His voice softened. “I can only do that,” he said, “when everyone here believes I am who I say I am.”

No one moved. You could hear the smack of the sea against the boat’s sides. Finally, Geri, who is too practical for talk like this, surveyed the group like an annoyed schoolteacher.

“Well, buddy,” she said, “you let us know when that happens. Until then, we better adjust our food rations.”

News

REPORTER: This is Valerie Cortez, aboard the Galaxy, the spectacular yacht owned by Jason Lambert. The billionaire businessman has assembled some of the biggest names in the world for a weeklong adventure, and he’s here with us now. Hello, Jason.

LAMBERT: Welcome, Valerie.

REPORTER: You’ve called this extravaganza “the Grand Idea.” Why?

LAMBERT: Because everyone on this ship has done something grand, something to shape their industry, their country, maybe even the planet. We have technology leaders, business leaders, political leaders, entertainment leaders. They’re big-idea people.

REPORTER: Movers and shakers, like yourself.

LAMBERT: Well. Ha. I don’t know about that.

REPORTER: And you brought them together for what reason?

LAMBERT: Valerie, it’s a $200 million yacht. I think a good time is possible!

REPORTER: Obviously!

LAMBERT: No. Seriously. Idea people need to be around other idea people. They spur each other to change the world.

REPORTER: So this is like the World Economic Forum in Davos, Switzerland?

LAMBERT: Right. But a more fun version—on water.

REPORTER: And you hope many grand ideas come out of this trip?

LAMBERT: That, and some quality hangovers.

REPORTER: Hangovers, did you say?

LAMBERT: What’s life without a party, Valerie? Am I right?

Sea

Lambert throws up. He is on his knees, heaving over the side. His fat midsection protrudes from his T-shirt, and he is hairy at the navel. Some of the vomit blows back in his face, and he groans.

It is evening. The sea is choppy. Others have been sick as well. The winds are fierce. Maybe it will rain. We’ve had no rain since the Galaxy sank.

Looking back, we were still hopeful that first morning—shocked at what happened, but grateful to be alive. The ten of us huddled inside the lifeboat. We spoke about rescue planes. We scanned the horizon.

“Who here has children?” Mrs. Laghari suddenly asked, as if starting a car game. “I myself have two. Grown now.”

“Three,” Nevin offered.

“Five,” Lambert said. “Got you beat.”

“But how many wives?” Nevin poked.

“That wasn’t the question,” Lambert said.

“I’ve been too busy,” Yannis said.

“Not yet for me,” Nina said.

“Have you got a husband?” Mrs. Laghari asked.

“Do I need one?”

Mrs. Laghari laughed. “Well, I did! Anyhow, you won’t have any problem in that department.”

“We have four sons,” Jean Philippe announced. He rested a hand on his sleeping wife’s shoulder. “Bernadette and I. Four good boys.” He turned to me. “And you, Benji?”

“No kids, Jean Philippe.”