Page 22 of The Second Chance in the Mediterranean
“That’s bloody brilliant, mate. Good job,” Roy called from the galley.
“Yeah, wow.” That was clever, and something I wouldn’t have thought to do. Seb had taken a risk, called in favors for me, and rescued me in a minor crisis. This was the Seb I’d known before we’d crossed a line: helpful and supportive.
Cat scooted out of the booth and high-fived Seb on her way out. “Nice teamwork, Seb.”
“Running down to the walk-in,” Roy called out over his shoulder as he strode out the door.
That left just me and Seb in the crew lounge.
“I better get back to lunch.”
“Yeah, I’ve got work to get to as well.” Seb rubbed the back of his neck.
“Listen,thanks for the help today. That was creative thinking and...I appreciate it.”
He nodded, but hesitated before pulling the door open and heading upstairs.
Four hours later I had a bottle of spirulina in my galley. I immediately blended the smoothie per the instructions, and Bok took it upstairs to Mrs. Granger, who had just returned from a Jet Ski trip.
I took a long spoon and scooped up some of the remnants at the bottom of the blender to taste it and I grimaced. Bland and slightly bitter.
Bok returned a few minutes later with the smoothie still in hand. She set the glass carefully down on the counter. “Mrs. Granger has changed her mind about the smoothie.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. Behind me, Roy groaned, and I heard his forehead hit the counter repeatedly.
All the work we’d put in trying to please our client, just thrown away. Some people had no class.
Eleven
Dayfour of the charter and I didn’t know where we were. Somewhere in Croatia still, but the view out the window was much the same.
Roy and I were plating up lunch service for the guests. Crew lunch was out on trays on the galley island and the kitchen was loud with staff.
Most guests willing to spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a weeklong vacation saw us only as demure, nearly silent genies who granted their every wish. But in reality, once we stepped away and into the crew quarters, we were anything but quiet. The conversation always centered around the galley and mealtime; thus, I knew everything.
Since we were underway so often, Dom was up at the bridge deck most of the time. He was fairly isolated, working with the exterior crew to satisfy the guests, but also putting on a showforthe guests.
I rarely interacted with the guests compared with the stews. But I could tell how things were going based on the talk around the table, and it was not going well.
After the lounge chair incident, the kids had continued to run around unsupervised. They’d somehow all worked together to sneak buckets of sand back to the boat, and dumped all the sand in one of the guest cabins to “build sandcastles.” One of our television remotes was missing—Cat suspected it had gone overboard.
The adults weren’t much better. They’d purposefully given our crew the slip while in port one evening and the whole schedule had been fucked. I’d had to hold dinner for a few hours and we’d missed our departure time for the next stop. Mrs. Delmonico had vomited in her cabin the third morning and neglected to mention it. All three women had complained about the food, picking at their meals and then sending orders down for diet smoothies.
The whiteboard had a new quote on it:“The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook.” —Julia Child
We were frayed. Guests rarely acted like this. The ultrarich who rented the yachts I’d worked on were demanding, specific, and detail oriented, but never malicious.
It came to a head that fourth evening. We were anchored for the night, and dinner service was over early, thank God. Roy and I were finishing cleaning up and he’d be heading off to bed soon, and I had settled in to finish the menu for tomorrow. The day had run us both particularly ragged, with the guests on board the whole time, requesting snacks and cocktails all day. I jumped when the door to the crew cabins flew open, slamming against the wall, and Seb stormed in.
“Call Dom,” he told me tersely.
I clicked on my radio and told Dom to get down to the galley for a crew situation. When he arrived, Seb pulled him aside and tried to lower his voice, but his frustration carried in the small, empty space. I caught words likenakedandgrabbing.
Dom pinched the bridge of his nose, something I’d watched him do far too often this week. He checked his watch, and took off for the crew quarters, hailing Gio on the radio. Seb paced the length of the galley, turned, and paced back. His jaw was tense, his annoyance seeping through every pore.
Roy’s wide eyes connected with mine, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. “Everything okay, mate?”
“There’s a fucking naked nanny in my bed, so no, everything is not okay.” Seb stomped through to the lounge but was back moments later.
