Heat Wave (7 page)

Sweating and sticky, I woke up panting with the sheet wrapped around my neck. The little room was still empty and a glowing alarm clock in the corner read 4:45. I stretched my arms high, hitting the roof hard, while at the same time catching a whiff of my body odour.
I need a shower …

I rolled onto my tummy and eased off the top bunk. Inside my worn backpack, I managed to find one last clean pair of underwear, a not-completely dirty tee, and a bra with one hook missing.

Pants were a different story. Aside from the ripped and filthy jeans I'd been wearing for the last twenty-four hours, I only had a tiny pair of black shorts, so skimpy, they barely covered my backside. Sighing, I resigned myself to wearing them, and vowed to ask Greg where a girl could find some clothes on board our floating workplace.

The shower was both wonderful and frustrating. In a tiny corner of the bathroom, which was itself tiny, hung a plastic curtain with a showerhead above it. As I stood under the meagre water flow, the curtain billowed in the steam, then the bottom seam attached itself to my ankles and started sealing itself to my body. Every time it made it as far as my butt I'd kick it loose, but it always came back for more.

Still, getting clean felt amazing. Scrubbing the sleep, rain and Tanner from my skin was like a fresh start. I borrowed a handful of Greg's body wash, loving the masculine smell as I slid soapy fingers under my breasts and between my thighs.

Two clean white towels hung from a rack; I dried myself with one and wrapped it around me. The bathroom was logistically too small to get changed in, so I pushed open the door and entered the cabin in a plume of steam.

‘Maddie! Bugger me!' Greg covered his eyes. ‘Warn a man before you swan around here nude, thanks.'

‘You're back!' Somehow, after a nap and a shower, I felt hopeful and light again. Sure, I was stuck on a ship with the man I loved who no longer wanted me, and sure, I'd been demoted, but I was clean, I had somewhere to sleep and I had a friend. ‘Just give me five minutes to get dressed, then we can grab some food. I'm starving.'

He peeked at me from between thick fingers. ‘Uh … do you want me to step out?'

‘Greg, we're stuck together in here for at least the next few weeks; we probably need to get used to each other.' I winked at him. ‘I promise I'll even write to your wife and explain if you like.'

‘Nope, you don't need to do that,' he said, a little too quickly. Sitting on the lower bunk, Greg drew the tiny sleep curtain closed to give me some privacy and said, ‘So, our call time tonight is six-thirty. The girls are going to arrive one by one and meet Beau on the top deck. We'll be filming that, then they're all going to mingle at the deck party until Miles rocks up and announces the rules.'

I quickly shed my towel and hopped on one foot, pulling my panties on. ‘Wait, what about the other contestants?'

‘What others?'

My heart sank. ‘It's just Beau? How many girls?'

‘Ten. And bloody hell, if they aren't the most stunning women I've ever seen in one place—they make Miranda Kerr look like Julia Gillard! I nearly walked into a wall when the blonde one said hello to me.'

Shucking my shorts on, I couldn't answer for a moment. It was bad enough when I thought there were an even amount of guys and girls; watching ten ladies flaunt and fight for Tanner's attention was going to be a special kind of hell.

I pulled my tee on, the Foo Fighters logo stretched across my chest. As I ran my fingers through my wet hair, sculpting it back into a quick ponytail, I said, ‘Okay, your modesty is preserved. Come on out!'

His furry face appeared around the side of the curtain. ‘I'm not sure we can call those shorts modest. Lucky you have a cute backside, Hobo. Ready to eat?'

My belly rumbled, happy to be acknowledged finally after a long break. ‘Yes!'

We made our way back along the twisty halls, arriving back on the Newell. Greg said, ‘The staff dining room is at the far end, but here's where all the action will be after we wrap up tonight.' He nodded to a sign on another door.

‘The Port Hole?' I read.

‘The crew bar! One dollar Coronas.' Greg pumped a fist in the air. ‘You can shout everyone on the production team and not go broke.'

‘Sounds like heaven.'

Inside the dining room, metal basins blocked our way, with massive signs on the walls screaming about hand washing safety. I followed the instructions, scrubbing as if I was on my way to surgery rather than dinner, then entered after Greg.

‘Greg! Hey, man. I need to ask you a question about tonight.' A Chinese man with striking features waved my roommate over.

Greg turned to me. ‘I'll be back in a sec, okay?'

‘I don't need a babysitter,' I said pleasantly. ‘As long as they've got hot chips, I'll be fine.'

Making my way over to the buffet, I took a moment to enjoy one of the bonuses of being on board. Although the staff dining room wasn't pretty, with its plastic chairs and paper plates, the food was obviously the same as what the cast were being served upstairs. Seafood and steak lay steaming under heat lamps, while a dozen different gourmet salads glistened wetly in massive bowls.

I grabbed a plate and loaded up with a seeded dinner roll, a scoop of nicoise salad and some sweet potato fries. With my hands full of cutlery, I couldn't help myself from balancing a little bowl of chocolate mousse on top. Looking around the room for somewhere to sit, I noticed the makeup artist whose trolley I'd decimated earlier that day.

I need to apologise anyway …
I headed over to where she sat with a few other beautifully manicured creatures, obviously the beauty department clique.

‘Hi,' I said. ‘I'm Maddie. I'm so sorry about your trolley earlier. I just want you to know, I'll replace anything that got ruined or lost as soon as we get paid.' I smiled and waited for an invite to sit.

It never came. The darkly-tanned girl stood, glaring up at me. I had the height advantage, but she outweighed me in pure ire. ‘Okay,
Maddie
. Let me tell you about the makeup brush that rolled overboard today. My grandmother gave it to me. It was over fifty years old, and the handle was carved from ivory. Now, you tell me how you're gonna replace that.'

‘Now, how you plan on replacing that?' piped up one of her cronies.

I smiled again, faltering this time. ‘I … I'm sorry, Natalie. I don't know what to say …'

She poked me square in the chest and I flinched. ‘So, how about you take your long-arse giraffe-legs and trot away somewhere else, huh? I'm a Christian woman, so I'll let this one slide, but I swear to the good Lord, cross me again, and I'll make your time here so bad you'll wish for an iceberg.'

‘Great. I'll go then.' At that moment, the man at the table behind me stood, bumping into me. With my feet already pivoting to go, I was off balance and the nudge in my back caused me to pitch forward.

I held the tray tight, tilting it to keep the plate level, but I couldn't stop the little pot of mousse from sailing off the top and landing square on Natalie's chest. The brown goop slopped out all over her fitted shirt, then plopped to the ground, splattering her sequined high heels.

It was like a moment from a sitcom, where everyone stops, and the TV audience says, ‘
Ooooo …'
For about three seconds, nobody moved, then Natalie's finely-plucked eyebrow twitched. ‘Bitch …
why?'

‘I don't know,' I whimpered. ‘Because, I'm accident-prone. I'm sorry.'

Another girl from the table jumped up with a fistful of napkins. ‘Natalie, let me help you.'

‘No.' She snatched the napkins and held them out to me. ‘This bitch is gonna clean up every drop from my shoes.'

‘Sure, no worries. If you just take them off, I'll—'

‘The hell with that.' Natalie gave me a sinister smile. ‘Clean them while I wear them. On your knees.'

‘You're joking, right?' I looked around, waiting for someone to laugh and say it was all a joke. When no one did, I said, ‘I'm not cleaning your shoes on my knees. I'm not a slave, and you're not a queen. I'm sorry they're dirty, and if you take them off I'll do my best, but I'm not bowing down here.'

Natalie calmly ignored me and began taking off her massive hoop earrings, speaking to the other girl. ‘Girl, hold these for me. Nat has some bitch-slapping to do …'

My eyes widened in horror as her taloned hand drew back, but at the last second, a pudgy dark fist caught Natalie's arm.

‘Girl, what ‘cho doin'? Ain't Mama Ruby warned you about raising hell over nothing?' My saviour was a round island woman, with beautiful black skin and an air of authority. She tutted at Natalie. ‘You bring dose shoes by my cabin tonight, I'll see they get back the way they were. And leave this one to me …'

Mama Ruby took my arm and gave a ferocious stare to everyone in the vicinity. Natalie said meekly, ‘Yes, Mama …' and sat back down, as if nothing had happened.

Propelled along by Mama Ruby, I found myself at the other end of the dining room at an empty table. ‘Thanks,' I said. ‘You're a real lifesaver. I'm Maddie.'

‘Oo, child. Mama knows that an' a whole lot more.' She lowered herself heavily into the chair across from me, her dark eyes like mysterious portals.

‘Like what?'

‘Like you got a serious case of bad juju hangin' over you, girl.' She leaned forward, slapping at imaginary bugs around my head. ‘Mama can see it clear as day. You need help.'

I'd been to a psychic once before, but the broad guesses that occasionally hit the mark weren't all that impressive. I felt myself raise a doubtful eyebrow. ‘So, I'm a klutz. So, what?'

‘So, girly, if you don't wash away the juju, you'll never get him back.' She cocked her head. ‘That cowboy came here looking for love, but you and him both be knowin' what he needs is starin' him in the face.'

I blanched. ‘I don't know what you mean.' Stuffing a handful of fries in my mouth, I averted my eyes.

Mama Ruby stood, smiling broadly. ‘Yes, you do, Maddie-girl. When you're ready, you come see Mama. But don't leave it too late, or both you and he will end up with the wrong people …'

I watched her go, my open mouth full of half-masticated potato, unsure if I was more shocked by her accuracy or her use of Tanner's nickname for me.

She passed Greg on his way over to my table. ‘Gregory, ya beautiful mon! How are those gorgeous babies of yours?'

He hugged her quickly, his arms barely making it halfway around her body. ‘Mama! They're good. My eldest is halfway through school now.'

Something twigged in the back of my brain, but I didn't have time to analyse it before Greg yelled out to me, ‘Oi! Hobo, you ready? There's a party on Beau's deck and everyone's invited.'

Chapter 7

I'd been on board the ship for around twelve hours, but with meeting my terrifying boss, Tanner's revelation and my big nap, not to mention almost getting into a brawl over dinner, I hadn't paid much attention to the constant droning of the engines as we chugged out to sea.

I did, however, notice when they stopped. Greg and I were walking back along the Newell when the roaring fell silent, and everyone swayed forward slightly as the ship slowed to a halt.

‘Gotcha,' said Greg, holding my elbow as I pitched forward. It seemed he'd already worked out how much of a newborn gazelle I was. ‘Okay, we've only got a few minutes before we need to be upstairs, and you need to change.'

Looking down at my grubby tee and revealing shorts, I blushed. ‘Um … I don't have anything else here.'

Greg, bless his heart, didn't harass me with questions like,
Really? How is that possible?
He knew enough of my story and had seen my half-empty backpack. Instead, he looped his arm through mine. ‘Come on then, my homeless little waif. Follow me!'

We rode the staff elevator up and stepped out on a guest floor above sea level. Greg banged on a door marked
Wardrobe
and a voice trilled from inside.

‘Hellooo! Come in if you're good looking.'

We entered, greeted by the sounds of Kylie Minogue playing from an iPhone docking speaker. The guest room wasn't as large as Tanner's, but it had been completely emptied of furniture—instead of beds and chairs, the suite contained dozens of clothing racks. Outfits of were grouped in colours, fluttering and twinkling all around us.

A man with vivid blue Mohawk poked his head around the corner. ‘Greggie! You delicious piece of man meat.'

‘Hey, Ricky.' They hugged as I lurked back by the doorway, running my fingers over the delicate fabrics surrounding me.

Ricky batted his eyes, rimmed in peacock colours. ‘Are you still with that wife of yours? You know, my invite for you to join Blake and I in bed some night still stands, player.'

‘Still straight, Ricky. And yes, still married—five years next month.'

‘Boo, whore!' Ricky sighed theatrically. ‘Fine! Now, what do you want? I've got ten hos to keep clothed, and I don't have time to wine and dine you right … Sweet lady Mariah, who is that?'

Ricky had spotted me. I stepped forward. ‘Hey, I'm Maddie.'

‘No. No, you're not.' The little man walked around me in a tight circle, staring up at me in wonder. ‘Woman, you are a unicorn with a cock for a horn, wearing diamond-encrusted Stuart Weitzman's while pooping out rainbow-flavoured macaroons.'

‘Excuse me?'

He clasped his hands together reverently. ‘You're a gay designer's dream. Your legs … I just can't …'

‘Ricky, don't weird her out, please,' said Greg. ‘Maddie's my new production assistant and she needs something to wear tonight. Can you help?'

‘Oh, oh! Dress her? Really?' He fanned at his face, waving back delighted tears.