come with me.” Green scarf gives his best piratey glare. It’s convincing, so I hopto. At least I’ll get away from the white suit wonder.

  “You too.” I start to argue but the captain grabs both of our arms and tosses us to the feet of the largest man I’ve ever seen. His broad mouth is twisted down into a perpetual scowl. Don’t think I’ll be arguing with this one.

  I take one last look at our surroundings. The artist formerly known as my boat is now stocked with supplies and party-goers that I can only hope will send back help. Hopefully one of the Ken dolls actually knows how to steer a ship.

  Hank’s yacht has very little damage all things considered, and the rust bucket of a pirate ship is being towed behind us. I take in one last deep breath of salty sea air. What are my options here?

  I’ve been through enough shit to calmly and smartly work my way out of most shitty situations. I divorced Ross Yeats, didn’t I? But this… How the fuck are we, am I gonna get out of this?

  We’re whisked to the center of the yacht and down the steep stairs to below deck. I can’t believe how big the belly of this thing is. You could scream in one of these rooms and no one would hear a peep from above deck. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I guess we’ll find out.

  “Here.” Big man stops before a room with a giant turning lock on the outside. Why does a party boat need a goddamn safe room? Big man turns the lock and I grimace, seeing how much effort he has to put into opening it. I’m gonna have to blast this door with one of those big ass rocket launchers.

  Hank is silent beside me, but has this stupid smile on like he’s hoping his sheer handsomeness will turn big man’s heart. Best of luck to ya. The door swings open and I see a single bed.

  “Well thanks big fella—” I start but I’m shoved into the room with Hank beside me. We look at each other in horror. No. No no no no no. “Oh come on!” I whine. Yes, I actually fucking whine this has been a terrible goddamn day. “There’s plenty of room on this ship! We passed like a hundred rooms on our way down!”

  Hank snorts. “Hundreds? Little lady, do you know how much a yacht with a hundred rooms would cost?” Will they hear him scream from above deck when I tear his throat out?

  “Why do we have to share a room?”

  Big man grins. I had no idea his face could move that way. It would be kind of sweet really, if he wasn’t the most threatening creature I’d ever seen.

  “Need those rooms for the crew, lady.” He starts to close the massive door. “You two play nice now.”

  “But—!” Big man grins even wider and gives me a delicate wave with his fingertips before slamming the door shut. I hear the sickening sound of the lock clicking into place and stare at the door.

  Well this is just fucking perfect. The room is miniscule, like my first apartment in New York. Practical and depressing. And most likely overpriced. One bed, mildly comfortable looking bedding, a tacky life preserver ring on the wall, and oh thank Christ there’s a bathroom.

  “Well.” Hank flashes his movie star smile that makes my stomach flutter. Shut up stomach this is serious. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Ten

  Hank

  Ironically, it was just under an hour ago that I was in this very cabin and Yvonne D’Mica was giving me a glimpse of her whole body.

  I have a feeling that things are going to head in a much different direction with Veronica Swift. No sooner is the door to the tiny cabin closed and locked than she whirls on me, an accusatory look in her eyes. “Oh, great! Well done.”

  “Excuse me?” I don’t even mean to be annoyed. It’s like she knows where the button is and just jabs at it like a video game.

  “I might have gotten off with all your party guests if you’d just kept your mouth shut,” she says. “Now I’m stuck here with you.” She marches the two steps to the bed and plops down, head in her hands. “You just had to go and shout my name, didn’t you?”

  “How was I supposed to know you were somebody?” I immediately regret that statement and try to cover my tracks. “I mean,” I say, “how was I supposed to know you were a writer? I’ve certainly never heard of you.” Her look lets me know I’m digging an even deeper hole for myself. C’mon, Hank, don’t let her get to you. Turn on the charm. I chuckle and say, “I mean, who the hell reads travel articles anyway?”

  Charm doesn’t always come naturally to me, OK?

  I can almost see the steam coming out of Veronica’s ears. “Apparently, our pirate captain is a little more worldly than you are.”

  Alright, this isn’t entirely my fault, right? “You know, doll,” I point out, “the only reason I’m in this situation is
because I was coming back to rescue you.”

  “A lot of good that did.” She points her finger at me. “And don’t call me, doll!”

  “Sure, sweetheart.” She makes a noise at me that is the closest to a growl I’ve ever heard a human being make in a non-sexual situation.

  This is the woman I couldn’t get out of my head?

  “Y’know,” I add, “some people in your situation might say ‘thank you’.”

  “Oh, you’re so right! Thanks a bunch. Great job, ace.” She packs enough sarcasm into the sentiment to fill a season’s worth of sitcom episodes. With a defeated groan, she flops back on the bed.

  All right, screw this. I’m getting us out of here. I start scouring the room for something useful. I open and slam shut every little door and compartment but come up empty. The room’s so small it barely takes two minutes to explore every inch.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, not moving from the bed.

  “I’m looking for some kind of weapon or… escape hatch or something.”

  “Escape hatch?”

  “Anything useful.”

  She blows air out of her lips to let me know her thoughts on that. “Given the company you keep, I’d be surprised if you find anything in here that’s more intimidating than a brick of cocaine.”

  I might find her funny if it wasn’t for the fact that she drives me nuts.

  Ceasing my search, I eye the cabin door. How sturdy can this boat be? I charge the door, turn sideways at the last second and smash my shoulder against it with all my might.

  WHAM!

  … Ow!

  I manage to swallow my cry of pain. No way I’m letting her hear that. I can’t help but wince, though. A throbbing pain shoots from my shoulder all the way into my fingers. You win this round, door.

  Still, I’m out of options. So I suck my breath back in and ram it again. It hurts even more the second time. The door seems to give even less. I don’t like being mocked by inanimate objects. I keep smashing it, because at the very least it’s a target for my frustration.

  “Now what’re you doing?” Veronica cries out.

  “I’m trying –” wham! (ow!) “to get us—” wham! (ow!) “out of here.” wham! (ow!)

  “How’s it going?”

  I turn to her, grateful to give my aching shoulder a little breather. “Listen, I don’t know what your plan is, but I’m not letting this posse of amateurs keep me locked up in here.”

  “So you’re gonna take on them and their guns single-handedly?”

  I haven’t really gotten that far in my planning, so I just go back to slamming myself into the door. Look, I know one definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. A lesser-known definition of insanity is being stuck in a tiny cabin on a yacht with a woman who hates your fucking guts and enjoys letting you to know it. So I keep smashing away.

  “Stop it,” she growls from the bed. Then she’s up and in my face. “Stop it. You’re going to get us both killed.” Wham! Wham! “Would you stop it?”

  Suddenly, the door gives – opens! – and immediately a pistol basically pokes up my nose. Holding said pistol in one hand while gripping the outer door handle in the other is the Kid. “Stop it,” he tells me softly. “That banging is very annoying.”

  “Right, my bad,” I tell him as I back up a little, hands in the air. He closes the door and I hear it lock again.

  Veronica looks pissed. “Would you get a grip? This isn’t one of your crappy movies. And you’re definitely no hero.”

  She makes for the bed again, turning her back on me. I’m grateful she can’t see my face as her words do their damage. I want to tell you that of course I know the difference between my movies and reality. Of course I know where the line is between the characters I play and the person I am. I also know that sometimes I wish the line was a little more to one side than the other. Having someone like Veronica remind of my limitations isn’t great for the old ego.

  Why the hell is she being like this? I’m just trying to help. I look at her lying on the bed. Her khaki shorts have run up a little, giving me a glimpse of her smooth upper thighs. Her belly button sticks out just below her thin shirt, and I can tell her stomach is tightly muscled. Her features are worn by age and adventure in just the right way. You know what I mean, that way that makes a grown-up woman’s face incredibly sexy?

  That is, her face would be sexy, if she didn’t keep contorting it in anger at me.

  I do an automatic ring check of her left hand. I notice a slight tan line around where a ring might once have been. So, divorced? Widowed? I wonder what her deal is and where the guy is.

  Maybe she sarcasmed him to death.

  My shoulder throbs and my legs start to feel rubbery. Probably the adrenaline leaving my system. There’s nowhere to sit except the bed, which she’s completely hogged all to herself.

  “Pretty cramped quarters,” I mutter.

  “Hope the smell of your cologne wears off soon.”

  OK, seriously? I sidle to the bed. My bed, seeing as how it’s my yacht! “C’mon,” I say, “scoot.”

  She looks at me like I kicked her cat. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m tired. I wanna lay down.”

  “There’s only the one bed.”

  “That’s why I need you to scoot.”

  “I am not sharing a bed with you,” she insists. She spreads her arms across it like a goal-keeper.

  “Then I suggest you am-scray, because I’m getting in.” So saying, I slip myself under the covers. She slides herself backwards so quickly she actually goes over the far edge with a yelp!

  Oops. For a moment where I hear nothing. “You OK?” I call.

  She pops up, rubbing her butt. I try not to stare, but, well, it’s a tiny cabin and there’s not much else to look at…

  “Fine,” she says, matter-of-factly, “we’ll sleep in shifts.”

  “Fine,” I agree.

  “Fine,” she concurs.

  “Great,” and I roll over to get some shut-eye.

  “I just think you should let me take the first shift.” I roll back to face her. “It would be the gentlemanly thing for you to do.”

  “It would, wouldn’t it?” I say slowly, like I’m considering it. I get off the bed and step close to her, looking deep in her eyes. “I mean, you might even say that letting you go first would be the… heroic thing to do.”

  I dare say she’s getting a tad weak-kneed being this close to me. There’s a reason I shot to stardom, you know, and it wasn’t all my acting. “That’s right,” she manages to say. “It would be heroic.”

  “Well…” I lean close and whisper in her ear. “Like you said. I ain’t no hero.”

  With my eyes locked on hers, I slowly lower myself back onto the bed and lie down.

  She recovers quickly. “Why you…”

  I’m worried things are about to get nasty again but suddenly there’s a knock on the door.

  I bolt upright. Veronica backs away from the door and sits beside me on the bed. She takes a deep breath and I feel her willing herself not to shudder. To her credit, she hides her fear OK.

  I hope I do a better job hiding mine.

  Eleven

  Veronica

  I’m not sure if I’m covering up the fact that I’m terrified for my sake, or out of sheer spite. How did I let that egomaniac get to me? But the way he sidled up, his chest so close to mine, and those dark eyes bearing down at me. I lost myself for a minute, okay? I’m only human. But this is war.

  The door swings open and lo and behold its big man. My favorite. You wouldn’t think a man so large would need a weapon. He could probably squash my head in his hands like a grapefruit. Big man doesn’t give a rat’s ass what I’m thinking privately, because he’s come back with some major heat. And it’s pointed right at as.

  “We need the movie star.” Big man wiggles his eyebrows. Once again, could be cute. Less cute with a goddamn firearm in your face. Hank s
tands brightly. Oh, please is he really so arrogant a compliment from a murder athlete makes him fluff his feathers?

  “Duty calls, sweetheart.” My eyes flash and I finally understand what it means to see red. I’m a fairly fit woman, especially for my age. I’m bendy too. Not that I’ve let anyone near enough to appreciate that fact. And I swear on my life even from this distance I could reach around and kick him squarely in the nuts. Maybe I should try?

  Hank ignores my look and buttons the bottom of his linen suit jacket, repulsive, before he heads for the door. Wait a minute. This can’t be good. Hank’s too stupid to care, but why in God’s name do they need him above deck? Alone.

  “Where are you taking him?” I blurt out before I have time to think. Hank turns around surprised. I wish I had mind control. Don’t get any ideas dipshit, I don’t care what happens to you really, but if you’re key to my escape you’re useless if they have you walk the plank.

  “Movie star is big hostage. We make a video now for demands. Big Hollywood movie.” There’s that massive grin. I hate myself for feeling offended that my fame hasn’t proven enough to warrant a star appearance in the hostage film.

  “Much obliged.” Hank says and flashes that pearly white smile. Hold on. This asshole is going to leave me down here! But if I can get above deck maybe I can get a better look at our situation here.How the fuck an I gonna convince big man?

  “I’m sure I could be useful.” I say quickly. The boys both look at me, confused. I go against all my therapy and repress the seething hatred. “I mean I’m a travel writer! My job is to craft stories to sell to the masses. You’ll need my help to get your message across and get the most out of this…” I gesture vaguely to Hank who pouts immediately.