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arm.
    â€œI’d like to get you alone in one of those,” she said, indicating the lifeboat with a lift of one of her penciled-on eyebrows.
    Just then the crewman got an all clear from his walkie-talkie. “That’s it! Thanks, everyone,” he called out.
    I got away as fast as I could.
    Gross.
    *   *   *
    Tonight’s dinner is Black Tie Optional. Optional for everyone except me.
    â€œAre you kidding me?” Tamara gasped after I asked Rich if I could, maybe, just wear a sports coat. This was after our guided tour of the ship and I was feeling pretty wired out.
    Rich patted Tamara’s hand with an unspoken “I’ll take care of this,” and turned to me. He threaded his arm through mine.
    â€œI know you’ve had a long day, Thomas,” he said. “But I want you to think of yourself as an ambassador on this trip. When you show up looking fine, it elevates the whole event. These people are here for romance and transformation—and you’re like an angel, standing at the pearly gates of gorgeousness and fitness and luxury, welcoming them in. Can you see that, baby? Can you visualize it?”
    I like Rich, with his crazy mustache, so I worked hard to nod and look like I was really letting his words sink in.
    I did not roll my eyes.
    Tamara didn’t feel the need to be so “inspirational.”
    â€œI think you’re forgetting how lucky you are,” she scolded me. “Solu selected you, and you alone, to do the media coverage for this cruise. I mean, this is the exclusive of the century. You’re it, Tom. So if Rich asks or if I ask you to show up in a tux, I expect your question to be ‘Zenga or Armani?’”
    â€œOkay. Zenga or Armani?” I asked.
    â€œWhatever makes your ass look better,” she snapped.
    Nice, very nice.
    *   *   *
    I wore the Armani.
    And I’m glad I did.
    Because as the maître d’ leads me to my table in the Aurora Restaurant, I see he’s going to seat me right next to Sabbi Ribiero.
    Sabbi’s dressed in a glittering green cocktail dress. She kind of looks like a boa constrictor.
    I greet everyone, introducing myself where I need to, and then sit down. Luka Harris is seated on Sabbi’s other side. His shaggy blond do must take hours to get like that. Jenny Palmer, who was a Bachelorette in 2014, is there with the guy who won her—can’t remember his name. And there’s Tamara, scowling at me, and the grub guy from Survivor , who looks like he’s been making up for lost time.
    Sabbi extends her hand to me palm down and I have no choice but to kiss it.
    I hope I look calm and collected. Inside I’m shouting at myself for not figuring out what I wanted to do about Sabbi.
    It’s too late now, I realize. I’ve lost the chance to back out.
    â€œYou know what they call you in Brazil?” Sabbi asks.
    â€œWhat?” I say.
    â€œTomazino. In Brazil, they hate abbreviations for names. Nicknames. I don’t know why, but it’s true.”
    â€œThat’s strange,” I say. Tamara gives me the evil eye. “I mean, in an interesting way.”
    Jenny interrupts, “To me, you’ll always be Baby Tom-Tom!”
    â€œWell, I actually prefer Tom—” I try to say.
    â€œIt’s just the cutest name and when I think about you as a toddler…”
    Her eyes are welling up with tears. We’re not being filmed, so I think they are actual tears. She turns to the rest of the table.
    â€œOh my God, remember that episode when he got his pants caught in that elevator and they ripped off! What were you? Four?”
    Everyone gushes about the episode.
    I was six. I didn’t want to do the bit and my mom made me. The elevator doors closed on my pants. I got tipped over so I was upside down, on a rig, of course, facing the elevator doors.
    As my pants got pulled up, my body started slipping down. That