Crew Hates by Deana Birch
Chapter Two
Day Two
A bump woke me as we landed in France. I was happy to have slept but mortified by my position. My head was nuzzled into Nick’s shoulder, and my right arm had somehow hooked into his left. I prayed to Saint Agatha for him not to be awake. Backing away slowly from his upper body, which had a faint smell of mint, I dared to open my eyes.
“Sleep well?” he asked without a smile.
Still smug. At least he was consistent.
I looked to the spot where my head had just been and was slightly less mortified. Thank all things in heaven, I hadn’t drooled on him.
“Sorry.” I winced and undid my ponytail, smoothed my wild hair back in place and re-attached it. Then I turned to Robbie. “Morning!”
“Bonjour!” Robbie said with an accent that could start a war from its brutality.
As the plane taxied, Mrs. Phillips rose and strode to the back. Even Rosa sat a little straighter in our employer’s presence. Nothing about her clothes, makeup or hair hinted that she had spent the night on an airplane. What was it with her and no wrinkles?
“Good morning.” Her lips were tight, revealing nothing about her sentiments. “Rosa, Mr. Phillips will accompany you and the rest of the crew directly to the yacht. The groceries should already be on board, so please make sure you have everything you need for the next two days. Nicholas, please give Emilia the full tour. Emilia, once you’ve finished the tour, you may begin to unpack for the girls, Cameron and Landry. Robert…” She brushed her hand in Robbie’s direction. “Just do what you do.” With that, she spun around and charged back to her seat.
I quickly ate the croissant that Robbie had saved for me and slammed the rest of my water. I needed my toothbrush but there didn’t seem to be enough time, as the plane was already coming to a stop.
I gathered my bag and stood, following Robbie’s lead. Kate and her friend stayed seated, and I overheard her say that they were flying on to Budapest. Lucky.
Upon exiting, the bright sun of Southern France temporarily blinded me. On the windy tarmac, two cars and a van waited for us, along with an official to check our passports. With our paperwork in order, Mrs. Phillips and the two girls climbed into one car and drove off. Cameron Phillips and his fiancée—who Robbie whispered to me was named Landry—slid into the back of another. Mr. Phillips, now wearing a more casual look of khakis, a pink polo and a green sweater knotted around his shoulders, entered the passenger seat of the van.
After loading the final piece of luggage in the back, my crewmates and I moved to the sliding door to hop in.
Rosa sat in the first row, and Robbie slid in next to her. He kissed her on the cheek and said, “Rosa, I’ve been dreaming about your Cuban chicken for twelve months. Please tell me it’s on the menu.”
She patted him on the thigh and said, “For you, my baby Robbie, of course.”
I ducked my head and crawled to the back of the van, having to climb on all fours once I hit the bench. Nick followed right behind me, and I tried not to acknowledge that my ass was in his face as I maneuvered my way to the other side. But then again, my Puerto Rican blood came with fantastic curves, and I knew what my bubble butt could do to a man. So I held it a beat and let ‘Mr. I’m-not-interested-in-chit-chat-with-a-nursing-student’ eat his heart out.
I found my place, gave him a smile and with my eyes said, Yeah, that’s right. That was my amazing ass, and you will never, ever get to know it.
But he just looked away, uninterested. If he hadn’t been so good-looking, there would have been nothing appealing about him.
Rosa put her arm on the top of her bench and shifted to get a better look at the two of us. Then, to me asked, “You don’t eat meat, either?” But it was more of an accusation than question.
“Um, no. Sorry? But I don’t want to be a bother. I will eat anything else—just no meat or fish,” I said as I scrunched down a bit. Rosa was a little scary.
“And you, my handsome boy, you’re still resisting?” Her dark eyes sparked in Nick’s direction.
“Sorry, Rosa.” Someone turn up the thermostat in hell. It may have frozen over. Nick had just smiled, and it showed his dimples when he did.
Uh-oh.I was a sucker for dimples.
Rosa eyed me one last time then turned around in a huff and said to Robbie, “What is it with the green eyes? Green eyes, green food?”
The color of my eyes was different from Nick’s. His were an olive hazel with specks of yellow—not that I’d noticed—and mine a bright emerald Irish green. Mine were better.
With our arrival at the crowded marina, my working vacation had officially started, and even Nick’s cold shoulder couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. Bits of a foreign romance language traveled to my ears where they swirled around and disappeared with their meanings. Gulls mewed overhead and the breeze brought the salty air to my cheeks. With my suitcase rolling behind me and random bags hitched on each shoulder, I followed Mr. Phillips to the yacht. My breath stopped and gaze widened when he led me to my home for the next two weeks. My uncle had a houseboat, but it was literally a trailer on water compared to the castle afloat in front of me.
When I stepped on board, the word ‘luxury’ redefined itself in my head. Everything was immaculate. White leather couches sprawled to my left, a long glass dining table glistened in the middle of the room and hints of navy blue popped from the cushions and curtains. A fully stocked bar stood at the opposite end of the level with two wood stools in front. Everything shimmered into perfect focus.
“Yeah, this is a whole different kind of rich.” Robbie stood next to me. “Come on. I’ll show you where we sleep.”
I dropped the two bags that didn’t belong to me on the couch and lifted my small case—other than my uniforms I had only packed the bare minimum—and followed Robbie down some steps. We landed in the kitchen, where Rosa was already unpacking boxes of food and was visibly unsatisfied with their contents. Robbie scanned the counter then led me down a narrow hallway. To the left, an open door revealed a small and simple double bed.
“Rosa’s cabin,” Robbie explained and opened the door opposite. “Our cabin.”
“The three of us sleep together?”
“Yup. But don’t worry. Neither one of us snores.” He winked.
We entered the tiny quarters. There were two bunks—two on top and two on the bottom making four single beds. Slim closets covered the wall at the end and a tiny bathroom opened directly in front of me. I said a silent thank you to my large family. Years lacking privacy would serve as ample preparation for the next two weeks.
“Showers have to be quick. Rosa gets pissy if we use too much hot water.”
“Do you think I have time for one now? Mrs. Phillips told me shorts during the day, so I need to change anyway.”
Robbie checked his watch. “Yeah, go for it.”
He tossed his bag on a bottom bunk and left me in our cramped cabin. I quickly unpacked, hung my two dresses, stowed my suitcase and carried my toiletries into the smallest bathroom I’d ever seen. It made me wonder if the one on the plane had been larger.
When I came out, feeling fresh and clean, Nick sat on the bed opposite Robbie’s bag.
“You’re on top.” He pointed up.
“Never been a problem.” If he caught my innuendo, it didn’t show. He was proving to be as much fun as a reading the dictionary.
After stashing my clothes from the plane into the closet, I slipped on my navy ballerinas.
“Ready for the tour?”
Nick led me back down the hall and through the kitchen. On the opposite side, he showed me the engine room where Mr. Phillips and Robbie were examining a panel of lights. Back through the kitchen and up the stairs he didn’t offer the obvious explanation of what I was viewing. In the front of the dining-living area was Mr. and Mrs. Phillips’ suite with a bathroom five times the size of ours and a large bed. It opened out to their own private deck on the bow of the boat. Through a small wooden staircase between their suite and the dining area, we climbed to the floor above. On that level there were two more smaller suites. One had a double bed for Cameron and Landry. The other room had two single beds for their daughter Victoria and her friend—who Nick told me was named Abby. At the end of the hallway, a door opened to a magnificent wooden deck with four long chairs. Up one more flight was the bridge, which had another smaller deck, also aft-facing.
“Any questions?” he asked after giving an incredibly boring tour of the most lavish accommodations I had ever witnessed.
“Just one. Are you always this much fun?” I couldn’t help myself. I needed some hint that he wasn’t a robot.
His reply was to stare me down, snarl and walk into the bridge.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I called over his shoulder then went to start my duties.
Unpacking and organizing Victoria’s and Abby’s clothes emphasized the difference in our lifestyles. They had designer everything. A price-tag still hung on one of Abby’s bikinis and it read eight hundred dollars. My month’s rent in two very tiny pieces of fabric. I wasn’t jealous. It was simply a world I couldn’t relate to.
Cameron and Landry were less obvious in their flare. And Landry was far more conservative in her attire…and underwear. Not that I could judge. With all the white pants and shorts I had to wear over the next two weeks, my own lot were downright depressing.
Still with just the staff and Mr. Phillips on board and my unpacking done, I went to the kitchen to see what Rosa needed from me. She informed me that the booth in the corner at the end of the galley was for the staff, and we would eat our meals before the Phillips. She would set food on it throughout the day that we were welcome to snack on, but raiding the fridge was a not an option. I noticed a bowl of apples and helped myself to one, the croissant from the plane a distant memory for my stomach. She showed me the washer and dryer in the machine room, where Robbie was alone, staring into a laptop.
Rosa shoved a stack of white fluffy towels into my arms and directed me to lay them out on the lounges on the upper decks. I did so, then popped back to Rosa, who handed me two sandwiches on a tray to take up to the bridge for Mr. Phillips and Nick. The toasted baguettes were filled with sautéed mushrooms, sprinkled with a hard cheese and covered in arugula. My mouth watered as I climbed the stairs.
Mr. Phillips acknowledged the delivery with a simple nod and went back to a map sprawled out on the counter between him and Nick.
When I came back down, there were two more waiting on the table, and I devoured one while moaning approval noises to Rosa all the way.
While I was bringing down the tray from the bridge, Mrs. Phillips, her children and their guests came on board. Shiny bags with tips of tissue paper dripped from the girls’ arms, and Landry wore a sunhat I hadn’t seen on the plane.
As guests and crew settled in, the rest of the afternoon made it clear that my job title was ‘errand girl’. I must have gone up and down the steps a hundred times from the kitchen to the deck to refill the lemon water, or get more ice, or please ask so and so to come see me at point X. We set sail west, and by early evening we were anchored in the open water with the lights of the city of Cannes twinkling behind us.
When I finally sat down for dinner with Rosa, Robbie and Nick, I was ready for my break. Rosa’s food was wonderful—a shallot risotto made with red wine. There was arugula on top for Nick and me, but crispy bacon for Rosa and Robbie. I handled the dishes, then went to change for the evening.
As Mrs. Phillips had explained to me during my uniform fitting, my daytime clothes were either navy blue or white, never to be one solid color unless there were guests, in which case I would wear the polo dress with dropped waist and pleated skirt. My hair was always to be pulled back and neat. In the evenings, to serve cocktails and dinner, my dress was a simple, straight below-the-knee sleeveless dark blue. My heels were low and some of the most boring shoes I’d ever seen—and that was saying something since I wore Crocs and sneakers most of the time.
Rosa’s granddaughter had briefly explained the Phillips to me when she had first told me about the job. Mrs. Phillips came from a very wealthy New England family, and Mr. Phillips was the most successful real estate attorney in Miami. Her history had made her incredibly private, and she did not trust companies to hire her staff. Mrs. Phillips needed to know exactly who she would be spending two weeks of her life with, and she hand-picked her employees herself. Rosa was their regular cook and worked for them six days a week. As a family, they always took two weeks on a boat together, satisfying Mr. Phillips’ love of sailing, and Mrs. Phillips’ desire to spend time with her children. They had their own yacht—apparently very similar to the one we were on—in Miami but were tired of the same stops in the Bahamas and Florida Keys. Robbie explained on the plane that the Phillips had done a ‘yacht swap’ with one of Mrs. Phillips’ childhood friends in order to mix up destinations. Our trip would not be long in distance—from Nice to St. Tropez and back—and the technical sailing part of the trip would be easy.
Standing silent against the wall while the Phillips dined allowed me to learn many details about my employers. The parents sat at opposite ends of the table. She had Cameron and Landry by her sides, and Mr. Phillips was surrounded by the two girls. My observations from the first dinner were that Victoria could have anything she wanted from her daddy, as long as she gave a certain smile, Landry was a genius who Mrs. Phillips loved and respected and Abby drank too much. Oh, and Mrs. Phillips registered everything.
I cleared away their dishes, brought them down to the kitchen, went back up and offered tea or a nightcap. Landry and Cameron had already retired to their cabin. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips had a Scotch on the couch and listened to the girls talk about their plans for the next day. Victoria and Abby were pleading their case about not wanting to stay isolated on a yacht for the entire vacation. Mr. Phillips caved in and said he would arrange access to one of Cannes’ private beach hotels and that a water taxi would pick them up in the morning. Mrs. Phillips was visibly annoyed but said nothing. I excused myself and went to the galley to help Rosa with the rest of the dishes. Then I did a final check on the outside decks for towels or abandoned glasses.
Back inside, I found Mrs. Phillips sitting alone on the couch, one leg tucked under her body, and staring out of the window.
As quiet as I could, I wiped down all the surfaces, washed the tumblers by hand and scanned the room to make sure it was the same as when I had first come aboard.
I didn’t want to disturb her, but I needed to be dismissed. I choked down the urge to say ‘ma’am’ and instead, in a voice just above a whisper, asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight, Mrs. Phillips?”
She didn’t look back at me but answered with a small hint of defeat in her voice. “No. Thank you. Go to bed, Emilia. Please tell Rosa in the morning that there won’t be a need for lunch.”
“Of course. Good night, Mrs. Phillips.”
Her jaw tightened but she didn’t reciprocate the goodbye, so I tiptoed down the steps and into my cabin.
Robbie wasn’t there. I assumed he was still with his computer and the engines. Nick was stretched out on his bunk and wore black track pants and a black tank top. He read from a book lying open in front of him. On his side, he faced the wall, and if he’d heard me enter or cared about my presence, it was impossible to tell.
In front of my long closet and tired from a long day, habit kicked in. In the hospital where I was learning to be a trauma nurse, we changed into and out of our scrubs in front of everyone else. And the long slender closet in front of me looked just like a locker. Having mastered the art of undressing without showing skin, I unzipped my dress. I pulled on my jammie shorts underneath a tank top overhead. I slid my arms out of the dress and into the tank. With a tug at my waist, the dress fell to the floor. I stepped out of it and hung it in the closet then pulled the hair tie out of my curly locks and gave my head a shake. When I passed by Nick with my toiletry bag, he remained unfazed by my movements. He might as well be a piece of furniture. Maybe I would start to treat him as such.
After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I placed the bag back in my thin closet and climbed up to my top bunk. A quick debate in my head decided against saying ‘Good night.’ Nick’s desire to be left alone was painfully obvious. I let out a deep breath and closed my eyes. Twelve more days.