Sweet (24 page)

She winks at the camera.

“Those sexy little lavender packets of Solu. All week all eyes have been watching everybody's favorite child star turned mega-hunk who's a guest on the
Extravagance.
Here's what he had to say earlier today about the Solu Cruise to Lose!”

And then she throws it to me, on the deck of the ship.

“Turn it up!” Almstead commands.

The audio blares louder.

“Hi, I'm Tom Fiorelli coming to you from the deck of the
Extravagance.
We've seen some jaw-dropping, mind-blowing changes on this trip!”

There's some girl next to me. I guess I remember her. She's thin and pretty and probably dead by now.

“I'm talking to Julie, here. How's this cruise been for you, Julie?”

“Oh my God, just amazing. Solu is just … it's just a phenomenon. I mean, no one ever has to be fat again. Can you believe that?! I can eat all I want and I'm losing weight. I'm seriously losing weight! And eating like a horse! I love it!”

Ugh. I'm dizzy.

I feel this churning fritz come up from my feet. I think I'm going to keel over.

Laurel grabs my arm.

“You son of a bitch,” I spit.

Almstead laughs.

On the screen, I continue my idiotic schpiel. “I'll tell you this: Everyone on board is incredibly lucky to be here. The parties have been nonstop and the weight loss is really remarkable. Solu works!”

Why did I say that stupid schlock? Why did I take this stupid job in the first place? You can see the boredom in my eyes.

I was bored. I was getting paid. I was peddling mass murder.

“Utterly convincing,” Almstead says, elbowing me in the ribs. “A great job! Eh, Rich? Could Tom have done a better job? I don't think so.”

We turn and see that Rich has been brought in by the guard.

Rich's face is ashy, his seersucker suit dirty and rumpled. He's obviously been crying and he obviously betrayed us.

“How could you?!” I yell. “How could you let me do that?”

“I didn't know!” Rich wails.

“But you told us rescue was coming,” Laurel says.

“I had to,” Rich says. “I had no choice.”

“How did you not have a choice?” I spit.

“He was going to give it to my mom!” Rich cries. “He had a deliveryman with a lifetime supply, right outside her house! He showed it to me on a phone!”

Jesus Christ.

I remember the guard with Rich when we saw him on the deck. I remember how scared Rich looked.

“Now, now, children. No fighting!” Almstead says.

“What's phase four?” Laurel asks.

“Thank you! Back to the business at hand! Phase four is we leave. And then on Day Seven, Sunday morning, the ship will blow sky high. That's right, the engine room is wired to blow at six a.m., right, Amos?”

Amos nods.

“See that man there?” Almstead points to Amos. “He is an irate, bereaved ex-marine who has become more and more obsessed with Pipop. He's determined to kill me at the hour of my greatest success! And he will. Tomorrow morning the whole ship gets blown to kingdom come. And I will go down with the ship.” Almstead is beaming with pride. He winks. “Not really, of course. In reality I'll be on my way to an unchartered island. They do exist! And I've bought one. Isn't that brilliant? Rich, isn't that smart?”

Vince elbows Rich with the butt of his machine gun.

“Very imaginative,” Rich says.

“Amos has been blogging stark, raving mad nonsense in conspiracy theory chat rooms for months now!” Almstead continues. “And next week, as America mourns me, I'll be on my island, watching the country eat itself alive, watching my board of directors flounder and panic, and I'll just be laughing myself silly. And Amos will be off somewhere, enjoying his compensation, is that right, Amos?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Amos answers.

“Well, I can see I've shocked you,” Almstead says to us. “You three look like a bunch of gaping carp.”

He mimics us with his mouth open wide like a fish.

“You planned it all,” Laurel says, her voice quiet.

“Yep,” Almstead says. He leans toward her and spells out. “L … O … L.”

I step forward. I should kill him, now. But Vince has the gun trained at our guts.

“Put them in with the others, Vince,” Almstead says.

Rich jumps, stricken. “No,” he says. “Mr. Almstead. No, please.”

Vince pushes Rich into us, then directs us with his gun toward the door.

“It's time to wrap it up,” Almstead says with regret. “But I do respect the three of you. You didn't take the bait, and that's admirable. And you were instrumental in the success of the launch. I'm sorry it has to end this way.”

“But, why?” Laurel blurts out. “Why do you hate people so much that you'd do something like this?”

“I'm afraid you'll never know, will you?” Almstead says. “No one will know the truth. And if that's sad, it can't be helped. Amos, I'm ready to be away from this ship.”

“Wait! Don't take us away! We're still … We're still…,” Rich stammers.

“You're still what?” Almstead asks, a dark twinkle in his eye.

“We're still useful,” Rich says.

“We should do an interview,” I say. I turn to Almstead. “If you don't tell your side of the story, then no one will know this was a choice you made. They'll assume it was all just some stupid accident.”

Rich joins in. “It airs posthumously. You put it in a bank vault. Give directions to a lawyer to open it when you actually die. Then the world will know that you created Solu on purpose.”

Almstead is considering it, his eyes glinting as he scratches his jaw.

“You kids are just stalling,” Almstead says. “And, anyhow, I'll only come off like some grandstanding villain.”

“I think it's a good idea,” Laurel says. “You should tell your side of the story.”

“Mr. Almstead, please listen,” Rich begs. “People need to know that it came from you. Otherwise they won't understand about the plan. All that stuff you told me about your shareholders. All that stuff about the Oinkers of the world and how this could be a wake-up call. They need to hear they're being given a new chance. A chance to start again, because that's what it is, isn't it?”

Almstead's eyes are moist. Jeez, Rich is good. He's brought Almstead to tears.

“Yes. All right, you're on,” he says. “A posthumous interview. It's very smart.”

Rich nods, but ducks his eyes away. It feels wrong to pander to an old man who's insane.

But it's what we're going to do. To try to stay alive.

“You can talk about your vision for the world,” Rich says. “A world with no shortcuts.”

“All right, Rich, don't sell past the close,” Almstead says.

*   *   *

Before we leave the bridge for Almstead's suite, the guards shoot round after round of bullets into the navigational equipment.

Sparks fly and tubes explode.

“Our own fireworks show,” Almstead jokes.

“You ain't seen nothin' yet,” Amos tells him.

 

LAUREL

DAY SIX

AMOS, VINCE, AND ANOTHER MERCENARY
, the skinny one with the scruffy beard, escort Almstead, Tom, Rich, and me back to Almstead's suite.

I can tell Amos doesn't like this wrinkle in the plan.

He must know that we're stalling.

Can we … Can we jump over the side? Can we get free somehow?

As we exit the bridge, my mind is scrambling for ideas.

I can tell Tom and Rich are thinking along the same lines.

But we don't come up with anything on the short walk down to the stairway and to Almstead's suite on Deck 10.

Through the glass doors, I can see the sky turning gold and apricot. A beautiful sunset.

I wonder, Is this my last sunset?

I feel strangely displaced from the sadness and fear I should feel.

I am somehow floating above it all.

*   *   *

“Mr. Almstead, we'll seat you here,” Rich says. “And, Tom, this is you.” He indicates the other chair.

Tom and Almstead sit down.

I stand next to Rich, who is manning the camera.

In the suite, Rich has centered the shot on two beautiful wooden chairs, upholstered in glossy, jewel-toned silk. Behind them is a coffee table with a huge, slightly faded bouquet of flowers. Pollen from the heads of the drooping, yellowed lilies is scattered on the polished surface of the table. Translucent curtains dress the large porthole windows behind the table.

You would never know about the shipwide apocalypse outside the doors.

The scrawny mercenary next to me is trembling, I realize.

I turn and look at him and I see what I missed before. He's too thin. He's on Solu. He doesn't seem as far gone as the people on deck. Maybe he's only had a few doses.

Poor thing.

“I think we are about ready to begin. Can you please clear the shot, Amos?” Rich says.

Amos is standing between Tom and Almstead, maybe a few feet in back of them.

Amos shakes his head. “Not safe,” he says.

“What do you mean?” Almstead says. “What's going to happen?”

“He could jump you,” Amos says, indicating Tom with his chin.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, what's he going to do?”

“He's a strong young guy,” Amos says. “He could do some damage to you. And quick.”

“Well, it doesn't look like a very good interview if I have to have a bodyguard watching over me,” Almstead protests.

Amos grumbles with irritation. Then he walks over to me, shouldering his machine gun, and withdraws a handgun from a holster under his arm. He grabs me by the hair and pulls up.

Fire! It feels like my scalp is on fire and I cry out (though I didn't mean to).

“Then I'll keep tabs on your girl,” Amos says to Tom. He lifts me until I'm on the tips of my toes. The barrel of his handgun pokes into my belly.

“Leave her alone!” Tom says. “I'm not going to do anything.”

“Not now, you're not,” the marine counters. He keeps the gun pressed into my stomach.

“Is that really necessary?” Almstead complains. “I like the girl.”

“Me, too,” Amos grumbles, and he lets me down a bit, so my feet are resting on the ground. “But it is.”

My scalp and neck are burning with pain.

“Well, let's do this, shall we?” Almstead chirps. “I'm not getting any younger!”

Rich counts down. “Five, four, three, two…”

(I am in a sick parody of a studio audience.)

“I'm Tom Fiorelli and I'm here with Timothy Almstead, the CEO of Pipop and the man behind Solu.”

“Hello, everyone,” Almstead says.

“We are recording this interview on the evening of June twenty-sixth, less than six hours before Solu will be released across the country. And yet, you, the viewer, will not be seeing this until a time after Mr. Almstead's death. Mr. Almstead has agreed to speak with me in order to set the record straight about Solu and his role in its creation and distribution.”

“Well said, Tom. I like how seriously you're taking this.”

Almstead turns to the camera.

“Howdy, folks. I imagine that a lot of you are angry at me. Maybe you think that Solu was a terrible mistake. That we got the formula wrong, something like that.

“Nope. It was on purpose.

“You see, as the CEO of Pipop, I've been under attack for years. Fat people blame me and my soft drinks for causing their fatness. People with no self-control whine about how addictive the drinks are.

“And then some sicko hick tried to shoot me! All because his fat, lazy wife drank herself to death.

“I got fed up with it, frankly!

“When Elise Zhang told me her discovery … I saw a way. A way to teach you all a lesson! Why do we hate fat people, Tom?”

“I don't hate fat people,” Tom says.

“Oh, you're lying.” Almstead waves his hand like he's shooing away a fly.

“We hate them because they have no self-control. All of us regular, thin people have to watch what we eat and the oinkers of the world just gobble down whatever they feel like and it chafes at us. It's not fair! What I say is…”

Almstead looks right into the camera, a sneer of a smile on his face. He leans forward in his chair.

“You want to be out of control?
Really
out of control? Have some Solu.”

I shudder. Amos pokes me with the gun barrel.

Almstead is insane.

Even if Tom, Rich, and I die, making this tape is worth it. The world has to see him for who he is.

“Mr. Almstead,” Tom says. “Can you tell us how you got Solu past the FDA?”

“Lord, boy, didn't you read your talking points? Solu is not a drug. It's not regulated by the FDA. It's a nutritional supplement.

“As for the formulation, it was a happy accident. See, Solu's made from a combination of plants. There's something called bitter candyfruit that grows all over in Europe and some Indian herb called bacopa, naturally sweet, the both of them. Together, they made a pretty good sweetener.

“Dr. Zhang brought it to me, first just as a sweetener. But when we tested it on rats, they dropped weight. Within days, they'd go from fat rats to skinny. To dead. And the rats couldn't get enough of the stuff.

“I knew we had something big on our hands.

“And the great thing about Zhang was, she wasn't attached to humanity, per se. I mean, she was much more interested in the effect of the formulation than anything else. You should have seen her on this cruise, ‘Mr. Almstead, the subjects are demanding more Solu!' ‘Mr. Almstead, the subjects are losing their inhibitions!' ‘Mr. Almstead, they're raving mad!'

“She kind of scared me, the way her eyes lit up when she was talking about ‘the subjects.'