The Beautiful and the Wicked

by Liv Spector

  “Is that when you started working on boats?” Lila asked.

  “Uh-­huh. A ­couple years ago, I met this girl at one of my auditions. She’d just come off a four-­week trip to Anguilla where she was third stew. She said she’d made, like, five grand in a month, without having to pay any living expenses. Told me that pretty girls could always get a spot on a boat as long as they were willing to work hard and follow orders. I figured I could do that. I was broke, as always, so that kind of money sounded like the answer to all my prayers. She told me to just show up very early at the Miami Marina and walk around saying I was free to work. I got jobs right away. That led to a few steady gigs on charter yachts, then I landed this assignment, which is a dream come true.”

  “Is it?” Lila asked. She was surprised to hear that someone thought of scrubbing toilets and ironing linens, all of it under the eagle eye of Edna “Slaughterhouse,” as a “dream come true.”

  “Of course!” Sam said emphatically. “Every day we work in the most glamorous world imaginable for some of the most wealthy and powerful ­people alive. How can you not find that exciting? I mean it’s not perfect. I do things I never thought I’d do in a million years.”

  “Like collecting Seth Liss’s chocolate fudge soda cans and hand washing Josie Warren’s organic cotton thongs?” Lila asked, which made Sam laugh.

  “Yeah, that and other things,” Sam said quietly. Was she hinting at deeds darker than the ones listed in the job description? Lila wondered. Who exactly had she been with tonight?

  “But I just keep my mind on the big picture,” Sam concluded, in an artificially cheerful tone. “Whenever I’m down, I think of myself as Cinderella and the other women, like Josie and Elise, as my evil stepsisters. I’m beautiful and deserving and they’re the cruel, jealous hags with all the money. One day they’ll get theirs and I’ll get my prince.”

  Lila had never heard anything quite as deluded as that, but she kept her mouth shut. If this childish fantasy allowed Sam to get through these grueling days, then who was she to disabuse the young woman of her dreams?

  “You’re right,” Lila lied. “That’s a good way of looking at things.” There was a long moment of silence as she got up the nerve to ask her bunkmate something rather personal. “Sam, mind if I ask you a rather direct question?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Were you with somebody tonight?”

  “What do you think?” Sam replied, her voice turning rather flat and cold.

  “I think you were, but I’m wondering who it was.”

  “I’ll tell you. It’s not like I’m embarrassed about it or anything,” she said defensively. “I was with Jack. I went to his room to see if he needed anything before I went to bed, and it just happened.”

  “Oh . . .” Lila said, quite surprised. She had guessed it was Asher.

  “Like you’ve never slept with one of the guests before?” Sam asked, obviously indignant about the surprise in Lila’s voice. “I mean, you’d be the first. I don’t know one stewardess who hasn’t.”

  Clearly it was a well-­known fact that the pretty girls hired to work on the boat were also supposed to be available for the men who wanted them. Lila wasn’t going to play that game, not for the world.

  “I’m not judging you, Sam. I’d never do that.”

  “You better not. Plus, Jack’s not that bad. I mean, yeah, he’s an asshole, but he’s pretty nice once you get him alone. And he’s loaded. Maybe he’ll give me a really big tip at the end of the trip,” Sam said, yawning loudly, filling the tiny chamber of their room with her boozy breath.

  “Maybe,” Lila said, gripped by a sadness for Sam—­a sweet, somewhat empty-­headed young woman who dreamed of being a star, but was now happy enough with making a few extra bucks with the occasional bout of high-­seas prostitution.

  Lila waited for Sam to say something, but when she heard her breath begin to deepen, she knew that she’d fallen asleep. But Lila’s restless mind made sleep impossible even though her body was beyond tired.

  More than anything, Lila felt angry over what this corrupt world did to ­people. To be around Jack was to risk being used, exploited, and discarded. That’s what would happen to Sam and that’s what would soon happen to her sister. Who knew someone so rich could cheapen ­people so much.

  She thought of Ava. Poor Ava. When her sister fell in love, she fell hard. And now she’d fallen in love with a married man who sport-­fucked stewardesses on his superyacht. Nothing could’ve been worse than that. It was clear that Jack didn’t care about Ava, about his wife, about Sam, about anyone . . . except himself. Even the knowledge of his impending murder didn’t stop Lila from absolutely hating Jack Warren with all her heart.

  This case was the first time she felt absolutely no desire to save the victim.

  She not only wanted to let Jack Warren die, she’d love to do him in herself. He certainly deserved it.

  CHAPTER 12

  LILA AWOKE EARLY the next morning feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, memories of her sister mixed with visions of Elise’s swollen, tearstained face and Liss’s spreadsheets all swirling around in her head. Dragging herself through her early-­morning routine was excruciating, but the moment she walked into the fresh, open air, she was taken aback by the beauty surrounding her. The sunrise at sea was breathtaking. The sun peeking up along the horizon glowed a deep, almost mystical orange, turning the clouds a vibrant purple and the ocean a deep cerulean blue. There wasn’t a bit of land or any sign of human life in sight. Lila paused to let the profound perfection of the scene wash over her. She deeply inhaled the balmy, salty air. For the first time in her life, she understood why someone would crave the feeling of being out at sea.

  “Miss Collins, don’t just stand there,” Lila heard Mrs. Slaughter call out as she climbed the stairs from the galley, putting a quick end to her momentary reverie. “We’ve got too much work to do for daydreaming.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Lila said, flashing back on last night with a shudder. She’d come so close to getting caught by Slaughter. Her escape was a lucky break, but a good detective never counted on luck.

  “First things first,” Mrs. Slaughter said crisply. She never seemed happier than when she was giving orders. “Mrs. Warren needs to be brought a cup of consommé and hot lemon water, right now. Chef Vatel is putting together a tray for her at this very moment. Fetch that, bring it to the master suite, and provide any assistance needed with her morning medication.”

  “Isn’t it too early?” Lila asked.

  “It’s much too early for you to ask foolish questions,” Edna said. “Not that I need to explain my orders to you, but Mrs. Warren must take her pills at set intervals, one of which is at six A.M. And she can’t take her pills on an empty stomach, hence the broth. Now that I’ve satisfied your imbecilic curiosity, will you do as I say?”

  “Of course,” Lila said with a hateful little smile.

  Mrs. Slaughter, in return, gave Lila her usual glower, which was an irritatingly effective combination of patronizing and withering. Then she briskly walked away.

  But with her overlord no longer watching, Lila grabbed a ­couple more minutes to, once again, let the absolute magnificence of her surroundings overwhelm her. There she was, a solitary woman in the middle of the endless ocean, breathing in all the abundant beauty for just one sweet moment—­then she headed down to the galley to begin her day of subservience.

  Hurrying down the hall, her arms straining to carry the heavy silver serving tray full of Mrs. Warren’s liquid diet, Lila turned the corner—­and ran straight into Ben Reynolds. It felt like she was always crashing into him. The dishes clattered around upon impact, but she managed to hold on to the tray and prevent everything from smashing to the floor.

  “Nicky!” Ben said in a loud whisper. “What are you doing here?”

  His eyes searched the hall nervously and t
hen peered at Lila, trying to read what she was thinking. He seemed flustered.

  Lila nodded at the tray she was holding. She could hear snoring coming from the room, so she quietly said, “I’m bringing this to Mrs. Warren.”

  “Oh, right. Of course,” Ben mumbled.

  “What are you doing up here?” she asked, confused about why Ben was wandering around outside the master suite. The captain and the first and second officers were never on this floor of the yacht.

  “Oh, Jack wanted me to . . .” Ben paused. His eyes darted around as his mind searched for some excuse. “ . . . to give him an update about our arrival time.”

  It was obvious that he was lying. Lila had spent her entire career dealing with hustlers, sociopaths, and murderers that someone so bad at hiding the truth struck her as kind of endearing. “This early? Isn’t Jack still asleep?”

  “Nope. Not at all. Well, I should be off. Okay? I’ll see you soon,” he said, in a rush of nervousness.

  He headed toward Jack’s room. After waiting a few, Lila crept behind him. She peeked around a corner to watch as Ben paused momentarily at Jack’s door. He looked side to side to see if anyone was watching him, then continued down the hall.

  What was Ben so anxious to conceal? She needed to keep an eye on him. But first she needed to drop off this tray. She entered Elise Warren’s pitch-­black room, hearing only her muffled snores. The room smelled like dying lilies—­overwhelmingly sweet and floral, tinged with something rotten. As she put the tray down on the bedside table, Elise began to stir.

  “Edna, is that you?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s Nicky,” Lila said.

  Hearing that, Elise let out a groan. “Oh, it’s you,” she sneered in disgust. “Here, turn on this light.”

  With the room barely illuminated by the lamp on the bedside table, Lila could see that the swelling on Elise’s face had gone down considerably, and there was no longer any sign of the terrible redness. Her beautiful face, the face that created such hatred in Lila, was almost back to normal.

  “Do you need any help with your morning pills, Mrs. Warren?”

  “No, thank you,” Elise said sharply. “I’m well practiced at swallowing. But I bet you do a lot more of it than I do.” Her taunting eyes narrowed into little slits as she glared at Lila.

  “Excuse me?”

  “My husband only wants women who swallow. I myself never got used to it. But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Now he gets little whores like you to do my dirty work.”

  Lila’s mouth dropped open as she stared at Elise, whose twisted little smile contorted her silicone-­enhanced lips. The brief feeling of pity that she had felt for the woman completely evaporated. This wasn’t some poor, pathetic creature who was ignored by her husband. She was a poisonous bitch who had to be brought to justice. Lila took this moment as just one more reminder to keep a clear focus on why she was on that yacht. She was there to make Elise pay. She was there for her sister, Ava.

  “That will be all, dear,” Elise said as she took a dainty sip of her hot lemon water, keeping her narrowed eyes on Lila the whole time.

  AT PRECISELY NINE, breakfast was served in the dining room. It would be several more hours until the boat reached land, and there was a bit of cabin fever brewing in the air. As Lila and Sam were serving the guests, Seth Liss was bent over his laptop looking at more spreadsheets, shoveling Tater Tots into his mouth, Paul Mason was reading Cigar Aficionado as his poached eggs grew cold, Josie was picking at some vegan glop called “chia pudding” while damaging her eardrums with bass-­heavy music on her iPod, the newlyweds Thiago and Esperanza were sitting close and whispering inaudible words to each other, and Daniel Poe was drinking a beer shandy and smoking a joint the size of a child’s finger on the balcony off the dining room. To date, Lila hadn’t seen him actually eat anything. Clarence Baines was on the phone with the head of his reelection committee, going over the latest polls while his wife circled items in the Neiman Marcus catalog.

  It was, all things considered, a pretty peaceful scene. Until Jack Warren came into the room screaming.

  “You goddamn son of a bitch! You fucking, backstabbing bastard!” he boomed, his bulging eyes trained on Seth Liss. His face was beet red with rage. Despite Jack’s terrifying state, Liss looked totally calm, like he’d been expecting, maybe even looking forward to, this outburst.

  “You didn’t think to tell me about this? You wanted me to just find out on my own? You made me look like a fucking fool,” Jack ranted.

  Liss slowly closed his laptop and straightened up. Even though there was a spot of ketchup from his Tater Tots on the right-­side corner of his mouth, he looked almost dignified compared to the apoplectic Jack.

  “What do you want me to do? Read you the minutes of your company’s meetings? I’m not your goddamn secretary, Jack,” the CFO said. “Listen, if you want to know what’s going on, maybe you should’ve just been on the call. But you wanted to go sailing. So that was your choice, not mine. It was also your choice not to even ask me how the call went.”

  “You didn’t think I’d care that the shareholders and the board scheduled a vote to halve my executive compensation? Are you kidding me? I am this company. And now the ­people I’ve handpicked to help me run it want me to make less?”

  “You made two hundred million dollars last year.”

  “I earned every fucking cent!” Jack’s eyes were almost popping out of his head.

  “It’s obscene. You’re getting rich while the company’s stock price is stagnating,” Liss said. “The board knows it’s not good for the bottom line. It’s that simple.”

  “It’s not the board. It’s you. I can see your greasy fingerprints all over this whole fucking thing.”

  “You’re making no sense. I had no hand in this. Your shareholders don’t believe in you anymore, and that’s your own doing. This is just a case of the chickens coming home to roost.”

  Jack lunged toward Liss, but Thiago jumped up and put himself between the two. “Settle down, Jack. You can’t blame Seth for this. The shareholders are trying to get your attention. That’s all this is. And, see, it worked.”

  “Yeah,” Paul Mason said, not looking up from his cigar magazine. “Not being on that call was a boneheaded move.”

  “Especially given the numbers from the last few quarters,” Thiago said. “You know as well as anyone in this room that if the numbers are down, the shareholders will want your head. You’ve got to remember you have responsibilities.” Thiago hit the last word really hard, emphasizing it by simultaneously putting his hands on Jack’s heaving shoulders. Lila saw a flicker of something unspoken pass between the two men.

  “I take care of my responsibilities,” Jack said, shrugging off Thiago’s hands. “I’ve made everyone in this room rich, and I won’t stand for one second of disrespect or betrayal from any of you.” He walked over to the table and picked up a Tater Tot from Liss’s plate. “Especially, you,” he said to his CFO as he pinged the golden bite of potato off his head; it landed on Liss’s shirt, leaving a large ketchup smear. “I will not let you hijack my legacy!” he screamed. Then, before he walked away, he took a Japanese vase from the table and smashed it to pieces on the floor.

  “What a goddamned animal,” Paul said.

  “I’m just glad everyone’s seeing what I’ve known for years. He’s a menace to us and to the company,” Liss said, giving Paul and Thiago a knowing look. Lila knew that whatever was brewing between them, they were all in on it together, and Jack was now the one on the outside.

  “And he’s got a conveniently short-­term memory,” Thiago continued as he pushed the shards of the vase into a little pile with the toe of his Ferragamo slipper. “Without my family’s money, Jack Warren would be nothing. And he has the nerve to tell me that he made me rich? That’s something I will not stand for.” He looked to his wife, Esperanza, who gave
him a decisive nod, letting him know that they were of one mind.

  Esperanza then said something quietly to her husband in Portuguese, and though Lila’s Portuguese was pretty rusty, she thought she said, “Some things are very dangerous to forget.”

  As Lila looked from face to face around that dining room table, she didn’t see one person who had anything but contempt for Jack Warren.

  CHAPTER 13

  FROM THE MOMENT The Rising Tide came within eyeshot of Paul Mason’s private island, which was the crown jewel on a long necklace of tiny islands off the coast of the Bahamas, the welcoming party erupted.

  Paul called out to all the guests on the ship to join him on the deck. Lila, Sam, and Asher, curious to know what was going on, went along with them. There wasn’t another island for miles and miles, and the remoteness of the location, with its lack of light pollution, transformed the night’s sky into a shimmering, electric, pointillist painting. Every inch of the heavens was dripping with an infinite number of stars.

  Just across the dark ocean waters, like a fantastical mirage, stood Paul’s island mansion—­a low-­lying collection of glass, steel, and palm-­frond buildings tucked into a jungle so verdant and wild that it seemed as if it was on the verge of engulfing this tiny bit of civilization. There was a riotous bonfire raging on the pure-­white sand of the beach, its errant flames licking the black skies around it. This grandeur was framed by gigantic palm trees, all breathtakingly lit up from below.