Li’s eyes widened. “Are you nuts? Paul would filet me and serve me as the main course if I went in there now.”
Travis laughed again. “Good. Just making sure you haven’t abandoned your sanity. Now what’s this about Ms. Hoity Toity coming on this cruise?”
“Is she really as stuck-up as you paint her, Travis?”
“Oh, right…You haven’t had the ‘honor’ of serving our resident princess.” He started to wipe the counter down. “Charlegne will straighten you out. She has Paulie and these two stooges of hers horse-whipped. Hell, she might even have you prancing after her like a little puppy in no time. You would think a fashion designer would act more like an introverted, artsy-fartsy type, but not the ‘elegant’ Miss Jackson! Oh no! God forbid! You’d think she shits gold bricks!”
He punctuated his remark by tossing the duster onto the counter and folding his arms. Li suppressed a knowing smile.
“Someone knows her a little more intimately than he’s letting on.”
“Oh, I’ll admit it. I had pictures of the woman stashed in the bottom of my sock drawer when I was in high school. I had no problem moaning naughty words to her. You probably don’t remember her Vogue spread fifteen years ago. That baby was my Playboy for months. Ever see her modeling shots?”
Li shook his head. “I know her name and that’s it.”
“If your hormones ever get the better of you, I suggest hitting up any magazine stand from here to New Jersey.”
“What happened? Why are you so critical?”
“I got to meet her on the ship. Wet dreams should never talk, in my opinion. I’ve had warmer receptions from a snowman.” He continued to buff the counter. “Then there are her special ‘requests.’ During my first cruise with her, she downed chardonnay as if it was water. Two years ago, she drank nothing but Perrier. I’m waiting for her to demand gin and laxatives.”
“Your drink memory is almost as impressive as your wit. Ever think about going into stand-up?”
“But then where else would I see rich people getting wasted?”
A voice exploded in the passageway.
“You are a smarmy son of a bitch! Get rid of that stupid accent and lift a damn finger for a change! Come on, Sally!”
A hurricane of a man blustered through the door of the lounge, the force of his entrance causing the painting to swing on its perch. A quivering shell of a woman hiding under a cowl of pale hair tiptoed after him.
“You there!” the man bellowed. “Bar jockey! When is this damn thing open?”
“After dinner, sir,” Travis replied, polishing the bar taps. “Eight o’clock.”
“I have to wait until then?”
“Ship policy.”
“Do you know who I am? I could sue you all from here to Sunday!”
“I’m sorry, sir, but those are the rules.”
The woman crept forward. “Aaron, honey…”
“Shut up, Sally! I’m not letting some beer-slinging punk tell ME when I can and can’t drink! Here!” He slammed a couple of fifties onto the countertop. “Tell the stewards to bring a bottle of your best Scotch to my cabin, Aaron Brent. WITH AN APOLOGY FOR DENYING ME SERVICE!”
Aaron grabbed his wife’s wrist and dragged her toward the door.
Travis exhaled. “I would kill to be you, Li. He didn’t even notice you sitting there. Then again, Paulie is going to send you to their table first chance he gets. Hope you have good health insurance.”
Li didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on the woman being hauled away by her husband. She managed to glance back, her eyes wide and frightened. Something about those eyes…
Li had seen Sally Brent’s face somewhere before.
Charlegne dipped her toes into the swimming pool and drew wide, lazy whirlpools in the water. She sat alone on the tiled edge like a mermaid, her eyes locked on the western horizon. Sinking sunlight warmed her hair from ice blond to a rich, honey gold. Sunsets were not her priority. Her mind filled the empty space with the faces of the passengers who had left the deck, faces she would be unable to forget. She couldn’t get rid of them. She began appraising those figures haunting her, an idle distraction from her more…unwelcome memories.
The fat woman in that hideous one-piece is going to wear a “form-fitting” dress at dinner. I just know it. She’ll be squeezed into it like a pear in a rubber glove. I bet it’ll be in a disgusting shade of neon. No…White. She’s just the sort who would throw on a big, white parachute of a gown and believe she’s Karolina Kurkova. In an hour, I’ll finally learn what ship’s sails do to the human figure.
A shadow draped over her shoulder and, without turning, she spoke to the newcomer.
“Hello, Captain.”
“I guess I’ll never learn how you do that, Charlegne,” Captain Crayle replied, his voice deep, smooth, and tinged with the grit of world experience. Like my father’s, Charlegne thought.
“Do you expect me to reveal all of my secrets, Johnnie?” She glanced over her shoulder at the figure in starched whites blazing against the backdrop of the golden-lit ship.
“Do you have any other secrets, Charlegne?”
“Why? Are you writing my biography? Shouldn’t I be dead before that happens?” She kicked a few drops of pool water into the air and watched gravity take them home again.
“Is something wrong, Charlegne?”
Why can’t everyone leave me alone? “No.”
“You know if something’s—”
“I said no, Jonathon.”
“So I heard.” Charlegne heard Captain Crayle’s footsteps advance toward her, but she hardened her sights on the horizon, squinting against the encroaching sunset. “You weren’t thinking about…us, were you?”
“There was never an ‘us’.”
“There could have been.”
“There could have been many things. A relationship was not one of them.”
“Not even after that night in Alhambra?”
Charlegne’s shoulders stiffened. “A lot of things happened that night, but it was all tempered by a healthy flood of whiskey. In fact, it’s almost like that night never happened at all. I certainly don’t remember anything. Do you?”
Captain Crayle unburdened himself with a sigh. “I guess you’re not one for reminiscing.”
“Memories kill. I refuse to have any. This trip will remain nothing more than a stress relief. A big, seaworthy Valium.”
“Got a wish to see Mexico?”
She waved away the question. “Just trying to get away for a while.”
“Away?”
Of all the lousy…“Yes, away. I had a busy spring season. I had Priscilla make time for me. If anyone can keep people from bothering me, it’s her.” Her mouth twitched into a wry smile. “That’s the thing I love about Priscilla. She has a marvelous gift for making people uncomfortable.”
“But not you?”
Charlegne turned to the captain, the smile still hovering on her lips. She was far away in her unwanted memories. Sunlight glimmered on the surface of the pool, giving her a golden, sequined backdrop. “I am far too wounded to let anything get under my skin.”
She returned to the sunset. The captain rested a hand on her shoulder, and she turned instinctively toward his touch. His fingers felt warm against her cheek.
“You miss him, don’t you?”
She began picking at the fabric of her beach bag, tearing a small hole in it with her fingernails. “I miss no one.”
CHAPTER 3
Ice and Fire
“You’ve been crying.”
Charlegne’s hand stopped mid-brush. Patches of caked-on foundation creased around her eyelids. Reflected in her dressing table mirror, she saw a tuxedo-clad Steven Danforth leaning against the door. Her hand began to tremble.
I refuse to turn around, she thought. I refuse!
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Steven.”
He made a show of examining a spot on his lapel. “You called me Steven.”
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
“You only call me Steven when you are upset.”
“Upset…or pissed. Let’s not forget that.”
Steven crossed to the nightstand and fingered through the pages of a magazine. “No…it would be silly to forget that, wouldn’t it? Pretty little Charlegne in her ivory tower never forgets, does she? She’s still trapped in the past.”
Tiny breaths of rouge puffed off the quivering bristles of her makeup brush. “Why are you saying such stupid things?”
“Why do you have this Vogue from fifteen years ago? That was the last time you modeled for them, right?”
I hate you, Steven. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s impolite to look through a woman’s belongings?”
“So, you won’t tell me why you have it?”
“Your interest in my business is starting to get too personal. Need I remind you that I am the one who signs the checks?”
“You’re trying to take control again.”
You’re damn right, I am. “Go away, Steven. I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Trying to cover up your swollen eyes?”
“You’ve always had a difficult time understanding the words ‘go away.’”
Her business manager strolled to her chair and pulled a curl of blond hair out of the chignon she wore, letting the lock dangle in front of her eyes. “You look prettier this way.”
Charlegne swiped the loose strand back. “Don’t tell me what looks good, Steven. I’ve made a career of looking good. I don’t need your damn opinion.”
“You may not ‘need’ it, but I have a feeling you want it.”
“Leave me alone. Get out, or I’ll fire you.”
“Threaten all you want, Charlegne. I know who you’ll come running to when you finally break.”
I’d kill myself first. “I don’t like using the word ‘please,’ Steven. Get. Out. Now.”
Steven plucked a small ring out of the lacquered jewelry box sitting on the dressing table. The diamond looked like a speck of dust. “Will you wear this tonight?”
The brush fell from her hand and clattered on the tabletop. To Charlegne, it sounded like an explosion in her heart.
Rosemary Hale nearly tore her hair out by the roots, as she twisted the fiery mane into a haphazard bun. Her teeth creaked and cracked against each other. She felt a distant urge to punch her reflection.
Oh that bitch, she thought, I am going to rip off all her hair and shove it down her throat! I knew she was going to be here! I just knew it!
“Damn that selfish whore,” she muttered. “Damn her straight to hell.”
“What was that, darling?” On the edge of her vision, she saw her husband’s eyes crest the horizon of the onboard newsletter like little chestnut suns.
“That stupid, self-centered cow just had to come on our cruise.”
She heard pages ruffling. “Don’t start on that again, Rosie.”
“I’ll start it if I want to! She always does this! Any time I go away to relax, she’s there with her prissy, self-entitled manners and her buzzing flock of airheads! Did you see that woman following her around? My God! I don’t think I could muster the patience to endure THAT every single day!”
“Patience was never one of your virtues, dear.”
Rosemary swung around in her seat and clasped her husband’s hands, crumpling the newsletter. “Marty, is there any way we can get off this ship? I can’t stand being in the same country with her, let alone having to sit with her at dinner.”
“Darling…”
“If only she was ugly…if only the years had been as cruel to her as they’ve been to me…I might be able to look her in the face. But no…she just sits there, all gorgeous and loved with the jewels and the champagne and the limousines. Everyone is oblivious to how much of a bitch she is! I’m going to punch her teeth out and turn her into the disgusting, toothless hag she deserves to be! Isn’t that how they did it in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves?”
Her husband pulled his hands out of hers and resumed reading. “So what if she’s beautiful?”
Rosemary’s breathing quickened. Her chest rose and fell in short, sharp bursts like a piston in an engine. “Out of all that, the only thing you pick up on IS THE FACT SHE’S BEAUTIFUL?”
“Rosie…dear…”
“Don’t call me ‘dear’ unless you mean it, Martin!”
“I do mean it.”
Her eyes sharpened into tight slits. “You know I despise Charlegne…”
Martin leveled his gaze with hers. “And yet, you’re going to let her run your life.”
“What do you mean?”
“What other meaning could I have? It’s been fifteen years.”
Oh, no…Oh, hell no…He can’t say it. She returned to her aggressive hair-styling. “I loathe that number.”
“The number stands. You need to get over it.”
Rosemary pursed her lips into a tight knot. She bit the tip of her tongue. She heard the impatient snap of the newsletter.
“I’m starting to think that you enjoy being angry, Rosie.”
Maybe I do. “That’s stupid. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t think I need to answer that question.”
“Then you have no need to criticize how I feel about a certain murdering bitch.”
“She didn’t kill anyone.”
Rosemary’s eyes drilled into the smooth silver of the mirror. She imagined Charlegne, dressed in summer white, perfect like a Dresden china doll, shoving a man off a bridge. “She practically did.”
“Rosie—”
“Shut up, Martin.” I’d sooner die than think about him. She jammed bangle after bangle onto her wrist, stacking them like fat, silver shackles. “If I can get through this god-awful dinner without strangling her.”
A hand slipped one of the bracelets off her wrist while another warmed her bare shoulder. She felt her husband rest his chin on the curve of her neck and kiss her earlobe.
“Darling—”
“Shut up, Martin. Don’t say anything.”
“You have to learn that—”
“Finish that sentence and I call the attorney.” Her knuckles popped as she tightened her fingers into fists.
“It’s going to kill you.”
“Stop it, Martin. Stop it, right now. You know I want to explode if I hear his name.”
“You really need to settle down, Rosie.”
“Marty, she makes it so difficult!”
“You make it difficult. You’re the one holding on to this grudge about Dustin.”
He said it…Oh God, HE SAID IT! Rosemary shoved her husband away, her fingers curved like claws. Her hastily bundled hair sprang into a confusion of loose red curls, like a volcano retching lava. But she didn’t explode. Her body stiffened, trembled, the tension making her skin burn white-hot. Her eyes, green as dragon hide, gleamed.
“Grudge?” she asked, keeping her tone low and even. “You think I’m carrying something as shallow as a grudge against Charlegne? Let me remind you what she did, honey.” Her voice quivered. Little earthquakes. “She lied to my baby brother. She said she loved him. Dustin adored her. Then the bitch left him for another man.” Her words scraped her throat. “So Dustin jack-knifed off a bridge into a river!” Salty tears stung her eyes. “She killed him. Charlegne murdered Dustin, as if she pushed him herself. He committed suicide because of her. She drove him to it. Dustin was one of the few people left in my family. Do you know what it’s like to watch as your whole family is gradually slaughtered around you?” She wiped away her tears, smearing her makeup. “I hate her. God, I hate her. I live in constant fear that she’s going to take another person I love from me. Why do you think I moved from Los Angeles? I’ve had enough tragedy this year alone to haunt my nightmares until I die. Oh Marty…” She seized the lapels of his dinner jacket and pulled him toward her. “Can we please cancel the trip? Every time I see that woman, I want to beat her ugly face in. I can’t do th
is, Marty…I just can’t.”
“So, Charlegne wins again.” Martin disconnected her grip on his jacket and straightened his lapels. “Honestly, Rosie, aren’t you tired of the constant hate?”
Rosemary held her tongue, turning back to see if she still wanted to right hook her reflection. The image of Charlegne danced across her mind.
“I see. You’re going hold onto that grudge until it eats away your soul. I’m sorry, but I don’t enjoy watching that happen to my wife.”
Martin tossed the newsletter onto the dressing table. Rosemary watched it blanket her jewelry box like a coffin lid.
“Finish up, Rosie. We’re going to be late for dinner. Put on your happy face, dear. The staff doesn’t need an encore of Fashion Week.”
Rosemary pinched her lips into a taut line. She picked up the newsletter and smoothed it out on the tabletop.
This is the skin on her face…
She tore the paper into strips.
CHAPTER 4
Dinner
“I don’t speak French, dammit! What the hell is chatter-bree-and aww poyver anyway?”
Aaron Brent tossed his menu across the table. It collided with the freshly fluffed orchids and upset the whole arrangement. Li stood next to the table, rocking on one leg and biting his lower lip. He lost the feeling in his toes.
“Chateaubriand au poivre,” Li replied. “It’s a classic dish. Filet mignon crusted in black peppercorns…” Aaron’s face swelled purple with frustration. “It’s a steak.”
“HA! I’ll be the judge of THAT! Get it and make sure it’s medium! I don’t like my meat bloody! If there’s even a spot of blood, it’s your ass, kid!”
“Yes, sir. And what will you have, madam?”
Sally flinched. Her blond hair hung around her face in a limp, dirty curtain. She mumbled, but the French flowed smoothly from her lips. “Lapin et chasseur.”
Rabbit, Li thought. It fits.
Li straightened the toppled centerpiece, gathered the menus, and sped across the dining room. Paul, now consumed in his role of Jean Paul, directed the waiters, hissing orders in their ears as they passed.
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