Sweet Reality by Laura Heffernan (4)

Jennifer in the Guppy Gabber, Sunday:

 

 

 

 

 

My stomach lurched, sending me a reminder of the huevos rancheros I’d devoured for breakfast. I couldn’t believe this was happening. No way. No. Justin swore they only kissed a little, even after Ariana told me they slept together. He promised—

She burst out laughing. “My God, your face, Jen! You’re too easy.”

I glanced from her to Justin, who stood rigid beside me, fists clenched at his sides. His posture told me he slowly counted to ten before speaking. Or possibly to a thousand.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Me and Justin! I wish you could see the way you’re glaring at him. Don’t you trust your man more than that?”

I turned to my boyfriend, but Hurricane Ariana had already inflicted her damage.

“I’m going to my cabin,” Justin said before I could say anything else.

“Are you okay?”

The tic in his jaw answered me before he spoke: he was pissed, and not only at Ariana. “I need a minute alone. I’ll meet you for the emergency briefing after I unpack. I’m sorry.”

Helplessly, I watched him storm around the corner and out of sight, wondering if I should follow. Once again, Ariana was sowing seeds of doubt about our relationship, and we hadn’t left the dock yet. How would I make it through an entire week without her poison infecting us?

With a forced smile, I stomped on the sprouting seeds of doubt. “Of course I trust my boyfriend. It’s you I don’t trust farther than I can throw you. Did you really kidnap someone’s baby to freak me out? That’s low, even for you.”

“The stroller belongs to Madison, who asked me to watch it while she dealt with some issue in her cabin. There isn’t a baby in here. C’mon. You shouldn’t make things so easy for me.” She nodded over my shoulder, where presumably Madison approached carrying a toddler on one hip. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t swear where I’d seen her before. Maybe she’d been on some family quiz show or something a few years ago. She walked beside a gray-haired woman I guessed must be the child’s grandmother.

Ariana said, “Oh, noes! Justin seemed mad at you. I hope he can take a joke. Surely he’s not concerned you lost faith in him so easily?”

I refused to rise to her bait a second time. Instead, I turned to our new arrivals. Madison was a girl probably a couple of years out of high school, with shoulder-length brown hair and a smattering of freckles covering her open face. She towered over me and Ariana. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but closed it when Madison walked by without so much as a glance in my direction. The older woman followed her into the elevator.

“Whatevs,” Ariana said. “I need to go find my date.”

Smirking, she pushed the stroller in front of the other two women, angling it to block the doors. As if I’d get into an enclosed space with a rattlesnake. She leaned over to punch the CLOSE DOORS button while I debated my next move.

I could go after Justin, apologize again, and hope he understood that I couldn’t control my facial expressions sometimes. Or I could keep walking, give him some time to think, and take a moment to let go of my own frustration toward Ariana before apologizing. Option B seemed more conducive to having an adult conversation. Chasing him now could cause a fight, and I wanted to have fun on this trip.

In the Fishbowl, Ariana always managed to get the better of me. No matter what she said or did, I always turned into the bad guy. I resolved not to let that happen on the ship. Starting now.

Turning, I took the stairs two at a time to our assigned muster station. My rage propelled me quickly down the short flights, leaving me plenty of time to find and enter the confessional before the meeting.

On The Fishbowl, they’d called this part of the show “the School Room.” Here, signs identified it as, the GUPPY GABBER. Apparently, I’d always be considered some form of sea life by the Network. And one of their employees spent way too much time coming up with bad puns. The room looked much the same as the one I remembered: small, a single chair in the middle, with a mirror on one wall, speakers in the ceiling, and bright lights in my face.

After I gave my interview, the loudspeakers asked everyone to report to their muster stations wearing their life jackets. Which I wasn’t wearing. With a sigh, I trotted up the stairs to my cabin, ignoring the elevator bank completely.

Bonus: If I spent all week avoiding being alone in an elevator with my archenemy, my ass would be rock hard by the end. And hey, Ariana brought a date. What was he like? Presumably not a reality show watcher or an internet user, after the video of her meltdown went viral last summer. But good for her. Maybe now that she got one dig in, she’d leave me and Justin alone.

When I finally made it to the muster station a second time, life vest on but uninflated, I found Justin frowning into his phone.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m sorry about before. I know you didn’t sleep with her. She surprised me. As usual.”

“Jen, we went over all this in the Fishbowl. She’s a fan favorite.” He shook his head. “If you want to get positive publicity from this cruise, you’ve got to either learn how not to let her get to you, or start avoiding her at all costs. It sucks, but there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“You’re right. I should’ve prepared myself better. We knew she might be here. I promise, I’m working on it. And I will avoid her whenever possible.”

“It’s fine.” He returned to poking at his phone, still frowning. Not exactly the demeanor of someone who forgives his girlfriend for like acting a jealous dumbass.

“Justin? If it’s fine, why won’t you look at me?”

He set the phone down and slid one arm around me, pulling me against him. “I’m sorry. It really is fine. I wanted to call Mom one last time before we sailed, but something’s wrong with my phone. I charged it fully before we left, and it’s down to thirteen percent already.” He slid the device into his pocket. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here to have fun. Even if we’re sleeping in separate rooms. I’ll plug it in when we go to the cabin and if that doesn’t fix it, I can worry about a new phone when we get home.”

“We’ll have a great vacation, even in separate rooms.” I leaned over, sealing the promise with a kiss.

Someone slid into the seats across from us. Before checking, I said a prayer it wasn’t Ariana with her fake baby. For once, the fates were listening. When our kiss ended, Ed and Rachel sat across from us.

“Get a room,” Ed said.

“We tried,” Justin said. “The Network separated us.”

“Ah, yes, they did. Sorry about that.” Ed’s unabashed grin didn’t seem the slightest bit remorseful.

“Does the production crew get their own rooms?” Rachel asked. “That’s not the expression of a man who’s been separated from his boyfriend for the next week.”

He waved one hand. “No, he’s stuck sharing, too. Justin and I are rooming with some guy who’s here as a date. Hairiest bro I’ve ever met, and I’ve dated some bears. He seems okay, though. I’m guessing he didn’t know he wouldn’t get laid on this trip, either.”

“You’re not serious! No sex for anyone?” I asked.

“Don’t bet on it.” He winked at me. “It’s a big ship, right? Lots of nooks and crannies.”

“Speaking of sex, where is Connor?” Rachel asked. “That man is sex on legs.”

“Over there.” Ed nodded at a muscular, redheaded man on the other side of the room.

Never in a million years would I have recognized him without the long, curly beard that inspired my nickname during filming. Connor stood with the other Network staff, wearing a camera bag, clean-shaven, and better looking than ever.

“What happened to the beard?” Justin asked. “That thing was legendary.”

Before Ed could respond, a whistle blew, reminding us why we gathered. A crew member went through a quick safety demonstration, doing nothing to assure me the ship wasn’t going to sink. But at least I knew where to go if we hit an iceberg. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks for my years on the high school diving team, which left me a fairly decent swimmer. I might survive if disaster struck. Depending on the water temperature.

At the end of the presentation, the Network asked all passengers who were part of Real Ocean: Caribbean to remain behind. The crowd thinned considerably.

Ariana sat across the room with Madison and the older woman, the baby stroller against the far wall. A lot of other familiar faces filled the room, but I didn’t see anyone else from The Fishbowl. No Mike, no J-Dawg. I smiled at the realization: most of my allies were here. I hoped the difference in numbers would convince Ariana to behave if basic human decency wasn’t enough.

Under the table, Ed nudged my leg with his. “Relax. Those daggers could take out innocent bystanders.”

“Sorry. Also, you suck for not telling me she was going to be here.”

He laughed. “I had no idea. Connor refused to tell me anything. If you hadn’t texted me, I might not have known you two would be here.”

The room fell silent, and suddenly, our old production assistant Leanna stood in the middle of the room, hands up. She’d grown out her black spikes since I last saw her, her hair now in twin braids with a peacock blue streak in one. Matching eyeliner rimmed her oval eyes. “Hello, everyone! How are you doing today?”

An enthusiastic cheer went around the room. So enthusiastic, I wondered when the ship opened the bar.

Leanna smiled and waited for the cheer to die down. “We’ve got about a hundred stars here from several reality shows airing in the past fifteen years or so. Some of you also brought friends and family. Try to remember, not everyone here is a TV star. There are also some fans onboard. They could ask for autographs or pictures. It’s up to you how much you want to interact. However, these are your fans, and they’re the bread and butter of the Network. We ask you to be polite, even when you don’t want to chat or be photographed.”

Across the room, Ariana tossed her hair. She lived for being photographed. Meanwhile, I made a mental note never to leave my cabin again without makeup.

“The bar at the rear of the Lido Deck is for reality stars and their guests only. No members of the public are allowed in. Similarly, you guys are only allowed at the main pool on the Lido Deck for official fan interactions. This helps everyone. The larger buffet on the starboard side of the ship is for civilians only. The smaller buffet on the port side is for stars. You’re allowed to bring a guest or two, but if things get out of control, we’ll take away the privilege. To make this work, there has to be some separation.”

My phone vibrated with a group text from Ed.

Rachel stuck her tongue out at him. I chuckled, but kept my attention focused on Leanna’s explanation of what we’d be doing all week.

“There are cameras throughout the ship in all the public areas. We’re going for a Real World style show here. The Real Vacations of Reality Stars, if you will. All the fans have signed waivers, so don’t assume conversations with them won’t be recorded or used. Be yourself, have fun, but know we’re watching.”

Of course they were. Watching, recording, editing. Creating drama. The things I did for a free vacation.

“For those of you who didn’t read the cruise brochure, we’ve got four days in port and two full days at sea. When you’re onboard, make sure to visit the confessionals located inside the spa on the sixteenth level and on the fifth level, near the photo displays. Sign up for excursions with the concierge on the fourth level before Tuesday if you haven’t done it already. The Network is picking up excursion costs for the contestants, but not your guests.”

Maybe it was better Sarah hadn’t joined us, after all. As a budding small business owner, her tiny budget didn’t allow much for extras. I’d feel terrible ditching her at every port to go on excursions she couldn’t join while she wandered around alone.

“You will all find comped alcohol at the Reality Bar, which is located at the rear of the Lido Deck, and in the Randy and Simon dining rooms. We’re going to hand out wristbands. You may get charged at other bars, and we won’t reimburse you, so don’t get lazy. The Paula dining room is off-limits. We’ve set that one aside for the civilians.”

I chuckled at the names of the dining rooms. When my mom took a cruise last winter, she’d eaten in rooms named after famous renaissance painters—or possibly the Ninja Turtles.

“One more thing. You can download the Queen Cruises app for your phones and use it to message other people while we’re at sea. The ship’s wi-fi lets you run this one app at no cost. However, we’ve instructed the ship’s crew not to allow any more web access for the duration. We’re here to make a show, not to sit around on Twitter. If there’s an emergency, come talk to me for a temporary authorization.”

Justin grinned and leaned over to whisper in my ear. “At least I can send you dirty messages when we’re sleeping in separate rooms.”

Blushing, I kissed his cheek. Across the table, Rachel waggled her eyebrows at us, but she was smiling.

“Any questions?” Leanna asked. No one responded. “Okay, then. Welcome to the Real Ocean: Caribbean!”

* * *

My suitcase still hadn’t been delivered by the time Leanna released everyone, so I went to find the infirmary for some Dramamine. Justin and Rachel promised to meet me on the Lido Deck after stopping to check out the onboard gym and the running track ringing a mini-golf course on the upper deck.

The infirmary took up about two hundred square feet, with two tiny patient areas and a tiny, gray-walled waiting room that would’ve been extremely depressing if not for the dazzling ocean view. A smiling brunette with an Australian accent directed me into one of the patient areas. The other door stood closed. After a few minutes, I possessed a pack of seasickness pills and a not-unexpected desire for mai tais.

On my way out, I glanced at the other door, which still sat firmly shut. It seemed early in the week for injuries or illness. We hadn’t left the port yet.

A voice traveled through the door, and my spine stiffened. I knew that voice as well as my own, even if I hadn’t spoken with the owner less than an hour ago. I spent every day for eight weeks stuck listening to it, and then the same piercing voice invaded my living room after I returned home. I watched the viral YouTube video of her meltdown with my best friend Brandon at least a thousand times. Ariana.

The devil on my shoulder told me to step closer, put my ear to the door, find out what she was doing in there. My more moral side suggested the voice might not belong to her, and even horrible people deserved medical privacy. Then again, she wouldn’t hesitate a second before doing the same to me. But did I want to sink to her level?

Before I finished my internal debate, the door from the outside opened and a woman entered carrying a small child, his foot bleeding. The receptionist rushed them past me into the room I vacated, calling for a doctor, so I took my cue to exit.

Feeling less queasy from the pills already (despite the doctor’s certainty my discomfort was all in my head), I jogged toward the stairs, shoving Ariana out of my mind. I couldn’t wait to find my friends. Plus an alcoholic beverage or three.

It turned out, the Lido Deck held four bars, spread across at least a quarter mile of ship. After seeing the huge crowd of people waiting at the railings for cast off, I headed in the opposite direction. At the rear of the ship, I found a bar overlooking a kidney-shaped pool about half the size of the one at the Fishbowl (and beyond it, the sidewalks of Miami). The location promised glorious ocean views once we got out to sea. I texted my friends a note where to find me.

With a ship this big and not sharing a room with Justin, my cell phone became a lifeline. Not even knowing the producers would read every word I wrote could put a damper on my excitement over the onboard messaging app.

Settling onto my stool, I ordered a mai tai and turned to look out over the sea. With my back to the dock, the view was stunning. Glittering blue waves expanded out as far as the eye could see. I couldn’t wait until water surrounded us in all directions, with not a hint of land to be seen.

Someone settled into the stool beside me. A female voice ordered a cosmopolitan. Definitely not Justin, so no reason to move yet.

I recognized her voice, but couldn’t place it. Half the people on this trip had appeared on my television at some point over the last twenty years, so naturally most of them would sound or look familiar, or both. I didn’t pay attention to the woman seated next to me until she spoke again.

“You know, Jen, I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you.”

“Excuse me?” I swiveled to meet her gaze. Then I fell off my stool.

Long, swishy red hair. Giant sunglasses covering eyes that last viewed me with thinly veiled pity. A swimsuit revealing almost as much as the lingerie she’d been wearing when we first met.

Danielle Rossellini. My ex-boyfriend’s wife.