1 Shore Excursion (7 page)

Ortiz was more social and had created a stir among the ladies with his lean but powerful
presence
and bold black-brown eyes.

I slipped out of the Broadway Showroom just as the magician was beginning his act. The
spacious
, tiered auditorium was filled from the top level
—
where the big sound and light control board was located
—
all the way down to the stage. His performance was a comic one, combining magic and jokes and using a lot of funny sound effects and voice synthesizers. It was really quite good, but I had seen him before on previous cruises and I thought I should finish my rounds. I wanted to be sure everyone was having a good time on the first night out.

A few
High Steppers
were in the casino.
As soon as a ship enters international waters, the casino opens and
at least one or two
of our
clients
always plant themselves
there
, only emerg
ing
to eat or sleep.

I saw
Al
Bostick in the casino, slouched over a blackjack table,
the lines in his face deepened in concentration
. He was
wearing the same sad old clothes he had worn on the plane. His long gray hair was slicked back and greasy and h
is thin lips moved slightly. I was fairly sure he was counting cards
,
but if the dealer noticed, he didn’t
say anything to Al. Behind the blackjack tables,
Maria Petrone, eyes
glazed over
,
was
steadily feeding a quarter slot as if she were an
orange-polyester
extension of the machine.

Fernando Ortiz
was slow-dancing in the Starlight Lounge with a
young,
gorgeous, blue-eyed blonde.
Fast worker, that
guy
.
Only a few hours on board
,
and he had already hooked up.
Maybe he
wa
s a super-salesman after all.

I
have to admit; I’m
not a fan of
tiny, doll-
like
blondes.
I am tall, with
all this
wild black hair and stormy, gray eyes
,
and
I
am well aware
that I would make a far better witch than fairy princess.
Those witch parts were the ones I always got in school plays, from the third grade
on
.

Jay was nowhere
to be found
.
He always cruises the ship the first night out to “see if
there’s anyone interesting aboard
, darling
,
”
s
o I was quite alone, for once, and happy to be so.

There is something so truly wonderful about a big ship, at least for me.
I love to travel. Anyone would, who came from
my tiny little home
town.
That’s why I
headed to New York when I
had
the chance.

But
I always feel a
n
extra-special
thrill
on a huge ocean liner
when the long
line
s are dropped and the ship slips
away from the pier.
I love the parting blast of
her
horn and the feel of
her
deck under my f
eet as
she
cross
es
the bar and
enter
s
deep water.
I might have
considered
joining
the Navy,
but my mother would have passed out at the thought
.
She would have
insist
ed
that
the naval life
was
entirely too rough for a delicate Southern flower like me.
You should have heard
everything she said
when I told her I was
skipping college, and mor
e importantly, sorority rush
,
to
mov
e
to New York
and
work for
a travel agen
cy
.

On the stern deck,
I leaned over the rail, the wind
whi
pping at my hair, and watched the white foam boil up behind us as the huge screws churned their way through the dark ocean.
I’ve been on
dozens of
cruises in my career and
have
never, ever tire
d
of it.
Granted, the bingo and horse racing games and theme nights on some ships get old, but for the most part,
I don’t mind
because
I really, really love the sea.

Immersed in the moment
,
I didn’t see or hear
the approach of
Johnny Depp’s
stand-in
until he was
right
behind me, lips close to my ear.

“What are you
doing out here all alone, Sidney
?”

I could barely hear his words over the sound of the wind.

“Are you going to jump overboard and never be heard from again?
It would be hours, you know, before anyone knew you had gone missing.
Much too long for a rescue.”

I turned to face him
and noticed for the first time a thin scar marring his left eyebrow. The scar, paired wit
h muscular shoulders, enhanced his
slight
aura of
menace
, of fascination
.
H
e was
dressed in an open-collar white shirt and an expensive blazer.
I caught a faint whiff of his cologne in the wind.

“Wrong, Fernando
,
” I said, looking up at him
, meeting his black eyes and wicked grin
. “T
he High Steppers could find me.
One of them
ferrets me out
every fifteen minutes on average.”

“What a miserable way to live.
I do not envy you,” he sneered.
“You have such a dismal life
,
and
you don’t even realize it.
Those people are disgusting.
”

T
urning abruptly, he melted
into the gloom of the stern
.

“Well, why did
you sign on for a trip
with
us
then,” I wanted to shout after him.

But he was gone, and I wouldn’t have said it anyway.
IFT escorts are not rude to our customers.

The deck no longer seemed romantic, just cold
,
wet and lonely, spoiled by
Fernando’s
nastiness.
We were in heavy seas, and a light roll could be felt
despite
the ship’s stabilizers.
Breaking a rule,
I
tossed
what was left of my wine over the side, watching the red dr
ops disappear into the darkness
,
and climbed the outside stair to the Sports Deck
.
Buffeted by the wind and trying not to slip on the wet boards in my new black evening sandals, I didn’t look where I was going and almost collided with a deckhand.
He gripped my arms to steady me
; his
eyes
and demeanor were
oddly
familiar
.
Had I seen him somewhere before? Perhaps on another cruise.

“Go inside with the others
, lady
, go inside now.
It’s dangerous out here.”

And
then
he, too,
marched on
toward the stern
without
another word.

I pulled hard to open the
heavy
forward door
against the wind
and stepped quickly into the
welcome
noise and light of the disco.

Leaning against the bar, I ordered another glass of Malbec and waited for my eyes to adjust to the flashing
strobes
.
I scanned the room for familiar faces.
No High Steppers here, not tonight.
The poor, tired dears were probably all tucked in, covered with motion sickness patches
now that the seas had kicked up.
My London-in-a-capsule tour had worn them out.

I was surprised Jay
wasn’t there.
The band was good and the room was crowded.
Jay is usually
the
King of Disco.
Once, in a Mexican nightclub in Puerto Vallarta, he had jumped on the bandstand and started gatoring with such enthusiasm that the band stopped playing and the management called an ambulance.
They thought the big red-headed gringo was having a seizure.

I was sorry
not to
see him
,
because
I
really
wanted t
o tell him abou
t my unpleasant little chat with Ortiz
.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Mr. Fernando Ortiz. He was clearly appealing to me in some ways, but sort of repellent in others, all at the same time. I wondered what Jay thought of him.

Never underestimate Jay.
Under all the jazz, he is very sharp
and little escapes him. Sometimes he laughs at my concerns, but he doesn’t ignore the
m. After my
vaguely ominous
encounter
s on deck
I
longed for
his
reassurance and
large,
comforting presence.

I looked in the Castaway Bar,
in
the library, and even in the dining room, but the midnight buffet was long over.
Only
busboys remained, cleaning up the wreckage of
the feeding
frenz
y
. Finally
I gave up and went to bed.

The luminous dial on my clock read 3:05 when I heard the steel handle of my cabin door turn for the second time.

The first time I heard it I was really still asleep, but when it turned again a few seconds later, I was wide awake and watching.

I knew that no one could enter, of course.
I had turned the night bolt securely before climbing i
n
to
my berth, and only the room steward and the purser had keys.
I guessed s
ome drunk just ha
d
the wrong room
. B
ut if it
was
a late-night hell-raiser, he
wa
s a mighty quiet one.

I lay awake for a long time after, listening for the sound of the door handle, for footsteps or voices in the passageway, but
hearing
only the faint throb of the engines and the sound of the waves.
Whoever had been at my door had slipped silently away.

I was awakened again at 6:15 by Jay, pounding on the door
and
shouting
my name.

“Okay, okay,
calm down,
I’m coming,” I said, unlocking the door.
“Come in
.
W
hat is it?”

He burst into the cabin and grabbed me by both arms
, nearly lifting me off the floor
.

“Just get dressed right now
.
I
t’s awful.
I don’t know what
we are going to do, Sidney.
Ruth Shadrach is dead.”

I sank back down onto the bed.

“Dead.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean,
dead
?”

“I mean dead,” he said, “real dead, as in not alive.
So stop asking dumb questions and get dressed.”

He opened my drawer and sta
rted throwing underwear and t-shirts at me.

“Here, put this on.
No, not that, that’s tacky, this.”

I grabbed my clothes away from him.