Page 109 of Cuts like a Knife
Soon I’m dressed, and ready. I tarted up the best sun dress I brought and it looks pretty good, sort of Grecian, with lots of folds and a wrap top. It’s basically one big piece of fabric pretending to be a dress, but it has pockets, thank goodness318.
The brief, which I really should have read before I packed, said that yet again, we might end up on camera while on the boat, and ought to dress appropriately, so as much as I want to, I know I can’t bring my laptop. Luckily my phone fits perfectly in one of the dress’ pockets.
I find a cab number online and call for a car to take back to the resort and leave the bedroom as soon as I hear it crunching over the gravel outside.
“Where are you going?” Drew says.
“I’m here to work,” I reply. “So I’m going back to work. I’ll see you later, I’m sure.”
“Everything was fine. We had a great day. I don’t understand why you’re being like this.”
“You don’t understand anything,” I reply. “Which is really the tip of the f—ing iceberg with you. Later.”
The resort is relatively quiet when I get back. The cast, crew, and most of the reporters must still be on the dates. Everyone hanging around looks normal. There are couples, snowbirds, and one obvious girls’ trip made up of the nameless babes I remember Petar Timber snuggling up to at the pool the first night319.
It’s hours until the yacht is supposed to leave, and I’m determined to fill those hours with work, so I make my way to the desk where I find Liza, the receptionist (or whatever she is).
“You guys have a business centre, right? With computers?”
“Of course.” She quickly explains where to find it and I hurry off to hole up to do some work.
The business centre is nothing special — a few tower computers, a hulking printer320, a few retro phones — but I settle in quickly and tap out a bunch of fluffy stories for Lars and send them off by email321.
There’s no update from SpyMaster in my inbox.
Which is not a good thing. I hate waiting. I hate not knowing what’s going to happen next. What they’re going to do. I wish I could talk to someone about it. It felt good to share with Maylee earlier, though obviously, she wasn’t the best audience.
Bex would be better. I need my twin. Where has she been? We never go this long without speaking.
I open my phone and look back at my texts.
She hasn’t said a word in the group chats with the rest of the Madisons. Not since Friday. My last exchange with her was on Friday as well.
Bex: I’m trying to help you here, you know.
That’s the last thing she wrote to me. And then on Sunday, I’d written her a question that she’d never responded to.
Lex: What do you say to Claire when she talks about her pregnancy stuff? The Braxton Hicks or whatever?
That’s weird. I decide to try again.
Lex: Hey, where are you? Are you okay?
Luckily, the bubbles that show she’s replying appear immediately. So she’s not dead.
Bex: Yes! All good! I’m just at home. Sorry, forgot to reply to you before. I don’t know what I say to Claire about the BH. I’m just sympathetic. Why?
Lex: I haven’t talked to you in days.
Bex: I’m sorry! Super busy. Is it amazing there? Are you having fun?
Lex: It’s complicated. Everyone from Flash is here. When I saw them, I felt like I was having a panic attack.
Bex: Just ignore them. They don’t matter. :(
I’m about to tell her about the SpyMaster email when I hesitate. I don’t really want to put it in writing, for one thing. But besides that … Bex is being weird. Short. Why haven’t I heard from her in days? Something feels so off about this.
Lex: Do you have time to talk?
