From the corner of my eye, I spot Marlie’s ghost hovering near the dessert table, where she’s methodically passing her translucent hand through crepes and watching passengers shiver inexplicably when they take a bite. Her 1980s power suit and massive shoulder pads look oddly at home against the dramatic fjord backdrop.
Meanwhile, at a table near the railing, Bess and Nettie areliving their best lives. Boomer, in a stroke of casting genius, or perhaps sadistic humor, has recruited them as extras, positioning them with several of the soap hunks to create believable fan engagement—and then some.
The cameras turn in their direction.
“I’ve been watchingThe Young and the Heartlesssince the first episode,” Nettie tells Bridge Blackthorne, who appears both flattered and mildly concerned by her encyclopedic knowledge of his character’s romantic history. “In fact, I still have myBridge Blackthorne’s Romantic Conquestsscrapbook. Volume three was my favorite—your evil twin period was so deliciously complex.”
Bess, not to be outdone, has cornered Dr. Luca Carrington Jr. “I actually wrote forCriminal Hospitalbriefly in the ’80s,” she lies with impressive conviction. “I created that storyline where your character performed brain surgery during an earthquake while simultaneously defusing a bomb.”
“I don’t remember that episode,” Luca says with his brows furrowed. Oh wow, if he could have only managed that face in all those episodes that called for his character to look befuddled, he would have swept the Emmys.
“It was before your amnesia storyline,” Bess explains smoothly. “Which, of course, erased it from your character’s memory. Very method of you to stay consistent.”
“Back to our scene, ladies!” Boomer redirects the cameras our way. “Val, I want you to escalate the social media rivalry with Trixie. Maybe imply her amateur status is bringing down the show’s brand.”
Val nods, immediately shifting into character. “Sweetheart,” she says to me, her voice dipped in honey and venom, “perhaps I could help you with your social presence? It must be so difficult joining our little group without any life experience.”
“That’s perfect!” Boomer enthuses. “Now get more physical.Maybe fix her scarf like you’re helping but actually making it worse—or like you’re getting ready to strangle her.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter, my eyes quickly scanning the hundreds of faces lined up to watch a quasi-homicide. Speaking of homicides, thankfully Ransom is nowhere to be found. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t approve of his wife being mock-strangled for the sake of questionable entertainment.
Val steps toward me, reaching for my scarf with her perfectly manicured nails and begins adjusting it, gradually wrapping it tighter and tighter around my poor little neck.
“The key to good social media,” she continues, pulling the scarf a little snugger with each word, “is knowing exactly how to...position... yourself—advantageously.”
The scarf tightens uncomfortably, and my breathing gets cut off just enough. Val’s eyes have a strange gleam that doesn’t feel entirely scripted. For a moment, I wonder if I’m about to become the second homicide victim on this cruise, done in by cashmere strangulation.
“CUT!” Boomer shouts, and I can hear the glee in his voice. “That tension was magnificent! The metaphorical strangling becoming semi-literal—brilliant improvisation, Val!”
What improvisation?
Val releases my scarf as her camera-ready smile returns. “Sorry if that was too tight,” she says, actually sounding sincere. “I got a little carried away with the moment.”
“No problem,” I rasp and cough, readjusting my scarf as I take a full step back from the cashmere strangler. “Although if you’re looking for a new career, maybe stay out of the accessories aisle.”
She laughs, a genuine sound that momentarily cracks her polished veneer. “You’re funny, Trixie. It’s refreshing. Most people in this industry take themselves so seriously.”
“I guess someone has to,” I say. “Otherwise, the illusion collapses.”
Val grins. “You have no idea how much maintenance goes into the illusion. I’ve invested years, and a small fortune, in keeping time at bay.”
“Well, you’re doing a great job,” I tell her.
“All right, everyone, take fifteen!” Boomer announces. “We’ll reposition for the champagne toast in the scene next. Remember, we’re celebrating friendship while secretly plotting each other’s social demise!”
The crew gets busy rearranging equipment just as my phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out to see a text from Ransom. It seems Quinn has pulled him into some security situation involving a passenger who claims their diamond bracelet was stolen during last night’s show. Convenient timing for Quinn to keep Ransom away from watching the taping—and away from me.
It’s probably for the best. He’s not the biggest fan of our budding television careers anyway.
I look up, and across the deck, I spot Beth at the dessert station, absentmindedly stirring a cup of what looks like hot chocolate—all by her lonesome. She looks younger, more vulnerable standing in front of the stunning vistas before us. Her eyes keep darting to where her husband, Lance—or rather, Dr. Luca Carrington Jr.—is still being charmed by Bess’s outrageous soap opera fabrications, and, well, Nettie’s boobs.
It seems to me that this is the perfect opportunity for a little one-on-one investigation. Ransom might be occupied with Quinn’s wild diamond chase, but that doesn’t mean this case needs to stop.
After all, Beth and I are castmates now.
What could be more natural than a friendly chat between two reality TV colleagues?
I grab a couple of bread bowls of clam chowder and head toward Beth, ready to serve up some comfort food with a side of interrogation in this episode ofAs the Chowder Turns.
