Lula Hoe: The SS Girlboss

‘Welcome, ladies, to a week you’ll never forget!’

By Eleanor Green
The upbeat voice rang loud and bright over the massive cruiseliner’s tannoy, knocking Jules back into reality. The perky blonde, standing in camo pants and a white tank top, stared across the sparkling harbour before her.

Here she was, finally about to board the annual Barely Legal Booze Cruise (‘brought to you by DREAMBOAT Enterprises®’), departing from Tampa, Florida, and heading for a twelve-night adventure around the captivating Bermuda Triangle. Full to the brim with inspirational talks, choreographed dancing, and only the occasional talking in tongues, this cruise-of-a-lifetime was offered to the top-earning, best-recruiting members of Barely Legal, the fastest-growing Multi-Level-Marketing company in the English-speaking world. And in just a few short minutes, Jules Schubert would be boarding the incredible ship herself.

Life hadn’t always been this promising for Jules. Discharged two years ago from the US Army on compassionate grounds, she found herself increasingly isolated on their Fort Lauderdale base, waiting for the day her critically injured husband Brandon would return from his tour of Guantanamo Bay. Her two young daughters, Paysleigh and Ainsleigh, were the light of her life, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the world had much more to offer. That was, of course, before she met Tamzin.

Tamzin, tall and stunningly beautiful, was a bronzed goddess that frequented Jules’s ‘Tums and Bums’ weekly postnatal yoga class. Jules had initially found it difficult to break the group’s icy exterior, full of confident new mothers who talked enthusiastically about their organic, zero-waste, all-natural lifestyles. Tamzin had approached Jules one day after class, complimenting her use of cloth diapers, and they’d been friends ever since. Naturally, Tamzin soon had to tell her newest girlfriend about her opportunity-of-a-lifetime; joining her Barely Legal business empire. All the other yoga ladies were clamouring to sell these incredible products. What did she have to lose? Jules signed up for a credit card that very day, and $1000 dollars in starter-pack later, Jules Schubert was a bona fide Barely Legal consultant.

As Tamzin’s downline, Jules soon grew to love promoting her new wares, including toxin-free cleaning supplies and immune-boosting meal replacements. Thanks to her independently informed new friends, she now knew better, and her home became a GMO, television and 5G free zone, replaced instead with fluoride-free water and wooden toys. With Tamzin’s advice, Jules discovered that it was her duty to protect her precious young children from harmful vaccines, and began taking her daughters to a qualified naturopath, not a charlatan paediatrician. Paysleigh did end up contracting measles that summer, but it wasn’t too bad, and she only went deaf in two ears. It warmed Jules’s heart to know she was doing the right thing for her kids. It wasn’t an easy job though. No sooner had she solved the problem of one toxin, she became aware of three new ones. The struggle never ended, but Jules knew it was a battle worth fighting.

And here she was 5 years later, a Senior Diamond Mentor, about to enjoy her very own private suite aboard the DREAMBOAT® SS Sapphire Princess. Entering her cabin, however, Jules was ill-prepared for the sight she would see. The brochure, glossy and colourful, had promised ‘unparalleled luxury’ in ‘5-star level comfort’. What instead lay before Jules reminded her very much of her first day of cadet school. The tiny, windowless cell was situated within the bowels of G-Deck, right above the engine room. Placing her suitcase on the metal-framed single bed, Jules was overwhelmed by the stench of raw sewage. As recompense, a Barely Legal gift basket sat conspicuously on the edge of the dresser. It contained two sachets of Barely Legal SlimFast! weight loss supplement, a toothbrush bearing the logo of Singapore Airlines, exactly one condom, and a copy of Amy Schumer’s latest biography. She sat down on the bed, unable to ignore the steady rumblings of the pipes that ran along the room’s ceiling.

Travelling was a logistical nightmare now that Jules lived an all-natural lifestyle, but that wouldn’t stop her from having a good time. Of course, she didn’t want to ingest the myriad of toxins that would be found in the on-board provisions, so she had made sure to pack 70 gallons of unfiltered rainwater, a big bottle of unpasteurised milk, her essential oil diffuser, and enough herbal enemas to last six months. She loathed the idea of sleeping on a run-of-the-mill mattress full of carcinogenic chemicals and microplastics, imagining the nasty particles entering her lungs, her bloodstream, and eventually her heart. Jules took a deep breath and turned towards the wall. With the sound of her heartbeat ringing loud in her ears, she knew she could cope for just a few nights. She smiled. It really was going to be the cruise of a lifetime.

The breakfast buffet was unlike anything Jules had ever experienced before or since. Endless cauldrons of mashed potatoes, chicken wings, fried eggs, waffles, and bacon lined the cavernous wall of the colourful 80s-inspired dining lounge. The room, heaving with ambitious, determined #BossBabes, pulsated with the optimistic hope that came with the promise of guaranteed financial success. Blinded by endless choice, and terrified of eating a non-organic meal, Jules settled on a slice of apple pie, washed down with a small cup of black tea. God, this was a treat. She knew she’d worry about consuming caffeine for days, agitating her nervous system and leading to Alzheimer’s, Multiple Sclerosis, or worse. Of course, she knew there would be times when she’d have to eat mass-produced, insecticide-riddled food when she was on the road, but it was always a struggle. Swallowing bite after delicious bite of the pie that would almost certainly lead to heart disease, Jules tried to focus on why she was here; to make her first million.

Sitting alone in the dining hall in a cosy booth by the floor-to-ceiling window, Jules looked out on the rough seas that swelled and crashed against the ship’s massive hull. Her body lurched to and fro, following the ancient cruiseliner’s own rhythmic pattern. In truth, Jules felt dizzy, and not just from the constant rocking. She felt very hot, her eye twitching in rapid bursts. Sweat formed along her temples. She could hear every cough, every whisper. It was then that Jules remembered her fatal error; she forgot to check the pie for walnuts. Her only weakness: a deathly allergy to tree nuts that had seen her taken twice to the medical bay during her tour of Iraq. An easy mistake to make, but one that was now about to catapult her body into a state of anaphylactic shock. The world around her became a soft-focus blur, tipping upside-down as Jules, and her apple pie, crashed to the floor.

In the darkness of her unconscious mind, Jules thought back to the last time she saw her husband, Brandon. His broad shoulders, clad in a faded Iron Maiden t-shirt, faced her as he turned to leave for what she now realised would be his very last deployment. The scene went black, and he was gone. Now she was back in Iraq, in a dugout foxhole somewhere on the outskirts of a metropolis recently destroyed. She knew Brandon was beside her, protecting her, about to save her from this terrible nightmare. Only then did she see his crumpled body, muscular and oh-so-toned, ripped apart by a barrage of mortar shells. He was repeating her name, gentle, defeated; a haunting echo that even in her unconscious state, Jules knew could never be real again.

‘Jules, cherie, can you hear me?’

It was a gravelly, rich voice. Seductive. Dangerous. Jules, still with her eyes shut, smiled.

‘Mon Dieu, she lives!’

Finally able to open her eyes, Jules was struck with the vision of what could only be an angel. The woman’s face was hovering mere inches above Jules’s own, her soft brown eyes and shimmering black hair framing her angular, yet feminine face to perfection. With her white shirt and hat, lit from behind by a warm glow of light, she appeared to have just descended from heaven. Dumbstruck, Jules now knew for certain that she was in the presence of divinity.

‘Cherie, do not try to talk. My name is Veronique. I am here for you’.

Standing tall in her starch-crisp uniform, Veronique was the head chef on board the ship, and had been the first person at Jules’s side after she collapsed. A native of Normandy, and in her early thirties, Veronique was truly a woman in her prime. It was Veronique that administered the EpiPen of adrenaline into Jules’s pert buttock, saving her life with mere seconds to spare. Other ladies from the business had crowded around, offering to rouse the dangerously ill woman with their own secret Barely Legal essential oil blends. Veronique had shooed them away, leaving the hall empty but for herself and her now-recovering patient. Still lying on the dining room carpet, Jules couldn’t help but notice the alluring woman’s smooth, olive skin, and beautifully toned calves. With her warm hand still caressing Jules’s arm, the captivating European asked Jules if she was okay.

‘Better now you’re here,’ she replied.

Their love grew rapidly, intensely, insatiably. From the day of Jules’s near-death experience, the two were inseparable. Instead of attending the voluntary-but -heavily-encouraged High School Acquaintances: Your Key to Success seminar, Jules snuck out to join Veronique in her small suite up on B-Deck. In their own chamber of paradise, the two began spending entire days with each other, oblivious to the world around. Veronique, passionate about cooking and a healthy attitude to food, encouraged Jules to confront her anxieties around mealtimes, feeding her spoonfuls of succulent non-organic ratatouille by hand. Though she often felt the itch to retrieve another gallon of fluoride-free spring water from her own cabin, Jules remained resolute, yielding to Veronique’s liberating new ethos. Jules felt guilty about skipping the daily motivational talks, weight loss seminars, and group ‘Blitz Your Biz’ prayer circles. How, though, could a mere mortal like Jules resist the dizzying heights of true love?

Fidgeting with her Barely Legal brand stress ball as she sat in her cabin, Jules battled to suppress a deep sense of dread that wound its way to the depths of her toned stomach. In truth, Jules had been worried about her business for some time. At the pleading of her husband, she had constructed a pastel-coloured spreadsheet of her monthly income and expenses, and much to her shock, the numbers weren’t good. Despite racking up nearly $200 in personal sales each month, mostly to the other military wives on The General Nathan Bedford Forrest Base, she spent ten times that to stay in business. For the last year, Jules had battled to keep her Senior Diamond Mentor rank, convincing her downline of thirty girls to purchase the necessary two thousand dollars’ worth of product each month, ensuring Jules a place on the annual company cruise. The whole situation was a mess. How could she still be losing, even after all this time?

That evening, Jules sat in the C-Deck toilets with her capri pants around her ankles, more confused than ever. She could hear a woman sobbing in the cubicle to her right, being consoled by a fellow empowered entrepreneur.

‘They’ve all quit!’ she cried.

‘Not all of them, surely babe.’

‘Every single one. That bitch Mandy convinced them that Barely Legal was on the brink of being shut down. They’ve all jumped ship. Some shitty candle company called ECOPURE.’

She stopped to catch her breath, her heaving sobs echoing through the hollow underwater chamber.

‘That’s it. I’m an Emerald Market Mentor again. Right back where I started. Eight years and this is how I’m rewarded. I can’t fucking believe it.’

She howled, an inhuman wail that rattled Jules to the bone.

Rushing out of the bathroom with toilet paper still stuck to her heel, Jules felt her chest tighten. The edges of her vision began to blur, a metallic tang on her tongue. She began to run, losing her way and unable to even recall her own room number. The corridor was shrinking and contracting all around, collapsing, entombing her within the ship forever. All that time. All that money. Everything she had worked so hard for, her life’s dream dissolving before her helpless, beautiful eyes. Jules knew she had to find fresh air. She needed her lavender oil. She needed her artisan distilled poppy water.

Most of all, she needed Veronique.