Sweet (16 page)

She nods her head. Tears drop from her bowed head.

Voices come then, from out in the hall. They're excited and there're the sounds of yelling and fists hitting against the hallway walls.

Viv and I look out of our doorway at the passengers.

“Let's see what's going on,” I suggest.

She nods and we follow the flood of people up onto the pool deck.

The captain, Mr. Almstead, and Dr. Zhang are standing up on a little raised deck near the pool, and passengers are crowded around, yelling at them. But the passengers aren't getting too close, because there are three guards standing at the foot of the platform.

I see the one hugely muscle-y guy with the crew cut. His two buddies are nearly as gigantic. (It's like he cloned lesser copies of himself.) The three of them are standing, arms crossed, in front of the platform, wearing steel-gray security uniforms.

They have guns! I see shoulder holster-y type things under their arms!

It's eighty-five degrees and as balmy as bathwater, but I break out in a cold sweat.

Viv starts to push forward, into the crowd. I follow her, as best I can, but people are much more aggressive than your usual crowd. (It's not like they're gathering around a street performer.)

This is … it's an angry mob, I realize. I am standing in an angry mob.

“Look, folks, what can I say? We made a mistake. We should have realized we needed to start you all on a small dosage and go from there,” Mr. Almstead says as loudly as he can.

I feel bad for him. He's just this little old man.

Suddenly I'm glad he has armed guards. He might actually need their protection.

And I am really glad to be wearing my motorcycle boots right now. They make me feel safe.

“We are surprised by the symptoms you are experiencing and we're very sorry,” Dr. Zhang adds. Her younger, stronger voice carries farther into the crowd. “And by decreasing your doses gradually, over the remainder of the cruise, we will gently ease you away from the stress you are experiencing now—”

“It's not bloody stress,” a British man shouts. “It's excruciating!”

People holler their agreement.

“It's clear to us we're going to need to make adjustments in the formulation,” Dr. Zhang says.

“Hey, it's a great product, but it needs to be tweaked. That's life,” Almstead, maybe not so helpfully, adds.

“When do we get our doses?” a woman demands.

“Yeah!” a man echoes. “We paid for Solu and we want Solu!”

“We've decided to distribute one packet of Solu for each passenger at each meal,” Dr. Zhang says.

The crowd boos and hisses.

Looking around, I see all these wealthy people—all the minor celebrities, and their faces are drawn and lined and angry.

Clothes are draping off them.

They look like extras in some bizarre modern-day luxury-cruise production of
Les Miserables.

I feel someone's eyes on me from behind. I turn and see Sabbi and her clique. They're standing up on the observation deck above, where the hot tub is, looking down at the whole scene.

I can't hear what they're saying, but I see Sabbi say something and the rest of them laugh. They're looking down on the angry crowd.

Good. I mean, good for them. Really. At least someone has the sense to stay out of this insane scene.

Sabbi sees me looking at her and gestures to me, waving me up to join them.

I elbow Viv and nod toward Sabbi.

Viv looks up.

Sabbi signals again, mouthing the words,
Come here.

“Oh my God,” Viv says. “We've been summoned. Let's go.”

I'm not sure what to do, so I follow Viv as she fights through the crowd.

*   *   *

Up on the observation deck, Sabbi's got two bottles of champagne chilling on ice and a tray overflowing with cheese, grapes, and nuts.

The people in her clique look just as unnaturally skinny as everyone else on board. One of the girls is wearing a bikini that looks like it's made of yarn and postage stamps.

They have music playing off someone's iPhone and everyone is bopping, moving to the beat. Some of them don't even look like they realize they're moving, but they're twitching, bouncing their feet. Edgy.

One of the bronzed, minor-deity-looking guys is rubbing Sabbi's back. I realize I know him. He's an actor. He's known for his shaggy blond hair.

Luke someone. The one Lorna Krieger keeps going on about in her morning messages.

Sabbi is thinner, but still mind-numbingly gorgeous. She looks like the famished twin of her more voluptuous self.

I bet there are fan protest sites going up about how much weight she's lost off her butt. (Though I guess the most recent shots won't be getting out there since the Internet is down.)

“
Bom dia,
” she says. “You're the girl Tom likes, right? Laura?”

“Laurel,” I correct her.

“Have some champagne. You ever had Cristal? It really is better than the rest. It's not just marketing.”

“I've never tried it,” Viv says.

“You'll love it,” Sabbi purrs. “What's your name?”

“Vivika.”

“I love that dress. Stella McCartney?”

Viv nods. I'm glad to see her pepping up a bit.

“I have it in green,” Sabbi says. “Trevor, we need Cristal.”

A short guy in a pair of really baggy green trunks comes over.

“Hey, I know you,” he says to Viv.

“We met at Key West,” Viv says. “On the beach.”

“Yeah, totally.” Trevor checks her out. “Looking good, baby.”

Viv rolls her eyes, but laughs.

He pours her a glass of champagne and she tastes it.

“Wow, it is really good,” she says.

“You know what makes it better? Drink it in the hot tub.”

Viv laughs.

“You think I'm kidding, but I'm serious!” He's smiling, bouncing on the soles of his feet.

Viv gives me a look and I shrug. She can go in the hot tub if she wants.

Trevor puts his hand on Viv's shoulder and leads her over to it. More of Sabbi's people are in there, lounging and splashing and, yes, drinking Cristal.

“Luka, my sweet, would you mind if I talked to Laurel alone?”

“Sure thing, Sabbi. I'll go soak.”

He walks over to the tub. His suit is riding perilously low on his hips. (Lorna would freak out.)

“We're gonna be a thing. Me and Luka,” Sabbi tells me, watching Luka. “In the papers. Tom's not going to come out looking so good.”

“Oh,” I say. “Did you want me to tell him or something?”

Sabbi looks at me, those famous brown eyes taking my stock.

“Who are you, anyway?” she asks.

“Just Laurel Willard, from Fort Lauderdale.”

“What do you do?”

“Well … I play the guitar.”

“Are you in a band?” she asks.

“No. I'm just a high school senior. I play the guitar. I go to school.”

“I see. So it's a plain-Jane kind of a thing,” she says with a kind of sad, pitying smirk on her (gorgeous, famous) face.

“Yep,” I say. I lean in. “Maybe he even likes me because I'm plain. Maybe he's freaky like that.”

I turn to leave.

“Wait, stay, hang out with me. I want to know you.”

“We're going ashore,” I tell her. Not that it's any of her business.

“No, you're not.”

“What do you mean?” I say, turning back to face her.

“You're not going anywhere today.”

“Aren't we docking in Belize?”

She shakes her head.

“They canceled it. We're staying at sea. Didn't you watch the morning announcement lady?” I shake my head.

“They canceled going ashore?” I ask, my voice rising. This is not good. “But … we need to go.”

“People were selling Solu on shore,” a lanky girl with bleached out hair over by the cheese tray says. “That's why we're not going to dock.”

“Shut up, Maggie,” Sabbi says. “You don't know what you're talking about, as usual. They canceled docking in Belize because of this,” Sabbi gestures out to the crowd of now-dispersing but still-angry passengers. “Bad publicity. It's the same reason they shut off our Internet service.”

“You think they did that on purpose?” I ask.

“Tsk. You, my friend, are very innocent.”

A waiter comes up with a covered tray.

“Miss Ribiero, Mr. Almstead gave us permission to honor your request. He asks that you use discretion, so as to not upset the other passengers.”

Sabbi smiles and winks at the waiter.

“Of course, absolutely!” she says.

She reaches down to a little silver pouch in her straw handbag and takes out a hundred dollar bill. She presses it into the waiter's hand.

“
Obrigada,
” she says.

He's wearing a big smile as he removes the silver cover from the platter and places it down on an empty side table.

Splayed out in a fan are maybe thirty packets of Solu.

“Everyone! Snack is here,” Sabbi calls.

All of Sabbi's crew immediately come out of the hot tub and draw around, dripping wet.

“Yes!”

“Awesome!”

Sabbi takes three-packets for herself and the others dig in.

She looks at me and smiles.

“Go ahead,” she says.

“No, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” she says. She runs her eyes up my figure.

“Yes. Quite,” I reply.

Viv is standing just outside the group. I see her staring at the remaining packets.

“Come on, Viv,” I say. “Let's go … Let's go…”

She's transfixed by those packets.

Viv looks at me and looks away.

She starts to shake.

“Let's go and have a swim!” I say. “Or Jet Ski! Let's go find the captain and demand he puts us ashore. Come on, Viv.”

I cross to her. I'm going to drag her away, but as I'm moving she flashes her hand out, too, and grabs two packets.

“Don't!” I say. “Don't have any more.”

“Hey!” Sabbi says loudly. “Vivika is welcome to party with us. More than welcome. And I think you should leave her be to make her own decisions.”

“Yeah,” Trevor says. “We're all grown-ups here.”

“Viv, please!” I tell her and I try to take the packets from her.

“You should go,” Viv says. “You should go, Laurel.”

I see that Luka is now chopping up a pack of Solu on a glass table. With a razor blade.

Dear God, they're going to sniff it like cocaine.

“Please, Vivika.” Tears are falling down my face. “Don't do any more of this stuff.”

But she turns away from me, and stuffs the two packets in her mouth.

“Viv, DON'T!”

She chews, then swallows the packets, paper and all.

“Oh,” she moans. She brings her hands up to her head. “Oh God, it feels so good.”

Sabbi's crowd cheers and Trevor pulls Viv to him and kisses her on the mouth.

I stumble down the stairs.

I need Tom.

 

TOM

DAY FIVE

I'M PUSHING MY WAY
through the crowd on the pool deck. People look scary thin.

Almstead has just made some kind of announcement, but I missed it.

Laurel and Viv must be here somewhere. First I see Cubby.

“Cubby!” I shout.

He pushes his way over to me.

“Have you seen Tamara?” he asks.

“She came by my room earlier,” I tell him. “She gave me the morning off. You, too?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Studded between the angry, muttering, stick-skinny, Solu-taking passengers I see a few other people who look robust and healthy. Regular, non-addicted people.

They look as dazed and scared as Cubby and I must look.

“Hey, aren't you glad you didn't take the stuff?”

“God, yeah!” I answer. “These people are sick.”

“Me, too,” he says. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

The addicts don't seem to know where to go. They're buzzing and griping, milling around.

“Tom!” I hear Laurel's voice.

I step up onto a lounge chair so I can try to find her.

I see her waving to me from near the stairway. She looks upset.

I push my way to her. Cubby follows.

“Watch it!” someone growls. I'm surprised to see it's one of the staff—a Filipino waiter, gaunt and scowling, circulating a tray of cappuccinos and espressos, which no one seems to want.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Laurel crashes into my arms.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” she says.

“Oh, Cubby,” I say, remembering Laurel. “This is Laurel.”

“I remember you,” Cubby says. “Good to see you looking … not really skinny.”

“Same to you,” Laurel says. It would be funny—we're all happy to see one another with some body fat. Except that it's not.

Laurel grips my arm.

“Tom, Viv is up with Sabbi and they all took—” She stops mid-sentence, looking at the passengers around her in sudden fear.

She leans up to whisper in my ear.

“They all took extra doses of Solu. A waiter brought them their own tray.”

I'm listening to what she says, but I can't help but enjoy the sensation of her breath in my ear—her mouth so close to my neck. I am a guy, after all.

“We have to get her off the boat,” Laurel says. “But I heard the captain canceled our stop in Belize.”

“What?” I say. This is news to me.

“They're keeping us all on board.”

I look around at the milling, angry passengers. Cubby and I exchange a glance. This is not good.

“Come on,” I say, taking her hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To talk to Almstead.”

“You guys do that,” Cubby says. “I'm going to work on something else.”