“In the basement?” Maira asked. “Okay, creepy.”
“Not like a creepy basement,” Annie said. She felt embarrassment rise in her cheeks and took a breath. “Do I want to know? I don’t know. Do I?”
“Greg comes to everything. He comes on the cruises. He goes to the meet and greets. He’s a big fan. But the thing about being a male Boy Talk fan? It’s almost like—what do you call it? You remember that Steve Martin movie where he has the big nose? And the cute firefighter pretends to be him to make the mermaid fromSplashfall in love with him?”
“It’sCyrano,” Annie said. “I get it.” The plot was the same—thehandsome hunk can barely string a sentence together, so eloquent Cyrano woos in his place, and the hunk climbs up to the balcony and makes love to her. In Annie’s case, Boy Talk was Cyrano, wooing en masse out of reach, and then all Greg had to do was wear a nightcap and offer her a beer. It was pathetic, but it worked. A classic was a classic for a reason.
“No, it was called something else. Anyway, that’s what Greg does. He sees all of us with hearts in our eyes and he just tries and tries until someone says yes. He’s probably slept with as many people as Corey West has, honestly. All of them Talkers. He still lives with his parents. Did he tell you that? He does.”
Annie cringed and was glad when the server reappeared to wipe the slate clean. They ordered eggs and French toast and regular toast and orange juice and coffee—and some fruit and some sausage. Why not? It was all free. When the waiter left, Annie took a sip of water and started.
“And what about the guys? I feel like there’s a lot I don’t know about them, at least anymore.”
Maira batted her eyes. “I told you that you’d want to meet them.” She reached around and patted herself on the back. “Which one? Still Shawn? Or somebody else?”
“Keith.” Annie blushed. “Just tell me. What should I know?”
Maira rolled her head on her neck, and Annie could hear the crackling noises from across the table. She took a deep breath. “Honestly?” she said. “I think he’s lonely.”
“How could you possibly know that?” Annie shook her head. “Come on.”
“ ‘Come on’ nothing,” Maira said. “Some people are experts at nuclear physics, and I’m an expert at this. Body language. The way he talks in interviews. I don’t know what’s happening in his personal life, obviously, but I know that everyone brings their personal life to work in one way or another. Don’t you think?”
Annie thought about her office, at least pre-Covid, when they were all together all the time. No one had been surprised when she’d told them she and Chris were getting a divorce. They’d all told her a thousand times how wonderful Claudia was, how precious, how smart. They’d watched the videos of her karate belt ceremonies and drum recitals. No one had ever said something nice about Chris. It wasn’t the same exactly, but wasn’t it at least a little bit? Maybe Maira was onto something.
“And why are these girls so mad at you?”
“I told you. I was working for Scotty’s SkinSentials—which is actually really high quality, by the way—and I signed up a whole bunch of Talkers, but it’s not always easy to sell, based on your location or your social media followers or whatever. So people got mad. It’s not my fault.”
Annie nodded the way she nodded when Claudia was telling her a story about something she didn’t want to admit, like getting a bad grade or a friend who’d ditched her. It wasn’t an answer, but it also wasn’t a denial. Maira was right—they were all in the middle of their own storylines. The ship was full of them. Annie thought of the sign on the deck, the woman looking for a kidney. Maybe she spent the parties walking around staring at women and wondering,Is it you? Is it you?
“Come on,” Annie said. She crossed her arms on the table. “Tell me one thing.”
Maira waved her hands in front of her face. “You tell one person to drop dead, and all of a sudden, you’re dangerous. Enough, enough, judge and jury.”
Annie sucked in a breath. “Ouch. So why do you come if you know there are going to be people like that here, people who are really mad at you? Doesn’t it make it uncomfortable?” Annie had had a hard enough time climbing aboard—she couldn’t imagine coming when she knew there would be trouble.
Maira was wearing beaded bracelets that had the guys’ names on them. Annie could picture Maira making them one bead at a time. She understood. This—whatever this was—was not easily replaceable. You couldn’t make old friends, and you couldn’t make old love. Joy was important, even if you also told people to drop dead. “I like to meet new people. I like to have fun. I can take it,” Maira said. “If no one messes with me. They just better not mess with me. Because I do not deal well with that. My husband always tells me, ‘You’ve got anger issues.’ ” Maira shrugged. “This is my happy place, and I don’t need people messing with it.”
“I don’t love the sound of anger issues, but I get it. I think I get it, at least. I’m starting to,” Annie said.
The server came by and set down a giant tray of plates, enough to cover their entire table.
“Oh, I know you are,” Maira said. She looked at the bounty on their table. “Goody, it’s my cheat day.”
35
Sunday, 10:59 a.m.
Deck 5
Keith needed shaving cream, and he needed a walk. He would have asked his brother for the shaving cream, but he didn’t want to see his brother until he had to. The longer he went without having to talk to Shawn, the more likely it was for Keith to be able to make it to the end of the cruise without saying something he couldn’t take back, without sayingI quit, I quit, I quit, I quitin the same angry voice he’d used as a little boy when Shawn had ridden him too hard about playing baseball or throwing rocks through an already broken window. Keith put on a hat, sunglasses, and a face mask, a disguise that would slow Talkers down for a maximum of three seconds.
The shared areas of the Sanctuary were empty, and the guard sitting at the door just nodded at Keith when he popped his head out. One of the things Keith most wished he could have was the ability to exist unobserved. Privacy and fame were opposite sides of a single transaction. The scary part was that Keith knew he was getting closer to having privacy again. Most days, he was already there. Not on the ship but in his real life, when all the Talkers dispersed. He wanted it almost as much as he feared it, in equal measure.
“Need a body guy?” the guard asked, hand already on his walkie-talkie.
“No thanks,” Keith said. “I’ll just be a minute. Thank you, though.”
