Tidal Wave (20 page)

Chapter Thirteen

It was the third afternoon out of Cherbourg, with three more days before docking in New York on the Hudson River. Life on the maiden voyage of the
Tatanya Annanovna
resembled a perpetual party. Everything seemed to flourish in the party atmosphere, especially longstanding marriages that had been drifting apart because of time, work, money, age or the availability of beautiful single women.

The Mike Mackays were one such couple. This big Texan who began the voyage under duress surprised even himself when he realized what a good time he was having. What surprised him even more was how much he still loved Marcia. His admiration and desire for women, his sexual attraction to any number of beauties on board, and his obsessive need to work and have power were suddenly tempered, put into perspective. He began to recognize the games that men play. That realization made it easy to make love again with Marcia, to appreciate what they had together and enjoy it.

Extraordinary romances were born, some explanations found, some new questions asked. Cotille Jefferson, who had been running for a lifetime, finally felt enough peace to find out why. Voyages such as this were a fantasy time where the outside world disappeared and the inner self emerged. Much better and far more pleasurable than a sleep cure, and in most cases having the same effect, six days at sea could change a lifetime.

One wonders how playing deck quoits with two middle-age widows from West Hartford, Connecticut, could enhance the life of a super-secretary like Missy. One might even ask how could they be a diversion. But they were. The women’s very averageness was a welcome change from
the world of high finance. They gave Missy a taste of middle-class America she was not at all familiar with. Their openness, their simplicity, their ordinary world and harmless pleasure-seeking helped to take the edge off Missy’s usual super-efficiency and her speediness. They relaxed her, made her more easygoing. They warmed immediately to her wise-before-her-time character, solid and reliable, combined with her aggressive nature. She also presented an unbeatable combination in the eyes of Pete Peters, the first-class purser.

Before he met Missy, Pete had a penchant for older women, not just middle-age women, but really older. He found in them a kindness and acceptance of their position as transient lovers that he never found in younger women looking for romance on the high seas and a ring on their finger at the end of the voyage. The older women removed his anxiety of being trapped, offered him the warmth a professional traveler craves, and guaranteed him sexual success.

But Missy was different — free, easy, independent, in love with her work and filled with a
joie de vivre
that thrilled him. She seemed to be very like him. Missy enjoyed her flirtation with Pete, and he was falling in love.

Since Cherbourg, Xu’s contributions to the sporting activities on board ship were respected and admired by his fellow passengers. Socially, too, he was in demand. By the third day out Xu was having a full and happy vacation.

Isador Katz was lying in a deck chair next to Arabella. He watched and listened to Xu enthusiastically tell his employer the joys of golf and how much progress Mr. Katz had made in the morning’s Tai Chi sessions. Isador thought how wonderful this voyage was turning out to be. Where else could you meet a servant as interesting as Xu, or a beautiful woman in a silver jumpsuit who had the world on a string and asks you to teach her golf? Her attentions to him were like the kiss of life.

Pete Peters and Booker St. John, the senior medical officer
on board, stood together on the bridge of the S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
waiting for Captain Hamilton. Pete always found the bridge awesome: the vast glass windows with their enormous windshield wipers sweeping six feet across, the sensitive Decca Navigators, the latest computers, Marconi forecasters, the radar systems, the intricate equipment set into the pilot’s console, the control consoles, and the bearing repeaters. Pete Peters was in love with the sea and the great ships who traveled her. For him, the
Tatanya Annanovna
was like a dream come true.

There was an ease on the bridge that comes with quiet, sure efficiency. It always made Pete feel he should whisper. There was, as well, an alertness, a constant watching, waiting for a signal coming from the safety-control room or a sign of danger from the machines recording the outside world and the elements for hundreds of miles around the ship’s position. The bridge gave off an atmosphere of stability, safety on a grand scale. At the same time, there was a feeling of imminent action at the least sign of danger.

In the center of the safety control room down below was a desk that bore an illuminated master plan of the ship. At the turn of a handle any particular area could be shown, all safety precautions available displayed. This desk carried direct communication links with the bridge and the engine control room. Pete’s office also used two computers, but these performed much more mundane tasks such as the prediction of fresh water requirements and the control of foodstuff storage and supply.

The purser stood there, arms folded, with Dr. St. John, waiting for Captain Hamilton. He so enjoyed the efficiency and magnificence of the coordination and control on the bridge.

Captain Hamilton ran a tight ship. There wasn’t an officer on board who didn’t respect him for it. He was a man with complete control and authority over his ship. He made periodic checks to see all was in order from the engine room to the dining room. He demanded that every man who worked on the
Annanovna
be happy and satisfied in his job, that
every passenger was more than content, that his ship be maintained to perfection.

The two men were waiting now for one of the captain’s walkabouts, which he did with two or three different members of his staff through different parts of the ship twice a day. He approached his waiting officers, saying “Sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen. Let’s start our little walkabout today down in third class and work our way up. Shall we?”

The men were alone in the elevator as it started down into the depths of the ship.

Captain Hamilton said, “Gentlemen, I’ve got an interesting idea for you to mull over with me. The weather is changing, the temperature is dropping fast, and the updated forecast is very cold and very clear. What do you think of giving the maiden voyagers of the S.S.
Tatanya Annanovna
an extra treat?”

Pete looked at the doctor, who looked back at him just as blankly. Neither had a clue as to what the captain was proposing.

“There are a series of magnificent icebergs we can easily sail through, no fog and no danger of cloud coming our way. All reports are that they are sensational looking, and since they’re unusually far south, our detour will be only a matter of a few hours each way. We could reach them sometime between eleven and one tomorrow. What do you think? Shall we do it?”

Pete’s enthusiasm burst forth. “My God, yes, what a wonderful idea! I’ve always wanted to see some bergs up close.”

Dr. St. John laughed at Pete’s childlike response. “The passengers may also like it, Captain. I think it’s a grand idea.”

Pete laughed at himself as well. Captain Hamilton smiled because he liked when his staff responded so energetically, and the three proceeded to the third-class observation deck. The captain greeted some of his guests, including an elderly French couple from Toulouse, a German girl, a pair of
newlyweds to whom he promised to send a bottle of champagne, a family of four from Colorado whose precocious little boy was filled with questions about the ship. The captain offered him a special tour of the vessel, including the engine room. He also made a friend for life.

The three men moved on. The captain looked through the glass doors leading out onto the open deck and saw Cotille Jefferson, wrapped in a great black cashmere cape with a luscious long-haired fox collar pulled up around her handsome dark-chocolate face. She was looking out over the cold, dark waves. She had a black-and-white silk scarf tied around her hair, not under her chin but at the nape of her neck, so as not to mar the perfect face or hide the magnificent jaw line.

Captain Hamilton was struck by her beauty. “I saw that woman yesterday,” he said. “She’s the model with the photographer who asked for special permission to use my bridge as a background for her. There was something — a quiet desperation about her that upset me. I hope she’s happier with us today.”

He put his hand to his hat in order to hold it in place while he pushed the door open into the cold wind. The two men followed.

“Good afternoon, madam. I am Captain Hamilton.”

She turned away from the sea and faced him. She looked over his shoulder past him to Booker St. John. Not taking her eyes off Booker, she put her black kid gloved hand out and said, “Good afternoon, Captain Hamilton.”

“It’s getting very cold out here, Mrs., er, er …”

“Jefferson. Cotille Jefferson,” she put in.

“Ah yes, Miss Jefferson.” Immediately picking up her preoccupation with Dr. St. John, he turned and said, “I should like to introduce you to Dr. St. John and Mr. Peters, our first-class purser.”

The three acknowledged the introduction. The captain then asked, “Are you enjoying your voyage?”

“Oh,” she said, “honestly, I don’t think I was until this
morning when suddenly it all changed for me. I’m liking it more now,” still with her eyes on the doctor.

“Miss Jefferson, I’m giving a dinner party for Nicholas Frayne tonight. Perhaps you haven’t heard, but he has announced his candidacy for the governorship of the state of Rhode Island. It would be a great pleasure to have you join us as my guest.”

He saw the woman hesitate and when she began to speak, he stopped her and said, “Please don’t decline my invitation.” Looking at Booker St. John, he added, “I leave it to you, Doctor, to escort the lady this evening.”

Turning back to a now-smiling woman, he said, “Ah, that’s better! I’m pleased you will come. Now then, Miss Jefferson, come along. You must be quite cold. I know I am. Mr. Peters, please see that this lady is given a nice cup of hot bouillon.”

Back in the enclosed deck, the captain kissed her hand and felt a sensual animal magnetism about the woman. He was delighted with his little act of playing Cupid. Captain Hamilton was not an insensitive man — he recognized an interest on Booker’s part as well.

The men started toward the stairs on their way to second class. Peter lagged a little behind to give orders to a deck steward.

The doctor said to the captain, “That was a very nice gesture, sir.”

“Are you saying thank you, Booker?”

“Yes, I think I am, Captain.”

The two men, who had become close friends over the last few years on board various ships, looked at each other and smiled warmly.

“Well, just be careful, Booker.”

Chapter Fourteen

Arabella Crawford was wearing a white linen jumpsuit. Her long gold and silver hair hung loose and curled around her face and down over her shoulders. She stood with her knees slightly bent, her weight on the heels of her flat shoes, a golf club in her hands.

Isador stood behind her, his arms around her arms, his fingers over hers, manipulating her hands into the proper way to hold a golf club. They gripped the club together and he directed her swing slowly up in an arc, high over her head, and slowly they swung down again. They practiced the action again and again.

They were now moving as one. She felt his body tight up against her back and for a split second she was confused — Anthony flooded her senses. No, no. That was years ago.

They practiced the swing over and over again in silence. She leaned back into him and moved with the motion of his body. It was involuntary. Everything about Isador drew her to him. A warmth, a kind of loving, a cautious, quiet masculinity enveloped her. This conservative, New England, middle-class man in late middle age was giving off the same magic and chemistry that had drawn her into Anthony’s life. There was a powerful manliness about him. She felt it crying out to her. Brief images of Anthony flashed before her and she was unable to wipe them from her mind.

Again they swung together; the club went up in the air and again they came down together, their bodies touching. She knew she should move away, but she felt a sense of power over this man whom she was toying with.

It had been the same with Anthony. She found out she
could drive a man to sexual extremes and awaken him as he had never been before. She had done just that with Anthony, and it had been thrilling. Yet she had somehow been enslaved by it for years. Had she mistaken lust for love? No, she thought, I made no mistake. And I won’t make a mistake with this man either. I’d like to be his friend and count him among mine. It’s really the warmth of Nicholas’s arms that I crave. She broke their embrace and turned around, still close to him, and handed him the club.

“Come and have tea in my suite, Isador.”

After Isador closed Arabella’s stateroom door, he followed her into the center of the room. When she turned to face him, he broke the tense silence. “I’m a staid, conservative, happily married man and I like being those things. I even take a pride in being just that.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are and you do. That’s one of the things I find so attractive about you, Isador. That’s why I invited you to tea and why I hope we will always be friends. I also sense you are a passionate man, and I’m flattered to think you may have thought of me that way.”

Isador picked up her hand and stroked it. “Your words help. They make me feel a little less foolish for having had thoughts I haven’t had in years.”

“You may not believe this, Isador, but you remind me so much of the great love of my life. It’s quite incredible because you are so completely different and yet you have a similar chemistry.”

“I’d like to know all about him. And about you, Arabella. You know, I’ve been married over thirty years. I have a terrific life with Libby. Yet I’ve never wanted any woman as I want you. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, I believe you. Will you settle for having me as a friend, Isador? A fond friend?”

“Can
you
settle for having a friend who is a little in love with you, Arabella?” Isador Katz was embarrassed and enthralled all at the same time.

“Yes, I could do that. I’d be very flattered and very pleased to have you as a friend, Isador.”

He looked at her solemnly, with puppy-dog eyes, and said, “Then we’ll have to be careful friends and never speak about it again.”

Arabella rang for tea. While they waited for it to arrive, they sat together on the sofa and talked about golf and Tai Chi, Paris and Connecticut, antiques and mines. Occasionally Isador would pick up her hand and squeeze it, she would smile, and he felt he was with her. They were an unlikely match having a splendid time together.

The tea arrived, Indian, with cucumber sandwiches on brown bread sliced as thin as a dime and a fresh Madeira cake. Henry, the steward, served them and left. They had their tea in silence. Arabella was fighting a steady flow of
déjà vu
and losing; it swamped her. Many years ago another older, just as unlikely man had come into her life. Isador understood her silence and was satisfied just to be there with her.

Eventually he took the cup and saucer from her hand and put the pretty Lenox china down on the table. He helped her to her feet. Suddenly the silence felt awkward. Isador cleared his throat, drawing Arabella’s attention to him. She smiled and he said, “Your man, Xu?”

“Yes,” said Arabella.

“Getting to know him these past few days has been a real privilege. I value him as a friend. He is something special, your Xu.”

“Yes, he is, Isador, very special indeed.”

“Is it rude to ask who he is? Where does he come from? He’s such a silent, introverted person. As curious as I am to know more about him, I simply cannot bring myself to question him. That he is well educated there is no doubt. I’ve guessed that he is a Zen Buddhist, and it’s evident that he is a natural athlete. He’s quite extraordinary in so many ways. He says so little, yet holds one in conversation. He appears simple, and is far from simple, infinitely more knowledgeable and intelligent than most people one meets.”

Arabella listened pensively. She poured Isador and herself another cup of tea and said, “You’re rather extraordinary
yourself, Isador. I hope you know that. There aren’t many people who would understand or even begin to fathom just how special Xu is. He has a remarkable story, which I’ll tell you in confidence and only because I think he wouldn’t mind your knowing.”

She proceeded to tell him the incredible story of Xu’s life and how the trust was established between them.

“There is a great bond between us,” she said, “and we both know that we will always be together. He travels everywhere with me. I am his employer, the only woman in his life, his best friend, and his Western family.”

“What a remarkable story,” Isador said. “Remarkable, savage, and yet beautiful because he is the least bitter person for all that he has been through.”

“Ah, yes. Well, you see, he works at a life beyond life and death, love and hate. You are right, Isador, he
is
an extraordinary man. I’m really happy that you and Xu have become friends. We all need friends.”

“I must go now,” he said. Putting his arms around her, he held her close and gave her a gentle kiss on each cheek. Slowly, and with great emotion, he released her from his arms and left.

After he had gone, she closed the door and leaned against it. She smiled a mysterious smile and said, “I really wanted you, you know.”

Arabella poured herself another cup of tea and added hot water to it with a slice of lemon. She picked her cup and saucer up and walked over to the porthole overlooking the bows of the ship. She tried to think of the very nice and charming Isador Katz, her new friend and admirer, and hoped she had let him down gracefully with her sincerely meant words. But her thoughts kept getting muddled with Anthony Quartermaine. She sensed him so strongly in the room; he was still so much a part of her life.

She could not understand why Isador Katz had triggered such profound feelings and desires for Anthony, feelings that had been dormant for so long. She shrugged it off,
rationalizing that it was the combination of Isador and Anthony’s unexpected phone calls that was digging up old, worn-out emotions.

She watched the ship plow through the waves, gazed at the vast ocean all around her, the setting sun, and the clear sky. She felt the wind rocking the ship and putting a froth on top of the heavy waves. She tried to forget both Isador and Anthony, but the past would not go away — it was forcing its way into her life. As she drifted off into thoughts and memories, she heard the telephone ringing in the distance. Arabella continued daydreaming as she moved inside and lazily picked up the receiver.

She finally said, “Hello?”

“Hello,” he replied. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, you didn’t wake me.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, I’m alone, Anthony.”

“Alone, but not for long, is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it,” she answered, feeling very vulnerable, but safe from their love affair because he was on the other side of the ocean.

“Ah,” said Anthony. “You sound very sexy. I recognize that touch of lust in your voice. Is he a good lover?”

“Yes,” she replied, “a
very
good lover.”

“I think you are deriving some sort of pleasure in telling me that, but be careful, my darling Arabella, make no mistake. He is not important in your life. Once you step off that ship, he’ll step out of your life. I don’t mind if you are just making do. I know very well how sexy you are.”

There was that old seductive teasing in his voice. In spite of herself Arabella was reacting to it.

“I wish I were there with you now,” continued Anthony. “I’d like to be there playing with your skin, caressing you, petting you, touching you. Laying you open, licking you, kissing you, sucking you, making you ready to receive me. Remember how you loved being open, moist, ready for me whenever I wanted you? We have one of the greatest, most marvelous things going in this world, you and I.”

“Why are you doing this, Anthony?” asked Arabella, unable to hide the passionate tremor in her voice.

“You know very well why I’m doing it. Because I love you when you are excited. It makes me excited to think about it, about us, making love. Are you in bed?”

“No,” she replied. Despite intellect, she was beginning to be aroused. Her body was tense, ready to be caressed.

“Where are you?”

“Sitting in the drawing room, in a big comfortable chair.”

“Dressed?”

“Yes.” She exposed her breasts, touched them tenderly, pinched the erect nipples. She watched herself in the mirror across the room.

“But underneath? No panties?”

“No, no panties,” she answered, feeling like an echo.

“The thought of you makes me hard. I’m lying in bed, holding myself, thinking that you are here with me. Remember the exciting, wonderful things we’ve done together? They were some of the happiest days and nights of my life.”

“And mine,” she found herself saying helplessly.

“Ah, I’m aching to be inside you. Arabella?”

“Yes,” she answered huskily.

“Raise your legs up and open them as wide as you can. Put one on either arm of the chair. Oh, my glorious Arabella, do this for me so I can imagine you exposed, pink and luscious, ready to be licked. Do that for me right now,” he said urgently.

There was a moment’s silence, then he asked, “Have you?”

“No,” she lied, “I haven’t.” She didn’t want him to know the control he still had over her, yet she couldn’t help but feel aroused by this disembodied voice. She could see herself reflected in the gilt Queen Anne mirror. Unnerved by the sexual tension created by Anthony’s taunting and teasing over the telephone, she tucked a cushion under her bottom with trembling hands.

He said, “Don’t lie to me. I can sense you’ve done as
I’ve asked. That old electricity between us is still there even over a telephone line. I know every nuance of your body. I can tell you are wet now.”

Arabella touched herself. Her legs spread far apart, she was indeed moist. She thought about being entered. She imagined a cock, but she saw no face.

“Touch yourself, Arabella. I can feel you sliding onto me. Can you feel me?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t want to succumb to him, but she continued to pleasure herself.

“I wish I had you here right now. Remember Bangkok and that beautiful madam I introduced you to, the one who taught the most famous women in the world how to make themselves tight and derive infinite pleasure from their own contractions. Have you any idea how exciting it is for me to have been the instrument of granting such exquisite pleasure?”

Arabella could barely speak between the memories of that night and the knowledge that he too was masturbating on the other end of the telephone.

His voice went on, deep and husky. “It seems almost yesterday that I held you in my arms in the dark on the verandah of that marvelous old hut on one of those lovely Thai canals. The moon was so bright it lit up the old compound and the couples making love. Tell me you remember.”

She whispered into the telephone, “Yes, yes, Anthony,” knowing full well that he too remembered and was charged with passion almost to the point of no return.

“I held you in my arms and you were so beautiful in your nakedness. I reveled in your beauty and the way you gave yourself up completely to lust. Do you remember watching the naked girl being taken by twelve handsome men, each in a different way, without one second’s rest? I think you would have liked to be that girl!

“Ah, how wet you must be by now!” Anthony’s voice cracked.

Part of Arabella wanted to slam the phone down, but she
was so mesmerized by Anthony’s voice, so turned on to her body and its sensations she couldn’t even speak. She didn’t want him to know how he had completely seduced her.

“Arabella, I loved keeping you wet all the time. I love it even more now. I have my cock in my hand and my heart is pounding with desire to be with you, in you. I want to be there licking you, sucking up every drop of you. I want to hold you in my arms and move in and out, in and out until you cry out for me to come.”

“Stop, stop!” cried Arabella. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I’m not there. To remind you that no matter how much ocean is between us, I can reach you. I want you to come all over me, that’s what I want you to do. Do it now, Arabella, while I come.”

Arabella was nearly panicking with passion. He had always been able to get her in this state. They both knew it. It had always been wonderful and right in the past but now, now she had met Nicholas, and she somehow felt embarrassed by her depravity with Anthony.

“I’ve loved you, Anthony, loved you completely, given everything to you. But I think I have figured out what I really need — a man who will make love to me with his cock
and
his heart, the only thing you ever held back from me.”