“Sure, why not?”
Britt squeals and the rest of the crew talks excitedly among themselves. “You’ll love it,” Britt tells Nekesa.
“Is there dancing?” Nekesa asks.
“Is there dancing? Ha!” Britt says. “There’s dancing like you wouldn’t believe.” She grabs her radio and says into it, “Girls. Girls. Britt. Report to Nina’s room for hair, makeup, and pregaming in five.”
Seconds later Xav’s voice comes over our radios. “Knock it off, Britt.”
Britt cackles and grabs Nekesa by the arm to drag her toward the crew quarters. The rest of the crew, equally revived by the prospect of a night out, scarfs down what’s left of their dinner, talking over each other as they wash dishes and disappear to their rooms to shower and get dressed.
In the span of five minutes, the crew mess has gone from vibrant and loud to awkward and silent. Alyssa and I are the only ones left. I don’t like her, but having to work and party with people you’d never willingly spend time with in any other situation is the nature of the job.
I take the seat across from her as she picks at her salad. “I’m only going to bring this up once, because the situation is bad enough. You should know better than to try and hide something from me or Cap. You could’ve cost us the entire charter season. I ought to have Cap fire you right now, but I’m willing to give you one more chance. Does that sound good to you?”
Alyssa’s indifferent expression makes me want to hurl her salad across the room. Why can’t she just say,Sure, boss!and make this easy on me?
Instead, she stabs at her salad as if wishing it were my face. “Sounds great,” she says, the tone suggesting that, actually, it doesn’t sound great.
I get to my feet. “Enjoy the rest of your dinner,” I say, hoping it tastes like bitterness and disappointment.
***
I’ve spent many nights dancing my stress away at Lotus over the years, but I’ve never needed it more than I do right now. Tonight, the club is packed. We have to force our way through it to get to the nearest bar. Lights swirl above us, drenching everything in pink and purple hues.The bass of the music vibrates through me, shaking away the stress of the charter. It’s past ten, but the exhaustion that felt bone-deep only hours ago fades as I wade deeper inside, and by the time I’ve got my first margarita in hand, I have more energy than I’ve had since I stepped on board theSerendipityat the start of charter season.
I’ve always loved a good party. Back in Palm Beach, I strive to be at home as little as possible. Boredom is the enemy, and I will do anything to avoid it. Good music, a great dress, and a strong drink are my weapons of choice.
Britt, Nekesa, and Alyssa stand beside me, shouting conversation at each other between sips of their drinks. RJ and Ollie are at the other end of the bar, silent and miserable-looking. When they notice I’m watching them, they drop their gazes to their drinks and pretend they haven’t been staring at me and the girls for the last five minutes.
“Hey, Nina,” Britt says. “Your man is looking pretty sad over there. Do us all a favor and hook up with Ollie. You two are so intense, it stresses me out. Look.” She juts her chin at me. “I’m breaking out because of it.”
“You’re breaking out because you’re a slob and don’t wash off your makeup at night,” I say. “And besides, sleeping with Ollie will never work.”
“Why not?” Britt asks.
I set my empty glass on the bar. “It didn’t last time.”
Britt gapes at me as I dance away from her. I’ll probably regret admitting to the fact that Ollie and I have slept together, but everyone already thinks it, and Britt will likely end up too wasted to remember anyway.
Ollie sees me dancing his way but pretends he doesn’t. He stares down into his beer as if it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in years. Only when I’m dancing right in front of him does he acknowledge my presence.
“You look like a prairie woman in space,” he says, practically shouting so I can hear him over the music.
It’s not a compliment or a dig, but an observation devoid of judgment. My dress, made from holographic blue lamé, is a genuine Batsheva with puffy sleeves and a ruffled collar.
I hold out the skirt and dip into a curtsy. “Thank you,” I shout back. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”
Ollie doesn’t say anything. He takes a sip of his beer and pretends to be very interested in his surroundings, though Lotus is nothing new and he is more of a pub guy.
Suddenly, the energy within the club doesn’t feel like enough to carry me through my post-charter exhaustion. I wish the DJ would turn up the volume or play something I haven’t heard a million times before. I wish the crowd were wilder, but it’s a Wednesday night in March. Too soon for spring breakers, which is probably a good thing. Partying with a bunch of college students would only make me feel more out of place.
Earlier, as I’d gotten dressed along with the rest of the girls in my room, I wondered for the first time if Jo was right about my déjà vu being boredom. Eglé, stretched out on my bunk, taught us Lithuanian curse words between sips from a Solo cup filled with tequila. Britt’s accent was so bad it made even Alyssa laugh from where she sat on Ollie’s bunk tapping out texts.
I had been in the bathroom, standing before the mirror with a curling iron in one hand and a drink in the other. I’d felt entirely outside the moment as I watched Britt applying Nekesa’s makeup. The two of them sat cross-legged on the floor. It reminded me of all the times Jo and I sat like that, laughing as Britt told us stories about working Med season on theTalisman.
But things were different now. Jo wasn’t there, and though I wanted to enjoy the moment with the girls, a moment of fun where I didn’thave to be Boss Nina to the same degree, it didn’t feel right. It was so disorienting I had to look away. My eyes landed on Ollie’s toothbrush and toothpaste resting on the sink. The girls laughed hysterically as they played Fuck, Marry, Kill, but I couldn’t keep up with the conversation. For whatever reason, the splayed bristles of Ollie’s toothbrush and the tight precision with which he’d rolled the bottom of the toothpaste tube were more interesting.
“Ollie, Simon, and me?” Britt said, yanking me back into the conversation. “For Fuck, Marry, Kill,” she explained at my blank expression.
