The Lion's Den(73)
I don’t know what else to say. My phone has autoconnected to the restaurant Wi-Fi, and messages are pouring in. As I scroll through my in-box, my eyes land on my message chain with Dylan.
I briefly consider calling him, but decide the better of it. Summer’s pissed enough at me as it is—the last thing I need to do is make it worse.
Our rosé arrives, and Amythest chugs hers like it’s a keg at a frat party, then sets the glass down with a resounding clank.
“Thirsty much?” I tease.
“Screw Brittani. I’m that bitch’s only friend. No one else can stand her.”
“I’m sorry she’s treating you like this. If it makes you feel any better, her sister is doing the same to me,” I sympathize.
“I don’t give a shit if she’s loud and she’s rude,” Amythest says. “At least she’s straight up about who she is. But ever since we got here, all she does is lick her sister’s asshole. Like it’s so special she’s fucking some old rich guy. Ha!”
She juts her chin out as she speaks, a hardness in her manner. She reaches across the table and takes a slug of my wine. “Joke’s on her. I’m fucking him, too.”
Here’s the dirt. “Yeah,” I say carefully. “I saw him wearing the sunglasses I found under your bed, so I kinda figured.”
“Wasn’t even hard,” she boasts. “Well, I mean, like it wasn’t hard to fuck him, but his dick wasn’t exactly hard, either. And he is kinky. Dirty.” She shivers. “He wanted me to—”
But I have no interest in hearing the filthy details of Amythest and John’s tryst. “Girl, you need to be careful,” I cut in. “As big of a bitch as Summer may be, we’re here as her guests, and…”
“What goes around comes around.” She snorts. “If she would’ve been nice to me, I would’ve given her respect, you know? But you treat me like I’m a whore, I’ll show you who’s a whore.”
“I get it. But Summer’s—” I have to stop here. I can’t tell her the full truth about what I know, but I need to tell her something. “You know the real reason Emmanuelle’s no longer on the boat is Summer thought she was flirting with John, right? She set her up for stealing that necklace.”
“Yeah, duh,” Amythest says.
“It’s not the first time she’s done something like that,” I say, casting around for an example. “Back when Summer was waitressing, she didn’t like this one girl she was working with who would always take the good tables. So she set the girl up to look like she was stealing and got her fired.”
“Too late.” Amythest shrugs, unimpressed. “’Cause I left my panties in his jacket pocket after he finger-banged me under the table at that party last night.”
Jesus Christ. “Wow,” I say.
She takes another slug of my wine. “All these rich people think they’re so special, but they’re just like everybody else. Everybody fucking everybody and nobody happy.”
“I’d venture to say there may be slightly more fucking among the rich.”
I flag down the waitress and order us each another glass of wine, as well as a caprese salad and prosciutto sandwich to share. Amythest chews her cheek and twirls her hair, turning her attention to her phone, so I take mine back out as well. My gaze lands on a reply to my incoherent message last night:
How you feeling this morning, party girl? Crazy news about Amythest and John. But not surprising. You may want to make it your mission that Summer doesn’t find out—she’s so jealous, God only knows what she’d do. What did she give you instead of Dramamine? Are you okay? Please be careful. Clearly you can’t trust her. And no more emailing from that boat! Again, wish I could say I was surprised. Crazy you ran into Dylan. Maybe better not to call him, sounds like there’s enough going on out there. Is it storming yet? Beautiful here, but hot. So damn hot. You only have a few days left then you’ll be home, but you don’t have to stick it out, you can bail early if you need to. Keep me posted…
I hit reply:
Yeah I totally drunk messaged you, sorry! We were all pretty wasted last night—Summer was not amused, chewed us out this morning. Having lunch in St. T with Amythest now, the boat left us b/c we were 3 minutes late after shopping. Apparently they’ll be back at 5. I’m glad for the time off. Bailing is tempting, but I’m broke and it’s only a few more days, I think I can make it. Sunny enough today, but may storm tonight I think. Don’t forget to delete these messages. Not planning to email from boat but if I need to, obvs don’t want anyone reading.
I wince as I sign the check, noticing I’ve spent nearly a hundred euros, but I’m too buzzed to worry about it for long. “Let’s go for a walk,” I suggest.
Swinging our shopping bags, we sail out of the restaurant on a cloud of rosé and turn inland up the first street we come to, if you can call it that. The lane is wide enough only for scooters, the distance between the buildings on either side so narrow that the sidewalks remain shaded with the sun high in the sky. Most of the shops are shuttered for lunch, and the crowds have thinned, leaving a soothing quiet in their wake.
We stop at an ATM and I pull fifty euros out of my rapidly shrinking bank account so that I at least have some pocket cash. “Why are you friends with Summer?” Amythest asks as we resume our stroll. “You’re so nice, and she’s such a bitch.”