“I could sleep another eight hours.” Claire yawns, lying back down.
Wendy claps her hands, ever perky, and pulls Claire up. “Oh no you don’t!” she chirps. “Private airports in vacation destinations this time of year are a total scene. We’ve got to freshen up before we land.”
As Wendy unwinds her navy silk hair wrap, I notice her makeup is unsmudged, and her face shows no signs of pillow creasing, “But you’re already fresh,” I grumble. “How is it possible? It’s like you’re a fucking unicorn.”
“It’s this pillowcase,” she says, removing the satin cover from the pillow and folding it neatly. “Keeps your skin and hair from creasing.” She tucks it in her travel bag, hops out of bed, and spritzes her hair with a travel-size bottle of leave-in conditioner.
“I don’t know how I live with you.” Claire moans, curling up on the bed.
The younger stewardess comes down the aisle with a tray of fresh coffee and sets it on the table near the divider between Summer and John’s half of the plane and ours. “If you could all have a seat at the table, we’ll prepare the plane for landing.”
We make our way over to the table, and I quickly sit down on the forward-facing side, next to Wendy. The stewardess hands us each an immigration form to fill out, and a stapled legal document. I scan the document, emblazoned at the top with LIONSHARE HOLDINGS. It’s a nondisclosure agreement.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s an NDA. Standard procedure. I’ll need it returned before deboarding,” the stewardess says.
I turn my gaze back to the document, alarm bells ringing in my head.
“Excuse me,” Wendy calls to the stewardess, distressed. “It says here no photography. Does that mean we can’t take any pictures?”
The stewardess freezes, a deer in headlights. “Um, I don’t . . . ”
Vinny steps in. “No photos of John or any of his associates.” I look up, surprised. I hadn’t seen him, but there he is, hovering behind us. “And anything taken on the boat or the plane will need to be approved by one of us before posting publicly.”
We all nod uneasily.
Wendy makes a show of scribbling her name and handing it over, and the rest of the girls follow suit. I’m still less than comfortable signing, but I don’t want to rock the boat before the trip’s even truly begun, so I do it, providing my parents’ address and phone number as my emergency contact.
Wendy eyes me over her compact as she touches up her foundation. “You sure you slept okay? You don’t look so good.”
“I threw up my sleeping pill,” I confess, “so it took me a while to get to sleep.”
She hands me her makeup bag. “The little green tube is eye depuffer.”
“Thanks.” I squeeze a dot of the cream on my finger and gently apply it beneath my eyes.
“You can keep it,” she says. “I never use it.”
“Must be nice,” Summer says.
We look up to see her standing behind us in the open doorway between her section and ours, freshly showered.
“I’ll tell you what must be nice,” Wendy teases. “A shower.”
“You’ll have one as soon as we get to the boat.” Summer squeezes in next to Wendy and me. “Can you pass me one of those coffees?”
Brittani slides her a coffee and she takes a sip. “Mmmm.” She leans in to Wendy and me, speaking under her breath. “I had to have sex with John twice before we could go to sleep. He accidentally took a Viagra instead of his sleeping pill.”
“Accidentally?” I chide.
“Seriously,” Summer says. “He’s blind as a bat without his glasses, and he left them up front.”
“Maybe I should slip Wes a Viagra,” Wendy comments.
“You guys still aren’t having sex?” I ask.
“He’s just so stressed over work, he doesn’t feel like it. But he bought me these shoes for the trip. Said every girl needs a pair of Louboutin wedges to go to Europe in the summer. How sweet is that?”
She holds up her foot and shows us her tan woven wedges with the telltale red bottom.
“Ooh, I have those in white. And black. I think I have them in navy, too, but I don’t have tan. I need to get the tan,” Summer gushes.
Her wardrobe sure has evolved since this time last year, when she was borrowing from my limited closet. But then, she’s certainly worked for it. I swallow my vitriol. “Good thing we’re the same size.” I wink.
“Of course, I can’t wear them around John,” she whispers. “He can’t stand it when I’m taller than him.” She assesses Wendy. “You’re probably fine wearing heels because you’re so short, but you shouldn’t,” she warns, looking at me. “If you didn’t bring flats, you can borrow some.”
“I have flats. And not wearing heels for a week sounds great.”
“Good.” Summer pats my knee. Her eyes land on my wrist. “What kind is that?” She indicates my glowing smart watch.
Her appetite for material goods is voracious.
“It’s some weird German brand.” I finger the gold band. “I just thought it looked cooler than most of the ones out there that I see.”
“I like that it’s round,” she says. “Lemme try it on.”
“It’s syncing to my body to tell me when I’m gonna get my period and stuff, so I’m not supposed to put it on other people,” I demur.
“Weird,” she says. “What else does it do?”
“It tracks my sleep. I’m not sure what else. I just got it.”
“You’ve gotta give me the name. I want one.”
“It’s not quite as nice as yours.” I indicate her Rolex. “And that ring is fabulous.”
“Thanks.” She admires the sparkling yellow stone in the light. “It’s a canary diamond. It’s worth, like, two million, if you can believe it.”
Two million dollars for a ring? Sweet Jesus, I can think of so many better uses for two million dollars than as a finger decoration.
I have exactly $794 in my bank account. Plus eighteen hundred in cash in my freezer, but that’s for rent, due the day after we get back. I don’t even have a credit card. I just recently paid off the ten thousand in debt I ran up to buy a car and put down a deposit on an apartment, and I don’t want to have the temptation of digging that particular hole again.
Wendy gazes at the bauble, transfixed. “It’s gorgeous.” Her tummy rumbles. “Sorry. I’m starving!”
“Me too,” I say.
“Oh, you guys didn’t get any Danishes up here?” Summer asks.
“No,” Brittani chimes in. “Why? You have some? I’m starving.”
“We had a whole basket,” Summer says, “but we ate them all. You guys were supposed to have some up here.” She flags down the younger flight attendant. “Are there any more Danishes?”
The girl shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
“But wasn’t there a basket for up here?” Summer cocks her head.
“There was, but that was the second basket I gave you,” she says.