Sweet

by Emmy Laybourne

Viv is totally spaced out, dancing with her eyes closed.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’m done here. This is too much for me!”

  She opens her eyes and she has trouble focusing on me for a second.

  “Viv!” I shout. “We need to go!”

  She nods and keeps dancing.

  I grab her by the arm.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She drapes her arms around me.

  “I got a little drunk,” she says.

  “I know. Me, too.”

  She kisses me on the cheek.

  “Did you have fun, Laurey?”

  “So much fun!” I say. It’s hard to help her walk when I’m in these stupid heels. We kind of careen out of the banquet hall.

  “I want us to have the best time,” she says.

  “We are!” I promise her. “We really are.”

  Well, we were.

  Before the stupid dessert.

  TOM

  DAY FOUR

  UPPER DECK, LOWER DECK. I couldn’t find Laurel anywhere.

  The concierge wouldn’t give me her suite number, he said it’s the ship’s policy, but he did connect me with her room phone.

  I left only two messages—any more would have been pathetic. Given my history with messages, leaving just one was colossally stupid, but I was obviously on a stupid jag.

  Then I called Derek.

  He didn’t pick up.

  “Man!” I said to his voice mail. “I really wish you’d pick up. I need to hear … I need a friendly voice. Argggh. Okay. Call me. Whatever.”

  Then I went to the gym and exercised until I threw up.

  Which is what I should have done before the stupid ball.

  If I don’t work out twice a day, I don’t get rid of all my … whatever, emotion.

  I should have known better.

  * * *

  At breakfast, Rich came and found me.

  Doing damage control. Checking in on me. Seeing how I was.

  Would I still be acting like a jerk or would I be rational?

  I could see him sussing me out as he walked over.

  “Good morning, Tom,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I never meant for you to be put on the spot that way.”

  “Whatever, Rich,” I say.

  “The coverage, you should know, is really great.”

  He has an iPad under his arm.

  He sees my eyes dart to it.

  “Do you want to see? It’s everywhere. TMZ, HuffPost Celebrity, it’s even on RyanSeacrest.com.”

  “No,” I say. “I don’t want to see.”

  “Well, listen, if the thing with Sabbi is making you feel bad, we’ll can it. We need you focused and happy so you can keep on doing your thing—making sure everyone knows how wonderful Solu is, et cetera. If you spend not another moment with Sabbi, it’s fine with me. I’ll smooth things over for you.”

  “Thanks. That’s really generous of you.”

  “Oooh,” he says, waving the air away. “The sarcasm in here is overpowering. I said I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

  He’s honest. I have to give him that.

  “I’m just … I’m tired of my personal life being something that’s just for show,” I tell him.

  “That’s heavy, man. I feel you,” he says.

  Tamara appears, carrying a plate of oatmeal with berries and cream. Did they plan to double-team me again or is this a coincidence?

  “Rich,” she says. “I noticed something you might want to look into.”

  She doesn’t even address me, just sits down next to me like everything’s fine.

  She takes his iPad and loads his Twitter feed, entering the hashtag #Solu.

  I scan down the list, reading along with Rich.

  Luxury, whatever. I want more #Solu.

  Hungry! Where’s my #Solu?

  Who gives a f*#% about shuttle board. GIVE ME MORE #SOLU

  #Solu #GottaHaveitNOW!!!!!!

  This cruise sucks. All I want is MORE #SOLU

  Parties are awesome but they need to give us more #SOLU.

  Imma kill someone if I don’t get my dose LOL! #Solu

  “People seem angry,” I say.

  “Hmmm,” Rich says. “Will you two excuse me?”

  Rich slips away. Tamara opens a packet of Solu and sprinkles it over her oatmeal.

  “How you liking that Solu?” I ask. If she wants to pretend like the thing with Sabbi didn’t happen it’s fine with me.

  She shrugs.

  “It seems to be working,” she answers. “On me and on everyone else.”

  She nods toward the rest of the dining hall.

  I take a look, a real look, at the passengers chowing down.

  They look thinner. No question. There’s a general bagginess to the clothes of almost all the people in the dining hall.

  The other thing is that people look crabby. Dour around the mouth.

  Maybe everyone’s hungover after the ball.

  There’s a small crowd of passengers near the maître d’s stand.

  “They didn’t make the muffins,” Tamara says, commenting on the direction I’m looking. “They’re saying each passenger can have two packets of Solu—nothing else. People are pretty grumpy about it. May be a tough day of shooting, I think.”

  She takes out her phone and brings up an image.

  It’s a shot of me kissing Sabbi on PerezHilton.com. The slugline reads: SABBI GETS POUNDED BY BABY TOM-TOM! WHO’S BANGING WHO ON THE SOLU LAUNCH?

  “You know, it’s just business,” Tamara says, sipping her coffee.

  “Not to the girl I like,” I respond.

  “Who? Boots? She’s a big girl. She’ll understand.”

  “I doubt it,” I say.

  “Since when do you care about the commoners?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You haven’t dated a regular, mortal girl in … ever,” she says.

  She looks at me. Her eyes are silver. The color of a scalpel.

  “Laurel’s the first real girl I’ve ever had the chance to talk to, if you want to know the truth,” I tell her.

  “You set with questions for the Zhang interview?”

  Classic Tamara. She ignores what I’ve said, as if we’re done with the topic.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  I’m thinking about what a drag it’s going to be working, when all I want to do is find Laurel and explain. Try to explain.

  Tamara snaps her fingers in my face.

  “Stay with me, Tom. It’s Day Four. We’re more than halfway done with this effin’ gig.”

  I’m surprised. Gruff as she may be, it’s not like her to curse. Especially not about a paying job.

  Tamara licks her finger and inserts it into the empty packet of Solu.

  “What?” she says, catching me studying her.

  LAUREL

  DAY FOUR

  “COME ON, SWEETIE.” I try to coax Viv. “We’re in Mexico. Mexico! It’s going to be so fun. This is the excursion you were the most excited about!”

  I read from our tickets: “Snorkeling and gourmet lunch on a catamaran! See the colorful sights on one of the most pristine coral reefs in the west Caribbean. Enjoy a feast of authentic local delicacies prepared and served on a luxury catamaran.”

  “Stop talking,” she growls from under her pillow.

  “If you won’t listen to me, listen to Lorna!”

  I turn up the volume on the TV.

  “Another beautiful day at sea as we begin Day Four of this beautiful journey. Friends, I don’t know about you, but I’m down a size! Thank you, Solu!

  “I saw Luka Harris out by the pool yesterday and his swim trunks nearly fell off. Again I say, thank you, Solu.”

  She winks at the camera. (Ew.)

  “We’ll be disembarking in beautiful Cozumel in one half hour. Please meet up in the Celestial Lounge if you are headed out on an excursion.”

  “Ugh,” Viv groans. “Just go already and
let me die.”

  I shut off the TV as Lorna launches into a list of the shipboard activities for the day.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I ask Viv. “You were looking forward to the snorkeling so much.”

  “If you put a mouthpiece in my mouth, I will fill it with vomit, I promise you. Just go.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “A million percent. Just set me some Pips on the night table. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  I grab my purse and slide my feet into my prairie boots.

  “Hey, Viv,” I say. “Do me a favor and don’t have Solu today? You’ve lost so much weight already. Maybe just lay off for the day?”

  “Yes,” she says. “I know. I’ve been overdoing it. Honestly, I’m going to lie here and watch movies and just veg out. Now, go!”

  * * *

  Under the sea, there is no Tom Fiorelli.

  There is no cruise. No weird new sweetener that makes people act like drug addicts. No audition for Pensacola U hanging over my head.

  There is only the gentle rhythm of the sweet, warm water and colors dancing in sunlit ripples on the white ocean floor.

  I was a little scared at first. They gave us masks, fins, a flotation device designed to make snorkeling more comfortable and a little speech about how to clear your snorkel. (Okay, it’s not rocket science, you blow.) But jumping off the boat out into the middle of the ocean was kind of intense. And my breathing sounded super loud, like I was in a horror movie.

  But then I saw fish.

  Amazing fish. All different colors—from neon through the rainbow, to sneaky camouflage browns and grays. And the different kinds of fish have these personalities. The yellow-and-gray ones have long pointy noses and they edge away from me, real suspicious, and there are some little round blue guys that come right up to me and try to nibble my hair. The prettiest, I think, are the swarms of silver fish, shining and rippling as a mass, like they are made up of sunlight.

  Even though I’m surrounded by other snorkeling passengers, and the boat is only a hundred feet away, I feel like I’m alone in this precious new world. It makes me want to play some music.

  It makes me feel at peace, for the first time since I came aboard the Extravagance.

  Screw Tom Fiorelli.

  * * *

  Lunch is really fun, too. I so wish Viv were with me.

  We sit at a table set in the middle of the boat, where there’s shade from the roof.

  The waiters set down giant pitchers of sangria, lemonade, and iced tea on the table. And a bowl with Solu packs.

  Almost everyone besides me takes two packets (you can tell some people want to take more, but they’re civil about it.)

  They sweeten their iced tea and clink! Everyone cheers!

  I’m drinking the lemonade, which is already really sweet and crisp. (Nothing wrong with good old-fashioned sugar.)

  I’m so glad my nausea has finally gone away.

  The waiters pass big platters of chicharrónes (fried chicken chunks), rice and beans, and fried sweet plátanos.

  It’s not gourmet, but it’s delicious.

  “Mmmm, now that’s good!” says the woman next to me. Her name is Peggy; she and her husband, Hal, are from New York.

  “And you can eat as much as you want, my dear,” says Hal. “Your diet days are over!”

  “I’ll drink to that!” booms a guy from Milwaukee from across the table.

  “Can you imagine?” Peggy says to me, a huge grin on her face. “We can eat whatever we want! Solu will take the weight right off.”

  All the passengers are laughing and eating with gusto. Maybe I’m wrong about Solu. It does seem to work. And it’s making these people really happy.

  * * *

  I feel so great when I head back on board at the end of the day. I have that delicious, beachy, sunburned kind of tiredness. And I’m really excited to have a great time with Viv. Whatever she wants to do, I’m going to do it.

  Viv’s not in the room.

  She’s left a note: “Got too hungry. Went to dinner. Alone.” With a sad face.

  I shower quickly and dress for dinner.

  I wear the black-and-white-striped minidress Viv offered me the night before, with a pair of her sandals.

  I’m betting she’ll get a kick out of me wearing her stuff.

  * * *

  I enter the Aurora and see … Well, the first thing I see is Tom seated with another big table full of VIPs. One of whom, of course, is Sabbi. But I see that they’re not next to each other, which is weird. Whatever. I’m not going to notice (okay, I already did).

  I’m not going to care.

  Viv is sitting with the family from our first night on the boat and it looks like they’ve already eaten their main courses.

  When she sees me, she jumps to her feet.

  “Where have you been?” she says. “I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It was so beautiful out there. I just got swept up in it all.”

  She does not look well.

  Her face looks gaunt, with dark circles under her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She waves my concern away.

  “I will be,” she says.

  “It’s not right,” says the mom. “You shouldn’t make your friend worry like that.” I guess Viv’s been complaining about me to them.

  The freshmen twins look like they’re enjoying my discomfort.

  “Are you going to sit down or what?” Viv snaps.

  “Viv, what’s wrong?” I ask.

  “You don’t show up for dinner. You’re gone all day. I’ve been really worried!”

  “I didn’t realize the time,” I say.

  The mom huffs aloud, like I’m a big jerk.

  A waiter comes by.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “Is it possible for me to put in an order? I was late. So sorry.”

  “Of course, madam,” he says.

  “I love it when they call me ‘madam,’” I say to Viv.

  She won’t even look at me.

  One of the twins is bouncing his leg so hard the table’s moving. And what’s weirder is that no one notices but me. The silverware’s jangling and the water in the glasses is jumping and all the people are just looking around in the room.

  “When’s it coming, Mom?” the other twin asks.

  “Soon, baby, soon.”

  Suddenly I get it.

  It’s the Solu. They’re all waiting for the Solu to come out. The hairs on my arms prickle in a wave.

  “Viv,” I say. “We need to talk. I think we need to talk about Solu.”

  She grabs my wrist, hard, and hisses.

  “Don’t say one word about it. You don’t understand. You’re not taking it. You don’t get what it’s like.”

  “You’re hurting me,” I say.

  Another waiter passes by.

  “Where’s our dessert?” the father of the teens demands. “We’re all waiting!”

  “Yeah!” people at our table and other tables chime in.

  “It will be out momentarily,” the waiter assures them all.

  When it comes out, there’s lots of complaining. The dessert is a small sliver of key lime pie—the portion is pretty meager.

  “This isn’t enough!” I hear a woman complaining. “Not nearly enough!”

  Then when they bring out the packets, there’s only one packet per person.

  “With all the money we’re paying to be here? This is an outrage!” the dad huffs.

  People are pissed, but they dig in to their desserts quickly. They basically inhale them.

  My mind flashes to the ten packs of Solu I have in our hotel safe. I bet I could sell each packet for fifty dollars to these people. Maybe more.

  My roast chicken comes just as people are finishing their pie. The waiter has set my slice of pie in front of me and I realize that everyone at the table is staring at it.

  “Can I have it?” Viv asks.

  “I don’t
think you should, Viv. I really don’t. The Solu is making people act weird,” I say.

  “I’ll eat it if you don’t want it!” one of the twins says.

  “No—” I say, but before I can, he reaches across the table and takes it.

  “You jack-hole!” his brother yells and tries to grab some of the pie for himself.

  Everyone at the table starts yelling at the boys, but Viv turns to me.

  “I can’t believe you!” she shouts. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”

  She looks pale, really pale and then, to my horror, her eyes roll up in her head and she slides off her chair.

  I stand up.

  The twins are still fighting over my pie crumbs.

  I try to pull Viv up, but no one helps me.

  The waiters around the room are being accosted by irate passengers.

  I stand up and yell for the only person I can think of. “Tom!”

  He’s standing in a heartbeat. He scans around the room, looking for me.

  I see him see me, and (Oh, thank you, God) his face lights up.

  “I need help!” I shout.

  He makes his way through the dining hall.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

  Then he sees Vivika.

  “My friend Vivika collapsed,” I say. “I don’t know what’s going on! Everyone’s acting crazy.”

  He bends and gently slides his hands under Viv.

  When he lifts her up, the shoulder of her dress slides down. She’s, like, floating in that dress.

  “I got her,” he says. “It’s okay.”

  “This way,” I tell him, and I edge my way through the people. I see the waiters rapidly distributing even slimmer second slices of pie all around.

  Sabbi comes up to us. She’s wearing a red leather vest that squishes her cleavage up like two balloons.

  “Where are you going?” she asks Tom. “I thought we were going to hang out later.”

  “No, I’m afraid not,” Tom says. His eyes dart to mine. “That whole thing is not gonna happen.”

  We start to move out the door.

  She follows us into the hall.

  “What do you mean, ‘is not going to happen’? It already is happening. It’s all over the place.”

  “This isn’t a good time, Sabbi. We can talk later.”

  “He is carrying a person,” I chip in.

  “Carrying a person or not, arrangements have been made. Should we meet at the club?”