Faking It(5)

I tried to imagine how it must look to the crew, watching another group of privileged one-percenters unloading from some bloated limousine, ready to be waited on hand and foot. D Cash got out first. I struggled as I tried to remember how we became friends. I know we both bought and moved into neighboring houses in Calabasas years ago, right after his first hit album and Grammy Award. He was a total cliché, always surrounding himself with women and bling but, oddly, we had a very similar sense of humor. You didn’t see it much in him, it didn’t suit his image. Late at night, though, after some drinks with only a few of us around, he could be reduced to hysterics over Monty Python or Pete and Dud, just like me.

I looked back up toward the crew and wondered what they were thinking as they watched D Cash, 250lbs of dark-skin covered muscle, dripping in gold, step out of the back of the car. He held out two bear claw-sized hands. One was daintily taken by Britney as she got out, a tall and very thin blonde girl in a light summer dress that plunged right down to her navel, lengthening her slight body, and gently cutting across her small, high breasts.

The other was clasped by Ruby, a dramatically made up African-American woman with, I couldn’t help but notice, probably the most amazing tits and ass I’d ever seen all crammed into the tightest booty shorts and crop top. I was sure I could see a couple of the crew members staring open mouthed as she slinked away from the car. I had never met either girl before and wasn’t sure where he’d found either of them. I think he told me they were in a Jay-Z video he produced last week.

Next to get out was the Paul. He was a few years younger than me, and we were expected to be friends because our families were both rich and went way back. However, we were actually close because we both loved fast cars and, more importantly, motorcycles. We rode together as often as we could. He helped his companion for the weekend, another slim blonde called Veronique, from the limo. Her I knew, because she was a supermodel, and I’d seen her in some of the magazines my family owned. She was almost taller than Paul and me, and dressed in designer label shirt, shorts, and sandals with those huge, round dark glasses favored by models and celebrities everywhere. They linked arms, too, and headed toward Aphrodite.

Henry hopped out next. He was trying to be sweet and assist Bella, a young and beautiful Latino girl out, only to lose his footing and end up with her steadying him. She was clearly out of his league, dressed in casual beachwear that accentuated her slender waist and full breasts, with long, flowing black hair that fell thickly down her back. Henry smiled meekly at her but she looked unimpressed. She couldn’t have been much more than eighteen. I couldn’t say anything to him but it was obvious there’d been an evening of her rejecting his advances in some bar, until he’d offered to bring her down to Aruba for the yacht trip. I felt for my poor friend.

I got an email from the office as I was about to get out. I’d told them to only contact me if it was life or death, so I had to check it. This made Ada, my date for the trip, smile at me through gritted teeth as I told her to go on first.

“Business, darling,” I said, “God knows if I didn’t take care of it, where would that leave us, eh?” I was being arrogant and knew I’d be made to suffer later. She flicked her long, shining, straight black hair, right out of a shampoo commercial, as she turned to disembark. It seemed someone hadn’t got the ‘life or death’ memo, so I slid my smartphone back into the inside pocket of my white linen jacket and stepped out too. I smiled an apology at Ada as she tapped her foot impatiently on the wooden dock.

She took off her sunglasses, the full force of her stunningly sharp features hit me like a truck, along with her attitude. She was a woman who knew she was beautiful and always got exactly what she wanted, every time. She was dressed in a black jumpsuit, open at the top to reveal an impressive cleavage, and gave a quick smile as she linked her arm through mine. We’d been dating three weeks. As heiress to the Showazuki family fortune, she was rich in her own right, devastatingly intelligent, and incredibly good-looking, yet I just didn’t feel very much for her.

I thought she was hot, sure, and I was hoping my physical attraction to her might blossom into something more permanent but, as time wore on, that was looking less and less likely. This trip was supposed to be the setting for our first time sleeping together. All the teasing, groping, flirting and heavy petting we’d managed on the half dozen dinner dates and parties we’d attended leading up to this point in our relationship had certainly got the old juices flowing, so that we were both getting pretty desperate for some kind of release, I just couldn’t see any real relationship developing between us and that saddened me. It made me wonder what was the point of us fucking?

“Are you okay?” she whispered to me, for like the twelfth time today.

“I’m fine, darling,” I lied, also for the twelfth time, “I’m just a bit taken aback by the boat and this magnificent setting.”

That, at least, was true. The sparkling blue water, the golden sun beating down, the rows of different-sized, gleaming white boats rising and dipping in time against the ancient wooden dock, all topped off by the sleek, modern, and decadent form of Aphrodite towering above us, easily the biggest in the harbor, took my breath away a little.

We stepped off the gangplank onto a low platform at sea level, leaving our shoes with Geoffrey who swore we’d find them in our cabin along with our luggage, then climbed some short steps up to the lower deck. It was covered from the sun and looked like a great place to enjoy breakfast. I could see a large room resembling a bar beyond the double doors.