the used bar?”
“The crew gets it,” Mira said. “One of our perks. Don’t expect to load up on fancy soap. You’d be surprised how many people don’t wash their hands.”
“How do you know if a guest has used the head?” Helen was proud she’d remembered the nautical term.
“We keep in touch by radio.” Mira pulled a two-way radio off her belt. “You’ll get one, too. If I’m serving in the main salon and you’re doing laundry, I’ll radio you, ‘Guest X is coming back, used the on-deck head,’ and then you’ll clean it.
“The master stateroom and baths are forward on this deck,” she said.
Helen wanted to sink into the depths of the cushiony azure bed piled with dark blue pillows. It faced a sixty-inch television. Who’d watch TV when they had a bed like that? she wondered. She caught herself before she said anything. Mira didn’t know she was a newlywed.
“Most rich people’s homes are either fussy or gaudy,” Helen said. “I could actually live here.”
“All you need is twelve million for the yacht and another million a year to run it,” Mira said.
“I’d better start buying lottery tickets,” Helen said.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Mira said. “The crew quarters and guest rooms are on the lower deck.”
Helen was grateful they walked down an ordinary tile staircase instead of climbing a ship’s ladder. “This room is the crew mess and galley,” Mira said.
A beige wraparound booth and table took up the port side. Above it, a wall-mounted TV was tuned to the news. The dock and the yacht interior were displayed on four screens.
Across the room was a small galley. Mira opened a fridge stocked with food, soda and bottled water. “What do you drink?” she asked. “I run on Red Bull.”
“Water’s fine,” Helen said.
“We’ve got a whole shelf,” Mira said. “Help yourself. Any allergies or food you don’t like?”
“Liver,” Helen said.
“Never serve it.”
“Do you really care what I like?” Helen asked.
“When we cruise, you may work twenty hours a day. If the owners come home at four a.m., we have to be ready to serve them drinks and sandwiches or an early breakfast. It’s a demanding job. We try to keep you happy in little ways.”
Two stacked washer-dryer sets churned and hummed next to the galley. Helen noticed the washers were on the bottom and stifled a groan. She’d have to stoop to load them.
“We do laundry from six a.m. till midnight,” Mira said.
“I guess so, if you change the towels after one use,” Helen said.
Mira barged ahead. “We also do the guests’ laundry and ironing, including their underwear.”
“You iron underwear?” Helen didn’t own an iron.
“We have to stop washing and drying at twelve so the crew can sleep,” Mira said.
How am I going to find an emerald smuggler if I’m working twenty hours a day? Helen wondered. If my heart sinks any lower, I’ll need a salvage company.
“You must carry a lot of water to wash clothes eighteen hours a day,” she said.
“The yacht makes its own freshwater,” Mira said. “It pumps seawater.” She turned a metal wheel about the size of a steering wheel. “The secret passage and crew quarters are through this hatch.”
Helen followed her into a narrow, windowless hall. Mira slid open a door. “You’ll share this with Louise, the second stewardess.” The cabin was big enough for two bunks and a three-drawer cabinet. The narrow bathroom was no bigger than Helen’s, but much cleaner.
“Who cleans our rooms?” Helen asked.
“We do,” Mira said. “Some of the boys pay a stewardess to clean for them.”
The passageway grew smaller and lower. Helen bumped her head on a wheel in the ceiling.
“Ouch.” Mira winced. “Are you hurt?”
Helen shook her head no.
“You found the escape hatch,” she said. “It leads to the bosun’s locker. If there’s an emergency, that’s how we get out belowdecks.”
The bosun’s locker, Helen thought. Where the
“The crew gets it,” Mira said. “One of our perks. Don’t expect to load up on fancy soap. You’d be surprised how many people don’t wash their hands.”
“How do you know if a guest has used the head?” Helen was proud she’d remembered the nautical term.
“We keep in touch by radio.” Mira pulled a two-way radio off her belt. “You’ll get one, too. If I’m serving in the main salon and you’re doing laundry, I’ll radio you, ‘Guest X is coming back, used the on-deck head,’ and then you’ll clean it.
“The master stateroom and baths are forward on this deck,” she said.
Helen wanted to sink into the depths of the cushiony azure bed piled with dark blue pillows. It faced a sixty-inch television. Who’d watch TV when they had a bed like that? she wondered. She caught herself before she said anything. Mira didn’t know she was a newlywed.
“Most rich people’s homes are either fussy or gaudy,” Helen said. “I could actually live here.”
“All you need is twelve million for the yacht and another million a year to run it,” Mira said.
“I’d better start buying lottery tickets,” Helen said.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Mira said. “The crew quarters and guest rooms are on the lower deck.”
Helen was grateful they walked down an ordinary tile staircase instead of climbing a ship’s ladder. “This room is the crew mess and galley,” Mira said.
A beige wraparound booth and table took up the port side. Above it, a wall-mounted TV was tuned to the news. The dock and the yacht interior were displayed on four screens.
Across the room was a small galley. Mira opened a fridge stocked with food, soda and bottled water. “What do you drink?” she asked. “I run on Red Bull.”
“Water’s fine,” Helen said.
“We’ve got a whole shelf,” Mira said. “Help yourself. Any allergies or food you don’t like?”
“Liver,” Helen said.
“Never serve it.”
“Do you really care what I like?” Helen asked.
“When we cruise, you may work twenty hours a day. If the owners come home at four a.m., we have to be ready to serve them drinks and sandwiches or an early breakfast. It’s a demanding job. We try to keep you happy in little ways.”
Two stacked washer-dryer sets churned and hummed next to the galley. Helen noticed the washers were on the bottom and stifled a groan. She’d have to stoop to load them.
“We do laundry from six a.m. till midnight,” Mira said.
“I guess so, if you change the towels after one use,” Helen said.
Mira barged ahead. “We also do the guests’ laundry and ironing, including their underwear.”
“You iron underwear?” Helen didn’t own an iron.
“We have to stop washing and drying at twelve so the crew can sleep,” Mira said.
How am I going to find an emerald smuggler if I’m working twenty hours a day? Helen wondered. If my heart sinks any lower, I’ll need a salvage company.
“You must carry a lot of water to wash clothes eighteen hours a day,” she said.
“The yacht makes its own freshwater,” Mira said. “It pumps seawater.” She turned a metal wheel about the size of a steering wheel. “The secret passage and crew quarters are through this hatch.”
Helen followed her into a narrow, windowless hall. Mira slid open a door. “You’ll share this with Louise, the second stewardess.” The cabin was big enough for two bunks and a three-drawer cabinet. The narrow bathroom was no bigger than Helen’s, but much cleaner.
“Who cleans our rooms?” Helen asked.
“We do,” Mira said. “Some of the boys pay a stewardess to clean for them.”
The passageway grew smaller and lower. Helen bumped her head on a wheel in the ceiling.
“Ouch.” Mira winced. “Are you hurt?”
Helen shook her head no.
“You found the escape hatch,” she said. “It leads to the bosun’s locker. If there’s an emergency, that’s how we get out belowdecks.”
The bosun’s locker, Helen thought. Where the
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