Gabby took another hit, offered the joint to me again, and this time smiled when I took only the shallowest of puffs before handing it back.
“Sort of sweet and tomboyish,” she said. “That’s what I remember about you. Can’t believe how much you’ve changed. I stay in touch with a few girls from our class”-Gabby named several names-“and most of them already look like hell. They have kids, got fat, got skinny after their first divorce, and already getting fat again. But you’re looking good, Hannah. Not so plain, like in school, so I almost didn’t”-the girl stopped, aware she’d said something mean, then finished with a wider smile-“almost missed the chance to make a new girlfriend. We’re gonna have some fun, you and me.”
My old schoolmate was beginning to relax, I decided, but the smile left her face when I replied, “If that’s a compliment, I appreciated it. Now, tell me what I did that was so damn stupid.”
The woman sat up straight and got serious again. “Sybarite has a video monitoring system, you idiot! A whole closetful of electronics off the main salon. Your interview with Robert, I was watching. You still gonna sit there and play innocent?”
“Oh,” I whispered, too surprised not to sound guilty. My brain was already sifting through a series of lies that might explain my behavior. I was irked at myself for not having an excuse ready and also because I’d looked for cameras and had failed to spot a single one.
“What were you after, Hannah? You were looking for something. Might as well tell me the truth. I’ve got the recording”-she reached for her purse again-“the whole thing right here. It’s on a memory stick. Downloaded on my iPhone, too. You want to watch yourself opening drawers, going through private papers, when Robert wasn’t looking?”
It was all true. Every chance I’d gotten, I’d searched for a passenger list. My best opportunity had come when Simpson had stepped outside the helm area to take what he said was an important call. For the next four, maybe five minutes, I had moved like a thief, going through drawers, files, leafing through clipboards, and had almost gotten caught when Simpson surprised me by returning through a different door. In truth, the man would have caught me if he hadn’t dropped his cell phone as he entered. All I’d come away with was a shaky set of nerves and proof I’d been right about the man keeping sloppy records. Even the boat’s logbook was a mess, hadn’t been updated in more than three weeks.
“You want evidence?” Gabby was laughing as she scrolled through her iPhone. “Wait… I’m trying to find my favorite part… shit… I had it cued up. Here… here it is. I found it!”
Simpson squatting to pick up his phone, oblivious to me, mule-eyed, fumbling to jam a folder into a drawer before closing it, that was the woman’s favorite footage.
“The expression on your face!” she croaked after taking a final hit, fighting to hold the smoke in. “Like you’re about to pee your pants!”
I wasn’t laughing. “Why are you showing me this, not Simpson?”
“He’s a prick, I already told you. I erased it from the computer, so no need to worry-as long as I have the only copy.”
My classmate was threatening me.
I turned the radio down until my seat stopped vibrating, then finally found the window button, needing fresh air. After a couple of deep breaths, I said, “What’s the real reason?”
There was a thing Gabby did with her face I remembered from high school, fluttering her eyelashes, cheeks sucked in, something she thought looked innocent and cute. She made the face now before replying, “Thing is, sweetie, I don’t care what you were looking for. The name of your screw-around husband or boyfriend, that’s my guess. It wouldn’t be the first time. Or cash… or you’ve got some sort of mental compulsion-my last roommate couldn’t pass a mirror without touching it no matter how hard she tried. You’re not a cop, so who the hell cares? Robert’s gonna offer you the job. That’s why we’re sitting here. It’ll be a week or two, but he’ll do it. I just want to make sure we’ve got some kind of arrangement in place when you start working as first mate.” Gabby had fiddled with the radio as she talked so my seat was vibrating again, a punk group doing “Missing You.”
Her threat was beginning to take shape.
“What do you want?” I asked.
What Gabby wanted in return for not showing Robert Simpson the video was fifty percent of my tips for the first six months, after that twenty percent, which was five percent more than the standard cut between Sybarite’s first mate and what she called “the hostesses.”
“I don’t even know how much money we’re talking,” I responded. “What makes you so sure I’ll get the job? Did he say something?”
Cupping her hands beneath her breasts, Gabby said, “Because of these, sweetie. You’re the first qualified woman to apply and you’ve got a nice set of tits-something I don’t remember you having in high school, by the way. On Sybarite, a good body means a hell of a lot more than experience.” She paused, her eyes moving from my breasts to my face. “So what about it?”
I thought she meant the deal she’d just offered until she continued, “I got my implants six years ago, and they’ve totally changed my life. Who did yours?”
I told her, “An inheritance from a dead aunt, I guess, but it was a long time before they showed up. Back to the subject of money-”
Gabby interrupted, “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! With your body and those legs, my God, Hannah, you’ll look so goddamn hot in nautical whites. Or our navy blues, which we wear in winter, except for formal dinners…”
The girl went on about uniforms for a while, everything custom-tailored-shorts, blouses, slacks, and blazers-before telling me, “Our clients will eat you up-literally… if you’re willing. That’s where the real money is, sweetie. Keep in mind that, you and me, we only share tips you make on cruises. Any sideline stuff you arrange with clients, it’s yours to keep. Cut the right deal with Robert, he’ll even give you permission to wear a Sybarite uniform if it’s one of our regulars. More than a few have a fetish for the whole uniform thing.”
The new expression on my face caused Gabby to laugh again. “It’s not like I’m talking about being a hooker, for Christ sake! It’s not like that at all.” She paused. “What did Robert tell you about Sybarite? About the type of charters we do, I mean.” She was having fun being the expert, me the novice.
“Enough,” I replied, which was true. The man had hinted around, stressing the importance of confidentiality over and over, before finally telling me that clients paid for a “unique sensual experience” and the crew was expected to make sure it happened, then keep their damn mouths shut.
“Maybe so,” Gabby said, “but get the whole prostitution thing out of your head. No one’s gonna force you. Or even expect it. See… the way it goes is, we’re out at sea, everyone’s relaxed, and things just sort of happen. You meet a nice gentleman aboard, sometimes a man with his good-looking wife or girlfriend, it’s only natural they want to party. You’d have as much fun as them, probably more, if you just loosen up. Next day, if they want to thank you for the good time, it’s only natural they give you something extra special.”
“The tips,” I said. “It’s always cash?”
The woman flashed a catty smile, and replied, “Take a guess at the biggest tip I ever got for our cruise to Key West. Go ahead, guess. One night, two days, and I personally had a damn blast!” Without waiting, she tapped the convertible’s dashboard. “You’re sitting in it, sweetie. Last year-from a very, very special couple.”