Holly Would Dream

by Karen Quinn

  “Do you mind if we don’t go right back to the ship?” I asked. I was in no hurry to return, knowing that Interpol would be waiting to interrogate me, Tanya would be waiting to skewer me, and Sammie would be waiting to taunt me. “How ’bout we go to the beach for lunch or a swim?” I suggested. “Carleen said it was beautiful.”

  The cabdriver took us to Koloumbos, a volcanic black-sand beach with a smattering of restaurants and shops across the road. He explained that buses left from the general store every hour and that the one to Fira would take us back to the tram. I was listening carefully to his instructions as Denis handed him one hundred euros and asked him to wait. It must be nice to be rich, I thought. You never have to take public transportation.

  We bought Greek salad wraps and beer at an outdoor snack bar, and then wandered into a small surf shop, where we picked up towels and a few bottles of water. By the time we found our way to the sand (which was so hot you could hardly walk on it), I had cheered up a bit. Being at this beautiful beach, I could forget my troubles, at least for a few hours.

  Then it dawned on me that everyone on the beach was nude—it was a veritable sea of exposed breasts, mushy tushies, jiggly stomachs, and bare derrières. There were mothers, fathers, and children of every shape, size, and shade of scrotum—I mean, brown. It was disconcerting, mainly because they were all naked. On the other hand, I secretly wouldn’t have minded seeing Denis au natural.

  “What do you think?” I said, wondering if he would suggest we go native.

  He blushed and then flashed his dimples. “I can swim in my boxers.”

  Rats, I thought, making my way to the ladies’ room, which was nothing but a primitively constructed hut up by the road. I undressed, and then pulled the elastic waistband of my satin granny panties up over my boobs and (voilà!) instant strapless bathing suit. It wasn’t very shape-flattering. Why was I such a wispy little thing? I wondered. I wished my breasts were bigger. How could I ever hope to attract a good man with peanut-size boobs (my boobs, not his)? In the bedroom with Alessandro, my body never bothered me. That’s because we always did it in the dark and I could squeeze my arms against my body to make my breasts appear bigger when I was on top. But out in the hot sunlight, I couldn’t think of a logical reason to squeeze.

  “Come on,” I said, motioning toward the water. “Let’s cool off.” Denis was putting our towels down in the sand, so I ran ahead, wondering what my butt looked like to him, wishing I had been more diligent at the gym. I tried running in a sensual gait to make a good impression from the back, but ended up jumping up and down all the way to the shore saying, “Ooh, ooh,” because the sand was like a sizzling pancake griddle.

  By the time I made it into the cool water and dodged a few light waves, Denis (in blue plaid boxers) was goose-stepping across the blistering sand in my direction.

  The water was chilly and refreshing. We swam away from the shore until our feet didn’t touch the bottom and splashed each other like children. The elastic waist of my underwear kept slipping down under my breasts because they weren’t large enough to create a natural rack. “Over there,” Denis said, pointing to an area behind an improbably empty formation of corrugated lava jutting out of the sea. We paddled over to it and climbed on a big flat rock that shielded us from the beach crowd. Lying on my back, I soaked in the Mediterranean sun. The elastic from the panties barely covered my nipples, which showed through the wet cream silk panties.

  “Do you like my bathing suit?” I teased.

  “Are those the giant underpants from your talk?” he said. “It’s amazing how many uses you find for them.”

  I giggled. “It’s all they sell on the ship.”

  Denis looked me up and down. “Nice eggs,” he said.

  I touched my stomach near my ovaries. “You like my eggs?”

  “No, nice legs.”

  I looked around for the long-legged creature he was talking about. “Where?”

  “You,” Denis laughed. “You make granny panties look sexy.”

  “Aw, that’s the second nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “The second nicest?” Denis said. “What was the nicest?”

  “When you told me I reminded you of spring,” I whispered. “That I was a breath of fresh air.”

  Denis blushed, or maybe he was getting sunburned.

  “Thank you for helping me,” I said. “I don’t know why you are.”

  To my surprise, Denis brought his face to mine, and our lips met for an exquisitely slow kiss that tingled and tasted sweet.

  “Oh, that’s why,” I said when we parted. “I’m so stupid.” I turned to face him. “Explain it to me again.”

  This time, he pressed his lips to mine more urgently, sending my stomach into a wild ride. Then, very slowly, he kissed the tip of my nose, my eyelids, my temples, my neck. He rested on his side, reached over, and caressed my ribs with his fingertips, soft as a whisper, tracing them down toward my belly button.

  Desire radiated through my body. My nipples hardened. “You’re giving me goose bumps.”

  He stopped.

  “No, it’s okay, I love goose bumps.”

  Denis turned on his side and nestled next to me. Our bodies were close enough that I felt the light tickle of his arm hairs brushing my skin. It was pure torture.

  “Doesn’t the heat feel fantastic?” he said.

  I was breathless and hot, hoping he would take me right there on the lava rock, no matter how painful and scratchy that might be. Sadly, he didn’t because we both dozed off.

  When I woke up, I realized we must have slept for quite some time. Denis’ face had turned the color of rare meat.

  “Denis, wake up. You’re really sunburned.”

  His eyes blinked open and he sat up. “Look at you,” he said. “You’re as red as Rudolph’s ass.”

  “You mean nose?”

  “Right, that’s what I meant.”

  I lowered the elastic band of the giant underpants I was wearing and saw the difference between my milky-white breasts and my newly fried décolleté.

  Then, from far away, I heard the long and low horn of a ship. My head turned. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  It sounded again.

  “That,” I said. “It sounds like a ship is pulling out.”

  Denis sat up and checked his watch. “Maybe it’s a different ship,” he said. “What time were we supposed to leave?”

  “At five, I think,” I said. “What time is it now?”

  “It’s five.”

  I’m Just a Lucky So and So

  BY THE TIME WE made our way back to the tram station, which overlooked the bay, our ship had sailed.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t wait for us,” I said.

  “Especially since you’re the captain’s pet,” Denis added.

  “Are you jealous?” I teased.

  “No, I’m just stating the obvious…Captain’s pet, captain’s pet,” he sang.

  “Would you stop it?” I said, swatting him playfully.

  “May I borrow your cell phone?”

  Denis called the Tiffany Cruise office in California to find out what we were supposed to do.

  While he talked, I took in the setting. The town of Santorini clung to the sculpted volcanic cliffs against the bluest sky imaginable. There were white buildings, many with deep azure roofs that melted into the sky, donkeys carrying visitors up the steep cobble road with their bells ringing and horseshoes clacking, rows and rows of descending terraces with stone-paved courtyards decorated with pots of red, purple, and pink azaleas, and clusters of bougainvillea spilling over the walls like magical fuchsia waterfalls. The fragrant breeze blowing up from the water felt like a buttery caress against my skin.

  “Here’s the deal,” he explained. “Tomorrow’s a sea day, so we’re stuck. The ship’ll be in Livorno, the port for Florence, on Thursday. They said to get a ferry there because they won’t let us buy air tickets without our passports
. But I can arrange for my jet to take us. I’ll call Sydney and ask her to watch Annie.”

  Soon Denis was on the phone having harsh words with someone. Sydney, I guessed. Edging closer to where he stood, I heard bits and pieces. “Give her a chance…I’m counting on you…I don’t care if it’s Manny’s job, someone needs to be the parent…” Denis was combing his hands through his thick brown hair. I stood at the ancient stone wall, staring out at the bay, feeling the warm afternoon sun cook my freshly fried skin. I decided I’d best find some shade.

  “I have to call my mother,” Denis said. “Do you mind?”

  “Lucille? No. Is there a problem?”

  Denis nodded. “Sydney doesn’t want to watch Annie when there’s staff to do it.”

  “But why?” I said. “That’s silly.” Note that I would never be so selfish.

  Denis talked to his mother for quite a while. His face was sensationally flushed (or maybe it was the sunburn, hard to tell) and he was waving his hands about. I wondered if she blew the whistle on Sydney and Manny, but doubted it. Lucille wanted that wedding to happen even if it cost her son’s happiness. Then Denis called his office, arranging for his jet to pick us up. When he was finished, I phoned Pops and let him know I was safe with Denis and not to worry.

  “Holly, you listen to me. Don’t get involved with him,” Pops said. “You’re from two different worlds. It can never work out. Believe me, I know.”

  “It seems to me I gave you the same advice concerning your lady friends onboard,” I whispered.

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Pops.”

  “Your boss is on the ship with someone named Sammie,” he said. “They’ve been by twice demanding to know about the Audrey Hepburn gowns.”

  My stomach lurched. “What’d you tell them?”

  “I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about and let them search your closet,” he said. “But they didn’t believe me. How dare they question my veracity! My word is all I have in this life.”

  “Well, you are lying,” I said.

  “Yes, but they don’t know that.”

  “Do me a favor?” I asked. “Tell Tanya I was supposed to give the speech on Coco Chanel tomorrow, but I missed the boat. Tell her Sammie should take my place.”

  “I don’t think your boss is in the mood to help you out,” Pops said. “She was loaded for bear.”

  “It’s not for me,” I said. “Explain that I’ve befriended some big potential donors on the trip. If we don’t do the speech, it’ll reflect badly on the museum. Give her my laptop. All my presentations are on it.”

  “You’d better find the dresses,” Pops said. “Losing those will really reflect badly on the museum.”

  If I Had You

  DENIS TOOK MY HAND and led me down a cobble road. We stopped at a general store, and picked up some aloe vera gel to soothe our sunburns, then made our way to a table at a small café overlooking the emerald bay.

  I took a deep breath, surrendering to the pleasure of the jasmine-and oleander-scented air and cool sea breeze on my face. As the sun fell, the sky lit up a bank of pink and golden clouds on the horizon. A yacht floated beneath us on the glasslike surface of the water. On the bow, a trim blond woman wearing a blue bikini stood and sang “Vissi d’arte,” an aria from Puccini’s Tosca, her rich voice reverberating throughout the bay. The American man at the table next to ours said that the soprano was Julie Nelson, one of the leads from the Metropolitan Opera. I don’t know how he knew, but judging by her magnificent sound, I believed him. When the song ended, the audience that had gathered to watch from the Santorini cliffs clapped wildly, their applause and “bravas” falling like raindrops from the sky. I have never seen anything like it and probably never will again.

  Denis ordered espresso and I had cappuccino and fruit. For most people, missing their ship would be a huge upset, but I wanted to dance like a Whirling Dervish over it. That gave me thirty-six hours more to look for the missing dresses, and time alone with Denis, whom I was growing fonder of by the minute.

  “May I ask you a personal question?” I started.

  “I’ve been hoping you would.”

  “Why are you with Sydney? I know why your mother wants you to marry her, but why do you?”

  He started to speak.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I said, holding up my hands. “It’s brazen of me to ask. I’m sure she has many lovely qualities.”

  “It’s hard to explain…” he began.

  “It’s just, she’s so much younger than you, and she’s…”

  “What? She’s what?”

  A thumping bore, I thought. Then I realized I had said that out loud. “Oh, my gosh,” I said, slapping my hand to my mouth. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. This is none of my business.”

  “This marriage means everything to my mother,” he said, “and when you’re born into a family like mine, there are certain obligations…”

  “Yes, but you have to sleep with her. Your mother doesn’t.”

  Denis grew thoughtful for a moment. “By marrying Sydney, my mother will be happy and I’m glad, but I’m not doing it for her. This is my choice. With my first wife, I followed my heart. That turned into a bloody mess. This time, I’m following my head,” he said, tapping his temple. “Syd’s clever, beautiful, accomplished. She works in Manhattan real estate, like me. She knows that my first love will always be the business. Marrying her makes perfect sense.”

  “I used to tell myself that marrying Alessandro made sense.”

  “At least we aren’t going into it with stars in our eyes.”

  I put my hand over Denis’. “Call me a dreamer, but next time I fall in love, I don’t just want stars, I want ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’ Sydney’s not going to make you happy, Denis. You deserve someone who will adore you and Annie.”

  Denis took a sip of his espresso and gazed out on the harbor. Instead of saying, “Would that someone be you?” as I expected after those sweet kisses we’d shared, he changed the subject. “Santorini’s the most beautiful island in Greece, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the only one I’ve ever seen.” I used my fingers to pick up a strawberry, and slowly bit into its deliciously sweet and tart flesh. “Mmmm,” I murmured, using my tongue to lick the pink juice that dribbled down my chin.

  Denis cleared his throat. “This harbor was formed about thirty-five hundred years ago when the volcano blew out the island’s center,” he said. “Some people think that was the incident that gave rise to the myth of the lost continent of Atlantis.”

  “So under the water, there might be the remains of an ancient civilization?” I said.

  “Could be.”

  “Cool beans,” I said, offering him a cube of watermelon.

  Denis smiled at me. “You should see your face right now.”

  “What’s the matter with it?” I asked, worried I must look like a ripe tomato after that nap in the sun.

  “It’s lovely,” he said. “Here, give me the camera. May I take a picture of you.”

  “Oh, sure.” I handed it over and smiled alluringly.

  He fiddled with the buttons until he brought up the picture of John and me.

  “Hey,” I said, grabbing for it.

  Denis held his arm too high for me to reach it. Then he showed me the photo. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the woman I picked up in the rain a few weeks ago.”

  “Guilty,” I said, my face burning even more than it was already.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “That day, in the rain, I was such a mess, just like I am in that picture. I didn’t want you to know that was me.”

  “How did you come to be on the ship?”

  “To meet someone as charming as you, of course.”

  Denis stared at the photo again, then at me. “When you were in my car, I told you I was coming on this cruise.”

  This man didn’t mi
ss a trick. I suppose that’s how one gets to be the ninth-richest guy in America under fifty. “Yes, so?”

  He cocked his head. “You’re not here because of me, are you?”

  Busted, I thought, my heart thumping with fear. “Those speeches on the Tiffany Star were booked months ago.” That was all I could think of to say.

  “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” Denis said. “Because I could tell.”

  “You could?” I said. “How?”

  “There’s an old tale about two tribes of Indians—the Whitefeet always tell the truth and the Blackfeet always lie. So let’s say one day you meet an Indian, and you ask him if he’s a truthful Whitefoot or a lying Blackfoot. He tells you he’s a truthful Whitefoot, but which one is he?”

  “What is it with you and Indian stories?”

  “Which are you, Holly?”

  “Me? I’m a truthful Whitefoot, of course.”

  Denis smiled. “That’s what I thought. I have to be careful because I don’t always know who I can believe.” He tapped my nose. “But I have a funny feeling that you might be entirely trustworthy.”

  This would have been the perfect time to admit what I had really come on the trip to do. But I couldn’t get the words out. I reached my hand across the table and put it on top of his. “Thank you for rescuing me that day. You were my knight in shining armor.”

  Denis flashed a modest smile. “You sure clean up well.”

  “You know,” I said, “we’d met a few times before that day. At the museum.”

  Denis looked puzzled. “How is that possible? You’re unforgettable.”

  “Yes, it’s true, but inexplicably you didn’t notice me until I humiliated you in front of a room full of reporters.”

  “So that was just a ploy to get my attention,” Denis teased.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  Denis laughed. “My Gulfstream’s on its way. What would you like to do?” he asked. “Stay here tonight, fly to Florence tomorrow?”

  My. Gulfstream’s. On. Its. Way. The five best words in the English language, I thought. “You know,” I mused, “since we can’t meet the ship till day after tomorrow, we may as well go to Rome, look up John’s address, see what we can learn.”