Diamonds Are a Teen's Best Friend (14 page)

Again, I don’t think I sleep at all. And I don’t think my dad does either, because he tosses and turns in his bed all night, each toss, each turn, making me feel more awful. Making me more anxious to make things right.

It isn’t until almost dawn that I work it out. (And the only reason I know it’s almost dawn is because of the red numbers on the alarm clock – there’s still not much of a view down here below sea level.) And when I do, it seems so simple. All I have to do is keep following the plot of
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
. I mean, that’s what all the signs have been pointing to all along: the cruise ship, Holly replying to my line when we were boarding, her need to find a decent guy, Ted turning up, the talent quest song … everything. So many signs! So many Marilynisms! And I’m not quite sure how I’m going to do this yet – follow the plot, that is. But it’s the faith thing again. It’ll come to me. I just need to have faith that I’ll get there. That it’ll all work out in the end. Just like it does in the movie. After all, it’s only in the final few minutes of
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
that things become clear. And I have two more whole days up my sleeve.

I hide out in the corridor for an hour and a half, until Marc leaves the suite. And I’m tired and I’m hungry, but I wait. Because I need to see Holly, to tell her everything’s still okay with us. It was weird, what happened last night at dinner, and I need to talk to her about it. Anyway, there is no way that’s going to happen while Marc’s on duty, I know. So I wait.

As soon as I see him round the corner, I rush up to her door and knock.

‘Oh. Nessa.’ Holly opens the door only to give me a strange look.

‘Hi, Holly.’

‘Are you really supposed to be here?’

I give her a strange look in return.

‘It’s just that Marc mentioned your dad thought we were spending a little too much time together.’

I pause a second, but then shake my head. ‘He never said that.’

‘But …’ She frowns, then quickly sighs. ‘Oh, I see. That Marc. I’m sorry, Nessa. He can be a bit too over-protective at times. He likes to scare off new people.’

I snort. ‘I’ve noticed.’

‘Come in, come in.’ Holly waves me inside. ‘Believe me, I’ll be talking to him later.’

I make my way inside, trying not to breathe a too-obvious sigh of relief. At least Marc hasn’t told Holly about his weird tabloid journalist theory. Holly shuts the door behind us.

‘You know, I called your dad a while ago to apologise for anything I’d done, but he wasn’t there. I had to leave a message.’

‘Oh.’

‘Can you get him to give me a call when you see him?’

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, I can’t quite meet her eyes. ‘Sure,’ I say, but I realise there’s no point. Dad’s not going to call Holly back. Not after last night.

Silence.

‘Look, I …’ Holly starts, but her voice quickly wavers.

I take a step forward towards her. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Oh …’ She waves a hand. ‘I just feel like an idiot. About last night. With Antonio. I don’t know why … what I was doing … I’m such a ditz. And now …’

I think back again to the scene at the restaurant. To Antonio and Holly. And her flirting.

‘Everything’s just so … I can’t explain it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m mixed up, upside down, topsy-turvy. I feel like I’m thirteen years old again and –’ She breaks off as there’s a knock on the door.

I almost hit my head on the ceiling, I jump so high. ‘Who’s that?’ I say quickly. Please let it not be Marc …

But Holly just waves a hand again. ‘I called for a steward. I need to send this note to Antonio. I can’t get onto him and … damn.’ She’s almost at the door when the phone rings and she hesitates.

‘I’ll get the door. You get the phone,’ I say, rushing over to the door. There’s no way I’m getting the phone. It could be Marc.

‘Thanks,’ Holly says, abandoning the door and making
her way over to the phone instead. She passes me the note as she goes. And I don’t mean to read it, but she hands it to me face up. And there are only a few words on it. I can’t help it, really. This is what it says:

Well, I guess it’s all still on with Antonio. I open the door for the steward and go to hand him the note, but Holly speaks up just as I’m passing it to him. ‘Hang on, it’s okay. Don’t bother with the note – it’s Antonio on the phone. Sorry about that,’ she says to the steward. ‘Nessa, can you …?’ She glances at her wallet, sitting on the side table. Huh? Oh! A tip. I always forget about that. Australians don’t tip (this makes us
really
popular overseas … not). I open up Holly’s wallet and my eyes boggle at the wad of hundreds and fifties and twenties and tens all stuffed in there. I glance up at the steward.

‘She usually gives me twenty,’ he says.

Now I give him a look. ‘Yeah, right.’ He shrugs.

Behind me, Holly pipes up again. ‘Twenty would be good. Thanks, Nessa.’

My eyes widen. Twenty?! For delivering a note? Or not delivering a note, as things stand. Note to Nessa: Add stewarding to possible career list. And stick to the upper decks. Silently, I pass him a twenty and he gives me a wink, closing the door as he goes.

‘No, that’s fine. It doesn’t matter … It’s not important. We’ll catch up some other time … Thanks, Antonio.’

I turn towards her, putting her wallet back down on the side table.

‘Well, so much for that. He can’t make it. Not that it really matters. I only wanted to see him to apologise in person for last night. For acting so strangely. The thing is, I’m not interested in Antonio, I’m … oh, it doesn’t matter. I’m tired of thinking about it. Anyway, how awful do I feel, dragging that poor steward up here for nothing?’

I just look at her. I don’t think the ‘poor steward’ feels equally awful.

‘Right. So, what are we up to this afternoon?’ Holly claps her hands together. ‘Something nice? Cocktails/mocktails?’

I pause for a second, remembering Marc and his parting words to me. I shouldn’t even be here, let alone meeting up with Holly for cocktails/mocktails. ‘Oh, I can’t. I promised my dad that I’d do something for him.’ Lie, lie, lie.

‘Oh.’ Holly’s face falls a bit. ‘That’s okay, I understand.’

‘Really?’

Holly nods. ‘Of course. But remember to ask him to call me when he has a minute, won’t you? I really want to talk to him. Maybe he’d even like an early dinner.’

Hmmm. I watch her carefully. She’s avoiding talking about something again. Maybe it’s about Ted? ‘What were you saying before, about last night and not being interested in Antonio?’

There’s another wave of a hand. ‘Oh, nothing. Really, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’

I ask her again, but the moment has obviously passed. Whatever Holly was going to open up about before, it’s been locked away inside her once more to be kept safe and sound.

It’s only when I’m halfway back to the cabin that I see the steward again. The one that I tipped. And then I look down and realise I still have Holly’s note in my hand.
Holly’s note to Antonio. But with no name on it. I read it again, just to make sure.

Finally, I know what I have to do.

‘Hey!’ I call out and the steward halts in his tracks and turns around. ‘Wait up. Holly’s changed her mind.’

Well, it’s only another
little
lie. Isn’t it? And it’s for a good cause …

Here’s hoping he doesn’t expect another twenty to make this delivery.

I can’t help but read my email. I’m only supposed to be online for a few minutes – checking up a few details on the plot of
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
– but when the emails plop into the correct mailbox, I see there are four from Alexa, remember that she’s probably put her life on the line to send them, and the next thing I know, my email program is maximised across Sugar Kane’s small screen and I’m reading away.

I have to smile at the emails, despite some of the things they say. They’re so … Alexa. That girl is my conscience. And, you have to hand it to her, most of the time she’s right.
Most
of the time. But not that time we thought that her dad was having an affair. (He kind of was, but with a mummy. Still, it was a
female
mummy, so she was sort of right.) She’s not right now, either. Still, right or not, I can’t
leave her hanging like this, so I send her a quick reply to ease her mind.

I press send, then, with a snap, Sugar Kane is shut again. Right. What’s the time? What?! Five fifteen?! I jump off my bed, grab my coat and head for the door.

Time to see my plan put into action.

Back in my now-familiar hiding spot in the corridor (behind the fire extinguisher box), I stand (well, crouch)
and wait for 5.30 pm to roll around. People kind of look at me as they pass by, then let themselves into their suites and close the door quickly behind them, not knowing if I’m a thief wanting to steal their Louis Vuitton suitcases, or a stalker wanting to stab them with their solid-silver letter openers. I guess I kind of am a stalker (I don’t want to stab anybody with anything, though).

I wait for about ten to fifteen minutes before he shows up. Right on time, I nod, checking my watch. He knocks on Holly’s door, waits, waits a bit more, then he shrugs, reaches out and tries the handle. Hey! I think, shouldn’t he wait just a little bit longer? But, surprisingly, the door is unlocked. It opens and – I hold my breath – he enters.

Phew.

So far, so good.

I stand up slowly, my knees not being very forgiving about all the crouching we’ve been doing lately. I keep my eyes on the door though, still half-holding my breath as I wait, and lean against the wall.

As each minute passes, I smile a little more. A little wider. My plan – it seems to be working. I mean, I thought it would, I tried to have faith, but … well, you never
know, do you? I check my watch again. Five minutes. Six minutes. I watch the second hand tick over. Seven minutes! Seven whole minutes. I shake my head and start to wonder what’s going on in there. Well, I can guess. Champagne. Oysters. Just like I’d ordered. Then they’ll look at each other and – What?!

Quickly, I crouch down again, my dream scenario fading suddenly.

What’s my dad doing here?

He shouldn’t be up here. What’s he doing? Interviewing someone? What?

I look again, harder, in case my eyes are deceiving me. But no, there’s no mistake. There he is, starting down the corridor. Heading right towards Holly’s suite. My eyes widen in fright. And, again, just like before, I hold my breath. Which is hard, at the rate my heart’s beating now. He keeps going. Keeps heading towards Holly’s suite. Oh, no. He’s not interviewing someone – I remember Holly’s words then. From this afternoon. How she’d been trying to call him. But no, he can’t have returned her calls. He can’t have changed his mind. I know him. He wouldn’t have called her. Not after last night, after what
he’d seen. This isn’t part of the plan, this isn’t in the script, this isn’t … Oh, no. No. No, no, no, no, no.

The elevator doors open again and I watch in horror as someone else exits and starts up the corridor, tracing my father’s footsteps.

Marc.