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“So sorry ma’am.” I grip the woman’s arms and haul us back to standing with as much dignity as I can muster, picking up her fruit hat and shoving it into her arms. Zoey is still against the wall, her hands over her mouth. I don’t care. I don’t care if she’s crying. Kicking the banana out of the way, I rush for the exit.
The fruit ladies stare. Behind them, old Gertrude from the spa is sitting on a rolling cart filled with stuffed bananas, wearing her own gold jumpsuit and fruit hat.
“I thought you were a nice boy,” Gertrude says, smacking me with her penis cane as I pass by. The sharp pain of the rod across my ass seems like a fitting end to a week spent making an ass of myself. I shove my shoulder into the door. The last thing I see are Zoey’s eyes, as liquid and bittersweet as molten cacao.
* * *
ZOEY
Jamie and Oscar come looking for me backstage. The show is long over. It’s only me and a bunch of props back here now.
“That sure looks cozy,” Jamie says when they find me in the back corner.
“Except I didn’t figure you for a bag of dicks kind of gal,” Oscar says, gesturing at the pile of stuffed bananas I’m leaning against. I giggle and sniffle all at once.
“Honey, what happened?” Jamie says. “You and Sebastian were incredible. Either you practiced that in advance, or you have some serious mind reading abilities.”
“Or intuitive physical communication,” Oscar says, leaning into Jamie’s shoulder and toying with a strand of Jamie’s gorgeous hair.
My tears come fresh and fast. At the sight, both Jamie and Oscar plop down beside me on the pile of bananas.
“Here’s your phone, honey,” Jamie says, handing my device back to me from his shirt pocket, where he’s kept it all evening. “You got a bunch of texts.”
For a second my heart leaps into my throat, but then I open my phone and see they were all from Anna and Grant.
Anna: SOS, Mike is flying to NOLA tonight!
Anna: He knows something is up!
Anna: He’s planning to meet “me” at the boat at the dock in the morning! You have to sneak off without him seeing you, okay?
And an hour later.
Anna: Where are you? Is everything alright? Are you getting these?
An hour after that.
Anna: Please say something, Zo.
Twenty minutes ago.
Anna: Sis!!!! I’m about to board my flight to NOLA so I can meet Mike at the boat in the morning! Tell me you got these messages!
While Anna’s messages are worrying, Grant’s should be exciting. They’re no longer about sex. He wants me to come meet him and some big director tomorrow morning to talk about a possible job. Grant, this director, and Meghan all got drunk together during the big Hollywood wedding week and came up with her next film idea. But about half of it takes place in a fast-moving car, hence their need for me and Grant. Wear black, he says, so I match the black dress Meghan will wear at the post-wedding brunch. Maybe this will turn into another big film franchise. This could be great for my career. But even this doesn’t make me feel better.
“Nothing from Sebastian,” I say, dropping my phone on the hard floor.
“What the hell happened between you?” Jamie asks. “When he came back to get his phone from me, he looked like somebody had shot his pet chicken, and he’d been traumatized by all those feathers.” I can’t even laugh.
“I told Sebastian I wasn’t Anna.”
“Oh, honey.” He lets me cry into his brand-new Dior resort collection shirt like a true friend.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
SEBASTIAN
The ship’sdocking noises are muffled from the stairwell, which is my assigned disembarkation waiting area. I’m lucky to be in the second de-boarding group of the day and it’s nearly time for us to get off the ship in New Orleans. People are growing impatient, jostling each other.
